How Many Followers Do I Need To Get Random Asks God Be Nosy U Little Shits Ask Me About My Personal Life

how many followers do i need to get random asks god be nosy u little shits ask me about my personal life this is fucking boring getting nothing

Can we get some Sugar Daddy König X Sugar Baby Bimbo!reader that actually is a little oblivious to the fact she is a sugar baby, "oh the colonel? He's just a fwb who likes to pay for dinner and buy me expensive gifts that's all, he's just like really nice"

Konig really doesn't know where to put his money. He bought a house, a car, and a collection of guns that already go over legal limits. He was thinking about buying a second house somewhere warm, but then he thinks about having to take care of that property too, and his head starts to hurt. He wants to put his money into something nice - he has investments, usually something that Hutch is telling him to invest too because he knows more about tech and crypto and other useless stuff. And the colonel still has a huge chunk of money lying around every month. He didn't even notice that he started to pay for your...everything, at first. Even when you were just friends, you were playing this perfect little game of him bringing you money and you never taking your wallet out of the bag. He likes to spoil you. Gifts, food, new clothes - he doesn't knows anything about clothing brands and expensive gadgets, but you start to chirp about wanting new heaphones or a brand of lip gloss that is sooo trendt eight now, and he likes to listen to you speak. Maybe he is playing his old-school fantasy of having a hot, popular girl actually talk to him instead of bullying and yelling. Maybe he is trying to compensate for his lack of female attention. Maybe he is trying to buy you. He knows that you aren't using him because, by god, your pretty little head is too empty to conjure such a scheme. You're always so surprised when he brings you gifts, and you thank him so cheerfully. Bouncing on his cock like a good girl, not because he is asking you to, but because you really just want to cheer him on. Sucking his cock and spreading that expensive lip gloss all over because he is such a cool dude, much better than your friend's boyfriends. Your friends are so jealous about you having such a great sugar daddy, but you don't even realize that Konig is one. Honestly, if you weren't the one initiating sex, he probably wouldn't even ask you to. He brings you gifts and pops a boner whenever you hug him, and then you get sad because he is lonely and rich and so so miserable, you'll just straddle his hips and ride him until you both see stars. He never asked you to have sex in exchange for gifts. You just...like to accept them. And you like sex. Konig simply likes you too.

How to bring a God to his knees: Nathan Bateman x fem!reader (smutty blurb)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Nathan in a collar and leash, don’t look at me, okay?! Nathan being a sub etc. etc. oral f!receiving, orgasm denial sorta, consensual domination.

Genre: smut, no plot, SUPER short

Author’s note: what did I just say? Don’t even think about looking at me 🙈😅 (AKA, Apparently this is what happens when I get a blurb request for Nathan smut but no scenario specified!)

You’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Nathan “God complex” Bateman himself is on his knees for you, looking like some penitent worshipper. His neck straining against the black leather collar you’ve tightened around it. His raven black beard coated in your pearly juices, and his big, half-lidded eyes begging for more.

“Baby, you good?”

He simply looks up at you dumbly, for once no clever retort or smug smirk able to form on his pussy-plumped lips.

You let your gaze rove over his form. His smooth skin sheened in sweat from hours pleasuring you. Biceps pumped, fists clenching. His cock rock hard and ruddy. His thighs tremoring as they brace him in position.

“Aww. Sweet thing. You a little pussy-drunk?”

“Mmm hmm,” he manages, groaning next as you drag a finger through your slick folds and force the moreish taste of you over his tongue. He sucks away every drop.

“You want some more?”

“P-Please.”

You tug on his leash and he drops obediently to all fours, following you towards the couch. You spread your legs and he eyes your slick heat with a restrained yet consuming hunger, a delicious dark glint in his glazed, sub-drunk eyes.

“Come here, baby,” you purr, cradling his head and running your hand over the bristle of his buzzed hair until you reach the nape of his neck. Then, you grab hold of his collar and shove his warm, eager mouth down on to you.

“Mmm, that’s it, Nate,” you praise as his tongue shimmies meticulously through your folds, his eager undone moans -in contrast- reverberating through your core. “Make me cum again, and if you’re good, I might even let you finish, hmm?”

This is it, you think, as he buries himself in you with even greater vigour, the wet slick of his beard dragging through your folds as he gives everything he has to please you.

This is how you bring a God to his knees; and it feels so good.

UGH I LOVE REALLYRALLYAUTHOR’S WORKS. LITERALLY PURE MASTERPIECES

anselm x reader x nathan- One Weekend (part 2)

Summary: Final part & aftermath of one weekend with Anselm & Nathan. (~7.3k)

Contents: 18+nsfw, sex machine, restraints, orgasm denial, impact play (only once, but fair warning it's Anselm on Birdie), mmf threesome, creampie eating, attempted kidnapping, voyeurism (what a fun group of content warnings, right, gang?)

Part 1 Here

-----

Nathan has you strapped face down on one of his lab tables.

The lights under the glass make it warm, but you feel like a dissection specimen.

Your wrists and ankles are secured with nylon web fabric and paracord.

Anselm bends over and smiles at you. “I had him add padding to the table. For your comfort.”

“That’s very sweet, Anselm, but you’re both still leaving me strapped to a dildo machine for the night,” you say, torn between wanting to thank him for being so thoughtful and wanting to beg to be set free because this was going to be torture.

Anselm pets your head. It’s soothing, even if it is demeaning. Along with the machine you can hear Nathan wheeling in behind you, it’s that’s kind of the whole weekend in a nutshell.

“Don’t worry, Birdie, Nathan and I are taking shifts watching over you. I’ve told him how we play. Let me feel your stop signal,” he says brusquely, putting his hand in yours.

You squeeze his hand three times in quick succession, a safety you and Anselm had set up a long time ago to mean stop. Just once meant everything was fine.

Anselm takes a leather bite gag out of his pants pocket. He shows you the strap, embossed with a flourishing ‘V.’

“Oh, that’s beautiful,” you say.

“Is it made out of the flesh of your enemies?” Nathan says, walking up toward your head to join you and Anselm.

“No. My enemies are useless, even in death,” Anselm says.

Nathan laughs under his breath. He runs his hand up your arm and over your shoulder.

He squats down, which actually brings him slightly lower than you. He has to look up at you over the gold rims of his glasses.

“You ready, sweetheart?” He says.

It almost sounds like he’s actually asking.

Nathan still has that intelligent, over-calculating look in his eyes, but his guard has gone down. Somewhat.

You can’t tell if it’s a move that’s designed to make you think he’s starting to soften up and has feelings, or if that’s how it’s actually starting to shake down.

“I’m ready,” you say in a confident voice.

Anselm gives you a kiss on the lips, soft and slow, before he fastens the rubber and leather strap into your mouth and around your head.

Both of them walk behind you, one on each side, until they disappear from view.

Your legs are spread already, strapped down the back side of the table while the rest of you lays flat. You feel fingers opening you up more, and you moan around your gag when a tongue flicks your clit, dives into you and starts slowly spearing in and out.

You can’t tell who it is.

You don’t know if you care. If you should care. If Anselm would care that you couldn’t tell his mouth and tongue and beard from someone else’s.

It’s almost distressing.

Then a hand lays on your thigh reassuringly and you feel the metal of Anselm’s wedding ring on your skin. The tinge of anxiety you had melts away and you let yourself relax and focus on, nothing, because Anselm stops.

You hear zippers, and you feel yourself get wetter, anticipating whatever they’re going to do with you.

But all you hear is the sound of skin, Nathan groaning faintly.

And then hot spurts of cum, aimed right at your hole. They hit with exact precision before dripping down the insides of your legs. Anselm comes too, adding to what Nathan started, making you more than wet enough for the machine.

Unsatisfied, empty, they leave you waiting until the liquid starts to cool. The hum of the equipment in the room is the only sound for a long stretch of seconds.

