#the leg smack because John can't reach his head

[spencerscoven]

— sad girl

about ; Spencer wants you more than anything, but he already has someone waiting at home for him.

gif by saramichellesgellar

CONTENT WARNING: smut, oral sex (fem receiving), slight choking, fingering, semi public intercourse, unprotected sex, cheating, brief mentions of violence, slight angst

a/n : came out of the fic closet for this <3 any request, concepts, or if you would like to be in a tag list, send your request to my inbox !! and enjoy

Being a mistress on the side, it might not appeal to fools like you...

What you could never tell a soul was that it started months before, weeks before he had ever first officially laid his hands on you. The lingering eyes, antsy hands, the words that had meant something else that went unsaid. They had implied the words that Spencer would never say out loud, in fear of the guilt that lined his stomach: I want you. But I have her.

Creeping around on the side, would not be something you would do...

JJ kissed him on the cheek, hands softly massaging the knots of his shoulders while she whispered the words that announced, "something came up..." and with that, she left Spencer with the taste of desire on his lips as his eyes gaped towards your direction. He watched you like he always did when he got a chance, seeing how the tips of your fingers ran across the edge of your cubical, your legs cross and eyebrows furrowed in thought. He knew what you were reading— only because his eyes glazed over the same file. The unsub was a 43 year old man with the signature of engraving x's into his victim's chests. And he wondered, thought hard, if you could focus on the case while you wore a skirt that tight.

"JJ's gone? Hotch just left, looks like it's just you and me. Now, what do you think of this?"

You inquired, shocking Spencer into looking up to see you standing beside him, the steps you took to get there unknown to him at the time they had happened. He pinched his thigh through his slacks. Get a grip.

You slid into his cubical next to him, stacking "The Narrative Of John Smith" in the next corner, along with his other books that were too advanced for you to even begin to understand, so you could sit your hips on his desk and place the annotated file next to him.

"So, I've found that Avery Pincher was abandoned by his mother at eight. She found another life elsewhere, and he didn't fit into the picture... you get the gist of it all," You looked up and smiled sheepishly, flattening out the top of your skirt which allowed Spencer's eyes to heed recognition of the smooth goosebumps laid on your thighs. He wanted skin to skin, mouth to mouth.

But you haven't seen my man... you haven't seen my man.

"Cold?" He questioned, sight trailing up your torso, only to see that your eyes already met his.

He could keep this up like he had for months, he could act like he couldn't cut though the tension between them. He could imagine that Morgan didn't squint his eyes at him every time he said your name in the conference room. He could set his hopes on thinking he had enough strength to go home and meet JJ, make love to her instead of fantasizing about fucking you. It was part of his job, bending people to his decree and staying in control. But he just didn't have the will when it came to you.

"Cold? No Reid— So I studied the letters his mother sent him after she left, all of them signed with an X, for kisses, as she signed them off. She thought it was endearing, he didn't seem to like it... hence his signature and the victims looking like her—"

"Then why do you have goosebumps?" He announced, rather than asked, as his long fingers wrapped around the top of your knee. He felt you take in a sharp breath before he heard it.

He's got the fire, and he walks with flames...

"Think about what you're doing, Reid. You think I haven’t caught onto these little things? Because I have,” Your words were spoken with quiet vexation even though you leaned towards his chest, but most importantly they told him that you knew. Your eyes were criminal, finally revealing your awareness of the depraved cat and mouse game that kept up between the two of you.

You'd seen the way he watched you. You'd felt his eyes down your blouse, his fingers that ghosted too long on your waist as he opened the door for you in the mornings. You’d spent nights thinking, rationalizing that Spencer was brilliant, and surely knew what was good for himself. You fought so hard, only to land on the realization he was just a man. A man with an insufferable craving in the pit of his stomache.

"I can feel your pulse. I have thought about this. Day in, day out. You don't think I've seen you looking too?" He stood, hands dragging further up your legs, to your waist, under your skirt, your hipbone, the insides of your thighs to feel your heat. He couldn't stop the soft smile forming on his lips when you sighed.

"Here you are, ass on my desk, pussy right in front of me, and you're telling me you didn't know this was bound to happen?”

His Bonnie on the side, his Bonnie on the side...

His lips mashed into yours, wasting no time, both your breaths hitching as teeth clashed and he fought to destroy you, to drown you in dizziness and lust. Finally, finally, finally, skin to skin, mouth to mouth. With his hands wrapped around your neck, nails digging in and stifling the moans threatening to uprise in your throat as he held you back from his lips, allowing you to gaze up drunkenly as your head lulled back and forth.

"I've barely touched you." You could hear the smirk in his voice, sticking your tongue out as he slowly pulled at your wet panties, your black skirt already bunched up your waist.

"This is what you want?" He mockingly laughed, gathering his saliva and spitting upon your tongue, serving his passion with hostility.

Obediently, you swallowed, thrusting your lower half into his own abdomen before your lips connected again, good sense and respect thrown out the window as you two forgot completely about the world outside, allowing each other to envelop each whole.

"You've been waiting to do this forever, I can taste it on my lips... so go ahead and ruin me." You murmured softly, as if the building was full and it was only meant for him to hear, but roughy in nature, your hands reaching for his cock that was already hard and showcasing a tent in his pants. Spencer slapped them away, placing your hands back on the edge of the desk as he situated himself in the leather chair of his office, pulling your pussy closer to his face.

"Spencer—"

"I think about you a little more than I should. I think about this," He hungrily ran his middle finger down your vagina, spreading your wetness from your hole to your clit, basking in the way it glimmered off the insides of your thighs before placing the tip of his finger between his lips, a selfish act. "well, I think about this a lot."

