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capslocked · 6 months

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KINKVEMBER DAY: 1

[prompt: against a wall window]

male reader x huh yunjin

5k words

You're not entirely sure where the jacket to your suit has gone.

You know you should know; it’s a rental and you need to return it in a week. But Yunjin told you to take it off, and since then, things have been... a little hazy.

More concerning - or it would be, had Yunjin not also lost some part of her attire - is what her thumbs are hooked into. Like she's peeling out the silhouette to her skin-tight, backless dress - the way she can't keep from leaning against the elevator wall. Your lips have the taste of her red lipstick all over, and her body melts with every little flick of the tip of her tongue against yours, puddles that much further when she feels your fingers curling into the folds of that skin-tight black material.

The motion to push the fabric up and over the rise of her hips is a purposeful kind of thing.

For the past hour, her skirt kept brushing over the fabric of your pants while you went from shaking hands to kissing hands to her placing yours on the hem of her dress, in the quiet space of a balcony the hotel staff had clearly marked as off-limits. A kiss behind the shell of her ear, a suggestion, a shiver.

Now, things are happening in a sort of reverse: from slow and curious, to needing more and wanting less, and suddenly, neither of you want to wait - until her thighs are spread wide apart, with your free hand slid over her smooth thigh, fingers skirting the edges of her lace, cupped over her heat - right, there. The throbbing.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me," is what she's asking.

"Something awful," you reply, but there's only a gasp out of her throat to prove your point. No words.

Just the look: desire clouding over the expression. The not-so-subtle display of want, need. Tongue pressing to lips and tugging along the corner. A moan, two, quieted behind the knuckle she can't quite help putting in her mouth.

You consider shoving her panties down the curve of her thighs and spinning her around - leaving her arms to brace the railing and keeping the dress around her waist while you fuck. Quick, rough.

The mental image is too nice to let it go.

You consider how much she might genuinely prefer to that to whatever she'd had in mind when she suggested you really ought see the view of the city from her room - oh, the skyline, it's gorgeous, she offered, lips tugged into a perfectly practiced little quirk that said: the view of me, on all fours, face down into a mattress as my ass swallows down your cock - I can't wait to have you.

You can feel the thought concrete itself to the base of your skull when you roll the flat of your finger over her clit and start sliding up and down between the lips of her pussy - finding her a little wet already, dripping onto the fabric in the most obvious way. When the elevator stops a few floors shy, you try to play it off by squeezing at her rib cage and tugging the fabric back in place, hiding the tell-tale lines between the fabric, just as Yunjin starts that gentle laugh from the very base of her spine. A real beautiful timbre in its sound.

But things get more muddled, admittedly, when the doors ding and the group on the other side piles through.

There's an exchange of glances, where they're asking if this is allowed, is there enough room, can they make room. One of them, in a dizzyingly plunging, strapless blue number that has you pressing your palm into the small of Yunjin's back just a little more than you have been up to that point, considers, carefully.

"Yunjin," she says, fingers brushing through the fringe of a smart-chic bob, prim cut of jet-black hair.

Yunjin shifts her weight onto the other heel. "Chaewon."

"By the looks of it," she says, and the way she looks you over has all the judgmental verve of an older sister, a real cold stare. "You've got a I'll-be-staying-in-tonight kind of vibe."

A deeper laugh now, rolling out across the backs of her teeth. "If it's all the same to you," is what you hear from her, "it'll be an early night for me."

“Don’t make it a habit,” she tells Yunjin.

“We’re just going to go enjoy the view.”

“Yeah.” Chaewon gives you one final, disapproving expression. “I bet he will.”

The elevator isn't totally silent, not for the subtle hum and whir of machinery. But everything is a lot closer now. Especially your thoughts, the way Yunjin pulls herself closer against you by a hand on the back of your dress shirt - her fingernails mapping the ridge of your spine, finding your hip bone, thumb curving back and forth against the curve of it.

The four girls at the corner are just making chatter in their corner of the lift. They've got a reservation - in name, anyway. If things were as simple as getting from the hotel to the elevator and beyond, no need for the next forty floors to pass at a snail's pace.

In fact, the four have this sort of tense, concentrated way to them that suggests otherwise - like maybe they came all this way and made that sort of promise to have the whole night end the way some things ought: alone.

"Don't stop on account of us," one of them says after a while.

Which is enough to set off this glare into the furl of Yunjin’s brows. Not her friend's intention. But they laugh it off.

When the doors scuttle open, finally, the two of you stumble out, feet not catching up to the rest of you before Yunjin has her fingers around your wrist and drags you out. Her heels - red-bottomed and not entirely flat but definitely a lot less heel-ey than others (she’s tall, she says, it makes her self-conscious), are clacking quick across marble tile until she arrives at the door of her room, pulls her keycard out of her clutch and leans shoulder-first into the door after the click and whir of entry.

She takes a step backward.

The door locks at your back when it's kicked into its frame.

The first thing you notice is her dress: pooled on the floor around the arches of her heels, cast off like a cloak or some overcoat - to be tossed aside once the sun goes down.

"Make a habit out of this, huh?" you ask in an effort to keep yourself busy - gawking's never been a good look on anyone, even with your natural gifts, the glint in your smile, all your charm - but the curves of her body are stunning, curves that start where her thighs begin, wrap around her hips, cut in at her waist, bloom from the perfectly-small-breasts that now are showing their dusky pink nipples, firm and on full display.

All of Yunjin, like this, beneath pale moonlight pouring diffuse through the fish-bowl-glass of her hotel room, is nothing short of an invitation.

A good look, is what you're about to say if you don't come up with anything else.

"You do this kind of thing often?"

"What's that," Yunjin says over the sharp line of a grin.

"What I mean to say is: I hadn't pegged you for the," and you gesture, rather elegantly, with the flop of your wrist, "lure-some-poor-sap-away-from-a-party-and-take-advantage kind of type," before managing something like a genuine laugh. "Not to knock that lifestyle or anything."

"There's not a thing in the world you know about me," is what she offers. Which is, unsurprisingly, totally true, and slightly unfair.

Yunjin is walking toward you while you consider it.

Drifting when she comes around. It's that close. You can smell the warmth of her skin, a whiff of that vanilla, an infuriating softness - the room is dark, but the moon is bright and the city is glowing, reflecting its light and the various hues from neon signs below, outside, until Yunjin stops, standing right in front of you, just, waiting.

Then, the steady rise of an eyebrow that, for a second, feels like a challenge.

“So," you kiss into her lips, and that's the first. "Let me know you."

The second is when her hands slip up and over the back of your neck and you can't keep from reaching for her sides, pulling her closer. Her hips and ass and those fucking gorgeous, full, legs that can't decide which direction to take - until she's pressed, warm, soft, and perfect against your body, and she's sighing this sigh, heavy, a moan.

The third time, she's licking into your mouth, tongue rolling in and around the taste of your own.

"Too many clothes," she murmurs, and you can feel the pull at your half-undone bowtie, the collar to your dress shirt. She's working the buttons off their slots with deft, clever fingers.

"That's what happens when I'm trying to look sharp."

"Sharp, and hot."

"Is it working?"

Her eyes are as dark as the hair framing the smile that plays at the edge of her mouth. "I'm taking your clothes off, aren't I?"

"Mm," you reply, a smirk of your own. Pressed right into her jaw, her neck, the column of her throat, where she tastes sweet and salty. Like the sea and the night. Before you can even ask, with your fingers teasing the elastic of her underwear, I'm guessing you want me to do the same.

Yunjin makes a sound like, mm-hm.

The hotel room is quite standard, which is to say, nice. But, for what it is, it's not too fancy. There's a large, king-size bed with the crispest sheets you've ever felt. A little kitchenette. Some counter space and a fridge. A TV hanging opposite the bed, with an armchair and a love-seat positioned to face the screen.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?" Yunjin asks, and her voice is low. Almost a husk, a whisper.