Then, you feel the silicone tip of the dildo nestle up against you, making you jump. Slowly, very slowly, it spears into you.

Both Anselm and Nathan are larger, but size isn’t the point.

It moves ever so slightly faster.

The smooth shaft warms quickly in your hungry cunt. You moan, feeling it fuck into you faster, a little faster, just enough to make your breath catch. Your muscles try to create more friction, squeezing around the silicone.

It slows down.

You make a frustrated sound, squeezing again.

It slows down more.

“Works perfectly. Told you,” you hear Nathan say.

“Your craftsmanship was never in question.”

The men walk up either side of the table, each with a white, plastic chair in hand. They set them in front of you, so you can see them and they can see you.

The machine picks up pace again and you let out short moans, trying to keep from letting it stimulate you to the point of contraction. But it feels so good. You bite down into the gag, almost screaming when you squeeze and the machine slows down.

They sit in their chairs. Anselm folds one leg neatly over the other. Nathan leans forward. He pushes up the sleeves of his sweater.

“You probably guessed how the machine works,” Nathan says with a smirk. “The harder you squeeze it, the slower it goes. Every second that goes by, it’s learning your body. It’ll come to a complete stop for as long as it takes to keep you from coming. Then, it’ll speed up until you’re almost there. Repeat, until one of us turns it off.”

“Although it’s meant to deny you what you need, we’re not completely heartless. It will let you orgasm eventually.” Anselm cocks his head at Nathan. “Won’t it?”

Nathan’s eyes never leave yours. “Maybe. Completely random chance. Odds are, you’ll come once tonight. I wouldn’t say your odds are good for more than one, though.”

You whine into the gag.

Nathan’s hooded eyes narrow slightly. “You want to give up? I’d be disappointed if you did.”

“We would be disappointed if you did,” Anselm says, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward to mirror Nathan’s body language. “Nathan built this for me years ago. A thing of beauty. Perfect, exquisite torture. We conceived this machine before I ever knew you, my dear. In the end, it was never meant for anyone but you. And since you’re mine, by law and rights, I have the pleasure of the first shift. Watching you try to squirm in your bonds, trying to come, but unable to reach your goal. I look forward to your tears.”

Anselm sits back in his chair. Nathan reaches over and squeezes Anselm’s thigh.

“I’m going to do some work, take a nap,” Nathan says as he stands. He brushes your cheek with his hand. “Have fun, beautiful.”

*****

Hours later, you’re drooling on Nathan’s fancy table. Every time you exhale, you moan.

He doesn’t seem bothered when he comes back in. Anselm certainly hasn't been, just sitting there, watching you with a smile. Adjusting himself occasionally.

“How’s it going in here?” Nathan asks as he surveys you with his hands on his hips.

“Entertainingly,” Anselm says. He hasn’t spoken to you since Nathan had left.

Your concept of time is nil. It could've been two hours or two days. You’ve given up on anything but being over-stimulated and unsatisfied.

Nathan puts his warm hand in yours and you squeeze it once. He waits, but you don’t repeat the action, you just hold onto him tightly before he lets go.

“Good girl,” he says running a hand over your shoulder.

He drops into his chair and you swing your glassy eyes up to look at him.

Your muscles have gone slack. The machine is stopped now, having gotten you so close, you'd started to feel that electric thrill, primed to come from where the dildo had been steadily fucking you.

And then nothing had happened. Ripped away, out of your grasp.

You whine at Nathan. You can’t help it.

“Fucking adorable.” He leans forward, looks at your pathetic face. His eyes are more engaged than you’ve seen them before, dilated and anticipatory. “I’m going to take off your gag.”

“Nathan,” Anselm warns him.

“What? I want to hear her moaning. I want my dick sucked. Why do you care?” Nathan’s hand reaches for you but Anselm slaps it away.

“A word.” Anselm rises stiffly and stalks out of the room.

For a second, you think Nathan’s going to take off the gag. Like even though you’d given him the okay signal, he’s not sure about this anymore.

You hear Anselm snap his fingers. Nathan’s eyes break reluctantly away from yours as he leaves.

The machine starts again.

*****

“You’re a terrible dom,” Anselm says to Nathan once they’re in the hallway alone.

Nathan crosses his arms. “The fuck machine that I built by hand means that my work speaks for itself.”

Anselm pinches the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “It’s not about equipment and furniture. It’s about here.” He pokes his finger at Nathan’s chest. “You lack commitment. You’re a pushover. Trust me, my Birdie can tell.”

“Her brain’s leaking out her vagina as we speak. I don’t think-“

Anselm cuts him off. “You are wrapped around her finger. The balance of power shifted completely when you walked in. She’s dom’ing you and you don’t even realize it.”

Nathan leans his head back, offended. “It’s a fucked up thing to brag about, but manipulation is kind of my thing. I’d know if someone was trying to outsmart me.”

Anselm smiles cryptically at Nathan.

One of the reasons they’d made a good team was that Nathan suppressed all of his passions and Anselm let his run free. It made Anselm feel as if they were covering each others’ blind spots. Now, he wonders if he hasn’t been looking at this entire thing the wrong way.

“In so many ways, you’re a fool. I’ve always said so.” He tucks his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “She’s not trying to outsmart you. She doesn’t have to do anything but exist. You’re the one trying to gain her approval, and therefore, you would have freed her before she’d even asked. Clever of her, to have lured you in like that. But give her an inch and she will take your entire soul.”

Nathan scratches his head. “You’re so fucking obsessed with this woman. I’m running a brain scan on you.”

Anselm laughs under his breath. “Run one on yourself while you’re at it.” He puts his arm around Nathan’s shoulders. “Let’s cut this portion of the evening short. Get her cleaned up and rested. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Nathan resists, but Anselm pulls him into a hug.

“Stop,” Nathan says, arms still folded as he stands like a statue. “Let me sit and watch her for a couple hours. I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”

Anselm steps back, assessing Nathan from top to toe. “What will you do when left alone with her?”

“I don’t know,” Nathan shrugs.

“I thought you knew everything,” Anselm says with a half-smile.

Nathan doesn’t respond, but Anselm knows what he’s thinking.

Nathan Bateman’s always plotting something. Everyone is a means to an end. The fact that Nathan has no plan speaks volumes.

He’d only wanted to enjoy himself.

An attitude that Anselm admires, but one he’s sure is making Nathan rethink everything.

Twelve carries you back to Nathan’s room, while Nathan himself puts away the machine.

Anselm has Twelve lay you on the bed, not into the waiting bath. Not yet.

You’re half-awake, body exhausted. You’d been edged longer than this, but never so brutally. Anselm sits next to you, bending so his beard and lips kiss your neck.

“He’s as taken with you as I thought he’d be,” he whispers.

You only hum, rolling on your side so your hips can press against him. Anselm rubs your thigh.

“You want release, don’t you?” He says.

“Yes,” you say, the word coming out desperate and needy.

He clucks his tongue, fingertips curling toward your center. Your muscles shudder under his touch.

“Your jaw and joints ache from the restraints. Your cunt would come the very second my fingers entered you. Wouldn’t she? Tell me.”

“Yes, Anselm,” you chase his fingers with your pulsing heat.

“Be still,” Anselm says quietly, but firmly.

He brushes his knuckles across the sticky, wet mess between your thighs. You shiver. He cups between your legs, too softly. The warmth is tantalizing, but there’s not enough pressure or movement for your body to feel anything but more torture.

You know you shouldn't move, but your brain isn't in charge anymore. You can't think beyond what your body needs, as much as you'd like it to.

Your hips shift.

Anselm’s hand jerks away and cracks down on your thigh. You cry out, eyes opening.