You reach your hands down to cup his cheeks in silent approval, his pupils dilated while he begins to pump just his middle finger in and out at a steady pace, your hips thrusting up to meet his just seconds before his tongue pounces. At first he doesn't hear your noises— too focused on your taste and allure as he takes your clit into his mouth and sucks, adding another finger. Above him, you grasp the short cubical wall, holding on as if you'd fall into endless abyss without it, making animalistic noises that make Spencer think he could die right there and here, his face and fingers buried in your cunt. He's a man of science, yet he thinks he's seen God.

He witnesses you grab his head of hair, pushing him up against you and grinding up and down as if you couldn't get enough, shouting his name, and spouting your release on his lips. You twitch, riding out your high with his face planted between your legs and your soul located on another planet.

You look down to witness Spencer cleaning you off with his tongue, his mouth swallowing your wetness that had spread to your thighs, his hips under a spell, causing them to thrust into the empty space, allowing you to realize in that moment that he hadn't even noticed he was doing it, either. You grab him by the top of his sweater bringing his face to your level with a simple request,

"Fuck me, Spencer?"

He smiles gleefully, reaching down to unbuckle his trousers that already spotted precum on the front of them, a moan rising lowly in his throat.

"I need to get this dick inside of you before I cum." He pumps himself a few times, before pushing into your cunt, hand rising to hold your legs back, unable to keep the strident moan from coming out of his throat, your fingernails drilling into his hips, waist, mouth, neck, anything you could grasp.

He's got the fire and he walks with flames...

One after the other, his hips snap to yours quickly, meeting in a smack as his thumb connects between the both of you in circles to rub, coaxing your second orgasm out.

He's got the fire and he talks with flames...

You both moan out, cumming over one another, producing what Spencer would call "the perfect melody", if there had ever been one.

He kisses you one last time, and this time's different. It feels like longing, and you can't be too sure as you draw back to look at him and he stares blankly across the room, breath heavy. You watch as he bends to look through his desk, pulling out a tissue and wiping his cum from your core softly, eyes focused on anything but your face before he's shoving it into his pocket to dispose of outside the office.

What shocks you most is when he takes your peach panties that were once discarded on the floor and tucks them into his desk, under files, for safe keeping. But Spencer still won't meet your eyes.

You hoist your hips up, sliding off the surface of the wooden desk to spread out your skirt, now wrinkled, and to sweep your hair out of your face, that to your surprise, he does himself to catch your attention.

"Look, I just..." He begins, and you bite your lip, the realization of what you've done setting in.

In the back of your mind, you know what makes you actually feel bad. It’s the fact that you don't feel much remorse, if at all, and it causes the high tides of your mind to drown, shame swallowing you from the inside out. The lingering touches, the stares— the everything, they happened before Spencer and JJ. You reminisce, afraid to blink, scared that you’d see the memories of Spencer telling you about her would come flashing behind your eyelids, replaying like they always did at night.

Before he was JJ's, he was yours. Part of you begged to say he still was, even though you watched who he walked into the office with each day when they exited the same car, hand in hand. You tilted your head, as if to encourage him to go on, to finish telling you he regretted it, even if his eyes showed the opposite. There was not a single chance in the world that he could utter what he really wanted to, not after he had been pining after her for years. Not one of you were stupid enough to do that and you knew it.

His Bonnie on the side, his Bonnie on the side, makes me a sad, sad girl...

"I just wanted to tell you that I know we shouldn't have done this but—"

He glances down as the phone in his left pocket begins to ring, and before he even pulls it out, both of you are eerily aware of exactly who it is, the ironical energy of it all lingers in the air as Spencer gives you a sad look, picking up the phone.

"Hello? Oh— no. I was just getting ready to leave. Just finishing up the night." He looks right at you, contemplating, before cleaning off the rest of your wetness on his chin with the sleeve of his jumper. He’s just fucked you silly, only to go home to her.

You find yourself shoving your heels on and collecting your things off your desk across the room, his eyes following you and doing the same.

I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl...

Spencer walks beside you to the doors of the BAU, knowing that hours from now, in the morning, you’d both come to work. You'd act like it never happened, avoid and ignore each other, until wondering hands wondered again. Until then, Spencer would deny himself of the woman he spent his time thinking about. He’d act as if he didn't need you.

He placed his hand on your lower back as he opened the doors ahead of you, slinging his messenger bag strap higher up his shoulders, and let his fingers dawdle there for just a second more than needed, the signal not unbeknownst to you. With just the two of you here, he loiters on the idea that that cannot ever be, you and him. And on his lips he tastes spite, mixed with wishful thinking.

I'm a sad girl, I'm a sad girl, I'm a mad girl.

part 2

masterlist

#spencerscoven #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x reader #angst #bau #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fanfic #requests #bau fanfic

[sofreddie]

Sam's Revenge (Part 3)

Characters: Sam x Ruby, Crowley, Reader (mentioned), Others mentioned

Warnings: Angst, Dubcon, Smut, Blood (drinking and kink, I suppose), Jealous!Ruby, Betrayal

Word Count: 1,307

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

PART 2

Ruby rolled her eyes as she watched Sam fail yet again at killing a demon. With a little magic work and deep rooting, she was able to gets Sam's conscious to reconnect with his psychic abilities. However, Sam continuously refused her offer of her blood to help his skills. He had done that before, and he didn't want to go that way again.

That didn't stop the yearning from rising up once more, his body remembering the high, the power, the rush. Just being around her aroused his addiction, among other things. After weeks at her side, he was feeling like a recovering alcoholic swimming in whiskey, desperately trying not to taste it.

The demon in the chair laughed and mocked Sam as he struggled to control his powers. He cast a pitiful glance at Ruby before storming out of the abandoned house with a huff. Ruby cast a menacing glance at the restrained demon before following after Sam.

