I have been so restless now that I'm like, kinda feeling better but not enough to do things. Anyway I wrote a bunch and that seemed to settle the ol' brain buzz. Have a last line:
Nicolette had a length of twine and no better ideas.
Same. And now goodnight to you all.
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something i rly like about dirk is that hes kind but not a 100% pacifist character
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ok OC character building/rambling time under the cut
(before I start I just wanna say that we are collectively psychotic and that's the end of that sentence do not @ me for any tropes/negative psychosis stereotypes talked about here. thanks.)
Ok so Nestle, right. The dude kills his SO. we've got that figured out for the Plot™. But like… what's his Motive behind it, y'know?
And… We have… About 4 angel characters in the story. All fill the role of guardian angel in some way. All know each other. Soooooooo.…
What if,,, Be it Before or After the Murdering, the Angel Council (a placeholder name) starts talking 2 him. Now the four of em have different ideas in mind for him and it is A Mess and they don't Get Along and Nestle's like, "this is fine :)" and moves on with his life and continues to commit crimes and generally being an Overall Nuisance to people around him Oh also did I mention that these 4 angels are supposed to make sure he doesn't get into any more trouble. they don't do that. they're too busy arguing abt what path they should put Nestle on.
So while they're arguing Nestle's out doing Whatever the fuck. Probably not murder. Probably. Most likely vandalism and theft and also physical assault but not MURDER, no, that was a one time thing it's fine he's fine! Meanwhile In Heaven everything's going to shit because the four fuckos cannot come 2 an agreement thus meaning they can't make sure Nestle acts nice and not violent thus meaning he is still Out Here. Committing Crimes. </3 Rip
But eVERY NOW AND THEN. They Do collectively decide on shit to tell him and they're all like "HI HEY HELLO. WE'RE YOUR GUARDIAN ANGELS. DON'T DO X THING OK BYEEEEEEeeeee" and Nestle's like "Huh. ok! :)" and stops doing X thing midway through and like ups and leaves. His friends r like "hey what" and he's like "yeah the angels told me not to, ciao" and they're like "ok go off. not the weirdest shit that's happened this week"
Just a Small Idea rn in general. We need some way to connect Thee Angels to Thee OG Crew in the story so,,, we'll ofc still keep thinking of ideas this isn't finalized at all but the idea of "one guy with multiple guardian angels who are all shit at their job" is. so funny 2 us HFJDJjajdjf
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i was gonna play wow tonight with my sister but she never contacted me and i lost all my fucking addons because my stupid fucking ex took my hard drive and i forgot. thanks man
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i like to hc that tim drakes worst trait is being a guilt tripper.
i don't think many people would argue that the batfamily has done some nasty shit to tim. bruce's dismissal when tim first started training, dick giving away the robin mantle without consulting tim, damian's & jason's murder attempts, alfred's silent complicity. tim has led a traumatizing life.
however! when put into their original context, the actions (except alfreds i love him but his compliance is so unforgivable in my eyes tbh) of the family make sense. bruce was grieving his dead son, of course he didn't want to take someone else's kid under his wing. dick had so much on his plate of course he thought tim could handle himself. jason was back from the dead and thought his family had replaced him without another care and damian felt so threatened and out of water in gotham he wanted to prove himself the only way he knew how at the time.
but tim? tim holds grudges. he is constantly angry and seething but he waits. he waits until a small minor disagreement occurs and pulls up the past to shame his family into giving him his way.
bruce doesn't want to approve a mission because it puts tim under unnecessary risks? "oh so you still don't trust me bruce. no it's fine, i understand. i'll hand off this mission to dick or damian since they're better suited for it. " how could bruce not change his mind. "no tim it's not that. of course i trust you i just wanted to make sure you were being safe. it's your call."
dick is busy juggling (circus pun intended) the titans and his job and patrols in bludhaven and his social life and his relationship with babs and his commitment to damian and "sorry tim i can't hang out this week. can we schedule something for next month?" and tim pulls his famous "oh no it's fine. don't even worry about me i'll just...well maybe cass is free to see the movie with me. i just figured since we haven't spent all that much time together since i brought bruce back it'd be nice to spend time out of the masks together...but it's fine." and dick is suddenly choking on the guilt of firing tim and the chasm that separates them now.
damian is being a regular angsty teen and is being rude to tim? "geez damian i thought you grew out of this phase. you haven't insulted me like that since you first got here. whatever you want blood son" and damian is suddenly doubting his place in the family again because if they kicked todd out because of his anger and violence where does that leave him. and the next day damian leaves a drawing for tim to find as an apology.
and maybe it's just my middle child syndrome speaking but i also think that jason is the only one who sees tims stunts for what they are. jason will get a text from dick in the middle of the night saying "i may never understand why you do what you do but i am here to back you up if you ever need me. just call. love you little wing" and jason is rolling his eyes and texting tim "wtf did you tell dick and why is being brotherly to me? as someone who tried to kill you over the grudge i was holding you really need to let yours go"
idk. just something to think about.
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Red | KNJ | (m)
☾ Pairing: Werewolf!Namjoon x f. reader
☾ Summary: For as long as you can remember, your village has been relatively normal. But when people begin to turn up dead right after a group of newcomers arrive, pieces of your past start to fall into place, and something feels familiar - particularly the quiet man who can't take his eyes off of you.
☾ Word Count: 21,148
☾ Genre: Supernatural, thriller, smut
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.
☾ Warnings: Fantasy violence, light depections of murder and animal attacks, mentions of gore, discussions about community displacement and violence, Yoongi is an asshole, animal attacks, depictions of blood, tbh reader and Namjoon don’t know each other THAT well when they fuck so idk, implied protecting from a far but not in a stalker way, explicit language, intense sequences of fear and anxiety, reader is attacked by a wolf, there is a mention of animals being hurt/killed but not in explicit details, dead bodies, arson, sexually explicit content invluding vaginal fingering, nipple play, vaginal penetration, a little bit of mention of fluids but not really.
☾ Published: Sunday, January 21 2024
☾ A/N: I wish I could explain to you how this got to be so long. I wrote it over several weeks and each day I picked it back up, I just kept adding dialogue and scenery and setting. Like half of this isn’t even Namjoon and reader reacting - what was I doing? I wish I knew! I hope you like my spin on Red Riding Hood anyway! I tried to do this in a way that it doesn’t seem creepy that Namjoon was silently looking out for reader but like… I could understand if someone finds it creepy I am so sorry lmfao. I did read through this to edit but I 100% missed stuff because I'm a rougher editor and this is unbeta'd.
☾ A/N 2: This is a Red Riding Hood Retelling that is similar in vibe to the 2011 Red Riding Hood movie directed by Catherine Hardwicke.
Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
| Masterlist | Ask | Make Me Your Villain Collab | Taglist
Father always said not to go into the woods at night. Like him, though, the woods have always called to you, feeling like a second home. You’ve never been able to explain it, and you’ve stopped trying to.
It’s a little chilly outside, the first breath of harvest air nipping at your skin. In a few weeks, it will be freezing outside, forcing you into cloaks and furs.
Grass crunches beneath your feet as you slip through the small yard and toward the tree line. Your house already sits at the edge of the village, the dark trees stretching high above the rooftops. Soon the trees will be dusted in snow, but for now, they sway gently in the autumn breeze, turned silver by the moonlight.
You’ve always loved the woods. The sounds of the crickets singing and rabbits dashing underfoot are calming, the smell of sticky pine and fresh air invigorating. You especially love them at night, hidden beneath boughs and walking through the shafts of moonlight that slip through the trees.
The best part is that you don’t feel so alone out here. There is a feeling you cannot place each time you enter the woods, like you’re a little closer to discovering yourself. You’ve been chasing that feeling since you were a little girl, hungry for finding whatever it is that drives you out here.
Hands tucked into your pockets, you walk the same route you always follow. It isn’t deep into the woods - you aren’t silly enough to believe you’re safe alone in the dark - but it’s enough of a walk to clear your head.
Howls echo up into the night, a wolf pack on their hunt. The sound of them makes the hair on your arms stand on end.
The wolves don’t come very close to the village anymore since the vicious wolf hunts when you were barely old enough to remember them. The relationship between the men of your home and the wolves in the wood is violent, a chill cooling your skin every time they’re mentioned by one of your neighbors.
A terrible howl splits the night. You feel your body go cold with fear, warmth leaching out of you as you press yourself against a tree, heart in your throat. The sound is something like a howl laced with utter anguish, chilling you down to the marrow. It tapers off into a whimper before falling silent again.
Pressed against the tree, you wait. Your heart is beating so harshly that it feels like you might vomit in fear. Soft whimpering drifts on the wind. You hold your breath and strain your ears. It almost sounds like an injured dog.
It tugs at your heartstrings. You bite your lip, weighing your options. The noise sounded like it came from the south a little off of your path and toward the ravine that splits the part of the woods that is relatively safe from the deeper part where the animals are more lethal and more frequent. You could easily find your way back if you made it to the ravine, and as the whimpering vanishes entirely, you can’t help but imagine an animal in pain.
The most difficult part about working with Dr. Kim at the veterinary clinic is always the animals that he can’t fix. You’ve held the hands of loved ones who couldn’t save their aging dogs, and you’ve hushed lame horses as Dr. Kim prepared draughts to send them to sleep and then to death.
Pivoting, you turn and march toward the initial sound. It may perhaps be the single worst idea you’ve ever had, but you suddenly don’t care. You’ve worked with Dr. Kim enough to know how to triage animal wounds, and the thought of leaving something alone and suffering replaces any sort of fear you originally had.
You’re careful not to lose your footing as the ground slopes steadily as you get closer to the ravines and canyons of the south side. Leaves shift underneath your feet as you go. It feels overly loud in a forest that is suddenly so quiet, only filled with the softest sound of labored breathing.
A small dip in the ground catches you off guard. You gasp, a scream stuck in your throat as you lose your footing and slide down the slope, your back and ass hitting the ground hard as you slide, leaves hissing underneath you. You scramble to grab a hold of something, but the hill isn’t very high and you hit the bottom of it quickly.
Heart pounding, you lay in the damp leaves for a second, panting, hand pressed to your heart as it rattles under your palm. Just as the fear settles down, a growl makes your blood run cold. Slowly, you begin to turn your face toward the left. You realize you’ve slid down a dell, and a few yards from you is a large, shivering form covered in fur.
You blink. Once. Twice. You realize that the large mound of fur is a creature - a wolf. It lays on the ground shaking, a ride of jet black hair standing up on its spine, hackles raised. The wolf’s ears are pinned back and its yellow eyes are wild, nearly consumed by the dark pupils drinking you in. Its teeth are bared, foam and drool lining pink gums as it snares, nose twitching.
It’s the biggest wolf you’ve ever seen. You can’t move. You can only stare at it, wondering why it continues to snarl and stare at you, but not move. Your eyes rove its trembling form from maw to tail, and you realize its front leg is wet and held at an odd angle.
“Oh,” you gasp, realizing that the wolf’s foot is stuck in a claw trap. “I’m so sorry. I… can I help you?”
The wolf stops growling for a moment as if it understands. You stare with wide eyes, not daring to move as it assesses you. It leans toward you and sniffs, the sound of snuffing loud in the silence of the dell. For a few moments, you just watch as the beast regards you.
Then, it chuffs and looks at its own foot, whining. You sit up slowly in amazement. The creature watches you with what you can only describe as a caution. You get up carefully and make your way toward the wolf. It watches your every movement. It can surely smell your fear as you get a few feet away, crouching down with your hands held out to let it know you’re not going to cause harm.
You pause, waiting for permission to examine the wolf’s foot. It gazes at you and for a moment, you lose yourself in that burning, golden gaze. The wolf’s eyes are so human that it’s hard to see it as a simple beast. There is something alive and intelligent there.
As if sensing that you’re waiting for the all-clear, the wolf chuffs and lowers its head toward its foot, gesturing. You smile a little at that, marveling at the communication skills. Carefully, you look at the trap around the wolf’s foot. It’s a metal contraption that is pressure-engaged, with metal teeth. You cringe seeing the red on matted fur and metal.
“You must have stepped on the pressure plate,” you tell the wolf, though it probably doesn’t understand. You gesture to the round plate at the center of the trap. “It would have been in a circle and when stepped on, snapped closed like jaws.”
The wolf whines and bows its head. You wince. “They’re really strong,” you admit, chewing on your lip. “I don’t think I can pull it apart all the way, but I might be able to open it enough just for a moment for you to pull out your leg. Can you do that?”
A huff. Somehow, you think if it could, the wolf might roll its eyes. Your mouth twitches in an almost smile as you get onto your knees, wiping sweaty hands on your pants. This close to the beast, you realize just how large it is.
“This is going to hurt,” you insist. “Please… Please don’t bite me, okay? I want to help you.”
The wolf lowers its head until it's lying on the ground, gold eyes watching you. Its muscles are tense and the hair along the ridge of its back is still standing, afraid and alert.
“Okay. I’m just… I’m just going to touch the trap and try to get a grip first, okay?” The wolf doesn’t answer. It blinks at you, waiting. Licking your lips, you whisper, more to yourself than anything, “Okay, I can do this.”
Slowly, you reach out toward the wolf’s injured foot. You flick your gaze over to the wolf looking for a reaction. It just watches you, though you feel tension. The metal is wicked cold to the touch. You hiss and the creature flinches a little, a whistle-whine escaping its nose. You mutter an apology, fingers pressing to the ridges of the cold metal.
It’s slippery with blood. You chew on your lip, prodding your finger in the space between the metal teeth on the edges where it’s not clamped around the wolf’s paw. You wiggle your finger a little, testing the strength of the closed jaws of the trap. It doesn’t budge and you curse.
Sweat beads on the back of your neck, freezing in the cool air. You lift your other hand, very carefully trying to find a good grip on either side of the jaws to pry them open. The movement jostles the trap a little, the wolf snarling in pain. You flinch and rip your hands away, looking at it. Gold eyes burn and the wolf huffs, as though telling you to be more careful.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “I’m nervous and it’s hard to get a grip on it.” The wolf snorts. You glare at it. “I’m sorry, do you want to do this instead?” Your only answer is a rumble as it looks the other direction. “That’s what I thought.”
Sighing, you turn your attention back to the metal. Anyone a little stronger and older could probably pull it open. Seokjin for sure could - even Hoseok who is as old as you are, but plenty stronger. You try not to think about how weak you are, and instead wiggle your fingers through the gaps in the teeth.
The cool metal stings your hands. It’s not a great grip and your fingers are placed in bad positioning due to the teeth of the trap. Taking in a big breath, you try to pull the metal jaws apart.
Nothing happens and you let your breath out, panting lightly as you stop trying to pull. The wolf flicks its tale but makes no other sound. With the way you’re gripping the jaws, you realize that pulling it apart is going to be difficult. It would rely on your forearms to peel the metal jaws backward… But if you were to push down and push apart, you could use your body weight as an extra boost. It would be pushing the jaws apart from above instead of trying to pry them apart with sheer strength.
Leaning high on your knees, you position yourself straight over the trap, your weight settling in on your forearms. You take another deep breath and this time when you pull, you push your weight down on the trap. For a second, it seems like it’s not going to give. You hiss through your teeth, muscles clenching, fingers burning as your skin presses against the metal as hard as you can stand it.
Then, the jaw opens a little. You grind your teeth harder, the ache in your arms growing as you push as hard as you can. Your forearms are trembling. You feel the vein throbbing in your neck and forehead. Just when you think you’re going to fail, the jaws give way again. You growl, feeling a surge of energy go through you at the small victory and you shove your body weight down on it hard. The springs creak a little and open more.
Little by little, the trap opens up. Your vision pulses red as you pant, strength waning. And then it’s like you hit the let-off point of the contraption, pushing it enough that the rest of the way it just falls open. You let go of the trap and the wolf yanks its leg from it. It now lies open and bloody as you collapse on the ground next to it, breathing hard, breath misting the air.
Your heart beats in your ears, pulse thrumming in your neck wildly. For a second, you forget all about the wolf. You laugh up to the dark trees, a giddy feeling shooting through you. You did it, even though you didn’t think you would be able to.
A dark presence alerts you. Slowly, you turn your head to face the wolf. It’s standing almost above you, looking more imposing than it did before. You swallow hard, mouth going dry as it blinks down at you. It favors the injured leg, but stands nonetheless, watching you.
“Please don’t kill me,” you whisper, limbs trembling not only with exhaustion but fear.
The wolf doesn’t kill you at all. Instead, it leans its head down and presses its cold, wet nose to your arm. You flinch, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute. Then the beast chuffs, making you peak at it. When you meet its gold eyes, you get the sense it is vaguely amused.
“Oh,” you breathe, relief sagging your aching body. “Cool. You’re not going to kill me.”
Standing, you realize that the wolf is still taller than you. You tilt your head upward, staring. There’s no way this is a normal creature, but you don’t know what else it could possibly be. You recall the legends of werewolves and dire wolves told by the men of your town, but you’re unsure if those are real.
“Let’s take care of this,” you mutter, grabbing a branch and jamming it into the pressure plate of the trap. It snaps shut with a loud clang, snapping the branch, but otherwise ineffective now that it’s re-sprung. The wolf flinches and whines at the sound, no doubt remembering the feeling of the instrument on its leg. “Sorry.”
Silence stretches out over the woods, the night growing deeper and cooler. You shiver, rubbing your hands up and down your arms as you turn to the wolf, which watches you keenly.
“Will you be okay?” the question comes out as a whisper. The wolf huffs and steps forward, pressing its snout to your head. It’s cold and wet, making you shiver as it snuffs against your skin. “Good. I um - should start climbing this hill.”
It swivels its head and turns, waiting. You grin, realizing it will accompany you back up, at least. Though injured, the wolf is able to walk with three legs, the wounded leg lifted off the ground. Its gait is awkward and hobbled, but the two of you make it up the hill together, your breathing labored.
At the top, moonlight shines through the trees and you both pause. A series of howls goes up in the night, startling you. The wolf looks up, ears twitching as it tilts its head, listening. Slowly, it turns to look at you, gold eyes sparkling.
“I guess you have to go, huh?” it bows its head once. “Stay safe, okay?”
The wolf steps forward. Presses its muzzle into your temple and huffs, making you grin. You smell pine and bergamot, pleasant and calming. “Yeah, you’re welcome.”
Slowly, the wolf clambours off, vanishing into the dark woods, leaving you to hurry home yourself.
-
“Wear this at all times for protection, especially in the forest,” you murmur, holding the neatly scrawled note. You frown and look down at the fine cloak folded on the dresser. It had appeared overnight as if by magic, a funny feeling flipping your stomach. “Where did you come from?”
The cloak, of course, has no answer. You lift your hand to feel it, breathing out a dreamy sigh. The inside is lined with soft bear fur. Outside is some of the finest cloth you’ve ever seen, gentle but sturdy to the touch and dyed the most delicious shade of scarlet.
Carefully, you lift the cloak. It’s a little big for your size, but not unwearable. You slip it over your sleeping gown, loving the way the material ripples like blood over your shoulders, the fur lining keeping you warm. It smells like pine and bergamot, making you pause.
Certainly, a wolf did not bring you a cloak. Still, the timing is quite odd. You don’t know who else could possibly make a cloak so fine in the village, and the smell… you shake your head. A wolf did not bring you a cloak, but it did seem perhaps you had a secret admirer.
-
THIRTEEN YEARS LATER
“Boo!” You scream and drop the collection of logs in your hands, whirling around. Hoseok bursts into laughter, doubling over as he slaps his hands against his knees, hot breath misting the air. “You should see your face!”
“You rotten bastard!” You growl, picking up a log and throwing it at him. It doesn’t hit him, but he jumps away from it anyway, careful not to let it drop on his toes. “That isn’t funny!”
“It’s a little funny.”
“It’s not!” You crouch down and start picking up the timber. Hoseok at least has the decency to help you, starting with the log you threw at him. “There was another animal attack last night, in case you didn’t know.”
That makes him pause. “There was?”
“Yes,” you hiss, snatching the last log and standing. “So stop lurking around corners and scaring me. It isn’t funny.”
“Well, an animal isn’t going to attack you in the village. Unless you’re talking about Mingyu’s fiancee, anyway. That one is feral indeed.”
You level Hoseok with a look and he gives you a grin. His nose and ears are red from the cold - and maybe a little guilt for scaring you - and he offers to take the timber from your arms. You let him, shoveling it over to him and marching around the front of your house.
Wind howls between the houses, ripping at the ends of your red cloak. It catches your hood, throwing it up over your head as you shiver and tuck your hands into the fur lining. A shiver rattles up your spine as you kick the snow from your boots and rush inside, Hoseok quick on your heels.
“So what happened?” Hoseok asks, following you to your room.
“The Matheson Family,” you mumble. “They were attacked. San went down to collect new saddles his father ordered and found them slaughtered - their hounds too.”
“They have hunting hounds - what the hell can kill those?”
“Perhaps it’s the wolves again. Dr. Kim was going with the city council to investigate.”
Hoseok sighs. “The timing isn’t good. It’s about time the traders arrived. What if they bypass us entirely if the road is too dangerous?”
It’s a thought that has been plaguing everyone in the village. Because of the remote location on the north side of the woods, your small spec on the map relies on traders at the beginning of every winter for things that you’ll need to make it through: salt, extra grain and fruits, tools too advanced and large for the local smithy, repairs on houses and wagons.
Arrival times of traders fluctuate every year. Sometimes there’s a cold snap, burying roads in heavy snow that are unnavigable. Other times, there is unrest in the woods when a rogue band of thieves gets the idea to rob travelers and hide in the woods until the city council sends a team of men to deal with it.
Now, though, it’s getting into the late period of their arrival. The entire village holds its breath waiting for them, people looking out the open gates down the snowy road hoping to see a courier come ahead to announce the arrival of wagons and troupes of people.
“Do you really think it’s wolves?” Hoseok asks. “I don’t think I’ve heard of wolf attacks like this since…”
Hoseok winces. “It’s fine,” you assure him with a smile. “It’s not like I remember that time, much less remember my dad.”
It’s true. Early memories of your childhood are murky at best. You remember being happy and loving your dad. You remember a period of fear and general uneasiness in the town, wolf attacks rampant and frequent. There had been plenty of men and women who died during that period, including your father.
That was a long time ago, though. For the most part, life in your small village is uninteresting. Some winters are harder than others, like the current season, but you’ve always managed to get by.
“Do you remember much of that time period?” you ask him quietly.
“Not really. Just that everyone was afraid. It was a really harsh winter and it drove wolves down from the mountains. I remember it being strange.”
“Strange how?”
You chew your lip and shake your head, trying to encapsulate the thread of memory you have. Of feeling the tremor of fear in the air, the cold feeling of dread… like something violent was in the village. Something wrong.
“I don’t know. I was so young.”
“Hmm.”
The talk of wolves makes you think about your wolf. Your lips curve at the memory of how gentle the wolf was, the somber eyes, and the smell of pine and bergamot.
It would be a lie to say you had not gone out to the woods several times since that night to try and find the beast again. You haven’t seen him since, but you’ve always had a feeling he’s there somewhere. Watching. Waiting.
“Either way,” Hoseok sighs. “Dad seems worried this winter will be like that time. He’s been doing a lot of will and testament papers at the office. He works late every night and is gone early in the morning.”
“Really?”
“Want to hear what Mr. Hillshire is leaving for his kids?” Hoseok leans forward, conspiratorial. “You won’t believe it.”
-
The bell over the door rings as someone enters the salon of Dr. Kim’s veterinary practice, drawing your attention. You straighten when you see San walk in.
“Hi, San,” you greet. “Here to pick up Maple?”
“Yeah, is that alright? Mom is busy at the shop.”
“Of course.” You wipe your sweaty hands on your skirts and gesture behind you with your thumb. “I’ll go fetch her. Dr. Kim is on an errand but she’s ready to go.”
The back of the building with the kennels is quiet. The Choi family cat and two other sleeping dogs are the only occupants of the practice, making it an easy day. Maple is dozing in her kennel, chirping in protest when you open the cage and scoop her into a carrier. She’s a lazy thing, a calico with pretty eyes and a newly stitched ear.
Carefully you carry her up front. San is standing patiently in the lobby, hands behind his back as he looks around nervously. You raise your brows as you come around the counter, handing over the carrier. “Everything okay?”
“Hmm?”
“You look nervous. It’s just me and the Lowells’ hounds back here.”
“Oh, yes.” His ears blush pink as he accepts the carrier and steps back. “Just a nervous energy in general. I have been since um…”
Oh. You had forgotten that it was San who discovered the Matheson family disemboweled by some kind of animal. The constable had thought that maybe it was a pack of wolves but was concerned by how big the claw marks and destruction were.
“I’m sorry,” you blurt.
“For what?”
“That you had to see that, I guess? It must have been terrifying.”
“A little,” he admits, looking at his shoes. “I walked the path to the Mathesons all the time. I don’t ever recall seeing something that could… do that.”
“Was it that awful?”
He nods. “Like nothing I’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I go on hunting parties. We’ve seen the leftovers from bears and wolves. This was something worse. It felt like…” He shakes his head and looks up at you. “It felt angry.”
“Angry?”
“Yeah. I know that doesn’t make sense. It was probably just a beast coming down from the mountain because it was starving. You know how harsh winters are.”
You hum in agreement.
San dismisses himself, thanking you again for helping with the family cat and throwing a wave over his shoulder. You return it half-heartedly, already distracted with thoughts of what the animal attacks could mean.
You think about your wolf and how kind and intelligent it was. You don’t remember ever feeling a sense of impending doom like you do now, a heaviness to the air as you stand idly behind the counter.
Dr. Kim's return startles you at the counter. You press your hands flat against the top of the desk, leaning up on your tiptoes as you see his son Seokjin enter behind him. Your heart flutters a little at the sight, still overwhelmed by his handsome face.
Seokjin is tall and broad, with dark hair and a beautiful face. His sharp eyes find you and he gives you a half smile, though there seems to be something on his mind as he follows his father into the backroom, Dr. Kim barely saying hello as he goes, his brows furrowed in deep thought.
The two of them disappear and you watch the door swing shut behind them. Curious, you trail around the counter and softly walk over to the door, pulling it open a smidge.
It’s difficult to pick up on their words, but you can hear Dr. Kim’s timbre speaking in low tones from somewhere in the backroom. You hold your breath and wedge the door open a little more, pressing your ear toward the gap between the frame and the door.
“... again. They’re going to want to start hunting parties again soon.”
“So what do we do?”
Silence. Then, “Send a message….”
“... brought it on themselves… it’s time to make things right.”
Behind you, the bell rings at the door. You gasp, letting go of the door to the back room and spin around, heart hammering in your chest. Hoseok stands at the door, raising his brows in question.
“What are you doing here?” you demand, suddenly angry that he’s startled you and ruined your sleuthing.
“I promised your mom I would walk home with you at the end of your shift, remember? Dangerous out there.”
You blink and look out the window, realizing that the heavy gray of evening is setting over the road. You hadn’t realized it was so late.
Nodding, you grab your cloak in a hurry. You pop your head into the back room, both Seokjin and Dr. Kim looking at you as you do. “I’m leaving for the evening, sir. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, thank you for watching the place while I was gone. Tomorrow we have to make a house call to the Marrow farm. Lame horse.”
Seokjin frowns. “Do you think that is wise?” Dr. Kim looks at his son under heavy brows. “With the current conditions.”
“We’ll be fine.” Something passes between them, son and father locked in a heated gaze. You stand there awkwardly, glancing between the two.
Seokjin breaks his stare from his father and flashes you a grin. “You have someone to walk you home?”
“Yeah, Hoseok is here.” You hug the cloak tighter to your chest and Seokjin’s eyes drop to it. An unreadable expression passes his face before he nods. “Have a good evening!”
“You too.”
Leaving them behind, you head to where Hoseok waits for you, examining drawings of animal skeletons and anatomy. You pull your cloak on, feeling safe and warm under the red material. Hoseok looks up at you, thrusting his thumb at one of the drawings of a horse. “I don’t look like that, right?”
-
The red cloak tied around you wicks the sweat from the back of your neck. Your fingers work quickly as you tie it, knowing you’re already late to meeting Dr. Kim. Thankfully, you don’t make a habit of being late and you’re sure he won’t mind too much.
Strange dreams had plagued you all night. Images of wolves, blood and mist. Echoes of howling, screaming and thunder. Now as you hurry out of your home and into the wicked wind of winter, you cannot shake a sense of premonition.
Dr. Kim is already on the doorstep when you arrive at the veterinary office, a heavy coat on his shoulders and a bag of tools in his hand. He nods when he sees you and comes down the steps, turning toward the south exit of the village.
Neither of you speak. Beyond the fact that you don’t think you’d be able to hear Dr. Kim over the howling wind, it doesn’t feel like the kind of trip that requires speaking. The evergreens on either side of the road loom over you, bows heavy with snow. Every so often, a branch cracks with the weight of frozen icicles, making you flinch with the sound.
It feels like you’re being watched. Every so often, you swivel your head this way and that, glancing at the trees. The trunks are too close together and the branches to tangle to see beyond them on either side of the road. Still, your skin tingles from something beyond the cold, you just don’t know what.
The Marrow farm is only a little over a mile from the main village, but the snow covered roads make it slow going. As you near the edge of where their acres begin, your boots are already heavy with melted slush and your calves and thighs burn from dragging your feet through the path.
Perhaps it was not a good day to do a house call.
Passing white-covered gates, you’re thankful that at least the wind has died down as the morning turns into midday. The sun is hidden by clouds, but there is a hint of warmth in the air. The Marrow farm is made up of three buildings: the small house in front, the large barn to the back left where they keep their animals, and a giant silo for grains.
As you near the house, a loud banging reaches you. Both you and Dr. Kim pause, listening as the sound carries on the wind. It doesn’t sound like hammering, but rather like a door slamming over and over again.
“Barn door?” you suggest, looking up at Dr. Kim. His dark eyes look at the house, expression grim. “But why would they let it slam relentlessly?”
“Keep your wits about you,” he murmurs, ignoring your question. “Go to the main house. I’ll go round to the barn. Perhaps they’ve forgotten the appointment.”
No smoke comes from the chimney. No snow is cleared from the footpath to the door. The shutters are closed, which makes sense to keep the cold out. As you approach the steps leading up to the porch, you note that none of the hounds are baying. The Marrow’s have several bloodhounds, all of which keep noisy providence around the threshold of the door.
Spine tingling, you lift your hand and knock. There’s no answer. You strain your ears, leaning forward for any hint that the Marrow’s or one of their two sons are coming to the door. Not even the dogs alert them of your presence.
You think about San finding the Mathesons butchered and your stomach drops. You knock again, knuckles stinging with cold as they rap harshly against the wooden door. Tucking your hand back into your cloak, you wait.
Nothing comes.
Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door and twist the handle. It opens easily, swinging inward to a cold, empty home. Inside, the air is still and dead. Behind you, the breeze brushes the edges of your cloak and the hood on your head.
Silence hangs. Licking your lips, you lift a foot. It hands over the threshold, fear making you pause. There is nothing inside the home, and yet you find that you’re utterly terrified of stepping inside. Your stomach knots and for a few moments, you just stand there with your foot in the air, staring with unseeing eyes into the dark interior.
You step into the room and pause. Nothing happens. The air inside the home is stale, like the doors and windows have not been opened for a few days. The cold is bone deep, clinging to the undisturbed air. You scan the room for any sign of life, but see nothing that stirs.
Everything looks lived in. There are knitted blankets tossed across the backs of old arm chairs, boots by the door, unlaced and soft with age. Mugs have been turned upside down and placed on a towel near the basin for drying, and there are dice on the kitchen table.
Navigating slowly, you move to the hall with bedrooms. Doors hang open, revealing unmade beds and clothes on the floor. Here too, the air feels undisturbed. You hear the breeze outside and the soft creak of the house, but nothing else makes a sound, save for the loud beating of your own heart.
Shivering, you make your way to the front of the home. Something foul hangs in the air and you want to be rid of the feeling, quickening your steps to leave through the front door and-
Fear stabs deep into your stomach when you see the wolf standing in the doorway. It stands half in the home, half out, only the front two paws over the threshold. The beast barely fits in the door frame, wide as two men standing side by side and tall as a horse.
You don’t move. It stares at you with bright, burning eyes. Its fur is dark, though there is a jagged ring of light fur around the right, front paw. You swear you smell pine and bergamot. Something nudges at the back of your mind as the two of you stand off - and it clicks into place.
“You,” you breathe. “You’re the wolf I helped!”
For a moment, the bright yellow eyes stare at you. They’re unreadable, and yet… emotive. Intelligent. Understanding. The wolf dips its snout in a nod.
“What are you doing here? Where are the Marrows?”
The wolf’s ears flicker. Slowly, it backs out of the house. Throwing caution to the wind, you rush after him, nearly tripping over a wolfskin rug in the home.
Outside, the wolf stands below the porch. You step on the porch and pull up short, heart racing as you see the pack of wolves standing in front of the home.
The wolves are a variety of colors and sizes. You dare not move your head, but you scan them with your eyes, drinking in the different creatures. The only thing that they have in common is that they are freakishly large.
Your wolf - for in your mind he’s yours - stands in front of you. He growls, hair on his spine raising as he regards the other wolves. There’s a silent standoff of sorts, the wolf you saved facing the others. You cannot understand their body language, but the air seems charged.
The smell of smoke is in the air. You don’t dare look for the source, too afraid to do anything to disrupt the standoff. Breathing in deeply, you think you smell cedar. Oil. Something else that you can’t identify.
Footsteps crunch the snow. You whip your head to the side, a warning on your tongue as Dr. Kim rounds the house, a haunted expression on his face. He stops abruptly, looking at the display in front of him behind frosted glasses. He says nothing - does nothing but glance between you, the wolf in front of you, and the others.
Finally, one of the other wolves chuffs and shakes, dispelling snow. It has an all white coat and intense, dark eyes that look at you with… annoyance, if wolves can look annoyed. It turns to leave and the others follow - all five of them - as the white wolf leads them at a loping trot toward the silo and the woods beyond.
Your wolf turns to peer at you, ears flicking before it breaks off into a run, trailing after its pack to leave you and Dr. Kim standing in silence, watching them go.
Slowly, you turn to Dr. Kim. He scrutinizes you, eyes squinted. “Where did you get that cloak?”
You look down at the rich, red cloth. “I… well it just appeared, one day when I was younger. I don’t know.”
He regards you suspiciously. “I see. Come. We must leave right away.”
Dr. Kim begins walking at a fast pace back toward town, clutching his tool case. “Wait! Where are the Morrows?”
Instead of answering, Dr. Kim continues on. You scramble after him, careful not to slip on the icy stairs. The wind picks up and you smell a fire again, making you turn back as you try to catch up. You almost stumble over your feet, eyebrows shooting up as you see orange flames consuming the barn.
“Dr. Kim!”
Again, he says nothing. You stop and stare, watching as the fire eats away at the barn. The smoke burns black. Fueled by oil, you think. Looking over your shoulder, you watch Dr. Kim’s retreating back and wonder what exactly it is that he’s done.
“Did you set that fire?” you demand, chasing him. He gives you a withering look. “What is going on?”
“Speak nothing of this,” he snaps. “We arrived here to make a housecall and discovered that the barn was on fire. We suspect that Mr. Marrow was burning to melt the snow around the barn and that the barn caught. The Marrow family died inside trying to put out the fire.”
“But the wolves-”
“Do not mention the wolves, girl.”
“Did they kill the Marrows?” His jaw works but he doesn’t answer. “Did they kill the Mathesons?”
“This village has a complicated history,” he says finally. He pulls his coat tighter. “I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to stay out of it. Say nothing of the wolves and stay away from them. You’ll make it through winter.”
-
Two weeks pass, the secret heavy on your tongue. You work with Dr. Kim as though nothing happened, and when people ask about the Marrow farm, you recite vague details. You don’t know why you do it but… the image of the wolf - your wolf - floats in your mind each time you spit out the lie.
Thoughts plague you as Hoseok lounges on the porch of the office that belongs to Hoseok’s father, who acts as the town’s scribe and legal affairs recorder. A sudden warm day has brought everyone outdoors, lounging on their porches and trying to take advantage of the melting snow around the buildings. The streets are muddy and murky as kids run by, feet splashing.
A group of men prowl around the outskirts of the village. Sun shines through the slats of the overhang in front of the inn, warming where you lean on the porch railing. Hoseok rattles on about gossip he’s heard from his mother’s tea parties and his father’s work on will and testaments with the growing fear of death in the village.
“Plagues, serial killings, blood feuds and animal attacks,” Hoseok sighs, staring up at the ceiling where he lies. “Good for father’s business. Bad for my cramping hand trying to help him.”
“Hmm,” you hum noncommittally, thoughts lost as you stare out into the street with unseeing eyes.
Shouts make you flinch. You stand rod straight, gripping the railing as you look for the source of the disruption. Hoseok stands up immediately, joining you at the railing as the pair of you lean to look toward the entrance to the town.
At first, you think that it’s about another wolf attack. People rush into the street, looking toward the commotion. Then you see it. Gleeful cheers spring up to the buildings closest to the town’s entrance as the first few traders enter the road. Your heart soars when you see donkeys pulling a cart behind them, followed by more people carrying packs and towing small carts.
“The traders!” You breathe, feeling a sigh of relief sweep through you. “They’ve made it!”
Excitement ripples through the village. People come flocking from the buildings to welcome cart after cart full of people. Some traders tow full carriages with riders at the front, the shutters on their carriages tied shut, hiding their wares inside.
Hoseok lounges back down, letting out a sigh of relief. You feel the same, leaning on the railing again to watch as the carts are towed down the road, pulling down different streets to set up shop and find accommodations.
Most of the traders look vaguely familiar to you - you see the Robin’s with their cloth cart and Morty with his towering carriage of unusual wares and charms. The Yang twins set off small, popping fireworks from the back of their cart, making the children squeal.
Something catches your eye. “There are more traders than usual,” you tell Hoseok, frowning as your eyes settle on the large men who walk among the carts, all of whom wear weapons belts and look from side to side as they walk. “I think they’re warriors, Hoseok.”
“Warriors?” he laughs. “Strange.”
“No really, there are several men with blades at the hip and bows on the back. They look… guarded.”
He tilts his head, eyeing where your eyes flit from person to person. “Perhaps the road is as hard as we suspected this year.”
You hum in agreement, watching as the caravans stop and unload, the muddy streets filling with people and chatter and bubbling with excitement. It feels like the bubble of anxiety looming over the town has popped - at least temporarily - relieving the pressure that had been building with every passing day.
Leaning against the rail, you’re content to observe. All manner of people and things are pulled from carts. Vendors start setting up right away, people forming lines for ingredients, cloth, and wares. The largest line of all is for weapons and metal tools, Old Man Heo barely has time to park his cart before the men of the village ask how much for iron arrowheads and blades.
A shiver goes through you as your eyes sweep back toward the town entrance where more people pour in. Fewer caravans come through - now it’s just people with pack mules or bags over their shoulders.
The hairs on your arm stand up when you see him. Wind lifts the edge of your cloak, making it flutter around you. You watch as he walks down the main street with the other travelers, eyes flicking around as he drinks in the buildings and the crowd of villagers coming to welcome the traders.
As though he senses your staring, his head snaps to you. You feel frozen to the spot, your fingers tightening on the rail as you meet his eyes. They’re unfathomably dark and yet… a tingle of familiarity slithers up your spine.
He stares at you in turn. You’re sure he’s looking at you, paused near the cart he stands next to, dark gaze focused on where you stand on the porch.
You’ve never seen him. You’re sure of it. You’d remember a handsome face like that anywhere. His long, dark hair is pushed back from his face, revealing a sharp jawline, a strong nose, and intense eyes. His lips are red from the cold - pretty against tan skin.
He’s tall. Taller than most men in the village and broad, with strong shoulders and thick arms, though it’s hard to tell underneath his tunic. Like the other hardy men accompanying traders, he has a weapons belt snug around his waist and the bulk of his frame implies that he knows how to use them.
The man doesn’t break eye contact. His mouth begins to tilt in what you think might be the start of a smile when Hoseok sits up abruptly, startling you. You break eye contact, looking at Hoseok who bites into an apple, offering you one.
“You frightened me,” you snap, a little irritated at being distracted. When you glance back up at the man, his attention is elsewhere.
“What were you staring at anyway?” he asks, crunching bits of apple.
“Nothing,” you murmur, eyes on the flexing back of the man as he helps unload a wagon near the inn. Something niggles at the back of your mind. I know you. “Nothing at all.”
“Want to visit the vendors later when they’re all set up? I would love to get some spiced wine and listen to Marla’s stories tonight.”
“Yes,” you answer without hesitation. “Let’s do just that.”
-
Every minute that passes by feels like an eternity. Incurable energy simmers under the surface as you wait for the day to fade to evening. You clean the entire house, you collect wood from outside, you dress and then change into something else, and you ultimately end up pacing back and forth in your room while you wait for Hoseok to arrive.
Your thoughts are consumed by the mystery man you had seen earlier. His handsome face swims in your memory. The clear image of his face is accompanied by some feeling you cannot identify, something that almost feels like nostalgia. How can you feel nostalgia for someone you don’t know?
Hoseok finally arrives, letting himself into your house cheerily. The brief respite from winter is already bleeding away, the wind carrying a painful promise as it lifts your hood outside. The traders, it seems, arrived at the perfect time, the cloudy sky promising snow in the morning once more.
Energy sizzles in the air. It’s as though the momentary fear of the wolf attacks is momentarily forgotten with the arrival of the vendors and travelers. The noise echoes from every street, torches, and fires lighting up the alleyways and down as people hang lamps in the windows and carts string up tea lights.
Though you’re nervous, you are temporarily distracted as Hoseok pulls you through a tangle of carts toward Sal’s Sweets. Your stomach grumbles when you catch the scent of melting sugar and sweet confections, joining the line at Hoseok’s side to pick up hot, sticky sweets.
With hot, sweet rolls drizzled in honey in hand, you and Hoseok explore the vendor carts. It is an explosion of color and lights, glittering jewelry hanging from displays, hot meats sizzling in pants over fires, the flash of powder and light as the Yang twins set off more fireworks, and the smell of spices as you pass by herb carts and tents.
Everywhere you go, you see the men from before, looming near carts with weapons and steely expressions. But not even the eerie sight of them can bring down the spirits of the villagers, kids running with new kites and jars full of fireflies.
As you stand in line with Hoseok who wants new inkwells, you listen to passing chatter. From what you gather, it was a hard trip this way on the caravans this year. The winter was just as harsh on the road as it was in the village, and the traders' voices become quiet when they talk about thieves and monsters in the woods.
You exchange a glance with Hoseok and he nods. Wolves.
Wordlessly, you wait as Hoseok points out the inks that he wants. You begin to crane your neck, looking for the familiar stranger that you had seen before. The square is crowded and packed tight with people, making it nearly impossible to make out much beyond a few feet in front of you.
You spot Dr. Kim walking next to Seokjin, both of their heads bowed as they speak to one another. You narrow your eyes, remembering the way Dr. Kim had silenced you at the Marrow farm. You watch them as they head toward the road that the veterinary practice is on, pausing as a man pushes off the wall to join them.
It’s him you realize. You recognize the broad shoulders and the dark hair as he turns his back to you, walking with the Kims down the road. You don’t even have to think twice.
“Hey,” you tug Hoseok’s sleeve. “I’m going to go see Dr. Kim about something really quick. I’ll meet you at the inn?”
“Sure.” He frowns. “Is it safe to go alone?”
“With all of these people?” You’re already backing away and shrugging. “Definitely.”
Without waiting for Hoseok to respond, you turn on your heel and rush into the crowd. The bodies of people immediately swallow you. The sound and sights and smells become a blur as you push through the crowd, shouldering people aside. You get some nasty looks from the force at which you move, but they immediately forget you as more people press in.
Less people pass you by as you walk up the street, pulling your cloak in tight. The lights in front of the building are off. You creep up the stairs and try the handle, finding it locked. It doesn’t matter, you sneak around the back of the building to the rear entrance and press your ear to the door. When you hear nothing, you try the handle and it twists.
Victorious, you open the door and slide through. The hallway is narrow with four doors on the right leading to examination rooms and two doors on the left. The first door leads to the kennel area where you hear voices. The second leads to the front lobby and desk.
The front lobby is the safest option, lest you get caught eavesdropping in the hallway when they leave. Carefully, you creep by the door, holding your breath and praying the floor doesn’t creak. Your heart pounds as you inch past the door, hearing deep voices on the other side as you go by.
Clearing the door, you hurry into the lobby and to the door behind the desk that leads to the kennels. Crouching down low to hide yourself from anyone walking by the windows, you carefully pull the door open, unwilling to open it any further than the width of your index finger. Pressing your ear to the open gap, you listen.
“We talked about discretion,” Dr. Kim says, his voice frustrated. “This isn’t discretion. This is harassment and fear-mongering.”
“I told you,” a deep, smooth voice answers. You assume it must belong to the stranger and you shiver, eyes fluttering as the sound of it washes over you. “It isn’t my decision to make. I do not lead. Yoongi made it very clear how he wishes to proceed.”
“Yoongi is a lunatic.”
“He’s the alpha.”
You frown. Alpha? You’re familiar with the concept of alphas in packs of dogs and herding animals, but you don’t know what that has to do with people or who Yoongi is.
“The hunts will begin tomorrow.”
You think Dr. Kim means the hunting for the wolves. It makes sense now that the traders are in town and they can stock up on weapons.
“As is the way of things,” the stranger answers with a sigh. “You know why Yoongi has chosen this path.”
“Is revenge worth it?”
“Perhaps your kind do not understand.” The stranger’s voice hardens. You wonder what he means by your kind. “You have one foot in the forest, one in the village.”
“We understand, but we’re also not reckless.” Charged quiet hangs in the air. You hold your breath, your heart thundering in your chest, waiting for the sound of footsteps at the end of a conversation. “Why are you here, Namjoon? You came alone.”
Namjoon. The name washes over you, a warm feeling like the first spray of summer rain. It must be the stranger's name.
Namjoon answers, “There is… a protected here. But I still fear for them. Yoongi and the others are angry - I wish to further keep them from harm.”
A frown twists your mouth. This Namjoon is here to protect someone from Yoongi. You wonder what this has to do with Dr. Kim. Could… Perhaps someone is using the wolves as tools? You’ve certainly seen a hunter train wolves or wolfhounds before, though it’s a dangerous business.
Dr. Kim sighs. “That is the only saving grace of you being here, I’m afraid. Seokjin and I cannot help you. Not without exposing ourselves. I’ve already done what I can.”
“You have my greatest thanks for that. You and yours will always be safe. And not just because of your blood.”
Shuffling makes you lean away from the door immediately. You slowly drop it back in place before crawling over to the desk and hiding under it, straining your hearing as the footsteps go into the back hall and out of the back door. You remain there long after you hear the back door shut, waiting just in case they’re still outside.
When you’re sure they’ve gone, you crawl out from underneath the desk and hurry into the hall and out the back door. The alley is empty when you stick your head out, sagging with relief. You hurry out and close the door behind you, spinning around and-
“You know, most people who don’t want to be seen don’t sneak around in a red cloak.”
The man - Namjoon - looms over you, looking down at you with an amused expression. Your scream is cut off when he winces and cups your mouth with his hand. “Well don’t scream! You’ll summon Giho and Seokjin back this way. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Namjoon waits for a moment, your chest heaving as you nod, signifying that you won’t scream for help. Maybe it’s silly, but you trust him not to hurt you. At the least, he is there to protect someone in the village, so he doesn’t seem like he’s there for nefarious reasons.
When he drops his hands, you press yourself against the door, trying to put a little distance between you. Namjoon’s presence is demanding, a tickle prickling at the base of your spine as you look up at him, mystified.
He’s so beautiful. Up close, you can make out his features far better than earlier that day. His eyes are dark and framed by beautiful, silken lashes. His nose is broad and his jaw is sharp. A dimple appears when he gives you a lopsided grin, dark eyes sizing you up.
The same sense of familiarity from earlier comes back to you, and though you’ve never seen his face before, you swear you know him. Warmth radiates from him, the delicate smell of pine and bergamot reaching you. He feels like… yours. Like some part of him completes you. It is the strangest feeling.
“You okay, Red?” he asks, tone earnest. You furrow your brows at the term and he grins - genuine and warm. “Your cloak. It’s a very bright red. Pretty, though.”
“Thank you?”
He raises a brow. “Are you asking me?”
“I’m… you’re awfully close.”
Namjoon takes a few steps back from you. You suddenly regret saying something as his warmth vanishes, replaced by the cool wind. “Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“Why didn’t you alert Dr. Kim if you knew I was snooping.”
“You don’t seem to be a threat. Plus, he’s a bit of a grouch. It didn’t seem worth it to hear him chastise a pretty girl.”
You flush. “How do you know the Kims?”
“Family friends.”
“What were you all talking about?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Just because I’m not chastising you for listening to our private conversation doesn’t mean I’m going to divulge the details of said private conversation.”
You divert your gaze, feeling flushed. He has a point, but if he’s put out by your line of questioning or your eavesdropping, he doesn’t show it. “Come on,” Namjoon says. “Let’s go back to the square. I need a drink and it’s dangerous to walk around right now.”
“Because of the wolves?”
He stares at you. “Because it’s dark and there are a bunch of strangers in your town, and you’re a woman alone. In the dark.”
“You’re a stranger in my town.”
His grin spreads and his dimple deepens. Your stomach flutters. You’re not unaffected by him, a little dizzy and nervous when he sticks out a hand. “Namjoon. I’m a part of the Kim family.”
“Like… Dr. Kim?” you ask, reaching out your hand and giving him your name.
“We’re related, in a way. Pretty name. I think I’ll stick with Red, though.”
Namjoon takes off walking. For a second, you just stand and stare at him. He shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn’t look back. You lick your lips, heart pounding. You cannot shake the sense of something peculiar about him, something familiar. He’s a Kim - perhaps you know him.
Determined to find out, you take off after him, scurrying to catch up. You fall into step with him and look up to find him smirking down at you before focusing back on the growing noise and lights of the main square.
“Have you been here before?” you ask, watching him from the corner of your eye. He shakes his head and you frown. “I feel like I know you.”
“Perhaps I have one of those faces?”
“No, I’d remember a face like yours.”
Namjoon turns to you, arching a brow. “A face like mine, huh?”
Multiple fire pits dot the streets, groups of people clustered around them to keep warm as the chill seeps back into the village. The inn is bustling with people, the door propped open with a chair as people walk in and out with platters of food and tankards in hand. Multiple villagers have pulled out tables and chairs from their homes, setting them up in the street.
It feels good. The air hums with euphoria and the promise of better days ahead, like suddenly there are not several families mourning their loved ones. The atmosphere reminds you of a festival, and you suppose it kind of is a festival.
The smell of burning fat and ale hits your nose as you walk into the inn. Voices roar over one another and the workers are busy behind the bar. A fireplace crackles in the far corner where you spot Hoseok guarding an extra chair.
“I fear this is where we part ways,” Namjoon announces over the din of voices. “Try not to do any more eavesdropping tonight.” You hesitate, wanting to protest. There are a million burning questions you have for him. He must see it in your face, because he smiles and says, “We’ll run into one another again. Don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
You were actually, and you know he knows by his smirk. “Goodnight, Red.”
You watch Namjoon go. He moves toward where the innkeeper stands at a podium looking over reservations, blending into the crowd. Just before he reaches the podium he glances over his shoulder at you, catching you watching. He shoots you a grin and you scowl, pivoting on your heel to charge toward Hoseok.
Hoseok raises his eyebrows when he sees you storm over to him and yank the chair out from the table, sitting down in a huff. Without a word, you snatch his tankard of ale and take several, cold gulps before setting it on the table, letting it wash through you.
“Who was that you came in with? And then stormed over here after speaking to?”