"What did you have in mind?" you say to her, and there's a hand on the nape of your neck, a fist of soft, slender fingers wrapping the length of your cock.

"You're going to fuck me until I'm cumming on your cock. You'll get me on my knees, first, though."

"That's the plan?"

"Unless you have another." Yunjin grins, a smile so full and bright and genuine. You don't know anything beyond her name and the perfectly sculpted curve of her ass. She could be anyone, an actress, a singer, a model. A girl-next-door. A friend of a friend.

She could be yours.

And in a way, when she's on her knees, her mouth hot and tight around the shape of your cock, those fucking lips pressed into the base of it, sliding easy with the spit she leaves on your shaft, that's exactly what you tell her.

"Yunjin," is all you're saying, a sigh, a hiss. You're helping her get your pants off the ends of your feet while your cock is lathered and bathed in her spit, feeling her slender fingers pull up and down your shaft. "That feels so fucking good, baby. Just like that." It's fast, sloppy, she's taking you in and out of her hot mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world. A slurp, a cough, and she's completely unfettered, sucking down and swallowing another breath - not to mention all that about her tongue. A swirl over the head of your cock and you show how much you like it, letting her read the bite into your lip, inventorying every little wince through your brow.

But see - you have your fingers in her hair, holding the strands away from her face. Away from where Yunjin's eyes are breathtaking and glittering, blinking back up under upturned brows, looking up at you from where she's taking you into the hot wet of her mouth, inch-by-inch. And the part of you, this cruel, twisting sensation, would hate for her to think anything of your hands - how they're at the top of her head, cradled behind, and easing her forward, the head of your cock teasing the roof of her mouth.

The back of her mouth.

The back of her throat.

Fuck, her eyes go wide. She's good. She takes it.

And just from the pretty look she keeps on her face, Yunjin loves it. Loves to be pushed, loves to have her hands running along the ridge of your thigh until her fingers are prying the very bottom, the underside, your balls. Like this, with her kneeling down between your legs, the flexing muscle of her upper arms to her palms squeezed tight on either cheek of your ass, where the heat starts to stir deep - to pull. Bring the full length of you to the back of her throat.

The choked sound from deep in her chest should surprise you.

And for the shortest moment, you're holding still and forcing her head, your hands keeping her perfectly put: just there, right there. Exactly like that - where she could look like the perfect mess and feel a twitch right between those lips that keep asking so kindly, go ahead, fuck a load of cum down my throat, baby, use these lips - the soft swell of these lips until you're cumming for me.

Or something else along those lines.

The thought of it crosses your mind: cum spilling from the corner of her mouth as she tries to take everything you have. The flutter in her throat wringing it all down. The mess that all would make. Not that she isn’t already a perfect sight.

You tug on her hair again.

Yunjin's eyes sparkle.

Her eyelashes go a little droopy, hazy. Dark.

And she starts humming across this wistful note of a sigh as her lips start slipping over your shaft - dragging in that slow, agonizing, blissful way over everywhere sensitive and aching. Taking her time, while one hand goes up and strokes what her mouth can't touch, while you pull her head, those perfect strands, just a touch further down, because if she can't quite deep-throat you then Yunjin can give a goddamn masterful impression.

Her cheeks hollow, and the suction - god.

You could cum right in between the pretty little pout of her lips, over the flat of her tongue. Right down her throat.

But in a turn of events neither of you anticipate, you don't do it; you are, much like anyone else, not without limits. Which is probably how you end up lifting Yunjin back up by the underside of her elbows, asking, "that feels a little one-sided, no?"

It's only fair to pull a smirk, kiss, all the best tricks - all for the best parts of her, full, curving, down from her neck, shoulders, her arms, the palms of her hands, every part of her: that perfect shade of peach, pink. From there, everything else falls away. The slow way Yunjin sneaks away with the kind of saunter you'd expect, hips swaying all the way up, sashaying out this inviting side-to-side before you realize it's working -

And you're asking, "Yunjin?" then telling, "I want you up against that window."

The sun's long set - but it'll come up soon enough, over the edges of skyscraper-blocks and shining up out from the base, until everything is bright and gleaming.

"Which window?" she teases.

So you swat at her ass. A not-so-delicate slap. "I don't care so long as I fuck you into it."

"And if someone sees?" she laughs out, still intent on teasing you, and the small edge in her voice is some combination of excitement and worry.

"Then we better give them something worth seeing."

Yunjin's palms land flush to the glass, fingers spread out - wide, wanting, willing - where the blue, yellow glow of city lights shines in over the curves of her profile, the slope of her cheek, the bright pools her irises turn under the warmth. She's the only thing worth seeing, and there's nothing that could possibly stop you from needing, wanting more, right now.

There's no other explanation. No other reason, really, to explain how you're desperate: to fill her, bury yourself inside her - to where you're promising, coming up behind her and guiding her over - so you can spread those creamy thighs apart, push her shoulders up against the cold surface of the window. Where she'll catch a view of her reflection staring back at her: beautiful, exposed, and hers.

"I'm going to fuck you now," is exactly what she's been begging you to say, is why she ends up feeling, with the deep, twisting need building somewhere, how you'll work your cock so deep into her wanting cunt that the only thing that makes her legs go weak - wobbling, really - is the promise of cock rubbing so close and teasing the slick folds between her legs. Until she's a little more demanding, needy - and fuck, where is all the foreplay you'd promised earlier? That perfect, thick cock of yours is missing. She knows what all this really needs.

"Yeah? You need me here?" and she gets this whine, a little pathetic, but in the cutest way.

Yunjin turns her eyes to you, over her shoulder, just the faintest bit of a sneer.

Because she needs it, right now - rough, quick, good.

A gasp catches in her throat when you drag your cockhead through her wet heat, once, twice, and the slide of it against her clit becomes the only thing that matters in the entire goddamn world.

"Inside," her teeth are clamping hard on her lip now, holding it from trembling as she tries to put words together, "Put," is where she loses focus and you're sucking, and kissing, and biting at her shoulder, "put, fuck. Please, put your, put - that cock of yours in my-" You slip into her hot-soaking-wet cunt, and after you've clenched a fist and brought a palm to the center of the window, so that you could open up your body around her a little easier, her muscles squeeze and grip and milk the first few strokes so tight. So-fucking-good.

There's not even a word for it, how she fit like a glove around the first thrust, but if the expression on your face says anything, it's everything Yunjin wanted and more: the shape, the angle, how you're pressing your fingers so hard into the impossible geometry of her waist, the round of her ass - oh, she’ll be a mess of red marks, shapes and lines, reminders of how good you fucked her - these long deep strokes in and out of her creaming pussy - evidence left where the heat inside her builds and pools.

And god, Yunjin is so, so easy to fuck: you can pound into her as rough and steady and fast as she'd begged - there with your other hand, pulling hard, hard, at the loose, dark locks of her hair. Where it has Yunjin gasping, moaning, the whole nine. She has to look to find her balance - and meets the two silhouettes framed inside the reflection on the window. Two shapes, lost in the blurred shadow and outline of lights outside the hotel window, behind which the whole city and its crowds might have stopped the way they'd started, with the rest of you caught between these strange moments:

First, the mindfulness. The purpose and meaning in movement, sensation. In being alive and young, hot, gorgeous and dumb as you can afford to be be.

Yunjin's murmuring, "right there, I want you," or telling, or begging, "don't, you have no idea, I, no-" until your body presses flush up against hers, hips rocking into her perfect figure - taking you like she was built for it, and everything feels so much tighter now, so much closer. Her palms and cheek against the glass, her knees are all shaking and ready to fold at any moment. "So deep, fuck. Fuck me right there, just like that."