"I can't do it," Sam complained to her as she joined him outside, "I'm not strong enough. How am I gonna defeat Crowley if I can't even kill a piss ant demon?" he huffed frustratingly at himself.

"You know how," she spoke quietly, not wanting to anger him further, but persistently pushing him as she had been since reuniting, "You can control it," she pushed.

"No!" he roared at her, "I-I can't do that. I can't."

Ruby huffed and rolled her eyes once more, irritated with this 'good' side of Sam.

"You were much more agreeable without a soul," she muttered gloomily.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me," she stood her ground, "Your soul is holding you back. Without it, you'd be able to clearly see the path to revenge. With it…you're weak," she spat.

Sam grabbed her by the throat, squeezing tightly. She was quick to escape his grasp, smacking him away with a laugh.

"You can't even kill a piss ant demon, remember?" she laughed, looking him up and down with disappointment, "Find someone else's help."

She turned back towards the house, killing the restrained demon before taking off, leaving Sam alone with his thoughts.

Sam tried to continue on his own, finding and trapping demons to flex his powers. He was getting closer and closer, but it was still too much strain on him. The last one had chosen a young girl as a meatsuit and Sam suffered and struggled through her cries of pain and begging.

As happened often lately, he found himself wishing he didn't have his soul back.

His soul made him feel.

It made him care about things that weren't his mission. Like that girl.

It was a distraction.

Not having a soul is what started all this, his mind reminded him mockingly.

Maybe I can remove it temporarily, said the little voice in the back of his mind, then just put it back when I'm done.

Then he wouldn't be distracted.

Then there'd only be the mission.

"Sam? Wha-" Ruby was surprised to see Sam outside her motel room. It had been weeks and states later, yet he still found her. Her eyes fell to the familiar necklace he used to wear before flitting back to meet his gaze.

Sam tucked the necklace under his shirt as he took a step into the room with a smirk.

"I've been reconsidering your offer," he said, turning to look at her as she shut the door. She knew that look. The look of a hungry predator as his eyes raked from head to toe and back again slowly.

"Who says it's still on the table?" she asked coyly, walking towards him. Sam smirked when she was within reach, snatching her up against his body firmly.

"Who said I was asking?" he growled before slamming his lips into hers roughly. She responded eagerly, molding her body into his as she moaned into the kiss. Sam's hands wrapped around her thighs, hoisting her around his waist as he carried her over to the bed.

Their clothes were gone in a flash, their eagerness to reconnect boiling in their blood. Sam slid into her with a groan, his mouth latched around a nipple. His eyes closed as he savored the feeling of her heat around him once more.

She wriggled her hips and Sam's attention snapped up to her. She was always so beautiful, so willing, so giving. Sam groaned, capturing her lips once more as he began to thrust within her. He distracted her with kisses as he reached to the nightstand, grabbing the switchblade she had there. He pulled back from the kiss, holding her eye contact as he lifted the blade to her arm, creating a cut that instantly oozed blood.

He dropped the knife to the bed, his mouth hungrily latching onto her bleeding arm, sucking the warm, rich liquid into his mouth as he pounded into her harder and harder, chasing their orgasms.

She ran the fingers of her other hand through his hair soothingly as she spread her legs wider for him, blissfully happy to have her Sam back once again.

She was right. He could control it much better now. The problem was he didn't want to, didn't even try. Instead he let go and embraced it - the blood, the power, the dark.

She was in over her head.

She'd never imagined Sam could get this strong and she knew it was only a matter of time until he didn't need her anymore. Sam was solely focused on his revenge mission and nothing and no one mattered beyond that.

She could accept the power trip. She could accept the darkness in him. But the events of the previous night pushed her over the edge and into Crowley's throne room.

"Ruby," Crowley crooned with a smile, "What brings a traitorous little whore like you to my throne room?"

"I need protection from Sam Winchester," she explained, "He's off the rails."

"And whose fault is that?" Crowley sneered at her.

"He's coming for you," she continued with a gulp, "Plans to kill you and your mother." He didn't need her to elaborate. He expected Sam to come for him at some point in time. Whether for revenge over his parents or because John or Dean had sent him. It didn't really matter why he was coming, Crowley knew he had plenty of reasons regardless.

Crowley regarded her coolly for a moment, "I know how you feel about the younger Winchester. So what, pray tell, would drive you to turn on him?"

Ruby swallowed thickly as she rubbed her throat and recounted the events that ultimately led her there.

She'd heard it, clear as day. Sam was sleeping in the bed beside her and she heard him moaning a name. As she focused more intently, she could hear the name clearly - Y/N.

Who the Hell was Y/N, and why was Sam suddenly calling out for her in his sleep?

She woke him in a fit of jealousy that surprised even herself. Sam was hers.

"Who is Y/N?" she asked with great offense, "You were calling her name in your sleep."

"None of your business," Sam mumbled groggily, rolling to his side and turning his back to her. She huffed and shoved his shoulder.

"You sluttin' around now? Do I gotta show this slut who you belong to?"

In a flash, Sam had rolled over on top of her, his hand around her throat choking her as he growled, "You will never speak her name again, you hear me demon whore? I will kill you."

"Y/N, hmm?" Crowley tapped a finger against his chin in thought, "Most likely Y/N Y/L/N no doubt. Isn't she Dean's wife?" he mused to himself before leaning forward on his throne and grinning at Ruby, "Maybe we can help each other after all."