“Some relative of the Kims,” you mutter. “I find him very… frustrating.”
“He’s very handsome.”
You glare at Hoseok and see the beginning of a wicked smile. “And frustrating.”
He lifts his cup, shrugging. “Cheers to being frustrating.”
-
A scream wakes you up in the middle of the night. You lurch up from bed, head spinning as you try to gather your wits about you. Blankets tangle your limbs as you try to peel them from sweaty skin. Another scream makes you stumble out of bed, the world tilting on its axis as your body tries to catch up with your sudden lucidity.
In the main room of your home, your mother is stumbling through the kitchen too, lighting a candle and grabbing a holder. You feel relief as you realize the screaming isn’t coming from your home, but your neighbor’s.
Together, you and your mother rush out into the cold in nightgowns, not bothering with shoes or coats. The cold is bitter, immediately stinging your skin as the Liang family joins you in running to the Hutch family home where it sounds like Mrs. Hutch is screaming like a wild animal in her house.
“It’s Leanne,” your mother breathes, words turning to steam in the air.
“Come on,” you urge, pulling your mother as you go, driven by the shrieks.
The front door hangs open as Mr. Liang enters the home first, an ax in hand. It occurs to you that neither you nor your mother have weapons, but Mrs. Hutch has always been kind to your mother, making the both of you charge into the darkness of her home empty-handed.
A metallic tang hits you immediately. You recoil, recognizing the stench of blood immediately. Villagers spill into the home behind you, alerted to the wailing coming from the bedroom. With torches and candles in hand, you spot the red on the dark wood floor in the hallway.
Mr. Liang stands in the doorway of the bedroom, staring with a haunted gaze at what he sees there. Your mother pushes through the people in the home to look over his shoulder, her hand flying to her mouth as she gasps.
“Oh Leanne,” she murmurs in horror, shoving by Mr. Liang.
You don’t go to the room. The smell and the weeping coming from the bedroom give you an inkling of what lay inside. You stand in the living room as people fill the hall, gasping and murmuring. Someone shouts to wake the constable.
“Why?” Mrs. Hutch screams in her room, the despair in her voice rattling your bones. “Why?”
“His throat has been cut,” someone murmurs from the hall. “Murdered in bed.”
Murdered? That throws you for a loop. You had assumed somehow it was an animal attack but… you shiver. Murder is different.
Mr. Liang begins shooing people out of the house. You slink out into the cold and hurry to your own home, bare feet freezing in the cold, wet earth. Your mother stays with Mrs. Hutch, leaving you alone.
The dark presses in on you, every creak of a floorboard making you jump. The shadows seem menacing now and you’re quick to find and light a candle, orange light flooding the home.
Cloth and candle in hand, you return to your room to wipe the cold mud from your feet, skin still burning from the frigid air. Voices carry in from outside, the entire town waking and gathering as the shock of murder ripples through the streets, a stone in a pond.
With sleep nowhere near possible for the remainder of the night, you get dressed. You pull on thick woolen pants, a tunic, and multiple socks, sticking your feet in your boots. Your cloak goes next, fastening it around your throat as you look out your bedroom window.
Your home sits at an angle in a row of houses that circle the village like a ring. You can see the wall of the home next to you, and a sliver of the backyard as well. It’s that tiny space in the backyard that catches your eye, watching as someone moves from the edge of the home out of sight.
Heart in your throat, you grab a candle and run outside. The crowd in front of the Hutch’s has grown, but you ignore them, skirting around your house to the alleyway between you and your neighbor. Nothing catches your eye as you run to the backyard, swiveling as you search in the darkness for the shadow you saw.
The wind howls, drowning out the voices in the street. The treeline behind the houses is dark. You squint your eyes and lift the candle in your hand, the flame barely flickering as the wind makes the trees sway. There is nothing in the darkness and you begin to turn when you see a shadow in the tree line.
It’s barely there - perhaps a trick of the light, even. You take a step forward, boots crunching in the snow. A gust of wind makes your cloak snap at your ankles, candle going out and leaving you without a source of light. You had not realized how dark it was without it, the shadow vanishing from your line of sight.
Fear nestles in the pit of your stomach. Your breath gets stuck in your lungs as your limbs lock, realizing how stupid it was to come outside if there was a killer among the trees. Soft snow crunches somewhere close to you. You squeeze your eyes shut, tucking your chin to your chest as panic makes you shut down, unable to move and-
“Red.”
Namjoon’s voice makes you spin around. He holds a torch level with his head, the flame casting an eerie glow on his face. For a moment, he looks lupine and terrifying, your heart nearly stuttering to a halt.
Then his face twists in concern. “What are you doing out here alone?”
“What are you doing?”
“Dr. Kim sent me over to check on you. No one answered the door so I came around back.”
“Why?”
Namjoon seems confused. “Why did I come around back or why did he send me?”
“Both.”
“I could see the light of your candle and because a murder has just happened.”
You relax a little at the logic in his answer. Snow begins to fall from the sky. You look up at the moonless black, thick clouds floating as the bits of snow drift on the breeze. You shiver and look back to the trees, seeing nothing but tightly packed pines. Still, there is an instinctual sense of trepidation that sits heavy in your gut.
“Come on,” Namjoon says gently. “Let’s go inside. I’ll wait with you until your mother comes home.”
Reluctantly, you follow Namjoon. Eyeing him, you realize he is dressed differently than previously that night. Now, he’s in black breeches and a black linen shirt. The weapons belt is gone and he’s without a coat.
You frown. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“I run warm.”
It’s the only answer that he gives you as you walk back into the street which is filled with people and torches. In the distance, you hear the baying of hounds. It chills you, goosebumps exploding up and down your arms as you watch a cluster of firelights gather far off down the road.
“The constable is leading a manhunt. They’ll come to question us too.”
Wordlessly you gesture for Namjoon to join you inside of your home. He closes the door firmly behind you and strides to the fireplace, using the torch to coax the simmering logs to a full flame. Cedar pops as he adds the torch to the fire, orange embers drifting up the chimney.
Rubbing your hands together, you offer him tea and he accepts with a soft smile. It doesn’t meet his eyes as he looks around the only place you’ve ever called home. Suddenly shy of your less-than-luxurious surroundings, you clear your throat and gesture to one of the mismatched armchairs by the fire as you grab a kettle.
Namjoon hardly fits in the chair. You press your lips to keep from laughing, which feels inappropriate with a man dead just a few yards away. With careful hands, you hang the kettle next to the fire, the flame close enough to heat the water as you scurry back to the kitchen and fill tea bags with herbs.
“What kind of tea do you like?”
“Yarrow, if you have it.”
“I do.” You grab the jar, popping the top. “Are you in great pain, Mr. Kim?”
“Call me Namjoon. Mr. Kim feels far too formal.”
“Well, we are strangers, after all.”
Namjoon certainly doesn’t feel like a stranger. You cast him a sidelong glance as you say it, looking for his reaction. He turns his head from the fire, meeting your gaze head-on. His lips curve in a secret smile, making your nerves dance.
“I suppose that’s true.”
Is it? You wonder. You’re not so sure.
Instead of asking him, you bring the mugs with bags of tea over to where he sits, handing him one. Steam rises from the spout of the teapot. With a thick towel, you lift it off of the hanger. Namjoon holds out his cup and lets you pour carefully into his mug, the smell of yarrow and mint wafting toward you. After pouring your own cup, you set the kettle down and sit across from him.
Your cold hands leech the warmth from the mug. You settle comfortably in the chair, relaxing and inhaling the chamomile in your cup. After a few moments of silence, you realize how comfortable and safe you feel with Namjoon, though you’ve only known him for a few short hours.
“Why have you come to the village?”
Namjoon watches the fire as he answers, “You were eavesdropping at the veterinary office. I’m sure you heard me.” You look down at your steaming cup and Namjoon chuckles, raspy and deep. It’s a nice sound.
“You said there was a ‘protected’ here. And something about a Yoongi.”
Namjoon’s face darkens at the mention of Yoongi. You chew on your lip, worried you’ve pushed him too far before you’ve even started to ask him real questions. His jaw works as he contemplates what you’ve said, sipping the tea a little.
“A protected just means someone under protection by my family,” Namjoon says finally. “My extended family is… large. We are a very close group and we consider those in our community blood.”
“It is… not always like that here.”
“Your mother assists Mrs. Hutch, though. That seems like family, in a way.”
“Mrs. Hutch is kind. Not everyone is.”
Namjoon nods. “It is not like that where I am from. We bear the sins of our neighbors and we share the responsibility of keeping everyone safe.”
“That must be nice.” You sip your tea and scald your tongue, hissing and setting the cup down. Namjoon leans forward as though to help you, alarm on his face. “Tea is too hot. I don’t know how you drink it.”
He smiles and shrugs. “I run warm.”
“So you said. How are you related to Dr. Kim?”
“He’s my uncle. He’s my father’s brother. His wife was best friends with my mom.”
“Oh.” You blink in surprise. “She passed away when I was very young. She… died the same winter as my father.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Namjoon frowns and cocks his head. “What did your father do?”
“He was a hunter.”
One of the logs pops in the fireplace, making you flinch. You give a nervous laugh and glance at Namjoon, who has gone stone-still. The firelight dances on his face as he peers at you. Your smile falters a little at the gravity you find there.
“He only hunted fowl and deer,” you find yourself explaining. You don’t know why you say it, only that suddenly that feels important. “He didn’t like to hunt bigger game or predators. Mother says that he believed they were best left alone and that a true hunter knows his betters when he sees them.”
Namjoon hums. “Smart man.”
“I don’t know. He died in an animal attack when I was very young.”
“You must resent the woods.”
“Not at all. I think…” You bite your bottom lip, trying to find the right words. “I think that he wouldn’t blame the animals. The woods are their home. My mother says he was always very adamant about that. They don’t usually attack villagers, though.”
“Usually?”
“There are animal attacks happening. I’m sure Dr. Kim told you…?”
“Ah, yes. You think they’re without reason?”
“Perhaps hunger? I don’t know. It does not happen often.”
“Wolves are not known to hunt people.” Namjoon’s fingers drum against his mug, a steady tap. He seems thoughtful as he regards you. “They’re intelligent creatures and their packs are important to them. They take the threat to their land and their family seriously.”
“Like your family?”
He laughs. “Like my family.” Namjoon sips his tea again. “This land used to belong to several packs of wolves, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yes, until settlers drove them out. Not that long ago there were hunting parties for sport. They slaughtered entire packs, destroying bloodlines and nearly wiping out the wolves here entirely.”
“I always found that incredibly sad.”
“Why is that?”
“They’re incredibly important to the ecosystem here. And I guess I always agreed with my dad. I don’t remember him much, but I like to remember that he was good at heart.”
Namjoon hums but says nothing else. You sit in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Namjoon’s presence is steady, keeping out the cold and the fear just beyond the door. You wonder how he does that by just sitting in a chair, or how it feels so natural.
Outside, the world begins to turn gray. You yawn as exhaustion begins to set in and you feel yourself sagging. Eyes burning, you rub them with the back of your hands, blinking a few times to fight the explosion of colors in your vision.
“You can sleep,” Namjoon says softly from where he sits. You glance at him. “You can trust me.”
A hint of pine and bergamot drift toward you, making you drowsy. Namjoon grabs a blanket from the back of his chair and stands up, bringing it to you. He takes your mug and you watch him with sleepy, round eyes as he places the blanket over you.
“Sleep.” His voice is soft, distant. “I will be here.”
Your eyes flutter shut and you drift to sleep, remembering the warm sound of his voice. It… reminds you of your wolf.
-
Gentle voices pull you from the clutches of sleep. You wake slowly, a cramp in your neck making you reluctant to get up. You smell the fire and the hint of pine and bergamot. You hear a low, raspy voice that you instantly recognize as Namjoon.
How swiftly I know his voice, you think.
“You must wake her,” a male voice says. You recognize it as Dr. Kim. “The constable is coming for questioning.”
“She’s already awake,” Namjoon answers, a smile in his voice. Your eyes snap open at being caught, meeting his dark gaze as he smirks from near your door. “See?”
You scowl at him. How did he know that? Sitting up and stretching, you appraise the two men lurking near your door. “Is my mother still with Mrs. Hutch?”
Dr. Kim nods and steps swiftly into the room around Namjoon. Namjoon reaches out a hand, catching Dr. Kim with his arm and stopping him from entering the room properly. You watch in puzzlement as there’s a silent exchange between the two of them, Namjoon’s face dark as Dr. Kim raises a brow.
Then, Namjoon lets him go. You cock your head to the side, wondering what that’s about. Ignoring Namjoon, Dr. Kim approaches and says, “The constable will be here shortly. Say nothing about the farm.”
The farm. The memory of the wolves brings a chill to your arm, the smell of smoke and burning oil. The confusion and Dr. Kim’s refusal to answer your questions.
“What is going on?” you demand, eyes flickering from Dr. Kim to Namjoon. “Animal attacks, murders, you covering up something at the barn. I’m being lied to.”
“Say nothing about the farm,” Dr. Kim says again, voice firm. Namjoon makes a noise that startles you. It’s almost like a growl, your eyes going wide as he glares at Dr. Kim. “I told you this village has a complicated history. I’m looking after your safety.”
Heavy footsteps sound on the porch. There’s a loud knock on the door, the constable announcing his presence on the other side. Namjoon opens the door for him, standing back to let him in. The constable looks him up and down with confusion before looking at you, a question in his eyes.
“They came to check on me,” you offer. The constable has known you since you were a child, it’s no wonder he’s confused at the presence of a stranger in your home. “How can I help you, constable?”
“I’d like you to answer a few questions about last night. Mr. Liang confirmed you were one of the first people to Hutch’s last night.”
Dr. Kim walks to your kitchen and busies himself making tea. Namjoon moves to sit in the chair across from you, his warm presence from the night before replaced with something mildly threatening. You cut him a look but his dark eyes are focused on the constable as though he’s a threat.
The questions are easy enough. When did you wake up? Did you notice anyone around your home when you came home? Did you notice anyone outside? When did you come home?
You leave out running into Namjoon behind your home. You don’t know why, but you feel the need to not draw attention to him. You also leave out the strange incident at the farm, glancing sideways at Dr. Kim when he brings you lemon tea.
When the constable is finished, he eyes Dr. Kim. “Be at the station at four,” he instructs. “We’re splitting hunting parties. One to look for the culprit, the other to get rid of the damn wolves.”
“The wolves were there first, you know?” Namjoon speaks up, looking at you and not the constable. “Have you ever tried figuring out what they want?”
“And who the hell are you?”
“Please ignore my nephew, constable. He likes to insert himself in conversations he doesn’t belong in. Come, let’s look over the hounds before you send them out tonight.”
Together, the constable and Dr. Kim shuffle out. Before he shuts the door, Dr. Kim levels the pair of you with a heavy gaze. You don’t know what that gaze means, but you know that something is going on in this village and that he and Namjoon seem to have some idea about it.
As soon as the door shuts, you turn to Namjoon and demand, “What is going on?”
He sighs. “Would you listen if I just said to wait it out?”
“Do you know who murdered Mr. Hatch?”
Namjoon hesitates and shakes his head. You narrow your eyes, unbelieving. “I really don’t know who did, Red.”
“Why are you really here? Why all the secrets?”
“I told you, my family protects those who belong to their community.”
“What did you mean about asking what the wolves want?”
“I told you last night. There were wolves long before this village existed. Seems to me that if the wolves are suddenly killing the townspeople, perhaps it’s because they want their land back. Or maybe they’re angry from years of being hunted.”
That shuts you up. You can’t argue with that, exactly. But… “Are you saying that the wolves are capable of revenge?”
Namjoon stands and gestures to your cloak. “How often do you wear that?”
“Every day. It’s… sentimental to me.”
His eyes lighten and he offers a half smile. “Good. Red is a lucky color.”
“Where are you going?”
He opens the door, cold wind hissing past the opening. “Your mom is coming. I’ll see you later, Red.”
Without another word, Namjoon slips through the door and shuts it firmly behind him. You stare after him, openmouthed and confused. As promised, you hear your mother come up the steps, light feet scuffing before she quickly lets herself in, shutting the door firmly behind her.
You offer to make your mother breakfast, happy to help as she dozes in the chair. It isn’t until later that you wonder how Namjoon had heard her coming at all.
-
Little Lucy Larkin
In a little wood
Little Lucy Larkin
Up to no good
Little Lucy Larkin
In her little hood
Little Lucy Larkin
Ware of the woods!
Little Lucy Larkin
Stole a little bread
Little Lucy Larkin
In the woods of dread
Little Lucy Larkin
Is a little thief
Little Lucy Larkin
Die by wolf’s teeth
A sense of unease slithers up your spine as you pull your cloak closer. The voice of the children playing the Little Lucy Game echoes down the street and you pause to watch as the little boy playing Lucy steals the rock from the middle of the circle and the little boy playing the wolf gets up to chase him.
The other kids scream and giggle as the boys give chase, the sound of their laughter eerie in the cold gray of twilight. Shaking it off, you turn and duck your head as you walk up the steps to the Tall Tales Inn.
Warmth and the scent of food greet you. It’s a thinner crowd than the day before but still more people than you’re used to without the traders in town. There is a clear divide in the dining room with traders on one side and townsfolk on the other, the murder quick to make the locals distrust the new people in their streets.
Tense conversations hum in the gold light. You navigate around tables until you find Hoseok sitting with Seokjin. The sight of Seokjin gives you pause. He seems to sense your presence, glancing up and meeting your questioning stare. He gives no reaction, though, turning his attention back to Hoseok who is murmuring quietly.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Jin,” you say by way of greeting. Hoseok gives you a look at your clipped tone. You ignore it, sitting down and leveling the older man with a stare, his father’s mysteriousness weighing on you. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
He narrows his eyes a fraction. “Just enjoying the company of friends.”
“Shouldn’t you be helping the constable?”
“I’m on the late-night shift.”
Grinding your teeth, you sit roughly. Hoseok just watches you, brows raised. You say nothing as you order a drink and a meal, picking at the splinters of the tabletop, eyeing Seokjin. If he’s put out by your rudeness he doesn’t show it, drinking heartily from his tankard and watching you with dark, even eyes.
You know Seokjin knows whatever it is his father and Namjoon have been talking about. You yourself have not been able to work out what’s going on in the village, but you’re sure the Kims know. And if Dr. Kim asked you to lie to the constable… well perhaps Seokjin is leading him astray as well.
Hoseok pipes up, steering the conversation everywhere he can to avoid the tension building between you and Seokjin and the topics of murders. You participate as little as possible, mind trying to put together the puzzle pieces of the blooming mystery in your home.
An uncomfortable thought starts to take root in your mind. Is it possible that the Kim family is behind the murders? Dr. Kim has plenty of weapons at his disposal, and they had been talking about revenge, and Dr. Kim had covered up what happened at the Marrow’s farm… but what did that have to do with wolves?
You’re not sure. But you do know that the Kims are purposefully hiding things, that there is a murderer somewhere in the town or near it, and that there is a sense of doom that you cannot shake, a dark itch like stinging nettle in your bones.
Seokjin excuses himself to take an afternoon nap before his hunting party heads out for the evening. Your eyes track him as he goes. Seokjin certainly doesn’t seem evil, but there’s no telling what’s behind his pretty face.
“What is wrong with you?” Hoseok asks, leaning over the table and whispering harshly. “You’re behaving rather odd.”
“Something is going on.”
“Yes, your attitude.”
You turn and glare at him. “No, Hobi. Something is going on with the Kim family. I don’t know how to explain it.” You grip your cup tighter. “But I intend to figure it out.”
Hoseok questions you about what that means. You keep your answers vague, not wanting to rope him into your plan. Too often as children did you lure Hoseok into trouble, and with how dangerous night is becoming in your town, you know it’s a bad idea to endanger him too.
T sun sets over the village. You stand at your bedroom window, watching through the frosty window as the sun turns the sky into a smear of blood. The clouds have cleared away just for this sanguine sunset. It makes your stomach turn, a sense of foreboding heavy in the air.
Still, it doesn’t deter you. Red fades to gray-blue and gray-blue fades to black. Wind rattles the glass in the window pane. Turning from the window, you find your thickest pair of pants and fur-lined tunic. The fabric feels scratchy on your skin.
Dressed, you look at your red cloak folded on the bed. Any other night you would take it with you. It has become your safety net, something that keeps you warm and keeps you safe. You cannot recall a day you haven’t worn it since it mysteriously showed up thirteen years ago, but tonight, you need obscurity.
Instead, you reach for an old, thick cloak that used to belong to your father. It's dark brown and worn at the edges, a little too big for you as the hem brushes the ground. It will serve its purpose in keeping you hidden in the dark of the woods, though.
All you grab is a hunting knife that you don’t know how to use, a wax candle, and a solid piece of flint and sharp rock to light it with. The candle and flint are for emergencies only. You hope it won’t be so dark that you cannot see, but you’re unsure what the clouds are going to do.
Outside, the wind is sharp. Your nostrils burn as you breathe it in and duck away behind your house. No new snow has fallen during the day, which is a good thing. You don’t have to worry about dragging your boots and tiring your calves. It also helps that the sky is clear tonight, the moon a sliver of sharp light.
Baying hounds echo through the village and the forest as the hunting dogs lead the men into the woods. You’re quick on your feet, dashing into the woods and heading north. You don’t want to run right into the hunting party, but you do want to find their burning torches and keep them in your line of sight.
They are easy to find, hovering like orange fireflies in the distance. Careful to make your way in the dark, you follow them. Your breath mists in front of you, hands shaking more from the adrenaline than the cold.
The torches spread out. You chew on your lip, unsure which group would belong to Seokjin. You take a gamble, heading after the group closest to you.
Everything feels too loud. Each snap of a branch under your foot and crunch of dry leaves feels like it’s going to give you away. Still, you’re good at sneaking for the most part, having spent plenty of time skulking through the village to take nightly strolls in the woods.
Voices carry to you. Through a system of running a few steps forward and dodging behind a tree, you manage to follow the men at a distance. You think that you hear the constable’s voice, which is a good sign. If he’s around, perhaps Seokjin is too.
The deeper you go into the forest, the colder it gets. The ground beneath your feet slopes. The evergreens are packed tighter here, needles tickling your hands as you keep your hands held out from your sides as you slide downward.
This is near where I saved that wolf, you think.
It’s true. You recognize the slope of the land and the general area. You cannot tell if it’s exactly where you met the wolf, but it’s close enough that your senses tingle and your eyes sweep the land, expecting something to happen.
A sense of foreboding trails you as the men move deeper into the wood. You turn around and look for the other torches and see nothing but a dark, compact forest. Your stomach flips uncomfortably but you continue, unsure now if it’s safer to turn back or to keep going.
Ahead, the group of men decide to take a break. The hounds sniff the area around them, pulling at the leashes as they go. Crouching low, you watch as the hounds go in circles, following the scent of something that seems to confuse them.
The men take long droughts of water, making you wish you’d thought of that. Mouth dry and hands cold, you huddle against a tree, bark digging into your back.
A few minutes pace by. You close your eyes, resting your head against the tree, breathing cold air in deeply. You don’t know what you expect the group to lead you to, only that you-
Something snaps behind you. Your eyes fly open and your limbs lock. Heart beating like a steady drum, you hold your breath and strain your eyes. For a moment, there’s nothing but the dim voices of the men taking a break. You think it’s nothing until you hear something again, a gentle susurration of leaves.
One of the hounds lifts its head, ears twitching. Your eyes scan the surrounding area back and forth, searching for what you know is there.
It happens so fast that you don’t even see the wolves enter the ring of torchlight until they’re there, snarls rattling the trees. You clamp your hands over your mouth to mute your gasp as the sounds of screams and tearing flesh explode in the night. Hounds screech, their growls savage and choked as the wolves descend.
You don’t know how many there are. Torch lights go down and drown you in darkness. Squeezing your eyes shut, you curl in on yourself, panting through your hands as the sounds echo in your ears. A new fear has stabbed its way between your ribs, making it hard to breathe.
Time moves slowly. Or quickly. You cannot tell which. One moment the sounds of a nightmare turned real are just a few hundred yards away. The next, an eerie silence blankets the dark forest.
You don’t want to open your eyes, but you have to. Very slowly, you crack an eye open. At first, there’s nothing. Your vision swims with flashing colors, your eyes trying to adjust. Then, there is the vague outline of trees. Ahead of you, where the men had been, lay shadowed piles.
Shaking, you glance around. You see nothing - hear nothing. You stand slowly. Each inch you gain feels like you’re being too loud. Sweat gathers on the back of your neck. The cool air makes it feel like an icy finger brushing down your nape.
When you’re sure that there’s nothing else around, you take a step toward where the attack happened. Leaves crunch beneath your feet. You stop breathing, waiting for signs of anything. Nothing happens and you let out a trembling breath, taking one more step. Again, you wait to see if your footfalls will trigger something.
You repeat this to the edge of the slaughter - for that’s what it is. A slaughter. Bile rises in your throat as you reach the first body and stamped-out torch. The constable and his hound lay in tatters, only recognizable by the batch on his cloak.
It is carnage. You don’t dare breathe through your nose for fear of breathing in the scent of death, circling the scene with weak knees, hand pressed to your mouth to keep in the whimpers. You see the faces of men you’ve known since you were a child. Ripped, bloodied, gored.
Finally, you lean over and empty the contents of your stomach. It burns on the way up, choking you. Pressing a hand against a tree, you breathe raggedly. The adrenaline coursing through you makes you twitchy and unstable, each nerve feeling like it’s on fire.
Leaves crunch a few feet away. Your head snaps in and you zero in on the source of the noise, mouth hanging open when you see Seokjin standing amongst the trees. He stares at you, frown on his face.
“Who are you?” he asks, voice gentle. You realize he can’t see your face under the cowl of your hood and you’re not in your traditional red. He sighs. “Doesn’t matter.”
You hear shuffling behind him before you see a white wolf. The white wolf from the Marrow farm. There are others, then. You don’t know how you missed them, the darkness of their fur blending in with the darkness around them.
The white one is spotted in red, muzzle matted, teeth slicked. Your stomach lurches. It isn’t hard to guess where it’s from. You take a step back and the wolf growls, lips pulled back. You freeze, looking amongst the pack of wolves that fan out around Seokjin, desperately looking for your wolf with the kind, intelligent eyes.
You do not find him there.
With a growl, the white wolf steps forward. Your instincts kick in and you turn and run, letting out a wild shriek as you do so. If Seokjin recognizes your voice when you scream, you cannot tell. The wolves are after you and you’re barreling through the trees with no hope of outrunning them, especially uphill.
A wolf nips at your ankle and you scream, tripping over your feet in your terror and going down hard. You’re jarred as you hit the ground, bones rattling as pain shoots up your limbs from the impact. Before you can scramble, there are teeth around your ankle, not biting down hard enough to snap, but hard enough to drag.
Your scream is wretched even to your ears. It is a curdling, nightmarish sound. You feel the scrape of leaves and sticks against your skin, cloak picking up dirt and twigs as you go. Your nails dig into the ground but the soil is frozen solid, fingers scraping bluntly against it.
With a surge of self-preservation, you kick your free leg backward as hard as you can. You hit the wolf in the muzzle, making it cry, and let go of your foot. You manage to crawl to your knees, slipping in the foliage as you try to stand before it’s tearing at your cloak, determined to drag you one way or another.
Sliding again as it drags you by the cloak, you try to undo the ties at your throat with shaking fingers. It comes away and frees you from the hellish drag to your death. This time, you’re faster to your feet, turning and running in the opposite direction. You don’t know where you’re going, just that you want to get away.
Your foot slides on the incline and with a shout you go down. This time, your head hits the ground hard. Your ears ring and your vision pulses. Blinking, you roll over and stare up at the canopy of dark trees. The world spins dangerously and you feel nausea churn deep in your stomach.
“Yoongi!” you hear the deep voice but it sounds warbled like you’re hearing it through water. Your head lolls to the side, the ringing in your ears still going as you see feet pass you. “Enough!”
Your field of vision narrows to a sharp point, edges pulling with black. You realize you’re about to pass out, oddly just thankful that you’re already on the ground. Just as your world begins to face, the face of the person in front of you appears.
Namjoon.
-
“Hey,” a gentle voice calls to you. There are soft hands on your head, brushing against your forehead. It smells like pine and bergamot as you snuggle into them. “I hate to wake you, but you need to wake up every few hours.”
The memory of the wolves comes to you. Your eyes snap open and you blink a few times before your vision adjusts to see Namjoon leaning over you. Cringing away from him, you press yourself into a warm, soft mattress that isn’t your own.
“Easy,” he cautions, holding his hands up. “You smacked your head very hard. I think you have a concussion.”
“Where am I?”
The room isn’t so much a room as it is a shack. There is a single fireplace in the far corner, a pile of logs, and the bed that you’re in. Despite the tiny space, it looks well-built and it’s warm, your heart slowing down as Namjoon leans to sit further from you and give you your space.
“Random shack in the woods near your village. I think it used to be a hunter’s stead for the winter.” He jerks his thumb toward the fireplace. “Hasn’t been used in a while. The wood has rotted.”
“Seokjin - you - what is going on?”
Emotions spill out of you like a broken dam. You don’t know which to acknowledge first: anger, fear, curiosity, gratitude.
Namjoon’s sigh is heavy. He visibly looks wearing, running a hand through his hair. You wonder how soft his hair is, followed immediately by feeling ridiculous for the timing of said thought.
“Just…” he winces. “Try to lean back and take it easy, I’m worried about how hard you hit your head. I promise I have no intentions of hurting you or letting anyone hurt me.”
“You called that white wolf Yoongi. Who is Yoongi? Why was Seokjin in the woods - those people - they’re dead.”
He nods slowly. “They are.”
You lean back carefully. The bed is comfortable and Namjoon keeps his distance, worried eyes on you. “I will try to explain the best I can. It will require a little bit of faith that I’m not lying to you and that I’m not insulting your intelligence by telling you things that will sound insane.”
“Like what?”
“Like werewolves exist.”
You stare at him. He doesn’t laugh, crack a grin, or do anything to make you believe he’s joking. Your first instinct is to blow him off. Werewolves were a tale for children and a way to help the children of the village cope during periods of wolf violence.
Thus far, all Namjoon has done is protect you. Strange as it seems, you know that fact to be true. He didn’t tell Dr. Jim you were eavesdropping, he kept you company after Mr. Hatch’s murder, and he stopped the wolves from taking you.
Namjoon is… there is something between you. You know it.
Hesitantly, you say, “Alright. Werewolves exist. Keep going.”
He is visibly relieved that you’re not questioning or berating him. You don’t exactly believe him yet, but you want to hear his story.
“There were communities of werewolves who lived here long before humans did. When people migrated to this area, they drove them out and forced those communities to become smaller and smaller. When the werewolves asked for their land back or to share resources, they were hunted and slaughtered.”
Namjoon’s throat bobs and emotions flicker across his face. His features settle on pain, and you stop yourself from reaching out to take his hand. “What you vaguely remember as wolf attacks and wolf hunts as a child was those families being exterminated. There are a few families in the village who remember that werewolves exist. They took it upon themselves to remove the problem forever.”
This village has a complicated history.
Dr. Kim’s words float through your mind as you chew on what Namjoon has told you. He lets the information settle, giving you a few moments to think. You don’t recall anyone seriously ever talking about werewolves but…
“They’re angry,” you murmur, remembering how San described the massacre at the Mathesons. “The wolves now - those aren’t wolves. They’re werewolves who are getting revenge. You spoke of revenge with Dr. Kim. Is that why the animal attacks have been happening?”
Namjoon nods grimly. “There is a very small concentration of people in the village who keep the secret about the massacres and the knowledge of werewolves. Those families have been… targeted recently. They still hunt werewolves when they can.”
“Who is Yoongi?”
“Ah,” he lets out a humorless laugh. “He leads the last remaining community of werewolves. His family was murdered by your constable when he was a child.” You blanch. “Yoongi is angry, vengeful, and very influential. When he was voted pack alpha, he decided to eliminate the last remaining threats.”
“He’s the white wolf.” Namjoon raises his brows but nods. You think that makes sense, remembering the white wolf at the Marrow farm and the one who dragged you in the forest. “Why was Seokjin there? Did he lead the constable to-”
Namjoon hesitates and nods. “The Kim family are wolf friends. It’s largely the reason Dr. Kim is a veterinarian. They’re what we call one foot in the forest. There were two others in your village that were wolf friends. Your neighbor was one.”
You twist your fingers in the blanket. “Did Yoongi-”
“No. I believe he was murdered by one of the men who knows what Yoongi and his people are.”
“So that’s why Seokjin led them to Yoongi?” Namjoon gives a curt nod. “This is…. A lot to take in.”
“It is. Sleep a little more and we’ll talk about it more when you wake up. Your head is already swimming enough, yeah?”
Namjoon’s grin is gentle and you shoot one back. “Do you promise to tell me why you’re really here? And why it feels like I know you?”
“Of course. Sleep, Red.”
-
Namjoon wakes you again a few hours later. This time, it’s with water. It’s cool and fresh, soothing your aching head and waking up your sleepy senses. He lets you drain the entire thing, sitting thoughtfully at the end of your bed.
This time, you feel more alert. Sitting up carefully, you cross your legs and examine him. He’s dressed in simple clothes and a jacket, the fireplace throwing an orange glow on his face. Again, you’re struck with how much you could swear you know him, like his eyes are something you know and love.
He waits for you to get settled, placing your hands in your lap. You fiddle with the edge of your tunic, drinking him in. Strong shoulders, rough hands, tawny skin. Your heart does a flip before you shove away thoughts of how pretty he is to think about what he’s told you so far.
“I have questions.”
He smiles and it’s as warm as the fire behind him. “Of course you do.”
“Did the werewolves kill my father?”
You get the tough one out of the way first. It was a thought you had just before you slept, wondering if your father had been someone who helped the constable murder Yoongi’s family. Though you have decided to dislike the white wolf very strongly, you can’t help but pity him.
“No,” Namjoon says vehemently. “After you told me about your father, I did some asking around. He was a wolf friend. That’s why he didn’t hunt big game, Red. He knew about us.”
A tight feeling works its way up your throat. The relief and anger you feel is a double-edged sword, happy that he didn’t contribute to the displacement Namjoon is speaking of and angry that you know with every bone in your body that he was murdered. The instinct speaks to you the same way it tells you that you know Namjoon.
You look up at him sharply, realizing something. “What do you mean ‘he knew about us’? Us?”
Namjoon’s eyes are dark. He regards you intensely, making you shiver. Slowly, Namjoon begins to roll one of his sleeves. Your eyes drop to his hand as he does, long fingers meticulous. He bares his skin and holds his hand out to you, displaying the jagged, white scar that lopes around his wrist.
Without thinking twice, you reach out to him, pulling his hand toward you. His skin is warm, sending a tingle through your fingertips. His palm is large and rough, your fingers delicate as you flip it to face the ceiling, eyes glued to the scarring around his wrist.
You move your fingers over his palm gently, scraping the calluses as you go. He lets you do what you want, touch stopping at his wrist bone before glancing up at him. His eyes are impossibly dark and he nods, urging you forward.
The scarring is rough. Thick, ropey lines encircle his wrist like his hand was ravished by teeth. It makes you faintly think of Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle or -
“You,” you breathe, eyes meeting his. They are the same warm, intelligent, and welcoming eyes of the wolf you’d saved all those years ago. The wolf who had stood between you and the others at the Marrow farm. The wolf you dream about every night. “I saved you?”
His throat bobs. “You did.”
“I… that’s why it feels like I know you.” Your fingers trace his scar, almost fondly. Namjoon’s eyes flutter. “I do know you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He smirks. “‘Hi, my name is Namjoon and I can turn into a wolf whenever I want and you saved me a few years ago and I’ve been thinking about you ever since’ is not exactly a great opening.”
“Better than ‘you know most people who don’t want to be seen don’t wear a red cloak’.” He scrunches his nose. Cute. “I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s alright. I’ll talk if you’re willing to listen?”
You nod, not letting go of his hand. Now that you know who and what he is, any residual fear is gone. You scoot toward him, wanting to be closer. “I want to know.”
“Giho is my uncle like I said. He’s not a werewolf, though. That trait passed through my mom’s side of the family. Still, he was family and he knew about the werewolves that my father married into. He's a wolf friend and does what he can to help us, including making house calls and stealing us goods in harsh winters.”
“Huh. I always just thought he was a quiet, grumpy vet.”
“He is very much that, but he has also been a lifeline. He helps Yoongi far more than he should. It puts him in danger. His wife was killed for being a wolf friend. Giho was left alone simply because he is useful to the village.” Your fingers squeeze his hand at the hurt in his voice. “That night you found me… I was pretty young then. Fourteen, to be exact. I was nosing around the village that everyone was so afraid of and never saw the trap. I cannot emphasize how much you saved my life.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do. I was afraid but you were… hurt. And your eyes were so kind. I don’t regret it.”
“What a relief.” You smile, genuinely happy. “I was worried you might after finding out my family were sort of… killing people.”
“When you put it that way,” you wince. “But I do believe you. That humans drove you out. That people are hurting you and your people. You don’t deserve it and I… don’t think I am in a position to offer moral arguments to what you’re doing.”
“I knew I liked you.”
“You barely know me.”
Namjoon turns his hand and catches yours, lacing your fingers. Your heart skitters as he pulls you a little close and leans, eyes narrowed playfully. “Hmm, sorry. I wasn’t really allowed to come hang out around your town, Little Red.”
“Why did you finally come? Is it to help Yoongi?”
He shakes his head. “I only have one goal.”
“Which is?”
“To keep you safe.” That quiets you. Namjoon doesn’t meet your eyes when he continues, “You showed me such kindness, I just wanted to repay you. I liked to keep an eye on you when I could, always from a safe distance. You might not know me, but I grew up knowing you.”
Your mouth goes dry at his words. For someone who poses such a threat, Namjoon is gentle. Soft. Kind. You swallow past the lump in your throat. “Did you give me the red cloak?”
“Yeah. It was to mark you as a friend. We give them to those who are under our protection.” He narrows his eyes. “Which is why Yoongi swears he didn’t know it was you in the woods tonight. Seokjin’s eyesight is too piss poor to realize it was you. Idiots.”
“Well if you know about me, tell me about you. What’s your favorite color? What do you like to eat? What's your favorite thing about being a wolf?”
So Namjoon does tell you. You both end up sitting on the bed next to one another, arms touching as he traces the lines on your palm. Your backs are pressed against the wall, feet dangling off the edge of his bed as he tells you about his childhood.
It is fascinating hearing about the dynamics of his community but it’s also sad. Hearing how they live in fear, hearing how so many of the people he knows are gone. Realizing that the things he tells you match up with things you realize about your own community.
Sadness sinks to the bottom of your gut like a rock. It isn’t pity that you feel, but something far more profound. It’s regret that you didn’t know any better. Frustration that he has suffered. A radical feeling of anger and desire for justice knowing you lived in comfort while Namjoon and his family suffered.
There are good parts, too. Namjoon recalls happy moments and blushes when he recalls seeing you a few times. It doesn’t feel weird or strange, knowing someone was looking out for you. It feels comforting, like old friends catching up.
Namjoon’s eyes sparkle as he tells you about his favorite books. You don’t know when you stop listening to him and start staring, but it’s inevitable. You love the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, dimple making an appearance as he recalls a story about putting Yoongi in the dirt with his brother, Taehyung’s help. You love the way he gestures wildly with his hands, every word evocative and enthusiastic.
He’s the kind of person you would have been friends with had he grown up with you. And maybe a little more, you think, watching Namjoon watch you. His gaze is even and heated, making you squirm. His mouth twitches and you’re so sure that he knows he makes you nervous.
“I never thanked you,” you mention. He hums in question, letting you go back to tracing his scare delicately. He twitches and you grin. Good. “For saving me from the jaws of Yoongi.”
“Ah, that. I think he knew it was you. There’s a reason he dragged you instead of killing you on the spot.”
“Huh. Well, that’s very rude.”
“He’s good at that.”
“You sound fond, still.”
He nods. “I love Yoongi. Is my brother, in a way.”
“Well still. Thank you.”
You look up at Namjoon. You’re sitting so close, shoulders pressed against one another. He smells like pine and bergamot, your favorite scent. It’s heady, awakening a foreign ache in you. Your heart speeds up as you lean into him just a little more, watching him through your lashes.”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he rumbles, voice deep.
Your toes curl. “Like what?”
“LIke you wanna do more than just thank me.”
“Maybe I do.”
“I know.”
Ah. You start to pull away and turn your head, realizing that he’s not interested, but Namjoon catches your chin with his other hand, tilting you back toward him. Your heart stalls when he looks down at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. “I’ve known you for all my life. Not how I wanted, but I’ve known you nonetheless. But you haven’t had the chance to know me.”
“I want to. I feel like I have known you. Like I knew you were always there.”
“Is this what you want?”
This. Namjoon. Whatever is crackling between you. The thing that has sparked since the moment he caught you eavesdropping. It doesn’t matter that it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t have to make sense.
Namjoon makes sense though. The way his gaze softens when he sees you. The way he looms on the edge of your life, a silent protector. The way he could do so much damage but is soft instead. The way everything about him feels like the sun on a summer day, like a field of wildflowers in spring.
He must sense you tipping over the edge. His grip on your chin becomes firm and he tilts your face toward him, leaning down to press his warm, full mouth against yours. The effect is instantaneous. You melt into him, sighing as a feeling of belonging slots into place.
The kiss is chaste. Namjoon pulls away and your lashes flutter. You hadn’t even realized your eyes closed. His gaze is dark and half-lidded, his face close enough that you feel his breath. His lips have stoked a fire in you and you want more, you want to spill out the years of longing for something you didn’t know was there, for the sudden confirmation that he’d been there all along.
Surging forward, you press your lips to his again. This time, it’s searing, your mouth fierce as you push up off of the bed. Namjoon falls in your rhythm easily, hand leaving your chin to grab you by the waist and pull you into his lap.
Knees slotted on either side of him, you pour everything you have into the kiss. Your fingers card through his thick hair, silky strands sliding between them like you knew they would. His lips are soft on yours, mouth warm as you break the seal of the kiss with your tongue.
Namjoon lets out deep, throaty sounds. It coaxes the flame inside of you to a roar, tongue tangling with his. It’s wet and messy and a little impractical but you don’t feel embarrassed or nervous. It’s Namjoon. It feels like home.
Pleasure tingles down your spine. Namjoon grips your hips, fingers digging into your flesh. It feels hot and your skin is burning up, static trapped between your chests where they’re pressed together. Your hips twitch, tentatively seeking friction in his lap. Namjoon responds immediately, pulling your hips toward him and letting you roll.
Your mouths part but Namjoon doesn’t stop kissing you. You pant while he presses his mouth to your chin and jawline, tongue tough against the softness of your skin. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he growls. You tilt your head back, letting him pepper your throat. “You have no idea.”
“I always felt like something was missing. I think it was you.”
Namjoon moans at your admission. The heat between your legs is almost painful. One of Namjoon’s hands goes from your waist to between your legs, cupping you. You gasp back bowing as he presses firmly, deft fingers providing mind-numbing pleasure.
“That feels good.” You fist the collar of his shirt and squeeze your eyes. You feel tense, color exploding behind your closed lids. “Don’t stop.”
“Whatever you want,” he whispers. He pulls you in close, fingers curling. Your hips buck and you realize it isn't enough. You need the barrier of clothes gone. You want it more than anything. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
“Yes.”
You do know. It’s second nature. You knew even that day in the street when you’d first seen him. Just like Namjoon knows what you want and need, land leaving the apex of your thighs to help you off his lap and onto the bed under him.
There’s a confidence in his movements that makes the room spin. Long forgotten are the wolf attacks and Yoongi’s teeth around your ankle. Here, it’s only the rasp of your pants against your skin as Namjoon pulls them down. It’s only the heat of his skis as you yank on his tunic, desperate to feel him.
Namjoon does run hot. His skin is burning up as your hands explore his firm chest. He captures your lips again, sucking your bottom lip in his mouth as he spreads your legs open with a knee. You shake under his touch, equal parts eager and stimulated.
He’s so, so gentle as he caresses your inner thigh. When he brings his fingers to your sticky center, you let out a pitiful whine. Namjoon pauses, fingers pressed to your swollen kiss as he laughs and breaks the kiss, forehead pressed against yours.
“Don’t laugh at me,” you pout, leaning your head up to bite his chin. “It feels good.”
He gives you a quick kiss. Once. Twice. “Good. I want to make you feel good.”
Namjoon circles his middle finger lazily around your clit. Your feet press into the bed, hips pulling up off the sheets. It feels amazing, pleasure sparking in your stomach. “That,” you gasp. “I like that.”
He dips his head down, attaching his mouth to your neck as he teases your cunt. You don’t have to say anything else, Namjoon’s inquisitive fingers learning what makes you squirm and sigh. You’re a mess beneath him, chest heavy, beats of sweat making your shirt cling to you.
You claw at it, pulling it away from you. Namjoon leans up and lets you take it off, eyes dipping as he smiles appreciatively. He combines the efforts of his fingers with his mouth, bending low to catch a pert nipple with his teeth.
“Shit!” you squeak, making him chuckle again.
His fingers circle your clenching hole, pussy leaking onto his fingers. He presses a finger in and you let out a long, quiet whine. The feeling of his finger pressing against your walls is perfect, your cunt clenching as he shallowing thrusts the finger.
Everything he does is perfect. He sucks at your nipple hungrily as he fingers you slowly, making sure to press up inside your cunt in a way that has you seeing stars. Your fingers tangle in his hair, unable to think about anything except his teeth scraping your sensitive bud and your pussy clenching around his finger.
Namjoon is attentive. The heel of his hand presses to your clit and he eases another finger in, slower than the last. He looks up at you, mouth slick with spit to watch your mouth fall open. You nod, urging him further, sound stuck in your throat.
The wet squelch between your legs as he fucks you with his fingers is obscene. You like it though, driven by the fact that it’s Namjoon doing it. Namjoon who you saved. Namjoon who watched over you.
You open your eyes and look up at him, cradling his face in your hands. His forehead is damp with sweat from the heat building in the little shack. His skin is flushed and his hair hangs in his face. You pull at his bottom lip with your thumb and he gazes at you, hungry and wild, pupils blown.
Greedy, you pull him to you. The kiss is more teeth than lips, the two of you panting. Your leg hooks around his waist and you nibble his bottom lip, hips rolling to meet his thrusts, an orgasm starting its ascent.
“I want you,” you breathe against his mouth. Your lips are sore from arduous kissing. “Please.”
He kisses you. “Okay.”
It’s that simple. You ask for it and he gives it to you.
Namjoon retracts his fingers from your cunt. You feel the sudden loss, fidgeting as you wait. He makes quick work of his pants, kneeling on the bed and bringing his hands covered in your juice to pump his cock. You feel your eyes bulge at his thick length.
He notices and grins, slowing his movements. You watch as his hand smears precum down his shaft, twisting lightly as he gets to the top, his thumb brushing over his dark tip. “You can take it,” he pants, grinning wolfishly. “I know you can.”
Instead of answering, you nod, lifting your hips eagerly. He hums, pleased as he lets go, cock bobbing heavily while he shuffles over and leans over you. He places his hands on either side of your head, arms flexing as he holds his weight to bend down and steal a quick kiss.
You kiss back feverishly, one hand traveling between your sweaty bodies to grip his length, trying to stroke him the way he did. He sighs, breaking the kiss and dropping his forehead against your chin as a shiver ripples through him. You smile, continuing to pump him.
“Want to be inside,” he mumbles, barely coherent.
You open yourself up more, gently guiding the blunt crown of his cock toward your trembling entrance. You hold your breath as his hips follow your hand, breaching your ring of tight muscles and pushing in.
Immediately your muscles spasm and resist, overwhelmed by Namjoon’s girth. You blow out a long breath as he enters you so, so slowly. It’s heaven and it’s hell, it’s pleasure and it’s pain. Namjoon presses his mouth to you, tongue distracting you as he bottoms out, stuffing you full.
Nothing has ever compared to how stretched you are. He doesn’t move, letting your cunt twitch around him. He holds himself up with one hand, the other brushing up and down your side, squeezing bits of flesh comfortingly as you try to still your beating heart under him.
The pain fades. You get greedy, wiggling your hips back and forth experimentally to feel the way Namjoon’s cock rubs against your walls. He blows out air sharply, a half laugh before his hand drops down to your hip, pushing you down into the bed with his weight as he slides backward.
“Ohhhh,” you sigh, head lolling to the side. The pressure of Namjoon pressing you down as he sets a slow pace of fucking into you is just right. You close your eyes, letting him set a slow pace in silence. “Yeah.”
Namjoon’s breath is unsteady. Every little sound he makes sets you on fire. You’re pliant beneath him as he picks up his speed, properly fucking into you. One of your hands reaches up to grab his bicep, nails digging in, the other shooting to his hand on your hip, squeezing his wrist.
Everything feels right. Connected. Overheated. The air is so thick you think you might suffocate, sheets sticking to your balmy skin, toes curling as Namjoon’s cock hits that spot inside of you that drives you mad.
Nothing but this matters. Nothing but knowing your wolf isn’t really a wolf at all, and that he’s been there all along. Just like you’d hoped.
“Fuck,” Namjoon pants. “I never dreamed I’d have you.”
“I dreamed of you,” you gasp on a particularly hard thrust, your nails dragging down his arm. “I just didn’t know it.”
His mouth crashes to yours. “Mine,” he growls. “My savior, mine to protect.”
Your orgasm spins like an out-of-control spool of thread, winding tighter and tighter. Namjoon can tell, chasing your orgasm with reckless abandon, throwing his gentle movements out the window and fucking you hard into the bed.
The sounds and words coming out of your mouth are useless babble, your thoughts turning murky as that spool tightens so much inside of you that it bursts, unspooling and spilling out of you around Namjoon’s cock.
You can’t even breathe as you come, feet kicking, nails digging into his skin, teeth clenched. Your heart beats in your ears, the only thing you can hear for a few seconds as you spasm, eyes clenched shut. You are vaguely aware of Namjoon coming shortly after you, your name ripping through clenched teeth as he does.
There are a few minutes of nothing punctuated by your stilted breathing and rapid pulse. Finally, you blink, stars swimming in your eyes as you look at Namjoon, who hangs his head on your chest. You reach a hand up and run your fingers through his sweaty hair.
Your wolf. Somehow you’d always known it. Even when you thought you were crazy.
Gently, Namjoon pulls out of you, fluid spilling between your legs. You don’t care, limbs too heavy to move. Your skin is still burning up from exertion and you roll your head to the side to watch Namjoon as he lays next to you, pulling you toward him.
For a little while, it’s quiet. You listen to the beating of his heart, closing your eyes and breathing deeply. You’re content just to lay there feeling whole just for once.
After a while, Namjoon sighs. “You have to go back eventually.”
“We.”
“Hmm?”
“We have to go back.”
Namjoon pulls away and frowns at your tone, eyes reading your face. Your mouth is set in a firm line and you look at him with all seriousness. “We’re not letting them get away with what the humans did to you and your family.”
“You want to help?”
“Yes.” You pause. “I think it’s what my father would have wanted. It’s what I want. Even if Yoongi bit me.”
“Yoongi will never bite you again,” he vows fiercely. Then, a little more gently, “But he… would be glad to hear your sympathetic stance. I’m glad to hear it, Red.”
“Good.” You snuggle closer. “You’re mine to protect too. And I will make them pay.”
For Namjoon. For your father. You’ll paint the village red.
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Fake Blood (Ethan Landry x Reader)
Word count: 5.6K
Summary: spoiler: the blood isn’t fake. alone in your apartment after your friends had been attacked, you ask ethan to stop by. he does in an unexpected way and you get more than you bargained for
Tags: (18+), friends to lovers, minor violence, knife tw, flirting, making out, virgin!ethan, virgin!reader, fingering, unprotected p in v sex, the ghostface robe stays on during sex, denial ab ethan being a murderer :) (if bad why hot?)