Then as you suppose, the unbridled lust on display: Yunjin's turned to this kind of abandon - she's swearing out loud, saying things that have no name and very little form until you've dragged the roughness of your fingers all over her body and found she needs a palmprint on her inner thighs, her ass. That she's whimpering with every deeper plunge until, finally, she gets what she's after - and the words are falling out of her mouth. All it does is mean nothing now - whatever you've been waiting to hear, the pleas to fuck her harder, the cocksleeve talk, or any other request or order.

It's a small miracle, really, considering how she'd gotten you throbbing and aching with just the press of her lips and the dangerous little curl of her tongue - the tight heat all in the back of her throat - but Yunjin cums first.

Loudly.

Messily, too, as she rides out the feeling - tightness gathering right into her core. But her head, it's in the clouds and a little far away, the skyline bathing her skin in shades of glittering silver and gold. And god, the heat of her tight, twitching, soaked pussy - pulsing around the thrusting curve of your cock: the sublime kind of place, spot, rhythm.

How her arms give out and she's pressed, flushed, back to chest with you, right there. Her words are soft. Wholly unimaginative: yes and fuck, yes and oh, she wants you, loves how well you fuck. The murmur comes from that gorgeous body of hers, the exact shape of everything that feels good to feel. The jut of her hips and her legs are longer than her height suggests they'd be, flawless from the ankle and foot to her thigh to where your arm wraps around the base of her ribs, hugging her from the back.

It's a perfect fit.

And not in the glass-slipper kind of way that means there is such a thing as a soulmate, no.

"Cum in me," she breathes, and then - all over. That's it. The moment your fingers are splayed back out over the pane of window, she can't hold her gaze steady. Those tears prick up at the corner, where they get caught. Where her voice is too high and pitchy - begging, a whining noise and some syllable. Something inaudible that has pressing these hot, open-mouthed kisses right into the pretty rise-and-falls of her spine. The sloppy-wet sound from your cock slipping back in, and back again, until you're just left fucking these little ragged breathes out of her chest.

The space between her lips and the glass, the white-ghosting breaths of air out between those plump little pouts that have shaped and molded themselves into some version of words, a few half-finished pleads: “kiss, hold, fill, fuck, just," and, "my body, love-

"Your fucking pussy, Yunjin, holy shit, it's - fucking - so, god," you all but growl out.

Pounding into the tight clench of her cunt.

The bed in the other room might be the better choice, the sheets and pillows for more support than the hard wall she's propped against. But the glass, to see the view and take her up against it: it feels nice, cool and comfortable, even when your motion makes it fogged and sticky with condensation. She had, when your first thrust pushed inside the molten heat of her pussy, reached around the corner - fingertips splaying wide apart, up, along the foggy pane, watching the shadow of her palms turn blurry and indistinguishable against the soft glow of neon beyond.

"I'm cumming," you tell her, "I'm cumming - fuck," before shoving her body even further into the glass. Fucking her hard - just short of bending her to the point of where she might break.

That last stroke or two goes a little wild; all that coiled and pressurized want and need, boiling over the moment you fuck your cum deep into her trembling body. This time, your sounds aren't just the thoughtless hum and groan from the depth of your lungs, but some collection of dirty words, grunts. Nasty things. A whole host of obscenities: like how it's for the sake of claiming, leaving something of yourself behind. How you're pulling the smooth, curve of her hips into your body to push as much of yourself inside the gripping warmth of her. How your hot cum is starting to spill from her pink, perfect, hole - all for the better because when you take your thumb and swirl and trace and smear all along her slippery-wet slick, she gets like this: squirming in these lazy, needy little wriggles against your touch.

It takes the two of you sometime longer to move. Not long, but, you know, a little while.

When it is that Yunjin comes back to herself, you feel the smile as the ghost over your arm.

The kind of thing to ask, though you're too fucked to pay attention, are questions about life: where do you go to school, how long will you stay? All of that. There's a quiet moment where your mind plays back, vaguely, a little more intensely, the realization - and regret of it, the waste - of fucking a stranger for a night.

And in a real short moment:

"That was - really good," she says, still not recovered quite enough to walk.

Yunjin sounds all that same: a stranger. Not familiar. That's, like, your last chance or whatever. Before this becomes a one-off.

("Stay for a while?" is what she doesn't manage to ever ask.)

"Have to leave early tomorrow." And she looks at you, shoulders dipping at the ends. She says things like: "my work," and "we have an international flight. Customs is a bitch."

"Oh," is what you say to all that, looking her body over again, drinking down all the small details of her. The ones you'll lose forever after tonight. All of them, you know.

All because that's how it had to be, from the start.

"For sure."

Yunjin's hands are twisting at the end of her hair, stroking and brushing through the silky, black strands. Just for something to do: maybe, optimistically to keep herself occupied with some semblance of a thought that has nothing at all to do with how she can't seem to shake this sudden, cresting wave of frustration - how there's an urgent throb from deep within, pushing into her skin like a force.

You swallow. Try to smile. "It was fun."

The hotel's checkout desk is staffed by a cheerful looking man, almost fresh out of high-school. Too cheerful a smile, perhaps, and maybe a little too bright for the time of day. You'd been busy pacing the lobby, trying not to stare at your phone for the third or fourth time since stepping out of the elevator. Your feet have scuffed the ground under the coffee table, around the floral couches - almost tripping over the boutiques lined in the middle of this path. Likely you'd have considered them if you weren't focused elsewhere.

Thinking about how you'd put off any discussion about piecing back together your rental suit.

"Did you have a good stay, sir?" the concierge asks, reaching out across his desk to pick up a card. He's placing a machine in front of him.

Your face warms ever-so-slightly. "Wonderful."

"That's what we like to hear. Just swipe your key here."

The machine's screen flashes and there's another cheerful beep, indicating everything was processed.

"Could you get me my receipt?"

"Absolutely. One second."

And the printer whirs to life: spitting out line-after-line of printed data. Until there are twelve characters of nonsense and garbage, including but not limited to the link to a questionnaire and an explanation for all the boxes marked 'x'. It also indicates your total costs (minimal, really) and lists a detailed breakdown of services: breakfast, in-room bar, laundry, towels - all the necessities.

"There, would you like- wait. Sir? Someone asked me to hand this to you," and after reaching under the desk, "looks like a suit jacket of sorts."

"Oh."

He raises an eyebrow. "From the event, I'm assuming."

It's hard to tell what it's about. But as you wrap your fingers into the cloth of the fabric, tug at it a bit, there's a note that slips and falls to the floor.

You sort of frown, skeptical. Fumble with the note. And the note says this:

In your absence, I helped myself to your jacket, your wallet, an extra serving of breakfast, as well as a large iced-coffee. Promise you I'll get the next one. Call me: (xxx)-xxx-xxxx.

Affectionately, your (girl)friend for an evening,

Huh Yunjin

#yunjin smut #le sserafim smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

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ice-creamforbreakfast · 5 months

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::Download:: (Patreon - Free from 29/11/2023)

A collection of warmer clothes for your sims so that they can stay chic while staying indoors 💜

Details:

Ada Sweater Combo - A knitted sweater combined with a cinch belt and full tartan/plaid skirt. Rita Skirt Suit - A wool cropped coat and pencil dress combo with contrast collar and buttons that's perfect for looking smart, but staying warm.

Mavis Dress - A button-down dress in various shades and patterns

Mavis Dress V2 - Same old Mavis, brand new picnic blanket pattern (as someone calls it...they know who)!

Dee Sweater - Knitted roll-neck sweater that's perfect for those colder days

Catherine Pants - Who says you can't wear cropped pants in the winter? probably a few people, but do it anyway.

Scooter Sweater - Knitted rugby-style sweatshirt/sweater. Perfect for staying warm, but staying stylish.

Bertram Sweater - Asymmetric, knitted sweater with Arran buttons.