PART 4

Forevers:

@winchesterprincessbride

@iamcmims

@roxyspearing

@reigningqueenofwords

@mogaruke

@ellen-reincarnated1967

@speakinvain

@atc74

@sterekloveaffairs

@mrs-meghan-winchester

@chook007

@growningupgeek

@goldenolaf25

@esoltis280

@hobby27

@sis-tafics

@arryn-nyxx

@x-waywardaf-x

@shann-the-artist-moon

@sandlee44

@lucywinchester2000

@emoryhemsworth

@time-travel-bouqet

@buckysbrat

@calaofnoldor

@spnbaby-67

@miraclesoflove

@lyarr24

Sam's Revenge:

@allethalove @squirrelnotsam

@salt-n-burn-em-all

@idreamofdeanie

#sam's revenge #sam winchester #dark!fic #supernatural #spn #dark!series #tw: dubcon

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

2. Mona Lisa

I stay in a two room double on campus which means that I share a bathroom, but the room is my own to do with as I please, within reason.

Typically, I'm milking this privacy for the money to fund my education while simultaneously releasing my sexual tension in the most taboo of ways.

Sighing, brush my teeth and reapply my lip gloss in the mirror. I can feel tremors in my poor peach, she's reminiscing on the good times when she was exhaulted like the queen she is. Men would spend literal hours worshiping her every crevice and pay me handsomely for it.

Four days down, ten to go, I tell myself.

Sex is my ideal outlet for stress relief. It's my interest, my hobby, my reprieve. As you can imagine, I have to change my sheets on a daily basis, but I don't mind that.

Yes, I have brought a number of guys over to participate in certain acts that I'm sure my bathroom mate has heard through the wall. She doesn't look me in the eye anymore though I always speak to her.. and she hasn't done so for the past month or so. I think she's traumatized.

Tickled, I re-apply my sunscreen and change into my grey PINK leggings with matching sports bra, pulling my 360 install into a curly high bun and stretching to prepare for my mid-day jog.

Everyday, I jog through the Main Quad and work up a sparkle, since princesses don't sweat.

I carry a pink hydro flask and I jog as far as I can push myself to go, often ending up at the Oval, a place where students play volleyball and walk dogs. I like to sit out from time to time and watch.

Then I head back to my room and assemble my hygiene kit to take into the bathroom. I shower, cleanse, exfoliate if necessary, moisturize, and redress for the evening.

Today's evening wear is a black graphic half shirt with a gold crown printed on and black high waisted shorts with black platform sneakers from Dolls Kill. I add my gold anklet for mood before turning on my music.

Pretty little bird, pretty little bird

You've hit the window a few times (the window a few times)

You're pretty little bird, pretty little bird

You still ain't scared of no heights

When the spiral down feels as good as the flight

When hating you feels good for the night

When the morning comes, I hope you're still mine

My cellphone rings and it's Natalie, one of the black girls in this dorm. The first day we met, we made a silent pack to stick together, us and a couple others, and months down the road we've stuck to it.

"Back from your jog, Gem?"

"Yes, and I'm looking at my notes so no you cannot borrow them."

"Jokes on you, I took them yesterday when you were jogging and made copies, I'm set."

"You bitch," I tease. "What's the move tonight?"

"Whaaat? You're not busy with one of your John's?"

"Bitch, my legs are closed, my books are bussed wide open," I smile highlighting a sentence in the textbook. I have four exams to take.

Checking a text from one of my subs, Keon, I send a short reply with a 💋. He was just checking on me, asking about my studies.

"Well we're thinking of hitting a party with a few of the black exchange students."

Party?

My book slams shut. I have been extremely well-behaved this week, I deserve a little magic in my life. It won't hurt.

"Who's we?"

"Me, Kayla, Letitia, Kevin, and Chris."

Damn, Chris' fine ass can get it. I want him.

Okay, it's decided. I can finish up here, meet Mr. Stevens at 7 in his office, meet up with Natalie and the crew around 8 and then we'll head out. I can handle a few drinks.

Jumping up, I feel alive again for the first time in four days. I snatch up my makeup trunk and set it on my desk pulling out my handheld mirror.

Light beat. Lashes. Dark liner, heavy gloss.

I release my loosened strawberry curls from the bun letting them wave and fall on my shoulders.

xoxo

Approaching the office suite, I walk through to find that the other offices are already empty. I can tell because of the quiet and closed doors. Mr. Stevens' door is open and yellow artificial light streams into the small hallway.

When I come upon the door, Mr. Stevens is at his desk staring intently at a spread of papers, his gold-rimmed glasses fallen at the end of his nose.

My peach is telling me this scenario could be a problem. Dr. Stevens is a steak and lobster meal and my peach? She's salivating. Crossing my legs on the spot where I stand I knock on the door drawing his eye.

"Ms. Miller. Come in, have a seat."

Quickly, I plop down into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and sling my bag down to the floor beside my chair.

He awakens his computer, typing before reading through whatever's displayed. Then he turns the screen to face me and I'm looking at a layout of of my grades for the class. It's looking pretty good.

"Could be better," I stare waiting for what I came for.

"You're right, it could be. You see, as it stands everything for you is riding on this exam. You could walk away from this class with a high C or a high A. It's really up to you."

I lean forward with my elbows on the desk to look him in his narrow-set eyes.

"Look at my face, Mr. Stevens," I glare for emphasis. "Does it look like I'm down to settle for a high C? What did we discuss in the classroom?"

Again, it's a chess match of stares.

After about ten seconds this time, he pulls his glasses off, folding them gently and sitting them off the the side near the computer. He turns the computer screen back to it's original position and pulls a paper packet from his desk, raising it vertical with the print side facing towards himself and away from me.

It's the exam, I know it. I maintain eye contact.

"This," he pauses holding it up near his head. "If anyone... and I mean anyone.. discovers that you have this... you're on your own. I'll turn ya ass in so fast your head will spin. You will be expelled."

