Kate Laswell X Reader - Blog Posts

do you perhaps….. have any laswell thoughts? i enjoy her a lot, i think she’s awesome. hearing “you smoke laswell?” “i do, my wife hates it” made me go like INSANE i was so giddy about it

anyway, how are you buddy?? i hope good, remember to have a little snack and some water today if you can :3 bye!

oh my god. how did i not see this request. LASWELL!! MY ANGEL!!! — ofc this is kate laswell x fem!reader <3

Being Kate’s wife includes;;

Her ranting about what she’s legally allowed to tell you—stories from work.

You are also friends with Price. He asks Kate often, “How is the missus?” since he doesn’t have time to personally ask you how you are.

You always make sure she can take her mind off of work when she comes home.

Kate has you take self defense classes! She’s not particularly worried about you getting hurt, but she likes to make sure.

When she’s home, you often do chores together. Always a joint task!

When it’s late in the evening and you both have had a bit to drink, you’re slowly dancing with each other in the kitchen. This always ends up in her kissing your left hand, specifically right over the ring.

You love making her laugh because you adore her smile lines!!

Laswell definitely is some type of gay. Can't be anything other than that. Lesbian, bisexual, pansexual- she likes women. And sure, physical attractiveness is part of it, something about being with men and being about to not have to deal with yard work or killing the random spider that crept into the kitchen while she was cooking is great,

But women.

Something in her just clicks. It feels as if a puzzle piece she didn't know was missing was finally put into place. Being able to be both soft around them and have her domineering side makes her feel like she can finally breathe.

Coming back home to a girlfriend waiting oh so patiently for her with their cats in tow as she opens the front door, greeted by the smell of her girl's perfume, the candle burning on the coffee table, food cooking away on the stove and something inside her heals just a bit.

Being able to do her lover's hair since she always seems to make the perfect buns and can style bangs easily, cooking in the kitchen and laughing when she accidently gets covered in flour, stealing kisses in between bites of freshly made cookies, having wine nights while they binge watch some early 2000's TV series, their feet on her lap as she makes an occasional comment about the show. Smiling softly at her when she thinks they don't notice (they do) and imaging their future together.

Crawling into bed finally, tugging the covers over her soon-to-be wife's shoulders as she softly smiles at her, admiring the person that she's fallen hopelessly and honestly in love with. Knowing that the ring tucked into her work bag will finally see the sun the next day when she asks her to be her person, forever.

Calling them by their full name

featuring Johnny and Kate

Johnny MacTavish

Kate Laswell

kate “would die for her wife” laswell

kate “loves expensive dates but also loves just sitting outside on the porch together while drinking coffee w/ wife” laswell

kate “who hates overly loud people but loves when her wife talks and talks and talks” laswell

kate “won’t quit smoking after her doctors would scold her every time she went but would for her wife” laswell

kate "who is secretly a huge romantic when it comes to her wife" laswell

kate “hates to dance but will in private w/ her wife” laswell

Thinking about Laswell using Price as a surrogate

for her and her wife hehehe („ಡωಡ„)

18+ minors DNI

• They’re at a pub after a mission well done and he can tell something’s on her mind. She tells him about her wife wanting a baby but Kate is extremely picky and the agency is running out of surrogate options.

• After a couple of drinks, she makes her proposition. She wants John to be the father. He’s a good man, He’s met her wife a few times before, and she trusts him. She offers to pay him but he refuses. They’re friends after all.

• When Kate brings him home that night, you’re a bit surprised to see him. She usually lets you know before guests stop by. You greet your wife with a peck on the lips and give John a small wave

• You expect her to pull out her playing cards and a couple of beers but instead, she sits down on the couch and pulls you onto her lap, a strong hand kneading your thigh. She fills you in on the plan as John sits on the couch opposite you two, legs spread and leaning back into the soft cushion. Your thighs involuntarily clench and Kate smiles.