“You will behave,” Anselm says, his tone telling you he’s not joking. “You can feel what you’re doing to Nathan. Your whimpering and begging almost spoiled our fun. Luckily for you, I’ve been doing this long enough to know when one’s tactics must switch.”

Anselm parts your legs and you lay on your back. He does nothing but look his fill, though. “I want to put myself inside you so much right now. It seems, however, that I’m the only one with any self control around here.”

“Anselm, please.” Your hand moves toward your cunt, out of your control. He hates whining, but you can't help it.

Anselm’s hand slaps across your cheek. Not hard enough to bruise, but it stings. It also brings you back to yourself. As he knew it would.

He gets off the bed, leaving you wanting, but at least able to think through the haze of arousal. He straightens his tie, then holds out his hand to help you up.

“Take a bath. Do not get off or you’ll spend the rest of the weekend with metal clamps on your most sensitive parts. I’d rather not have to actually hurt you,” Anselm says.

He pats your ass as you leave, your exhaustion rendering you quiet and polite.

Anselm looks at the camera mounted on top of Nathan’s bank of monitors. A little pin-prick of green light stares back.

He nods his head at it, as if to say, That’s how it’s done.

*****

Sunday morning

Anselm’s hands wake you. Appropriate since it's exactly what you’d been dreaming about.

He slides them over your sleepy, warm skin, dipping his fingers between your legs the moment you stir.

After yesterday, your body is still primed and ready to snap. All Anselm has to do is finger you, rub your clit gently with his thumb.

Your moans wake Nathan. You ride Anselm’s fingers as he sinks them deep inside of you. Nathan's at your back, kissing your neck. He wraps an arm around you to play with your nipples, twisting and pulling softly. His hard, naked cock rests in the crack of your ass and Nathan fucks himself against you steadily.

Anselm kisses you once he feels you start to tighten around him, so his tongue can lap at your open mouth when you come. You almost sob, your hands holding onto him, fingers digging into his skin.

Nathan shudders against your taut body. Hot cum coats your lower back, running down your skin and onto the sheets.

“Nathan, lay with your head near the end of the bed,” Anselm says, moving you so you lay over him, face-down the other direction, once he does.

You bend automatically to put Nathan’s softening cock in your mouth, but he pulls your hair hard to stop you. You’ve noticed he’s sensitive after he comes.

Nathan seems to know that you’re not in this position for a simple 69.

He raises his head so his tongue can reach between your legs, bury itself until you’re clutching the sheets. He sucks gently, then licks your clit.

He doesn’t stop licking you, even when Anselm lifts your hips slightly and you you feel the familiar push of his cock splitting you open. Your legs shake when Nathan licks gently where your skin is stretched around Anselm.

Once Anselm’s as deep as he can go, he pauses, letting Nathan bring you another orgasm with his mouth. You work yourself over Anselm, your body driven solely by the need to come again. You hear Nathan licking skin, but it isn’t you. The thought makes you so wet you're sure it's all over Nathan's face. Anselm’s hips roll against you.

Anselm moves faster, his head bending near your ear. “One more. Be a good girl. Take everything from me and then Nathan’s going to eat it straight out of you.”

Anselm’s chest is sweaty. It mixes with Nathan's cum on your back, a sticky, hot mess. Nathan’s mouth tries to keep up with Anselm pounding into you. You clench down hard around Anselm, practically screaming for him to come in you.

He does, holding your body tightly to him, praising you for doing so well, coming so beautifully, giving him so much pleasure. He fills you quickly, then pulls out abruptly and lets your hips drop to Nathan’s waiting mouth.

Nathan laps at you, groaning. His lips close around your cunt and he sucks gently. You sob and hold tightly onto the sheets, knowing better than to pull away, even though it feels like too much.

You can’t come again, but you know Nathan won’t stop until you do. You lay your head on his hip and relax just enough so that the next time Nathan’s tongue swipes inside of you and his facial hair grinds on your clit, your body goes over the edge one, last time. You feel like you hold your breath for an eternity, waiting for Nathan to finish eating you out, and for your body to come back down.

You’re both out of breath. You disentangle yourself from Nathan.

His head is almost off the end of the bed. He looks as fucked out as you feel. He licks his lips, but his beard and face are a mess.

“You okay?” You ask him.

He lays his forearm over his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Give me minute.”

You look at Anselm, but his eyes tell you not to worry.

You run your hand over Nathan’s shaved head, scratching it gently as Anselm opens the bedroom door. Twelve comes in with a tray of green smoothies and ice water.

Nathan watches it with one eye. “I’d tell you I don’t allow eating in the bedroom, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

“There’s a proper breakfast out on the deck when we’re ready,” Anselm says. He hands you a glass of ice water. “The whole thing, my love.”

You drink half, pausing to look at Anselm with a raised eyebrow. He seems distracted. You want to know what he's thinking.

He looks at you and Nathan, sprawled on the bed together. It’s then that you see Nathan’s eyes are open again. He’s staring at you.

“What?” You say, looking back and forth between them. “Neither of you can possibly be getting hard again for a least four to six hours, so why are you both looking at me like that?”

Anselm walks away toward the bathroom. He leaves the door open, but you hear the sink running.

Twelve hands Nathan a smoothie and he sits up to drink it. “Why don’t you and Twelve go out on the deck,” he says to you, but he’s looking at Anselm.

“No,” Anselm says decisively, the water shutting off, “I don’t make decisions without her. I’m insulted you would even ask.”

“Fucking relax,” Nathan says before downing the thick, green liquid in one long gulp. He gets up and tells Twelve to leave.

The room smells like sex, but the air is heavy with something else too.

Anselm dries himself with a towel as walks past Nathan. He picks up his clothes and starts to get dressed.

It's like they're avoiding each other.

Nathan grabs his glasses from the desk so he can focus on you. “If you’re as smart as I think you are, then you know we have a problem.”

Anselm’s hands rest on a console table, his back to the room. His head turns just a fraction, enough that you can tell what he’s thinking.

I told you so, he says.

“Stay the week,” Nathan says. He sounds logical, but you can tell he’s being gnawed by something. “Stay a month. Fuck. Stay.”

Your shoulders sag.

Nathan holds up a hand, like he’s negotiating as much with himself as with you. “Just until this can burn itself out.”

Anselm chuckles, deep and humorless. “An idiot and a fool.”

Nathan doesn’t appreciate that. His hand grips the edge of his desk so hard his fingertips are white. “Fine. She can stay. You can leave without her,” he snaps back.

The thing about Anselm is that for all of his homicidal temper tantrums, all his impatience and irritation, usually it only lasts long enough for him to shoot someone.

He gets mad. He gets over it.

But what you see on Anselm’s face and body language now isn’t blind rage. It’s cold and scary. Nothing you’ve seen before. Then again, no one but Nathan would ever have the balls to suggest separating you and Anselm.

When Anselm speaks, his voice is low and quiet, like a blade he wants to slice through Nathan’s neck. “If you imply anything like that again, I will kill you.”

Nathan, to his credit, doesn’t back down. He gets calmer actually. “Maybe she wants to stay.”

Anselm’s beard twitches. “This is not a game anymore, Nathan. She is not one of your robots, who only has the opinions you give her. Birdie, my love, please speak for yourself.”

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” you say as gently as you can.

Your heart breaks a little when you see the disappointment on Nathan’s face. He breathes out of his nose.

“I overestimated you two,” he says before he pivots and leaves the room, not bothering to put on clothes.

Before you can even cover your face with your hands, Anselm is there, putting his arms around you.

“This entire thing is my fault,” he says.

“No, I’m the one who made you come out here. I know you can’t say no to me.”

Anselm smiles good-naturedly, his earlier mood dissolving. “I’ve never seen Nathan make a mistake until now. He thought he could divide us.”

“He doesn't, though. He wants us both,” you say, not understanding.