I've never heard him curse before.

"No one will find out, I'll guard it with my life."

"There's one more thing." He lowers the packet setting it away from me on the desk near his glasses. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I seem to recall you saying something along the lines of you not playing bout your grades or money.."

"Yeah?"

Licking his lips, he leans forward and I sit bolt straight.

"How far you willing to go for both?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

I blink in shock. Not good ol' Mr. Stevens! This has gotta be a joke. Mr. Hottie would never sleep with a student, he's far too strict. 

"Gemini," he whispers, the name lingering on his tongue in a way that gives me full body chills. How did he know my stage name?

"Mr. Stevens, I think you're mistaken. My name is Phoebe, remember?" I tilt my head to jog his memory. "Phoebe Miller?"

He scoffs, loosening his tie and I'm aware of myself breathing harder.. loudly.

He tosses his tie on the desk between us.

Unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt, I can see his sharp clavicle and a tease of the muscle beneath. My mouth is watering and he leans forward again.

"Let's skip the part where you play dumb and get straight to negotiations. You're a smart girl...Sexy," he whispers.

My eyes widen hearing that word come from his lips. My thighs press together. This isn't a body that can hold back once started up. He's treading dangerous ground.

I lean forward slightly and the corner of his lips lifts in a dark smirk.

I've never seen this man like this.

"I've been to Mickey's. You know, there's this move you do... on that pole... I've seen you do a few times now and I've been wondering every time I see your lil conceited ass in my class... how it would work if you tried it on a dick."

Shit.

He said the magic word! I'm wet. I'm wet! I cross my leg over my thigh and he sits back, standing tall as I look up at him, ready to do anything.

He walks over to the door, closing it gently and locking it. Panting, I watch him do it and then he walks back to his seat, reclining with his hands clasped loosely in front of him.

"I have the power to give you an A," he announces. "Right here, right now."

"Oh really."

Oh my fucking god, I'm so wet right now. I can feel it.

"Mhm... I can also ensure that you pass your other classes, no problem," he brushes his shoulder. "BUT."

"But," I breathe.

"I need something from you."

Blinking at his boldness, I can't help the lust that comes to my eyes. This is a fantasy. Shit like this does not happen.

"Yes?" I'm licking my lips, biting them in anticipation. Say it, I beg with my eyes. Say it!

"I want you.."

Yesss?

"..to be.."

I lean in closer.

"So eager," he laughs. "You know, the way you look at me, you remind me of the Mona Lisa. There's a secret behind your eyes and every time I see you... that's what the fuck I see. It's like you wanna fuck me..."

Sitting up again to lean forward, his face is now inches from mine.

"You're going to be my slave, Ms. Miller. My personal.. little slut. Just until the exams are over," he nods.

I have to think about that, but not for long.

"And you can ensure all A's," I confirm.

Smiling, he nods. It's the perfect scenario, I want to cry.

"Deal."

"You can't tell a soul," he whispers coming in closer. His breath smells like spearmint. His lips are centimeters away now and I can't hold myself back any longer, I close the distance meeting his soft lips with mine.

Getting as far as a peck, he pulls back looking away like a man who's just made a deal on something as trivial as a lawn gnome or a piece of patio furniture. There's an unrushed boredom that only serves to intrigue me as he goes through the buttons on his shirt, letting the white fabric fall open to reveal the built muscles I kind of knew were there... but never to this extent.

His skin looks like smooth rum and I want a taste, but he has a deliberate pattern of raised bumps all over his chest and abs. It's not a turn off. In fact, I can think of a few things to do with that.

He smirks as if reading my mind.

Leaning further forward, I'm out of my seat and leaning over the desk.

With my right hand I reach up to touch his right pectoral but snatch my hand back when he smacks it away. I feel the sting. He's heavy handed.

"Did I say you could touch me?" His eyes hold venom.

He sounds like me when I'm disciplining a sub.

"No sir."

"Don't smile."

"But my smile is so cute," I grin watching his wheels spin.

"That's true," he admits with a nod. "But you know what's even cuter?"

"There's cuter?" I tilt my head innocently and he smiles.

"Hm," he chuckles. "...Don't move."

Holding my position over his desk, I remain still as he stands up again, slowly circling out of my view. Behind me, he stands and I can feel his presence. I feel a spanking coming on. I can feel him-

"MM," I squeak feeling the first hit. It's firm, but not too rough.

"Shut up, you've taken worse," he comments and I wonder how he knows because it's true. This is nothing.

Hit number two comes and it's a little bit harder than the first.

"Be gentle," I whisper looking back.

The third hit is double the strength of the last, I feel it and breath out.

The fourth is much harder and I make a sound to let him know I feel it. He hears me because the next swat feels like he really reeled back and it stings. It has me anxious for the next hit.

"I once saw you take a flogger," he breathes and I hear it in his voice, he's getting excited. I wonder if his dick is hard. How big is it? "Who you think requested it," he huffs and the swat he takes makes me hit the desk.. for real this time.

"You're a sub-SSSS," I hiss throwing my head back. "Damnit, okay now," I warn."

"Move your hands."

I don't know.

"Get back down... and move your hands," he repeats firmly.

Hesitantly, I drop them and brace myself on the desk.

"Uh!" I close my mouth and gather myself. It really stings. He keeps hitting the same damn spot, but in the way that tying a rubber band around your finger feels good, it also feels good.

"Take those shorts off..," he mutters. I can hear him breathing and when I look back, he's taking the button up completely off and unbuckling his black leather belt. "Hurry up.. take it off."