Barb Hair V.4 - Another one? Yes. But There are five Barb hairs! One isn't called Barb though. Yes it's confusing. Shooby made me do it.

#download: clothing #download: hair #ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4cc #ts4mm #maxis match #ts4 decades challenge

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yanderestarangel · 4 months

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꒰♡꒱─ 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐓 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓

TW: afab anatomy, dub con, dark themes, ftm reader, v!sex, sub!reader, stepson x stepfather, dilf!wesker, praise, smut.

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who always takes care of you, always sending you large amounts of money, regardless of what you ask for, he will give you his black card so you can spend it on whatever you want, he will just want his favorite stepson to a little kiss and spend some time with him... especially because you both know that he only married your mother to be close to you.

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who manipulates you to keep you away from your friends, he just wants you for himself! You're his sweet boy, so don't be surprised to see Wesker using his money and powers to keep you trapped at home, keeping you like a cute, cuddly doll that he can control and twirl around his fingers, like a beautiful marionette.

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who considers you his only weakness. Wesker would destroy the world for you, he would destroy everything he built throughout his life just to have the guarantee that you would stay by his side forever, regardless of the price it would cost - and when he completes, all his plans, you will live forever next to him, beautiful and molded perfectly by his hands, his pretty boy.

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who takes you to the most chic and private dinners, with businessmen from the 'umbrella corporation', introducing you as their precious stepson. He will pamper you with expensive suits that adorn your ass for him, getting possessive if any guy tries to flirt with you - he would probably pull you into some room or take you out of the building, throwing you on the expensive leather seat of his BMW, towering over you as he took his hard, throbbing cock out of his pants, while you could see his red iris glow behind the dark lenses of his glasses. "-Are you going to act like a brat and let others take what's mine? Are you really going to do that boy?" Wesker would growl angrily, as he ripped the fabric of your pants, exposing your pussy to him. "-Daddy will teach you a lesson... after all, bad boys don't get rewards."

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who fucks you with all your desires and dark fantasies, he loves to fuck you in the most expensive hotels and the best panoramic views of the city, making you doggy style and pounding your cunt from behind, while pulling the rope of a collar of diamonds you wore around your neck - obviously given by him "-I could fuck you like this all day..." Wesker grunts in response to your sweet moans, slapping your ass. His thrusts become stronger, bringing you closer to the edge of release. And just as you're about to fall, he slows down once again, prolonging your ecstasy, the buildup almost unbearable. "-Not yet, my dear," he whispers in her ear, his voice filled with wicked delight. "-You will come when I say so. Only when I give you permission, you can do this, right? Like the good boy you are to your daddy hm?" He begins to move, establishing a rhythm that exposes you to the fullness and power of his thrusts, filling you completely. "-Such a good boy, accepting me so well, squeeze those thighs and stick out that fucking ass more! Yes baby boy, exactly like that..."

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who fucks you all over the house, while praising you for handling his dick so well in your little cunt. "-Such a beautiful and cute pussy, just for daddy's cock isn't it?", "-atta boy, do you feel that, angel? it's all for you... take my cock like a good boy.", "- Fuck-! I love hearing you beg for more... I'm going to make you cum so hard, baby boy...", "-You better get used to this my little boy... Because from now on on. Your life will revolve around me... And I will always make sure you are satisfied, whatever the cost..." Your body responded to his touch, arching into him as pleasure washed over you. You could feel the tension in your body growing, your pussy clenching around his dick as you neared the edge of orgasm.

─ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐞𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 - who would lock you up in one of his mansions, in a beautiful golden cage, he would cut your ties with your mom... friends and even normal civilization, nothing exists beyond him now, you are just his, he will leave you just there , for him and for him. "-You will always be my doll boy... won't you?" Wesker would smile darkly, as he handed you the clothes he wanted you to wear. "-You'll never get rid of me... I'm your daddy forever... right my prince?"

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝 ©𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 2023. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞.

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wannabe-simblr · 4 months

Text

Casual chic looks ft. Arabella (pt.2)

Look #1: Shirt | Jeans | Heels | Scarf | Shades

Look #3: Turtleneck | Suit pants and jacket | Heels | Shades

Look #4: Turtleneck | Jeans | Coat | Boots | Shades

poses @helgatisha

Thank you to all the cc creators ♡ @busra-tr @babyetears @redheadsims-cc @bluerose-sims @ruchellsims @seoulsoul-sims @b0t0xbrat @charonlee

More lookbooks here ♡

#ts4 #sims 4 #the sims 4 #ts4 lookbook #s4 lookbook #sims lookbook #sims 4 lookbook #sims 4 cas #cas lookbook #cc finds #cc list #sims 4 screenshots #simblr #showusyoursims #the sims community #sim: Arabella #sims4

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watchmegetobsessed · 10 months

Note

Any chance you could do a famous single mum reader x Harry fic

since he’s a certified MILF lover

CRUSH

WORD COUNT: 2.2k

SUMMARY: Harry has been into you for way too long, but you haven't given him a chance. You run into each other at the Grammy's afterparty and you finally tell him why you're so adamant about keeping your distance.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry will forever remember tonight.

It’s his second time going home as a Grammy winner and nothing can ruin this experience for him, not even how his performance was ruined. He did it again and nothing else matters for now.

Or at least that’s how he should be feeling as he is celebrating with his friends and other winners and artists at the after party, but something keeps bugging him.

Just hours earlier he ran into you again and he hasn’t been able to get you out of his mind since then. It’s no surprise you were at the award show, even though you’re not a singer he could have expected to run into you at one of the most important nights of the year. Yet, he was still surprised to see you walk down the red carpet, but it might have been because you always have that effect on him no matter what.

If someone asked Harry who his celebrity crush was he would say you with no hesitation or remorse. He’s been enamored with you since the first time he met you at some other after party a few years ago. The two of you were introduced by a mutual friend and he stuck to your side for as long as possible, drinking up every word, every laughter and every look you gifted him with. He thought you were way out of his league, he still does, but that doesn’t stop him from yearning after you like a lovesick puppy every time your paths cross. Harry can’t tell how many times he tried to flirt with you before, but his flirty comments were met with soft rejection every time, you never seemed to be returning the gentle feelings and though it was devastating, he knew he could do nothing.

He could at least call you his friend, more or less. He definitely has a tither connection with you than with most people in this room, there’s a bigger circle of friends you both share so you end up meeting every few months without planning it and there are periods when you’re even texting.

He hasn’t talked to you for a while now, so seeing you brought his feelings back he’s been harboring for so long.

Now as he’s sipping on his drink he can’t help but keep looking around, trying to spot you in the crowd to no avail for now. He pulls out his phone and opens the message thread with you, rereading the last few texts he exchanged with you a while back. His thumb hovers over the screen, fighting the urge to hit you up with a message when an elbow meets his side. Looking up he sees Mitch beside him.

“Your crush is here,” he informs Harry with a knowing smirk, nodding towards the bar.

He follows his friend’s gaze and spots you only seconds later. You’ve changed out of your burgundy gown he saw you wearing earlier, sporting a chic pant suit this time, but you’re just as breathtaking as ever.

Mitch just chuckles when Harry gets up without a word and heads over to you. Pushing between guests he ignores everyone who might try to strike a conversation up with him until he finally reaches you.

“Y/N, hi!” he smiles at you warmly. You turn to face him with a cocktail in your hands, a wide smile stretching across your face.

“Harry! What a nice surprise!” you chuckle. “Congrats on your wins!” You don’t hesitate to put an arm around his neck and pull him into a hug that he returns gladly.

“Thank you.”

“Though it was no surprise you won, the album is amazing.”

“You listened to it?”

“Of course,” you chuckle. “I wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Do you have a favorite?” he asks with a cheeky smile.

“Hmm, probably… Satellite.”

“Great choice.”