“What a whore. Should’ve asked the whole squad to come up here if I knew you’d be so willing to open your legs”

• She drawls, hand sliding up to cop a feel of your breast. You glance over at John who’s stroking himself over his pants

• Eventually, you all end up in the bedroom, nightstand adorned with various knick-knacks and wedding photos. By this point, you’re naked and laid back against the plush pillows on yours and Kate’s bed

• Kate lazily rubbed your clit, eliciting soft moans from you. She dips her fingers between your lips and spreads them causing John to inhale sharply. There’s a long sticky string of arousal coating her fingers before she sucks it off

“Make her cum first,”

• Soft moans fill the room as John circles his tongue around your clit, a thick finger prodding at your entrance. He sucks your clit as he squeezes another finger in, scissoring them deep inside you to prepare you for him. Kate grabs your chin, forcing you to look at her while her coworker eats your pussy. She places her mouth on yours and your heart skips a beat.

• Kate makes out with you while your legs shake, her kisses muffling your moans as John eats you out like a man starved. He grinds on the bedsheets, his dick aching for any sort of relief as your noises spur him on. He wants you to cum so he can finally be inside you. So he can finally pump you full of his cum. His facial hair is SOAKED and you’re whimpering and your legs are shaking but he won’t stop licking and slurping your pussy until your back arches and your thighs squeeze his head. Your eyes flutter closed as you experience your first orgasm of the night. Kate takes her free hand and starts massaging your breast

“Can’t wait until these are all big and full of milk. You’re gonna be such a good mommy”

• You whimper when he finally pushes against your entrance, hand gripping Kate a bit harder. You can’t stop the moan that tears itself from your throat when he finally squeezes inside.

“Oh, you can take it. You’ve been fucked by straps thicker than this”

• John huffs but he continues to slowly stretch you open. When he finally bottoms out he tries to keep a steady pace. Doesn’t want to seem too eager. He isn’t desperate.

• Ok, maybe he's a little desperate.

• He angles himself to hit that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You’re whimpering against Kate’s mouth as John fucks a baby into you. She’s still fully clothed, nestled against your side, and holding your hand as your pussy forms a thick creamy ring around John’s dick. You try to tuck your head into her neck out of embarrassment at the sheer lewdity of the situation but she forces you to look. Your pussy convulses around him as you cum again, hypnotized as he picks up the pace.

• Kate whispers filthy degrading things in your ear as John spears you on his dick. Your face is red at how wet you are. The room is filled with John’s groans, your moaning, and the filthy wet noises that your abused pussy is making

• John’s proud of himself for not blowing his load as soon as he started fucking you but now he can feel that telltale tingle in his balls knowing he’s about to bust soon. He suddenly yanks you down on his dick, flipping your legs over his shoulders as he reaches even deeper now. You’re incoherent as he grinds against your cervix, Kate giving you a smug smile as your legs start to shake.

“That’s it, take it all.”

• She mumbles against your neck as John lets out a throaty moan and paints your insides white. You’re still whining from the overstimulation as he continues to fuck you. You can feel his cum drip out of you and onto your satin bedsheets, Kate taking a moment away from rubbing the spot on your stomach where your womb is to gather up some of the cum dripping down to your puckered hole and scooping it up with her finger before swirling it on your tongue.

• John groans at the sight, kissing you. He sucks his cum off of your tongue as he slows his movement to an excruciating grinding motion that makes your pussy flutter around his again.

• When Kate decides he’s kissed you long enough she plucks his head and he gets the hint. He smiles and pulls away, a string of saliva and semen connecting you both before he wipes his mouth.

• A few weeks later John tries to suppress a smile when he reads a text from Kate

“Test was negative. Come over tonight.”

finger

kate laswell x f!reader | ~3.6k words tags: alcohol, age gap (Kate is in her late 40s, Reader is in her 30s), cunnilingus, fingering, slight mommy kink, x2 'good girls', x1 'brat', porn with a dash of plot a/n: kate isn't married in this. reader has hair long enough for kate to grab. happy pride.

Forty swipes deep into dating app hell and down to the dregs of a beer, the bartender exchanges your glass for a tumbler. Face smushed into a palm, you stare incredulously at the liquor. You definitely didn’t order whiskey. Definitely can’t afford it. Even at a dive like this, your budget demands whatever’s on special, tonight being Rainier.