#original #erik killmonger #killmonger #erik killmonger smut #killmonger smut #erik x oc #erik killmonger x oc #tales of a masochist

[caranfindel]

Fic: Flies in the Vaseline

gen, preseries | about 1700 words | PG-13 for language | characters: dean winchester, john winchester, sam winchester | warnings: gratuitous use of second person

Synopsis: The best hunters don't smoke. Inspired by a Tumblr post (waves to @road-rhythm​)

. . . . . . .

The first time your father caught you smoking, you braced for impact, literally and figuratively. You half expected him to smack the cigarette out of your lips. You definitely expected an angry lecture. But he just looked at you, so calm it was almost scary.

"That's not your first one," he finally said. "How often are you doing that?"

Emboldened, you finished the cigarette in one long, last draw, tossing it onto the asphalt and grinding it out with the tip of your boot. "Not a lot. Not every day. Just… sometimes."

"Mmm hmmm." He was still unnaturally calm. "You think that's a good idea?"

You swallowed a laugh at the possibility that smoking might be what got you in the end, rather than a claw or a fang. "I'm not letting it get out of hand," you said.

"Oh, so you think you've got a handle on it." Ah, there it was. That patented John Winchester attitude, disappointment garnished with a dollop of sarcasm. And it pissed you off.

"Yessir, I think I do. I don't think one cigarette to help me relax every once in a while is going to hurt me." Not any more than the constant infusion of Jack Daniels is hurting you, you wanted to point out, but you were not stupid enough to say that out loud.

He stared at you a little bit longer. Maybe thinking you're old enough to make your own decisions, but more likely thinking you dumbass, I don't even know what to do with you. Finally he said "All right, if you think you've got this situation under control, let's see how that works out for you. But don't let Sam see you doing it. You know how the kid looks up to you."

You replayed every word in your mind, looking for the command. It wasn't there. "So you're not telling me to stop?"

"Would it matter if I did?"

That felt like a trap, and you didn't answer.

He didn't mention it again, and didn't see you smoking again, until a couple of months later. You'd successfully cleaned out a pack of ghouls with some friends of his (no, not friends, associates; John Winchester didn't really make friends), and when Ripley pulled out a Marlboro and then waved his pack at you, you took one. Your father watched and scowled and didn't say a word.

But later, when you were in the car for the long drive back to the motel, something clicked. Or snapped. Because you were almost eighteen years old, you'd been hunting monsters since you were barely old enough to jack off, you were younger than all the guys you'd hunted with tonight and still better than most of them, and you'd just killed your first ghoul. And he didn't say good job, Dean or I'm proud of you or anything. He just bitchfaced about your smoking. And you'd had enough. You drank like a man and fucked like a man and hunted like a man and you weren't going to hide cigarettes from your Daddy like a little boy any more.

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out the half-empty pack that had been stashed in there for a couple of weeks. And this time you didn't expect it at all, so you jumped when your father slapped the cigarette out of your hand.

"Not in my car," he snapped.

"Jesus, Dad," you said, embarrassed. "Chill out. All you gotta do is ask."

"No, I don't have to ask," he growled. "I'm telling you. Not in my car."

A couple of miles went by before he spoke again. "Dean," he said, "I know you're going to do what you want to do, when I'm not around. I just want to make sure you're making an informed decision. You know what smoking is going to do to you, right?"

"What," you said, "give me lung cancer? Like I'm gonna live long enough to worry about that?"

He sighed. "Yes, I do hope you live long enough to worry about that. But I'm not talking about lung cancer. I'm not talking about long term. I'm talking about right now. The way it affects your lungs. Do you think shortness of breath is an advantage for a hunter?"

"Didn't seem to hurt Ripley."

"Oh, Ripley." His lip curled. "So that's your goal, then? To be as good a hunter as Ripley?"

You wanted to scream that it was so fucking unfair, that you'd done every goddamn thing the man ever wanted. That you were already better than Ripley and most other hunters and the world wasn't going to end if he loosened the reins just the tiniest bit. You wanted to ask him if he was ever going to be satisfied, if you were ever going to be enough.

You didn't. You tucked the half-empty pack back into your pocket and rode silently back to the motel.

. . .

And now it's the next morning. There's no post-hunt day off, no downtime, as usual. Your father barks a reveille at o'dark thirty, and by the time the sun comes up you're shivering on an empty high school football practice field. Sam peers up at you through messy bangs, silently questioning. You shrug.

"Sam?" Dad asks. "How fast can a black dog run?"

Sam looks pleased that today's training includes a mental component, since that's the only way he ever comes out on top. "They've been clocked at twenty miles an hour," he says. "Maybe up to twenty-five. For short bursts, anyway. Not long distance."

"So let's say twenty miles an hour. Convert that to yards per second."

Sam gives him a puzzled look, then closes his eyes and furiously calculates in his head. "Um… ten. Almost ten yards per second."

"Good job." Sam practically glows in the wake of Dad's faint praise. "Okay, Dean, your turn. Couple laps around the field. Fast."

Fine. You sprint down the field, legs and arms pumping, watching Dad and Sam out of the corner of your eye. They're still standing at the edge of the field, talking. Well, Dad's talking. Sam is listening. Your brother reaches out to high-five you as you pass. The little shit's in a good mood after getting to show off his mathlete skills.

You circle the field again, fast, because you're not going to give the old man a reason to bitch at you, to give you the disappointed turned-down mouth and the narrowed you've failed me eyes. At the end of your second lap you pull up, sweaty and out of breath, ignoring the stitch in your side.

Your father gives you an enigmatic smile. "You doing okay, son?"

"Yessir."

"All right. Stay here for a sec." He puts his hand on Sam's back and steers him down the field. "Here's the scenario," he calls, when they stop. "Your brother's 30 yards away from you. His leg is broken, so he can't run. And there's a black dog 40 yards away from him, about to pounce. You're out of ammo, so you have to take it down with a knife. So you've got to get to Sam before the black dog does."