“Yes, but you’ve caught him by the feelings and he’s not used to it. He knows he can’t convince us to stay, but he’ll try just about anything.”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, “plus, you called him an idiot and a fool.”

Anselm’s brown eyes blink at you before he starts laughing.

“I’m fond of him. What can I say? Although, you do know that we’ll have to leave today, yes? As soon as we can pack our things.” His smile fades. “I arranged to have a helicopter touch down in the landing field at noon, yesterday and today, in case we needed to go home ahead of schedule. I’m sure Nathan knows, but we’ll still have to convince him to say goodbye early.”

“We? Uh-huh, sure,” you say, noting the look on his face, “and I’m guessing that’s my job?”

Anselm shrugs. “I think he likes you better.”

*****

Nathan’s in gym shorts doing deadlifts at an unhealthy pace. Sweat beads down his neck and soaks the top of his sleeveless t-shirt.

You knock on the open door of his weight room.

“I don’t want to fucking talk to you,” he grunts.

“I gave you a whole 30 minutes to be mad,” you say, breezing in and sitting down on a padded workout bench.

You and Anselm had packed your things and put them by the front door. Anselm’s sitting in the living room with Twelve.

The weights clank and slam together when Nathan drops them on the floor. He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt.

“You don’t want to leave right now,” Nathan says. “You might not think the sun shine’s out of my ass like you do with Anselm, but I know you’re not ready to give this up yet.”

“I don’t think the sun- well, okay, maybe I do a little,” you say honestly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you too. I would stay for longer, but when it comes to safety, I trust Anselm more than I trust myself.”

Nathan puts his hands on his hips, his eyes like laser beams on your face.

You realize you shouldn’t have used the word ‘safety.’ It’s given him something to latch onto. Something to base an argument around.

“Don’t listen to Anselm. I’m not holding you here against your will,” Nathan says.

“He didn’t say that.”

Nathan walks toward you. “Maybe not with words, but half your conversations with him are nonverbal. He thinks I’d pull some shit and keep you locked up here. I'd fuck you so stupid you wouldn’t even try to leave.”

You sigh and look away from him.

“I know that I’m not a big believer in the law. It doesn’t adapt fast enough. It’s too conservative.” He pushes his glasses up. “Look, all of my crimes are white-collar. I’ve never kidnapped anyone, killed anyone. I didn’t build an empire on trafficking illegal goods.”

“Neither did Anselm,” you say angrily at him.

“Semantics,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes. “You know what I mean. Just because his hands are cleaner now, that doesn’t mean he wasn’t covered in some of the worst shit in the world back in the day.”

You try to stand, but Nathan’s hand presses down on your shoulder, pushing you back down to sit.

“If he was really worried about your safety, he would’ve sent you to me a long time ago. This is the safest fucking place in the world. The whole thing is a sandbox, technologically yes, but also physically. It’s so far removed from anything that could ever hurt you.”

You know he doesn’t want you to stay to keep you safe. He’s just trying to twist you in knots. Does he think you’re stupid enough to fall for it? Or is he so desperate he’s grasping at straws?

You shove his hand off of you. “I’m a criminal too. You do realize that, right? Being the head of the Vogelweide family isn’t just a figurehead title. And I killed Anselm’s ex-girlfriend because she cheated on him more than 10 years ago.”

“Claire?”

You look up at him. “What? You know her?”

“No, but Anselm came here not too long after that whole incident,” Nathan says, backing away. He rubs his face, calming down. His are still burning-hot, though. “You know that’s what you’re really doing here, right? He feels like he owes me for helping him put his life back together afterward. He wants me to know he’s not that guy I knew anymore. Maybe he’s trying to fix me too.”

You stand quickly, wrapping Nathan in a hug, even though he's a little sweaty. You know he needs it. It takes him a second to return it.

“He knows it’s not his job to fix you. You’re not broken,” you say.

Nathan’s big hands hold you tightly. He doesn’t want to let you go, ever. He kisses your neck softly, then along your jaw. You stop him from kissing your mouth though, drawing your line in his sandbox.

He lets you go, but keeps his hand in yours. He pulls you to the living room, where Anselm and Twelve are sitting on the couch having a one-sided, fruitless conversation.

Anselm’s trying to get the robot’s opinions on ties. Twelve has none. Ties or opinions. Also, no vocal response capabilities.

Anselm smiles from his seat. “All set, my love?”

You squeeze Nathan’s hand. “Yes, but maybe we can come back some time?”

“I look forward to it,” Anselm says, wiggling his eyebrows. “Although with all the extra rooms in this place, I’m very disappointed that you don’t have at least the basic themes set up.”

Nathan shrugs. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Prison cell, classroom, doctor’s office, apocalypse, vampires,” Anselm frowns. “But I’ll send you a longer list. We do expect great things from our next visit.”

“Yeah, about that,” Nathan says slowly. He lets go of your hand with a regretful look. “Twelve?”

The robot stands stiffly and marches over to the security panel by the front door. He pokes a metal finger in the side. It blinks two words: lockdown mode. Mechanical clicks echo in the living room. You see the lights in the elevator flash red.

Anselm’s face is still friendly and smiley, but your hand raises automatically to slap the back of Nathan’s head. He stops it easily with his arm.

“Cut that shit out. Violence is never the answer,” Nathan says.

“Oh, you are cruising for a bruising, Bateman.”

He looks at you patiently. “Give me 3 days. You’ll start to see things my way. You both will.”

You clench your fists tightly, trying to hold back your temper. “If you don’t unlock this house-“

“What?” Nathan says, his voice cutting and intimidatingly loud. “You can’t do anything about it. No one knows you’re here. No one knows I’m here. I promise, I won’t keep you forever, but I need this. I need you.”

“This isn’t the way to do it.” Your hands relax and you reach for him, but he backs away.

Nathan runs a hand over his head. “I know. I'm sorry, but I already decided.”

Click

You look over and Anselm’s gun is resting on his thigh, pointed at Nathan.

“It’s not loaded,” Nathan says.

“Are you sure?” Anselm says smoothly. “Your reliance on technology is a weakness, Nathan. You think it can predict everyone’s next move, that it knows everything. But if it did, then it would have told you: compared to the things I’ve already done to keep this woman happy and safe, shooting you would be like handing her a tissue for a nosebleed. Something easily done, to remedy a minor inconvenience, and soon forgotten.

“So, my friend, do you really think your technology can out think me? Because I’ve been predicting human nature without assistance for decades now.”

Anselm leans forward, the metal of his brace squeaking loudly.

You look at it, then at him.

Nathan folds his hands under his biceps. He stares at Anselm for a few seconds.

“Twelve, release,” Nathan says quietly.

Twelve leaves the security panel and the house goes back to its normal, peaceful state. Anselm decocks his gun.

“I had to try,” Nathan says, like nothing happened.

“No, you didn’t. You were just being a dick.” You shove his shoulder.

The corners of his mouth lift. “I won’t do it the next time you visit.”

He looks at you from over the frames of his glasses. You don’t respond. He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m pissed at you,” you say, looking away.

“You’ll be back,” Nathan says with authority.

He reaches out a hand to help Anselm off the couch and they hug, Anselm giving Nathan’s ass a squeeze. A kiss on the cheek and a few quiet words.

“Come here, honey. Let me say goodbye to you,” Nathan says to you, a grin ghosting on his lips.

You don’t move a goddamn muscle.

Anselm holds out his hand. “Don’t be rude, my dear.”

You give them both a dirty look.

Nathan gives Anselm an ‘I got this,’ look. He walks over and rests his face against yours. His hands are like iron manacles on your arms.

“You think I showed you a softer side this weekend, but I knew what I was doing. I know you have a weakness for men who have a weakness for you.” He brushes his beard against your cheek. “If Anselm wasn’t here, I’d have Twelve drag you down to my bedroom and you wouldn’t see sunlight for four weeks. That’s how long I figured it would take me condition you to be my drooling, stupid, fuck hole. I’d keep you in a cage and Anselm could come visit you like you were an animal at a petting zoo.”