A/N: just watched scream 6 for the first time only a few days ago and couldn’t get this psycho out of my brain (tiktok edits didn’t help lol). timeline might be a little wonky but tbh it’s not relevant. also this follows the theory that ethan did the big apartment attack. I really wasn’t expecting this to be this long but it’s worth it yall I promise
cross-posted to ao3 • scream masterlist • main masterlist
As much as you liked Mindy, if you knew becoming friends with her would lead to you being integrated into her friend group of past and present serial killer victims, you might’ve thought about asking someone else to partner up with you for a presentation in your film studies class.
When you’d asked her, it was mostly to avoid having to accept an offer from a guy named Jason, who had always stared at you during that class and brought up the ‘Stab’ movies whenever he could (this was before you knew your friends knew him, but you still got a weird vibe from the guy).
She’d been excited to hang out with you after you two gave your presentation, and that’s how you wound up spending most days with her and her tight knit group of friends.
You were probably closest with Mindy, but you liked her brother too. For a guy named Chad, he was actually pretty chill. You got along with Tara as well, who was in a bit of a rebellious phase after being attacked and nearly killed, which you only learned about once they trusted you enough. Her older sister Sam was mostly cool too, but a bit overprotective. There was a gloomy aspect to her, but you supposed it made sense given that she was betrayed by her murderous boyfriend and now the internet peddled theories that blamed her for a series of killings in their home town of Woodsboro.
They had a tight bond, and even though you grew close with each of them, you knew you’d be an outsider. Like Tara and Sam’s roommate Quinn, Mindy’s girlfriend Anika, and Chad’s roommate Ethan. You all had shared multiple conversations about their trust issues. It must’ve been hard to even start to trust people after all that.
Out of all of the other “newcomers” as Mindy once put it, you got along with Ethan the best. He was a little quiet and sorta dorky (which your friends would tease him about a little—all friendly, of course) but he was fun to talk to. You guys liked a lot of the same stuff, including horror movies, and it didn’t hurt that he was cute.
In your opinion, with his curly dark hair and eyes to compliment, the whole “shy guy” thing was part of the appeal.
You wondered if he’d ever make a move, or if he even knew you were curious about him in that way. You wouldn’t go so far to say it was a crush for your ego’s sake, but you wouldn’t send him running off with his tail between his legs like you did with most guys.
Like that guy Jason from film class, who, just before Halloween, was killed alongside his roommate by a masked killer.
“Didn’t he have a thing for you?” Mindy asked you as you were all gathered around the TV, finding out the news together.
You were sitting crammed in a chair next to Ethan since the others had all taken up the couch space. He didn’t seem to mind, but it did unfortunately make it easy for them all to look your way and stare. You didn’t like the attention.
You were in shock at the news, especially when the anchor revealed Jason had also killed your film professor. Ethan pointed that out, saying if the guy was crazy enough to do that he might’ve even gone after you.
“Maybe the killer who killed him did you a favor,” Quinn suggested in response to Ethan.
The thought terrified you. You looked around the group. “Do you guys think he really would’ve hurt me? He seemed weird, not psycho.”
“We talked not that long ago, nothing seemed off,” Tara revealed with a grim look. “He asked if you and Sam were gonna come to the party.”
You hadn’t planned on going—what the hell would’ve happened if you had?
You exchanged a look with Sam, who seemed to have the wheels in her head turning.
You zoned back into the news as the reporter explained the mask found was a ghostface mask—like from the Stab movies. And of course, the actual Woodsboro killings.
“Pack a bag,” Sam told her sister, springing up to move around the apartment building.
Sam and Tara argued, which was a little weird to witness. You tried to sink back into the chair, while Ethan looked at you like he wanted to say something.
Hopefully it wasn’t “get out of the chair” because you didn’t think you could move.
The night ended with you going back to your little apartment alone. Your roommate was out of town and so your anxiety was on high alert.
A lot had happened that night apparently, including Sam and Tara getting attacked in a convenience store and them being questioned by the cops.
As much as you cared about them, you feared what would happen if you were with them.
That’s why the next night when you were invited over, you had been hesitant. A government paper was the perfect excuse, but you had FaceTimed with them so you all could keep an eye on each other.
You sat at your little desk, your laptop opened to work on your paper, and your phone propped up on your cup so you could talk to them hands free.
Apparently everyone was together at the apartment except Ethan, who told you he was studying in the library when you texted to ask him. You responded that you were working on a paper and that if he wanted to come over to keep you company, he could.
You’d spent some time alone with him, but not a lot when you really thought about it. It was always in the group—who were all murder suspects, according to Mindy’s movie rules.
You knew you weren’t the killer, and you had absolutely no motive. The others were still suspicious of you so that hurt a little (maybe that was another reason why you were keeping to yourself), but you did your best to understand that they weren’t just suspicious of you.
Everyone was a suspect, and no one was safe.
You felt even less safe when Mindy said she’d call you back. You didn’t know why she had to hang up so urgently, but you had a feeling it had to do with the emotional conversation Tara and Sam had been having in the background. You couldn’t make out most of it clear so you avoided mentioning it.
You sighed and checked your chat with Ethan. He hasn’t responded to your text. You were getting nervous now that you weren’t video chatting with your other friends anymore and the thought of being home alone didn’t bring you much ease.
You thought about just going over to the Carpenter’s (and Quinn’s) apartment, not wanting to bother Ethan further. Maybe he was ignoring you on purpose.
However, it was a far walk there. You didn’t feel safe making it alone at night—especially with a killer on the loose, likely targeting your friends. If you had a car, maybe, but you were a broke college student who could barely afford a place to live.
You sucked it up and double texted Ethan, this time asking if he could come over and that you were worried.
When he didn’t respond right away, you gave it a few minutes.
A little while longer passed and since you now couldn’t focus on your paper, you tried to call Mindy back. Then Tara. Then Chad. Then Sam. Then Quinn. Then Anika.
Not a single one of them answered.
You took a deep breath. Then, you went to double check that your door was locked.
You tried to call Ethan, but his phone went immediately to voicemail. It must’ve been dead or powered off.
That left no one else to call, and you felt more alone than ever.
You sat down at your desk and tried to focus.
You ended up going to your bedroom, putting on sleep clothes, and watching a comfort show under all your blankets instead, paper completely forgotten.
Your phone dinged from your bedside table and when you looked at it, you saw a message from Ethan. Only a few hours late, but he said he was on his way up.
That was sudden. You tried to not overthink being alone with Ethan too much.
A few moments later, there was a knock at your front door.
You climbed out of bed, not really caring that you were wearing sleep shorts and a baggy shirt. Your friends had seen you go to class in about the same when you had all night study sessions.
When you got to the door, you got a little nervous. But you knew it had to be Ethan, so you tried to push the anxiety aside and unlocked then opened the door.
You were met with shock and horror.
Towering over you in your doorway stood a figure in a black robe… and a ghostface mask.
You tried to slam the door, but the person caught it. You choked on a scream when they shoved their way in, holding a knife. There was a small stain of red on the metal blade and a darker, bigger mass on the robe.
Blood. Blood was red.
You scrambled back and tried to think of where to go. None of the doors in your apartment locked, not even the bathroom door.
Your heart and mind raced and suddenly you were spewing words.
“I don’t know what to say to make you not kill me, but I please don’t,” you rushed out.
The person—the killer—moved closer to you after shutting and locking your front door.
You ran, but there was really nowhere to go. The killer ran too. You tried to lure them to the bathroom and shove them in, but they dodged and had you almost within their grasp.
They didn’t slash the knife, though.
You ran for the front door, but the killer grabbed you by the arm. You were shoved back against your hallway wall and pinned. Your back slammed against the wall, but not hard. They held the knife to your throat—not too close, but it was still there and still kept you frozen.
“Are you gonna kill me?”
The words came out before you could stop them. You internally scolded yourself. That’s the kinda shit the girls who got murdered asked.
There was a laugh, and then a familiar voice.
“I’d never do that.”
By the time the killer reached for the mask and pulled it off, you still hadn’t processed your shock.
“Ethan?” you gawked up at him while he gave you a cheeky smile. He let the mask drop and the hand holding the knife fell to his side.
“You should’ve seen your face,” he said through a smile, excited eyes scanning your face for realization.
“Is this… is this a fucking prank?” you questioned, finally comprehending. “Ethan, what the fuck!?” You shoved him back by his shoulder, admittedly a little pissed. “You’re covered in blood!”
He stayed standing in front of you.
“It’s fake, I promise. It was just a joke,” he reasoned, looking a little guilty. “Y’know, cause Halloween and… alright, maybe my timing isn’t great.”
You scoffed out a laugh at that. “It’s terrible timing. There really is someone after us.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Ethan apologized with a small, apologetic smile. You stared at him, still surprised. He looked so innocent for someone that could pull off, let alone come up with, such a messed up prank.
“Is this where you’ve been? Dressing up to mess with me while there really is a killer after us?” You questioned, raising your brows and crossing your arms.
“Y’know, if there really is a killer after us, we probably shouldn’t let each other die virgins,” Ethan stated in a flirtatious way he easily could’ve played off as a joke. Maybe it was entirely a joke, but you played along in a different direction.
You scoffed. “And you’re just assuming I’m a virgin?”
He shrugged, the long fabric of his costume rustling. “I see how you are with guys. They want you, you never want them.”
“So what, I’m a tease?” you guessed, used to hearing that but a little disappointed to think it would come from him.
“No,” he clarified quickly. “But they’re just never good enough for you and you know that. Like that jerk Jason.”
You cringed a little at the mention of him, and then felt bad about that. The guy had been murdered, after all.
“Don’t say that, he’s dead.”
“So what?” Ethan asked plainly, surprising you a little. “He was a killer too. He could’ve gone after you, you should be grateful to whoever did it.”
You furrowed your brows. He was starting to sound like someone else. “Grateful?”
“It’s okay, you’re allowed to be.” Ethan’s expression as he spoke was one of reassurance. “You could’ve been next, you never know. He was one of those guys who couldn’t take a hint that he was beneath you.”
You had no idea he thought that way about you—that there were men he deemed unworthy. It was enough to distract you from the shift in his demeanor.
“And what? You’re saying you’re one of the guys who’s good enough for me?” you couldn’t help but wonder. You never thought about your dating history (or lack of) like that.
“Hell no,” he said, surprising you yet again. You were expecting a ‘yes’ with the way he was coming onto you all of the sudden, but what he said carried even more of a self-depreciating brand of charm. “But I’m hoping maybe you’ll pity the loser who’s had a hopeless crush on you for a while now and give him a chance.”
“You’re not a loser,” you said before you registered the rest of his words. When you did, you were taken aback at the confession. “But you’re not usually this… bold, Ethan.”
You wanted to ask him if something was wrong, but there was a lot wrong these past few hours.
“What can I say? I’ve been feeling more confident recently.”
You hummed, understanding that in a way.
“Maybe it’s the whole ‘we could die any second’ thing,” you ventured a guess.
He smiled to himself, like you’d just referenced an inside joke you weren’t a part of.
“Could be,” he agreed. He laughed a little and looked down at himself, then met your eyes again. “Sorry about scaring you. It was in poor taste. We both like horror movies… I don’t know, it was stupid.”
You scoffed, but you weren’t really mad anymore.
“I like horror movies, I don’t want to be in one,” you told him, eyeing the knife he held loosely in his right hand. “Is the knife real?”
“What?” Ethan asked, feigning confusion. He lifted the knife and examined it. “This knife?”
“Yeah, that knife,” you parroted back his playful tone. “You said the blood is fake, but is the knife real?”
A devious look crossed Ethan’s face. He held it to your throat slowly, holding it horizontally. You didn’t flinch, much to his pleasure. He seemed almost impressed.
“Gotta be authentic, right?” he mused, eyes flicking to your parted lips as you breathed steadily. “Can I kiss you?”
When his curious eyes looked back at yours, you couldn’t help but notice he still held the knife. The rush of excitement you felt scared you more than the fear of him letting it slip forward.
“What’s the knife for?” you asked with a surge of confidence, taunting him a little. “If I say no?”
Ethan laughed at that. He pulled it back and let it drop to the floor. It clattered against the wood, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. But it wasn’t from fear—it was from anticipation. Maybe your curiosity was a little more than that after all.
“You’re safe with me,” he assured. “Promise.”
His words felt layered, but in a way you couldn’t define.
Perhaps it was his way of saying he’d protect you. Maybe it was strange, especially given his entrance, but you found yourself feeling exactly that with Ethan. Safe.
Nothing was going to hurt you, certainly not him.
“About that kiss…” you started, giving him the indication that he was looking for.
Ethan took the hint and ran with it, lips crashing into yours in the blink of an eye.
His lips were soft, but the kiss was needy and hungry. You tried to move your lips in sync with his, but he was much more dominant.
A joke that you’d never say flashed by about him practicing.
It was easy not to laugh when Ethan’s hand threaded into your hair and his tongue began to explore your mouth.
The leather glove felt strange. It made you pull back a little, which you almost couldn’t do with the way Ethan eagerly chased your swollen lips with his own.
You glanced over his costume again. It looked really legit—when did he have time to get it? Was he actually gonna wear this for Halloween? You swore you remembered him and Chad talking about some other costume he made out of cardboard for the frat party.
Before you could spiral down that path, Ethan pulled the leather gloves off quickly and cast them aside. It was like he could read your mind. Both hands went to your face, pulling you to meet him halfway in another searing kiss.
You didn’t know what was coming over you, but whatever it was was causing arousal to stir in your belly.
You figured out the answer to that pretty quickly.
It was want. You wanted Ethan.
“Is the other offer still on the table?” you uttered softly when you and Ethan had to part for air.
He grinned, unable to contain it.
“Thought there was no way in hell that would work,” Ethan admitted a little breathlessly. “Thought I never stood a chance with you, but I liked you anyway.”
Ethan had a boyish charm about him usually, but now that was combined with a streak of deviance that you finally now noticed.
You weren’t expecting to be as intrigued by it as you were.
“Give yourself a little more credit,” you told Ethan, raising your hand to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch a little. One hand rested on your shoulder and the other fell to hold your hip, tucking under your baggy shirt and rubbing your skin beneath. “You are pretty cute.”
Ethan’s smile only grew, but when you leaned in to kiss him again his lips met yours.
He wrapped his arms around your waist and guided the two of you to the ground with your back leaning against the wall. He was in front of you, on his knees, with you in his lap.
You ran a hand through his curly hair and you guided his lips back to yours. From what he’d revealed, Ethan hadn’t had a lot of experience with girls. It was a damn shame, because the boy was a great kisser.
His hand caressed your thigh as he trailed upward. You gave him a soft sound of encouragement when his fingers found their way to the waistband of your shorts.
“Is this okay?” Ethan asked, which made you want to grab him and kiss him again.
“Yeah.”
His hand slid into your shorts and your underwear.
One finger—you guessed middle—pushed inside of you. A small gasp escaped you at the intrusion and he watched your face.
Ethan was making sure the sound wasn’t of pain, which it wasn’t, and you appreciated that.
He withdrew the digit, then pushed in again. He repeated the motion a few more times before adding his index finger.
Ethan’s breathing grew heavy as he felt you squeeze around his fingers. He thrust and curled them inside you with rhythm. He managed to find one pretty quickly. That plus his thumb rubbing at your clit, you were falling apart in mere minutes.
Your brief orgasm rocked your whole body, leaving you clenching his fingers and quivering.
Ethan muttered things to you, but you could hardly hear over the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears.
Your head rested back against the wall as you caught your breath, still trembling from the aftershocks. Ethan withdrew his hand from between your legs and out of your shorts.
Your eyelids felt heavy, but in between slow blinks you saw him lift his fingers to his lips. You watched breathlessly as he placed them into his mouth and moaned at the taste of you.
No words would come out of your mouth, but he took rendering you speechless as a compliment.
“I’ve thought about that,” Ethan started, voice a little ragged. He was watching you, but his hand had moved off to the side. “What you’d look like… what you’d sound like… what you’d taste like.” The awe in his eyes as he spoke left you swooning.
“And?” you managed, sitting up a little straighter.
With the change in your angle, you could feel the bulge in his pants, even though the added layer of the costume he had yet to remove.
“You’re better than I ever imagined,” Ethan finished.
A scrape against the floor alarmed you. You looked to the sound and saw Ethan grabbing the knife off of the floor.
You watched as he brought it between your bodies. He first tucked it through the leg of your shorts, the cold metal sliding against your skin as it caught under your underwear as well. Then, he pointed the sharp side facing out. Finally, he sliced up through the fabric. You gasped a little as the cold air of the room hit your newly exposed skin. He did the same with the other leg, then pulled the tattered material away from your body.
You did the honors of pulling off your shirt. You didn’t have a bra underneath and you almost laughed at the way Ethan gawked at your fully naked body when you cast it aside.
“Your turn,” you told him. You were completely undressed, while he still wore the long, black disguise.
“Actually,” Ethan said a little eerily. There was something in his eyes you couldn’t quite pinpoint. “I was thinking I could leave it on?”
It was a question, there was room for you to say no. Maybe you should’ve, it was a little weird. But you weren’t really thinking about that. You were more focused on how badly you wanted Ethan to fuck you, and that clouded your brain.
“As long as you don’t put the mask back on,” you relented in a joking tone.
“You’re so fucking cool,” Ethan rushed out before slamming his lips into yours. The knife was cast aside again—you didn’t see it happen, but both of his hands were on your face.
You laughed a little against his lips, dazed and drunk on arousal. You didn’t really care about the logistics of it.
His hands moved down, but you were distracted by his lips dominating yours.
You heard the sound of his zipper being undone and he moved a little—you guessed shoving his pants down his thighs.
There was no time to look down because in a rush, Ethan was pinning you back against the wall with his body. One hand gripped your waist, holding you in place for him. The other was presumably guiding his cock to your entrance.
You gasped a little against his lips when he started to press forward while simultaneously pulling you down into his lap. The fabric of the costume draped over your thighs, blocking your view.
The stretch of his cock pushing into you was more intense than you could’ve predicted, but your whole body trembled with pleasure at the feel.
Finally, he either got too excited or lost his patience, and guided you down the rest of the way until he was fully sheathed inside of you.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Ethan cursed to himself, body straining to keep from moving. His head dropped to your shoulder, heavy breaths hitting your neck. He leaned against you, forcing you against the wall.
His cock twitched inside of you and his body tensed, trying to hold back.
You panted slightly, trying to get your breath back. You ran a hand up his back and you felt him shiver. Your hand moved up the back of his neck and into his mess of curls.
You always liked Ethan’s hair.
You gave a small, barely qualifiable tug, but it had an effect. His body jerked, causing him to move inside of you. You gasped a little, but the motion felt good.
He lifted his head to look at you. His face was a little flushed and the lust blown look in his eyes made you quiver.
“You can move,” you whispered out, not trusting your voice.
Ethan didn’t need to be told twice. He secured the arm around your waist a little tighter and he put the other hand on the wall, giving himself leverage.
The slow drag of him moving out of you made you gasp for breath. The thrust back in knocked the air out of your lungs.
He set a quick pace after that, hips slamming eagerly into yours as the pleasure and excitement overwhelmed him.
It felt good, really fucking good.
Neither of you knew exactly what you were doing, but you were sure you’d figured it out because your whole body tingled with pleasure.
You cried out his name, which only spurred him on.
In a jarring movement you could hardly track, Ethan dragged you from the wall to the floor. He put himself on top of you, never once withdrawing from inside of you.
He watched your face as he pounded into you. Ethan had more leverage this way, able to grip your hip in one hand while the other held the top half of him off of you by being planted on the floor near your head.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, which you couldn’t see because the bottom half of your body was covered by the black costume. You hardly paid any attention to that aspect. You didn’t care that he wore it, not when you were this caught up in pleasure.
(In hindsight, you should’ve).
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” Ethan breathed out, hips starting the stutter with every thrust.
The knot in your belly started to tighten as he buried himself into you over and over.
You couldn’t speak, your breathing was so labored as you reached to cling to him.
His head dropped down to your shoulder as he allowed more of his body weight to fall onto you. You found yourself enjoying the feel of him truly being on top of you.
You hardly noticed the fake blood smearing onto your bare skin. When you did, you were too gone to care.
You bucked your hips, meeting his stuttering thrusts. He was getting close to his edge and so were you. You moaned beneath him as his forceful thrusts sparked pleasure through your entire body.
“I’m close,” you managed to moan out against his ear.
“Oh, fuck,” Ethan groaned out, cock pulsing inside of you at the thought. He lifted his head enough to be able to watch your face. “Come again for me, please,” he panted out, nearly falling over the edge at the mere anticipation.
The begging was hot, and your body was already ready to give him what he wanted.
You noticed his eyes flicking down your body, seeing the red stains on your skin. That was quickly forgotten by you when your whole body began to tense and quiver. You held onto him tight as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.
You didn’t see his eyes linger.
Ethan couldn’t hold it together, not with the way your body tightened around him as your orgasm rocked you.
He collapsed on top of you, holding you against him as his forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were clenched shut as he frantically shoved his hips against yours, burying himself deep. His cock twitched, his whole body shivering as he spilled himself inside of you with a moan.
The sound of him alone was enough to prolong your pleasure as you rode it out, but the extra movement and the feeling of him filling you was an added bonus.
He kissed you hard on the lips, effectively pulling the air from your lungs.
After a moment, he found the strength to roll off of you, only to then drag you to his side.
“I can die a happy man, now,” he joked morbidly.
You shoved him a little by the shoulder like you had before, but not enough to actually make him go anywhere.
“Don’t say shit like that,” you argued weakly.
He flashed you a brief grin. “I meant it as a compliment.”
You rolled your eyes and did you best to laugh it off.
You lost track of how long it took you to move from the floor to your couch. The same thing happened between the time it took for you to get from the couch to your shower.
It was a tiny shower that couldn’t fit two people, so you rinsed off as quick as you could. You were tired, and your legs felt weak, and you knew you’d be sore in a way that would make it hard to keep calm tomorrow.
Whatever he had used for the blood, at least it washed off fast. You were able to finish up in a matter of minutes.
You threw on new pajamas and crawled into your bed, managing to tell Ethan to take however long he wanted and that he could stay over if he wanted.
You found yourself hoping he would.
You were nearly asleep when the shower shut off and Ethan finally joined you in bed. He was only in his boxers and a black t-shirt, which he must’ve been wearing under the costume robe.
A thought nagged at the back of your mind about the costume, wondering why he’d gone through all of that just to mess with you for a minute—albeit a terrifying minute. It didn’t seem like him, but then you remembered you’d only met him a few months ago.
You were so exhausted you fell asleep in his arms, not awake enough to care about all of the weird details. In fact, the only thing you could think about was how much you liked falling asleep with Ethan’s arms around you.
In the morning, you found out your friends had all been attacked.
You showed up with Ethan after the feed on your college’s chat app blew up with images of cops swarming and ambulances outside of Sam, Tara, and Quinn’s apartment.
Mindy seemed relieved to see you, but not so much when she realized Ethan was with you. Maybe she’d cleared you as a suspect in her head.
She yelled at him to stay back, accusing him of being the killer. Nobody was taking Quinn’s death well, but Mindy was especially heartbroken over Anika.
“Stay back!” Mindy yelled at Ethan, who did as she commanded.
Everyone turned on him then, even Chad. Everyone except you. They demanded his alibi.
“How do I know you’re not the killer, roomie,” Chad spit at him, amped up.
“I was with Y/N last night,” Ethan defended, holding his hands up in a small show of innocence, before you could say a word. “We were… preoccupied, alright?”
You wanted to elbow him for how he worded it, he couldn’t have been more obvious if he tried. It might’ve been on purpose, you weren’t sure.
He wasn’t close enough to do that, though, and now all eyes were on you.
“Yeah, he was with me,” you backed Ethan up.
You weren’t going to leave him hanging because it was the truth, but you knew what that implied, and so did your friends. They all shared subtle—but not unnoticeable—looks. Your face felt warm, while Ethan bit back a prideful smile.
“So you guys, um…”
“Chad, stop,” Tara scolded him before he could point out the obvious.
“Point is, we had nothing to do with this,” Ethan stated.
We?
They were suspicious of him, and now he was lumping the two of you together. There were always two killers in the movies—you began to doubt if the alibi would ease their anxiety or only spike it.
You thought back to when he had showed up to your apartment in that costume. He’d scared you, but you accepted it when he told you it was a joke that he mistakenly took too far.
It made you wonder. What if it was him?
If he wanted to hurt you, he easily could’ve. That didn’t seem to be his intention. What was? Seeing how much he could scare you? Get your heart rate up? Seeing if you wouldn’t believe him?
Or was it seeing if he could put the evidence right in front of you and have you ignore it because of a crush?
Fuck. Maybe it was some weird combination of all. Were you that gullible? Or were you overthinking it now?
Your brain struggled to come up with a conclusion.
You wanted to believe Ethan was innocent. You really, really did.
It was easier than believing you had slept with a killer. Or potentially worse, that you had feelings for one.
Ethan gave you a slight, assuring smile.
Your head told you one thing, but your heart told you another.
Maybe you shouldn’t have, but you kept your mouth shut and gave him one back.
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Lessons For A Genius - Lesson Two
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
(aka the one where Spencer learns how to finger you)
Summary:
After his first 'lesson', Spencer is even more eager to learn from you.
And while both of you are ignoring your growing yearning for something more, you teach him the next logical thing: how to pleasure you in return.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 26,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link
THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.
Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.
Warnings: General themes for a CM episode - murder/killing/mentions of gun violence/mentions of women being murdered and sexually assaulted/mentions of strangling; once again, there is a mention of a case that isn’t in the canon (one that I have made up) and this fic is not case-centric; the reader is held in a choke-hold by the killer and uses dark humour to get out of it; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mentions of the reader wearing a dress/very girly outfit; the reader is heavily implied to be plus-sized;mentions of the reader being older than Spencer, but there is no specific mention of how much the age difference is/number of years (tbh the way I am playing it, it could be months, a year, or years of difference because they make jokes about it) (because this takes place in early S2, Spencer would be 24/25, so if you’re younger than that, just imagine? lmao); the team being very nosy about Spencer and the reader’s sex life and the reader lying about it in order to spare Spencer because he’s shy (not because she’s embarrassed of him); heavily implications of Morcia as a background couple; mentions of drinking/drunkenness (does not take place in this fic, it’s just mentioned in passing); mentions of Spencer being bullied as a child.
General sexual themes; ongoing dom/sub relationship - Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; a safeword is in place but it’s not used; Spencer is generally inexperienced and the reader is 'teaching’ him things about sex, including slang, kinks, sexual technique, and the emotional consequences of sex, generally helping him explore his sexual side; mentions of using sex toys (a fleshlight, passing mentions of dildos, including a tentacle dildo that is not used); mentions of Spencer masturbating independently from scenes/playtime with the reader (these scenes are not detailed); descriptions of subspace; descriptions of Spencer having a subdrop/bad subspace experience because he masturbates without the reader there (this is a very brief part of the fic and all other moments of subspace are described pleasantly); the word 'MILF’ is used to describe the reader - as a joke, and because Spencer doesn’t fully understand the context.
The actual smutty meat of the fic (aka girl dinner) consists of: panty kink - Spencer wears a pair of lacy panties under his clothes while in public because it turns the reader on; praise kink - Spencer loves being praised; public/semi-public 'sex’ (they don’t have full-blown sex, it’s just groping through clothing, and they are in a secluded area of a public place when it happens); risk of getting caught; strength kink - the reader exerts her strength over Spencer and he likes it; heated making out; hair pulling (Spencer receiving); groping through clothes (reader and Spencer receiving); Spencer cums in his pants while being groped; clothes sharing - Spencer wears the reader’s clothes; the reader calls Spencer honey, sweetie, baby, pretty boy, good boy; Spencer calls the reader Miss; this fic does feature Mommy kink - Spencer starts calling the reader Mommy partway through; mentions of the reader wearing traditionally feminine lingerie; hand kink - the reader likes Spencer’s hands; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Spencer’s fingers); vaginal fingering/clitoral stimulation - the reader teaches Spencer how to finger her; Spencer edges the reader unintentionally; guided masturbation - Spencer masturbates for the reader; Spencer cums on the reader (by accident?); the reader licks some of Spencer’s cum; mentions of pregnancy (Spencer likes the idea of getting the reader pregnant, but she is on birth control so it won’t happen in this fic lmao); some mentions of aftercare (not as in depth as the previous fic); and I believe that’s it.
A/N: I do intend for each part of this to possibly be read as a oneshot, so you don’t have to read Lesson One in order for this to make sense narratively. But if you want more sub!Spencer stuff, then you should go back and read Lesson One just for your enjoyment. This makes reference to things that have happened in the first part, but you won’t be utterly confused if you jump into reading this without reading the other one first. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, if you're reading this for the first time or re-reading it.
...
When you woke up the next morning, you had almost forgotten about what had happened.
You were drowsy, your body almost entirely sunken into the soft bed. If not for the ripe scent of coffee drifting through the air and undertone of something uniquely masculine stuck to the pillow - Spencer’s aftershave - then you likely would have thought that you were comfortable in your own apartment and simply turned over to go back to sleep.
But then it all came flooding back to you.
The Chinese take-out date, gifting Spencer the fleshlight - tying him to the chair in order to ‘help’ him use it. His moans, the sweet way he had looked up at you with those big eyes. The way he had called you ‘Miss’ with such utterly beautiful desperation, how perfect he had looked covered in his own cum.
You sighed with delight as you remembered it all, a gentle tingle coming over your body as you thought about it.
It was then that you realized what the pungent smell of coffee meant: Spencer must have been brewing a pot. You had no clue what time it was or when you had to be ready for work - but coffee sounded fucking amazing after the eventful night the two of you had.
You were surprised that Spencer wasn’t still in bed, cuddled up to you.
He had spent the whole night clinging to your back like a koala in the most endearing way. You had no clue how a man so large could make himself seem so small at times, but he definitely accomplished that by hooking his leg around your hip and whining whenever you tried to pull away from him even a slight bit.
(You hated that it was something that would have been intensely annoying from any other partner or one night stand, but when he did it, you found it adorable. You knew that you were letting him get away with too much already, but you couldn’t help yourself.)
What you didn’t realize: yes, Spencer would have loved to be cuddled up with you in bed all morning. But he had woken up before you - and he would deny the amount of time he had taken to stare at you while you were sleeping, ogling your beautiful, peaceful face. After he had gotten out of bed, he had taken the initiative to attempt to prepare breakfast.
He rarely cooked for himself. When he did cook, it was usually simple, plain, unimpressive dishes that were more meant to kill hunger than to actually taste nice. And he was even further screwed by the fact that his fridge wasn’t even well stocked because the team had been so busy on cases that he hadn’t even thought to go grocery shopping in a while.
Of course, he had coffee (and cream, and sugar - because he wasn’t a monster, he made himself a cup every morning). And he had some basics like eggs, so he was trying his best to make something nice for you.
When you walked into the kitchen, still dressed in nothing but your camisole and your panties, the chill of the morning air was biting and Spencer looked invitingly warm.
He was standing at the stove, concentrating on some sizzling pan, and you couldn’t resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He had gotten dressed since getting out of bed, so he was wearing a bright blue cotton tee shirt (that you didn’t yet see had the Superman logo on the front) and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It was an entirely adorable sight: Spencer in loungewear. You indulged in pressing your face lightly between his shoulders, loving the feeling of the soft cotton against your cheek.
You noticed that the radio was on in the background - a low hum compared to the pan sizzling on the stove. But from what you could tell, the news was playing. He was such an old man in some ways.
“Please tell me that’s coffee I’m smelling.” You moaned quietly, feeling snuggled by his soft embrace.
“A teaspoon of sugar and just a little bit of cream,” He said, taking his hand off the handle of the frying pan to reach over to the side, grabbing a coffee cup and hoisting it in your direction - which was slightly awkward with you behind him.
You met him halfway, taking the coffee thankfully. Then you moved to lean against the counter to actually drink your coffee. He was rueful that the hug didn’t last longer, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“You remembered,” You grinned at him, referring to the fact that he had made your coffee exactly how you liked it.
When you took the first sip, it tasted amazing, and began to wake up your senses from the drowsy lull that you had been feeling.
“It’s quite literally impossible for me to forget.” He replied, giving you a grin.
“Hmm,” You hummed thoughtfully, clutching the warm coffee cup with both hands. “I’d like to test that theory one of these days.”
If you could make Spencer so incoherent with an orgasm, even just begging for one, you were willing to bet that you could feed him information that he wouldn’t be able to repeat back to you when he was so fucked out. It would be one of the ultimate victories - proving the genius’s perfect eidetic memory wrong.
Spencer saw that look in your eyes - the same one you had given him last night before you had gifted him the fleshlight. (Which was still propped up in the drying rack, a sight that had startled him when he had first gotten into the kitchen that morning). He had a feeling that, based on that look alone, he knew what you meant. He shied away then, looking back down to the pan of eggs as your brain moved on to another subject.
“I still can’t believe that you listen to the radio in the morning,” You commented, nodding toward the device that was propped up on the half-wall that partitioned off the kitchen from the living room. “You’re such an old man.”
“I’m younger than you!” He chuckled.
“No, no.” You easily corrected him, your voice taking on a very typical joking tone. “Being an old man is a way of life. It’s not about your age. It’s why you and Gideon get along so well.”
Spencer snorted with laughter at this. He turned off the stove, deciding the eggs were done, and began to scrape them onto a plate, hoping that it wasn’t too measly or unimpressive.
“Well then… you had sex with an old man last night.” Spencer chuckled, trying to sound confident in this ‘joke’.
You couldn’t help but to laugh at his nervousness.
“You need to work on your comebacks, too.” You told him with a grin. “I should get you one of those ‘yo mama’ joke books that seventh graders pass around.”
“Oh, that explains why I suck at comebacks. I skipped seventh grade.” He shrugged casually.
You laughed even harder at this. For him, it was a simple statement of fact, but to you, it sounded like he was purely bragging, and that turned out to be a better joke than the one he actually intended as humor.
Spencer bit his lip to hold back a grin.
Mornings with you - it was so much better than he had expected. He had expected things to be intensely awkward after what had taken place last night. He had expected that the entire tone of your relationship might change. And that was something he was fearful of. But you were still making jokes, still absolutely not afraid to insult him in that joking way that you did.
Spencer felt a yearning deep inside of him at the realization - like the string of a harp being plucked, setting off vibrations of bitter harmony through his entire being. He wanted his life to be like this every single morning. He wanted to make coffee for you every day - he wanted to be yours.
You picked up a fork and took a small bite of the eggs he had offered up, and Spencer felt his heart drop when your face immediately coiled into disgust.
“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing he had terribly disappointed you.
“Honey… how much salt did you put in this?” You asked, your words slightly muffled by the food cradled on your tongue.
You walked over to the sink and spit the eggs out, and Spencer rushed to pick up a fork for himself as he answered.
“Not much, I think.” He said, taking his own bite of the food. Then he immediately understood. “Oh my god. That’s so bad.” He said, feeling a gag curling in his throat at just how putridly salty it was.
He leaned over and spat his bite in the sink next to yours, and before the fear of disappointing you could fully set in, you burst out laughing brightly.
“Oh god.” You chuckled. “You don’t usually cook, do you?”
“Not really.” He said, giving you a timid smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You assured him, rubbing a hand gently across his back. “We can just get some breakfast on the way to work.”
He would learn to cook for you too. Most definitely.
The sweetness and peace was disrupted by a sharp digital chirping - a cellphone ringing. You didn’t think to question if it was your phone or Spencer’s before you put your coffee cup on the counter and rushed toward the sound, finding the small silver object buzzing in the middle of the coffee table (still off to the side of the room where you had pushed it the night before). You grabbed it up and flipped it open, and answered without hesitation.
“Hello?” You said politely.
Spencer stood in the doorway of the kitchen then, watching on with curiosity, wondering if the two of you were being called in for a case.
“Y/N?” JJ’s voice came from the other end of the line - but she sounded oddly confused.
“Yeah.” You confirmed. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing answering Spencer’s phone?” She asked, an eager curiosity coming through her voice.
Your work phones were practically identical, so it was a crapshoot.
You scrambled to make up an excuse, even though you knew her mind had likely already strayed to something in the realm of ‘adult sleepover’.
“He and I were hanging out last night and I fell asleep on the couch watching movies.” You said. “You know Reid, he went on that whole rant about how driving tired is like driving drunk, he insisted that I stay over-”
JJ let out a hardy laugh, cutting you off.
“Yeah, keep working on that.” She said. “I’m sure the others will definitely believe it.” You rolled your eyes at this, and JJ continued. “Did the two of you use a condom, or should we be expecting some genius babies coming our way nine months from now?”
You wanted to conjure up a crude (but truthful) joke about how Spencer had cum into a silicone pussy and you didn’t think babies could come from that. But for once, you managed to hold your tongue. You wanted to respect his privacy rather than flaunting your sexual exploits in front of other people and embarrassing him. You did have some sense of tact.
“Do we have a case or are you just calling around cause you’re lonely?” You fired back, trying to get her off this topic.
“Yes, we do.” She said. “And you just saved me a phone call. So you and your little boyfriend get in here as soon as possible, okay?”
You sighed. “Yeah, of course.”
You snapped the phone shut before she could make any more cute comments, and then you walked over and handed it to Spencer.
“There’s a case?” He asked.
“Yeah.” You told him. “Sweetie, would you mind running down to my car and grabbing my go-bag? I need a fresh change of clothes.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do that.”
His overall obedience toward you kicked in again, and he found himself nodded eagerly. He knew that if he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging relentlessly as he shoved on a pair of shoes and a sweater and you tossed him your keys from your purse in order to go and do the task.
You chugged down your coffee and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to freshen up. As Reid went down to the parking garage, he had to wonder about the things he had just heard you say on that call.
He knew that you had made up the excuse about you ‘falling asleep on the couch’ to JJ because you didn’t want to simply expose the fact that the two of you had played around the night before. It was a private thing that should be kept between the two of you. Even though you were relatively shameless about toting other private matters in public. You were never ashamed about announcing to the world when you were on your period or if certain foods had upset your stomach - in great detail.
So - if you weren’t so eager to announce being with Reid, did it mean that you were ashamed of him? Did it mean that you didn’t want to tell everyone that you had a sexual partner like him?
He tried not to stew in that thought as he brought your bag back upstairs. When he closed the door to the apartment and you heard him come in, you called him and told him to come toward the bathroom, and he heard the shower shutting off.
It was only then that it occurred to him that you were using his shower - you were naked in the shower. You were naked in his apartment.
He felt warmth in his pelvis at the thought, and he tried dampening it down (tried thinking of horror, sadness, dead bodies) - because he really didn’t have time to masturbate or ‘play’ more with you before work. He didn’t have time to take care of an erection right now. Would this be a recurring problem? Getting erections around you so easily now because you had awakened something in him? Because now he knew that you would actually touch him?
When Spencer came to the bathroom door, it was partially cracked open, and there was warm, hazy air pouring out - clearly steam from how hot you had the shower.
“Did you find the bag?” You asked, clearly having heard Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway.
“Y-yeah.” He answered.
“Okay, well, you can come in and bring it to me.” You chuckled, bright and confident as ever.
Spencer pushed the door open fully.
He felt like he was stepping into an early morning heaven when he stepped into that humid air and saw you standing in the middle of the bathmat, wrapping a towel around your naked, dripping body.
The way you held it kept your breasts and vagina fully covered, shielding all of the ‘important’ parts from Spencer’s view. But when you pulled it back to adjust the tightness of the towel around your chest, you clearly didn’t care about the skin that was revealed. The thickness of your hip and the plushness of the side of your stomach was bared to his eyes; his gaze devoured the large strip of skin all the way up the side of your body, just barely kissing the side of your breast where the towel covered you. It looked so scandalous even though it showed so little of you before you covered yourself back up and tucked the towel into itself, securing the fabric around your body.
“Thank you, Spencer.” You said, reaching out and grabbing the bag from him.
Spencer stood there for a moment longer, watching in utter awe as his eyes traced a droplet of water down your neck and into your cleavage. He wondered what it might be like to lean over and lick it up, wondering what your skin might taste like-
“Spence, shouldn’t you go get ready now?” You posed, looking up from rooting around your bag that you now had propped up on the closed toilet lid.
“Right.” Spencer said. “Right. Yeah.”
Spencer rushed off to his bedroom, doing just that.
He did have to masturbate before he could focus at all on getting dressed. He felt slightly shameful for it, but he picked up your discarded blouse from his bedroom floor, left there by you from the night before, holding it to his nose while he pumped his cock with his hand. And with it, he came faster than he ever had by his own touch. And then he rushed to clean up and get dressed and managed to meet you just as you were emerging from the bathroom, looking as beautiful as ever in another button up blouse and simple black pants.
You gave him a grin and didn’t at all seem to suspect that he had touched himself, and he felt so utterly victorious - like he had a secret, like he had gotten away with something.
…
You had to laugh as you watched Spencer struggle to clean the dried cum off his glasses in the car with a couple of wet wipes. It was something you had forgotten to do the night before, and you found it entirely amusing as he muttered and grunted to himself, trying to get the lenses fully clean while you drove.
By the time you got to the office, Spencer’s glasses were glimmering clean and you recklessly pulled into the first parking spot you saw in the garage, hoping that you weren’t terribly late. (Unfortunately you hadn’t had time for breakfast, and hunger was gnawing at you, but you would take care of that later.)
Spencer began voicing complaints about your parking job and the likelihood of your doors getting dented by someone else getting out of their car, but you simply dragged him forward with a hand on his wrist and told him that it would be your problem as you shoved him into the elevator.
Nobody else was lingering in the bullpen, which worried you, and surely enough - everybody else was already sitting at the roundtable as you and Spencer walked down the hall. Many prying eyes stared at the two of you from the doorway, clearly expectant of the two of you. When you got in, you noticed that the only absent face was Gideon. At least you and Spencer weren’t the only ones holding up the presentation of the case.
“You’re late.” Hotch grumbled as Spencer shut the door behind the two of you. “Again.”
“So sue me.” You shrugged, causing Hotch to roll his eyes, and causing a smirk from Morgan and Elle - who generally loved your snark.
“Don’t blame her, Hotch, she probably had a hard time finding her keys after Boy Genius rocked her world.” Elle said, making an obvious joke about the fact that you and Spencer had come in together.
That, and you wouldn’t put it above JJ not to tell everyone that you had spent the night at Spencer’s place (especially if she delivered that news under suspicion that the two of you had sex).
Reid - who had gone to the counter off to the side to get himself yet another cup of coffee - dropped a packet of sugar on the floor out of nervousness when he heard Elle’s comment. You found it entirely adorable when he scrambled to pick it up, clearly trying his hardest not to seem suspicious.
“So come on, how was it?” Morgan said, looking right at you as he hopped onto the joke. “Did he spread you open like a good library book?”
Hotch sighed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing he could do nothing to stop the conversation. He looked to his phone, desperately trying to ignore this as it went on around him.
“Very funny.” You griped sarcastically. “If I look tired, it’s because this loser had me up all night rambling on about Star Wars - fun facts, behind the scenes trivia.” You said, motioning toward Spencer for emphasis when you said ‘this loser’. “I absolutely did not need to know the difference between a protocol droid and an astromech droid, but now I do.”
On any other occasion, you casually throwing around the word ‘loser’ in reference to Spencer would have hurt his feelings.
But during this moment, Spencer found himself suppressing a grin. Everyone in the room had basically invited you to openly mock him for his lack of sexual ability, to spill his secrets as office gossip. But instead, you had chosen to keep those secrets close to your chest, clearly as a way to protect him from future mockery. And on top of that, you had made a clever reference to a previous conversation that the two of you did have about Star Wars. He was proud that you remembered the term ‘astromech droid’ off the top of your head at all.
He felt proud, sharing a filthy secret with you. And he knew that he was definitely not a loser after what had happened last night.
“Star Wars?” JJ questioned, looking at you with an expression that said she definitely knew you were lying, but she obviously didn’t have any proof.
You had told her that you fell asleep on his couch by accident, and now you were telling the others that he had kept you up all night?
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” Morgan chuckled, receiving a knowing nod from Elle.
Spencer passed by you, placing a coffee cup in front of your chair as you took your jacket off and sat down. He highly resisted the urge to give you a grin - knowing that it would give away your sweet little secret to the rest of the room. He simply walked around the table and took his own seat, and before any further discussion about the possible antics of your private lives could occur, Gideon walked in with a file in hand and JJ began presenting the case.
…
It was a case like any other. (Unfortunately.) Women strangled, sexually assaulted, left in areas of the woods that weren’t too difficult to find.
As you looked at the horrific crime scene photos, you couldn’t help but to think that perhaps part of the reason you loved to dominate subservient men was to take back your personal power. Because deep down, you knew that you were terrified of ending up like that, and you loved the small piece of the world that you could take back when you got your hand around a man’s neck and made him beg for mercy (consensually, of course).
But you couldn’t dwell on that for too long, because you had a job to do.
There was a fresh crime scene when the team arrived, and Hotch sent you and Morgan to investigate it while he and Gideon went to speak to the victim’s family. The others left to set up at the local police station, and you couldn’t help but to notice Spencer’s eyes lingering on you as you parted ways.
There were some drag marks in the dirt and a camera perched on a public bathroom that insisted the victim (and her attacker) could have been seen, so Morgan stepped away to call Garcia to see if she could pull anything from the camera’s feed. You did some more looking around, but couldn’t find anything of note.
When you walked back over to where Morgan was perched beside the SUV, grinning with his phone beside his ear, you couldn’t hold back a comment at his final words before he hung up.
“-oh, of course. Well you are beautiful and brilliant as always, my love. Thank you.”
“You didn’t tell me Reid was on the phone.” You commented snidely, giving a wide smirk as you walked around into Morgan’s view.
You thought you were being clever, making the joke that he would call Reid beautiful, or playfully call him ‘my love’. But of course, he turned this right back around on you.
“No, that was just Garcia. She said the camera’s a dud and she couldn’t get anything off it.” Before you could comment on this fact, he continued.
“But I took a message from Reid earlier. He said he left his panties at your place and he wants them back,” He smirked widely himself as he said this.
Likely the exact opposite of what he had intended, this caused a distinct image in your mind. One of Spencer wearing a pair of pink lacy panties - his long, hard cock straining to fit inside the skimpy material, and leaky wildly inside of it, making everything so wet.
You forced yourself to refocus, and purposefully put on a sour look, pretending that you were annoyed by his crude comment.
“Ha-ha.” You griped sarcastically. “You know Reid and I aren’t a thing. So you can stop with the jokes before you embarrass him.”
Truthfully, you did want the jokes to stop before it hurt Reid. You knew that he likely wanted to keep his sex life private. You didn’t want his shyness to come back tenfold before you could truly open him up and explore his filthy side.
Morgan snorted, clearly in disbelief.
“Oh, so you’re gonna act like that whole bit this morning wasn’t you and boy genius stumblin’ in late because of a late night booty call?” Morgan posed. “A real one. Not him fallin’ asleep on his phone.”
You shifted your attitude then. If he wasn’t going to drop it, then you were going to arm yourself.
“Okay, if you’re so invested in my sex life, you wanna talk about the size XXL purple leopard thong that I found in your back seat three weeks ago?” You posed sharply, a stone cold look on your face even though you were holding back the urge to laugh.
At the time, Morgan had offered to give you a ride home because your car battery had died. And when you tossed your bag into his back seat, you randomly spotted the streak of bright color - very out of place among the few gray sweatshirts he had in the back. And when you picked it up, wondering what it was, you held it in your hands and in a moment, based on the size, knew who it belonged to.
But he had been denying where it had come from (and the lustful tryst behind it) ever since. Clearly he wanted to keep his inter-office sex life private too.
“I-” Morgan began stuttering out an explanation, then swallowed it up. “We should get going.” He said, motioning toward the SUV.
“We should.” You easily agreed.
…
The whole time the team spent working the case, you found it difficult to interact with Spencer.
You really wanted to say that having sex with him wouldn’t change your working relationship, but it wasn’t like you had fucked just anybody. It was Spencer. If you had railed Elle or Derek or anybody else on the team, you probably could have gone to work the next day and pushed it to the back of your mind with grace.
But knowing that Spencer was inexperienced, knowing that you had likely been the first person to ever hear him moan like that, the first to ever see him covered in his own cum - it was definitely something that stuck in your head (to a painfully distracting extent).
Every time you so much as looked at him, saw that thoughtful expression with those glasses perched on his face, you immediately pictured him blissfully fucked out with large spots of his own cum covering the lenses.
So you tried your best to avoid him for the majority of the work. You volunteered to leave the station whenever possible, and left him with his maps, making a geographical profile, doing what he did best. You tried to keep yourself distracted and focused on a case.
This - somehow - had you and Gideon following a lead, following up with someone who had spoken to the first victim a few minutes before she was murdered. While the two of you searched the man’s property looking for him, he managed to sneak up behind you and put you in a chokehold, attempting to strangle you.
Because yeah - he was the killer. Great.
And apparently, once again, your sick sense of humor paid off. Because when your hand reached for your gun upon instinct and you realized that in your Spencer Reid sex-haze distractions, you had somehow forgotten it in the car, you cursed yourself, and then you began to physically struggle. And then you realized that this man was too strong, and there was no good way for you to escape the hold with physical methods.
With your vision becoming hazy, your instinct was to start moaning in a very exaggerated, pornographic way and tell him how much you liked the feeling of being strangled - which led him to loosen his grip out of shock. And that gave you more than enough room to elbow him in the face, knocking him loopy so you could call to Gideon for help.
The two of you had him in cuffs in minutes and when everyone else got there and asked you how you managed to escape, you told them that you were simply too fierce of a fighter for the man to hold you down. They didn’t need to know what actually happened or where your mind went when faced with danger.
Spencer looked at you with incredibly sad eyes when he saw the irritated strangle marks around your neck, but you pointed to the marks and told him you were fine with a chuckle. That it looked worse than it was. You were surprised and kind of hurt when he didn’t say anything to you in return.
Spencer didn’t sit next to you during the plane ride home (which you took slight offense to). But he did come up to you in the parking garage when you were getting ready to leave. You had been inspecting a large bump in one of your doors (cursing the fact that Spencer always had to be right), and you became distracted when you heard his footsteps echoing through the large space behind you.
You thought that maybe he needed a ride since you had been the one to drive him there after your heated night together. But he stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, so you took your hand off the key that was poised in your car door and made it clear that you were prepared to pay attention to him - clearly he had something to say.
“Are you mad at me?” He asked timidly.
“What? No.” You let out breathily, almost laughing. “Why would you think-?” You began to ask, and then cut yourself off, realizing the answer to your own question halfway through speaking it. “Because I’ve been avoiding you.” You spoke aloud.
Spencer nodded, seeming very solemn and downtrodden by this fact.
“You wouldn’t even look at me over the past few days.” He said. “I mean, I understand if I did something wrong.” He declared, his voice taking on the same broken wetness that his eyes had, as though he was on the verge of crying. “But I - I thought that what happened the other night, what we did, I thought it was special. I-”
“Spencer. Come here.” You summoned him closer, not wanting to talk loudly across the parking garage at him. You didn’t want your voices to echo when speaking about your sex life - just in case anybody did happen to come by.
You found it achingly adorable that he called what had happened ‘special’. Like he was a young woman talking about ‘making love’. It was tooth-rotting sweet. Especially considering that he wasn’t referring to some night where the two of you had laid in bed together with candles and Barry Mantilow playing. But rather, a time where you had tied him to a kitchen chair and fucked him senseless with a fake pussy.