Forty yards. Four seconds. Motherfucker.

He looks at his watch and barks "go!" and for a moment you think you might be able to do it. Maybe if you'd already been in motion, you would have had a chance. But you can't sprint forty yards in four seconds from a standstill. You just can't. Even if you hadn't been out of breath to start with, it would have been difficult. You're still almost ten yards away when your father grabs Sam from behind. Sam shrieks with laughter (it's a happy noise, you tell your panicky lizard brain, a happy noise, goddammit) and his skinny legs go flying as Dad spins him away from you, out of reach.

You pull up and lean over with your hands braced on your knees, acting like you're stretching, because you don't want to look up into your father's smug smile.

"Okay, Sam," he says, "your turn. Two laps. Go."

When your brother is out of hearing range, you straighten up and try to force yourself to breathe normally. When you can speak, it comes out in short bursts.

"You know that's… a bunch of crap… right?"

"What's that, son?" he says mildly, his eyes following Sam down the field.

"The smoking's got nothing to do with… with me being out of breath right now… I hardly smoke at all… it takes me the better part of a month to finish a pack… and that's gonna bring me down like, one percent, tops… and me reducing my lung capacity by one percent isn't gonna affect anything… I couldn't have got to him in time… smoking or not."

"That's true," he says, turning to you. "Sometimes even a hundred percent isn't enough. And most days, it won’t matter. Most days, ninety-nine percent is going to do the job. But one day you're going to need a hundred percent. And you never know when that day's gonna come, Dean. So, is tomorrow gonna be a ninety-nine percent day? Are you ready to bet your life on it? My life?" He turns to look at Sam, loping back up the field toward you. "His life? Something happens to him, it's gonna be bad enough knowing you couldn't have stopped it. How's it gonna feel knowing you could have?"

You don't have an answer for that, but your father's not waiting for one. "Sam!" he yells. "Kick it into gear the rest of the way! You're in a sprint, not a marathon!" Sam ducks his head and runs, slender arms and legs frantically churning as if something dark is snarling at his heels.

. . .

(Tonight, in your nightmares, you'll be unable to breathe, running slow and sluggish like you're pushing through chest-deep water, like you’re drowning in Vaseline. You'll watch helplessly as Sam falls, screaming, taken down by something dark, something snarling, something hungry with fangs and claws. You'll wake with a pained gasp and flush the last of the cigarettes down the toilet. You’ll spend half an hour silently watching your little brother sleep, still hearing him scream your name. And you'll know you're a failure, you let everyone down; you can never, will never be enough. )

(And the next day, you’ll go out and try anyway.)

~ ~ ~ ~

The title is from Vasoline by Stone Temple Pilots, but the actual product is spelled Vaseline and therefore I insist on spelling it that way.

#my fic #spn #sam winchester #dean winchester #john winchester #pre series #angst #as usual

[sweetsandsin]

What happens when the cards see a Joker in your future?

After losing the only man that made sense in a world of confusion, Forensic Psychologist, Ember's cards align to tell her one thing and one thing only.

Joker is coming and he'll make sure she is too.

"It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone"

- John Steinback.

♤♡The Oxymoron Of Gotham◇♧

In the crippled city of Gotham lay an oxymoron at every corner; Batman, the Dark Knight who lived in the shadows but brought criminals to light, Riddler, the man who claimed to be an enigma but who had already been worked out and last, but never least, was Penguin, the man who provided twentysomething Ember with perhaps the biggest paradox of her life- loss, the word that had stolen the one and only person she had left only to present her with a soul shattering emptiness to fill the holes her Uncle and his brass cane had left behind.

Found amongst the trash in a dirtied t-shirt for warmth, he'd lifted her from the seedy underbelly of her unwanted origins and given her a home. His shaky hand would brush through the tangles in her honey tresses to wipe away the remnants of grime that even years after her escape never seemed to fully leave, each morning would begin with a story of his adventures and the wars he'd always win, the night ended with a brush of his lips on the tip of her nose and the lullaby he'd sing out of tune to will her into sleep:

"Burning Ember,

Named after the flame,

Burning Ember,

That's my pretty girl's name".

It had already been a few months, yet still, she spent every night sat on baby pink bedding with his top hat to her chest and his rhyme in her head. Tears would fall and her heart would break a little more.

It took her a while, but in the end, it was all okay, because she welcomed the pain, he deserved someone to mourn for him, he deserved the ache she felt, afterall how lucky was she to have something that made saying goodbye so hard?

Well, she was very lucky indeed.

A blaring car horn pulled her away from her thoughts, stopping in a hurry to follow the sound, her right ankle rolled to the side causing a jolt of pain to spiral its way up to her knee in a gentle throb. Keeling forward, Ember squeezed her slim fingers around her foot, bent it inwards and pushed it back into her knee-length boot.

Turning her head, her nails traced the brown bags so prudent beneath her lashes in the reflection of the smashed glass window, inhaling sharply at the sight, her soft pink lips released a breath of fog that quickly succumbed to the sombre tone that had long ago wrapped itself around her hometown, she only wished she too could evaporate into the air like the carbon dioxide that filled her lungs. Continuing her walk, a breathy laugh warmed her chest when she limped in a manner that could only be called ironical- Uncle Penguin was still with her even if only in hobble rather than spirit.

Tapping the butt of her cigarette, white-haired Aurora looked over her green-tinted glasses at the bell on the door "That you, Flamey?"

"It's me" she shouted back. Sliding past the many googly-eyed ornaments and baby doll figurines, she waved a hand around the curve of the wall.