You lean back a fraction, just enough to look Nathan in his eyes.

He’s not someone who makes empty threats, but you’ve also learned that most of what he say isn’t threatening. It’s a test. Or, it was.

Now, you get the feeling that he’s testing himself. Getting a feel for whatever actual emotions he’s letting himself have. That he’s saying things to get a reaction from you, so that he can react in turn. Not just studying and analyzing, but letting himself have actual, human connection. A messed up one, sure, but a connection nonetheless.

“That could be fun,” you say with a smile.

Nathan huffs out a laugh. “Such a pervert. Unfortunately for me, it turns out, I think you’re interesting. I think you’re worth keeping just like this.” His fingers touch your face. “Don’t make me regret letting you go. Or next time, I won’t.”

He hugs you hard and you hug him too, tucking your face into his neck, smelling that mix of fresh air, sweat, and metal that’s uniquely Nathan.

You wonder if you chartered a helicopter to bring you out here next month, if it would all be gone. The house, the underground bunker, Nathan. If it would be nothing but virgin forest. Deer drinking out of the river that used to run under the house. Not a scrap of refined metal or plastic for hundreds of miles.

It makes you not want to leave.

Anselm’s hand wraps around your waist. “I promise both of you, we’ll come back.”

You turn your head to look at Anselm, resting it on Nathan’s muscled shoulder. “Once a fiscal year?”

Anselm smiles. “Yes, my love. If that’s what you wish. Oh,” he says quietly, the knuckles of his other hand brushing a tear away from your cheek, “this must be the first time anyone’s cried in anything but gratitude for leaving Nathan’s presence.”

You almost laugh, pulling away from Nathan.

Nathan just shakes his head at Anselm. “Okay, asshole, take your wife and leave already.”

He walks you to the front door.

As soon as you and Anselm cross the threshold outside, he shuts it behind you. You hear it lock.

As Twelve drives the truck away, taking you back to the empty field where the helicopter waits, you’re sad that Nathan isn’t at any of the big windows. You’d wanted one, last glimpse of him.

Anselm holds your hand on the drive.

The unmanned helicopter sits in the field. Twelve loads the bags and you breathe in the fresh air as much as you can.

Twelve stands next to Anselm as he helps you climb into the helicopter.

“Bye, Twelve,” you say to the blank, robot face. “I’m going to miss you.”

Twelve shifts, putting a mechanical hand on the side of the helicopter. Like it’s asking you not to leave. Its other hand is on the doorway. The fingers dig in. The slight sound of denting metal hits your ears.

Anselm reaches into his jacket and pulls out his gun. He shoots Twelve in the head. Twice.

Your ears ring and you look down at the still body on the ground. Fluid leaks out of the orb that was Twelve’s head.

Anselm signals the helicopter to start and hops inside next to you.

“Nothing is a simple robot with Nathan. He’s been trying to get me to bring Twelve home with us ever since we arrived. It’s too advanced. I fear what Nathan would do by proxy. He has impulse control issues about certain things,” he says to you through the microphone once you both have your ear protection on.

“Poor Twelve,” you say.

“Please don’t anthropomorphize the machines, Birdie. It doesn’t feel suffering. I’m sure Nathan will fix it for our next visit.”

He puts his arm around you and pulls you close.

“How did you get bullets into the house?” You ask him.

Anselm shrugs. “I always have bullets in my brace. Emergency back-up. It’s why I wear it even on days when I don’t need it. I thought you knew that.”

You look down at his leg. “What? No, I didn’t know that. What else do you have on there?”

“Not much. A bottle opener, knife, garrote. I thought if I had to wear it, then it should at least be multi-task,” Anselm says.

“Is that why you won’t let me put stickers on it?”

“Yes, the glitter hearts and skulls were charming, but they would have hindered its functionality.”

The helicopter takes off, lifting you high above the beautiful landscape.

Anselm had said spending time with Nathan would be spectacular. He was right. Your body’s exhausted, but happy. No permanent marks on the outside, but Nathan Bateman has left plenty of them on your heart.

You snuggle closer to Anselm, happy to be heading home.

*****

Anselm’s been in his office all morning. You’re in yours.

The mansion has been quiet. You and Anselm had done nothing but kiss this morning.

Post-vacation blues have hit hard in the days since your weekend with Nathan.

There’s a knock on the door and Anselm walks in

“Mid-afternoon snack, my dear?” Anselm says.

“If you’re the snack, then yes. Oooh, is that a tie with flowers? That’s romantic,” you say.

You get up and join Anselm on the small sofa in your office. He smooths a hand down the pretty patterned fabric of his tie.

“I felt I had to compete in some small way. Nathan hasn’t stopped sending you gifts.” He gestures to the elaborate bouquet of ferns and flowers that had arrived this morning. A tiny, plastic version of Twelve had been stuck inside of it (complete with two fake bullet holes in the head). It’s sitting on your desk now, after you’d had Godzilla check it for a camera.

Yesterday Nathan had sent bedsheets like the ones he has in his room and a thousand sticky notes. In case you wanted to recreate his bedroom at your house, his e-mail had said.

Andre rolls in with his tray, two ice cream sundaes with long-handled silver spoons sticking out of the top.

You hand Anselm his and then take yours, petting Andre’s head lightly. Anselm gives you a look.

“He’s like a pet, so let me pet him,” you say. You dig your spoon into the ice cream. “Nathan’s using Andre to spy on us, right?”

“Most definitely,” Anselm agrees. “But Andre’s capabilities are limited to serving.”

You lick your spoon and tap it on his head.

“Hey, Andre,” you say to the screen that shows Andre’s pixel eyes and smile. “Maybe next time I go visit your maker, we can limit his capabilities to just serving. What do you think?”

Andre’s face blinks out, then reappears with a winky face. “Yes, Birdie, man,” the mechanical voice states.

“Ma’am,” you correct him. “Now that I know Nathan’s so involved in Andre’s life here, I’m a kind of peeved that he’s so glitchy. It took 3 tries for his name to even show up right on the little screen. And for him to stop calling me Birbie, with 2 B’s.” You look at Andre.

Andre’s face blinks back to its vacant stare. There’s a bit of white-noise from the speaker at the front of his body.

“Anselm won’t let me fix him,” Nathan’s voice says from Andre’s body.

You inhale, mouth wide open. You look at Andre, then at Anselm. Back and forth.

Anselm’s studying his sundae carefully. “Nathan, we agreed-“

“Yeah, but now that I know her, you can’t expect me to stay quiet.” Nathan’s voice is tinny and strange.

Anselm looks at you apologetically. “Andre’s camera is always on. Nathan’s computer system scans constantly for potential threats to your safety. Of course, I knew Nathan himself could control Andre, but we had a gentleman’s agreement that he wouldn’t use it for anything inappropriate.”

You hear Nathan snort. “I’m not a gentleman and you haven’t been appropriate a day in your life.”

“He’s got you there,” you say to Anselm, eating your sundae and thinking it over.

“You mad, sweetheart?” Nathan asks.

“I guess it’s okay,” you say with a sigh. “It’s only fair. You’re out there all alone. If you want a snuggle or a fuck, you have to build a machine yourself. I don’t mind you watching if Anselm doesn’t.”

He licks a drop off ice cream off his thumb. “Now that you know Andre is actually Nathan, perhaps you won’t make him leave the room during our various activities. Perhaps you’d let me slather the rest of this sundae over your breasts and lick it off. Eat the cherry from the inside of your delicious cunt.” Anselm gazes lovingly at your body. “And if Nathan can agree that you are, indeed, perfect, then he can stay and watch.”

You roll your eyes. “He doesn’t have to say that. This isn’t a cult.”