The conversation keeps flowing and suddenly it feels like it’s just the two of you even though it’s a crowded party that’s happening around you. Harry realizes that no matter how much time passes between each time he sees you, he will always catch himself falling for you over and over again. He tries to flirt with you this time as well and this is the first time he can feel like his rizz is not going straight over your head.

“Y/N, I need you to be very honest with me,” he starts, when you both had a few drinks. Neither of you is drunk, but definitely tipsy.

“About what?” you chuckle.

“Do I have a chance with you? For real, I’m not playing here,” he smirks, placing one hand to his chest, while holding up the other one, his half empty glass rising into the air.

You sigh deeply, looking away from him as you busy yourself with your own drink.

“Ah, it hurts!” he acts as if he was shot in the chest. “Am I that ugly and boring?”

“Of course, you’re not!” you roll your eyes.

“Okay, do you like me?”

“I do,” you admit, avoiding to look him in the eyes.

“Alright, then let’s take this conversation over to my place.”

“I can’t,” you shake your head.

“We can go to yours as well, I’m fine with that too,” Harry half jokes, but he notices that you’re not laughing. “Y/N, what is it then?”

“I need to get some air.” Jumping to your feet you leave your drink behind and head out to the back of the place that’s the smoking area, hoping to be alone for a bit, but Harry rushes after you, determined to get answers this time.

He finds you in a dark corner, your arms wrapped around yourself as you stare out into the void.

“Y/N, I’m sorry if I went too far, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s… fine.”

“I just… fuck, I really like you. A lot. I can’t stop thinking about you and… I couldn’t just not shoot my shot.”

“You’ve been shooting your shot for a long time.” He finally sees a tiny smile on your lips.

“So you did notice my attempts?” he grins. “Just chose to ignore them, I guess?”

“Harry, I can’t.”

“Can’t ignore them anymore?”

“No. I can’t date you.”

“Can’t as in…?”

Sighing, your head falls back, against the wall as you close your eyes for a few seconds before opening them and finally looking at him.

“I don’t date.”

“Why?”

“Because of Arian.”

The picture is finally crystal clear in Harry’s head. You’re depriving yourself from dating because of your son.

It’s no news to Harry that you’re a mother, he has even met your five year-old son, but he never thought of him as the reason why you keep rejecting him. You keep your private life pretty hush hush, especially since you split from your ex, Arian’s father three years ago. No one knows why you called it quits and there’s actually no photo of the little boy online either, that’s how dedicated you are to protect him from the public. Harry completely understands it, but he doesn’t see why you can’t date because of Arian.

“The little guy doesn’t want to share you with anyone else?” he tries to joke.

“I’m a single mother who is also an actress. My life is complicated enough without dates and boyfriends.”

“Woah, we’re only talking about one boyfriend,” Harry puts his hands to his chest. You crack a smile, but it’s not as genuine as he would want it to be.

“It’s just not the right time for me to start dating again. I’m sorry.”

“I’m a little hurt you’re not even giving me a chance.”

“I’m sure dating a single mother is not exactly your dream either.”

“Y/N, I haven’t even thought about it until you brought it up. Arian is a cool little guy and I have no problem with you being a mother.”

“You will at one point, trust me,” you scoff and Harry tries not to take it personal. You’re just trying to protect yourself and your son, it’s not against him.

“What if I prove that it’s fine? That I’m not just some random guy who will come and go?”

Staring back at him you chew on his words as you tilt your head to the side.

“We’ll see.”

At first the peace and quiet takes over your waking mind. You feel a gentle breeze from the window you left open for the night and you stretch long underneath the silky covers when it finally dawns on you.

It’s peaceful. And quiet. You haven’t had a morning like this in about… well, five years. Arian loves to wake you up whenever you’re home, jumping on the mattress, or just cuddling to you, either way, he never misses a chance to spend a morning with you.

So where is he now?

Slight panic rushes through your veins as you quickly wrap yourself in your silky robe and head out to find your baby. All the worst case scenarios flash through your mind, but they dissolve the moment you reach the stairs and hear his laughter coming from the kitchen. With careful steps you approach the source of his voice that’s mixed with another one, a more mature male voice that you don’t recognize at first but when you round the corner and see what’s happening in your kitchen, recognition washes over you.

Harry Styles is making pancakes in your kitchen with your son. And they are making a big mess, but Arian seems to be enjoying it. Music is playing in the background and there’s a ginormous bouquet of flowers on the kitchen island. Your heart flutters in your chest as you walk closer.

“Mommy!” Arian notices you and climbing off his stool he runs over to you and you gladly pick him up into your arms.

“Hey baby, what’s… what’s happening here?”

“Harry is making us pancakes!” He throws his hands up into the air in excitement as you walk over to the kitchen island and sit him down on top of it.

“Good morning, Y/N,” he smiles at you so charmingly, it’s hard to focus on the fact that he is in your house on a Saturday morning.

“Hi, what do you… Um, what are you doing here?”

“Mommy, I told you, he is making us pancakes!” Arian giggles.

“I know, baby. Hey, you’re still in your pajamas, why don’t you go up and change?” You help him off the counter and gently push him towards the stairs. He runs off singing to himself.

“Before you throw me out,” Harry starts, holding the spatula up, “You told me to prove it.”

“Prove what?”

“That it’s fine that you’re a mom. So, this is our first date, in your house, with your son, so you don’t have to worry about him or get a babysitter.”

“How did you even get into my house?” you chuckle in disbelief. You’re definitely touched by the gesture, you don’t like to spend time away from Arian when you’re not working.

Grinning, he starts flipping the pancakes in the pan.

“Well, I might or might not have contacted your agent who hooked me up with your housekeeper who let me in this morning.”

“Wow, my own staff betrayed me,” you chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say betrayed. They both were happy to help me, because they want what’s best for you.”

“And that would be you?” you ask, arching an eyebrow at his cockiness. He shrugs, but his smirk tells it all.

“Look,” he sighs, turning the stove off. “I really did mean it. I don’t care that you’re a mom. It’s all good, it’s part of you. I don’t want to just come and go in your and Arian’s life. Just give me a chance to prove that it could work.”

He must have some kind of magic power over you, because he really just waltzed in here, made some pancakes and convinced you to change your mind.

“Arian will always come first for me, Harry.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t expect anything else,” he nods.

“That means that even in my limited free time, you’ll most likely have to share me with him. I’m not the type to let nannies and babysitters raise my child.”

“And I love that about you. Arian is lucky to have you as his mother.”

Staring back at him you want to say no, but you simply can’t. It’s impossible.

“Okay,” is all you say.

“Okay as in… You’ll give me a chance?”

“Yes, but don’t fuck it up,” you chuckle as Harry walks closer and his hands find your waist, pulling you closer. It’s the first time he is physically this close to you, but it feels like he’s been doing it since forever, like you belong in his arms.

“Never,” he smirks and as he leans closer you hear a pair of tiny feet running down the stairs, so you step back just in time for Arian’s return.

“Give me the pancakes!” he giggles, climbing up to a stool and you smile at Harry.

“See, he is already cockblocking you,” you whisper to him chuckling.

“Touché,” he sighs with a smirk. “But he is cute, so it’s alright.” Shaking it all off he turns to Arian as he places the pancakes on a plate. “So, what do you want on top?”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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chicinsilk · 2 years

Text

Vogue Paris September 1975 💙❤️💙❤️💙

Model Vibeke Knudsen

With an unsurpassed cut, the trouser suit to wear early in the morning and even late at night; a masculine-feminine suit, in dark gray and pearl gray tennis wool by Besson. Blouse in Pearl gray Moroccan crepe from Abraham with a narrow knotted collar closed by a rhinestone bar. Yves Saint Laurent. New boy Coiffure "Alexandre de Paris. Charles of the Ritz makeup.