Spencer easily followed your order, finding nothing but natural order in listening to you. He came to stand just a few inches from your body where you were leaning up against the door of your car, and then you began to speak quietly.
“What we did was special.” You assured him with a smile. The sadness on his features broke up slightly at this. “In fact, it was so special that I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I looked at you, I just imagined you moaning for me, covered in your own cum. I kept hearing your pretty voice in my ears saying ‘please’ in that gorgeous way you do.”
Of course, you did angle your words more into dirty talk, and you leaned into him slightly when you said these things, whispering in a low, seductive voice. You loved how his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed thickly, and a slight flush moved across his cheeks at your words.
When he didn’t say anything, clearly stunned into silence by your words, you continued.
“I didn’t want to be turned on, or distracted when we have an important job to do.” You had to leave out the fact that you had been so distracted that you had almost made a fatal mistake. But nobody needed to know about that. “So… I just tried to focus on something other than you for a while. I do apologize if it seems like I was avoiding you out of anger, but that is definitely not the case.” You told him, easily capping off your explanation.
“I understand.” Spencer nodded. “That’s… kind of how I feel every day. But I guess I’m just used to it by now. So I’m better at not being distracted.”
You felt intensely flattered, and slightly turned on as he unintentionally fluffed your ego.
“Because you’re a good boy.” You told him, knowing that praise was one of his weak spots.
You swore you saw his knees shake when the words hit him, and he cleared his throat loudly before he spoke again.
“Is - is it always going to be like this?” He asked.
He would have mourned your friendship if that were the case. He didn’t want to trade off your jokes and your everyday interactions for the sex, as amazing as the sex was. Selfishly, he wanted both.
“No.” You easily assured him. “I just need a bit of time to get my head on straight. I need some time to get used to it. Like you said, I need to get better at not being distracted.”
Spencer nodded at this.
He was very tempted to ask if you wanted to come over to his place that night. If you wanted to ‘sleep-over’ again. Not only had he enjoyed the spectacular orgasm, learning from you, but he had genuinely enjoyed the kind of domesticity that came from waking up with you there. He loved having someone in his kitchen in the morning. He knew he would miss that sorely if he woke up tomorrow morning and you weren’t there. (Perhaps you had spoiled him too much already.)
However, before he could work up the courage to ask, you leaned up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, muttering ‘goodnight, Spence’. And in return, he muttered something about paperwork before he walked back toward the elevator.
…
That night, Spencer went home and grabbed the fleshlight off the dishrack as soon as he spotted it. He knew that you had bought it for him with the intention of him using it independently, but as he grabbed the bottle of lube off the living room coffee table, he just felt… lonely without you there.
But he supposed that he had to learn how to do it on his own, because you wouldn’t be there all the time to help him. It was only a fantasy - the two of you getting a place together, so he could serve you in every possible way, doing so gleefully, and in return, you would play with him whenever he wanted.
He stripped naked and slicked up his cock and the toy just like you had shown him. He couldn’t help but to miss the feeling of your hand on his cock as he did it. When he got the tight softness of the fake pussy around him, he screwed his eyes closed tight - and all he could think about was you.
He missed you like a tree missing sunlight, and he felt his head spinning - felt like he had no greater sense of control without your voice telling him what to do. It made him anxious and on edge the whole time he had that fake pussy wrapped around his cock, rather than the beautifully, buttery warmth he had felt before.
By the time he came, he was practically sobbing. A deep ache for you in his chest as he missed your touch over him - missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, missed your voice calling him ‘good boy’ as that tingling ran through his gut.
After he rinsed out the toy with hot water and put it back in the dish rack to dry (wondering if he was cleaning it right) and jumped in the shower, he wondered if he would ever be content to masturbate alone again. He wondered if you had ruined him, if he would ever truly feel satiated without your touch.
…
The next few days passed without much of note happening.
You and Spencer stayed away from each other in the office and everyone began to whisper, theorizing that you were in some kind of fight. But of course, they didn’t notice the glances the two of you exchanged over the partition of your close desks - a deeply knowing stare that only the other person could decipher.
Also, unknowingly, Derek had given you a fantastic idea.
One day during your lunch break, you visited a lingerie store that you loved, and picked up a pair of lacy pink panties that would definitely be too small for you - but that you hoped would fit a certain genius’ slim hips just right.
…
At the end of the week, you were intensely thankful to have a day off.
You were tempted to turn your phone off completely, not wanting to be cursed with being called in on your day off. You could say that you lived with the hope that nobody out there was needing the BAU’s help, but truly, you were just annoyed and wanted some time to relax.
You woke up naturally around mid morning, and you were feeling hungry so you hesitantly rolled out of bed. You washed your face and did a light, lazy morning routine. On your way to the kitchen in your modest, cozy, but very well decorated apartment, you heard a knock on the door.
You felt all of your muscles tense up unconsciously. You really hoped that it wasn’t someone from the team, needing something. (You also hoped that it wasn’t one of your exes, showing up unannounced to beg for you back because the sex had been too good and had ruined them for anyone else - which had happened before. Multiple times unfortunately.)
You hesitantly walked over to the door (so tempted to pretend that you weren’t home and simply be left unbothered). When you looked through the peephole, you were delightfully surprised to see that it was Spencer. He was standing there, dressed like he usually did for work, holding a tray with two takeout coffee cups in one hand and a large brown paper bag in the other.
He had brought breakfast.
A sweetheart with a big dick and a pretty face who begged so pretty and brought food? Fuck, you might just have to marry him.
You eagerly opened the door and grinned widely at him.
“Spence!” You greeted him with excitement. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Um, hi.” He gave you a smile himself, and nodded at you rather than waving because his hands were full. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.” He motioned toward the items in his hands, and you nodded, moving aside to let him in. “I wanted to make up for those… abysmal eggs that I made you the other morning.”
“They weren’t abysmal.” You told him with a chuckle as you shut the door. “And I do admire you for trying.”
Spencer naturally navigated his way to your small kitchen, to the small round table that you had in there to set the items down. This was only his third time in your apartment.
Two of the other times he had been there, it had been to hang out and play board games with you, JJ, Elle, and Penelope. Something that had started out as a joke - Derek telling him that he might have fun ‘tagging along on girls’ night’. So he had. And he did have fun.
And one of the times it had been because he had gotten quite drunk and you had brought him here to take care of him. Because he had been so drunk that he couldn’t tell you where his house keys were. Waking up on your couch that morning to the smell of pancakes had been delightfully confusing.
Either way, he found your apartment wonderfully homey. Decorated in jewel tones with girly touches. And there was always a nice smell lingering in the air from some kind of scented candle or nice perfume you were wearing.
“Yeah, well, food is definitely not one of my areas of expertise.” Spencer admitted, carrying on the conversation as he took your coffee out of the tray and handed it to you.
You noticed the distinct motion of his eyes going up and down your body, lingering around your thighs and your breasts, distracting him from picking up his own coffee for a few moments.
It was only then that you became hyper-aware of the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas.
It was a matching set made of a thin cotton fabric with a floral pattern on it - the top was a tank top with thin little spaghetti straps (and of course, you had just gotten out of bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra). The shorts were intensely short, revealing most of your wide thighs. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, so you realized why it caused Spencer’s eyes to wander. You loved his keen gaze, though. And you pretended not to notice as the conversation continued.
“The genius finally admits that there’s something he doesn’t know!” You chuckled.
“There are still plenty of things I don’t know.” Spencer said quietly - the glint in his eye told you that he was definitely referring to the pivotal conversation that the two of you had the other night. The conversation where he had lovingly begged you to teach him about sex. “Plenty of things I still need to learn.”
There was a pause where the air was filled with intense sexual tension, but Spencer broke it by grabbing the paper bag with the food in it and opening it up.
“I got you a breakfast sandwich.” He said. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.”
“Sounds perfect.” You nodded. “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink. I’m gonna go down to my mailbox and see if my newspaper has been delivered.” You told him, walking over to the door to shove on your slippers.
“Getting your news from the paper? What an old lady you are,” Spencer said, clearly recycling your own words from the other morning back at you.
“That just means you like old ladies.” You chuckled, recycling his comment from the other day. “You must be into MILFs,”
“‘MILFs?’” Spencer questioned, that adorably confused look coming across his features again.
You became filled to the brim with glee at the realization that you would get to explain this to him.
“It means ‘Mother I’d Like To Fuck’ or ‘Mommy I’d Like To Fuck’.” You told him. “Usually it’s used to describe a sex fantasy where someone wants to fuck - well, a mother. Someone who’s had children, because they’re attracted to the concept of motherhood. Or it can be describing a porn category, usually anything with a curvy older woman and a younger man… some people say that a MILF doesn’t necessarily have to be a woman who’s had kids, just a woman who’s older than you and hot.”
Spencer’s lips gaped with lustful shock, and a flush came over him. He wanted to confirm that you were definitely a MILF - because you were a woman who was technically older than him, curvy, and very hot. And he definitely wanted to fuck you. All the time. But that would mean using the word ‘Mommy’ to describe you, and as much as that brought a tingle through him - that was not a can of worms that he was ready to open. Yet.
You left him standing there, gaping with shock and you couldn’t help but to laugh at this as you walked out the door to go to the mailbox.
When you came back, you and Spencer sat on the couch and ate with the TV playing quietly in the background. A random network was playing Pretty Woman and you left it on because Spencer remarked that he had never seen it before, and you found it adorable how closely he paid attention to the film as it progressed.
When you finished your food, you opened your newspaper and began reading. At some point, you had stretched out, and your feet had wandered into Spencer’s lap. Before you could wonder if he found it annoying, he began to lightly massage them.
It was a delicate kind of peace, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy the silent, easy company as he watched the film and you read an article about a new baby penguin being given to two male penguin parents at the local zoo.
You didn’t know that Spencer’s skin was crawling, eagerness building up inside of him as he sat in silence. Seeing you just sitting there, your face gently concentrated as you read. You putting your feet so carelessly in his lap, using him like he was just a lovely piece of furniture, just a footrest for you. All if it seemed to be checkmarks on some unknown list of things that only made him more lustful.
And for the past ten minutes, he had been slowly losing focus on the plot of the film and found himself staring more and more at your thighs or sneaking glances at you over top of the newspaper.
He had the urge to simply nudge your legs apart and crawl between them. To start touching you until he found out what was pleasurable for you. Until you called him ‘good boy’ in that way that made him melt again. But he wasn’t nearly confident enough to just do that. So he was just sitting there quietly. Slowly going insane as he thought about all the things that he wanted you to be doing to him now that the two of you were alone with free time.
Of course, you noticed him becoming more antsy. You felt him moving more in his seat, you felt him becoming tense under your feet. So you decided to ask and see what he would say. You wondered if he would come right out and admit that he was feeling lustful, or if you would have to pull it out of him.
“What’s up, Spence?” You asked, glancing over the newspaper at him.
Then, Spencer said something incredibly stupid.
“They’re hosting some of Van Gogh’s original sketches at the Smithsonian Art Museum this month.” Spencer said, motioning toward the back page of the newspaper that you had extended in one hand. It was all advertisements, but one of them did say something about a Van Gogh exhibit including some of his original art.
He had been feeling dangerously nervous and wanted to deflect from himself.
“Hmm.” You said after you read it. “Maybe we should go check it out.”
Spencer’s face fell to disappointment at this suggestion, and you held back laughter.
“What? Did you have some other grand plans for the day?” You posed, knowing this would get the right reaction out of him.
“I…” Spencer let out a breath, clearly hesitating. “I was kind of hoping we could… play.”
You couldn’t hold back your grin. You loved that he was using the language you had taught him, feeling confident in putting the vocabulary to good use.
“How about this?” You posed, knowing that you were fully in charge, and it was up to you to make the plan. “We go and check out the art exhibit, and if you behave yourself on this little outing, then you can have whatever you want as a reward when we come back home.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up at this. He seemed highly motivated at the idea of having a ‘reward’.
“What would ‘behaving myself’ entail?” He asked, ever eager to have a set of rules to follow.
“Don’t touch me without permission.” You told him. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t nag me or keep asking when we’ll come home and play. And… well, there is one more thing. Something special that you could do for me.”
Spencer’s face knit with confusion at this.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“Hold on.” You told him.
Then you got up off the couch and abandoned your newspaper on the coffee table, leaving Spencer nervously fidgeting as he waited for your return. He was surprised when you came back with a bright pink shopping bag - something fairly small and girly. The shop logo on the side wasn’t one that he recognized, so he had no idea what could be inside the bag.
He waited patiently as you stood on the opposite side of the table and put the bag in the middle of it, and peeled back the pink tissue paper to take out the object inside the bag. He was slightly confused when you pulled out a small, delicate pair of lacy pink panties.
When you unfolded them and held them up to display them to him, he easily saw that they would be too small for you, and the confusion racked him even harder. If you hadn’t bought the underwear for yourself then-?
“I wanted you to wear these for me.” You told him, your voice steady. “Under your clothes all day. So just you and I know.”
Instantly, a wave of anxiety swept over Spencer.
You hated the look that came across his face and you tossed the underwear down as he spoke.
“Would - why?” He stuttered out. “Do you think it’s funny or something?”
Spencer hated it, but he was immediately brought back to a time in his childhood. A time when, as a child prodigy in a public high school, he had been forced to take a gym class with a bunch of older teenagers, and forced to change in the same locker room as everyone else, because the coach refused to ‘treat him special’ just because he was ‘a smartass’.
And at the time, he had thought nothing of his Ninja Turtles underpants until the other boys started pointing and laughing at them. They had thought his underwear was so funny, in fact, that they took his clothes, forcing him to walk out into the hallway in nothing but his underwear, fighting to get his clothes back.
Back then, he didn’t understand why someone’s underwear would be funny. But it had changed him and left him guarded and feeling small - even now.
“No, no, no, baby. Of course not.” You rushed to assure him otherwise, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him and putting a tender hand on his knee.
“I would never want to laugh at you. Or humiliate you.” You told him very sincerely.
You distinctly held back the urge to say ‘unless you want me to’. You didn’t think he was ready to know that some people role played humiliation on purpose. That would be for another day.
“Baby, I only wanted to do this because it’s a turn-on for me.” You continued. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to make you upset or uncomfortable.”
“It - it turns you on?” Spencer’s face knit with intense confusion, contemplating your words carefully.
This was a brand new aspect that - now that it was presented to him, definitely had him processing the concept with fresh eyes.
He knew that films or comedic shows presented the idea of men wearing women’s clothing as a form of public humiliation. Even though during Shakespearan times it was artistic, a beautiful form of theater. In modern times, men were publicly mocked and shamed for parading around in clothing that wasn’t ‘meant’ for them.
Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, he was well aware of the existence of Drag Queens - people who fell somewhere between that Shakespearan theater and the Saturday Night Live style of comedy that was usually straight men wearing dresses. But drag performers dressed up in women’s clothing for money. They did it as a type of paid performance.
No part of Spencer’s mental catalog had any idea that people dressed in clothing that didn’t align with their gender as, well… a fetish.
Spencer imagined himself wearing the underwear - especially knowing that you would be looking at him with a lustful gaze while he wore it, and he felt a distinct tingle in his gut. He felt his mood shifting from anxiety to something warmer, but he was still on edge.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby.” You pleaded gently, rubbing your hand on Spencer’s knee. “I know that look. So come on, tell me what’s going on inside that big brain of yours.”
Spencer hadn’t realized that he had been sitting there for a prolonged moment, perhaps more than a few, a look of deep thought cast over his features as he considered all of this.
“I… I don’t hate the idea.” Spencer said tentatively.
He was still timid about his own desires, and he was unsure what it meant that he himself was becoming turned on by the idea of wearing women’s underwear. It was supposed to be a show for you, right? Was he supposed to enjoy it?
“You’re not just saying that because you’re trying to please me?” You replied.
You wanted to be sure that he was comfortable. You wanted to ensure that he knew he could say ‘no’ if he needed to.
Spencer shook his head.
“I - I think I could like it.” He said quietly, clearly shy about his own words. “I think I do. Just… can you tell me more about… why you like it?”
You gave a small grin, always happy to explain these kinds of things to him.
“Well, I think you would look good in them.” You said, being entirely honest. “To me, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the sight of a cock trapped in pretty lace. It’s unconventional and just so… pretty.” You explained, choosing your words carefully.
Spencer felt a unique twist in his gut when you used that word - ‘pretty’.
People had used that word to describe him before, but it always felt like it was teasing, or ironic. But when you said it, it sounded so genuine. It made Spencer want more. It made him want to hear it more because he wanted to feel pretty, especially in your eyes. It was something he had never wanted in his life before. It exponentially boosted his desire to wear those panties for you - if that would make him pretty to you, then he would certainly do it.
But he held back on voicing that for now, and simply let you continue.
“Plus, I do enjoy the idea of the two of us having a secret.” You told him. “The fact that you would be wearing those pretty panties under your clothes and we would be the only two people who know.”
Spencer definitely understood that. He liked sharing secrets with you.
It was how he felt all week - entirely filthy and victorious as he wielded his secret from everyone else. Having the knowledge that he had sex with you and the two of you were going about your days without anybody else knowing it. Sure, part of him wanted to brag to Morgan about it for some kind of social standing. But the bigger part of him much preferred the satisfaction of that secret. Having that secret side of you all to himself.
“But like I said, you don’t have to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You don’t have to do it just to please me.” You reiterated the point, entirely open with him.
“You really think I’m pretty?” Spencer asked quietly.
You found it adorable that he had become fixated on this word, clearly slightly distracted from the overall point.
“Yes.” You assured him. “You’re very pretty. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, Spence.” You reached up and brushed your knuckles gently across his cheek, and he shivered lightly at the touch in combination with the brutally honest praise.
“Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. Then, he had a thought. “Can - can I try them on, and then… see how I feel? Before wearing them for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding toward where you had set down the pink lacy panties.
It was such a brilliant idea - you weren’t sure how you hadn’t thought of it yourself first.
“Of course, baby. That’s a really good idea.” You nodded. “Do you want to go in the other room and put them on, or do you want me to help you?”
He found a warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of you helping him get dressed, and he absolutely couldn’t deny that offer.
“Can you help me?” He asked, looking at you with the sweetest doe eyes. You resisted the urge to simply climb on top of him, kiss the life out of him and make him cum again.
No. Today was going to be about making him wait. Making him needy - making him truly want.
“Okay, baby, stand up for me.”
Of course, he thrived on you giving him orders, so he did just as you told him without any hesitation.
He stood up in front of you and you guided him around the coffee table to have more room. He was wearing such a perfectly Spencer outfit - a navy blue knitted sweater vest with a button up shirt underneath, a pair of gray slacks with a brown belt, and his usual mismatched socks (one red with navy stripes and the other dark gray). He also had a gray blazer that he had ditched on the back of one of your kitchen chairs shortly after coming in.
It was interesting to know that even on his days off, Spencer still wore such ‘business’ clothing. But you supposed that it was all his wardrobe was made up of, because he likely didn’t consider it appropriate to leave the house in his loungewear.
In a lot of ways, much like everything else that he did - it was intensely adorable.
You put your hands on his belt and undid it, and unzipped his pants - when you slid them down over his thighs, you weren’t surprised to see that he was wearing the most Spencer kind of underwear: a pair of plain white briefs. He was half-hard, making a prominent shape in the cotton that caused you to hold back a wicked grin.
“I’m sorry, my underwear isn’t… sexy.” He said, his arms hovering awkwardly around his front as he clearly considered covering himself but hesitated in doing so.
“Don’t apologize, baby.” You said, getting down on your knees to take his pants the rest of the way down and untangle them from his ankles. Naturally, he put a hand on your shoulder and stepped out of them, a flush coming over him at how intimate the entire thing felt.
“That’s why I got these special just for you,” You told him, reaching over and grabbing the panties, holding them up for emphasis.
“You did?” He questioned.
You had taken the tags off shortly before presenting the underwear to him, and even though you had brought them out in a shopping bag, it wasn’t something he had considered. You had bought something like this with him in mind. This was the second time you had gone shopping and gotten him a special present and he couldn’t help but to feel so lovingly spoiled by you.
“I did.” You confirmed with a smile, looking up at him in a way that made him melt.
“Thank you, Miss.” He couldn’t help the title from spilling from his lips, and it immediately made your pussy throb with need.
Once again, you forced yourself to focus.
“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” You said, reaching up and thumbing along the waistband of his underwear.
Spencer nodded.
“Use your words, please.” You reminded him sharply.
“Yes, Miss.” He said, nodding more frantically.
You took down his briefs and his cock swayed in the air - clearly on the way to being fully hard, smooth and beautiful. You found it adorable that his pubes were still entirely untamed. You loved that even after you had started showing sexual interest in him, he hadn’t felt the need to rush to groom himself. You preferred him like this, especially because the imagery of that bush entirely slick with his own cum would always be stuck in your mind, and you definitely wanted to recreate it again.
You were tempted to get a hand on his cock, to tease him. To get him to full hardness, making him leaking and whining and then force him to go out for a full day of activities. But he was still new to this and you weren’t that mean.
That, and you had a feeling that because it was Spencer, if he started begging you to cum, if he said ‘please’ in that pretty voice again, then you would most likely just give in to him and your whole plan would be ruined. Rather than going to the museum, you would simply spend the day with him tied to the bed and incoherent.
But you wanted to see how far you could truly push him if he was needy. If he was absolutely desperate. And a few hours of your attention directed away from him when he wanted it most (focusing on paintings rather than on pleasing him) along with rough lace scrubbing up against his cock should do very nicely.
You pulled the underwear down fully and just the same as you had with his pants, unhooked them from his ankles, leaving him fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing his socks. Then you picked up the panties again - you had chosen something that was aesthetically pleasing, and hopefully not too uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t anywhere near a thong in the back, but you knew that it would be snug on his cock - just what you were hoping for.
The moment that Spencer felt the lace brush against his skin, he was greeted by a brand new experience. He always chose his clothing based on the comfort of the fabrics - and he had certainly never worn anything with this kind of underlying roughness to it.
When you pulled it fully up over his hips and gently tucked his cock inside the waistband, he did find it thrilling. The fabric created a slightly irritated pain across his highly sensitive cock, and a tightness around his balls, but he found that in a way, he liked it. It was truly all brand new, and though he knew that the feeling was going to become an annoyance after a while, he was curious about the sexual aspects of it. He found that he wanted more.
Especially when he saw the look on your face.
Spencer looked utterly stunning like this. Infinitely better than you could have imagined. Seeing his half-hard cock trapped behind the pink lace as it was stretched over his slim hips almost had you drooling. You knew that the lust was clearly written across your face, and you couldn’t help but to reach up and gently stroke his cock through the fabric, getting a low moan from him.
“How does it feel, baby?” You asked, looking up at him from where you were still positioned on your knees.
With your warm hand on him through the fabric, with you looking at him like he was the most perfect thing in the world, there was only one possible answer.
“Good.” He easily replied. “Really good.”
You smiled at him. “Do you wanna keep them on for the day?”
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded eagerly. Truthfully, he was excited to see where the day would take the two of you.
You helped him put the rest of his clothes back on, then you sat him on the couch to wait for you so that you could go get dressed for the day. You found it entirely adorable when he wiggled around on the spot, clearly adjusting to the new feeling of wearing such tight, lacy panties.
Spencer felt even more intense lustful warmth wash over him when you returned in a flowy red dress with small white polka dots on it. It was a dress with a deep V neck and a tie around the waist, one that looked like it wrapped around your whole body. It accentuated your curves so well, making you look like a gorgeous Hollywood starlet.
You had on a pair of red heels and had a red purse with a long strap on your shoulder. You were truly a vision of beauty. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public with you, especially because people would see the two of you and assume that you were on a date.
(Was it a date? How the hell was he allowed to date someone as perfect as you?)
“And remember, baby. If you’re a good boy all day, then you can have a reward.” You told him, putting your foot up on the coffee table to adjust the strap of your shoe, not-so-subtly flashing him your underwear with how open and flowy the skirt of your dress was.
Spencer was brain dead by the sight for a moment, but then thought to ask:
“What kind of reward?”
“Well… whatever you want. You can pick.” You told him. “As long as you follow the rules.”
Oh, it was going to be a good day.
…
It seemed that your plan worked far better than you originally expected.
When the two of you first got into the museum, Spencer’s hands kept hovering around his waist, clearly resisting the urge to grab at his pants, to try and adjust the panties through his clothing. You combated this by grabbing one of his hands, and kept him busy by prompting him with questions about the paintings as you toured the non-Van Gogh sections of the museum for a while.
At times, Spencer became a bit too fixated on whatever he was saying, and you felt an eagerness to distract him from the art. As much as you enjoyed listening to him ramble on and always learned something from the sound of his sweet, soothing voice, you did have another goal in mind.
When he became a bit too immersed in his thoughts and recollection about whatever art history books he had read, you would provide him with some kind of physical touch that sent his mind absolutely rocketing off the rails, and sent his mouth sputtering as he tried to remember what he had been saying.
You would reach over and wrap your arms around his waist, possibly brushing your hand over his cock on the way. You might wrap an arm around his lower back and lean into his body, purposefully pressing your weight up against his side, letting him feel every single curve that you had to offer. You began to feel more bold as you wanted to get more of a reaction out of him, and you even reached up and planted stray kisses on the side of his neck, behind his ear.
As time progressed, his insights about the paintings became much more shallow, and he began to fidget more. You knew that he was growing intensely needy, and you loved it.
By the time the two of you got to the exhibit with Van Gogh’s original sketches that had drawn you to the museum in the first place, Spencer was oddly pensive and quiet. You let the silence linger as you carefully planned your next move.
Spencer interrupted the peaceful silence with his gentle, prodding voice.
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.”
“What does that mean?” You asked, turning to look at him.
“It was something Vincent Van Gogh said.” He noted, turning to look at you, mirroring your body language. “It means - well, I think it means that… that life can be full of trauma and darkness, but if you take the time to observe the beauties of your life, and realize how there are simplistic wonders all around us, then… the darkness doesn’t seem so big. The everyday parts of life can seem enchanting.”
You reached up and gently brushed Spencer’s hair back from his forehead, eagerly listening to his sweet voice as he spoke.
You knew - consciously or unconsciously - he was also speaking about the way that you made each other’s lives enchanting. Your job was full of darkness and horror, and it would be easy to fall to it. But you lifted each other up, and became that everyday enchantment that the other person needed.
Spencer’s eyes pointedly flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes before he continued.
“Van Gogh was famous for painting pictures of everyday sights. Flower vases, scenes from his village. The Starry Night was painted because he imagined that the stars above his village were a sure sign that God himself came down every single night to kiss the sky there. He didn’t see the mundane as simply… mundane. He saw it as beautiful and worth celebrating.” Spencer explained.
“You’re beautiful.” You easily fired back, and Spencer crumbled under the direct compliment.
In a moment, his cheeks dusted with pink and his posture shrunk. Where he was confident and tall when speaking about art history, he became small as he was trapped under your gaze, absolutely unsure how to take the compliment - especially as it was directed toward his looks. Especially as it made him feel oddly pretty.
When his eyes jumped back up from looking at the floor, his gaze was locked on your mouth once again. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and you could tell that he was becoming fidgety and anxious.
His anticipation was easily growing into need.
And so was yours.
Without telling him what was on your mind, you scanned the room. You thought you had seen something of note when you first walked into this section of the museum - and surely enough, in one of the corners, there was a thick black curtain covering a doorway. A curtain that had an ‘Employees Only’ sign pinned to it. Perhaps it led to some kind of storage closet, perhaps it led to another winding hallway.
Whatever was behind there, you were about to find out.
“Come here.” You told him, giving a gentle tug on his elbow that you were holding.
Naturally, entranced by your every movement and having nothing but the ability to follow you - Spencer walked on easy feet, guided by you as you marched across the room with purpose. He thought perhaps you had seen a painting that particularly caught your interest across the room, or that you were finally ready to leave and it was time to go home and get his reward.
But what happened next, he certainly did not expect.
You pulled him toward a dark curtain that was labeled with a sign - Employees Only.
Last time he checked, you hadn’t gotten a job at a museum.
He found himself slightly filled with anxiety at this fact, but you seemed entirely unfazed.
You simply pulled back the curtain and used Spencer’s anxious confusion to your advantage. You shoved him in first before he could question you, and then you climbed in yourself and carefully adjusted the fabric so it would seem completely undisturbed.
The area behind the curtain seemed to be nothing more than a long hallway with a few doors. It was clearly a lesser traveled area of the museum - a few of the lightbulbs overhead blown out and not replaced, the floor dingy and dusty. Perhaps those doors led to storage rooms or the place’s security facilities - but either way, the two of you weren’t supposed to be here.
His insides filled with panic at the idea of getting caught.
“Y/N-!” He called out your name harshly, but you cut him off by putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him back against the wall.
Hitting the wall easily knocked the wind out of him. It was a surprising amount of force - you were much stronger than you looked. Of course, he had seen you take down suspects before. He had witnessed you tackle grown men to the grown with ease and marveled in awe at your strength, but you had never used that kind of force on him. He had never imagined what it would be like.
He found that it turned him on more than he could have imagined. The presence of your hand fisting the front of his sweater vest spread a dizzying heat through his body. He stared at you with parted lips and a slacked jaw as the lust and shock overtook him.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” You asked.
You stood away from him for a moment, removing your hands from him completely and leaving a few inches of space between your two bodies in the dim, dingy space.
You were giving him a clear opportunity to use his safeword if he truly wasn’t comfortable with fooling around in such a public space.
“We - we’re gonna get caught!” He whispered urgently to you, his voice hushed but still strained at the very thought of it.
You found it entirely adorable - how scandalized he was by this. You had done far worse and you hoped that you could get him to sink to your level over time.
“You let me worry about that, pretty boy.” You told him firmly. “Now - are you gonna be good for me?”
You asked one more time, your voice demanding and hopefully fully relaying the meaning of your words.
Spencer had a choice.
And with you standing there, staring him down with heat in your eyes, looking like such a vision of lustful beauty, when he had been waiting so long for your touch, for your attention… it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
He only wanted you.
“Yes.” He squeaked out quietly, swallowing thickly around his own doubt. “Yes, I’ll be a good boy.”
You grinned a wide Cheshire grin at his words, and in a moment, you were on him.
You possessively gripped at both sides of his blazer, easily bending him to your will. You surged forward and met him as you forced his body to bend downward, capturing his mouth in a demanding, heated kiss.
It was a tiny murmur in the back of your mind, reminding you that this was actually your first kiss with Spencer. You had already seen him naked and made him cum, and you were just now getting to taste his sweet lips. It was a funny thought.
In that moment, any worry about potentially getting caught easily flew from Spencer’s mind - any logic quickly dripped out of his ears.
He moaned beautifully into your mouth, and as you echoed a sound back, you had to wonder why you hadn’t kissed him sooner. He seemed to be a natural at it - or, this was the one thing that he had some real practice at. Which you were entirely thankful for. His lips were smooth against your own, heated and desperate, surging forward with intense gyrating motions - almost as if he was trying to consume you with his intense hunger.
Though in a moment, he easily fell under your control.
You reached a hand up to the back of his hair and took a tight grip there, holding him like he was a beautiful object that you owned, just a toy for you to play with. He let out a sharp whine from the back of his throat, and his jaw fell slack for a moment, allowing you to bite down on his bottom lip - hard, assuring him who was in charge.
The shock of pain from the bite had his hips bucking forward, and surely enough, you felt him fully hard, brushing against your hip through both of your clothing. He whined even sharper as he felt the roughness of the lace pressing against his cock, brushing against him with more force as he humped himself against you. It stung roughly and sent beautiful shocks of pleasure pulsing through him.
“What do you want, pretty boy?” You breathed against his lips.
Still desperate, needy for contact, he left a sloppy kiss on your chin before he spoke to answer the question.
“C-Can I touch you?” He whimpered out quietly. “Please.”
Your lips formed a wicked grin against him at this.
“Anything over my clothes.” You told him. When his hands still hung limply at his sides, you threw in some encouragement. “Come on, baby, touch me.”
You did have to wonder if he would have been bold enough to reach under the hemline of your dress - even if you hadn’t given him explicit permission. You wondered what he would have done if his fingers had gotten as far as your underwear. But with your instructions, he had full access to your ass and breasts and you were curious to see what he would do within the rules.
You dove in for another kiss, boldly possessing his mouth with a commanding strength once again. He whimpered against your lips and - feeling as needy as he was, he eagerly followed your instructions and began feeling you up over your clothing. His hands started out humbly on your hips as your experienced, certain lips battled against his needy, rapid ones. But soon enough, he became anxious and impatient with simply grabbing on your love handles through the cotton of your dress, and he needed more.
You yanked on his hair again and took advantage of his gasp-parted lips to shove your tongue into his mouth, your body pressed firmly against his with him leaning against the wall for support. His hands began to eagerly wander, consuming your flesh for the first time and truly getting a taste of what it was like to not just be commanded by you, but what it was like to be with you.
He began grabbing the roundness of your ass in needy handfuls, his touch truly exploratory - he didn’t touch you with any skill, didn’t touch you like he was trying to get you heated and turned on. He touched you because he wanted to touch your body, badly. He was simply displaying his own hungry need for you without even considering shame in doing so.
And that was something that caused you to moan into his mouth as you raked your tongue along his teeth. He even reached a hand up and shoved it between your two bodies, groping at your breast with absolutely no grace. He was digging his fingers into the flesh like he was trying to rip it off your body and possess it entirely. It was something so filled with need that it made you so damn hot, made your cunt ache between your thighs.
You knew that you wouldn’t be able to end the day without cumming - whether it be with his help or simply having him watch and beg to touch you.
You had so many plans for him. And you couldn’t wait to see them all play out before your eyes.
You felt his erection against your leg, throbbing with just as much need, and you felt that devilish urge rise up inside of you again.
You pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, the realization hitting you once again that - yes, technically, you were in a public setting. The thought sent a thrill through you, but you had to be at least somewhat careful, lest you get caught.
“You like touching me, baby?” You cooed against his cheek.
“Yes, Miss.” He breathed out.
When you opened your eyes partially, you had to contain a gasp.
His glasses were fogged up.
Just like something out of your fantasies, his glasses were clouded with steam from the heated exchange. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. From what you could see through the layer of dew, his eyes were screwed shut and he was far too focused on his lust. He was concentrating more on groping your breast with one hand and your ass with the other, giving small, aborted humps against your hip, clearly trying not to cum in his pants.
Oh god. You wanted to see him cum in his pants. Badly.
And it was rare that you didn’t get what you wanted.
“You want me to touch you?” You asked, nosing along his long, beautiful neck.
“Should - should we go home first?” He asked quietly.
Clearly, he was still afraid of getting caught.
“Hey, shh.” You breathed against his skin, causing him to shudder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You let me do all the thinking, baby. Just answer the question,”
“Yes.” He moaned quietly. “I want-”
You didn’t let him finish, and cut him off with another heated kiss.
You distracted him with this, and he whimpered sharply against your lips the moment your hand was on him.
You groped his cock harshly through his pants, your hand skilled in a direct contrast to the way his touch was clumsy and only fueled by need. You knew exactly what you were doing, knew exactly how to drive him where he needed to go.
Your demanding touch closed the pink lace of the panties roughly around the sensitive skin of his cock. The feeling of it - being reminded of his little filthy secret, the thing that the two of you shared. That, on top of the fact that he had already been so close from the thrill of getting to touch you and grope you freely for the first time - that set him off so damn easily.
He didn’t have a moment to warn you that he was cumming or ask for permission. The only warning you got was a pathetic choked off moan that came from the back of his throat before his hips jolted into your hand, and the stuttering movement of his legs was a sure sign to you that he had cum inside his pants.
You pulled away from his lips to admire your work.
His face was nicely flushed, continuing to add to the fog clouding up the lenses of his glasses. His hair was entirely messy and tousled, giving an absolutely sex crazed look to him even though he still had all his clothes on - clothes that were wrinkled and messy, adding even more to the look. His pants with a slight damp spot forming on the crotch as his load soaked through the thin fabric of the panties and began to soak into his pants as well. You couldn’t help but to give his sensitive cock an extra little squeeze through his pants, causing him to whimper harshly and shake at the touch.
You loved seeing him so fucked out and pathetic.
“I - I’m sorry!” He immediately began to apologize, reaching to pull down his vest in an effort to cover his crotch, as though wanting to hide the evidence of his orgasm that was rapidly soaking into his clothes. “I’m sorry, Miss!”
Of course, he thought he had made some grievous misstep but breaking the rule - by not asking permission before he had cum. When it was something you had been gunning for, wanting him to cum for you.
“Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay baby.” You murmured against his skin. “It’s okay.”
Before he could think too hard about it or get too swept up in his emotions (and frankly, before the two of you could get caught in such a state) - you grabbed one of his hands and then dragged him out of the museum completely. You barely slowed from a brisk walk until the two of you got back to the car. Even with Spencer holding his vest down over his crotch out of embarrassment, if anyone took a second look at his wrecked hair, dewey glasses and kiss-swollen lips, they absolutely would have known what had happened to him, and you loved the thought of it.
…
You spent the entire ride home assuring him that he had done nothing wrong.
It took a lot of soothing from your voice and a few well placed gropes to his crotch over the car’s console with your other hand on the wheel. This got him hard again, made him distracted from beating himself up for not being able to follow the rules explicitly. Instead, now he was focused on the way his throbbing cock felt swimming around in his own cum-soaked underwear.
He didn’t need to feel guilty for not following the rules. You didn’t intend to punish him for breaking that rule, because he had just been too pretty while breaking it. Besides - you couldn’t imagine spanking someone so soft and new.
You couldn’t imagine saying no to him.
In all honesty, you kind of hated yourself for going soft. This would be the first time since you had become a dom that you hadn’t punished a sub for breaking a rule. But this wasn’t just any sub, this was Spencer. You couldn’t explain why, but he was just allowed to get away with things. He deserved to be spoiled.
By the time you did get home, Spencer was breathless and filled to the brim with need once again. If his tears had been from self punishment and guilt at first, they were now from sheer need. He was desperately wringing his hands in his lap to keep from pawing at you because he felt that he had not been given permission to do so during the car ride.
When you pulled into your parking spot, he looked over at you through his now clearer glasses lenses with big, wanting eyes.
“You’re sure that you’re not mad, Miss?” He asked quietly, giving an adorably dramatic sniffle.
“I am absolutely not mad, baby.” You told him. “It’s difficult to ever be mad at you when you’re so damn pretty.” You ‘booped’ his nose at this, and the smile he gave was so genuine that it made your insides glow with pride. “Now, what do you say we get you out of those soiled clothes and into something more comfortable?”
“I - I didn’t bring a bag.” He said, looking over to his car across the lot longingly.
“You didn’t bring a bag to the sleepover?” You cooed. “How silly, baby.” Spencer looked entirely downtrodden, as though all of his plans for the day were ruined. “I’m sure that I can find something for you to wear.”
This conjured up a delightful image in your mind of him wearing more lingerie. But no, you needed to find him something comfortable instead. He had been good, and he deserved to be rewarded for it. You were sure that despite the size difference, he would be able to fit into some of your pajama pants with the waist tie knotted up a few times. Hopefully the waistband wouldn’t absolutely fall off him.
He seemed more upbeat at this, and the two of you got out of the car and went up to your apartment, Spencer easily following your lead, as always. He carried your purse loyally, something you found to be a covert turn-on. You liked seeing the subtle ways he could serve you.
When you got up to your apartment, you tossed your keys into the bowl where you normally kept them, and Spencer made a point of hanging the long strap of your bag on the coat rack - something you found so entirely cute.
You then took Spencer to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to help him calm down. The entire time he drank it, you gently stroked his hair and told him what a good boy he was. This seemed to relax him entirely, which satisfied you on a deep level.
Then, you grabbed his hand and steered him in the direction of the bathroom to help him clean up. With his shoes already ditched near the front door, you peeled off his blazer and threw it over the back of the couch along the way, not giving him a moment to speak about hanging it up ‘properly’ or whatever else was gonna come out of his mouth before you bustled him along to the next room.
In your quaint apartment, the bathroom was at the end of the hallway, and he caught a small glimpse into your bedroom before you continued shoving him down the hall. He saw twinkling lights and pink silken sheets and felt his stomach tingle - it was nothing like he had imagined it, but he kind of loved that.
Your bathroom was just as entracing.
The tiles were pearlescent blue - obviously vintage, along with a clawfoot tub to match, and you had decorated everything with quite a beautiful sense of style to match. A floral blue shower curtain, a fuzzy blue bath mat, and a small golden cart in the corner holding all of your different products. Spencer had the urge to pick up the bottles and start smelling them, wondering if he could get more of your amazing scent right from the source, or if it was the unique, distinct combination of those products along with your natural skin oils that made you so intoxicating.
You shut the door gently behind the two of you when you got him into the small room. He found himself pressed right up against the counter of the small bathroom vanity, his back to the ornate mirror and your back to the door. This left only a few inches of space between your two bodies as you looked up at him with a gentle, sweet expression.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You told him.
Spencer smiled at you.
“And then, after you’re all nice and clean, I think you can have your reward.” You told him, your voice low and dripping with decadent promise. “You were a very good boy today.”
“I was?” He said eagerly.
Then, after a moment, he realized that he shouldn’t be questioning it. Because it was against the rules to question your judgment, and because you had just told him that he was deserving of a reward.
“I mean - yeah, I was.” He quickly corrected himself, trying to sound confident in this statement.
You let out a soft chuckle at this. Then, you gently grabbed his chin and pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss.
“You were, baby.” You told him confidently. “You were a very good boy today.”
You absolutely adored the look on his face as you said this. His features became so soft and hazy, almost as if he was drunk. Clearly he was so high on the praise, loving knowing that he had behaved well for you, that you were giving him your stamp of approval and that he was about to be well rewarded for it.
“Do you know what you want as your reward?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of you.
Spencer’s eyes filled with equal parts glee and contemplation. This was such a mighty question.
As the question hung in the air, you reached up and gently took off his glasses, placing them on the counter beside the sink. As good as he looked in them, you didn’t want to accidentally knock them off his face and break them while you were stripping him out of his clothes. You then reached for the bottom of his sweater vest, still reeking with curiosity as to how he would answer the question.
He imagined all kinds of things - one of the obvious ones was of course, sex. Full blown intercourse. But something deep inside of him told him that he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that. Part of him feared ‘messing up’ and still felt self conscious - like he should perform well and impress you, even though you quite clearly took the lead and hadn’t been unimpressed with anything from him so far.
Deep down, he did know that his first time would be comfortable, safe, and beautiful if it was with you. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to be with anyone else. He couldn’t picture his first time having intercourse if it wasn’t with you in his ear, cooing about what a good boy he was.
But still, he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.
You got the vest off over his head, humming a calming tune quietly under your breath - a sign showing him that you were okay with the quiet, giving him time to contemplate his answer. As much time as he needed. You got to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and delicately undressing him as though he were a precious doll. It was something that caused goosebumps to form across his skin.
He thought more about it.
So - he didn’t want to ask for intercourse.
He definitely wanted to touch you more. He liked touching you - he loved touching you. He definitely wanted permission to touch you under your clothes, to explore your naked body. He thought it might be silly to simply ask for his reward to be ‘touch naked breasts please’. You might find that silly.
No, he could do better than that.
When you began to peel the sleeves of the shirt off his shoulders and it caused a quiet shiver through him, that’s when it struck him.
“I know.” He said quietly. “I know now.”
“You know what you want your reward to be, baby?” You prodded gently, gathering the fabric of the shirt in your hands and tossing it into the laundry basket behind you.
Perhaps you would get up early the next morning and do a load of laundry to wash his clothes so he could have something to wear home. You were struck with the vision of him wearing a pair of your sweatpants and one of your big comfortable tee-shirts walking back to his apartment from your car. You wondered - if the two of you were going to continue having these ‘sleepovers’ if you should clear a drawer for him to keep some clothes at your place and vice versa. That seemed far too domestic in your mind, but it just made good sense, didn’t it?
You were snapped out those thoughts when Spencer finally gave you his answer.
“I want to give you pleasure.” He breathed out quietly. “You’ve given me pleasure. I want to pleasure you.”
His choice of words was somehow utterly adorable and spine-tingling at the same time. He sounded like a dreamy paperback smut novel come to life. But as you reached for the buckle of his belt to continue undressing him, you had to ask for clarification, just to be sure.
“What do you mean by that, Spence?” You asked, punctuating the sentence with the click of the belt buckle.
“I -”
He let out a hot breath as you pulled his belt completely from the loops and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a quiet ‘clunk’. His next words were paired with the sound of the zipper teeth on his trousers coming down.
“I want to give you an orgasm.” He let out a quiet whimper when your hand grazed his dick as you worked the fly of the pants apart. “I want you to teach me.” He said quietly, his voice a lot weaker as he became dizzy with pleasure once again.
“You want me to teach you, huh?” You purred.
You became temporarily distracted from this thought when you peeled his pants down further and the most delicious sight was revealed to you. His cock, half hard and still trapped inside the pink lace - which was now stuck to his shaft completely with his own cum. Just as you had imagined in your fantasies, it was absolutely wet. Slick like a pretty pink floral second skin as it sat below his waistline, making his sticky pubes and his sensitive cock look even more sinful while he sat marinating in his own load.
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached forward and greedily groped his cock through the lace. You went so far as to trap the sensitive pink cockhead between your fingers and wring the roughness of the fabric around it, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him. Spencer sobbed with overwhelming pleasure and bucked his hips forward, such a beautifully broken sound. When you continued the motion, he surged a hand up to grab your wrist as he twisted his body slightly away from you - clearly overstimulated.
You stopped the roughness in exchange for a gentle petting of your fingertips, and you leaned in to nose across the skin of his neck once again.
You surprised yourself when your next words flew out of your mouth, almost without restraint.
“Hey, shh. It’s okay, Mommy’s just looking.” You told him in a hushed tone.
The moment that the word escaped your lips - Mommy - your gut dropped with crippling fear. You thought that he would hate it or become disgusted by it. But he let out another whimper, and when you looked into his eyes, you were met with nothing but a sharp burning and a reckoning that he had absolutely no clue he would have liked to call you that up until then.
You left the air blank for a moment, giving him time to adjust - time to back down from it if he wanted to. Or time to rise to it if he wanted it just as badly as you did.
“M-?” He squeaked out, and you gave him patience. “Mommy?” He said quietly, testing the waters.
He found that a warmth washed over him, and he liked it far more than he thought he would have.
Your breath caught in your throat and you held back a moan. Your muscles shook slightly as you resisted the urge to jump him - to make him say it again, with more desperation, with more lust. There would be plenty of time for that, you told yourself.
“Yes, baby?” You answered quietly.
“Can I take them off now?” He asked, referring to the panties feeling damp and cold and uncomfortable on his skin at this point. “You said you had some pajamas for me?”
You smiled at him. “I’ll take these off and clean you up a bit and then I’ll get you some pjs. Okay, baby?”
He nodded.
“Yes, M-Mommy.” He stuttered slightly, still wearing in the nickname - but he loved it.
He loved how it was warm and comfortable and familiar, and much less formal than calling you ‘Miss’.
‘Miss’ was a nice teacher, someone good at making rules, but ‘Mommy’ was someone he could make a home out of. At least he hoped that’s what the two of you were doing. ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem too strict about the rules, and honestly, Spencer liked that.
You helped him peel out of his slightly wet pants and completely ruined, soaked underwear. (You would definitely be washing those for a future use.) You tossed both items into the hamper, and then peeled off his cute (once again mismatched) socks and tossed those aside too before you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water to clean him off with.
The entire time you wiped down his cock, he let out sweet whimpers and gently bumped into your touch. By the end, it was almost difficult to keep him clean, because his cock was fully hard and leaking precum slightly as you smoothed the warm cloth over his lower tummy and made sure to gently clean off his balls. It was oddly adorable, him making a mess faster than you could clean it up.
When you were satisfied with this, you tossed the cloth into the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you would be back shortly with a change of clothes for him.
It was only when he was standing alone in the bathroom that he felt exposed - only then realizing how truly well… naked he actually was. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to be embarrassed by it as he awaited your return.
After what felt like far too many minutes for his taste, you returned with something pink and soft looking in your hands.
The panties had been surprising, and while itchy, had made him feel… oddly pretty. He would be hesitant to admit it aloud, but you were already making him grow to like the color pink and how it made him feel.
You unfolded the piece of clothing and held it up for him to look at. It was a pair of long pajama pants that obviously belonged to you. (Spencer worried that the waistband would be too large for him, even with the tie that was available). They were made of a silken, soft material that seemed like it would be very light and comfortable to wear. They were a rosy pink color, very girly and feminine. Very pretty. He also noticed that you hadn’t brought a shirt for him, but he supposed that he didn’t have to worry too much about that. You had already seen him naked. Twice now.
“Good?” You posed.
Spencer nodded. “Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile.
He felt that warmth coming over him once again when you helped him step into the pants and even pulled the fabric up over his body, going so far as to secure the tie around his waist, making sure the loose fabric wouldn’t fall off his hips. The thin, very unforgiving fabric easily showed every single detail of his cock through it - his hardness now perfectly outlined in pink, which only made the heat growing under your skin swell to a dangerous level.
Lastly, you grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them back on his face, making sure that he would be able to see fully and pay attention during his next ‘lesson’.
“There.” You said, giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “Mommy’s good boy is all clean.” Spencer preened at these words. “And pretty as a picture.”
You delighted in the obvious blush that this last comment drew from him. You couldn’t help it - you loved praising him so sweetly, especially if it drew those kinds of reactions from him.
“Now, baby, I want you to go sit on the couch and wait for me.” You told him gently. “I have to go and put on something a little more comfortable for myself.”
You held back a devilish smirk. Of course, he had to think that this would mean you were going to put on some casual cotton pajamas - something genuinely comfortable and not at all a fulfillment to the male fantasy. And sure, you felt comfortable in lingerie. It made you feel beautiful.
That was part of the reason you were going to do it.
That, and you felt the need to make everything special for Spencer. This was going to be the first time he saw you in such a state of undress. Of course, you could argue that him seeing you in your panties and camisole a few nights ago had been pretty much the same, and he had looked upon you like you were a goddess then. But it had been practically dark then and you wanted this to be well lit and truly a fantasy come to life for him.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said, giving a small nod.
He left and walked out to the living room, going to sit on the couch as you had instructed, and you felt a delightful mischievous streak as you went into your bedroom and picked out what you would wear.
As you got dressed, you thought more about what he had said.
He wanted to give you an orgasm.
It would be very nice to have him inside of you. He had one of the nicest cocks you had ever seen - he was so long and beautiful, and seeing him inside of the fleshlight had caused you to imagine what he would feel like inside of you.
But you knew that if you let him fuck you, he would be clumsy. He didn’t have the technique or experience. Or the stamina. That was definitely something you wanted to work on first. And with how he had reacted from cumming in his pants earlier that day - something you had wanted, he likely would have a crash and be terribly anxious if he came while fucking you and you didn’t get to cum first.
Making you cum seemed to be his primary goal.
That brought you to the thought of putting him on his back - riding him, essentially using him like a human dildo. It would be intensely hot - having him below you, completely at your mercy. Getting to listen to his moans and whines and getting to see him completely fucked out underneath you while his perfect cock throbbed deep inside of your pussy. It would be perfect.
But - he wouldn’t learn anything that way. If he wanted to learn how to make you cum, it certainly wouldn’t happen like that. He would be fucked stupid and you would cum, and you would certainly enjoy yourself. But he would be brain dead and cum drunk. He certainly wouldn’t learn or retain anything from the experience.
No - if he wanted to learn how to make you cum, and if he wanted to put his genius to good use, then there was one certain way to do it.
You were fully satisfied with your plan. You took one last look in the mirror, and you were fully satisfied with your look, too.