Anselm frowns. “You know I don’t like to disagree with you, my love, but I’d never let someone enjoy you who doesn’t truly appreciate the gift they’re being given.” He pokes Andre’s white, plastic body with the toe of his shoe. “Say it.”

A gigantic sigh resonates through the speaker. “I don’t believe in perfection. It doesn’t leave any room for improvement.”

Anselm raises an eyebrow. “If you’re suggesting there’s room for improvement in my dear Birdie, then the next time we visit, I’ll shoot you first thing. Perhaps you think she’d look better bathed in a mixture of your blood and soft tissues.”

“Yikes,” you mutter, “he’s really mad.”

Nathan growls in frustration. “Okay. Look, how about this? Other than that thing at the end where I went all crazy… last weekend was perfect. I’d kind of made my peace with spearheading the destruction of humanity, but if you two come out once or twice a year, I think I’ll have to slow down the inevitable.”

“Hooray, we’ve saved the human race with sex,” you throw up your hands in a sarcastic celebration.

“I said delayed,” Nathan grumps. “Now, take off your clothes and lay down. I don’t want to see Anselm lick ice cream off your boobs. I want to see you squirm when you get brain freeze through your clit.”

“Is that a thing?” You start to undress.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Nathan says. “Oh, and I fixed Twelve. A few improvements. He’s gonna look that guy from that TV show you like. Or. Guys, I guess. You’ve streamed the thing like, three hundred times, so I guessed you had a thing for him.”

Anselm looks at you from under his dark eyebrows.

You’d truly thought being with Anselm had cured you of ever being embarrassed again. But Nathan looking into your internet activity is apparently still a little mortifying.

“I don’t know if I can make him fly," Nathan continues, "but I can definitely do the costume thing with the cape, and the mask with the glowing eyes-“

“Stop talking,” you say to Nathan.

“I refuse to give him a Cubs hat though, just on principle.”

Anselm folds his arms. “How fascinating.”

You redo the clothes that you'd started taking off. “You know what? I’m going downstairs for awhile.”

Anselm nods. “That’s fine. I think I’ll stay here with Nathan. I’d like a hand in plotting whatever this is. You naughty girl, I had no idea you harbored a fantasy that you hadn’t told me about.”

“I didn’t. It’s not- I’m really not- It's nothing,“ you say, flustered. “Forget it. Bye Nathan. Anselm, I’ll see you at dinner.”

You leave them in your office, Anselm and Andre/Nathan, cackling like old women over a fictional man. You try to be irritated, but you can’t.

They’re just too adorable, the two of them.

And you’re very interested in how their little project turns out.

Anselm Vogelweide masterlist :: Nathan Bateman Masterlist

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please lmk if you'd like to be removed- i promise not to take it personally!

cw: dubcon

bully!Soap who has you face down on his bed, belt binding your hands behind your back

rough hands spreading your ass apart, and you whine, hiding your face in the blanket as you struggle against your binds “j-johnny knock it off! y-you can’t!”

“oh i think i can bonnie.” he laughs, delivering a sharp slap to your ass, closing his eyes at the sound of your shrill cry, only to open them, gaze falling to your puckered hole and he groans, using his thumbs to spread it, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his dick

“i-it’s dirty…”

“ye just took a shower, dumb dog.” he snarks, before spitting directly onto your spread little hole, dragging his tongue over it, nails digging into your thighs as you squeal, thrashing

“johnny!” you cry, struggling to catch your breath and he rolls his eyes

“‘Johnny!’” He mocks, grip tightening on your hips as he goes back to swirling his tongue around your rim, dipping his tongue inside

smirking when he feels you to limp, sobbing into the mattress as your hips twitch, pushing back against his tongue, which he cruelly pulls away

“thought you said this was dirty?”

🔫 Oh, Captain, My Captain 🔫

Pairing: Unit Chief!Spencer Reid x Fem BAU!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: Unit Cheif!Spencer who uses gun training as an excuse to rub up on the new member🤭

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI Gun kink, dubcon, dry humping, pictures/photos, age gap, Pervert! Spencer, unprotected sex, implied cream pie, semi-public sex, boss x employee dynamic, spanking, masturbation, slight cum play, degradation (slut, whore etc), praise kink if you squint (good girl).

A/N: This is my first entry for the CM Kink Bingo challenge 2024~! I chose a lot of the prompts based on some of the smut requests in my inbox and let my TELL you I was SO EXCITED to write Unit Chief + gun kink!!! I'm so excited for this entire challenge tbh, it reminds me of the good old days on past years' Kinktober 😂🥰

Masterlist || Bingo Board

When Spencer Reid was made the interim Unit Chief for the BAU, he agreed with the reasoning. At the time, he really couldn't argue that he was aptly experienced, responsible enough to make big decisions, and reliable. And whilst he had been through a lot in the last two decades with the FBI, he still did value his own sense of morality. 

He accepted the job and then was assigned you as an intern, and suddenly, he didn't agree with any previous assessment of him. 

Experienced, yes, but he was still stammering and rambling when discussing simple things like the weather. He certainly wasn't responsible enough to keep his eyes off you, and he probably couldn't be relied on in the field to focus instead of thinking about your pretty, plump lips and how they would feel wrapped around his cock. 

All morality had gone out of the window after a week of working with you when he closed his office blinds, popped his pants open and took his cock in hand, relieving himself while staring at your newly printed ID card. 

He had a lot of power, during the few months Emily was away, and he was trying desperately not to use it. 

Unfortunately, with great power comes a great amount of orders to give, and since you reported directly to Unit Chief Reid, you'd become his de facto shadow for the first few weeks. You bought him coffees when you got your own, asked him for quick run downs of past cases so you could take notes and remember relevant details for later, asked him for help writing reports. 

Which caused the blinds to be drawn at least once a day as he desperately tried to keep his hands off you. 

Emily had joked when leaving him behind that she'd usually give the new boss the “don't shit where you eat” speech, especially with people in your chain of command, but it really wasn't necessary with him. Of all people. 

It didn't help that you were so damn clumsy in the office. You were usually pretty calm and collected, but since starting at the BAU, the pressure was getting to you a bit. 

You made small mistakes, you double, and triple checked your work, and you were constantly in Spencer's office asking him for opinions on topics, for background information, and for, well, reassurance. 

And you dropped stuff. A lot of stuff. 

Your analytical Monday have been perfectly suited to the BAU, but somewhere between your head and your hands, all your body parts refused to function adeptly. You'd dropped things constantly, tripped on your own feet, and constantly bumped into people even while they stood still. 

Not to mention the time your dropped your (thankfully, iced) coffee all over Spencer's lap when you'd brought him his own. 

“Oh my- Oh my god, Doctor Reid, I am so so sorry,” you scrambled, immediately grabbing tissues as he jumped up from the desk. 

“Please let me help you, god, I'm so stupid, I'm so sorry-” you said, patting away as his lap as he stood frozen in front of you. You dropped to your knees to mop up the traces of coffee still running down his thighs, as he stammered. 

“Y/N, please, you don't need to, I have a spare pair I can-” 

“I'll have them dry cleaned, I promise,” you begged, just as a knock sounded and the door to his office swung back open for JJ to enter through. 

“Spencer, the files for the- woah! Okay, I'm not jumping to conclusions, but I'm still backing out of this room right now.” 

She laughed her way out of the room, which was when your brain finally caught up to your hands and realized the stupid position you'd put yourself in. 

You'd practically pushed your boss up against the wall, kneeled before him, and begged to touch him. 

You'd squeaked out an apology and quickly left the office, much to Spencer's relief, because even after an ice bath and semi-public humiliation, he was hard and horny and his IQ had been knocked to roughly 7. 

How he'd wanted to keep you pinned in place, to stroke your cheek as he made sure you took each inch of him down your throat slowly, filling you up so you couldn't escape. 