"Did you get me what I asked for?" Her fingers clenched and unclenched in impatience till the square box touched her palm.

"I really wish you'd buy condoms yourself" she whisper hissed, mahogany brown eyes lightening as she looked around uncomfortably and rocked on the balls of her feet. It was one thing to know that someone old enough to be her gran had frequent sex, it was another thing to be the person indirectly supporting her aim to bed each and every male in Gotham that took her fancy.

"And I really wish those punks in the pharmacy wouldn't call me a hot mama and spank my ass" taking a puff, she blew out loudly, "I hate having to break their wrists, makes my arthritis play up, but what ya gonna do?" Shuffling the card deck in her other hand, she intricately flicked them so they twirled between her disjointed fingers.

"Aw, no" her shoulders slumped, "Not again, I told you I don't believe in any of this" everytime was the same, she'd drop something off only to get pulled into unproven spirituality that was far off reality even for a place like Gotham.

"And I told you, I don't give a shit" standing, she pushed the opposing woman down by her shoulder."Now shut up and pay attention, you never know when it could come in handy".

Rolling her eyes, her bottom lip jutted out "Yeah" she scoffed, "When pigs fly".

"What was that?" Aurora tugged her glasses off, an icy glare yanking the usual temperature down a few notches.

"Uh" she blushed, pulling a face. It seemed feigning innocence was her only real option here, "I said, I can't wait" biting her tongue to hide her laugh, she looked to the side.

"Better have been what you said" she warned under her breath, finger waggling at her. "You ain't too old for me to put you over my knee, yanno?" Not that she ever would, of course, the girl was the apple of her eye, but she didn't half wind her up some days.

Drumming her hands on the table, Ember looked on in awe at the speed the cards moved from one hand to another, the flick of the shuffle ending pierced her ears in warning that Aurora's favourite three-card set up would soon be upon them.

"King'a diamonds, ya know what that means?"

"No" she smiled kindly, "But I know you're going to tell me".

Ignoring her jibe, she rolled her sleeves up so the tattooed snake on her right arm led beside it. "Means you're going to meet a man who does a dangerous job, maybe a nice officer?" She hoped. "But uh" she scratched behind her ear, "Could also mean you meet a man who'll run circles round ya, someone worth being scared of". Swiping her hand as if wiping away her words, she chuckled a hoarse laugh "But isn't that just about every man here?"

She wasn't wrong there. Humming quietly, she gazed over at the cards, only then noticing the pale hue to her powdered skin. Frowning, she placed a hand over hers "Is, is everything alright?"

"It's the nine'a spades" downing her tumbler of whiskey, she shook her head, "But that can't be correct, can it?" She looked up sorrowfully.

Even though Ember wasn't exactly one to indulge in the fantasy, she'd never seen Aurora look so shaken and that particular in a blue moon occurrence made her tremble too. "What does it mean?" Her eyes widened in curiosity.

"It means death, next to this card it could be taken to just mean really bad news, but it's the worst card you can get" her fingers itched for a smoke, her throat was dry and she knew if nicotine didn't reach her lips in the next few seconds she'd get all shaky again. Lighting one up, she leant back and sighed, "That's the stuff".

"Well, what is the next card?"

"Ace'a clubs, uh means you shall have protection from a powerful man?" Her words were spoken slow, confused, almost careful. "That's uh great, I suppose, also means that the death card is the death of an enemy, so all is tickety boo". Poor girl had already been through so much, she didn't want to see her go through more.

"So what you're saying is" she paused, hands spread on the table, "That you're not going to spend the next few weeks losing sleep worrying about me?" It happened before, a bad card spread and all she ever got was a million and one phone calls and a grouchy woman to deal with every Saturday, she didn't think she'd survive going through it again.

"That's what I'm saying, sweet cheeks" kicking her legs up, she pulled a hand over her facial features. "Now, did I ever tell you about floppy Jim?"

"Do I want to know?"

"Course ya do, but I'm feeling nice soo I'll spare you the details, just remember, always have a cucumber spare in the fridge, when the age goes up, the dick don't" she cackled loudly, hand smacking her thigh.

Wretching, Ember hit her forehead "I think I'm going to vomit".

♤♡◇♧

Snow White was the fairest of them all and what a prize it was to have skin the colour of snow and lips as red as a rose. White was purity and anything darker was nothing but corrupted skin.

In laymen terms, Ember being brown had always been a sin when she didn't look it and it would forever be a crime if she did.

Work was hard to come by for a Forensic Psychologist who fit into the crowd until she opened her mouth and out came a hint of back home. With each tell-tale sign of her culture came the stereotypes ground from the ashes of her ancestors; awful looks of sympathy for being a South Asian woman who must've been oppressed by masculinity simply because she was born in a place where the sun spent the majority of its time. Afterall, everyone loved a good tan unless it was permanent. Her personal favourite had to be that there was just something 'exotic' about her begging to be released, the typical 'polite in the streets, freak in the sheets' assumption that glued to her form holding her up to socially-expected standards depicting quiet women as individuals with a crazy side that had yet to be seen.

Race wasn't an issue if you were running in it, race was an issue when you got lost in the crowd of the media's definition of majority.

For years she'd calmed herself with lies that placed her in a position of blame; she hadn't worked hard enough, she wasn't ready, she was too young, but what it all really came down to was that she wasn't white enough to be noticed, couldn't pass for ebony, couldn't pass for ivory either and that meant she would forever remain where she was, an immovable object with no chance of ever moving forward.

But then like young Charlie and his golden ticket, she got her chance, a way forward if she picked the dark path, a way out if she went within the depths of no return.

Into cell 666.

Would really appreciate your thoughts!

#heath ledger #joker x oc #the dark knight #joker fanfiction #joker fandom