Photo Helmut Newton

archive vogue

#french vogue #vogue paris #september 1975 #fall/winter #seventies #ysl #yves saint laurent #collection haute couture #chic suit pants #masculin/féminin #~#charles of the ritz #alexandre de paris #helmut newton

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cascade05 · 5 months

Text

Convenience

This is kinda suggestive so watch yo self, unless you don’t wanna...

Thinking about Bakugo and his pretty secretary. She wears very business chic clothes, mature and sexy as oppose to cute.

Suit pants that hug her--not enough to be innapropreate but enough to make it obvious she works out. Suit shirts that dip into her chest a little bit, not enough to be immoddest but just enough to drive Bakugo wild. Stilletoes. Just plain black stilletoes, nothing else. She does have a pair of black flats tucked under desk and a pair of pristine black sneakers, just in case. When she wears pencil skirts, Bakugo is just about sent to his knees. And if the way the freshly pressed fabric hugs her hips wasn't enough, she dares to come into the office with a pencil skirt that has a zipper going straight down her ass.

It's the convenience of it that really gets him. How easy it would be to just pull the top zipper all the way down, exposing her lacy black underwear to him. (He only knows because she bent down that one time and he saw it ON ACCIDENT! When he thought about it that night it wasn’t really on accident tho—)

It's the convenience, he tells himself as he watches her strut out of his office. She's beautiful and just so conveniently always apart of his day, that's the only reason he can't stop thinking about her. It's not because she doesn't put up with his shit and it's not because she's constantly defending him when sponsors say something sour about him. It's definitely not the worried glances she gives him when he comes back from patrol a little more banged up than usual—he'd like to bang her a little more than usual when she wears that stupid skirt—

It's convenience, he thinks. He knows her and she knows him. Its convenience, he convinces himself. That's all.

Definitely not whatever the hell his heart keeps telling him.

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fuckyeahpedropascal · 1 year

Text

Pedro boys fashion matrix

* Click for higher resolution

• Masterlist •

This one took me ages to make, and it's probably one of my favourites I've made so far. Which is your favourite category?

Commentary below the cut:

Survival chic

Joel, Frankie, Ezra, Mario

These boys have it tough. Be it an apocalyptic world, somewhere in the Colombian jungle, or on another planet entirely. And yes, I had to add Mario.

Fun fact: all four survival boys wore gloves in the show/movie.

Office basic

Dave, Max P, Javier, Mr. Ben

I do love a shirt and pants ensemble sans suit jacket. I might be biased, but Mr. Ben might have stolen the show with his sexy specs.

Office chic

Whiskey, Javier, Max Lord, Marcus Pike

These are some sharply dressed boys. The tailoring on Whiskey's suit in particular is *chef's kiss*.

Military chic

Javier, Dave, Veracruz, Pero

Pedro boys look good in fatigues, huh? Although Pero does steal the show with his medieval armour.

Extra AF

Oberyn, Din, The Thief, Meemaw

These guys (and meemaw) need no introduction, am I right? Neither does meemaw, with her rip-off Anna Wintour bob and fancy frames.

Comfortcore

Javi G, Dieter, Joel, Charlie

These are the guys you know would be so soft to cuddle with. Except Joel, who's definitely all contractor™ muscle underneath that tshirt he keeps wearing inside out.

Leather mavens

Marcus Moreno, Dio, Zach, Oberyn

The people have spoken - they want Moreno in this matrix, and I’m not complaining! We know these boys look good in leather, but Oberyn’s head-to-toe leather fight look is something else (tragically it proved to be fashion over form).

Pedro boys hair matrix

Pedro boys facial hair matrix

How long will Pedro boys survive the apocalypse

Pedro boys chattiness matrix

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godsfavdarling · 2 months

Text

01 new beginnings

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!oc

summary: After nearly two decades with the FBI, Dr. Spencer Reid makes a career shift to teaching at Georgetown University. There, he shares an office with Dr. Brittany Reed, a sociologist.

list of chapters, also available on wattpad and Ao3, my masterlist

warnings: none for this chapter

words: 3,9k

Spencer stood amidst the scattered boxes in the office, meticulously arranging his belongings on his new desk. The scent of fresh paint mingled with the faint aroma of coffee, signaling the start of a new chapter in his life. His gaze wandered to the other desk in the room, its pristine surface a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding him.

The desk was neatly organized, adorned with a half-finished iced latte, stacks of glossy women's magazines, and an array of black pens. A closed laptop sat at the center, flanked by notebooks and a sleek black purse resting nearby. Spencer couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity as he surveyed the items, each one offering a glimpse into the personality of his mysterious officemate.

Lost in thought, Spencer was startled by the sound of the door opening. He turned to see a woman entering the room, her presence commanding attention. She was tall and elegant, with long black hair cascading over her shoulders and piercing gray eyes framed by black-rimmed glasses. Dressed in a chic black blouse and wide-legged suit pants, she exuded confidence and poise.

The soft lighting of the office accentuated the delicate features of her face—the slight curve of her lips, the subtle arch of her eyebrows, and the gentle contours of her cheeks. Her long black hair framed her face like a cascading waterfall, adding to her allure.

"Dr. Brittany Reed, I presume?" Spencer said, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

The woman flashed him a warm smile as she approached. "That's me. And you must be Dr. Spencer Reid," she replied, extending her hand.

Spencer shook her hand, feeling a surge of awkwardness at the physical contact. "Yes, that's correct. It's nice to meet you, Dr. Reed."

Brittany chuckled, her laughter filling the room. "Call me Brittany. And isn't it funny how our last names sound so similar? Reed and Reid!"

Spencer couldn't help but smile at the coincidence, though his mind was still racing with thoughts and observations. He watched as Brittany settled into her desk, effortlessly navigating the space with a grace he could only admire from afar.

"I hope you don't mind my mess," Brittany said. "They're doing some renovations in the department, so we'll have to make do with sharing for now."

"No problem at all," Spencer replied as he sat down, trying to sound more relaxed than he felt. He couldn't help but observe Brittany. She had an easy going demeanor, and her laughter filled the room as they kept talking.

"So, Spencer, what made you decide to leave the FBI and join us here at Georgetown?"

Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind racing to find the right words. "Well, it's... it's a long story. I suppose I just needed a change of pace, a new challenge."

Brittany nodded understandingly, her gaze curious but non-intrusive. "I can imagine. It must be quite a transition."

"Yeah, it definitely is," Spencer admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I'm still trying to find my footing, to be honest."

She chuckled and said, "Well, at least you won't have to worry about any serial killers lurking in the halls. Just your typical college students—though some of them could probably use a session or two with a therapist!"

"Actually, statistically speaking, there's quite a bit to consider regarding the prevalence of certain behaviors among college-aged individuals," Spencer began, his tone becoming more animated as he delved into his area of expertise. "For instance, did you know that approximately 10% of college students admit to engaging in some form of criminal activity?"

Brittany's eyebrows raised in interest, encouraging Spencer to continue.

"And when we look at specific types of crimes, the numbers are even more alarming," Spencer continued, his words picking up speed as he delved into his analysis. "According to recent studies, nearly 20% of college students report having committed acts of vandalism, while over 30% admit to underage drinking, and approximately 20% acknowledge using illicit substances."

He paused, taking a moment to gauge Brittany's reaction. To his surprise, she was listening intently, her eyes fixed on him with genuine curiosity.

"But it's not just about the crimes themselves," Spencer continued, his voice gaining momentum. "We also have to consider the underlying factors that contribute to this behavior. Academic stress, peer pressure, and socioeconomic disparities all play a significant role in shaping the choices students make."

As Spencer delved deeper into his analysis, he couldn't help but notice Brittany's attentive demeanor. She didn't interrupt him or try to redirect the conversation—instead, she seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"And when you factor in the influence of social media and online communities," Spencer added, his mind racing with data and statistics, "the potential for criminal behavior among college students becomes even more complex. It's a multifaceted issue that requires a comprehensive understanding of human behavior and societal trends... But you probably know about that because you are an expert in how technology influences society..."