How he'd wanted to keep his job as well, something he'd probably not get to do if JJ had decided to walk back in, or - god forbid - bring other witnesses to his debauchery. 

You were clumsy, and he was desperately horny, and you were both complete and total messes.

“I don't see how I can help you, Y/N,” Tara held up her hands in defeat as you begged for her help. 

“I'm competent with a gun, but it's not something I can teach you. I wouldn't know where to start.” 

“I just need someone to show me how to hold it properly. There's a trick to it, right? There has to be a trick to it?” 

“Ah yes, the old aim and shoot trick, I forgot about that one,” Rossi laughed, shaking his head at your office antics. 

You'd been interning for a few weeks, and the latest in a line of ability tests was shooting. You'd pretty much aced the physical fitness test, but you'd never even held a gun before joining the FBI, and you were struggling. 

“I've put in 10 hours at the shooting range in the last week, and the closest I've got to an accurate shot was hitting the next lane's paper. Don't ask.”

Your coworkers shared a sympathetic look as you sat down at the round table, ready to hear the next case details. 

“I'm relegated to office work until I pass this certificate, and I was not made for sitting at a desk for 7 hours.” 

“Well, why don't you ask Reid for help?” JJ said helpfully, bringing her coffee to her lips to hide the meddling smile plastered there. 

“Reid?” 

“He had some issues shooting when he was a rookie as well, but he put in some hours at the range, and now he's the best shot on the team.” 

“Easy there, blondie, I'm nothing to sniff at with a gun myself,” Rossi smiled, patting himself on the back. 

“I'm sure he'd enjoy helping you,” JJ continued. 

“Who would enjoy what?” Spencer said, finally joining the team in the meeting room and pulling out the case files as everyone opened up their tablets. 

“Y/N was just saying she's having some trouble shooting, and I suggested she ask for your help?” 

He froze momentarily and stared down at you as you looked up at him, hopefully, a shy smile on your face. 

He tried to keep his eyes on yours, but from this height, he had the perfect view down your shirt, your perfect-sized breasts pressing together as you leaned towards him, giving him a generous eyeful. 

He looked away quickly and nodded his agreement, sitting himself down and attaching his eyes to the files instead so he could get his mind off of  your body, and your lips, and the begging that surely would've come out of your mouth had he not accepted earlier. His brain was tormenting him with images of you underneath him, under his desk even, his cock in your mouth as you paid for his precious time training you. He blinked away the thoughts and, for once in his life, actually had to put effort into reading and understanding each word on a page as he ignored the raging fire of his lust. 

A few hours later, the two of you were at the shooting range. 

“My main problem is shooting. The instructors said my form isn't great either and that I looked like a child playing with toys whenever I hold a gun, so if you could help with that…?” You said, putting on the goggles and turning back to look at your boss. 

“Doctor Reid?” You asked. 

“Oh, yeah. Yes, they said something similar when I was training. First, let's see what you can do.” 

You smiled at him as he watched you bounce up to the lane and pick up the gun. You calmed your breathing and got ready to take the safety off when you felt a hard hand clamp over your own and pull the gun from your hand. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, staring down at you with wide eyes. 

“You said to show you-”

“You're not wearing a vest.” 

You cursed quickly as he pulled you back over to the side of the room. The place was practically deserted, as it was past the official closing hours of the range, but Spencer had been forced to pull some strings with his new title and had managed to keep it open (and somehow unmanned) until now. 

He quickly grabbed the first vest he saw and pulled it over your head, taking the side straps and tightening them until the vest was comfortably protecting all your major organs. His hands lingered for a second, and you stared shocked up at him, somehow enjoying the way he pushed you around. 

You were a grown woman, and you could do this all by yourself, but there was something about a man roughly a decade and a half older than you controlling your movements that were entirely too dangerous. You quickly stepped away and back to the podium, whispering a quick thanks under your breath as you tried to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. 

You stretched out your neck a little as you felt him walk back behind you again, keeping his distance as he watched you shoot your first clip at the targets. 

Out of six bullets, you'd missed the target five times and had grazed just below the targets arm once, a brilliant display of your natural lack of talent. 

“Your form is wrong. You're holding yourself too rigid, which means the recoil has a higher chance to hurt you. Loosen your arms slightly.”

His advice was actually good  and you followed his instructions closely, listening clearly as he walked you through each tip. 

“Like this?” 

“A little more… here, let me.” 

You had no chance to react before his body was pressed behind yours and his hands were wrapped around your own, moving g each finger by a fraction to improve your grip, trailing up your arms slowly, leaving a field of goosebumps wherever his fingers grazed. He repositioned your elbows before moving forward his hands down to your hips, turning them slightly as he widened your stance. 

“Try now.” 

Breathless, you could only nod as he stepped back, unaware if he'd even said anything since his hands had landed on you. 

You forced yourself to breathe again and took one shot.

"Oh my god, it hit. Spencer, it hit!” 

“Do it again and we can celebrate.” 

Another five shots later, and you'd managed a small cluster of hits around the arms and one shot. 

“You're definitely veering left, so let's try and over correct by aiming to the right.”

He pushed up against you again and held the gun, moving it to the right a fraction, taking complete control of your body. 

If your breath was scarce before, it was totally gone now as you felt his crotch press up against your ass. Considering the bulletproof vests put an extra inch around your chests, he was absolutely doing it on purpose, and you were shocked to realize you were too. 

You'd pushed your ass back into him, grinding slowly on his hardening cock as he hooked his head over your shoulder, looked down the sight with you, and fired the gun. 

Straight into the center of the target. 

“Good girl,” he whispered before pulling away.  

He moved two meters away from you, and maintained the distance for the rest of the night, and even though you were both aware of his hard cock tightening his pants, neither of you said a word. 

“Same time tomorrow,” he said and grabbed his jacket to leave. It was the first thing he'd said as your Unit Chief that even vaguely sounded like a command and not an enthusiastic suggestion, and you were suddenly very excited for the rest of the week. 

“Before we start,” he said the next day, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves and rolling them up to his elbows neatly. “Show me your posture again.” 

He gestured towards one of the dummy guns at the side of the range, the style you recognised from mission training that held small layers instead of bullets - same weight, same mechanism, no lethality. 

You'd spent the day and night worked up from the last time you'd been here with him, and a small part of you felt disappointed you were starting with the kiddy gun. Not one to miss an opportunity, though. You bent over to pick it up, making sure to bend at the waist right in front of him to show off your ass. 

Maybe you'd gone crazy, but the memory of his touch was burning you from the inside out and you needed to feel it again to make sure you weren't crazy. 

He maintained his distance, though. It was hard for him to keep his hands off you in all honesty, arms crossed to keep himself from crossing any more lines. That and he was sure that you'd be able to tell he'd spurted cum all over them in his office the night before despite him scrubbing them thoroughly multiple times, the weight of his guilt eating into him like a parasite.

“Arms up, point straight. Good.” You tried to keep still as he assessed your form, but his eyes prowled over you thoroughly, and you had to suppress a shudder. 

“You need to control your breathing, Y/N, you can't be afraid of pulling the trigger if you need to.” 

“I'm not-” 

“Shoulders back,” he said, moving to your side as he again began slightly correcting your form. 

Unlike the day before, though, this time, there were no bullets. And no bullets meant no bulletproof vest. 

That's why when his exploring hands came to your chest, he could feel your hardening nipples through the flimsy material of your dress. He could feel you pressing forward into his touch as his hands cupped your breast.

“Calm your heartbeat, Y/N. You need to stay calm so you can shoot straight, right?” 

The words sounded alien, even to him. His gaze was locked on the top of your shirt, looking down it to the slope of your chest, disappearing into your dress. He so wanted to let his hands disappear right along with them, to pull you back into his aching cock and play with your nipples until you cried out for mercy. 