You had put on a push-up bra with a black and red lace pattern, something that displayed your breasts well. With the padding and the ‘push-up’ effect, it definitely gave the cartoonish, fantasy effect that you were going for. You had on the matching garter belt, which had a few lacy roses adoring it. You didn’t have it attached to anything, though you had considered wearing stockings, you didn’t think Spencer would like the texture of them. You thought he would much prefer to feel your naked skin against him. You simply liked the look of the garter belt hanging around your waist, accenting the plushness of your stomach.
You also put on a pair of the matching lacy black and red floral panties - they were fairly cheeky, letting half of your ass hang out, and fairly sheer so that your trimmed pubic hair could be seen through the fabric in the front. And lastly, you had thrown on a sheer, long black robe over the whole thing, giving a very ‘Moulin Rouge’ look to the whole thing. Along with a pair of six black heels - the kind that hurt your feet and you would only use to, well - go to bed and keep your legs above your head while wearing.
You looked like a sex dream, if you did say so yourself.
Rather than walking into the other room to get Spencer, you went over to your bed and propped yourself up on some pillows in the middle of it, making sure the fabric of your robe was billowing and appealing around you before you called out to him.
“Spencer, honey, I’m ready!” You called out. “You can come in now!”
You heard him coming down the hallway and you swelled with eagerness, almost too excited to see what his reaction would be.
When he pushed the door open, he immediately froze when his eyes were met with the sight of you.
Standing in the doorway put him right at the foot of your bed, and he thought for sure - at some point between here and the museum, he must have died and gone to heaven. Framed by the twinkling lights that were wrapped around the head of your bed, propped up on a variety of fluffy pillows - you were an image of perfection.
Your breasts were pushed up to your chin, especially with the angle you were laying at, so perfectly framed by the floral lace of your bra. There was so much for his eye to greedily consume, and he didn’t think he should be allowed to consume it all so shamelessly. The curved planes of your body, the beautiful, soft zig-zags of your stretch marks, like guides laid out for his tongue. The fabric showing just enough skin, showing off every curve of your womanly body, so thick and ready to dominate him at a moment’s notice.
There was a gentle power in the way you were lounging back, framed by the black, soft fabric of your billowing robe - your whole body relaxed as you waited for him. It made him want to press his forehead to the floor in a bow to you, made him want to beg just for the precious permission to touch you.
“Is - that-? Your-? Paja-mas-?” He squeaked out, every single word becoming a pitch higher, making his shock all the more apparent.
“Kind of.” You told him with a giggle. “This is what I wanted to wear for my good boy.”
“You - you wore this for me?” He swallowed thickly around these words, clearly in disbelief.
If you weren’t mistaken, you saw his cock twitch inside those silken pink pants. You loved how even though the fabric covered him, the outline of his cock was so entirely visible. The band of the pants being loose had caused them to slip so low on his hips, even causing the top bit of his pubic hair to be visible as he stood there, entirely uncaring (and likely unaware) of it.
“Yes, baby.” You told him. “Now, come sit on the bed.”
Spencer rushed to follow your instruction, almost tripping over your bedroom rug in the process. That caused you to bite your lip, holding back a grin - you wouldn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, after all.
Spencer gently sat on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor, his bum just barely grazing against your thigh. You found it adorable that he was still being so timid about making contact.
You spread your legs wide, and gestured between them.
“Come sit here.” You told him.
“Oh.” He said quietly.
He stood up then and looked at the space between your legs. His expression was very comparable to a man afraid of heights looking like he was about to take a dive off a cliff into deep water.
“It’s okay, Spencer.” You assured him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?”
“I know.” He said quietly. “It’s just - it’s all so new.” He whispered. “I - I want to be good.”
You wondered if the last part was about his ability to behave and follow the rules, or… if it was about something else.
“Spencer, baby, are you worried about impressing me?” You wondered aloud.
The expression on his face at this was very telling - a flicker of embarrassment, his hands twitching as he ached to play with his fingers, wanting to distract himself from the conversation.
“Look, I know you’re new to all this. I’m not expecting you to be some sex expert, or a porn star or something.” You assured him. “That’s why I’m here to teach you, baby.”
“What if I do it wrong?” He asked, his voice still so timid, so small.
“Then I’ll show you how to do it right.” You told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not gonna laugh at you, or yell at you. I’m just gonna show you what I like and how to do it right.”
It should have been obvious. Someone of his talent, his caliber, someone who had everything come so naturally to him his entire life, someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age - he was terrified of tackling something unknown, something he was afraid to mess up. He was afraid of being a bad student.
He had just enough time in the living room to sit and stew in those insecurities, and now you had to lovingly battle them.
“Come sit with me, baby.” You urged, leaning forward to pat the space on the bed between your thighs.
You scrunched up the fabric of your robe so he wouldn’t sit on it, and finally, he moved to crawl between your legs - kneeling on the bed with his feet tucked underneath his bum and his hands fidgeting in his lap. His knees were slightly brushing against your inner thighs, but he wasn’t sitting terribly close to you. That was something you left alone for now.
You sat up slightly, leveling your body with his, and ran your hand along his arm, trying to soothe him.
“So, you said you wanted to learn how to give me an orgasm, right?” You posed.
Spencer nodded.
“Come on, use your words.” You told him.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said quietly, clearly still feeling insecure and hesitant. “I want that.”
He could only imagine how beautiful it would be so see you writhing in pleasure - to hear you calling out his name as you orgasmed, breathless. To see your body arching up off the bed as he brought you to climax. He could only imagine the headrush it would cause him to know that he had caused it for you.
“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is by using your hands.” You explained. “Stimulating me with your fingers.”
“My hands?” He questioned, looking from you down to his hands in his lap.
Honestly, it was never something he had thought about. Yes - he used his hands to make himself orgasm, but that was only because he was alone. The act of masturbation was more like a mind-clearing chore for him than anything. (Before you came into his life and turned all of his ideas about sex upside-down.)
He did have to consider that you used your hands to stimulate yourself, to masturbate - but he had no clue how.
But he guessed that would be part of the learning process.
“Yes, baby.” You smiled eagerly. “And I know you’re gonna be good with your hands. You’re very skilled because you do all that sleight of hand and close up magic.”
Spencer felt a rush of confidence at the praise, and couldn’t stop the grin that formed over his face at your words.
“Well, you see, sleight of hand doesn’t actually require that much dexterity or skill, like playing a sport does, because it’s more so about practicing the same movement over and over again until it becomes ingrained muscle memory.” He explained, easily sounding in his element.
You couldn’t believe how easily he had set you up for your next words. It was almost like he had walked into a trap.
“Well, what I’m going to teach you is also about repetitive movements.” You explained. “And it will definitely become muscle memory for you over time.”
Spencer smiled fondly hearing this. He was now more confident that he would be good at what you were going to teach him.
“So… where do we start?” He asked, becoming that eager student once again.
“Here, let me look at your hands.” You told him.
He was slightly confused by this, but didn’t have time to question it because you snaked your hands under his palms where they were sitting in his lap. His dick had wilted slightly from the anxiety, so he was only half hard in his pants. But he let out a small whimper when you accidentally crazed against it as you took his hands in yours and lifted them up to get a good look at them.
“It’s important that your nails are trimmed.” You told him, lifting his hands up close to your face to get a good look. “You don’t want your nails to be too long, or you might accidentally hurt me. And that’s just a general rule whenever you’re putting your fingers inside someone.”
He became slightly intimidated at the idea of putting his fingers inside you, but he tried not to let it show.
“I trimmed my nails last night.” He said, proud that he had done something good. “It’s a good grooming habit.”
He didn’t want to bring up the fact that - per his germophobia, he always kept his nails trimmed because he was afraid of too much build up getting under his nails and making him sick (even though he washed his hands multiple times a day). But he was just glad he could do something to please you.
You couldn’t stop staring at his hands. It was something you had noticed before in passing - but they were gorgeous. He had such strong, prominent muscles here. Long, thick fingers - he was going to do very well at this. Once he was well trained up, you knew you weren’t going to be able to go for very long without having those fingers inside of you.
“Very good, baby.” You said, finally snapping out of your lustful revere.
You raised one of his hands up and kissed the back of it. And then, continued on, kissing a path along his hand to his knuckles until you reached the tip of his middle finger. As natural as ever, you gently sucked his middle and ring finger into your mouth. Of course, you were just playing around, admiring. His hands were so nice that you couldn’t help but to have one in your mouth.
“Oh,” Spencer moaned quietly.
When you looked over at him, he was staring you down with lustful eyes. His lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the place where your lips drew his fingers in, taking him down to the second knuckle. You gently swirled your tongue around the digits as you enjoyed the thickness in your mouth. You could lightly taste floral soap on his skin and knew that he had washed his hands in the kitchen sink when you had sent him out to wait for you.
After a moment of this, you pulled back, your lips separating from his skin with a wet ‘smack’. (Though you wanted it to be longer - you loved those fingers, you could have easily held them in your mouth for a long time).
“Yeah, these are good fingers.” You assured him, giving him a deliberate wink. “You’re gonna be good at this, Spence.”
Spencer shuddered with pleasure at this.
You leaned back onto your pillows, making yourself comfortable while he watched in awe.
“I’m gonna take off my underwear now. Is that okay?” You asked gently.
“Yes.” He said, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Mommy.”
You lifted your hips to wiggle out of them. When the fabric was at your knees, he naturally met you halfway, taking the panties down your calves and very delicately untangling them from around your high heels. He concentrated on the task in a way that told you he wasn’t even trying to take a premature glimpse at your naked cunt. It was entirely endearing.
Once he had the fabric completely untangled from your shoes, you naturally moved your legs to bracket them around his body once again. This completely exposed your wet pussy to the cool air, and he stared at the underwear in his hands, clearly perplexed about what to do with it now.
“Just toss it on the floor, baby.” You told him.
He did so, and then, with nowhere else to look, his eyes locked onto your naked pussy for the first time.
Paintings and pictures had shown him the scientific side or even the objective beauty of the female anatomy. But seeing you laid bare before him, adorned in lacy accoutrements - this was truly sexy.
His blood ran hot, and his cock throbbed to full hardness in a dizzying record time as he laid eyes on the glistening lips of your pussy. Seeing how real you were - the way your skin tone faded from the shade that matched the rest of your body to the more raw, wet skin of your inner folds, clearly swollen with need. Your pubic hair, slightly trimmed and glossy with your wetness - everything about you was so real and it made Spencer’s cock ache.
“Scoot a bit closer, baby.” You told him, hitch your knees apart further, spreading yourself open for him. “Can you see okay?”
Your pussy made a wet sound as it spread open for him, and he let out a quiet gasp in awe as more of you was bared to his eyes. You were so beautiful, so raw, so perfect, so hot - he almost couldn’t handle it.
You knew he was likely becoming too entranced to answer the question. With the way his eyes were so tightly locked onto your cunt, you guessed that - yes, he could see just fine. Just seeing the utterly entranced expression on his face caused a throbbing heat through you, you were sure that if he paid enough attention, he would be able to see the wetness actively dripping out of you.
“Spencer, look at me.” You ordered sharply. “Look at Mommy.”
Spencer forced his eyes up to your face, and you smiled at him when he managed to follow the order.
“How much do you know about the female anatomy?” You asked him.
“I - I’ve read books.” He answered quietly.
“Good.” You told him, trying to be encouraging. “Do you know where the clitoris is?”
“I - um-” Spencer looked down at your pussy and found himself suddenly nervous again, not knowing if he should touch you, or if he should point, or-
“You can put your hands on me.” You told him. “I’m here to teach you, baby. Let me be your… in-person diagram.”
Spencer nodded.
Then, as naturally as he possibly could, he reached down and put a gentle hand on the top of your mound. He was so feather-light that you had to forcefully hold back a laugh, feeling ticklish at the touch. With his palm mostly spread out mostly over your pelvis, he used a thumb to pull your pussy lips back.
Then, he saw that very obvious swollen button staring at him. With the pointer finger on his other hand, he sought it out like a guided missile, entirely confident in his answer. Before he could truly think about it - he poked your clit with that singular finger, pointing to it as his answer.
“There.” He mumbled quietly.
“Oh-!” You breathed out sharply, your hips surging toward his touch.
His touch had been so abrupt (especially after so much anticipation on your part) that it sent an unexpected shockwave through your body.
Spencer immediately recoiled, believing that he had hurt you.
“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”
He drew back both his hands instantly, curling them up to his chest as if he had done something terribly wrong.
“No, no you didn’t hurt me!” You quickly assured him, putting your hands up in a surrendering motion to drive the point home. “Everything is fine, baby.”
“Then what-?” He asked, his voice very meek and small. “What was that?”
“I’m sensitive, baby. My body is sensitive. And I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” You chuckled.
Spencer gave a small frown, clearly believing he had done something wrong.
“The clitoris has a lot of nerve endings.” You explained, giving a chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “That’s kind of the point. That makes things more pleasurable.”
“Oh.” He said.
After a moment, his body began to relax as he chugged with thought, his eyebrows knitting tight like they always did when he was pondering something.
“Oh… so that was… that was a good stimulation?” He posed.
“Yes.” You told him. “I want you to touch my clitoris because it feels good. It’s one of the easiest ways to make a woman feel good.”
He nodded, and then he moved his hands to touch you again. But you had a thought first. You caught his hands halfway, and held them in your own as you spoke.
“Listen first.” You told him.
He looked at your face obediently as you explained it to him.
“Typically, for women, there are two types of orgasms,” You put on your ‘teacher’ voice once again, and he relaxed and put his hands back in his lap, clearly eager and ready to listen, wanting to absorb the information to the fullest. “A clitoral orgasm or a vaginal orgasm. Can you guess what that means?”
Spencer thought about it for a moment.
“An orgasm achieved by clitoral stimulation versus an orgasm achieved by vaginal stimulation?” He posed.
You grinned. “Very good. Good boy.”
He grinned back, easily soaking up the praise.
“So, it depends on the person you’re with, but generally, most women achieve orgasm through a combination of both clitorial and vaginal stimulation. And a good rule of thumb is to always ask someone what they enjoy,” You told him. He nodded at this. “And also, looking at someone’s facial expressions and body language can tell you if you’re doing well at stimulating them. It’s like profiling.”
“Well… what kind of facial expressions and body language should I be looking for?” He asked.
You found this oddly amusing. To you, it was obvious that a back arching and lots of moaning and an ‘O’ face meant good sex, but Spencer was truly just that fresh. He simply didn’t know.
“Well…” You took a moment to gather a mental list for him. “Typically, someone makes a lot of involuntary body movements if the stimulation is good. Good sex stimulates your nerve endings, so it makes your muscles twitch, and it can even make your limbs flail around or make your back arch off the bed.”
Spencer nodded, his face still very intense and thoughtful as he took this in.
“And when people are enjoying sex, they usually make a lot of sounds. Gasps, moans. They might swear or call out your name. And most people do just tell you that they’re enjoying it,” You giggled.
Spencer nodded again. Then he posed a thoughtful question.
“What about facial expressions?” He asked.
“I know it might sound strange… but, you’ll know an expression of someone lost in pleasure when you see it.” You told him.
These words made his whole body tingle. And naturally, made him wonder what your face would look like when you were lost in pleasure.
“What do you prefer?” He asked. “Do you prefer clitoral stimulation or vaginal stimulation?”
“I prefer a combination of both.” You told him. “That’s usually what makes me cum the hardest.”
“You mean ‘cum’ as in orgasming?” Spencer said, repeating back this vocabulary to you with pride.
“Yes, baby.” You told him with a nod.
He beamed at getting the answer correct.
“I thought we could start with clitoral stimulation and then move on to vaginal stimulation.” You explained. “Usually it’s easy to… warm up with clitorial stimulation. It makes the vaginal muscles more relaxed before penetration.”
You found it odd to be using such clinical terms - the words were so stiff in your mouth, but you supposed that it was the healthiest way to explain everything to him.
Spencer nodded eagerly at this.
“You should wet your fingers first. Maybe spit on them?” You posed - this was a selfish request, wanting the delight of seeing him suck on his own fingertips.
“That doesn’t sound the most sanitary…” He said quietly, cringing.
Hearing him say this presented a new goal in your mind - getting him so fucked out and pliant that mister ‘it’s actually more sanitary to kiss’ would let you spit directly into his mouth.
You chuckled at his words, though.
“Okay, well… there’s lube in the drawer instead.” You said, motioning toward your nightstand. “Like I said last time, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’.”
Spencer nodded eagerly and sat higher up on his knees to reach for the drawer. When he pulled it open, his eyes immediately grew wide at the array of… objects you had in there. Thick, veiny things, some round things he couldn’t even begin to propose the purpose of, something with small dots on it that looked like a cartoon tentacle-?
Knowing that he would become too distracted by these things and want to start asking questions, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and snapped the drawer shut while his mind was still racing.
“Focus, baby.” You told him, putting a hand on his cheek and forcefully prodding his attention back in your direction.
He definitely had a lot of questions about those things. But he would ask you those questions later. (Because he certainly wasn’t going to forget about anything he had just seen.)
You handed the bottle of lube to Spencer. It was almost exactly the same as the one you had given to him and used with the fleshlight, except it was strawberry scented and the liquid was lighted tinted tinted pink as an association with the scent. It was your favorite to use with toys because the scent was absolutely delicious as a perfume in their air (and at this point, it was something you knew that you unconsciously associated with an orgasm).
You were naturally wet. You were throbbing and needy for him. But you knew that it would be nice to be extra slicked up to help him along.
After a moment of struggling (in which you pondered if you should interfere) he popped the cap, and then he looked from the opened bottle of lube to his hands.
“Right, so-” He mumbled quietly.
He poured a dollop on his extended fingertips that easily got carried away and dripped into his lap, and he gasped and began looking around for something to wipe it off his borrowed pants with.
“You can clean it up later, baby.” You told him. “Things are gonna get a little messy right now.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. Yeah-”
Then, he looked back to the bottle in his hand, and before putting it aside, he poured a dribble of the pink liquid (likely more than he had intended) onto the top of your mound, causing you to gasp quietly as the coolness dripped down over your hot, needy pussy.
“Is that good, Mommy?” He asked quietly, moving to put the bottle aside.
“That’s very good, baby.” You encouraged him gently.
“Okay - I - I’m going to - touch you now.” Spencer told you, announcing his movements in an entirely adorable way.
You nodded. “I’m ready for you, sweet boy.”
Spencer put his non-lubed hand gently on your inner thigh, and then angled two of his fingers back toward your clit again. This time when he made contact, he was much gentler, and you let out a sharp breath through your nose, warm tingles spreading through your pelvis at the feeling of him touching your swollen clit with such intention.
With his middle and pointer finger, he began a strange sort of spearing motion, rocking his hand into your pelvis. He touched your clit as though it were a literal button he was trying to push over and over again in order to make you cum. The movement didn’t do much for you - except draw a slight stinging from the area.
“Baby,” You caught his attention, drawing his eyes up from where he was intensely focused, staring hard at the place where he was touching your pussy.
“Spence, it’s - it’s more like this,”
You motioned with two of your fingers in the air, drawing small circles, demonstrating to him what he should be doing.
“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly.
“It’s okay, baby.” You assured him, reaching out and petting a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re learning, right?”
He nodded. “I’m learning. I’m gonna do better.”
“I know you will, baby. You’re Mommy’s good boy.”
This bit of encouragement and praise seemed to fuel him, and he took this new instruction with vigor.
He went back to work using the motion you had just demonstrated and immediately, the difference affected you. His thick, cautious fingertips circling tentatively around your needy clit sent tingles up your spine, causing a warming glow to spread through your body that was slowly, but surely building up your orgasm. The beautiful artificial smell of the lube wafted through the air, and with the sight of Spencer in front of you, his forearm flexing slightly as he worked, it was all too perfect.
You let out a gentle moan, and Spencer smiled.
“That’s good?” He asked, looking from the spot where his fingers worked on your pussy up to your face.
“That’s good, baby.” You told him, the stimulation causing you to become slightly breathless already. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Spencer continued like this, running his other hand along your thigh, clearly feeling needy to touch and enjoy the softness of your skin now that it was freely available under his hands. His touch spread a warmth throughout your body that had you squirming under him, letting out more gentle moans under your breath.
Spencer watched you in awe, so entirely pleased with the results.
“You - you can go a bit faster, baby.” You told him, finding your throat slightly dry as your breathing sped up, more blood pooling in your needy cunt as his touch demanded it. “Speed up your fingers.”
“Yes, Mommy.” He easily obeyed.
Hearing those words in his sweet voice in addition to his touch, his fingers now moving in fast, delicate circles on your throbbing clit - it brought sparks through your body and caused slight tremors through your thighs.
It wasn’t going to be the most earth shattering orgasm you had ever experienced, but it was going to be a good one, mostly because it was Spencer. Because you had him in your bed, calling you Mommy, wearing a pair of your silky pink pajama pants that his hard cock was now leaking a stain into. All while he concentrated on learning how to please you like it was the most important book he had ever read in his life.
“Oh, Spencer!” You called out, arching your hips toward him. “Doing so good for me, baby! So good-”
Spencer stopped his movements suddenly, and your voice caught in your throat as you looked at him with tense confusion knit over your brows.
“What - what about the vaginal stimulation?” He asked. “You said you wanted me to do both, right?”
You couldn’t hold back the breathy chuckle in your throat.
If it had been anybody else, you would have immediately thought that they were edging you intentionally. But no - that wasn’t even a thought in Spencer’s head. He was simply eager to learn more, wanting to do the most to give you the best orgasm possible. He wasn’t content with mediocre. When he learned something, he wanted to be the best at it. And that thought caused any disappointment about your fading orgasm to be replaced by pride - you had somehow captured the best, sweetest boy, and you were going to use that to your full advantage.
“Right, baby.” You said, still catching your breath. You swallowed to gather some spit in your mouth to talk properly before you continued. “Okay, you’re going to continue what you were doing with this hand, but first,” You said this pointedly, motioning to the hand that was unmoving near your clit, not wanting him to continue and impair your ability to properly explain. “You’re going to work your fingers inside me.”
“What if I hurt you?” He asked, clearly timid at the idea that he might hurt you in any way.
“You won’t.” You told him. “You start with one finger, because that’s smaller, so you won’t hurt me. And then once my body has adjusted to that, you can add another. So it won’t hurt.” You assured him.
“So, I just need to use two fingers?” He asked. “Also, how do I know when to put the next finger?”
“You can add three fingers.” You told him. “And I’ll tell you when to add the next one. And you’ll know because you’ll feel the muscles relax around you.”
Spencer nodded.
“So… what’s the best… kind of… movement?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing with his free hand in a way that made you giggle.
He blushed with embarrassment at this, and you rushed to speak in the hopes that he wouldn’t feel awkward.
“You’re going to move your fingers in and out. Like simulating intercourse. The repeated penetration feels good.” You told him. “Be gentle at first, and I’ll tell you if you should go harder or faster.”
Spencer nodded.
He began slow, gentle circles on your clit again, and you let out a small moan at this. And then he moved his other hand down, skimming the fingertip of his pointer finger along your folds until he felt it - that pulsing entrance waiting for him, needy. He thought he imagined it, but it almost felt like your body was trying to suck him in.
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, your voice gentle and encouraging, slightly hazy with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for Mommy.”
These words caused his cock to throb inside of the borrowed pants, and feeling a pulse of confidence because of it, he pushed the thickness of his finger forward and breached your entrance with his touch for the first time.
It was such a brand new feeling - having your wetness surrounding his digit, feeling your muscles clamping down on him. Feeling how hot your body was, especially compared to the lifeless coolness of a silicone fleshlight. It made him moan louder than the sound you easily trapped in your chest. You found yourself dizzied with a wave of pleasure at seeing his face so fucked out and hearing him moan like that because he was touching you.
“You like it, baby?” You asked breathlessly, angling your hips into his clumsy, unmoving hands.
Clearly he was so pleasure drunk and hazy that he had forgotten that he was supposed to be fingerfucking you. He was simply exploring, enjoying the feeling. You didn’t fault him for it, and you didn’t want to rush him, even with a filthy, needy ache growing deep inside of you.
“You’re so warm.” He replied, his quiet voice edging between awe and another moan of his own.
His eyes flickered between the place where he was touching your pussy and your breasts, heaving slightly with your labored breathing, and your face. Your lips dropped open slightly with pleasure, your eyes becoming glassy. He loved it so much. He loved you. He couldn’t get enough of this.
“Your body is so hot.”
You grinned widely at this.
Maybe a huge part of the endearment came from the fact that you knew he meant temperature, and not the typical slang meaning your appearance. It was something that clearly surprised him, feeling how hot your pussy was while being in direct contact with it.
“Thank you.” You told him. “Can you fuck me now, Doctor Reid?”
“I - Right.”
Spencer resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing you probably wouldn’t like it. And he tried to ignore how much it turned him on to hear you call him ‘Doctor Reid’ in this context. Instead - he set his attention on pleasing you.
He concentrated on picking up a good rhythm - moving his fingers on your clit in circles while he gently drew back the other hand and began moving it slowly in and out, trying to penetrate you in a pleasing way. He instantly became entranced by the natural wetness dripping out of your pussy, covering his finger, his knuckles, spreading to his palm the more he moved his finger. He was fascinated by the way your muscles did seem to give way to him, your body opening up as if you wanted more.
“Add another one, baby.” You moaned quietly. “Another finger.”
So his instincts served him right. At least somewhat. He hoped that he could remember this for next time, and please you better with less of your instructions, working more off of knowledge and instinct like this.
When he drew back his hand to do as you instructed, you added on some further advice.
“It also works better if your palm is facing up.” You told him. “The curve of your fingers is working with my body, not fighting against it.”
Spencer had been prodding into your entrance, poking his finger into you in a more exploratory way - but he definitely understood this.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said.
He flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the ceiling, immediately fascinated by how sticky his wet finger was. Then he gently prodded forward again, his middle finger joining the first. He continued to draw circles on your clit - a rhythm that became clumsy and unfocused at times, because he was easily distracted by the feeling of your tight pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to figure out how hard he should go.
He was being incredibly tame, almost sloth-like in his movements, clearly afraid to hurt you. And he left you burning up, aching for release. The thickness of his fingers felt so amazing inside of you, better than you could have imagined - but he was so timid, and you hoped that you could draw more out of him.
“Spencer,” You moaned lightly. “Go faster. Come on, be a good boy for Mommy.”
You reached out and got a hand in his hair once again, gently cupping the back of his head and scratching your nails along his scalp.
“Yes,” He hissed out, leaning his head into your touch. “Yes, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be so good for you.”
He kept his eyes locked on you then, and, entirely fueled by the intense feeling pumping through his body, the pure need to serve you - he began pumping his fingers faster. Though it was clumsy at first, after a few moments, both of his hands fell into a natural rhythm with each other. His fingers circling your swollen clit became well timed with the thickness of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and in a few minutes - it became perfect.
You went from letting out a few solitary sounds to every other one of your breaths becoming a moan, your lips perfectly parted, showing him how well he was doing.
When he saw your heated eyes and your lips wrapped around those moans so perfectly, that was when he knew it - that was a face of desire. The one he would spend the rest of his days trying to recreate in you.
“So good, baby.” You moaned out, your words becoming less durable as he stole them away with pleasure. “Go harder.”
“Harder?” He warbled back.
His wrist was beginning to shake, not used to this kind of repeated effort. (Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any more effort than hefting around a thick book for a while.) But he would keep it up for as long as it took to make you cum. He would do it until his arm fell off if he got to see you fall apart beneath him.
“Yes, harder!” You confirmed, giving a firm tug on his hair to encourage him.
Spencer let out a sharp whimper at this, and angled his elbow further between your thighs, trying to put less strain on the muscles of his wrist so he could do as you instructed.
He began rubbing your clit with more urgency, and fucked his fingers into you even harder. He let out a moan as the sound then got to his ears - the wet slapping of his knuckles smacking up against the edges of your cunt, so rough and careless. He really was fucking you, he was taking over your body at your command, his touch was being used for your pleasure, and you were definitely being pleasured by him.
“Spencer!” You howled, a sound that would stick in his mind forevermore.
It was something that caught his entire body on fire in seconds and made his dick ache with red hot pin-pricks. He was surprised that he didn’t cum in his pants from that alone. But he was far too concentrated on keeping up the pace, fascinated by the way your pussy spasmed around his fingers, the way your thighs jolted and shook in a similar fashion that his legs had a few nights ago.
“Oh, Spence! Good boy! Good boy, oh-!”
You let out a sharp gasp and your head tilted back, and you seemed to gulp for air for a few moments while he continued to brutally fuck his fingers into you and rock his fingertips against your clit, angling your hips into the touches as though you were trying to get more from him.
Though it seemed impossible, his knuckles were flooded with an even further wetness. And though he almost couldn’t bear to look away from your face, he did chance a glance down to your beautifully raw, fluttering pussy and saw that there was a distinct puddle of wetness on the sheets below you. You were the most gorgeous fountain he had ever seen.
If he didn’t think it was out of place, he would have leaned down to lick you, curious about what your natural wetness tasted like.
“Oh, Spence!” You squealed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed like you were trying to squirm away from his touch. “Oh - oh, baby! You can s-slow down now! You did - did s-so good!”
Spencer slowed down, as instructed. And then - when he put it together in his mind, he gently eased off touching you entirely, feeling your pussy spasming and throbbing harshly under his touch. It was fascinating really, the way your body responded to him. He badly wanted to explore it more - explore it for hours uninterrupted. But for now, he had a simple question.
“Was that the orgasm?” He wondered aloud.
The unadulterated curiosity bleeding through his voice when he said this had you clenching hard around his unmoving fingers, so entirely turned on by the fact that he was just as awed by you as he was fine art or any thousand page encyclopedia.
You couldn’t hold back the bright, breathless chuckle that escaped your lungs in response.
“Yes, baby, that was the orgasm.” You told him. “What did you think?”
“That was… spectacular.” Spencer told you, sounding almost as breathless himself.
“You can pull your fingers out of me now.” You instructed, feeling slightly sensitive, unconsciously clenching around the digits and accidentally overstimulating your raw pussy in the process.
“Oh. Right.” Spencer mumbled.
He moaned quietly as he did so - loving the purely wet sound it made, like pulling away from a good kiss. He found himself in awe of the string of wetness that followed his fingers from your opening, like a thick string of salvia. He began rubbing his fingers together, studying it with utter fascination as you watched him with that concentrated look on his face again. You wondered how you had stumbled upon such a treasure of a man.
Your eyes fell from his face to the prominent bulge of his cock still pressing into the front of those thin pink pants, the wet spot his precum made now even wider, and you immediately came up with a new idea.
“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby?” You posed. “Your hand is already so nice and wet.”
“Oh - I - I - should-?” Spencer stuttered out, looking from his glistening hands to the tent in his borrowed pants, a million thoughts flying through his very vast mind.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You soothed him gently. “Just tell me if that’s something you want. Yes or no.”
“Yes.” He said, a desperate whisper on his lips. “Can - can you untie my pants for me?”
You hummed in agreement and reached over, untying the well secured knot on the pants and then pulling the loose waistband down over his thick, excited cock, letting it spring out to hit his pelvis. He moaned quietly at this.
“Make yourself cum for me, baby.” You encouraged him. “You were so good for me, you made me cum so good. Such a good boy. You deserve this.”
You began running your fingers through his hair again, something he seemed to heavily enjoy. Spencer - now wildly chasing his instincts, working on need alone and trying to push back all those doubts, reached out with those glistening fingers and gently dipped into your pussy again. The contact on your beating folds caused you to gasp, and Spencer shuddered slightly at this, mumbling out at an excuse.
“I wanted-” He muttered quietly. “I just… wanted it to be wetter.”
“Good boy.” You moaned out. You definitely didn’t want to discourage him from doing things like this.
You wanted to mention the fact that there was a bottle of lube sitting less than a foot away. But clearly he had developed a fascination for your wetness, and you didn’t want to stifle that fascination in him or embarrass him.
Spencer then took those slicked up fingers and stroked them across his cock. Just the knowledge that it was your wetness, the essence of your pussy touching his cock - that had dizzying waves fluttering through him that almost had him crumbling to fall on top of you.
It took all of his remaining composure to stay upright. He was so furiously turned on that his cock was leaking precum like a sputtering faucet. He easily took advantage of that, cupping his hand into a well-known grip around his shaft and spreading that natural lubrication down from the sensitive, leaking cockhead to the rest of his dick. This caused his neglected, needy cock to easily light up and unconsciously buck into his own hand.
“‘s too fast,” He whined out.
His face took on a desperate frown as he continued to pump his hand over his cock almost mildly, almost as if he were afraid to go harder.
He looked so beautifully wrecked - with his brows creased downward and his lip caught between his teeth, with that messy hand pumping his own leaking cock.
“Too fast?” You asked, unsure what he meant.
“It’s - it’s not-” He stuttered out, his brain becoming scattered and wordless to describe the feeling rushing through him.
“Hey, shh,” You scratched your nails against his scalp again, grounding him. “Use your words, baby. Come on, be a good boy.”
“Mommy!” He whined, his hips bucking forward desperately into his own hand, wetly smearing precum to the point where it became noisy. Your pussy throbbed at this and you resisted the urge to reach down and touch yourself, not wanting to distract him.
“Baby, come on. Tell Mommy.” You ordered firmly.
He sniffled loudly before he attempted more words.
“Gonna end too fast.” He whined sharply.
He sounded entirely petulant - as though he were truly upset that he was going to cum too soon and the night’s activities would be over. As though the two of you didn’t have plenty more nights to play.
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, reaching a hand over to thumb across his cheek, wiping away some of the frustrated tears that had escaped. “You did so good for me. You’re so good.”
“I want more.” He whined out, clearly frustrated.
“Mommy will always give you more.” You assured him. “But right now, you’re gonna cum for me.”
He let out a wounded noise, some kind of protest, but his hips jolted as he continued to fuck his own hand. You had him right there.
“Cum for me.” You demanded, your voice dark and demanding.
It was a command he absolutely couldn’t ignore if he tried.
“Mommy! Oh! Oh!”
He let out a sharp cry as he came, and pumped himself through it.
Neither of you had considered where he was going to cum. On his knees in front of you like that, he ended up in the perfect position to spill his load right onto your exposed cunt. Just like the last time you had played, he exploded with a massive power. Though he didn’t seem to have any care for where he was angling his cock or what he was cumming on, simply continuing to chant ‘oh, oh, oh’ under his breath with his eyes beautifully screwed shut and his mouth wide open, delicately pumping his hand on his cock to ride his orgasm all the way through.
Thick, white waves of his cum landed on your pussy - startlingly warm, almost blazen hot compared to the cool air of the room. Something that easily made you moan, especially when paired with the beautiful sight of his orgasmic face in front of you and the way he so carelessly fucked himself, clearly only wanting to achieve his own pleasure and not caring if it was a good show or not - which was what made him so damn beautiful.
When Spencer had milked himself dry, his cock starting to go soft in his own hand and the pleasant tingles becoming more like harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation, he put a hand on the wideness of your thigh for support, his muscles shaking. And then he finally opened his eyes.
He felt even dizzier when he saw the sight before him - your gorgeously lingerie clad body and naked pussy now covered in the thick white of his spend. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if you could get pregnant from this, and another told him that - yes, it would be good if you did. You would look so good pregnant with his child. A child the two of you made together would be smart, beautiful, charismatic, brilliant and perfect in every aspect.
He hadn’t even fully acknowledged that he was in love with you yet, but that was the moment he knew for certain that he wanted you to be the mother of his children. There was no other woman in the world who would be comparable to you - no other woman as perfect for the task.
(He didn’t know that you were on oral birth control, so it didn’t matter if he had cum inside you - you weren’t going to get pregnant. Not without intending to.)
“Oh, did I-?” He motioned toward the mess, seeming worried.
Before he could apologize for it, you reached your fingers down and began lightly padding through it, and Spencer let out a wrecked moan at the sight.
“You did such a good job, baby.” You told him, still entirely certain.
Before he could comprehend it, you brought a finger up to your mouth - one covered in the combined essence of yourself and Spencer, and curled your tongue around it, moaning at the taste. Spencer could do nothing more than make unintelligible noises, and you giggled as you released the finger.
“Good boy.”
Spencer was dizzy and hazy from all the pleasure, and there was only one thing on his mind.
“Can I have a hug now?” He asked, his voice still sweet and soft.
“Yes, baby. Come here.” You spread your arms wide and Spencer practically launched himself at you.
He laid completely on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking up and down his back lazily as you enjoyed the peaceful calm of his breathing.
After only a few moments, you felt him start to fall asleep like that. His muscles turned to jelly, and his breathing came out in long, soft puffs. He looked so adorable nuzzled into your breasts that you didn’t want to wake him up, even if the drying mess between your thighs was becoming uncomfortable, and you knew that he definitely wouldn’t want to sleep in it for too long.
You continued petting your fingers through his hair gently. You would wake him up in a little while and get cleaned up, you assured yourself.
You definitely weren’t falling for him, feeling things that extended far outside of sexual attraction.
Nope. Definitely not.
...
Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.
I am not currently working on a continuation of this, and I don't know when I will be. If you enjoyed this and you want to see more from me, I highly encourage you to check out the rest of the works on my Criminal Minds Masterlist.
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Controversial opinion (?): the Kraken Era wasn’t all that dark.
There’s a whole lot of meta and fic out there that portray early season two Ed as a bloodthirsty, hyperviolent monster, and when that portrayal is challenged, the rebuttal is usually along the lines of, “I’m just doing what canon did. Did you even watch the show?”
I did watch the show, and honestly? I expected Ed to be so much worse than he was! When I see people say they didn’t think Ed did enough to redeem himself or that he went past the point of no return, I just… don’t understand.
I already went into this in my way-too-long meta about Ed and abuse, but I do think it bears repeating (in a shorter post) because it seems like Ed’s actions -- more than the actions of any other character -- are scrutinized and discussed outside of the context of, y’know… a comedy about pirates. There’s tons of casual violence in Our Flag Means Death. Sometimes the violence is even funny!
So what does Ed actually do?
As far as I can remember (I’ve only seen season two a few of times, so correct me if I’ve missed something!), we see Ed directly harm someone twice in the first two episodes: first on the wedding boat, and then when he shoots Izzy in the leg. Kind of unimpressive numbers, yeah? Tbh, I'd expect more out of a heartbroken Blackbeard.
The first instance involves Ed shooting a man during a raid. That man has a sword through his chest before Ed fires, leading me to believe that Ed’s still following his season one pattern of keeping himself a step removed from murder (technically, the sword killed that guy). We also don’t see the murder happen; the man tumbles offscreen before Ed shoots. This makes the action less brutal. If the writers wanted us to be appalled by Ed’s violence, we would’ve gotten a graphic kill (or several).
And the second instance is Izzy. Ed shoots Izzy in the leg after he suggests that the shitty atmosphere is because of Ed’s feelings for Stede. Hot take, maybe, but I don’t think that was entirely out of line -- definitely not for a pirate captain whose first mate is acting out! Ed’s feelings for Stede are not the only problem; a significant chunk of the problem is Izzy. Izzy called in the navy and led to their capture and, more importantly, Izzy bullied Ed back into the Blackbeard persona. This is what Izzy said he wanted.
We’re also told that Ed has taken more of Izzy’s toes between seasons. This isn’t cool -- bosses definitely shouldn’t be asking for their employees’ toes -- but there is a precedent for it: in season one, Ed told Stede that he used to feed people their toes for a laugh (yuck). For a laugh. This, to me, implies that it’s not a huge deal. It’s certainly not completely unexpected pirate behavior, and it seems more lenient than, like, a keelhauling or a whipping. I think both of those things would've felt way more gruesome and dark.
As far as violent actions go, that’s not a lot. Like, numerically.
Things get darker in S2E2 when Ed becomes increasingly desperate for someone, anyone, to send him to doggy heaven. He’s unhinged and working his way up to a murder-suicide before he’s stopped, but he doesn’t lay a hand on anyone. He orders Archie and Jim to fight to the death. He ignores anonymous crewmembers as they’re swept overboard in the storm. This is bad! It’s self-destructive and selfish! But violent? Monstrous? I don’t really think so.
In my opinion, the worst thing Ed does is force his crew to do violence for him -- not because it’s violence (again, they’re pirates), but because the violence hurts them. THIS is what traumatizes them! Their trauma flashbacks are scenes of them hurting others, not of Ed hurting them directly. Ed didn’t physically torture his crew (with the exception of Izzy, and that’s complicated). His crime was driving them to do one violent raid after another, killing and plundering without any joy or theatrics. Ed feels trapped in the role of Blackbeard -- the role that he’s been desperate to escape -- and, in his heartbreak, he opts to trap his crew with him.
Yeah, Ed is messed up in the first two episodes of season two. I don’t blame the crew for almost killing him; it’s what needed to be done. I think that Jim, Archie, Frenchie, and Fang had every right to want Ed gone after Stede’s return.
But I don’t think that Ed was a super violent monster who tortured his crew and murdered his way through his breakup. He engages in very little onscreen violence, and the person that most of his violence is focused on -- Izzy -- is the same person who told him to be violent. I think that anyone who says that Ed’s actions in the first part of season two are extremely dark is either looking at them out of context, misremembering what actually happened and just recalling the dark tone, or working with some kind of motive.
In conclusion: Ed is a man who, at his very darkest, was still operating pretty firmly within the bounds of "stuff pirates do" (but not stuff Ed has historically done, presumably).
Also look at him. Thank you.
GIF by unearthlydust
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Oh, you wanna play psycho killer? (Ghostface! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader x Ghostface! Peter B Parker) Part 1
RAAAAA! Excited about this one! Based off this post. Inspired by this drawing from Andalusia_Lu on Tiktok. Not proofread. Tbh I’m kinda nervous about this one but…Enjoy! Also in this story MJ and Peter are just friends. This is probably the darkest think I’ve written.
(Y/N) - Your name.
NSFW!!, Cursing, use of alcohol, death, murder, yandere behavior, Reader has a bf who does die, violence, blood, said reader’s bf calls her derogatory remarks behind her back, religious imagery(I think???), stalking, male masturbation, invasion of privacy, reader being drugged, panty stealing, stalking, implied kidnapping, gore, cameras being placed in readers home without their knowledge, it’s a horror one shot so… you know what you’re walking into. Dead Dove Do not eat, MDNI!
Word count: 2.5k
Part 2
Masterlist
—
October 31st, Halloween night. Also know as the night that gives college students an excuse to get fucked up while in a shit quality costume that cost 50 bucks at spirit Halloween.
That little rule you are not exempt from, that’s how you found yourself in a random college frat party at NYU, a bottle of beer in one hand, and your boyfriend’s in the other as you drag him through the crowd so you both can dance. The alcohol in your system made your whole body relaxed and your cheeks glow with a dash of red over them, your eyes half-lidded and your smile wide as you looked up at Daniel while Promiscuous from Nelly Furtado blasted through the house. You looked like an angel straight from heaven, although that might be due to your customer, being dressed up as Juliet from the 1996 movie, while your boyfriend was clattered in armor as Romeo. The costumes being your idea after having rewatched the movie a few weeks ago.
You both had lost the rest of your group in the crowd, Jess and MJ had said they were going to the kitchen while Miguel and Peter had said they were going outside to get fresh air but you haven’t seen them since, you wouldn't have extremely worried, if it wasn’t for the reason sightings of the ghostface killer that had been popping up on the news though. Sure maybe going to a party wasn’t the best idea either but you figured you would have been fine since you were going in a group, I mean, what wouldn’t you be okay? It’s not like an actual serial killer goes after a group of young adults who are all drunk right? But now you’ve lost 4 out of 6 people in said group. But maybe in the small chance you do get targeted, you should be able to stand a chance since your Daniel was always in the gym with Miguel, so he was pretty jacked (not as jacked as Miguel though but you’ll never say that out loud).
One song turned to two then to three, just like the beers in Daniel’s hand, you had slowed down so you could at least be sober enough to order a Lyft for when the night was over. Eventually you were whisked away from your boyfriend by MJ and Jess, thankful that they were still at the party and nothing happened to them.
“Hey, have you guys seen Peter or Miguel?” You shouted over the music after a while, Jess just shrugged, before MJ answered.
“They texted me that they found Daniel and he’s like, fucked up apparently.”
—
“Please!”
Stab.
“I don’t want to die! Please stop!”
Stab.
“I’ll give anything! Just don’t kill me!”
The begs and pleads become more desperate and sloppy with every second, the words slurring more together from the alcohol and the crimson red liquid dribbling out of Daniel's mouth. The sight was almost enough to make the two men feel pity. Almost.
“Anything?” The shorter one asked with an agonizingly slow head tilt, his voice altered from the voice changer attached to the plastic mask, signaling for the other to stop plugging the knife into their victim’s stomach. Despite not liking being told what to do, he dropped Daniel on the floor with a snarl. Daniel quickly retracted into a small ball, shaking arms going to cover his bloody wound with a groan and whimper.
“We want (Y/N).” If it weren't for him being in excruciating pain and bleeding out, Daniel would have thought they were joking, but the tone in which the words were spoken made his blood that was spilling out from his stomach and mouth run cold.
“W-what?” He asked as he tried to keep his breathing from becoming shallow and his head from becoming too dizzy, but he was failing miserably.
“You heard us. We. Want. (Y/N).” The larger one spoke this time. How badly, he wanted to emphasize each word with another stab, the knife in his hands twitched a bit as he tightened his grip on the black handle. He was itching for an excuse, but he’ll refrain.
For now.
Maybe it was the way he responded to a stressful situation, or maybe it was the lack of blood finally affecting his brain, but Daniel had the nerve to laugh. Fucking laugh. The laugh was breathy, and in between coughs and groans, causing Miguel and Peter to look at their prey like he was the crazy one. Rage filled their bodies when Daniel finally composed himself enough to talk again.
“Y-you can’t be serious? …Right? You-you’re gonna kill-kill me over some bitch?”
How fucking dare he.
How dare he speak about you like you were some random skank, like you were a pile of dirt. You were a fucking goddess, Miguel and Peter knew that, because they worshipped you like one. They didn’t see what you saw in Daniel, he didn’t deserve you, no one did, except Miguel and Peter, they would treat you better than any other man that roamed this stupid planet, and especially far better then the sorry excuse of a boyfriend that they had on the ground like he was a wounded animal.
For someone who was about to die, he sure had a lot of nerve.
He didn’t love you like they did, he didn’t know your every move like they did. They were like your real life guardian angels, always following behind you to make sure no one would harm so much as a hair on your pretty little head, and how lucky were they, that you were juuust oblivious enough that you don’t notice them, just enough to brush of your rummaged trash as raccoons, just enough that you didn’t noticed when a pair or two of your dirty panties go missing, you had too many to keep track of all of them anyways. Never knowing that one of the two would sneak into your apartment while you were asleep to grab them from your hamper, no matter which boy had decided to embark on their mission, both of them had to fight against the struggle to not stay and watch you sleep, fighting the urge to release their painful hard members and stroke while watching you sleep. They’d be lying to themselves if they said they haven’t lost the battle at least once before, biting into their free hand to stop any moans from escaping and waking you up, while they fist fuck their cocks with the other, but can you blame them?
They just loved you so much and you loved them too, you just haven’t realized it yet. How could you when that pest of a boyfriend of yours was pumping your head full of false thoughts? He didn’t love you like Peter and Miguel did. Sure Daniel might seem like he loved you so much, going as far as to get you flowers and gifts from time to time, but Miguel and Peter’s gifts they would give you were so much better, because these gifts were all given to you with the same purpose. To help them watch over you, make sure you were safe, strategically planning to make sure to eventually fill your entire home with cameras right under your adorable nose. The teddy bear that sits on your bed and the light up mirror over your bathroom sink were first of course.
Peter couldn’t help himself, with all of his force, he kicked Daniel right in the balls, causing him to curl up more in pain. Miguel was going to do the same when his phone pinged in his pocket, he quickly took it out and checked it, your name filling his screen made his heart skip a beat.
“It’s (Y/N). She’s asking where we are, and wants us to meet her at her apartment after she drops off Jess and MJ in 15 minutes.” Miguel mumbled as he looked down at his phone, before looking up at Peter then down at their prey on the ground. “She probably thinks we’re still with him, what should we do with him?”
Peter’s eyes followed Miguel’s gaze down to the half- conscious Daniel, silent as if thinking about what to say, or more likely what to do with him.
“We could leave him here for dead?” Peter suggested, but Miguel shook his head at the thought, too risky, they couldn’t have the chance of him being found by someone and taken to the hospital, that could ruin everything.
“You both… ar-are fucking psychotic! Killing me over some-some bitch who doesn’t eve-even give good fucking… fucking head!” Daniel yelled between coughs, more blood falling from his blue-turning lips, he looked like he had seen a ghost due to how pale he was becoming from the blood lost, and now he’s gonna become one. Miguel’s phone buzzed again, this time you only sent a single question mark, looking down at his phone.
“I want you to know that if I wasn’t about to be late to see you, I would beat this guy bloody, for the way he talks about you.” Miguel said out loud as if you could actually hear him, as if you were actually here to hear how true those words were, but instead Miguel raised his knife with one hand and grabbed Daniel’s hair with the other. Enjoying the way the Dani’s eyes widened in fear, his weak arms flailed around as he tried to fight the larger man off of him, but it was no use. “Guess I’ll just have to cut straight to the point.” He said, the smirk evident threw his altered voice before putting his knife against Daniel’s throat and slashing it open. Watching whatever life that was left in him drain from his eyes.
Peter being the skilled photographer he was, took a selfie of the two with their slayed animal, now it’s time to go claim their trophy.
—
Something was off.
Like seriously off, ever since Peter and Miguel disappeared at the party neither of them had answered their phone, and as soon Dani disappeared neither had he. Maybe the party wasn’t the best idea in retrospect, you let out a sigh as you entered your apartment, and collapsed on your couch, wanting to try and calm your racing thoughts a bit before you changed out of your costume. Closing your eyes, and taking in a deep breath.
Your phone started to ring.
Usually, you didn’t answer calls from people who weren’t already in your contacts, so the “blocked number” would normally set off red flags, but maybe the alcohol was still making your brain foggy, because without thinking you answer the call and put your phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
No answer.
You left out a huff and tried again.
“Hellooo?”
When you didn’t get an answer again you rolled your eyes.
“I think you got the wrong numb-“
“Wanna play a game?”
“I’m-I’m sorry?”
“I said, wanna play a game?”
“Um no thanks. I'm hanging up now.”
“Hang up and you won’t get to see your special surprise though.” Oddly enough, you grew a bit curious.
“Wha..what do I have to do?” You asked.
“It’s simple, We’re gonna play a small game of hot and cold.” You had a feeling this wasn’t a good idea, maybe you shouldn’t answer the call. “Right now you’re cold.”
Without another word, you slowly got up, and made your way down the hall, your floorboard creaking underneath your heels.
“Warmer.”
Your heart begins to beat in your ears, you bring a shaky hand up to the doorknob of your bathroom, you go to open the door when the voice from the other end of the phone spoke again.
“Colder.”
You quickly bring your hand back down to your side and let your heavy footsteps make your way into your bedroom.
“Hotter.”
You swallowed the thick lump of saliva down your throat as you made your way to the left side room, your eyes dead set on your closet.
“Hotter.”
You closed the gap between you and the closet, and brought your hand to the handle, mentally preparing yourself for whatever hides before the wooden doors.
“You're on fucking fire baby.”
Your hand drew back the door, the sight made you let out a blood curdling scream, almost dropping your phone in the process. Your Daniel, dead, sitting on the closet floor, gutted out like a fish. The voice on the other end of the phone let out a sly chuckle before speaking once again.
“Sorry about your boyfriend, guess all those muscles didn’t help much.” He mocked before the call went dead, and you finally released your phone, it falling to the floor, as your body began to shake and your breathing became rapid.
You let out a sob and began to stumble away from the mangled corpse that you once called your boyfriend, only for your back to meet with a what felt like a wall of muscle, you quickly look up over your shoulder, being met with the infamous ghostface mask that has been plastered all over the news.