He stared at her in awe, struck by her patience and genuine interest in his ramblings.

"Sorry, I started rambling," Spencer said, his voice filled awkwradness.

Brittany smiled warmly, her gray eyes meeting his with understanding. "No need to apologize, Spencer. I found what you had to say incredibly insightful!"

"Thank you," Spencer said, his voice carrying a hint of gratitude as he turned his gaze away from her. Despite his efforts to maintain composure, he couldn't shake the sheepish feeling that crept over him.

"Have there been any studies on the prevalence of criminal behavior among professors?" she asked him, as she walked over to his desk and sat on the edge, her thigh now partially resting on the wood.

Spencer couldn't help but notice the change in perspective, her presence suddenly more pronounced. From this angle, she looked even more captivating, and Spencer found himself momentarily distracted by her proximity.

"Um, well, criminal tendencies among professors are... um..." Spencer's words trailed off as he struggled to maintain his train of thought, his gaze inadvertently drawn to Brittany's intent expression. He could feel her eyes on him, watching him closely as he stumbled over his words.

"Sorry, I, uh..." Spencer felt a flush of embarrassment color his cheeks. He cleared his throat and continued.

"To answer your question, there have been studies that suggest... um, criminal tendencies within academia have been the subject of numerous studies over the years. While it's true that the vast majority of professors uphold the highest ethical standards, there have been instances where individuals within the academic community have been implicated in criminal activities."

He paused briefly, glancing at Brittany before continuing, captivated by her attentive gaze.

"But it's mostly cases of academic fraud, research misconduct, and even instances of embezzlement within universities," Spencer explained, his words flowing effortlessly as he delved into the nuances of the topic. "The pressures of academia, combined with the temptation of personal gain, can sometimes lead individuals down a dangerous path."

As he spoke, Spencer couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for Brittany's genuine interest in the subject. Her unwavering attention fueled his confidence, allowing him to articulate his thoughts with clarity and precision.

"And while these cases are relatively rare, they serve as a reminder that no profession is immune to the influence of criminal behavior," he reiterated, his voice filled with conviction. "It's a complex issue that warrants further examination, both from a societal and institutional perspective."

He paused, his eyes lingering on Brittany for a moment longer before a playful glint sparked in them. "But not many serial killers," he added with a hint of amusement, a small smile playing on his lips.

Brittany chuckled softly, her own smile mirroring Spencer's. "Thankfully, we don't have to worry about that here," she replied, her tone light and teasing.

She gracefully turned and walked back to her desk. Spencer couldn't tear his gaze away, mesmerized by the effortless sway of her hips with each step she took. He found himself captivated by the fluidity of her movements, the subtle elegance that seemed to exude from every gesture.

Unconsciously, Spencer leaned back in his chair, his eyes tracing the contours of Brittany's figure as she moved across the room. He felt a rush of warmth flood his cheeks, his pulse quickening at the sight before him.

Once Brittany settled back into her chair, Spencer quickly averted his gaze, focusing intently on the papers scattered across his desk. He could feel the heat still lingering in his cheeks from his earlier observation, and he silently chastised himself for allowing his thoughts to wander.

Her effortless confidence and poise were a stark contrast to Spencer's own awkwardness, and in her presence, he felt acutely aware of his own shortcomings. Her warmth and charisma seemed to draw him in, yet at the same time, they left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.

He busied himself with arranging the papers on his desk, his movements slightly fumbled as he tried to regain his composure.

Despite his best efforts to mask his unease, he couldn't shake the feeling of being out of his depth. It was as if her mere presence had a way of unraveling the carefully constructed walls he had built around himself.

But even as he struggled to find his footing, Spencer couldn't deny the strange allure of Brittany's presence. There was something captivating about her confidence and poise, something that drew him in despite his own insecurities.

As Spencer busied himself with organizing his desk, he felt the weight of Brittany's gaze upon him. Every so often, he would steal a glance in her direction, only to find her looking back at him with a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips.

It was as if she could see right through him, could sense the flutter of nerves in his chest and the slight flush that colored his cheeks whenever she glanced his way. Despite his attempts to appear composed, Brittany's perceptive gaze seemed to unravel him with ease.

Spencer couldn't help but feel a mixture of embarrassment and intrigue at the way Brittany seemed to effortlessly read him like an open book.

After a while of engrossed work, a knock on the door interrupted their quiet concentration. Spencer and Brittany exchanged glances before Brittany rose to answer it.

Opening the door, Brittany greeted the woman with a warm smile. "Maya! Come in," she exclaimed, gesturing for the red-haired woman to enter.

Maya stepped into the office with a bright grin. "Hey, Brittany! How's your first day going?" she asked cheerfully, glancing around the room.

Brittany motioned towards Spencer. "Maya, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's our new colleague here at our department. And this is Dr. Maya Cooper, her office's next to ours and she's my friend!" she introduced.

Spencer offered a polite smile, feeling a bit self-conscious "Nice to meet you, Dr. Cooper," he greeted.

"Hello Dr. Reid. That's funny you guys share an office... You know... with the names..."

Maya's gaze shifted between Spencer and Brittany before she turned back to Brittany with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Hey, so I was thinking... Since it's the start of the academic year and all, how about we all go out for drinks later? A little professor integration, if you will," she suggested, a hint of excitement in her voice.

Brittany's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "That sounds like a fantastic idea! What do you say, Spencer? Would you like to join us?" she asked, her gaze lingering on him with a hopeful smile.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, feeling the familiar tug of apprehension in his chest. The idea of going out for drinks with his new colleagues made him feel slightly uneasy. But as he glanced at Brittany, her warm smile and genuine invitation softened his resolve.

"Um, sure, I... I'd be up for it," Spencer replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

The girls' faces lit up with delight at his acceptance, and Maya clapped her hands together excitedly. "Great! It's settled then. Adam and Carly are also coming! Oh, and Brittany, don't forget to ask Lawrence to come along. The more, the merrier!" she exclaimed before turning to leave.

Spencer fidgeted with a pen on his desk, his mind swirling with thoughts about the upcoming gathering.

"Do you and Lawrence know Maya well?" Spencer ventured cautiously, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

"Yeah, we've known each other for a while," Brittany replied with a smile, sensing Spencer's apprehension.

"It's nice that you include him and spend time with both him and your work colleagues," Spencer remarked, hoping to steer the conversation in a casual direction.

Brittany chuckled softly at Spencer's assumption, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Oh my god? Do you think that Lawrence is my boyfriend?" she replied, amusement evident in her voice.

Spencer's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he realized his mistake. "Oh, I, uh... I see, I'm sorry. I just thought..." he stammered, feeling relieved yet still unsure of himself.

Brittany's laughter filled the air, her amusement contagious. "Don't worry, Spencer. It's okay. Also Lawrence is very much unavailable... in that way, at least," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Spencer's confusion deepened at Brittany's cryptic remark, but before he could inquire further, she offered a reassuring smile. "He's gay, Spencer. Very gay! And he's my neighbor and my best friend!" she clarified with a playful wink.

Understanding dawned on Spencer, and he couldn't help but join in Brittany's laughter. "Got it," he replied, feeling a sense of relief wash over him.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Brittany asked teasingly, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"What? No, of course not. Why would I..." Spencer started to reply, his voice trailing off as he realized Brittany was joking.

She laughed, the sound light and playful. "I'm joking!" she exclaimed, shaking her head at Spencer's earnest response.

Brittany continued to laugh, finding the idea of Lawrence being her boyfriend utterly hilarious. Spencer couldn't help but laugh along with her, grateful for her easy going nature.