He let his touch fall and played off his molestation as correction, even as your underwear grew slick with desire. 

“Grab your vest. Let's try again.” 

A week of late night training later, and you weren't sure if you were improving at all. The guns were the last thing on your mind when Spencer's hands were on you, his voice in your ear telling you how good you were for him, such a good subordinate. 

Both of you had yet to acknowledge that you were spending the majority of the session just rubbing up on each other, like teens at prom, desperate for whatever friction you could get without having to name the game you were playing. 

“Doctor Reid, if I hit the target this time, can you do something for me?” You chanced on the Friday, needing something else to tide you over for the weekend. 

“What do you need?” 

“No, no, nothing specific, just like a…a reward?"

He'd done his best to keep his hands off of you, which meant that he'd failed miserably, and he knew exactly what he'd like to treat you to as a reward. Keeping his hands of you in daytime hours had become harder and harder as the week flew by, and he felt like a randy school boy the amount of times he'd needed to excuse himself to either kill his bones or abuse his cock with his hand.

“Oh,” he said, growing quiet. You took his hesitation for rejection, and immediately began to back pedal. 

“Y-You don't have to, sir. It was really quite conceited on my part to demand a reward from y-” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“If you shoot six bullets that hit either the chest or the head, you'll get a reward.”

You smiled brightly at him, suddenly feeling very hopeful. 

“But if you miss, you'll get the opposite.” 

The words were out of his mouth before he could even think about what they meant. Just hearing the words made him want to visibly cringe and write himself up for office misconduct. But your smile didn't fade one bit. 

“Yes, sir. I won't let you down.” 

Turning away from him, you loaded your weapon again, and he watched you put yourself into the correct position. Despite his middling efforts to actually teach you, you had seemed to have improved over the last few days. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted that outcome. 

Just as you stepped up to take your first shot, he stepped closer to you, wrapped his hands around your waist, and pushed up against you. 

Your first shot veered left, completely missing the target as you gasped. Spencer had popped open the front button of your pants and was unzipping them, letting his hand wonder down to your panties. 

“Look straight. There will be distractions out in the field, you can do this, right?” 

“Y-Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” 

You tried to steady your breathing g and your hands again as he began rubbing slow circles into your underwear, your body alight with lust as you let him. 

Your second shot hit the paper. Your third didn't. 

“You can do better than that, Y/N.” 

You took another deep breath and picked up your gun again, shooting just as he shoved your underwear to one side and dipped his fingers into you. 

Your mouth opened in a silent moan as you quickly shot your last three bullets, not caring where they went so much as where his fingers went. 

“Y/N, I expected better,” you could hear the smile in his voice as he took the gun from your hands with his spare. “You can't even handle a weapon like this.” 

He kept his fingers pumping shallowly inside you, as he inspected the gun again. 

“Maybe you'd learn better under duress. I did, too. It's easy to learn when there's a gun pointed yo your head, right?” 

He quickly turned the gun on you  pushing it to your temple as his other hand shoved your pants down. He angled you forward with a press of his hips as his fingers returned to your cunt and slipped deeper inside. 

“S-Spencer, fuck-” 

“You missed all six bullets, so punishment it is.” His fingers gained speed as you stood, flushed and spreading your legs for him. You wanted to bury your head in your arms and scream out your moans, but the gun to your head kept you quiet and in place. 

“You may not be able to shoot a gun, Y/N, but that doesn't mean you're not enjoying them. You're so wet for me.” 

Tears sprung to your eyes as you felt your climax build and build, chasing the high you'd been searching for with every unprotected touch. 

You were letting your boss touch you, letting a man almost old enough to be your father hold a gun to your head, and you were going to squirt all over his fingers very soon. 

“Spencer, Spencer, please- please….”

“Shhh, it’s okay. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. You just needed some more help learning. You can cum now, princess. It's okay, let go.” 

You tried your best to hold back, but your body had a mind of its own as your orgasm hit you, the cold metal of the gun finally moving away from your head. 

With one hand around your waist, pinning you to the side so you stayed upright, Spencer carefully placed the gun back down before dragging your pants back up your legs. 

Taking your elbow in his hand, he walked you to the door as you blinked out the daze in your eyes. 

“We're going to my office now. To talk about your recent performance.” 

You couldn't have cared less what he'd said as long as his hands were on you, stretching your head back so it rested on his chest and pushing up until your lips could connect with the bare skin at his neck. 

“Hands off. We're going to walk all the way back to my office, and you're not going to let anyone know what just happened, okay? Not with your words, or your expressions or body language, okay?” 

You nodded, but he kept a hand on your elbow, gesturing yourself forward. 

You weren't sure how you were even able to walk after what had to have been the most intense orgasm of your life, but the promise of more likely carried you all the way up the stairs until you were comfortably enclosed in Spencer's  office. 

Like he'd found himself doing multiple times a day this month, Spencer closed the blinds, pulling you down to the sofa with him as he sat. 

“When I was your age,” he started, making sure your ass was facing up as he pushed your head into the cushions gently. 

“When I was your age, I couldn't shoot well. My Unit Chief had to kick some sense into me. I think you need that as well, right, Y/N? You need someone to beat some sense into you?” 

You nodded as he stroked your hair, and he thanked you for being so open to him. 

He made quick work of your pants and underwear, and in a quick hot burst, his hand came down on your ass. 

“Fuck, more. Please more!” 

He did it again and again as you squirmed in his lap and moaned, begging him to keep brutalizing you. 

“That's it, show me how pathetic you are, show me how much you're craving my attention.” 

He pushed your legs off of his lap until you were kneeling on the floor underneath him. He pulled up your arms and pulled your shirt over your head, similarly discarding your tank top and bra until you were totally bare on the floor in front of him. 

Instead of stripping himself yet, he pulled out his phone, palming himself through his pants. 

“Show yourself off,” he said, pointing the camera at you. 

You followed his directions quickly, hands flying to your tits to fondle them while he took pictures of your fucked our face. 

With his foot he gently nudged you down onto all yours, letting you know to turn around so he could flash a picture or two of your sloppy cunt as well. 

Your hips rocked back and forth in the air, unconsciously searching for something to rub against, some relief from your frustrations. 

He kept snapping pictures. 

Deciding that you needed his attention and stat, you let your chest fall to the floor, face flat too as your hips lifted higher in the air. Your hands found your ass cheeks, and you spread them slightly, giving Spencer an even better view of how much you needed him. 

He took one last photo, and then he knelt behind you faster than you could expect. 

In a heartbeat, his pants were down, in two his cock was buried deep inside of you. 

“So…tight, shit. You're such a precious little slut, you kept this little pussy nice and fresh just for me, right?” 

It was all you could do not to cum right there, and when he started moving you were a goner. It had always been easier for you to cum a second time than it was for you to cum a first time, and considering how quick he'd made it happen earlier, you really should've been expecting it. 

Your body convulsed around his cock as you screamed into the floor, hands still spreading yourself wide for him as he rutted into you. 

“That's it, milk my cock, Y/N. Milk your bosses cock, let me blow my load inside you.” 

Your nipples rubbed painfully against the carpet, only adding to the storm of stimulation you were experiencing. 

His hips faltered as he collapsed over your body, holding tight as his muscles locked him into place with his orgasm. He came inside you with a grunt, and he felt your cunt still clenching around him, making sure to take every last drop. 

“That- was much - preferable,” you said, gasping for breath. “To shooting - any gun.” 

He rolled off of you as you laughed, body satiated now for the first time in what felt like forever. 

“You still need to work on your gun skills,” he said after you'd detangled yourself, but before either if you had worked up the courage to leave the floor and get dressed. 

“Why?” You said, turning your head to look at him  lying on the floor next to you. 

“It seems I can fire pretty accurately already,” you said, as your hand snaked down to his cock one more time.