“What’s the matter (Y/N)? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” The altered voice taunted. No, no, no,no. This cannot be happening. You shook your head as another sob left your lips stumbling away from the masked killer and into the hallway, expecting him to follow after you, but instead he just watched you. If you were thinking straight. You’d probably realized that this was a trap, but you weren’t thinking straight, as you finally reached the front door, you went to unlock the door and leave your apartment, but before you even stepped foot out of the door a large hand came and grabbed you around your waist. You take in a deep breath and open your mouth to scream, but instead a white cloth came and covered your nose and mouth, the strong smell of chemicals quickly filling your lungs.
“Surprised (Y/N).” This voice was a bit deeper, then the one from your bedroom, your head became dizzy as you eyes fluttered, your vision was beginning to blacken, before you were fully go under, you saw the man holding you still was a lot larger than the other one, it clicked, there were two of them.
You black out.
—
“She out?” Peter asked Miguel as he slipped off his mask, Miguel following suit.
“Like a light.” Miguel smirks as he goes to pick you up bridal style, your body limply laying in his arms. The two couldn’t help but smile as they watched your sleeping form, so peaceful looking, like an Angel. Their angel. Their plan played out just as they wanted, you were theirs now, and theirs alone. No one could come in the way of you three anymore, all they had to do now was make sure you wouldn’t leave them. But how would you do that if you didn’t know where you were? You couldn’t. That’s why Miguel gently placed you in the backseat of Peter’s car, before getting into the passenger’s seat. They were going to make sure you were far, far away from your old life, so you could start your new one with your lovesick killers.
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Lessons For A Genius - Lesson Two
Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader
Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals
(aka the one where Spencer learns how to finger you)
Summary:
After his first 'lesson', Spencer is even more eager to learn from you.
And while both of you are ignoring your growing yearning for something more, you teach him the next logical thing: how to pleasure you in return.
Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. (Pining) Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.
Word Count: 26,300
Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist
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Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.
Warnings: General themes for a CM episode - murder/killing/mentions of gun violence/mentions of women being murdered and sexually assaulted/mentions of strangling; once again, there is a mention of a case that isn't in the canon (one that I have made up) and this fic is not case-centric; the reader is held in a choke-hold by the killer and uses dark humour to get out of it; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; mentions of the reader wearing a dress/very girly outfit; the reader is heavily implied to be plus-sized; mentions of the reader being older than Spencer, but there is no specific mention of how much the age difference is/number of years (tbh the way I am playing it, it could be months, a year, or years of difference because they make jokes about it) (because this takes place in early S2, Spencer would be 24/25, so if you're younger than that, just imagine? lmao); the team being very nosy about Spencer and the reader's sex life and the reader lying about it in order to spare Spencer because he's shy (not because she's embarrassed of him); heavily implications of Morcia as a background couple; mentions of drinking/drunkenness (does not take place in this fic, it's just mentioned in passing); mentions of Spencer being bullied as a child.
General sexual themes; ongoing dom/sub relationship - Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; a safeword is in place but it's not used; Spencer is generally inexperienced and the reader is 'teaching' him things about sex, including slang, kinks, sexual technique, and the emotional consequences of sex, generally helping him explore his sexual side; mentions of using sex toys (a fleshlight, passing mentions of dildos, including a tentacle dildo that is not used); mentions of Spencer masturbating independently from scenes/playtime with the reader (these scenes are not detailed); descriptions of subspace; descriptions of Spencer having a subdrop/bad subspace experience because he masturbates without the reader there (this is a very brief part of the fic and all other moments of subspace are described pleasantly); the word 'MILF' is used to describe the reader - as a joke, and because Spencer doesn't fully understand the context.
The actual smutty meat of the fic (aka girl dinner) consists of: panty kink - Spencer wears a pair of lacy panties under his clothes while in public because it turns the reader on; praise kink - Spencer loves being praised; public/semi-public 'sex' (they don't have full-blown sex, it's just groping through clothing, and they are in a secluded area of a public place when it happens); risk of getting caught; strength kink - the reader exerts her strength over Spencer and he likes it; heated making out; hair pulling (Spencer receiving); groping through clothes (reader and Spencer receiving); Spencer cums in his pants while being groped; clothes sharing - Spencer wears the reader's clothes; the reader calls Spencer honey, sweetie, baby, pretty boy, good boy; Spencer calls the reader Miss; this fic does feature Mommy kink - Spencer starts calling the reader Mommy partway through; mentions of the reader wearing traditionally feminine lingerie; hand kink - the reader likes Spencer's hands; finger sucking (the reader sucks on Spencer's fingers); vaginal fingering/clitoral stimulation - the reader teaches Spencer how to finger her; Spencer edges the reader unintentionally; guided masturbation - Spencer masturbates for the reader; Spencer cums on the reader (by accident?); the reader licks some of Spencer's cum; mentions of pregnancy (Spencer likes the idea of getting the reader pregnant, but she is on birth control so it won't happen in this fic lmao); some mentions of aftercare (not as in depth as the previous fic); and I believe that's it.
A/N: I do intend for each part of this to possibly be read as a oneshot, so you don't have to read Lesson One in order for this to make sense narratively. But if you want more sub!Spencer stuff, then you should go back and read Lesson One just for your enjoyment. This makes reference to things that have happened in the first part, but you won't be utterly confused if you jump into reading this without reading the other one first. Anyway, I do hope you enjoy it, especially those of you that have been waiting for this part to come out!
...
When you woke up the next morning, you had almost forgotten about what had happened.
You were drowsy, your body almost entirely sunken into the soft bed. If not for the ripe scent of coffee drifting through the air and undertone of something uniquely masculine stuck to the pillow - Spencer’s aftershave - then you likely would have thought that you were comfortable in your own apartment and simply turned over to go back to sleep.
But then it all came flooding back to you.
The Chinese take-out date, gifting Spencer the fleshlight - tying him to the chair in order to ‘help’ him use it. His moans, the sweet way he had looked up at you with those big eyes. The way he had called you ‘Miss’ with such utterly beautiful desperation, how perfect he had looked covered in his own cum.
You sighed with delight as you remembered it all, a gentle tingle coming over your body as you thought about it.
It was then that you realized what the pungent smell of coffee meant: Spencer must have been brewing a pot. You had no clue what time it was or when you had to be ready for work - but coffee sounded fucking amazing after the eventful night the two of you had.
You were surprised that Spencer wasn’t still in bed, cuddled up to you.
He had spent the whole night clinging to your back like a koala in the most endearing way. You had no clue how a man so large could make himself seem so small at times, but he definitely accomplished that by hooking his leg around your hip and whining whenever you tried to pull away from him even a slight bit.
(You hated that it was something that would have been intensely annoying from any other partner or one night stand, but when he did it, you found it adorable. You knew that you were letting him get away with too much already, but you couldn’t help yourself.)
What you didn’t realize: yes, Spencer would have loved to be cuddled up with you in bed all morning. But he had woken up before you - and he would deny the amount of time he had taken to stare at you while you were sleeping, ogling your beautiful, peaceful face. After he had gotten out of bed, he had taken the initiative to attempt to prepare breakfast.
He rarely cooked for himself. When he did cook, it was usually simple, plain, unimpressive dishes that were more meant to kill hunger than to actually taste nice. And he was even further screwed by the fact that his fridge wasn’t even well stocked because the team had been so busy on cases that he hadn’t even thought to go grocery shopping in a while.
Of course, he had coffee (and cream, and sugar - because he wasn’t a monster, he made himself a cup every morning). And he had some basics like eggs, so he was trying his best to make something nice for you.
When you walked into the kitchen, still dressed in nothing but your camisole and your panties, the chill of the morning air was biting and Spencer looked invitingly warm.
He was standing at the stove, concentrating on some sizzling pan, and you couldn’t resist the urge to walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He had gotten dressed since getting out of bed, so he was wearing a bright blue cotton tee shirt (that you didn’t yet see had the Superman logo on the front) and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms. It was an entirely adorable sight: Spencer in loungewear. You indulged in pressing your face lightly between his shoulders, loving the feeling of the soft cotton against your cheek.
You noticed that the radio was on in the background - a low hum compared to the pan sizzling on the stove. But from what you could tell, the news was playing. He was such an old man in some ways.
“Please tell me that’s coffee I’m smelling.” You moaned quietly, feeling snuggled by his soft embrace.
“A teaspoon of sugar and just a little bit of cream,” He said, taking his hand off the handle of the frying pan to reach over to the side, grabbing a coffee cup and hoisting it in your direction - which was slightly awkward with you behind him.
You met him halfway, taking the coffee thankfully. Then you moved to lean against the counter to actually drink your coffee. He was rueful that the hug didn’t last longer, but he didn’t say anything about it.
“You remembered,” You grinned at him, referring to the fact that he had made your coffee exactly how you liked it.
When you took the first sip, it tasted amazing, and began to wake up your senses from the drowsy lull that you had been feeling.
“It’s quite literally impossible for me to forget.” He replied, giving you a grin.
“Hmm,” You hummed thoughtfully, clutching the warm coffee cup with both hands. “I’d like to test that theory one of these days.”
If you could make Spencer so incoherent with an orgasm, even just begging for one, you were willing to bet that you could feed him information that he wouldn’t be able to repeat back to you when he was so fucked out. It would be one of the ultimate victories - proving the genius’s perfect eidetic memory wrong.
Spencer saw that look in your eyes - the same one you had given him last night before you had gifted him the fleshlight. (Which was still propped up in the drying rack, a sight that had startled him when he had first gotten into the kitchen that morning). He had a feeling that, based on that look alone, he knew what you meant. He shied away then, looking back down to the pan of eggs as your brain moved on to another subject.
“I still can’t believe that you listen to the radio in the morning,” You commented, nodding toward the device that was propped up on the half-wall that partitioned off the kitchen from the living room. “You’re such an old man.”
“I’m younger than you!” He chuckled.
“No, no.” You easily corrected him, your voice taking on a very typical joking tone. “Being an old man is a way of life. It’s not about your age. It’s why you and Gideon get along so well.”
Spencer snorted with laughter at this. He turned off the stove, deciding the eggs were done, and began to scrape them onto a plate, hoping that it wasn’t too measly or unimpressive.
“Well then… you had sex with an old man last night.” Spencer chuckled, trying to sound confident in this ‘joke’.
You couldn’t help but to laugh at his nervousness.
“You need to work on your comebacks, too.” You told him with a grin. “I should get you one of those ‘yo mama’ joke books that seventh graders pass around.”
“Oh, that explains why I suck at comebacks. I skipped seventh grade.” He shrugged casually.
You laughed even harder at this. For him, it was a simple statement of fact, but to you, it sounded like he was purely bragging, and that turned out to be a better joke than the one he actually intended as humor.
Spencer bit his lip to hold back a grin.
Mornings with you - it was so much better than he had expected. He had expected things to be intensely awkward after what had taken place last night. He had expected that the entire tone of your relationship might change. And that was something he was fearful of. But you were still making jokes, still absolutely not afraid to insult him in that joking way that you did.
Spencer felt a yearning deep inside of him at the realization - like the string of a harp being plucked, setting off vibrations of bitter harmony through his entire being. He wanted his life to be like this every single morning. He wanted to make coffee for you every day - he wanted to be yours.
You picked up a fork and took a small bite of the eggs he had offered up, and Spencer felt his heart drop when your face immediately coiled into disgust.
“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly, fearing he had terribly disappointed you.
“Honey… how much salt did you put in this?” You asked, your words slightly muffled by the food cradled on your tongue.
You walked over to the sink and spit the eggs out, and Spencer rushed to pick up a fork for himself as he answered.
“Not much, I think.” He said, taking his own bite of the food. Then he immediately understood. “Oh my god. That’s so bad.” He said, feeling a gag curling in his throat at just how putridly salty it was.
He leaned over and spat his bite in the sink next to yours, and before the fear of disappointing you could fully set in, you burst out laughing brightly.
“Oh god.” You chuckled. “You don’t usually cook, do you?”
“Not really.” He said, giving you a timid smile. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You assured him, rubbing a hand gently across his back. “We can just get some breakfast on the way to work.”
He would learn to cook for you too. Most definitely.
The sweetness and peace was disrupted by a sharp digital chirping - a cellphone ringing. You didn’t think to question if it was your phone or Spencer’s before you put your coffee cup on the counter and rushed toward the sound, finding the small silver object buzzing in the middle of the coffee table (still off to the side of the room where you had pushed it the night before). You grabbed it up and flipped it open, and answered without hesitation.
“Hello?” You said politely.
Spencer stood in the doorway of the kitchen then, watching on with curiosity, wondering if the two of you were being called in for a case.
“Y/N?” JJ’s voice came from the other end of the line - but she sounded oddly confused.
“Yeah.” You confirmed. “What’s up?”
“What are you doing answering Spencer’s phone?” She asked, an eager curiosity coming through her voice.
Your work phones were practically identical, so it was a crapshoot.
You scrambled to make up an excuse, even though you knew her mind had likely already strayed to something in the realm of ‘adult sleepover’.
“He and I were hanging out last night and I fell asleep on the couch watching movies.” You said. “You know Reid, he went on that whole rant about how driving tired is like driving drunk, he insisted that I stay over-”
JJ let out a hardy laugh, cutting you off.
“Yeah, keep working on that.” She said. “I’m sure the others will definitely believe it.” You rolled your eyes at this, and JJ continued. “Did the two of you use a condom, or should we be expecting some genius babies coming our way nine months from now?”
You wanted to conjure up a crude (but truthful) joke about how Spencer had cum into a silicone pussy and you didn’t think babies could come from that. But for once, you managed to hold your tongue. You wanted to respect his privacy rather than flaunting your sexual exploits in front of other people and embarrassing him. You did have some sense of tact.
“Do we have a case or are you just calling around cause you’re lonely?” You fired back, trying to get her off this topic.
“Yes, we do.” She said. “And you just saved me a phone call. So you and your little boyfriend get in here as soon as possible, okay?”
You sighed. “Yeah, of course.”
You snapped the phone shut before she could make any more cute comments, and then you walked over and handed it to Spencer.
“There’s a case?” He asked.
“Yeah.” You told him. “Sweetie, would you mind running down to my car and grabbing my go-bag? I need a fresh change of clothes.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course. I can do that.”
His overall obedience toward you kicked in again, and he found himself nodded eagerly. He knew that if he were a dog, his tail would have been wagging relentlessly as he shoved on a pair of shoes and a sweater and you tossed him your keys from your purse in order to go and do the task.
You chugged down your coffee and headed toward the bathroom for a quick shower to freshen up. As Reid went down to the parking garage, he had to wonder about the things he had just heard you say on that call.
He knew that you had made up the excuse about you ‘falling asleep on the couch’ to JJ because you didn’t want to simply expose the fact that the two of you had played around the night before. It was a private thing that should be kept between the two of you. Even though you were relatively shameless about toting other private matters in public. You were never ashamed about announcing to the world when you were on your period or if certain foods had upset your stomach - in great detail.
So - if you weren’t so eager to announce being with Reid, did it mean that you were ashamed of him? Did it mean that you didn’t want to tell everyone that you had a sexual partner like him?
He tried not to stew in that thought as he brought your bag back upstairs. When he closed the door to the apartment and you heard him come in, you called him and told him to come toward the bathroom, and he heard the shower shutting off.
It was only then that it occurred to him that you were using his shower - you were naked in the shower. You were naked in his apartment.
He felt warmth in his pelvis at the thought, and he tried dampening it down (tried thinking of horror, sadness, dead bodies) - because he really didn’t have time to masturbate or ‘play’ more with you before work. He didn’t have time to take care of an erection right now. Would this be a recurring problem? Getting erections around you so easily now because you had awakened something in him? Because now he knew that you would actually touch him?
When Spencer came to the bathroom door, it was partially cracked open, and there was warm, hazy air pouring out - clearly steam from how hot you had the shower.
“Did you find the bag?” You asked, clearly having heard Spencer’s footsteps in the hallway.
“Y-yeah.” He answered.
“Okay, well, you can come in and bring it to me.” You chuckled, bright and confident as ever.
Spencer pushed the door open fully.
He felt like he was stepping into an early morning heaven when he stepped into that humid air and saw you standing in the middle of the bathmat, wrapping a towel around your naked, dripping body.
The way you held it kept your breasts and vagina fully covered, shielding all of the ‘important’ parts from Spencer’s view. But when you pulled it back to adjust the tightness of the towel around your chest, you clearly didn’t care about the skin that was revealed. The thickness of your hip and the plushness of the side of your stomach was bared to his eyes; his gaze devoured the large strip of skin all the way up the side of your body, just barely kissing the side of your breast where the towel covered you. It looked so scandalous even though it showed so little of you before you covered yourself back up and tucked the towel into itself, securing the fabric around your body.
“Thank you, Spencer.” You said, reaching out and grabbing the bag from him.
Spencer stood there for a moment longer, watching in utter awe as his eyes traced a droplet of water down your neck and into your cleavage. He wondered what it might be like to lean over and lick it up, wondering what your skin might taste like-
“Spence, shouldn’t you go get ready now?” You posed, looking up from rooting around your bag that you now had propped up on the closed toilet lid.
“Right.” Spencer said. “Right. Yeah.”
Spencer rushed off to his bedroom, doing just that.
He did have to masturbate before he could focus at all on getting dressed. He felt slightly shameful for it, but he picked up your discarded blouse from his bedroom floor, left there by you from the night before, holding it to his nose while he pumped his cock with his hand. And with it, he came faster than he ever had by his own touch. And then he rushed to clean up and get dressed and managed to meet you just as you were emerging from the bathroom, looking as beautiful as ever in another button up blouse and simple black pants.
You gave him a grin and didn’t at all seem to suspect that he had touched himself, and he felt so utterly victorious - like he had a secret, like he had gotten away with something.
…
You had to laugh as you watched Spencer struggle to clean the dried cum off his glasses in the car with a couple of wet wipes. It was something you had forgotten to do the night before, and you found it entirely amusing as he muttered and grunted to himself, trying to get the lenses fully clean while you drove.
By the time you got to the office, Spencer’s glasses were glimmering clean and you recklessly pulled into the first parking spot you saw in the garage, hoping that you weren’t terribly late. (Unfortunately you hadn’t had time for breakfast, and hunger was gnawing at you, but you would take care of that later.)
Spencer began voicing complaints about your parking job and the likelihood of your doors getting dented by someone else getting out of their car, but you simply dragged him forward with a hand on his wrist and told him that it would be your problem as you shoved him into the elevator.
Nobody else was lingering in the bullpen, which worried you, and surely enough - everybody else was already sitting at the roundtable as you and Spencer walked down the hall. Many prying eyes stared at the two of you from the doorway, clearly expectant of the two of you. When you got in, you noticed that the only absent face was Gideon. At least you and Spencer weren’t the only ones holding up the presentation of the case.
“You’re late.” Hotch grumbled as Spencer shut the door behind the two of you. “Again.”
“So sue me.” You shrugged, causing Hotch to roll his eyes, and causing a smirk from Morgan and Elle - who generally loved your snark.
“Don’t blame her, Hotch, she probably had a hard time finding her keys after Boy Genius rocked her world.” Elle said, making an obvious joke about the fact that you and Spencer had come in together.
That, and you wouldn’t put it above JJ not to tell everyone that you had spent the night at Spencer’s place (especially if she delivered that news under suspicion that the two of you had sex).
Reid - who had gone to the counter off to the side to get himself yet another cup of coffee - dropped a packet of sugar on the floor out of nervousness when he heard Elle’s comment. You found it entirely adorable when he scrambled to pick it up, clearly trying his hardest not to seem suspicious.
“So come on, how was it?” Morgan said, looking right at you as he hopped onto the joke. “Did he spread you open like a good library book?”
Hotch sighed, pressing his fingers into the bridge of his nose, knowing he could do nothing to stop the conversation. He looked to his phone, desperately trying to ignore this as it went on around him.
“Very funny.” You griped sarcastically. “If I look tired, it’s because this loser had me up all night rambling on about Star Wars - fun facts, behind the scenes trivia.” You said, motioning toward Spencer for emphasis when you said ‘this loser’. “I absolutely did not need to know the difference between a protocol droid and an astromech droid, but now I do.”
On any other occasion, you casually throwing around the word ‘loser’ in reference to Spencer would have hurt his feelings.
But during this moment, Spencer found himself suppressing a grin. Everyone in the room had basically invited you to openly mock him for his lack of sexual ability, to spill his secrets as office gossip. But instead, you had chosen to keep those secrets close to your chest, clearly as a way to protect him from future mockery. And on top of that, you had made a clever reference to a previous conversation that the two of you did have about Star Wars. He was proud that you remembered the term ‘astromech droid’ off the top of your head at all.
He felt proud, sharing a filthy secret with you. And he knew that he was definitely not a loser after what had happened last night.
“Star Wars?” JJ questioned, looking at you with an expression that said she definitely knew you were lying, but she obviously didn’t have any proof.
You had told her that you fell asleep on his couch by accident, and now you were telling the others that he had kept you up all night?
“Yeah, that sounds more like it.” Morgan chuckled, receiving a knowing nod from Elle.
Spencer passed by you, placing a coffee cup in front of your chair as you took your jacket off and sat down. He highly resisted the urge to give you a grin - knowing that it would give away your sweet little secret to the rest of the room. He simply walked around the table and took his own seat, and before any further discussion about the possible antics of your private lives could occur, Gideon walked in with a file in hand and JJ began presenting the case.
…
It was a case like any other. (Unfortunately.) Women strangled, sexually assaulted, left in areas of the woods that weren’t too difficult to find.
As you looked at the horrific crime scene photos, you couldn’t help but to think that perhaps part of the reason you loved to dominate subservient men was to take back your personal power. Because deep down, you knew that you were terrified of ending up like that, and you loved the small piece of the world that you could take back when you got your hand around a man’s neck and made him beg for mercy (consensually, of course).
But you couldn’t dwell on that for too long, because you had a job to do.
There was a fresh crime scene when the team arrived, and Hotch sent you and Morgan to investigate it while he and Gideon went to speak to the victim’s family. The others left to set up at the local police station, and you couldn’t help but to notice Spencer’s eyes lingering on you as you parted ways.
There were some drag marks in the dirt and a camera perched on a public bathroom that insisted the victim (and her attacker) could have been seen, so Morgan stepped away to call Garcia to see if she could pull anything from the camera’s feed. You did some more looking around, but couldn’t find anything of note.
When you walked back over to where Morgan was perched beside the SUV, grinning with his phone beside his ear, you couldn’t hold back a comment at his final words before he hung up.
“-oh, of course. Well you are beautiful and brilliant as always, my love. Thank you.”
“You didn’t tell me Reid was on the phone.” You commented snidely, giving a wide smirk as you walked around into Morgan’s view.
You thought you were being clever, making the joke that he would call Reid beautiful, or playfully call him ‘my love’. But of course, he turned this right back around on you.
“No, that was just Garcia. She said the camera’s a dud and she couldn’t get anything off it.” Before you could comment on this fact, he continued.
“But I took a message from Reid earlier. He said he left his panties at your place and he wants them back,” He smirked widely himself as he said this.
Likely the exact opposite of what he had intended, this caused a distinct image in your mind. One of Spencer wearing a pair of pink lacy panties - his long, hard cock straining to fit inside the skimpy material, and leaky wildly inside of it, making everything so wet.
You forced yourself to refocus, and purposefully put on a sour look, pretending that you were annoyed by his crude comment.
“Ha-ha.” You griped sarcastically. “You know Reid and I aren’t a thing. So you can stop with the jokes before you embarrass him.”
Truthfully, you did want the jokes to stop before it hurt Reid. You knew that he likely wanted to keep his sex life private. You didn’t want his shyness to come back tenfold before you could truly open him up and explore his filthy side.
Morgan snorted, clearly in disbelief.
“Oh, so you’re gonna act like that whole bit this morning wasn’t you and boy genius stumblin’ in late because of a late night booty call?” Morgan posed. “A real one. Not him fallin’ asleep on his phone.”
You shifted your attitude then. If he wasn’t going to drop it, then you were going to arm yourself.
“Okay, if you’re so invested in my sex life, you wanna talk about the size XXL purple leopard thong that I found in your back seat three weeks ago?” You posed sharply, a stone cold look on your face even though you were holding back the urge to laugh.
At the time, Morgan had offered to give you a ride home because your car battery had died. And when you tossed your bag into his back seat, you randomly spotted the streak of bright color - very out of place among the few gray sweatshirts he had in the back. And when you picked it up, wondering what it was, you held it in your hands and in a moment, based on the size, knew who it belonged to.
But he had been denying where it had come from (and the lustful tryst behind it) ever since. Clearly he wanted to keep his inter-office sex life private too.
“I-” Morgan began stuttering out an explanation, then swallowed it up. “We should get going.” He said, motioning toward the SUV.
“We should.” You easily agreed.
…
The whole time the team spent working the case, you found it difficult to interact with Spencer.
You really wanted to say that having sex with him wouldn’t change your working relationship, but it wasn’t like you had fucked just anybody. It was Spencer. If you had railed Elle or Derek or anybody else on the team, you probably could have gone to work the next day and pushed it to the back of your mind with grace.
But knowing that Spencer was inexperienced, knowing that you had likely been the first person to ever hear him moan like that, the first to ever see him covered in his own cum - it was definitely something that stuck in your head (to a painfully distracting extent).
Every time you so much as looked at him, saw that thoughtful expression with those glasses perched on his face, you immediately pictured him blissfully fucked out with large spots of his own cum covering the lenses.
So you tried your best to avoid him for the majority of the work. You volunteered to leave the station whenever possible, and left him with his maps, making a geographical profile, doing what he did best. You tried to keep yourself distracted and focused on a case.
This - somehow - had you and Gideon following a lead, following up with someone who had spoken to the first victim a few minutes before she was murdered. While the two of you searched the man’s property looking for him, he managed to sneak up behind you and put you in a chokehold, attempting to strangle you.
Because yeah - he was the killer. Great.
And apparently, once again, your sick sense of humor paid off. Because when your hand reached for your gun upon instinct and you realized that in your Spencer Reid sex-haze distractions, you had somehow forgotten it in the car, you cursed yourself, and then you began to physically struggle. And then you realized that this man was too strong, and there was no good way for you to escape the hold with physical methods.
With your vision becoming hazy, your instinct was to start moaning in a very exaggerated, pornographic way and tell him how much you liked the feeling of being strangled - which led him to loosen his grip out of shock. And that gave you more than enough room to elbow him in the face, knocking him loopy so you could call to Gideon for help.
The two of you had him in cuffs in minutes and when everyone else got there and asked you how you managed to escape, you told them that you were simply too fierce of a fighter for the man to hold you down. They didn’t need to know what actually happened or where your mind went when faced with danger.
Spencer looked at you with incredibly sad eyes when he saw the irritated strangle marks around your neck, but you pointed to the marks and told him you were fine with a chuckle. That it looked worse than it was. You were surprised and kind of hurt when he didn’t say anything to you in return.
Spencer didn’t sit next to you during the plane ride home (which you took slight offense to). But he did come up to you in the parking garage when you were getting ready to leave. You had been inspecting a large bump in one of your doors (cursing the fact that Spencer always had to be right), and you became distracted when you heard his footsteps echoing through the large space behind you.
You thought that maybe he needed a ride since you had been the one to drive him there after your heated night together. But he stood a few feet away with his hands in his pockets, so you took your hand off the key that was poised in your car door and made it clear that you were prepared to pay attention to him - clearly he had something to say.
“Are you mad at me?” He asked timidly.
“What? No.” You let out breathily, almost laughing. “Why would you think-?” You began to ask, and then cut yourself off, realizing the answer to your own question halfway through speaking it. “Because I’ve been avoiding you.” You spoke aloud.
Spencer nodded, seeming very solemn and downtrodden by this fact.
“You wouldn’t even look at me over the past few days.” He said. “I mean, I understand if I did something wrong.” He declared, his voice taking on the same broken wetness that his eyes had, as though he was on the verge of crying. “But I - I thought that what happened the other night, what we did, I thought it was special. I-”
“Spencer. Come here.” You summoned him closer, not wanting to talk loudly across the parking garage at him. You didn’t want your voices to echo when speaking about your sex life - just in case anybody did happen to come by.
You found it achingly adorable that he called what had happened ‘special’. Like he was a young woman talking about ‘making love’. It was tooth-rotting sweet. Especially considering that he wasn’t referring to some night where the two of you had laid in bed together with candles and Barry Mantilow playing. But rather, a time where you had tied him to a kitchen chair and fucked him senseless with a fake pussy.
Spencer easily followed your order, finding nothing but natural order in listening to you. He came to stand just a few inches from your body where you were leaning up against the door of your car, and then you began to speak quietly.
“What we did was special.” You assured him with a smile. The sadness on his features broke up slightly at this. “In fact, it was so special that I couldn’t get it out of my head. Every time I looked at you, I just imagined you moaning for me, covered in your own cum. I kept hearing your pretty voice in my ears saying ‘please’ in that gorgeous way you do.”
Of course, you did angle your words more into dirty talk, and you leaned into him slightly when you said these things, whispering in a low, seductive voice. You loved how his Adam’s apple bobbed heavily as he swallowed thickly, and a slight flush moved across his cheeks at your words.
When he didn’t say anything, clearly stunned into silence by your words, you continued.
“I didn’t want to be turned on, or distracted when we have an important job to do.” You had to leave out the fact that you had been so distracted that you had almost made a fatal mistake. But nobody needed to know about that. “So… I just tried to focus on something other than you for a while. I do apologize if it seems like I was avoiding you out of anger, but that is definitely not the case.” You told him, easily capping off your explanation.
“I understand.” Spencer nodded. “That’s… kind of how I feel every day. But I guess I’m just used to it by now. So I’m better at not being distracted.”
You felt intensely flattered, and slightly turned on as he unintentionally fluffed your ego.
“Because you’re a good boy.” You told him, knowing that praise was one of his weak spots.
You swore you saw his knees shake when the words hit him, and he cleared his throat loudly before he spoke again.
“Is - is it always going to be like this?” He asked.
He would have mourned your friendship if that were the case. He didn’t want to trade off your jokes and your everyday interactions for the sex, as amazing as the sex was. Selfishly, he wanted both.
“No.” You easily assured him. “I just need a bit of time to get my head on straight. I need some time to get used to it. Like you said, I need to get better at not being distracted.”
Spencer nodded at this.
He was very tempted to ask if you wanted to come over to his place that night. If you wanted to ‘sleep-over’ again. Not only had he enjoyed the spectacular orgasm, learning from you, but he had genuinely enjoyed the kind of domesticity that came from waking up with you there. He loved having someone in his kitchen in the morning. He knew he would miss that sorely if he woke up tomorrow morning and you weren’t there. (Perhaps you had spoiled him too much already.)
However, before he could work up the courage to ask, you leaned up on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, muttering ‘goodnight, Spence’. And in return, he muttered something about paperwork before he walked back toward the elevator.
…
That night, Spencer went home and grabbed the fleshlight off the dishrack as soon as he spotted it. He knew that you had bought it for him with the intention of him using it independently, but as he grabbed the bottle of lube off the living room coffee table, he just felt… lonely without you there.
But he supposed that he had to learn how to do it on his own, because you wouldn’t be there all the time to help him. It was only a fantasy - the two of you getting a place together, so he could serve you in every possible way, doing so gleefully, and in return, you would play with him whenever he wanted.
He stripped naked and slicked up his cock and the toy just like you had shown him. He couldn’t help but to miss the feeling of your hand on his cock as he did it. When he got the tight softness of the fake pussy around him, he screwed his eyes closed tight - and all he could think about was you.
He missed you like a tree missing sunlight, and he felt his head spinning - felt like he had no greater sense of control without your voice telling him what to do. It made him anxious and on edge the whole time he had that fake pussy wrapped around his cock, rather than the beautifully, buttery warmth he had felt before.
By the time he came, he was practically sobbing. A deep ache for you in his chest as he missed your touch over him - missed the feeling of your fingers running through his hair, missed your voice calling him ‘good boy’ as that tingling ran through his gut.
After he rinsed out the toy with hot water and put it back in the dish rack to dry (wondering if he was cleaning it right) and jumped in the shower, he wondered if he would ever be content to masturbate alone again. He wondered if you had ruined him, if he would ever truly feel satiated without your touch.
…
The next few days passed without much of note happening.
You and Spencer stayed away from each other in the office and everyone began to whisper, theorizing that you were in some kind of fight. But of course, they didn’t notice the glances the two of you exchanged over the partition of your close desks - a deeply knowing stare that only the other person could decipher.
Also, unknowingly, Derek had given you a fantastic idea.
One day during your lunch break, you visited a lingerie store that you loved, and picked up a pair of lacy pink panties that would definitely be too small for you - but that you hoped would fit a certain genius’ slim hips just right.
…
At the end of the week, you were intensely thankful to have a day off.
You were tempted to turn your phone off completely, not wanting to be cursed with being called in on your day off. You could say that you lived with the hope that nobody out there was needing the BAU’s help, but truly, you were just annoyed and wanted some time to relax.
You woke up naturally around mid morning, and you were feeling hungry so you hesitantly rolled out of bed. You washed your face and did a light, lazy morning routine. On your way to the kitchen in your modest, cozy, but very well decorated apartment, you heard a knock on the door.
You felt all of your muscles tense up unconsciously. You really hoped that it wasn’t someone from the team, needing something. (You also hoped that it wasn’t one of your exes, showing up unannounced to beg for you back because the sex had been too good and had ruined them for anyone else - which had happened before. Multiple times unfortunately.)
You hesitantly walked over to the door (so tempted to pretend that you weren’t home and simply be left unbothered). When you looked through the peephole, you were delightfully surprised to see that it was Spencer. He was standing there, dressed like he usually did for work, holding a tray with two takeout coffee cups in one hand and a large brown paper bag in the other.
He had brought breakfast.
A sweetheart with a big dick and a pretty face who begged so pretty and brought food? Fuck, you might just have to marry him.
You eagerly opened the door and grinned widely at him.
“Spence!” You greeted him with excitement. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Um, hi.” He gave you a smile himself, and nodded at you rather than waving because his hands were full. “Can I come in? I brought breakfast.” He motioned toward the items in his hands, and you nodded, moving aside to let him in. “I wanted to make up for those… abysmal eggs that I made you the other morning.”
“They weren’t abysmal.” You told him with a chuckle as you shut the door. “And I do admire you for trying.”
Spencer naturally navigated his way to your small kitchen, to the small round table that you had in there to set the items down. This was only his third time in your apartment.
Two of the other times he had been there, it had been to hang out and play board games with you, JJ, Elle, and Penelope. Something that had started out as a joke - Derek telling him that he might have fun ‘tagging along on girls’ night’. So he had. And he did have fun.
And one of the times it had been because he had gotten quite drunk and you had brought him here to take care of him. Because he had been so drunk that he couldn’t tell you where his house keys were. Waking up on your couch that morning to the smell of pancakes had been delightfully confusing.
Either way, he found your apartment wonderfully homey. Decorated in jewel tones with girly touches. And there was always a nice smell lingering in the air from some kind of scented candle or nice perfume you were wearing.
“Yeah, well, food is definitely not one of my areas of expertise.” Spencer admitted, carrying on the conversation as he took your coffee out of the tray and handed it to you.
You noticed the distinct motion of his eyes going up and down your body, lingering around your thighs and your breasts, distracting him from picking up his own coffee for a few moments.
It was only then that you became hyper-aware of the fact that you were still wearing your pajamas.
It was a matching set made of a thin cotton fabric with a floral pattern on it - the top was a tank top with thin little spaghetti straps (and of course, you had just gotten out of bed, so you weren’t wearing a bra). The shorts were intensely short, revealing most of your wide thighs. It didn’t leave much to the imagination, so you realized why it caused Spencer’s eyes to wander. You loved his keen gaze, though. And you pretended not to notice as the conversation continued.
“The genius finally admits that there’s something he doesn’t know!” You chuckled.
“There are still plenty of things I don’t know.” Spencer said quietly - the glint in his eye told you that he was definitely referring to the pivotal conversation that the two of you had the other night. The conversation where he had lovingly begged you to teach him about sex. “Plenty of things I still need to learn.”
There was a pause where the air was filled with intense sexual tension, but Spencer broke it by grabbing the paper bag with the food in it and opening it up.
“I got you a breakfast sandwich.” He said. “Bacon, egg, and cheese on a bagel.”
“Sounds perfect.” You nodded. “Plates are in the cupboard above the sink. I’m gonna go down to my mailbox and see if my newspaper has been delivered.” You told him, walking over to the door to shove on your slippers.
“Getting your news from the paper? What an old lady you are,” Spencer said, clearly recycling your own words from the other morning back at you.
“That just means you like old ladies.” You chuckled, recycling his comment from the other day. “You must be into MILFs,”
“‘MILFs?’” Spencer questioned, that adorably confused look coming across his features again.
You became filled to the brim with glee at the realization that you would get to explain this to him.
“It means ‘Mother I’d Like To Fuck’ or ‘Mommy I’d Like To Fuck’.” You told him. “Usually it’s used to describe a sex fantasy where someone wants to fuck - well, a mother. Someone who’s had children, because they’re attracted to the concept of motherhood. Or it can be describing a porn category, usually anything with a curvy older woman and a younger man… some people say that a MILF doesn’t necessarily have to be a woman who’s had kids, just a woman who’s older than you and hot.”
Spencer’s lips gaped with lustful shock, and a flush came over him. He wanted to confirm that you were definitely a MILF - because you were a woman who was technically older than him, curvy, and very hot. And he definitely wanted to fuck you. All the time. But that would mean using the word ‘Mommy’ to describe you, and as much as that brought a tingle through him - that was not a can of worms that he was ready to open. Yet.
You left him standing there, gaping with shock and you couldn’t help but to laugh at this as you walked out the door to go to the mailbox.
When you came back, you and Spencer sat on the couch and ate with the TV playing quietly in the background. A random network was playing Pretty Woman and you left it on because Spencer remarked that he had never seen it before, and you found it adorable how closely he paid attention to the film as it progressed.
When you finished your food, you opened your newspaper and began reading. At some point, you had stretched out, and your feet had wandered into Spencer’s lap. Before you could wonder if he found it annoying, he began to lightly massage them.
It was a delicate kind of peace, and you couldn’t help but to enjoy the silent, easy company as he watched the film and you read an article about a new baby penguin being given to two male penguin parents at the local zoo.
You didn’t know that Spencer’s skin was crawling, eagerness building up inside of him as he sat in silence. Seeing you just sitting there, your face gently concentrated as you read. You putting your feet so carelessly in his lap, using him like he was just a lovely piece of furniture, just a footrest for you. All if it seemed to be checkmarks on some unknown list of things that only made him more lustful.
And for the past ten minutes, he had been slowly losing focus on the plot of the film and found himself staring more and more at your thighs or sneaking glances at you over top of the newspaper.
He had the urge to simply nudge your legs apart and crawl between them. To start touching you until he found out what was pleasurable for you. Until you called him ‘good boy’ in that way that made him melt again. But he wasn’t nearly confident enough to just do that. So he was just sitting there quietly. Slowly going insane as he thought about all the things that he wanted you to be doing to him now that the two of you were alone with free time.
Of course, you noticed him becoming more antsy. You felt him moving more in his seat, you felt him becoming tense under your feet. So you decided to ask and see what he would say. You wondered if he would come right out and admit that he was feeling lustful, or if you would have to pull it out of him.
“What’s up, Spence?” You asked, glancing over the newspaper at him.
Then, Spencer said something incredibly stupid.
“They’re hosting some of Van Gogh’s original sketches at the Smithsonian Art Museum this month.” Spencer said, motioning toward the back page of the newspaper that you had extended in one hand. It was all advertisements, but one of them did say something about a Van Gogh exhibit including some of his original art.
He had been feeling dangerously nervous and wanted to deflect from himself.
“Hmm.” You said after you read it. “Maybe we should go check it out.”
Spencer’s face fell to disappointment at this suggestion, and you held back laughter.
“What? Did you have some other grand plans for the day?” You posed, knowing this would get the right reaction out of him.
“I…” Spencer let out a breath, clearly hesitating. “I was kind of hoping we could… play.”
You couldn’t hold back your grin. You loved that he was using the language you had taught him, feeling confident in putting the vocabulary to good use.
“How about this?” You posed, knowing that you were fully in charge, and it was up to you to make the plan. “We go and check out the art exhibit, and if you behave yourself on this little outing, then you can have whatever you want as a reward when we come back home.”
Spencer’s eyes lit up at this. He seemed highly motivated at the idea of having a ‘reward’.
“What would ‘behaving myself’ entail?” He asked, ever eager to have a set of rules to follow.
“Don’t touch me without permission.” You told him. “Keep your hands to yourself. Don’t nag me or keep asking when we’ll come home and play. And… well, there is one more thing. Something special that you could do for me.”
Spencer’s face knit with confusion at this.
“What’s that?” He asked.
“Hold on.” You told him.
Then you got up off the couch and abandoned your newspaper on the coffee table, leaving Spencer nervously fidgeting as he waited for your return. He was surprised when you came back with a bright pink shopping bag - something fairly small and girly. The shop logo on the side wasn't one that he recognized, so he had no idea what could be inside the bag.
He waited patiently as you stood on the opposite side of the table and put the bag in the middle of it, and peeled back the pink tissue paper to take out the object inside the bag. He was slightly confused when you pulled out a small, delicate pair of lacy pink panties.
When you unfolded them and held them up to display them to him, he easily saw that they would be too small for you, and the confusion racked him even harder. If you hadn’t bought the underwear for yourself then-?
“I wanted you to wear these for me.” You told him, your voice steady. “Under your clothes all day. So just you and I know.”
Instantly, a wave of anxiety swept over Spencer.
You hated the look that came across his face and you tossed the underwear down as he spoke.
“Would - why?” He stuttered out. “Do you think it’s funny or something?”
Spencer hated it, but he was immediately brought back to a time in his childhood. A time when, as a child prodigy in a public high school, he had been forced to take a gym class with a bunch of older teenagers, and forced to change in the same locker room as everyone else, because the coach refused to ‘treat him special’ just because he was ‘a smartass’.
And at the time, he had thought nothing of his Ninja Turtles underpants until the other boys started pointing and laughing at them. They had thought his underwear was so funny, in fact, that they took his clothes, forcing him to walk out into the hallway in nothing but his underwear, fighting to get his clothes back.
Back then, he didn’t understand why someone’s underwear would be funny. But it had changed him and left him guarded and feeling small - even now.
“No, no, no, baby. Of course not.” You rushed to assure him otherwise, sitting down on the coffee table in front of him and putting a tender hand on his knee.
“I would never want to laugh at you. Or humiliate you.” You told him very sincerely.
You distinctly held back the urge to say ‘unless you want me to’. You didn’t think he was ready to know that some people role played humiliation on purpose. That would be for another day.
“Baby, I only wanted to do this because it’s a turn-on for me.” You continued. “But you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to make you upset or uncomfortable.”
“It - it turns you on?” Spencer’s face knit with intense confusion, contemplating your words carefully.
This was a brand new aspect that - now that it was presented to him, definitely had him processing the concept with fresh eyes.
He knew that films or comedic shows presented the idea of men wearing women’s clothing as a form of public humiliation. Even though during Shakespearan times it was artistic, a beautiful form of theater. In modern times, men were publicly mocked and shamed for parading around in clothing that wasn’t ‘meant’ for them.
Of course, growing up in Las Vegas, he was well aware of the existence of Drag Queens - people who fell somewhere between that Shakespearan theater and the Saturday Night Live style of comedy that was usually straight men wearing dresses. But drag performers dressed up in women’s clothing for money. They did it as a type of paid performance.
No part of Spencer’s mental catalog had any idea that people dressed in clothing that didn’t align with their gender as, well… a fetish.
Spencer imagined himself wearing the underwear - especially knowing that you would be looking at him with a lustful gaze while he wore it, and he felt a distinct tingle in his gut. He felt his mood shifting from anxiety to something warmer, but he was still on edge.
“Tell me what’s on your mind, baby.” You pleaded gently, rubbing your hand on Spencer’s knee. “I know that look. So come on, tell me what’s going on inside that big brain of yours.”
Spencer hadn’t realized that he had been sitting there for a prolonged moment, perhaps more than a few, a look of deep thought cast over his features as he considered all of this.
“I… I don’t hate the idea.” Spencer said tentatively.
He was still timid about his own desires, and he was unsure what it meant that he himself was becoming turned on by the idea of wearing women’s underwear. It was supposed to be a show for you, right? Was he supposed to enjoy it?
“You’re not just saying that because you’re trying to please me?” You replied.
You wanted to be sure that he was comfortable. You wanted to ensure that he knew he could say ‘no’ if he needed to.
Spencer shook his head.
“I - I think I could like it.” He said quietly, clearly shy about his own words. “I think I do. Just… can you tell me more about… why you like it?”
You gave a small grin, always happy to explain these kinds of things to him.
“Well, I think you would look good in them.” You said, being entirely honest. “To me, there’s something profoundly beautiful about the sight of a cock trapped in pretty lace. It’s unconventional and just so… pretty.” You explained, choosing your words carefully.
Spencer felt a unique twist in his gut when you used that word - ‘pretty’.
People had used that word to describe him before, but it always felt like it was teasing, or ironic. But when you said it, it sounded so genuine. It made Spencer want more. It made him want to hear it more because he wanted to feel pretty, especially in your eyes. It was something he had never wanted in his life before. It exponentially boosted his desire to wear those panties for you - if that would make him pretty to you, then he would certainly do it.
But he held back on voicing that for now, and simply let you continue.
“Plus, I do enjoy the idea of the two of us having a secret.” You told him. “The fact that you would be wearing those pretty panties under your clothes and we would be the only two people who know.”
Spencer definitely understood that. He liked sharing secrets with you.
It was how he felt all week - entirely filthy and victorious as he wielded his secret from everyone else. Having the knowledge that he had sex with you and the two of you were going about your days without anybody else knowing it. Sure, part of him wanted to brag to Morgan about it for some kind of social standing. But the bigger part of him much preferred the satisfaction of that secret. Having that secret side of you all to himself.
“But like I said, you don’t have to do anything that you’re uncomfortable with. You don’t have to do it just to please me.” You reiterated the point, entirely open with him.
“You really think I’m pretty?” Spencer asked quietly.
You found it adorable that he had become fixated on this word, clearly slightly distracted from the overall point.
“Yes.” You assured him. “You’re very pretty. You’re one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met, Spence.” You reached up and brushed your knuckles gently across his cheek, and he shivered lightly at the touch in combination with the brutally honest praise.
“Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile. Then, he had a thought. “Can - can I try them on, and then… see how I feel? Before wearing them for the rest of the day?” He asked, nodding toward where you had set down the pink lacy panties.
It was such a brilliant idea - you weren’t sure how you hadn’t thought of it yourself first.
“Of course, baby. That’s a really good idea.” You nodded. “Do you want to go in the other room and put them on, or do you want me to help you?”
He found a warmth curling in his stomach at the idea of you helping him get dressed, and he absolutely couldn’t deny that offer.
“Can you help me?” He asked, looking at you with the sweetest doe eyes. You resisted the urge to simply climb on top of him, kiss the life out of him and make him cum again.
No. Today was going to be about making him wait. Making him needy - making him truly want.
“Okay, baby, stand up for me.”
Of course, he thrived on you giving him orders, so he did just as you told him without any hesitation.
He stood up in front of you and you guided him around the coffee table to have more room. He was wearing such a perfectly Spencer outfit - a navy blue knitted sweater vest with a button up shirt underneath, a pair of gray slacks with a brown belt, and his usual mismatched socks (one red with navy stripes and the other dark gray). He also had a gray blazer that he had ditched on the back of one of your kitchen chairs shortly after coming in.
It was interesting to know that even on his days off, Spencer still wore such ‘business’ clothing. But you supposed that it was all his wardrobe was made up of, because he likely didn’t consider it appropriate to leave the house in his loungewear.
In a lot of ways, much like everything else that he did - it was intensely adorable.
You put your hands on his belt and undid it, and unzipped his pants - when you slid them down over his thighs, you weren’t surprised to see that he was wearing the most Spencer kind of underwear: a pair of plain white briefs. He was half-hard, making a prominent shape in the cotton that caused you to hold back a wicked grin.
“I’m sorry, my underwear isn’t… sexy.” He said, his arms hovering awkwardly around his front as he clearly considered covering himself but hesitated in doing so.
“Don’t apologize, baby.” You said, getting down on your knees to take his pants the rest of the way down and untangle them from his ankles. Naturally, he put a hand on your shoulder and stepped out of them, a flush coming over him at how intimate the entire thing felt.
“That’s why I got these special just for you,” You told him, reaching over and grabbing the panties, holding them up for emphasis.
“You did?” He questioned.
You had taken the tags off shortly before presenting the underwear to him, and even though you had brought them out in a shopping bag, it wasn’t something he had considered. You had bought something like this with him in mind. This was the second time you had gone shopping and gotten him a special present and he couldn’t help but to feel so lovingly spoiled by you.
“I did.” You confirmed with a smile, looking up at him in a way that made him melt.
“Thank you, Miss.” He couldn’t help the title from spilling from his lips, and it immediately made your pussy throb with need.
Once again, you forced yourself to focus.
“I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” You said, reaching up and thumbing along the waistband of his underwear.
Spencer nodded.
“Use your words, please.” You reminded him sharply.
“Yes, Miss.” He said, nodding more frantically.
You took down his briefs and his cock swayed in the air - clearly on the way to being fully hard, smooth and beautiful. You found it adorable that his pubes were still entirely untamed. You loved that even after you had started showing sexual interest in him, he hadn’t felt the need to rush to groom himself. You preferred him like this, especially because the imagery of that bush entirely slick with his own cum would always be stuck in your mind, and you definitely wanted to recreate it again.
You were tempted to get a hand on his cock, to tease him. To get him to full hardness, making him leaking and whining and then force him to go out for a full day of activities. But he was still new to this and you weren’t that mean.
That, and you had a feeling that because it was Spencer, if he started begging you to cum, if he said ‘please’ in that pretty voice again, then you would most likely just give in to him and your whole plan would be ruined. Rather than going to the museum, you would simply spend the day with him tied to the bed and incoherent.
But you wanted to see how far you could truly push him if he was needy. If he was absolutely desperate. And a few hours of your attention directed away from him when he wanted it most (focusing on paintings rather than on pleasing him) along with rough lace scrubbing up against his cock should do very nicely.
You pulled the underwear down fully and just the same as you had with his pants, unhooked them from his ankles, leaving him fully dressed from the waist up, still wearing his socks. Then you picked up the panties again - you had chosen something that was aesthetically pleasing, and hopefully not too uncomfortable for him. It wasn’t anywhere near a thong in the back, but you knew that it would be snug on his cock - just what you were hoping for.
The moment that Spencer felt the lace brush against his skin, he was greeted by a brand new experience. He always chose his clothing based on the comfort of the fabrics - and he had certainly never worn anything with this kind of underlying roughness to it.
When you pulled it fully up over his hips and gently tucked his cock inside the waistband, he did find it thrilling. The fabric created a slightly irritated pain across his highly sensitive cock, and a tightness around his balls, but he found that in a way, he liked it. It was truly all brand new, and though he knew that the feeling was going to become an annoyance after a while, he was curious about the sexual aspects of it. He found that he wanted more.
Especially when he saw the look on your face.
Spencer looked utterly stunning like this. Infinitely better than you could have imagined. Seeing his half-hard cock trapped behind the pink lace as it was stretched over his slim hips almost had you drooling. You knew that the lust was clearly written across your face, and you couldn’t help but to reach up and gently stroke his cock through the fabric, getting a low moan from him.
“How does it feel, baby?” You asked, looking up at him from where you were still positioned on your knees.