After their classes concluded, Brittany and Spencer made their way to the metro station together, sharing casual conversation along the journey. The excitment of the evening's gathering filled the air as they rode the train to the bar where their colleagues were waiting.

As they arrived at the bar, Spencer took in the ambiance of the place. It was a cozy establishment with dim lighting, exposed brick walls adorned with vintage posters, and a lively atmosphere. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, mingling with the soft melody of background music.

Brittany and Spencer found their colleagues gathered around a table in the corner of the bar. Maya and Lawrence were already seated, engaged in animated conversation. Two other individuals, Adam and Carly, joined them, completing the group.

Brittany intoduced Spencer with a warm smile as they approached the table, gesturing for him to take a seat beside her. Lawrence, a tall black man dressed in a bright dress shirt and colorful pants, flashed a friendly grin as they sat down.

"Spencer, this is Lawrence," Brittany introduced, her tone light and playful. "Lawrence, meet Spencer. He thought you were my boyfriend!"

Lawrence's eyes widened in mock horror, and he feigned a dramatic gasp. "Oh no, not another one!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I might just have to throw up if I hear that again."

Spencer chuckled nervously, feeling a pang of embarrassment at Lawrence's jest. He glanced at Brittany, who was smiling mischievously, clearly enjoying the exchange.

As Brittany turned to Spencer, her voice laced with amusement, she asked, "So, what'll it be? I'm heading to the bar."

Spencer quickly rose from his seat, a determined look in his eyes as he replied, "I'll order for us."

Brittany raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled by Spencer's sudden assertiveness. "Oh, really?" she quipped, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Quit the gentleman act, Spencer. I'm perfectly capable of buying drinks. You can buy me coffee some day. Now, what are you having?"

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then replied simply, "Water."

Brittany's eyes widened in surprise, a hint of incredulity in her voice as she repeated, "Water?"

"Yes," Spencer confirmed, nodding firmly.

"You'll have water?" Brittany pressed, unable to hide her amusement.

"Yes," Spencer repeated, his tone unwavering.

"Okay," Brittany said, shaking her head with a laugh. "One water for Spencer."

As she made her way to the bar, Spencer couldn't help but smile at Brittany's playful teasing.

They sat at the table, enjoying their drinks and conversation and Brittany sipped on her second beer, the lively atmosphere of the bar enveloping them.

Spencer couldn't help but notice the way Brittany's hand wrapped around the cold glass of beer, her long coffin-shaped nails painted in a subtle beige hue. The soft clinking of her gold rings against the glass created a gentle melody that resonated in the air

Suddenly, one of the bartenders approached, placing a colorful drink before Brittany and pointing to a guy at the bar, indicating that it was from him.

Brittany looked at the drink with a mixture of surprise and mild disgust, then glanced over at the guy at the bar. "Oh my god," she exclaimed, her expression incredulous.

Maya and Lawrence burst into laughter at Brittany's reaction. "Why would he even buy me a drink? I'm drinking beer. Is he blind?" Brittany wondered aloud, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Well, it's not very ladylike of you. He knew better what you'd like!" Lawrence teased, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Yeah, how could you know what you should drink? He's here to tell you!" Carly added, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Spencer watched the whole interaction unfold, intrigued by the dynamics of Brittany's friendship group. Brittany continued to stare at the drink, seemingly at a loss for what to do with it.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" she mused aloud, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Go to him and say thank you. He's not that bad looking," Lawrence suggested with a mischievous grin, eliciting laughter from the group.

"I'll take it!" Maya declared enthusiastically, already enjoying a similar drink of her own. Brittany pushed the glass towards her friend with a grateful smile, relieved to be rid of the unexpected gesture.

As they left the bar, Brittany lit up a cigarette, the glow casting a warm light on her face as they continued their conversation. They debated which way to go home, their voices mingling with the sounds of the city streets.

Suddenly, the guy from the bar approached Brittany, catching her attention. "Hey..." he started, but Brittany turned to him with a polite smile, saying hi.

"So, I was thinking..." he began, but Brittany swiftly interrupted him, her hand reaching out to grasp Spencer's arm as she came up with a quick solution to rid themselves of the unwanted attention.

"Sorry," she interjected, her tone firm but friendly. "I'm here with my boyfriend."

As Brittany's hand gently closed around Spencer's arm, a rush of warmth spread through him, unexpected but not unwelcome. Her touch, though brief, sent a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, stirring something deep within him.

And when she casually referred to him as her boyfriend, a small thrill ran down his spine, igniting a flicker of excitement in his chest. Though he didn't say anything in response, the subtle shift in his demeanor didn't go unnoticed.

The guy's expression shifted, his eyes widening in realization. "Oh, right! Sorry, man! I didn't know. Have a great night!" he exclaimed, before quickly turning and disappearing into the night.

"Okay, we have to go. Bye guys," Carly said quickly, her voice cutting through the chatter as she and Maya and Adam hurriedly hailed a taxi that had just arrived.

Lawrence also chimed in, "I gotta go the other way... I might... have a date..." With a wave, he disappeared into the bustling city streets.

Suddenly, Spencer and Brittany found themselves alone, the noise of the city enveloping them once more. Brittany turned to Spencer, her expression apologetic. "I'm sorry for what I said back there... I didn't mean to imply..."

Spencer nodded understandingly, a small smile playing on his lips. "It's okay, Brittany. I understand," he reassured her, grateful for her quick thinking in diffusing the situation.

Brittany sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she visibly eased into the conversation. "You know, sometimes guys just let go easier when there's a threat of a boyfriend," she explained, a hint of frustration in her voice. "It's like they can't take no for an answer unless they think you're taken."

Spencer nodded in agreement, glanced at her ciggarete and remarked, "6 minutes."

Brittany furrowed her brow in confusion. "What?" she asked

"That's what I used to tell my mom when she'd light a cigarette," Spencer explained, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "A cigarette takes 6 minutes of your life, so every time she smoked one, I'd tell her that it's 6 minutes less I get to spend with her."

"That's sweet... I'm still gonna smoke. I only smoke when I drink. I don't know why..." Brittany trailed off, her voice carrying a hint of resignation.

Spencer interrupted her gently, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Actually, there's a psychological explanation for that," he began, his tone measured as he launched into an explanation.

"You see, smoking and drinking often go hand in hand because they both activate the brain's reward system. When you drink alcohol, it increases the levels of dopamine in your brain, which makes you feel good. Smoking can have a similar effect, releasing dopamine and other neurotransmitters that produce feelings of pleasure and relaxation."

Brittany listened intently as Spencer continued to explain, his words weaving a fascinating narrative about the intricate workings of the brain and its response to certain stimuli.

"Additionally, there's also the social aspect to consider," Spencer added. "Smoking is often associated with socializing and relaxation, so when you're out with friends and having a few drinks, the urge to smoke can be especially strong."

Brittany nodded thoughtfully, absorbing Spencer's words with interest. "That makes sense," she mused, a newfound understanding dawning in her eyes.

"Yeah, it's all about the brain's response to different stimuli and the associations we make with certain behaviors," he concluded, his voice warm with enthusiasm.

He smiled as Brittany hummed in response, the sound of her exhaling smoke mingling with the cool evening air. He watched her for a moment, noticing the way her features softened in contemplation, her gray eyes reflecting the glow of the streetlights.

As they continued walking, the realization slowly dawned on them that they were both heading in the same direction. Spencer cleared his throat, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"So, uh, which way are you headed?" he asked, his tone casual but tinged with curiosity.

Brittany glanced at him, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Funny enough, I live just a few blocks from here," she replied, her voice warm with surprise.

Spencer's eyes widened in realization. "Really? Me too," he exclaimed, a sense of serendipity settling over him.

Brittany chuckled softly, a twinkle in her eye. "Looks like we're neighbors then," she remarked, her tone light and playful.

"Yeah, it seems that way," he replied.

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