You’re quick to correct the bartender. No way you’re overdrafting again. “Hey–I didn’t order this.”

A knowing smile curves his mouth, and he jerks his head over a shoulder. “No, but she did.”

It’s a surprise your neck doesn’t snap when you look and a second that your jaw doesn’t hit the counter on its way to the floor. The she in question sits at the corner with her arm draped over the back of another stool. Older than you, maybe by a decade. She looks like a suit or off-duty fed, with a dress shirt undone to the top of her sternum, a blazer draped over her seat, and sandy hair pulled into a bun. Your eyes linger on the triangle of skin below her neck, and heat rushes up your neck when they pan to her face.

Though the color is difficult to discern in the dim light, they’re half-lidded and fixed to you over the rim of her glass. She taps the top of the empty seat beside her—as if the free drink wasn't a clear enough invitation.

Not your usual type, but a drink is a drink. It’s polite to respond.

Your thumb swipes the app shut, and you pocket your phone, scooting off your stool on an invisible leash. A warm ball of excitement tugging you across the sticky floor, slowing time in your head. You ferry the whiskey like it’s some grand gift, desperately not wanting to spill a drop and make a fool of yourself in front of whoever the hell this woman is.

Her eyes drop, appraising you on the approach. You think you might be buzzing as loud as the lights. 

“Hi,” you pass behind as her arm lifts off the stool, allowing you to sidle into the gap between and hoist yourself up. You set the whiskey on a coaster and tap it with a finger. “Thanks for the drink.”

“Hope neat’s alright.” She replies, head tilting slightly, body turning angling toward you. “Bad day?”

“Bad night,” you correct sheepishly. “I, uh, had a date but they canceled at the last second.”

Her tongue clicks, setting her glass down to undo the cuff buttons of her sleeves. “That’s bad manners. Their loss, though. You’re a knockout.”

The way she says it so casually, oozing confidence you only dream of, momentarily stuns you. You’ve been called ‘cute’ and ‘pretty’, but—Your brain short circuits at the sight of her deftly rolling her sleeves. Slight tan, a dusting of freckles, and a couple of interesting scars. Your eyes flick to hers, an amused smile telling you she’s caught you ogling for the second time.

“Thanks. That’s kind of you to say.” you finally reply, taking a sip of the whiskey in a move you hope exudes poise.

She tucks the fabric to one elbow and starts the other. “It looked like you could use something stronger. Thought a finger or two would help.”

The whiskey nearly shoots out of your nose, but you swallow after an embarrassing choke.

She merely chuckles and extends a hand to pat your back gently. “Of bourbon, that is.”

“Y-Yeah, no, I know,” you sputter and pluck a cocktail napkin from a stack, wiping your mouth and praying for a spontaneous, you-sized sinkhole to open beneath your seat.

“I’m Kate.” She rubs a slow circle near the top of your spine, then flattens her hand to rest her thumb on the nape of your neck. It brushes over the skin once when you give her your name. She repeats it, lifting her glass. “I’ll take their place for the night, unless you object?”

The assertiveness is a stark contrast to your fumbling and the coy indecisiveness of women you typically attract. The question hangs off her tongue, dangling like a worm on a hook. She wants you to bite, you feel it in the heat of her gaze, and let her in. She must be a fed with a focus like that; no way she’s corporate. You’ve lived in the DMV long enough to spot them. Can’t throw a rock without hitting one, anyway. 

You smile, feeling the warmth of Kate’s palm through your shirt. “I’d like that.” 

“Yeah? Good.” She sips, shifting further until her knee skims the outside of your thigh. “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

That does something for you, and you file it away for later. You mirror Kate’s posture, turning so your knees interlace. You know how intimate this must look to the handful of other patrons, to the bartender, as if you’re already a couple. Yet it feels natural, like you’re supposed to meld into the complete stranger because she bought you a drink. A breath slips out when her hand leaves your back, the angle too far to be comfortable, and drops to your kneecap. It’s like a game of chicken, all these small touches, and you kind of want to lose.