With your warm hand on him through the fabric, with you looking at him like he was the most perfect thing in the world, there was only one possible answer.
“Good.” He easily replied. “Really good.”
You smiled at him. “Do you wanna keep them on for the day?”
“Yes, Miss.” He nodded eagerly. Truthfully, he was excited to see where the day would take the two of you.
You helped him put the rest of his clothes back on, then you sat him on the couch to wait for you so that you could go get dressed for the day. You found it entirely adorable when he wiggled around on the spot, clearly adjusting to the new feeling of wearing such tight, lacy panties.
Spencer felt even more intense lustful warmth wash over him when you returned in a flowy red dress with small white polka dots on it. It was a dress with a deep V neck and a tie around the waist, one that looked like it wrapped around your whole body. It accentuated your curves so well, making you look like a gorgeous Hollywood starlet.
You had on a pair of red heels and had a red purse with a long strap on your shoulder. You were truly a vision of beauty. He felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to go out in public with you, especially because people would see the two of you and assume that you were on a date.
(Was it a date? How the hell was he allowed to date someone as perfect as you?)
“And remember, baby. If you’re a good boy all day, then you can have a reward.” You told him, putting your foot up on the coffee table to adjust the strap of your shoe, not-so-subtly flashing him your underwear with how open and flowy the skirt of your dress was.
Spencer was brain dead by the sight for a moment, but then thought to ask:
“What kind of reward?”
“Well… whatever you want. You can pick.” You told him. “As long as you follow the rules.”
Oh, it was going to be a good day.
…
It seemed that your plan worked far better than you originally expected.
When the two of you first got into the museum, Spencer’s hands kept hovering around his waist, clearly resisting the urge to grab at his pants, to try and adjust the panties through his clothing. You combated this by grabbing one of his hands, and kept him busy by prompting him with questions about the paintings as you toured the non-Van Gogh sections of the museum for a while.
At times, Spencer became a bit too fixated on whatever he was saying, and you felt an eagerness to distract him from the art. As much as you enjoyed listening to him ramble on and always learned something from the sound of his sweet, soothing voice, you did have another goal in mind.
When he became a bit too immersed in his thoughts and recollection about whatever art history books he had read, you would provide him with some kind of physical touch that sent his mind absolutely rocketing off the rails, and sent his mouth sputtering as he tried to remember what he had been saying.
You would reach over and wrap your arms around his waist, possibly brushing your hand over his cock on the way. You might wrap an arm around his lower back and lean into his body, purposefully pressing your weight up against his side, letting him feel every single curve that you had to offer. You began to feel more bold as you wanted to get more of a reaction out of him, and you even reached up and planted stray kisses on the side of his neck, behind his ear.
As time progressed, his insights about the paintings became much more shallow, and he began to fidget more. You knew that he was growing intensely needy, and you loved it.
By the time the two of you got to the exhibit with Van Gogh’s original sketches that had drawn you to the museum in the first place, Spencer was oddly pensive and quiet. You let the silence linger as you carefully planned your next move.
Spencer interrupted the peaceful silence with his gentle, prodding voice.
“Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.”
“What does that mean?” You asked, turning to look at him.
“It was something Vincent Van Gogh said.” He noted, turning to look at you, mirroring your body language. “It means - well, I think it means that… that life can be full of trauma and darkness, but if you take the time to observe the beauties of your life, and realize how there are simplistic wonders all around us, then… the darkness doesn’t seem so big. The everyday parts of life can seem enchanting.”
You reached up and gently brushed Spencer’s hair back from his forehead, eagerly listening to his sweet voice as he spoke.
You knew - consciously or unconsciously - he was also speaking about the way that you made each other’s lives enchanting. Your job was full of darkness and horror, and it would be easy to fall to it. But you lifted each other up, and became that everyday enchantment that the other person needed.
Spencer’s eyes pointedly flickered down to your lips and then back up to your eyes before he continued.
“Van Gogh was famous for painting pictures of everyday sights. Flower vases, scenes from his village. The Starry Night was painted because he imagined that the stars above his village were a sure sign that God himself came down every single night to kiss the sky there. He didn’t see the mundane as simply… mundane. He saw it as beautiful and worth celebrating.” Spencer explained.
“You’re beautiful.” You easily fired back, and Spencer crumbled under the direct compliment.
In a moment, his cheeks dusted with pink and his posture shrunk. Where he was confident and tall when speaking about art history, he became small as he was trapped under your gaze, absolutely unsure how to take the compliment - especially as it was directed toward his looks. Especially as it made him feel oddly pretty.
When his eyes jumped back up from looking at the floor, his gaze was locked on your mouth once again. He tugged on the bottom of his blazer, and you could tell that he was becoming fidgety and anxious.
His anticipation was easily growing into need.
And so was yours.
Without telling him what was on your mind, you scanned the room. You thought you had seen something of note when you first walked into this section of the museum - and surely enough, in one of the corners, there was a thick black curtain covering a doorway. A curtain that had an ‘Employees Only’ sign pinned to it. Perhaps it led to some kind of storage closet, perhaps it led to another winding hallway.
Whatever was behind there, you were about to find out.
“Come here.” You told him, giving a gentle tug on his elbow that you were holding.
Naturally, entranced by your every movement and having nothing but the ability to follow you - Spencer walked on easy feet, guided by you as you marched across the room with purpose. He thought perhaps you had seen a painting that particularly caught your interest across the room, or that you were finally ready to leave and it was time to go home and get his reward.
But what happened next, he certainly did not expect.
You pulled him toward a dark curtain that was labeled with a sign - Employees Only.
Last time he checked, you hadn’t gotten a job at a museum.
He found himself slightly filled with anxiety at this fact, but you seemed entirely unfazed.
You simply pulled back the curtain and used Spencer’s anxious confusion to your advantage. You shoved him in first before he could question you, and then you climbed in yourself and carefully adjusted the fabric so it would seem completely undisturbed.
The area behind the curtain seemed to be nothing more than a long hallway with a few doors. It was clearly a lesser traveled area of the museum - a few of the lightbulbs overhead blown out and not replaced, the floor dingy and dusty. Perhaps those doors led to storage rooms or the place’s security facilities - but either way, the two of you weren’t supposed to be here.
His insides filled with panic at the idea of getting caught.
“Y/N-!” He called out your name harshly, but you cut him off by putting a hand in the middle of his chest and shoving him back against the wall.
Hitting the wall easily knocked the wind out of him. It was a surprising amount of force - you were much stronger than you looked. Of course, he had seen you take down suspects before. He had witnessed you tackle grown men to the grown with ease and marveled in awe at your strength, but you had never used that kind of force on him. He had never imagined what it would be like.
He found that it turned him on more than he could have imagined. The presence of your hand fisting the front of his sweater vest spread a dizzying heat through his body. He stared at you with parted lips and a slacked jaw as the lust and shock overtook him.
“Are you gonna be good for me?” You asked.
You stood away from him for a moment, removing your hands from him completely and leaving a few inches of space between your two bodies in the dim, dingy space.
You were giving him a clear opportunity to use his safeword if he truly wasn’t comfortable with fooling around in such a public space.
“We - we’re gonna get caught!” He whispered urgently to you, his voice hushed but still strained at the very thought of it.
You found it entirely adorable - how scandalized he was by this. You had done far worse and you hoped that you could get him to sink to your level over time.
“You let me worry about that, pretty boy.” You told him firmly. “Now - are you gonna be good for me?”
You asked one more time, your voice demanding and hopefully fully relaying the meaning of your words.
Spencer had a choice.
And with you standing there, staring him down with heat in your eyes, looking like such a vision of lustful beauty, when he had been waiting so long for your touch, for your attention… it wasn’t much of a choice at all.
He only wanted you.
“Yes.” He squeaked out quietly, swallowing thickly around his own doubt. “Yes, I’ll be a good boy.”
You grinned a wide Cheshire grin at his words, and in a moment, you were on him.
You possessively gripped at both sides of his blazer, easily bending him to your will. You surged forward and met him as you forced his body to bend downward, capturing his mouth in a demanding, heated kiss.
It was a tiny murmur in the back of your mind, reminding you that this was actually your first kiss with Spencer. You had already seen him naked and made him cum, and you were just now getting to taste his sweet lips. It was a funny thought.
In that moment, any worry about potentially getting caught easily flew from Spencer’s mind - any logic quickly dripped out of his ears.
He moaned beautifully into your mouth, and as you echoed a sound back, you had to wonder why you hadn’t kissed him sooner. He seemed to be a natural at it - or, this was the one thing that he had some real practice at. Which you were entirely thankful for. His lips were smooth against your own, heated and desperate, surging forward with intense gyrating motions - almost as if he was trying to consume you with his intense hunger.
Though in a moment, he easily fell under your control.
You reached a hand up to the back of his hair and took a tight grip there, holding him like he was a beautiful object that you owned, just a toy for you to play with. He let out a sharp whine from the back of his throat, and his jaw fell slack for a moment, allowing you to bite down on his bottom lip - hard, assuring him who was in charge.
The shock of pain from the bite had his hips bucking forward, and surely enough, you felt him fully hard, brushing against your hip through both of your clothing. He whined even sharper as he felt the roughness of the lace pressing against his cock, brushing against him with more force as he humped himself against you. It stung roughly and sent beautiful shocks of pleasure pulsing through him.
“What do you want, pretty boy?” You breathed against his lips.
Still desperate, needy for contact, he left a sloppy kiss on your chin before he spoke to answer the question.
“C-Can I touch you?” He whimpered out quietly. “Please.”
Your lips formed a wicked grin against him at this.
“Anything over my clothes.” You told him. When his hands still hung limply at his sides, you threw in some encouragement. “Come on, baby, touch me.”
You did have to wonder if he would have been bold enough to reach under the hemline of your dress - even if you hadn’t given him explicit permission. You wondered what he would have done if his fingers had gotten as far as your underwear. But with your instructions, he had full access to your ass and breasts and you were curious to see what he would do within the rules.
You dove in for another kiss, boldly possessing his mouth with a commanding strength once again. He whimpered against your lips and - feeling as needy as he was, he eagerly followed your instructions and began feeling you up over your clothing. His hands started out humbly on your hips as your experienced, certain lips battled against his needy, rapid ones. But soon enough, he became anxious and impatient with simply grabbing on your love handles through the cotton of your dress, and he needed more.
You yanked on his hair again and took advantage of his gasp-parted lips to shove your tongue into his mouth, your body pressed firmly against his with him leaning against the wall for support. His hands began to eagerly wander, consuming your flesh for the first time and truly getting a taste of what it was like to not just be commanded by you, but what it was like to be with you.
He began grabbing the roundness of your ass in needy handfuls, his touch truly exploratory - he didn’t touch you with any skill, didn’t touch you like he was trying to get you heated and turned on. He touched you because he wanted to touch your body, badly. He was simply displaying his own hungry need for you without even considering shame in doing so.
And that was something that caused you to moan into his mouth as you raked your tongue along his teeth. He even reached a hand up and shoved it between your two bodies, groping at your breast with absolutely no grace. He was digging his fingers into the flesh like he was trying to rip it off your body and possess it entirely. It was something so filled with need that it made you so damn hot, made your cunt ache between your thighs.
You knew that you wouldn’t be able to end the day without cumming - whether it be with his help or simply having him watch and beg to touch you.
You had so many plans for him. And you couldn’t wait to see them all play out before your eyes.
You felt his erection against your leg, throbbing with just as much need, and you felt that devilish urge rise up inside of you again.
You pulled away from his lips with a wet smack, the realization hitting you once again that - yes, technically, you were in a public setting. The thought sent a thrill through you, but you had to be at least somewhat careful, lest you get caught.
“You like touching me, baby?” You cooed against his cheek.
“Yes, Miss.” He breathed out.
When you opened your eyes partially, you had to contain a gasp.
His glasses were fogged up.
Just like something out of your fantasies, his glasses were clouded with steam from the heated exchange. But he didn’t seem to notice or care. From what you could see through the layer of dew, his eyes were screwed shut and he was far too focused on his lust. He was concentrating more on groping your breast with one hand and your ass with the other, giving small, aborted humps against your hip, clearly trying not to cum in his pants.
Oh god. You wanted to see him cum in his pants. Badly.
And it was rare that you didn’t get what you wanted.
“You want me to touch you?” You asked, nosing along his long, beautiful neck.
“Should - should we go home first?” He asked quietly.
Clearly, he was still afraid of getting caught.
“Hey, shh.” You breathed against his skin, causing him to shudder. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. You let me do all the thinking, baby. Just answer the question,”
“Yes.” He moaned quietly. “I want-”
You didn’t let him finish, and cut him off with another heated kiss.
You distracted him with this, and he whimpered sharply against your lips the moment your hand was on him.
You groped his cock harshly through his pants, your hand skilled in a direct contrast to the way his touch was clumsy and only fueled by need. You knew exactly what you were doing, knew exactly how to drive him where he needed to go.
Your demanding touch closed the pink lace of the panties roughly around the sensitive skin of his cock. The feeling of it - being reminded of his little filthy secret, the thing that the two of you shared. That, on top of the fact that he had already been so close from the thrill of getting to touch you and grope you freely for the first time - that set him off so damn easily.
He didn’t have a moment to warn you that he was cumming or ask for permission. The only warning you got was a pathetic choked off moan that came from the back of his throat before his hips jolted into your hand, and the stuttering movement of his legs was a sure sign to you that he had cum inside his pants.
You pulled away from his lips to admire your work.
His face was nicely flushed, continuing to add to the fog clouding up the lenses of his glasses. His hair was entirely messy and tousled, giving an absolutely sex crazed look to him even though he still had all his clothes on - clothes that were wrinkled and messy, adding even more to the look. His pants with a slight damp spot forming on the crotch as his load soaked through the thin fabric of the panties and began to soak into his pants as well. You couldn’t help but to give his sensitive cock an extra little squeeze through his pants, causing him to whimper harshly and shake at the touch.
You loved seeing him so fucked out and pathetic.
“I - I’m sorry!” He immediately began to apologize, reaching to pull down his vest in an effort to cover his crotch, as though wanting to hide the evidence of his orgasm that was rapidly soaking into his clothes. “I’m sorry, Miss!”
Of course, he thought he had made some grievous misstep but breaking the rule - by not asking permission before he had cum. When it was something you had been gunning for, wanting him to cum for you.
“Hey, shh, shh, it’s okay baby.” You murmured against his skin. “It’s okay.”
Before he could think too hard about it or get too swept up in his emotions (and frankly, before the two of you could get caught in such a state) - you grabbed one of his hands and then dragged him out of the museum completely. You barely slowed from a brisk walk until the two of you got back to the car. Even with Spencer holding his vest down over his crotch out of embarrassment, if anyone took a second look at his wrecked hair, dewey glasses and kiss-swollen lips, they absolutely would have known what had happened to him, and you loved the thought of it.
…
You spent the entire ride home assuring him that he had done nothing wrong.
It took a lot of soothing from your voice and a few well placed gropes to his crotch over the car’s console with your other hand on the wheel. This got him hard again, made him distracted from beating himself up for not being able to follow the rules explicitly. Instead, now he was focused on the way his throbbing cock felt swimming around in his own cum-soaked underwear.
He didn’t need to feel guilty for not following the rules. You didn’t intend to punish him for breaking that rule, because he had just been too pretty while breaking it. Besides - you couldn’t imagine spanking someone so soft and new.
You couldn’t imagine saying no to him.
In all honesty, you kind of hated yourself for going soft. This would be the first time since you had become a dom that you hadn’t punished a sub for breaking a rule. But this wasn’t just any sub, this was Spencer. You couldn’t explain why, but he was just allowed to get away with things. He deserved to be spoiled.
By the time you did get home, Spencer was breathless and filled to the brim with need once again. If his tears had been from self punishment and guilt at first, they were now from sheer need. He was desperately wringing his hands in his lap to keep from pawing at you because he felt that he had not been given permission to do so during the car ride.
When you pulled into your parking spot, he looked over at you through his now clearer glasses lenses with big, wanting eyes.
“You’re sure that you’re not mad, Miss?” He asked quietly, giving an adorably dramatic sniffle.
“I am absolutely not mad, baby.” You told him. “It’s difficult to ever be mad at you when you’re so damn pretty.” You ‘booped’ his nose at this, and the smile he gave was so genuine that it made your insides glow with pride. “Now, what do you say we get you out of those soiled clothes and into something more comfortable?”
“I - I didn’t bring a bag.” He said, looking over to his car across the lot longingly.
“You didn’t bring a bag to the sleepover?” You cooed. “How silly, baby.” Spencer looked entirely downtrodden, as though all of his plans for the day were ruined. “I’m sure that I can find something for you to wear.”
This conjured up a delightful image in your mind of him wearing more lingerie. But no, you needed to find him something comfortable instead. He had been good, and he deserved to be rewarded for it. You were sure that despite the size difference, he would be able to fit into some of your pajama pants with the waist tie knotted up a few times. Hopefully the waistband wouldn’t absolutely fall off him.
He seemed more upbeat at this, and the two of you got out of the car and went up to your apartment, Spencer easily following your lead, as always. He carried your purse loyally, something you found to be a covert turn-on. You liked seeing the subtle ways he could serve you.
When you got up to your apartment, you tossed your keys into the bowl where you normally kept them, and Spencer made a point of hanging the long strap of your bag on the coat rack - something you found so entirely cute.
You then took Spencer to the kitchen to get him a glass of water to help him calm down. The entire time he drank it, you gently stroked his hair and told him what a good boy he was. This seemed to relax him entirely, which satisfied you on a deep level.
Then, you grabbed his hand and steered him in the direction of the bathroom to help him clean up. With his shoes already ditched near the front door, you peeled off his blazer and threw it over the back of the couch along the way, not giving him a moment to speak about hanging it up ‘properly’ or whatever else was gonna come out of his mouth before you bustled him along to the next room.
In your quaint apartment, the bathroom was at the end of the hallway, and he caught a small glimpse into your bedroom before you continued shoving him down the hall. He saw twinkling lights and pink silken sheets and felt his stomach tingle - it was nothing like he had imagined it, but he kind of loved that.
Your bathroom was just as entracing.
The tiles were pearlescent blue - obviously vintage, along with a clawfoot tub to match, and you had decorated everything with quite a beautiful sense of style to match. A floral blue shower curtain, a fuzzy blue bath mat, and a small golden cart in the corner holding all of your different products. Spencer had the urge to pick up the bottles and start smelling them, wondering if he could get more of your amazing scent right from the source, or if it was the unique, distinct combination of those products along with your natural skin oils that made you so intoxicating.
You shut the door gently behind the two of you when you got him into the small room. He found himself pressed right up against the counter of the small bathroom vanity, his back to the ornate mirror and your back to the door. This left only a few inches of space between your two bodies as you looked up at him with a gentle, sweet expression.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” You told him.
Spencer smiled at you.
“And then, after you’re all nice and clean, I think you can have your reward.” You told him, your voice low and dripping with decadent promise. “You were a very good boy today.”
“I was?” He said eagerly.
Then, after a moment, he realized that he shouldn’t be questioning it. Because it was against the rules to question your judgment, and because you had just told him that he was deserving of a reward.
“I mean - yeah, I was.” He quickly corrected himself, trying to sound confident in this statement.
You let out a soft chuckle at this. Then, you gently grabbed his chin and pulled him into a soft, sweet kiss.
“You were, baby.” You told him confidently. “You were a very good boy today.”
You absolutely adored the look on his face as you said this. His features became so soft and hazy, almost as if he was drunk. Clearly he was so high on the praise, loving knowing that he had behaved well for you, that you were giving him your stamp of approval and that he was about to be well rewarded for it.
“Do you know what you want as your reward?” You asked, curiosity bubbling up inside of you.
Spencer’s eyes filled with equal parts glee and contemplation. This was such a mighty question.
As the question hung in the air, you reached up and gently took off his glasses, placing them on the counter beside the sink. As good as he looked in them, you didn’t want to accidentally knock them off his face and break them while you were stripping him out of his clothes. You then reached for the bottom of his sweater vest, still reeking with curiosity as to how he would answer the question.
He imagined all kinds of things - one of the obvious ones was of course, sex. Full blown intercourse. But something deep inside of him told him that he wasn’t sure if he was quite ready for that. Part of him feared ‘messing up’ and still felt self conscious - like he should perform well and impress you, even though you quite clearly took the lead and hadn’t been unimpressed with anything from him so far.
Deep down, he did know that his first time would be comfortable, safe, and beautiful if it was with you. And truthfully, he didn’t want it to be with anyone else. He couldn’t picture his first time having intercourse if it wasn’t with you in his ear, cooing about what a good boy he was.
But still, he wasn’t quite ready for that yet.
You got the vest off over his head, humming a calming tune quietly under your breath - a sign showing him that you were okay with the quiet, giving him time to contemplate his answer. As much time as he needed. You got to work on the buttons of his shirt, slowly and delicately undressing him as though he were a precious doll. It was something that caused goosebumps to form across his skin.
He thought more about it.
So - he didn’t want to ask for intercourse.
He definitely wanted to touch you more. He liked touching you - he loved touching you. He definitely wanted permission to touch you under your clothes, to explore your naked body. He thought it might be silly to simply ask for his reward to be ‘touch naked breasts please’. You might find that silly.
No, he could do better than that.
When you began to peel the sleeves of the shirt off his shoulders and it caused a quiet shiver through him, that’s when it struck him.
“I know.” He said quietly. “I know now.”
“You know what you want your reward to be, baby?” You prodded gently, gathering the fabric of the shirt in your hands and tossing it into the laundry basket behind you.
Perhaps you would get up early the next morning and do a load of laundry to wash his clothes so he could have something to wear home. You were struck with the vision of him wearing a pair of your sweatpants and one of your big comfortable tee-shirts walking back to his apartment from your car. You wondered - if the two of you were going to continue having these ‘sleepovers’ if you should clear a drawer for him to keep some clothes at your place and vice versa. That seemed far too domestic in your mind, but it just made good sense, didn’t it?
You were snapped out those thoughts when Spencer finally gave you his answer.
“I want to give you pleasure.” He breathed out quietly. “You’ve given me pleasure. I want to pleasure you.”
His choice of words was somehow utterly adorable and spine-tingling at the same time. He sounded like a dreamy paperback smut novel come to life. But as you reached for the buckle of his belt to continue undressing him, you had to ask for clarification, just to be sure.
“What do you mean by that, Spence?” You asked, punctuating the sentence with the click of the belt buckle.
“I -”
He let out a hot breath as you pulled his belt completely from the loops and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a quiet ‘clunk’. His next words were paired with the sound of the zipper teeth on his trousers coming down.
“I want to give you an orgasm.” He let out a quiet whimper when your hand grazed his dick as you worked the fly of the pants apart. “I want you to teach me.” He said quietly, his voice a lot weaker as he became dizzy with pleasure once again.
“You want me to teach you, huh?” You purred.
You became temporarily distracted from this thought when you peeled his pants down further and the most delicious sight was revealed to you. His cock, half hard and still trapped inside the pink lace - which was now stuck to his shaft completely with his own cum. Just as you had imagined in your fantasies, it was absolutely wet. Slick like a pretty pink floral second skin as it sat below his waistline, making his sticky pubes and his sensitive cock look even more sinful while he sat marinating in his own load.
You couldn’t help yourself - you reached forward and greedily groped his cock through the lace. You went so far as to trap the sensitive pink cockhead between your fingers and wring the roughness of the fabric around it, knowing that it would get a reaction out of him. Spencer sobbed with overwhelming pleasure and bucked his hips forward, such a beautifully broken sound. When you continued the motion, he surged a hand up to grab your wrist as he twisted his body slightly away from you - clearly overstimulated.
You stopped the roughness in exchange for a gentle petting of your fingertips, and you leaned in to nose across the skin of his neck once again.
You surprised yourself when your next words flew out of your mouth, almost without restraint.
“Hey, shh. It’s okay, Mommy’s just looking.” You told him in a hushed tone.
The moment that the word escaped your lips - Mommy - your gut dropped with crippling fear. You thought that he would hate it or become disgusted by it. But he let out another whimper, and when you looked into his eyes, you were met with nothing but a sharp burning and a reckoning that he had absolutely no clue he would have liked to call you that up until then.
You left the air blank for a moment, giving him time to adjust - time to back down from it if he wanted to. Or time to rise to it if he wanted it just as badly as you did.
“M-?” He squeaked out, and you gave him patience. “Mommy?” He said quietly, testing the waters.
He found that a warmth washed over him, and he liked it far more than he thought he would have.
Your breath caught in your throat and you held back a moan. Your muscles shook slightly as you resisted the urge to jump him - to make him say it again, with more desperation, with more lust. There would be plenty of time for that, you told yourself.
“Yes, baby?” You answered quietly.
“Can I take them off now?” He asked, referring to the panties feeling damp and cold and uncomfortable on his skin at this point. “You said you had some pajamas for me?”
You smiled at him. “I’ll take these off and clean you up a bit and then I’ll get you some pjs. Okay, baby?”
He nodded.
“Yes, M-Mommy.” He stuttered slightly, still wearing in the nickname - but he loved it.
He loved how it was warm and comfortable and familiar, and much less formal than calling you ‘Miss’.
‘Miss’ was a nice teacher, someone good at making rules, but ‘Mommy’ was someone he could make a home out of. At least he hoped that’s what the two of you were doing. ‘Mommy’ didn’t seem too strict about the rules, and honestly, Spencer liked that.
You helped him peel out of his slightly wet pants and completely ruined, soaked underwear. (You would definitely be washing those for a future use.) You tossed both items into the hamper, and then peeled off his cute (once again mismatched) socks and tossed those aside too before you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water to clean him off with.
The entire time you wiped down his cock, he let out sweet whimpers and gently bumped into your touch. By the end, it was almost difficult to keep him clean, because his cock was fully hard and leaking precum slightly as you smoothed the warm cloth over his lower tummy and made sure to gently clean off his balls. It was oddly adorable, him making a mess faster than you could clean it up.
When you were satisfied with this, you tossed the cloth into the sink and gave him a kiss on the cheek, telling him that you would be back shortly with a change of clothes for him.
It was only when he was standing alone in the bathroom that he felt exposed - only then realizing how truly well… naked he actually was. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to be embarrassed by it as he awaited your return.
After what felt like far too many minutes for his taste, you returned with something pink and soft looking in your hands.
The panties had been surprising, and while itchy, had made him feel… oddly pretty. He would be hesitant to admit it aloud, but you were already making him grow to like the color pink and how it made him feel.
You unfolded the piece of clothing and held it up for him to look at. It was a pair of long pajama pants that obviously belonged to you. (Spencer worried that the waistband would be too large for him, even with the tie that was available). They were made of a silken, soft material that seemed like it would be very light and comfortable to wear. They were a rosy pink color, very girly and feminine. Very pretty. He also noticed that you hadn’t brought a shirt for him, but he supposed that he didn’t have to worry too much about that. You had already seen him naked. Twice now.
“Good?” You posed.
Spencer nodded. “Thank you.” He said, giving you a small smile.
He felt that warmth coming over him once again when you helped him step into the pants and even pulled the fabric up over his body, going so far as to secure the tie around his waist, making sure the loose fabric wouldn’t fall off his hips. The thin, very unforgiving fabric easily showed every single detail of his cock through it - his hardness now perfectly outlined in pink, which only made the heat growing under your skin swell to a dangerous level.
Lastly, you grabbed his glasses off the counter and put them back on his face, making sure that he would be able to see fully and pay attention during his next ‘lesson’.
“There.” You said, giving him another sweet kiss on the lips. “Mommy’s good boy is all clean.” Spencer preened at these words. “And pretty as a picture.”
You delighted in the obvious blush that this last comment drew from him. You couldn’t help it - you loved praising him so sweetly, especially if it drew those kinds of reactions from him.
“Now, baby, I want you to go sit on the couch and wait for me.” You told him gently. “I have to go and put on something a little more comfortable for myself.”
You held back a devilish smirk. Of course, he had to think that this would mean you were going to put on some casual cotton pajamas - something genuinely comfortable and not at all a fulfillment to the male fantasy. And sure, you felt comfortable in lingerie. It made you feel beautiful.
That was part of the reason you were going to do it.
That, and you felt the need to make everything special for Spencer. This was going to be the first time he saw you in such a state of undress. Of course, you could argue that him seeing you in your panties and camisole a few nights ago had been pretty much the same, and he had looked upon you like you were a goddess then. But it had been practically dark then and you wanted this to be well lit and truly a fantasy come to life for him.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said, giving a small nod.
He left and walked out to the living room, going to sit on the couch as you had instructed, and you felt a delightful mischievous streak as you went into your bedroom and picked out what you would wear.
As you got dressed, you thought more about what he had said.
He wanted to give you an orgasm.
It would be very nice to have him inside of you. He had one of the nicest cocks you had ever seen - he was so long and beautiful, and seeing him inside of the fleshlight had caused you to imagine what he would feel like inside of you.
But you knew that if you let him fuck you, he would be clumsy. He didn’t have the technique or experience. Or the stamina. That was definitely something you wanted to work on first. And with how he had reacted from cumming in his pants earlier that day - something you had wanted, he likely would have a crash and be terribly anxious if he came while fucking you and you didn’t get to cum first.
Making you cum seemed to be his primary goal.
That brought you to the thought of putting him on his back - riding him, essentially using him like a human dildo. It would be intensely hot - having him below you, completely at your mercy. Getting to listen to his moans and whines and getting to see him completely fucked out underneath you while his perfect cock throbbed deep inside of your pussy. It would be perfect.
But - he wouldn’t learn anything that way. If he wanted to learn how to make you cum, it certainly wouldn’t happen like that. He would be fucked stupid and you would cum, and you would certainly enjoy yourself. But he would be brain dead and cum drunk. He certainly wouldn’t learn or retain anything from the experience.
No - if he wanted to learn how to make you cum, and if he wanted to put his genius to good use, then there was one certain way to do it.
You were fully satisfied with your plan. You took one last look in the mirror, and you were fully satisfied with your look, too.
You had put on a push-up bra with a black and red lace pattern, something that displayed your breasts well. With the padding and the ‘push-up’ effect, it definitely gave the cartoonish, fantasy effect that you were going for. You had on the matching garter belt, which had a few lacy roses adoring it. You didn’t have it attached to anything, though you had considered wearing stockings, you didn’t think Spencer would like the texture of them. You thought he would much prefer to feel your naked skin against him. You simply liked the look of the garter belt hanging around your waist, accenting the plushness of your stomach.
You also put on a pair of the matching lacy black and red floral panties - they were fairly cheeky, letting half of your ass hang out, and fairly sheer so that your trimmed pubic hair could be seen through the fabric in the front. And lastly, you had thrown on a sheer, long black robe over the whole thing, giving a very ‘Moulin Rouge’ look to the whole thing. Along with a pair of six black heels - the kind that hurt your feet and you would only use to, well - go to bed and keep your legs above your head while wearing.
You looked like a sex dream, if you did say so yourself.
Rather than walking into the other room to get Spencer, you went over to your bed and propped yourself up on some pillows in the middle of it, making sure the fabric of your robe was billowing and appealing around you before you called out to him.
“Spencer, honey, I’m ready!” You called out. “You can come in now!”
You heard him coming down the hallway and you swelled with eagerness, almost too excited to see what his reaction would be.
When he pushed the door open, he immediately froze when his eyes were met with the sight of you.
Standing in the doorway put him right at the foot of your bed, and he thought for sure - at some point between here and the museum, he must have died and gone to heaven. Framed by the twinkling lights that were wrapped around the head of your bed, propped up on a variety of fluffy pillows - you were an image of perfection.
Your breasts were pushed up to your chin, especially with the angle you were laying at, so perfectly framed by the floral lace of your bra. There was so much for his eye to greedily consume, and he didn’t think he should be allowed to consume it all so shamelessly. The curved planes of your body, the beautiful, soft zig-zags of your stretch marks, like guides laid out for his tongue. The fabric showing just enough skin, showing off every curve of your womanly body, so thick and ready to dominate him at a moment’s notice.
There was a gentle power in the way you were lounging back, framed by the black, soft fabric of your billowing robe - your whole body relaxed as you waited for him. It made him want to press his forehead to the floor in a bow to you, made him want to beg just for the precious permission to touch you.
“Is - that-? Your-? Paja-mas-?” He squeaked out, every single word becoming a pitch higher, making his shock all the more apparent.
“Kind of.” You told him with a giggle. “This is what I wanted to wear for my good boy.”
“You - you wore this for me?” He swallowed thickly around these words, clearly in disbelief.
If you weren’t mistaken, you saw his cock twitch inside those silken pink pants. You loved how even though the fabric covered him, the outline of his cock was so entirely visible. The band of the pants being loose had caused them to slip so low on his hips, even causing the top bit of his pubic hair to be visible as he stood there, entirely uncaring (and likely unaware) of it.
“Yes, baby.” You told him. “Now, come sit on the bed.”
Spencer rushed to follow your instruction, almost tripping over your bedroom rug in the process. That caused you to bite your lip, holding back a grin - you wouldn’t want him to think you were laughing at him, after all.
Spencer gently sat on the edge of the bed with his feet still on the floor, his bum just barely grazing against your thigh. You found it adorable that he was still being so timid about making contact.
You spread your legs wide, and gestured between them.
“Come sit here.” You told him.
“Oh.” He said quietly.
He stood up then and looked at the space between your legs. His expression was very comparable to a man afraid of heights looking like he was about to take a dive off a cliff into deep water.
“It’s okay, Spencer.” You assured him. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, remember?”
“I know.” He said quietly. “It’s just - it’s all so new.” He whispered. “I - I want to be good.”
You wondered if the last part was about his ability to behave and follow the rules, or… if it was about something else.
“Spencer, baby, are you worried about impressing me?” You wondered aloud.
The expression on his face at this was very telling - a flicker of embarrassment, his hands twitching as he ached to play with his fingers, wanting to distract himself from the conversation.
“Look, I know you’re new to all this. I’m not expecting you to be some sex expert, or a porn star or something.” You assured him. “That’s why I’m here to teach you, baby.”
“What if I do it wrong?” He asked, his voice still so timid, so small.
“Then I’ll show you how to do it right.” You told him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m not gonna laugh at you, or yell at you. I’m just gonna show you what I like and how to do it right.”
It should have been obvious. Someone of his talent, his caliber, someone who had everything come so naturally to him his entire life, someone who had accomplished so much at such a young age - he was terrified of tackling something unknown, something he was afraid to mess up. He was afraid of being a bad student.
He had just enough time in the living room to sit and stew in those insecurities, and now you had to lovingly battle them.
“Come sit with me, baby.” You urged, leaning forward to pat the space on the bed between your thighs.
You scrunched up the fabric of your robe so he wouldn’t sit on it, and finally, he moved to crawl between your legs - kneeling on the bed with his feet tucked underneath his bum and his hands fidgeting in his lap. His knees were slightly brushing against your inner thighs, but he wasn’t sitting terribly close to you. That was something you left alone for now.
You sat up slightly, leveling your body with his, and ran your hand along his arm, trying to soothe him.
“So, you said you wanted to learn how to give me an orgasm, right?” You posed.
Spencer nodded.
“Come on, use your words.” You told him.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said quietly, clearly still feeling insecure and hesitant. “I want that.”
He could only imagine how beautiful it would be so see you writhing in pleasure - to hear you calling out his name as you orgasmed, breathless. To see your body arching up off the bed as he brought you to climax. He could only imagine the headrush it would cause him to know that he had caused it for you.
“Well, I think the best way for you to do that is by using your hands.” You explained. “Stimulating me with your fingers.”
“My hands?” He questioned, looking from you down to his hands in his lap.
Honestly, it was never something he had thought about. Yes - he used his hands to make himself orgasm, but that was only because he was alone. The act of masturbation was more like a mind-clearing chore for him than anything. (Before you came into his life and turned all of his ideas about sex upside-down.)
He did have to consider that you used your hands to stimulate yourself, to masturbate - but he had no clue how.
But he guessed that would be part of the learning process.
“Yes, baby.” You smiled eagerly. “And I know you’re gonna be good with your hands. You’re very skilled because you do all that sleight of hand and close up magic.”
Spencer felt a rush of confidence at the praise, and couldn’t stop the grin that formed over his face at your words.
“Well, you see, sleight of hand doesn’t actually require that much dexterity or skill, like playing a sport does, because it’s more so about practicing the same movement over and over again until it becomes ingrained muscle memory.” He explained, easily sounding in his element.
You couldn’t believe how easily he had set you up for your next words. It was almost like he had walked into a trap.
“Well, what I’m going to teach you is also about repetitive movements.” You explained. “And it will definitely become muscle memory for you over time.”
Spencer smiled fondly hearing this. He was now more confident that he would be good at what you were going to teach him.
“So… where do we start?” He asked, becoming that eager student once again.
“Here, let me look at your hands.” You told him.
He was slightly confused by this, but didn’t have time to question it because you snaked your hands under his palms where they were sitting in his lap. His dick had wilted slightly from the anxiety, so he was only half hard in his pants. But he let out a small whimper when you accidentally crazed against it as you took his hands in yours and lifted them up to get a good look at them.
“It’s important that your nails are trimmed.” You told him, lifting his hands up close to your face to get a good look. “You don’t want your nails to be too long, or you might accidentally hurt me. And that’s just a general rule whenever you’re putting your fingers inside someone.”
He became slightly intimidated at the idea of putting his fingers inside you, but he tried not to let it show.
“I trimmed my nails last night.” He said, proud that he had done something good. “It’s a good grooming habit.”
He didn’t want to bring up the fact that - per his germophobia, he always kept his nails trimmed because he was afraid of too much build up getting under his nails and making him sick (even though he washed his hands multiple times a day). But he was just glad he could do something to please you.
You couldn’t stop staring at his hands. It was something you had noticed before in passing - but they were gorgeous. He had such strong, prominent muscles here. Long, thick fingers - he was going to do very well at this. Once he was well trained up, you knew you weren’t going to be able to go for very long without having those fingers inside of you.
“Very good, baby.” You said, finally snapping out of your lustful revere.
You raised one of his hands up and kissed the back of it. And then, continued on, kissing a path along his hand to his knuckles until you reached the tip of his middle finger. As natural as ever, you gently sucked his middle and ring finger into your mouth. Of course, you were just playing around, admiring. His hands were so nice that you couldn’t help but to have one in your mouth.
“Oh,” Spencer moaned quietly.
When you looked over at him, he was staring you down with lustful eyes. His lips slightly parted as his gaze locked onto the place where your lips drew his fingers in, taking him down to the second knuckle. You gently swirled your tongue around the digits as you enjoyed the thickness in your mouth. You could lightly taste floral soap on his skin and knew that he had washed his hands in the kitchen sink when you had sent him out to wait for you.
After a moment of this, you pulled back, your lips separating from his skin with a wet ‘smack’. (Though you wanted it to be longer - you loved those fingers, you could have easily held them in your mouth for a long time).
“Yeah, these are good fingers.” You assured him, giving him a deliberate wink. “You’re gonna be good at this, Spence.”
Spencer shuddered with pleasure at this.
You leaned back onto your pillows, making yourself comfortable while he watched in awe.
“I’m gonna take off my underwear now. Is that okay?” You asked gently.
“Yes.” He said, nodding eagerly. “Yes, Mommy.”
You lifted your hips to wiggle out of them. When the fabric was at your knees, he naturally met you halfway, taking the panties down your calves and very delicately untangling them from around your high heels. He concentrated on the task in a way that told you he wasn’t even trying to take a premature glimpse at your naked cunt. It was entirely endearing.
Once he had the fabric completely untangled from your shoes, you naturally moved your legs to bracket them around his body once again. This completely exposed your wet pussy to the cool air, and he stared at the underwear in his hands, clearly perplexed about what to do with it now.
“Just toss it on the floor, baby.” You told him.
He did so, and then, with nowhere else to look, his eyes locked onto your naked pussy for the first time.
Paintings and pictures had shown him the scientific side or even the objective beauty of the female anatomy. But seeing you laid bare before him, adorned in lacy accoutrements - this was truly sexy.
His blood ran hot, and his cock throbbed to full hardness in a dizzying record time as he laid eyes on the glistening lips of your pussy. Seeing how real you were - the way your skin tone faded from the shade that matched the rest of your body to the more raw, wet skin of your inner folds, clearly swollen with need. Your pubic hair, slightly trimmed and glossy with your wetness - everything about you was so real and it made Spencer’s cock ache.
“Scoot a bit closer, baby.” You told him, hitch your knees apart further, spreading yourself open for him. “Can you see okay?”
Your pussy made a wet sound as it spread open for him, and he let out a quiet gasp in awe as more of you was bared to his eyes. You were so beautiful, so raw, so perfect, so hot - he almost couldn’t handle it.
You knew he was likely becoming too entranced to answer the question. With the way his eyes were so tightly locked onto your cunt, you guessed that - yes, he could see just fine. Just seeing the utterly entranced expression on his face caused a throbbing heat through you, you were sure that if he paid enough attention, he would be able to see the wetness actively dripping out of you.
“Spencer, look at me.” You ordered sharply. “Look at Mommy.”
Spencer forced his eyes up to your face, and you smiled at him when he managed to follow the order.
“How much do you know about the female anatomy?” You asked him.
“I - I’ve read books.” He answered quietly.
“Good.” You told him, trying to be encouraging. “Do you know where the clitoris is?”
“I - um-” Spencer looked down at your pussy and found himself suddenly nervous again, not knowing if he should touch you, or if he should point, or-
“You can put your hands on me.” You told him. “I’m here to teach you, baby. Let me be your… in-person diagram.”
Spencer nodded.
Then, as naturally as he possibly could, he reached down and put a gentle hand on the top of your mound. He was so feather-light that you had to forcefully hold back a laugh, feeling ticklish at the touch. With his palm mostly spread out mostly over your pelvis, he used a thumb to pull your pussy lips back.
Then, he saw that very obvious swollen button staring at him. With the pointer finger on his other hand, he sought it out like a guided missile, entirely confident in his answer. Before he could truly think about it - he poked your clit with that singular finger, pointing to it as his answer.
“There.” He mumbled quietly.
“Oh-!” You breathed out sharply, your hips surging toward his touch.
His touch had been so abrupt (especially after so much anticipation on your part) that it sent an unexpected shockwave through your body.
Spencer immediately recoiled, believing that he had hurt you.
“I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”
He drew back both his hands instantly, curling them up to his chest as if he had done something terribly wrong.
“No, no you didn’t hurt me!” You quickly assured him, putting your hands up in a surrendering motion to drive the point home. “Everything is fine, baby.”
“Then what-?” He asked, his voice very meek and small. “What was that?”
“I’m sensitive, baby. My body is sensitive. And I wasn’t expecting you to do that.” You chuckled.
Spencer gave a small frown, clearly believing he had done something wrong.
“The clitoris has a lot of nerve endings.” You explained, giving a chuckle to try and lighten the mood. “That’s kind of the point. That makes things more pleasurable.”
“Oh.” He said.
After a moment, his body began to relax as he chugged with thought, his eyebrows knitting tight like they always did when he was pondering something.
“Oh… so that was… that was a good stimulation?” He posed.
“Yes.” You told him. “I want you to touch my clitoris because it feels good. It’s one of the easiest ways to make a woman feel good.”
He nodded, and then he moved his hands to touch you again. But you had a thought first. You caught his hands halfway, and held them in your own as you spoke.
“Listen first.” You told him.
He looked at your face obediently as you explained it to him.
“Typically, for women, there are two types of orgasms,” You put on your ‘teacher’ voice once again, and he relaxed and put his hands back in his lap, clearly eager and ready to listen, wanting to absorb the information to the fullest. “A clitoral orgasm or a vaginal orgasm. Can you guess what that means?”
Spencer thought about it for a moment.
“An orgasm achieved by clitoral stimulation versus an orgasm achieved by vaginal stimulation?” He posed.
You grinned. “Very good. Good boy.”
He grinned back, easily soaking up the praise.
“So, it depends on the person you’re with, but generally, most women achieve orgasm through a combination of both clitorial and vaginal stimulation. And a good rule of thumb is to always ask someone what they enjoy,” You told him. He nodded at this. “And also, looking at someone’s facial expressions and body language can tell you if you’re doing well at stimulating them. It’s like profiling.”
“Well… what kind of facial expressions and body language should I be looking for?” He asked.
You found this oddly amusing. To you, it was obvious that a back arching and lots of moaning and an ‘O’ face meant good sex, but Spencer was truly just that fresh. He simply didn’t know.
“Well…” You took a moment to gather a mental list for him. “Typically, someone makes a lot of involuntary body movements if the stimulation is good. Good sex stimulates your nerve endings, so it makes your muscles twitch, and it can even make your limbs flail around or make your back arch off the bed.”
Spencer nodded, his face still very intense and thoughtful as he took this in.
“And when people are enjoying sex, they usually make a lot of sounds. Gasps, moans. They might swear or call out your name. And most people do just tell you that they’re enjoying it,” You giggled.
Spencer nodded again. Then he posed a thoughtful question.
“What about facial expressions?” He asked.
“I know it might sound strange… but, you’ll know an expression of someone lost in pleasure when you see it.” You told him.
These words made his whole body tingle. And naturally, made him wonder what your face would look like when you were lost in pleasure.
“What do you prefer?” He asked. “Do you prefer clitoral stimulation or vaginal stimulation?”
“I prefer a combination of both.” You told him. “That’s usually what makes me cum the hardest.”
“You mean ‘cum’ as in orgasming?” Spencer said, repeating back this vocabulary to you with pride.
“Yes, baby.” You told him with a nod.
He beamed at getting the answer correct.
“I thought we could start with clitoral stimulation and then move on to vaginal stimulation.” You explained. “Usually it’s easy to… warm up with clitorial stimulation. It makes the vaginal muscles more relaxed before penetration.”
You found it odd to be using such clinical terms - the words were so stiff in your mouth, but you supposed that it was the healthiest way to explain everything to him.
Spencer nodded eagerly at this.
“You should wet your fingers first. Maybe spit on them?” You posed - this was a selfish request, wanting the delight of seeing him suck on his own fingertips.
“That doesn’t sound the most sanitary…” He said quietly, cringing.
Hearing him say this presented a new goal in your mind - getting him so fucked out and pliant that mister ‘it’s actually more sanitary to kiss’ would let you spit directly into his mouth.
You chuckled at his words, though.
“Okay, well… there’s lube in the drawer instead.” You said, motioning toward your nightstand. “Like I said last time, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’.”
Spencer nodded eagerly and sat higher up on his knees to reach for the drawer. When he pulled it open, his eyes immediately grew wide at the array of… objects you had in there. Thick, veiny things, some round things he couldn’t even begin to propose the purpose of, something with small dots on it that looked like a cartoon tentacle-?
Knowing that he would become too distracted by these things and want to start asking questions, you reached over and grabbed the bottle of lube and snapped the drawer shut while his mind was still racing.
“Focus, baby.” You told him, putting a hand on his cheek and forcefully prodding his attention back in your direction.
He definitely had a lot of questions about those things. But he would ask you those questions later. (Because he certainly wasn’t going to forget about anything he had just seen.)
You handed the bottle of lube to Spencer. It was almost exactly the same as the one you had given to him and used with the fleshlight, except it was strawberry scented and the liquid was lighted tinted tinted pink as an association with the scent. It was your favorite to use with toys because the scent was absolutely delicious as a perfume in their air (and at this point, it was something you knew that you unconsciously associated with an orgasm).
You were naturally wet. You were throbbing and needy for him. But you knew that it would be nice to be extra slicked up to help him along.
After a moment of struggling (in which you pondered if you should interfere) he popped the cap, and then he looked from the opened bottle of lube to his hands.
“Right, so-” He mumbled quietly.
He poured a dollop on his extended fingertips that easily got carried away and dripped into his lap, and he gasped and began looking around for something to wipe it off his borrowed pants with.
“You can clean it up later, baby.” You told him. “Things are gonna get a little messy right now.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Right. Yeah-”
Then, he looked back to the bottle in his hand, and before putting it aside, he poured a dribble of the pink liquid (likely more than he had intended) onto the top of your mound, causing you to gasp quietly as the coolness dripped down over your hot, needy pussy.
“Is that good, Mommy?” He asked quietly, moving to put the bottle aside.
“That’s very good, baby.” You encouraged him gently.
“Okay - I - I’m going to - touch you now.” Spencer told you, announcing his movements in an entirely adorable way.
You nodded. “I’m ready for you, sweet boy.”
Spencer put his non-lubed hand gently on your inner thigh, and then angled two of his fingers back toward your clit again. This time when he made contact, he was much gentler, and you let out a sharp breath through your nose, warm tingles spreading through your pelvis at the feeling of him touching your swollen clit with such intention.
With his middle and pointer finger, he began a strange sort of spearing motion, rocking his hand into your pelvis. He touched your clit as though it were a literal button he was trying to push over and over again in order to make you cum. The movement didn’t do much for you - except draw a slight stinging from the area.
“Baby,” You caught his attention, drawing his eyes up from where he was intensely focused, staring hard at the place where he was touching your pussy.
“Spence, it’s - it’s more like this,”
You motioned with two of your fingers in the air, drawing small circles, demonstrating to him what he should be doing.
“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly.
“It’s okay, baby.” You assured him, reaching out and petting a hand through his hair. “It’s okay. You’re learning, right?”
He nodded. “I’m learning. I’m gonna do better.”
“I know you will, baby. You’re Mommy’s good boy.”
This bit of encouragement and praise seemed to fuel him, and he took this new instruction with vigor.
He went back to work using the motion you had just demonstrated and immediately, the difference affected you. His thick, cautious fingertips circling tentatively around your needy clit sent tingles up your spine, causing a warming glow to spread through your body that was slowly, but surely building up your orgasm. The beautiful artificial smell of the lube wafted through the air, and with the sight of Spencer in front of you, his forearm flexing slightly as he worked, it was all too perfect.
You let out a gentle moan, and Spencer smiled.
“That’s good?” He asked, looking from the spot where his fingers worked on your pussy up to your face.
“That’s good, baby.” You told him, the stimulation causing you to become slightly breathless already. “You’re doing so good for me.”
Spencer continued like this, running his other hand along your thigh, clearly feeling needy to touch and enjoy the softness of your skin now that it was freely available under his hands. His touch spread a warmth throughout your body that had you squirming under him, letting out more gentle moans under your breath.
Spencer watched you in awe, so entirely pleased with the results.
“You - you can go a bit faster, baby.” You told him, finding your throat slightly dry as your breathing sped up, more blood pooling in your needy cunt as his touch demanded it. “Speed up your fingers.”
“Yes, Mommy.” He easily obeyed.
Hearing those words in his sweet voice in addition to his touch, his fingers now moving in fast, delicate circles on your throbbing clit - it brought sparks through your body and caused slight tremors through your thighs.
It wasn’t going to be the most earth shattering orgasm you had ever experienced, but it was going to be a good one, mostly because it was Spencer. Because you had him in your bed, calling you Mommy, wearing a pair of your silky pink pajama pants that his hard cock was now leaking a stain into. All while he concentrated on learning how to please you like it was the most important book he had ever read in his life.
“Oh, Spencer!” You called out, arching your hips toward him. “Doing so good for me, baby! So good-”
Spencer stopped his movements suddenly, and your voice caught in your throat as you looked at him with tense confusion knit over your brows.
“What - what about the vaginal stimulation?” He asked. “You said you wanted me to do both, right?”
You couldn’t hold back the breathy chuckle in your throat.
If it had been anybody else, you would have immediately thought that they were edging you intentionally. But no - that wasn’t even a thought in Spencer’s head. He was simply eager to learn more, wanting to do the most to give you the best orgasm possible. He wasn’t content with mediocre. When he learned something, he wanted to be the best at it. And that thought caused any disappointment about your fading orgasm to be replaced by pride - you had somehow captured the best, sweetest boy, and you were going to use that to your full advantage.
“Right, baby.” You said, still catching your breath. You swallowed to gather some spit in your mouth to talk properly before you continued. “Okay, you’re going to continue what you were doing with this hand, but first,” You said this pointedly, motioning to the hand that was unmoving near your clit, not wanting him to continue and impair your ability to properly explain. “You’re going to work your fingers inside me.”
“What if I hurt you?” He asked, clearly timid at the idea that he might hurt you in any way.
“You won’t.” You told him. “You start with one finger, because that’s smaller, so you won’t hurt me. And then once my body has adjusted to that, you can add another. So it won’t hurt.” You assured him.
“So, I just need to use two fingers?” He asked. “Also, how do I know when to put the next finger?”
“You can add three fingers.” You told him. “And I’ll tell you when to add the next one. And you’ll know because you’ll feel the muscles relax around you.”
Spencer nodded.
“So… what’s the best… kind of… movement?” He asked, awkwardly gesturing with his free hand in a way that made you giggle.
He blushed with embarrassment at this, and you rushed to speak in the hopes that he wouldn’t feel awkward.
“You’re going to move your fingers in and out. Like simulating intercourse. The repeated penetration feels good.” You told him. “Be gentle at first, and I’ll tell you if you should go harder or faster.”
Spencer nodded.
He began slow, gentle circles on your clit again, and you let out a small moan at this. And then he moved his other hand down, skimming the fingertip of his pointer finger along your folds until he felt it - that pulsing entrance waiting for him, needy. He thought he imagined it, but it almost felt like your body was trying to suck him in.
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, your voice gentle and encouraging, slightly hazy with pleasure. “You’re doing so good for Mommy.”
These words caused his cock to throb inside of the borrowed pants, and feeling a pulse of confidence because of it, he pushed the thickness of his finger forward and breached your entrance with his touch for the first time.
It was such a brand new feeling - having your wetness surrounding his digit, feeling your muscles clamping down on him. Feeling how hot your body was, especially compared to the lifeless coolness of a silicone fleshlight. It made him moan louder than the sound you easily trapped in your chest. You found yourself dizzied with a wave of pleasure at seeing his face so fucked out and hearing him moan like that because he was touching you.
“You like it, baby?” You asked breathlessly, angling your hips into his clumsy, unmoving hands.
Clearly he was so pleasure drunk and hazy that he had forgotten that he was supposed to be fingerfucking you. He was simply exploring, enjoying the feeling. You didn’t fault him for it, and you didn’t want to rush him, even with a filthy, needy ache growing deep inside of you.
“You’re so warm.” He replied, his quiet voice edging between awe and another moan of his own.
His eyes flickered between the place where he was touching your pussy and your breasts, heaving slightly with your labored breathing, and your face. Your lips dropped open slightly with pleasure, your eyes becoming glassy. He loved it so much. He loved you. He couldn’t get enough of this.
“Your body is so hot.”
You grinned widely at this.
Maybe a huge part of the endearment came from the fact that you knew he meant temperature, and not the typical slang meaning your appearance. It was something that clearly surprised him, feeling how hot your pussy was while being in direct contact with it.
“Thank you.” You told him. “Can you fuck me now, Doctor Reid?”
“I - Right.”
Spencer resisted the urge to apologize again, knowing you probably wouldn’t like it. And he tried to ignore how much it turned him on to hear you call him ‘Doctor Reid’ in this context. Instead - he set his attention on pleasing you.
He concentrated on picking up a good rhythm - moving his fingers on your clit in circles while he gently drew back the other hand and began moving it slowly in and out, trying to penetrate you in a pleasing way. He instantly became entranced by the natural wetness dripping out of your pussy, covering his finger, his knuckles, spreading to his palm the more he moved his finger. He was fascinated by the way your muscles did seem to give way to him, your body opening up as if you wanted more.
“Add another one, baby.” You moaned quietly. “Another finger.”
So his instincts served him right. At least somewhat. He hoped that he could remember this for next time, and please you better with less of your instructions, working more off of knowledge and instinct like this.
When he drew back his hand to do as you instructed, you added on some further advice.
“It also works better if your palm is facing up.” You told him. “The curve of your fingers is working with my body, not fighting against it.”
Spencer had been prodding into your entrance, poking his finger into you in a more exploratory way - but he definitely understood this.
“Yes, Mommy.” He said.
He flipped his hand so that his palm was facing the ceiling, immediately fascinated by how sticky his wet finger was. Then he gently prodded forward again, his middle finger joining the first. He continued to draw circles on your clit - a rhythm that became clumsy and unfocused at times, because he was easily distracted by the feeling of your tight pussy clamping down on his fingers, trying to figure out how hard he should go.
He was being incredibly tame, almost sloth-like in his movements, clearly afraid to hurt you. And he left you burning up, aching for release. The thickness of his fingers felt so amazing inside of you, better than you could have imagined - but he was so timid, and you hoped that you could draw more out of him.
“Spencer,” You moaned lightly. “Go faster. Come on, be a good boy for Mommy.”
You reached out and got a hand in his hair once again, gently cupping the back of his head and scratching your nails along his scalp.
“Yes,” He hissed out, leaning his head into your touch. “Yes, Mommy. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll be so good for you.”
He kept his eyes locked on you then, and, entirely fueled by the intense feeling pumping through his body, the pure need to serve you - he began pumping his fingers faster. Though it was clumsy at first, after a few moments, both of his hands fell into a natural rhythm with each other. His fingers circling your swollen clit became well timed with the thickness of his fingers pumping in and out of you, and in a few minutes - it became perfect.
You went from letting out a few solitary sounds to every other one of your breaths becoming a moan, your lips perfectly parted, showing him how well he was doing.
When he saw your heated eyes and your lips wrapped around those moans so perfectly, that was when he knew it - that was a face of desire. The one he would spend the rest of his days trying to recreate in you.
“So good, baby.” You moaned out, your words becoming less durable as he stole them away with pleasure. “Go harder.”
“Harder?” He warbled back.
His wrist was beginning to shake, not used to this kind of repeated effort. (Truthfully, he wasn’t used to any more effort than hefting around a thick book for a while.) But he would keep it up for as long as it took to make you cum. He would do it until his arm fell off if he got to see you fall apart beneath him.
“Yes, harder!” You confirmed, giving a firm tug on his hair to encourage him.
Spencer let out a sharp whimper at this, and angled his elbow further between your thighs, trying to put less strain on the muscles of his wrist so he could do as you instructed.
He began rubbing your clit with more urgency, and fucked his fingers into you even harder. He let out a moan as the sound then got to his ears - the wet slapping of his knuckles smacking up against the edges of your cunt, so rough and careless. He really was fucking you, he was taking over your body at your command, his touch was being used for your pleasure, and you were definitely being pleasured by him.
“Spencer!” You howled, a sound that would stick in his mind forevermore.
It was something that caught his entire body on fire in seconds and made his dick ache with red hot pin-pricks. He was surprised that he didn’t cum in his pants from that alone. But he was far too concentrated on keeping up the pace, fascinated by the way your pussy spasmed around his fingers, the way your thighs jolted and shook in a similar fashion that his legs had a few nights ago.
“Oh, Spence! Good boy! Good boy, oh-!”
You let out a sharp gasp and your head tilted back, and you seemed to gulp for air for a few moments while he continued to brutally fuck his fingers into you and rock his fingertips against your clit, angling your hips into the touches as though you were trying to get more from him.
Though it seemed impossible, his knuckles were flooded with an even further wetness. And though he almost couldn’t bear to look away from your face, he did chance a glance down to your beautifully raw, fluttering pussy and saw that there was a distinct puddle of wetness on the sheets below you. You were the most gorgeous fountain he had ever seen.
If he didn’t think it was out of place, he would have leaned down to lick you, curious about what your natural wetness tasted like.
“Oh, Spence!” You squealed, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it almost seemed like you were trying to squirm away from his touch. “Oh - oh, baby! You can s-slow down now! You did - did s-so good!”
Spencer slowed down, as instructed. And then - when he put it together in his mind, he gently eased off touching you entirely, feeling your pussy spasming and throbbing harshly under his touch. It was fascinating really, the way your body responded to him. He badly wanted to explore it more - explore it for hours uninterrupted. But for now, he had a simple question.
“Was that the orgasm?” He wondered aloud.
The unadulterated curiosity bleeding through his voice when he said this had you clenching hard around his unmoving fingers, so entirely turned on by the fact that he was just as awed by you as he was fine art or any thousand page encyclopedia.
You couldn’t hold back the bright, breathless chuckle that escaped your lungs in response.
“Yes, baby, that was the orgasm.” You told him. “What did you think?”
“That was… spectacular.” Spencer told you, sounding almost as breathless himself.
“You can pull your fingers out of me now.” You instructed, feeling slightly sensitive, unconsciously clenching around the digits and accidentally overstimulating your raw pussy in the process.
“Oh. Right.” Spencer mumbled.
He moaned quietly as he did so - loving the purely wet sound it made, like pulling away from a good kiss. He found himself in awe of the string of wetness that followed his fingers from your opening, like a thick string of salvia. He began rubbing his fingers together, studying it with utter fascination as you watched him with that concentrated look on his face again. You wondered how you had stumbled upon such a treasure of a man.
Your eyes fell from his face to the prominent bulge of his cock still pressing into the front of those thin pink pants, the wet spot his precum made now even wider, and you immediately came up with a new idea.
“Why don’t you touch yourself for me, baby?” You posed. “Your hand is already so nice and wet.”
“Oh - I - I - should-?” Spencer stuttered out, looking from his glistening hands to the tent in his borrowed pants, a million thoughts flying through his very vast mind.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay.” You soothed him gently. “Just tell me if that’s something you want. Yes or no.”
“Yes.” He said, a desperate whisper on his lips. “Can - can you untie my pants for me?”
You hummed in agreement and reached over, untying the well secured knot on the pants and then pulling the loose waistband down over his thick, excited cock, letting it spring out to hit his pelvis. He moaned quietly at this.
“Make yourself cum for me, baby.” You encouraged him. “You were so good for me, you made me cum so good. Such a good boy. You deserve this.”
You began running your fingers through his hair again, something he seemed to heavily enjoy. Spencer - now wildly chasing his instincts, working on need alone and trying to push back all those doubts, reached out with those glistening fingers and gently dipped into your pussy again. The contact on your beating folds caused you to gasp, and Spencer shuddered slightly at this, mumbling out at an excuse.
“I wanted-” He muttered quietly. “I just… wanted it to be wetter.”
“Good boy.” You moaned out. You definitely didn’t want to discourage him from doing things like this.
You wanted to mention the fact that there was a bottle of lube sitting less than a foot away. But clearly he had developed a fascination for your wetness, and you didn’t want to stifle that fascination in him or embarrass him.
Spencer then took those slicked up fingers and stroked them across his cock. Just the knowledge that it was your wetness, the essence of your pussy touching his cock - that had dizzying waves fluttering through him that almost had him crumbling to fall on top of you.
It took all of his remaining composure to stay upright. He was so furiously turned on that his cock was leaking precum like a sputtering faucet. He easily took advantage of that, cupping his hand into a well-known grip around his shaft and spreading that natural lubrication down from the sensitive, leaking cockhead to the rest of his dick. This caused his neglected, needy cock to easily light up and unconsciously buck into his own hand.
“‘s too fast,” He whined out.
His face took on a desperate frown as he continued to pump his hand over his cock almost mildly, almost as if he were afraid to go harder.
He looked so beautifully wrecked - with his brows creased downward and his lip caught between his teeth, with that messy hand pumping his own leaking cock.
“Too fast?” You asked, unsure what he meant.
“It’s - it’s not-” He stuttered out, his brain becoming scattered and wordless to describe the feeling rushing through him.
“Hey, shh,” You scratched your nails against his scalp again, grounding him. “Use your words, baby. Come on, be a good boy.”
“Mommy!” He whined, his hips bucking forward desperately into his own hand, wetly smearing precum to the point where it became noisy. Your pussy throbbed at this and you resisted the urge to reach down and touch yourself, not wanting to distract him.
“Baby, come on. Tell Mommy.” You ordered firmly.
He sniffled loudly before he attempted more words.
“Gonna end too fast.” He whined sharply.
He sounded entirely petulant - as though he were truly upset that he was going to cum too soon and the night’s activities would be over. As though the two of you didn’t have plenty more nights to play.
“It’s okay, baby.” You told him, reaching a hand over to thumb across his cheek, wiping away some of the frustrated tears that had escaped. “You did so good for me. You’re so good.”
“I want more.” He whined out, clearly frustrated.
“Mommy will always give you more.” You assured him. “But right now, you’re gonna cum for me.”
He let out a wounded noise, some kind of protest, but his hips jolted as he continued to fuck his own hand. You had him right there.
“Cum for me.” You demanded, your voice dark and demanding.
It was a command he absolutely couldn’t ignore if he tried.
“Mommy! Oh! Oh!”
He let out a sharp cry as he came, and pumped himself through it.
Neither of you had considered where he was going to cum. On his knees in front of you like that, he ended up in the perfect position to spill his load right onto your exposed cunt. Just like the last time you had played, he exploded with a massive power. Though he didn’t seem to have any care for where he was angling his cock or what he was cumming on, simply continuing to chant ‘oh, oh, oh’ under his breath with his eyes beautifully screwed shut and his mouth wide open, delicately pumping his hand on his cock to ride his orgasm all the way through.
Thick, white waves of his cum landed on your pussy - startlingly warm, almost blazen hot compared to the cool air of the room. Something that easily made you moan, especially when paired with the beautiful sight of his orgasmic face in front of you and the way he so carelessly fucked himself, clearly only wanting to achieve his own pleasure and not caring if it was a good show or not - which was what made him so damn beautiful.
When Spencer had milked himself dry, his cock starting to go soft in his own hand and the pleasant tingles becoming more like harsh pin-pricks of overstimulation, he put a hand on the wideness of your thigh for support, his muscles shaking. And then he finally opened his eyes.
He felt even dizzier when he saw the sight before him - your gorgeously lingerie clad body and naked pussy now covered in the thick white of his spend. A small voice in the back of his head wondered if you could get pregnant from this, and another told him that - yes, it would be good if you did. You would look so good pregnant with his child. A child the two of you made together would be smart, beautiful, charismatic, brilliant and perfect in every aspect.
He hadn’t even fully acknowledged that he was in love with you yet, but that was the moment he knew for certain that he wanted you to be the mother of his children. There was no other woman in the world who would be comparable to you - no other woman as perfect for the task.
(He didn’t know that you were on oral birth control, so it didn’t matter if he had cum inside you - you weren’t going to get pregnant. Not without intending to.)
“Oh, did I-?” He motioned toward the mess, seeming worried.
Before he could apologize for it, you reached your fingers down and began lightly padding through it, and Spencer let out a wrecked moan at the sight.
“You did such a good job, baby.” You told him, still entirely certain.
Before he could comprehend it, you brought a finger up to your mouth - one covered in the combined essence of yourself and Spencer, and curled your tongue around it, moaning at the taste. Spencer could do nothing more than make unintelligible noises, and you giggled as you released the finger.
“Good boy.”
Spencer was dizzy and hazy from all the pleasure, and there was only one thing on his mind.
“Can I have a hug now?” He asked, his voice still sweet and soft.
“Yes, baby. Come here.” You spread your arms wide and Spencer practically launched himself at you.
He laid completely on top of you, and you wrapped your arms around him, stroking up and down his back lazily as you enjoyed the peaceful calm of his breathing.
After only a few moments, you felt him start to fall asleep like that. His muscles turned to jelly, and his breathing came out in long, soft puffs. He looked so adorable nuzzled into your breasts that you didn’t want to wake him up, even if the drying mess between your thighs was becoming uncomfortable, and you knew that he definitely wouldn’t want to sleep in it for too long.
You continued petting your fingers through his hair gently. You would wake him up in a little while and get cleaned up, you assured yourself.
You definitely weren’t falling for him, feeling things that extended far outside of sexual attraction.
Nope. Definitely not.
...
If this series is going to get a third part, I would love to see more than 30 comments and more than 60 reblogs, and I would love to know what you guys would like to see from a third part in the series.
I will be honest, I am kind of starting to lose steam on this series already - the reason I have titled is as a Capsule Series on my masterlist is because I want each individual part to be able to be read as a oneshot with no particular big arcs in the story, and no need for a big dramatic ending. Also, if I do come back to this series in a few months or years and want to write more for it, I can.
If you have any ideas for this series - kinks/concepts/moments you want to see happen with these characters, please let me know. Even if those moments don't make it into a full-length third part, I might write your idea into a short spin-off like I did with Loverboy. I always leave the anon option turned on so people can send me messages if they feel shy or they don't want to reblog a fic onto their blog.
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PLAYING DANGEROUS | (one)
summary: It's been almost three years since Jack in the box was caught, and no one could make him talk. No one knew his story, and what drove him to become the monster he was today. That is until you're assigned your first story. What makes you so lucky?
rating: 18+ (I'm not your mother you're in control of what you consume)
pairings: Journalist!Reader x Criminal!JungHoseok x CEO!Kim Namjoon x Detective!MinYoongi.
warnings: warnings: no thoroughly edited, EW Ai , character death (nothing to cry about), black/plus sized coded reader, talks of murder, talks of torture, corporate evilness, violence, Mc reads hobi to filth, yandere characters, possessive/obsessive behavior, short hair namjoon (yes that's a warning), one maknae introduction, maknae helping cause chaos, cigarettes, Yoonie is an angry kitty this chapter, bratty mc, mc is kinda a bitch (a bad one at that), unhinged serial killer hobi (joker vibes tbh) , yoongi hates his job, namjoon loves his job (he gets to piss you off everyday) SMUT— nothing too crazy , choking, sub mc , missionary, mating press , man handling (yummy)
a/n: HEYYY omg this took me so long to write and it's just a little over 2k words... LMAO I suck i know, but we're getting there I pinkie promise. I really hope you all enjoy this and constructive criticism is welcome!!
TAGLIST: @sumzysworld @bbgniecyy @paramedicnerd004 @heartsbr0ken @grltwin @superbbananananana @secfir @darkuni63 @thisladysperspective @p34rluv @secfir @sarcastic-cookie @coffeedepressionsoup @ot7nem @italiekim @cynicalbitch666 @jalexd @whenthebeatdrop-beatdrop
2 MONTHS BEFORE JACKS ESCAPE
Kim multimedia station.
The place of business was always busy and there was never not anything to be done, Endless reports and stories in need of being written, the podcast teams always chattering about the hottest topics.
KMMs was a journalist's dream — your dream.
You were a known face around the company both online and in person. A pretty foreigner who was damn good at her job and that made you favored by the late CEO Kim. You were always hand picked by him to attend press conferences in his favor. He treated you kindly, allowing you into a large world of business pulling strings to get you the best stories helping you— a once broke freshly graduated English major climbing up in the world of reporting.
It's only been three months since CEO Kim passed away and the company was changing fast. You were grateful that you weren't a part of the many that were fired and replaced by new faces and AI, and you were now noticing how low the viewers were on podcasts, social media and blogs.
KMM was dying out very slowly and that meant you might go away with it. You were dedicated to your work, and the company that helped you become the person you were today.
And you were willing to do anything to not be forgotten.
Sleeping was not on the agenda right now.
A quick double tap to a cell phone showed an awfully bright screen reading 4:40 am. You had been lying in your bed mind racing while staring at your wall for the past hour and a half.
Jack in the box.
Rolling out the tangled bedsheets and arms you pull on a large T-shirt that'd been discarded a long with the other items of clothing on the floor shuffling towards the desk in the corner of your room. Laptop already open from your previous research when you pull out a pack of cigarettes from your drawer before plunging deep into the web. Your mouse clicks every site as your pen moved furiously taking in all the information you can about said serial killer.
“On May 14th, 2018 Serial Killer Jack In The Box was finally caught after a murdering spree in Seoul. The killings of ordinary outgoing individuals taken with a quick swipe of a knife and a long torture method.”
"Before his kills Jack likes to taunt his victim. He ironically sends them a Jack in the box to let them know they're next. The next few days said victim lives in constant fear, looking over their shoulder, leading the mostly known outgoing victim to slowly isolate themselves from loved ones in fear of them being hurt, eventually this leads to insomnia and in some cases hallucinations and histera. Then Jack disappears for a while making them think they're finally okay and he's gone until he wasn't."
The scoff that left your lips echoed through the quiet room, breathing out the nicotine smoke from your Cancer stick.
So Jack was an antisocial loser and took out his lack of social skills on people who could.
"No one knows of Jack's real identity. Police have reported that the man has lived many lives and has owned many faces for the past 11 years. Reporters have tried their hardest for the past 4 years to get a one on one interview with the man but unfortunately he refuses to talk only resorting to violence."
A reporter says he went for a handshake and left with two missing fingers.
Another says he watched the man bang his head on the wall hard enough to bleed when he asked the murderer's real name.
A broken arm??
“Fuck” you huff flicking the ash at the butt of your cigarette. You stare at the mugshot photos supplied at the end of the article. Dark wide eyes, shaggy black hair falling over his forehead, the piercings sticking from the bridge of his nose eyebrow and top lip.
The look definitely screams psycho but…. he was kinda hot. It took everything in you not to go and click the endless fanfiction that you stumbled upon.
A pair of warm lips press onto your shoulder causing you to jump. Turning to look over your shoulder at the shirtless sight of Kim Namjoon.
“We have to be up in four hours, baby, come back to bed.”
You hum into his embrace with a pout stubbing out the cigarette into the pink ashtray beside your computer. “Did you know Jack went through eight lawyers? Until one day he randomly called Kim Seokjin. That high profile guy from the law firm we're partnered with? they must know each other”
Though Namjoons attention was not on the words that were leaving your mouth. Hands wander all over your body while placing kisses on your neck, and cheeks.
“He literally bit the finger of the last reporter clean off. Like do you know how much force you have to put into that? I think he reads too much gothic liter—”
Cutting you off with a quick grab of your jaw turning your head to connect his plump lips to own. Pulling away with a cheeky dimpled smirk, “I’m not sure how I feel about you talking about another man.”
“Well you shouldn't feel any type of way because you aren't MY man.”
You squeal when you're lifted up from your chair and throw over a broad shoulder. He huffs when he throws you onto the memory foam comforter, your (his) shirt lifting up your thighs exposing your bare cunt. Immediately his big body was hovering over you as he slightly pressed his body weight onto you.
“Get off you dick” pushing and smacking his tan shoulders but that did nothing for you at this moment. “Well I'm trying to put it in you.”
He bullies your legs up over his shoulders as he taps his hard piece against the wetness between your thighs. “If something happens to me during this case I swear” choking on your words as he slowly but surely presses his thick head into your cunt.
“Fuck — may the man himself strike me down.”
Hand reaching to grip your throat smashing your lips together. Luckily your mind left the thoughts of the serial killer , the only thing on your mind right now was Namjoon and his ridiculously large cockm
It wasn't weird for you to obsess over your assignments to the point where it was all you thought about. Everyone does that.
Though this one you couldn't seem to finesse your way out of. Without the help of the late Kim you'd have to pull your own strings to get what you wanted and now that Namjoon was in charge he loved making your life harder.
“Y/n.”
Your head snaps up from your laptop hand stalling from moving on your notepad face to face with gorgeously pale Detective Min Yoongi.
“Yoonie” you smile, motioning for him to sit in front of you. He looked different from when you last saw him all the months ago, more tired and cat- like you guessed it was from the heavy responsibilities that came with the position as Chief of Seouls police department
“Did you just call to look at me?”
“Sorry it's just been . . a while” you push the large Iced Americano towards him as a peace offering. He gladly accepted it with an amused raise of an eyebrow, “You know I just wait for your call.”
“The phone works both ways” you internally wince , you sounded like an estranged father talking to his child.
“What do you want?” A frown spread across your face and lips, shutting your laptop. “I can't call an old friend for a friendly coffee date.”
You waited for his answer as he took his time generously drinking from his plastic cup. With a smack of his lips he sat the cup down leaning back with his arms crossed over his chest.
“You only call me ‘Yoonie’ when you want something” eyes scanning over the scatter of papers and notes taking up your side of the table.
“This must be serious”
Hands going to clasp under your chin you sigh, cutting the bullshit. “Three years ago you were the lead investigator on the Jack in the box case which brought you from rookie detective to Chief of police.”
“I was wondering if you could help old friend out tell me what you know about-”
“No.” He cuts you off with little to no thought.
“No? Why not? This isn't our first rodeo Min”
There were plenty of times Yoongi helped you with stories without a second thought. He'd give you case files, witnesses, and anything you needed but why not now?
“Anybody but him”
You scoffed at him, irritation rising in your body. “I need this story not anyone else.”
“Well I can't help you, princess.”
“That's bullshit!” Your voice raises causing a couple people around you to turn their attention towards the two of you. He stood up, chair scraping the floor, slamming a few dollars on the table. “Call me if you need anything else.”
Turning on his heel he leaves you sitting there in your slowly growing rage. You quickly hopped from your seat chasing after him, managing to catch up with his long strides. “Yoongi slow down dammit”
He twirls around grabbing onto you by your arm, “Who gave you this story.
“Namjoon he-” you whine as his grip tightens on your arm as his eyes slit. The angry red scar on his face makes his angry stare look even more intimidating. “You don't understand how dangerous Jack is. Just because he's behind bars doesn't mean he won't have people on the outside that will whack you for being a nosy reporter.”
He softens his hold, lifting his hand to rub your cold cheek. “If something happens to you. . .” He shakes his head letting you go.
“Sit this one out Y/N I don't want to see you in our precinct mortuary.” with that he walks away disappearing into the crowd.
You sniff doing the walk of shame back to the Café sitting back in your seat with your head in your hands
Detective Min Yoongi.
“Excuse me Ma’am” the blonde barista came over holding a box of blueberry doughnuts which happened to be your favorite. “It's on the house.. everyone saw your fight with your boyfriend, manager said this might help cheer you up.”
“Oh! Thank you but he wasn't my boyfriend, just a work colleague.” You tried to defend yourself but the sympathy in his eyes only grew so you accepted the treat with another thank you. “What is your name? I've never seen you here before.”
A soft brightens his pretty face, eyes scrunching slightly adding to the prettiness of his face. “Park Jimin, Ma’am.”
MEANWHILE
The buzz of the electrically wired door opening didn't alert the man that stayed deep in the corner of his cell. “Long time no see.”
“Why now?” the visitor asks, “After all this time you choose now.”
He giggled, the haunting sound bouncing off the walls. “Did you bring what I asked for”
The visitor threw the pictures and the box of cigarettes into the cell. “Answer my question.”
“It's been three longgg years.” He finally answered, moving from his corner to pick up the photos. “Tell me is she this gorgeous in person?”
“Just for her?”
“And I need to stretch my legs” he laughs louder this time the high pitched sound echoed even through the thick steel door that kept him locked in tight.
Jack was ready to play more games
©hobicakesss , please don't repost or steal my work. don't be a loser
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Yeti
Cregan Stark x Martell!Reader
Summary: Cregan takes you hunting with him and, you get caught up in a snowstorm. Needless to say, the cold is a formidable adversary to your Dornish self.
Word Count: 2k+
Warnings: fem!reader, wife!reader, mentions/depictions of violence/gore/horror, smut (pwp tbh, semi-public sex, breeding kink, cunninglingus, vaginal penetration, dirty talk, praise kink), cregan 'don't fuckin scare my wife' stark, fluff, typos, etc.
A/N: haha head. no thoughts. only wolf hubbie. and ok just roll with the folklore i added just just
Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx
"WHAT?" I quip, breath condensing with the cold air.
The men around me let out deep, hearty chuckles upon hearing my concerned exclamation. Cregan chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. The fire in the middle of our group crackles.
"Aye, I saw it with my own two eyes," the oldest of the men in the hunting party says, "twas the biggest beast I'd ever seen." He scratches his white beard. A shiver runs down my spine. It wasn't just because of the wind.
"Lord Stark," a voice calls from behind, "we've finished setting up the tent."
Cregan turns to the approaching men and nods, "very good. Thank you."
"When mi cousin went missing," I turn to the man by my right as he speaks, "mi aunt saw a seer to ask if they could get 'is body back if 'e was dead," he says, "and, by the gods, instead, that night, there was a loud screech and claw marks on the trees. In the end, they erected a stone for mi cousin without 'is body."
I shudder and wrap myself tighter into my coat.
"D'ya know the story about the headless, lady?"
My expression twists, along with my insides. I shake my head.
"Well," the man continues, "long story short, an entire heard of sheep slowly started losing their heads and there were large footprints that trailed off the farm every time it happened."
I clench my jaw, "... how horrible."
"Aye. Yetis feed messily. They say that if you find sheep organs in the snow, you ought to run cause a Yeti left that there."
Cregan rolls his eyes but then catches the way my face continues to contort.
"Didn't all of the sheep on that farm have their guts gushing out of their necks?"
"I think it also happened to the cows-"
"That's enough," Cregan shakes his head, leaning on his knees, "I will not hear another word of the kills of a snow figments while we're out in the snow."
"But it's not a figment."
"Milord, you know that even your father had an encounter with the Yeti-"
"The Yeti kill mi dog-"
"Enough, I said!" Cregan blurts louder than the rest. He stands from his spot, and in turn, his cloak, which he had wrapped around me, is pulled off my body. He stills, having forgotten he'd done that, and looks down at me, reaching hand, "in the tent with you."
I do not take his hand. I instead grip my furs tighter as I slowly stand. He does not fault me for it, though he does let out a grunt.
The men share another laugh. They watch as I struggle to move from my spot, as I was practically twice my size with all of the layers I had on. Cregan had even given me his outer coat, leaving him one layer less, yet still, he was unfazed where I was practically rigid with frost.
"Poor Dornish cub," one of the men mutter.
Cregan presses his lips together and adjusts the woolen hat on me. He wipes the snowflakes off my lashes before placing a hand on the brown bear fur on my back, "waddle quicker then."
I do not snark back at his remark.
One crunch in the snow after the other, my boots finally take me to the tiny, makeshift tent.
Cregan reaches out to me again, making me look back at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. When I do nothing but stare, he mutters, "the coat, love."
I furrow my brows at him like he called bloody murder, "but I'm cold!"
Cregan blinks then shakes his head, "I'm only going to dust the snow off."
I shake my head and shudder, breath condensing in the air.
He purses his lips and grabs me not unlike a rag doll. I squeak and just let it happen. He brushes the snow off me, muttering something under his breath as he did, then guides me into the tent.
When he kneels down by the makeshift bed on the ground, he and takes off his cloak, "will you be sleeping with the whole wardrobe on you?"
I plop down next to him gracelessly and pant, "if you wish for me to survive through the night."
He draws out a deep breath. It looks as though smoke left his lungs. Cregan makes a pillow out of his cloak and motions to it.
I gratefully lie down, although with all the layers on me, the cloak-pillow was a bit too low. Still, I fluff it up and it suffices well enough.
"Will your men be alright outside?" I mutter as I gaze upon the blanket and fur tent they built.
He grunts as he stands, "there've been worse winters, sunshine." He then begins to walk off.
"Wait," I knit my brows, "where are you going?!"
Cregan turns back and places his hands on his hips, "I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your fur. There's barely enough room for the two of you."
"Cregan."
"Oh, Hush, hush," he waves his gloved hand and moves to close the tent's opening, "I'm keeping watch so my bear cub doesn't get eaten by a Yeti."
"That's not funny."
I hear the sound of his boots stomping away.
It was bad enough that I was shivering intermittently in my sleep, thus why I kept waking up, but then I had an awful nightmare about the gargantuan, white-furred snow monster. Now all I could do was pray to R'hllor that I remain strong enough to get through this storm.
I further solidify when I hear a deep cry from a distance.
... no... not a Yeti. That's simply my mind playing tricks on me.
And yet my heavy eyes are now wide open.
I roll on my back and sit down as I listen to the wisp of the storm, anticipating another shriek.
I sniffle and shudder as dread bubbles in my belly.
"I am not waiting for the Yeti to creep in my tent, gods no," I mutter to myself as I crawl out of my tent on all fours.
As I emerge out of the warm cocoon, I yelp when I look up and find myself faced with a snow covered man laid back on a tree truck. He looked though he was dead. I let out louder yelp when I realize the man was Cregan.
I run to him, no longer caring that cold was seeping through my fur and quickly brush the snow off him. Because of this, Cregan groans and finds consciousness.
"W-"
"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?" I rub Cregan's face with my hands.
He scowls at me, "is it morning?"
"W-what?"
He groans as he sits up, "dammit, girl, I was sleeping."
"WELL HOW COULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT!" I quip, "you look like you were about to make friends with the Stranger."
Cregan grabs my arms as his face slowly contorts, "I'll have you know I am the vision of health, bride."
I let out a sound as he leans in and wraps his arms around me, bringing his face into my neck. The feel of his cold nose against my skin makes me gasp. He mumbles, "so warm."
"Cregan," I brush the building snow on him, "let's go into the tent."
And so we did. Or at least as much as the Stark lord could fit inside.
Once we were situated in the tent, I laid next to Cregan, who kept moving because of his legs that were sticking out. After a while, he began shifting me as well. He pulls me into his chest and claws my coat off, "away with these furs, dammit."
"Cregan, I'm cold."
My words and my attempts to keep myself warm are futile as my hulking husband rips the source of his ire off me, "I can warm you better."
"Cregan, please," I grab his hands when he tries to undo more of my clothes, "it's too cold for this."
I am wholly defenseless when he shifts on his knees and shoves me on my back. He situates himself between my legs and pulls his gloves off, "I'll leave you sweating."
I whimper when I feel cold begin to seep through as he pushes my skirts up, "Cregan-"
"Shh, shh, shh," he digs his finger into my hips, " 'm just going to warm my face. You felt how cold I was."
With a rip, my pants and smallclothes were down. The yelp that leaves me is repeated when I feel Cregan's frosty lips on me.
Cregan sinks down and throws my legs over his shoulders. At this point, his bottom half was sticking outside the tent. That, added to the sounds I was making through my glove-muffled mouth, made for the most obviously obscene act you would ever witness in the woods amidst a storm.
"Come now, pretty girl," he mutters between kisses, "no one will hear you through the wind."
I whimper when he swirls his tongue around my nub.
"And even if they do, they'll know to blame it on the Yeti."
True enough, I begin to grow warmer and warmer, and louder and louder.
"Mmm, fuck, Cregan," I reach down from him and dig my fingers into his hair, "I feel warmer now. So warm."
He hums against me, eliciting a moan from my lips. He sighs hotly on my core then nips at my thigh, "so sweet and soft for me."
I whimper and arch against him as he continues to lap at my increasing wetness. I bite down on my lips as the sound of his feasting fills my ears.
"Cregan," I sigh as I pull on his roots, "need more."
He barely lifts his head and whispers against me, "not warm enough?" His one brow quirks.
"Need you inside me," I mutter, seeing my breath fog up in front of my face.
Cregan chuckles then sigh, "see, you woke me up," he retorts, rubbing his cheek against my thigh, "I'm going to need you to beg for forgiveness first."
I grunt when he sinks back down on me, "please, husband. Forgive me. I'm begging you. I need you."
Cregan chuckles louder, "how wanton, not even putting up a fight--"
"Please," I pull his hair again, "please."
He shakes his head, so very clearly meaning to rub me with his nose, "I'm enjoying this enough already."
"My love, please. I want you in me," I pant."
With that, he sinks down darts his tongue into my folds, making me squeal. He continues at it then makes me yelp when he grazes my flesh. He croons, "like that, pretty girl?"
I whine helplessly as he continues. I can practically feel his grin against me. I scrape his scalp with my fingers, "Cregan."
He chuckles and relents, lifting his head, "oh, what now?"
"I need your cock in my cunt."
He laughs then clicks his tongue, "my, my, Lady Stark. How uncouth. Is how they raise the ladies in Sunspear?"
I let out a whimper when the cold bites my exposed flesh after Cregan pulls away. He presses his fingers into my thighs, "what would you give me if I fucked you, wife?"
I answer exactly as I know he wants, "an heir."
He huffs heavily through his nose and gets on his knees, "just one?" He brings both my legs into one arm as his other works on undoing his trousers.
"As many as you want, my lord."
He hums and eventually frees himself. I sound leaves me when I feel how cold but hard he is, "good girl."
Our groans mix as he sinks into me and pushes my knees into my chest. I feel warm slick on him as he rubs into my chilled cheek. "Fuck. You're so cold," he mutters. He proceeds to pepper kisses all over my face, "let me take care of you."
I reach for his face and begin to grunt when he bucks into me. If it weren't for all of the clothes still on my back, I'd surely have my skin gashed by the end of this.
"Fucking gods," he growls against my temple, "so tight and hot."
He pushes his hands behind my knees and picks up the pace.
I throw my head back and helplessly whine as he slaps into me. He pushes down on me and pins me in place. He pants against my ear, "this warm enough for you?"
"Mmm, gods, yes-"
"Gonna fill you up. Burn my come into you. Make you carry my pups," he licks my skin then nips at me, "make you heavy with my seed. Put so many pretty babes into my pretty bride."
My fingers dig into his hair as his mouth trails down my neck. He asks, "you want that don't you?"
"Yes, wolf."
He gruffs and snaps his hips rough, "good. Good."
I grow warmer as he moves quicker. Soon enough both our bodies are warm to the touch. I peck his cheek and bask in the feel of him. At a point, his movements become erratic and aggressive.
"My pretty cunt. Mine, mine mine."
"Cregan-"
"Yes, darling. I'm here," he sighs, "fucking my pups into your soft belly and warming you up. Feels better than all those fucking pelts right? Warmer. Warmer. Warmer. So fucking warm."
I squeal as I feel myself get pushed on the edge.
"Come on, love, give it up to me."
I whine erratically.
"Come on, pretty girl. Milk my cock and take my cum. Fuck, just like that. Come on. Don't be difficult. Come on, my little-- oh, that's it."
Cregan's movements do not relent as I come undone and spasm beneath him. The knot inside me breaks into a thousand pieces and I'm sure if there was a Yeti out there, they'd be running the other way after hearing me.
A few moments later, he, himself, twitches and fucks all of the smug comments he meant to say out of his system.
His movements grow increasingly languid until he comes to a stop.
He breathes against my neck and finally releases his clutch on my legs. He adjusts his hold on my thighs and makes a cushion out of me, not that I mind. In fact as I catch my breath and wrap my legs around him, I warn in between breaths, "don't you dare pull away, Stark."
He presses his lips on the top of my head, "never, Stark."
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Ghostface Sam murdering R’s girlfriend in front of her (and R not even caring as she lets Sam pull her in).
It was how R got revenge on the women who once made fun of her as a girl. Quinn was the final kill. 👀
(For the request post in the tags if you’re feeling it, 💕)
murder on the dancefloor | sam carpenter 🔞
WARNING: ghostface!sam, graphic violence, revenge, premeditated murder, this is just foreplay between reader and ghostface!sam tbh
The redhead was in front of you, face and mascara ruined with her unstoppable tears. Her wrists and legs intricatedly knotted in ropes, chaffing and red as she fought against the tight bounds.
Both roped somewhere in an abandoned house, a loud bonfire party happening in the miles away, but your phone was left and your girlfriend's were smashed by the Ghostface's sturdy black boots. Surrounded with an eerie silence and cold breeze, the unforgiving night is close to the end of this all.
You knew it was no use. There was no help coming in. You looked up in the dim lighting as you silently wailed, unmoving and seemingly has succumbed to the Ghostface's wishes.
"We're going to be alright," Your girlfriend uttered in between her cries for help. "We- we'll be alright, love,"
The flat of the knife was held to your girlfriend's neck. She shivered as it flipped to the knife's spine being pushed - a warning of what was about to come. You sniffled and shook your head.
Ghostface tutted her tongue. "Like Harvey and Rachel? How pathetic you must be. Reassuring (y/n) with your sweet little lies," The voice changer roared the last words with disgust. "I'm sure you have plenty of experience with that."
The redhead courageously looked up to the looming Ghostface. Under the dim light, you see her exhausted and dampened eyelids.
"FUCK you! We've done nothing wrong, we have nothing to contribute to your fuck ass games and dumb movie!" She says through gritted teeth and hoarse voice.
Ghostface tilts their head in wonder.
"Oh, but this isn't about the dumb movies, FUCK those movies." You see Ghostface tighten her grip in the kitchen knife's tang, flipping to its sharp edge. "But you were right about one thing. Your pretty girlfriend right there, hasn't done anything wrong at all."
Your girlfriend was confused by the perpetrator's words. How can she be involved, yet you were absolved?
"What do you mean?"
The heavy swish of the knife soundly makes it way to the air right before the tip of it comes in contact with the redhead's shoulder blade. She shrieks in agony, echoing through the abandoned building. Ghostface doesn't even move their face - even with the mask on, you feel their unwavering gaze over you. she takes another hit on the right side of her shoulder blade, Ghostface makes sure that it was plunged in deep and the blood rushes madly, insides squelching as they twist the knife for good measure.
The concrete crackles under the dense boots as Ghostface saunter their way towards you. Even in her weakest state, your girlfriend pitifully shouts in protest - not wanting you to be harmed.
"You have to witness this, it is the biggest highlight of your night!" Ghostface cheerfully says through the cold and grimly dubbed voice.
"S-shut the fuck up! Don't- don't h-hurt her!"
Her pleads of concern almost melted you. Almost.
Then the perplexed look behind her eyes made you chuckle. You can't stifle it anymore as the joy roared in your lungs. Ghostface joins in your sound of glee, her sharp knife effectively untying you from the brash restraints.
"You've already hurt her, 6 years ago. Poor (y/n/n) didn't have the strength to come to school, all because she feared you and your friends. The humiliation and stress you have put her through..."
"She, she's already forgiven me for that! I-I was under the influence of pressure and fitting in!"
You giggled as you slowly walked, casual and as though in wonder. "So, you were radicalized by these dead friends of yours?"
"I-I'm still confused. (y/n), we talked about this, right love? What's going on?"
Ghostface tilts their head again. They move to grasp your girlfriend's jaw, the edge of the bloodied knife taunting to cut through the skin of her cheek. They laugh mockingly at how the redhead was convinced by her own words. "And yet, you haven't figured it out yet. I'm here to help my girlfriend - (y/n/n) to put an end to the suffering you caused. She was never yours and never will be."
"Welcome to the act three, Quinn." you smirked and Ghostface was undeniably so proud of you.
The aghast look on her face upon realization was priceless. The blood had drained over Quinn's face, close to seeing the light and your reckoning was very unexpected. You were so sweet, an angel, she couldn't believe it...
You had the sweet front view of the Ghostface slitting your girlfriend's throat. It went deep enough for the blood to ooze disturbingly squirt, it didn't help that she soon choked for more cries of help, as the knife wounds to cut the blood vessels that once sustained the redhead's then alive body, completely draining them out.
Sam takes off her currently tainted crimson Ghostface mask, revealing her sweaty yet perfect face. Your fingers thread through her hair as she pulls you closer and you brushed your thumb over Sam's bottom lip, going for a much needed liplock.
It was Quinn's view before her dying breath has finally come.
Sam gently took your hand. "I'm so proud of you." She whispers intimately against your skin.
The desire and admiration between you two was palpable. In a normal person's view, it would be nothing else but simply disturbing.
"And I'm thankful for you. We really do make a good pair, Sam."
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hi to chrom hater anon i'm a professional chrom enjoyer
if you get deranged enough about awakening i think chrom is a very well done character :) he's ignorant but well meaning which meshes in interesting ways. he's not overtly prejudiced to the plegians he knows personally but still *generally* prejudiced because of his upbringing.
additionally in discussions of the ylisse-plegia war he tends to focus on how ylisse came away from it because that state of ylisse is what shaped his formative childhood years (seen particularly in his feelings about emmeryn's early years as exalt). this is UNDERSTANDABLE but still an extremely DEEPLY FLAWED and naive stance when doing politics on a larger scale, which chrom is incredibly ill-prepared for. it's a very childish view of a large scale conflict.
chrom's propensity for violence is a trait that actually deeply fascinates me. he has intense admiration for emmeryn's desire for peace yet he has a very short temper in tense situations (seen in basically all of chrom's interactions with gangrel), and he tends to lash out easily at anyone he views as an enemy. he admires peace but sees no other means to achieve it than violence. isn't that interesting. the implications here. like, he's the inheritor of the falchion, he's the only son in his family, in all likelihood it was expected that HE would take the throne and continue his father's war, but he was so young when the exalt passed that the crown went to emmeryn instead.
it really seems like emmeryn intentionally kept her siblings away from politics, which results in BOTH of them being naive in vastly different ways, with the expectation that she would always shoulder the burden of the crown yet left all the bigger a void when she died.
mind, intentionally being raised to behave this way isn't an excuse either. it's ultimately still something chrom, as an adult, SHOULD examine critically. this is, in fact, a character flaw, and i think its great.
you can then of course do nice little compare and contrast at the shitty dads, i.e. chrom's dad vs validar. robin's first act as an awakened god is murdering validar. robin became the monster everyone saw them as, the one their father thinks they were born to be. it's a neat lil nature vs nurture comparison if you really get into the depths of grima-ology (hi grima ✌️ mutuals).
to dig more into points the chrom hater anon makes.
"chrom is transphobic for killing excellus" do you hear yourself. excellus was an enemy commander. chrom has no personal grievances against the commanders other than they are part of the army with the known intent to raze ylisse.
SAME WITH ROBIN BURNING DOWN THE BOATS. THEY ARE AT WAR. IF ROBIN DIDNT DO THAT THEY'D ALL GET KILLED. they would have to fight the valm forces ON FOOT and BE KILLED VIOLENTLY because they are vastly outnumbered. it would be weird if he WASN'T at least happy about this.
he could stand to be regretful about the massive loss of human life but honestly hashtag robin warcrimes W.
"chrom makes sure to only recruit white ylisseans" i think this is just dev colorism actually. like you know how robin's dad (who is evil) is brown, but robin (who is good) is white? and how that makes no sense and robin should logically also be brown? i dont think chrom would've turned down if like, mustafa joined him. it is simply that intsys was still in their racism era (which is, tbh, only really ended with engage, like, cmon, look at literally all of FE, this isn't a chrom flaw, it's a FE being racist flaw.)
same with the sexism things actually FE is just homophobic and sexist a lot so all the characters are also by extension. this is called doylist analysis
Chrom tells Aversa "One person's life means nothing in the shadow of millions" Chrom is a hypocrite i hope this helps. additionally what aversa is doing is "help the dark god literally causing the apocalypse rn" whereas the sacrifice/save robin choice is "doom people in some hypothetical far off future" which is FAR less personal than "all of humanity RIGHT NOW".
TLDR: the real chrom enjoyers know about his character flaws and love him anyway because it's nice flavor to chew on
also never insult my beautiful daughter lucina ever again. she is deeply compelling even if she is narratively underutilized. anyone who calls themself a chrom fan and hates lucina is a faker and will not survive the winter.
also learn the difference between flaws of the story's writing and flaws of the character otherwise everybody in awakening is sexist.
anon you should read chrom/grima fanfiction unironically we fucking love tearing this dude to shreds for his flaws. this has all been a ploy to say that. chrom is naive and selfish and hypocritical and i love him very much he is my wif e :)
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PROPAGANDA
John
This fella is Fascinating. just trust me on this he deserves to be here
He tried so hard to do the right thing, he feels bad and says things would be better if he was never born. He thinks he should've just stayed acting like a monster and continued to act threatening.
(LONG PROPAGANDA INCOMING)
John. Milgram. Here's a short description of the fortunes and misfortunes of the guy. It gets worse before it gets better (probably).
While MILGRAM is a prison that judges a bunch of sympathetic killers, it doesn't consider him to be one – it didn't even exactly know he existed until too little too late, when it got its grabby hands on the brain of prisoner 009, who claimed to not know anything about any murder he'd have committed. Then, footage from his brain was extracted, as MILGRAM does, into a music video, and… that was MeMe. Ninth prisoner, Kayano Mikoto, was revealed to have DID, and what obviously who do you think actually Killed Someone?
Enter John. Well. Mikoto is half deeply unaware half subconsciously scared of his existence, so the MV painted him in a rather. Deeply disturbing way, bathing in bloody baths and all that (not a blood bath though! easy mistake). Adding to that him showing up in the first Voice Drama for five seconds to punch the "protagonist" and yell for a bit, and the result wasn't. Assuring. The fandom proceeded to treat him like a cardboard cutout and variously dunk on MILGRAM for having a cliché "evil" character w/ DID despite the overall well handling of complex characters.
Two years time skip: second season ending. We get to prisoner 009 again. The protagonist Finally gets to chat with John: and voila, he's admitting to the crime, he's apparently "killed a bunch of people because they annoyed him", which means, as he's saying, Mikoto has nothing to do with the crime at all! And he, as per the judging system, should be forgiven, right! Well, he's so full of shit. The music video immediately reveals how protective he feels of Mikoto (and well, he definitely doesn't rebuke That one), that the events of murder were somehow tied in to Mikoto's job at a black company, his continuous overworking and him being mentally on the brink of breaking; that any committed violence was For The Sake of Mikoto and that John feels deeply horrible for messing up his life in any way. By making himself into the image of a "monster" he's trying to make Mikoto look good in comparison and be forgiven and all. He also mentioned if Mikoto is voted innocent he's gonna try to go dormant since he's The Issue, right, and the audience/protagonist hates him, Right, and Mikoto Also Hates him, Right?
I'm underselling the sheer devotion of this guy tbh.
Yeah, the fandom results were kinda mixed on that one. Lots of people immediately started to love him dearly and kinda forgot any people were maimed or killed with baseball bats; lots also got sold on him "messing up Mikoto's life" and actually voted Mikoto innocent Specifically because of John's promise to eventually "disappear". There's more of the babygirlifying kind in the English side of the fandom that I've seen, to be fair. And that's around where we are!
Dazai Osamu
He did bad things in the Mafia. He's trying to get better. He abused people but he also saved other people. Fans portraying him as an unforgivable abuser are WRONG. He perpetuated an abused cycle on Akutagawa thinking he was right to do that, because of trauma, before he could leave. But he left. He's still treating Akutagawa wrong because he's trying to be a better person but doesn't realize that it will not erase what he did and that he can't just ignore the past. Fans portraying him as a pure angel who didn't know what he was doing because he was sad are WRONG TOO. He abused Akutagawa. He was traumatized but it doesn't give him the right to traumatize innocent people. He's trying to be a better person but he can't keep ignoring Akutagawa. He needs to apologize. And even that won't erase what he did. Dazai is a complex character in a complex situation. He left the abuse cycle and tries to be a good person but did unforgivable things while he was still in this cycle and refuses to aknowledge them. He's not a monster but he's not innocent either.
Dazai used to be a mafia executive until his best friend (a former assassin who remained in the mafia but refused to kill) died. As the friend was dying he told him "I know you don't care about whether you're a good or bad person, so if it doesn't matter to you, be on the side that saves people." Despite that, I've seen countless people insisting that Dazai is a good person/trying his best to be a good person when he really only changed sides by joining a detective agency, while still continuing to do the same things he did while in the mafia (including but not limited to: harassing his coworkers for fun, manipulating people, killing people instead of just trying to incapacitate them, and even torturing an innocent man in one of the side stories). That being said, he's not evil either. Even when he does cruel things, it's not for the sake of being cruel (even when he harasses his coworkers he still has limits), it's just a means to an end. I think most of the confusion comes from a scene where he's talking to a young girl, another former mafia member, who asks if he thinks people can change and he assures her they can, but what the anime left out was that he was thinking about his former assassin friend during that discussion, not himself. The entire series is themed around gray morality, to the point where it's even reflected in the main protagonist and antagonist's designs (mainly white with a bit of black, and mainly black with a bit of white), so I feel like insisting that he's a good person now completely misses the point of the story.
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