You prattle off the basics. How you moved to D.C. two years ago for work, how the city’s grown on you, and on a tangent, that you’re actually pretty lonely. It spills out of you freely, unable to look away from the steel blues seemingly hanging off every word. It’s the most attention you’ve received outside of work in a long time. It’s that and the whiskey, must be, why the butterflies in your stomach migrate to your chest, evolving into the thrum of a bird’s wings. 

To your quiet delight, her attention isn’t the only thing she gives you—it’s her interest. She hums and affirms. She asks questions. Digs into the meat of the story you spout off about your shitty landlord. And she squeezes your knee when you share how you spent the last holiday alone in the city. You try to turn it around once or twice, though you abandon that line of questioning after she tells you she’s a ‘contractor’.

Before you know it, you’re finished with a second whiskey and incredibly warm and wanting.

Kate hits you with the Let’s get out of here and loops an arm around your waist outside the bar. In the cab, you let her slide her hand up your leg, stopping in time to eat up your pathetic whine with a languid kiss. Though she pays the fare, you leave a big tip—an apology for the makeout he couldn’t’ve missed through the rearview.

You float through the hotel lobby in a haze of alcohol and lust, barely appreciating the swankiness of the place. Whatever ‘contractor’ really means, it pays well. She practically lassoes you into the elevator with one arm, her suit jacket draped over the other. 

“You can back out anytime.” She says, punching the button for her floor. “No hurt feelings.”

The blood in your veins itches with need as you grab her waist and haul her closer. You unabashedly stare, glossy-eyed. This woman, who’s been nothing but kind and attentive and generous—you want to return the favor. Tenfold. Something about her draws it out. “I don’t want to,” You whisper, the elevator softly dinging with each passing floor. “I want more.”

She smiles, hand fitting over the nape of your neck again like it belongs there, and reels you in for another kiss. It leaves you gasping when the lift stops.

Her room is a suite, another token of her apparent success. The best place you’ve ever stayed at came with a coffee maker. There isn’t much of a chance to admire it, though, since she plants you on the wall the moment the door clicks, latching it shut with her free hand. It’s a long, heated stumble further into the room, most of your clothes coming off with each step. It doesn’t hit you until she holds you at arm’s length to sit on the edge of her bed. She smirks up at you, tugging on the waistband of your underwear. Not to take them off but as direction.

You kneel between her open legs without a second thought.

“You still want more?”

Hours earlier, when your date texted a poor excuse to cancel, you didn’t think this was where the night would go. The weight of Kate’s gaze is heavy, almost as intoxicating as the whiskey lingering on your tongue. The anticipation is electric, and the view is…Well, you could get used to sitting on your knees if it’s her holding the reins.

You lay your hands on her thighs and feel the muscles beneath her pants shift. It’s heady, knowing someone this composed and enigmatic wants you, too.

“Yes.” You finally manage, hands sliding up to unbutton her fly and curling over the band to tug them down along with her underwear. Above, Kate chuckles, lifting her hips to allow you to peel them to her ankles. God, how desperate you must look when your eyes whip from her face to the patch of hair before you. Your mouth hangs open, drool already gathering on your tongue.

“You’ll catch flies like that.” she teases. 

Her hand lands atop your head. No pull or pressure. Yet. 

“But good answer,” Her fingers flex against your scalp. “Show me how good that pretty little mouth of yours is, shall we?”

Yes ma'am.

Without hesitation, you press open-mouthed kisses to Kate’s spread thighs, relishing the sigh of relief from above. You lay another on the hair above her pussy, inhaling her scent appreciatively, then give a few exploratory licks to her labia, avoiding where she wants you to wind her up. Something about a woman in control that makes you want to pick at a frayed edge and unwind her, even just a little bit. 

The hand in your hair tightens after more teasing, a silent Get to it. You still spare a couple more wet kisses, then lick a stripe over her hole before slipping it in. Her hips jut toward your mouth, pressure finally applied to your skull. You oblige her, searching for more of the vinous taste coating your tongue. You think it might be the best night of your life when she moans, your hands joining your mouth to gently spread her open.

“That’s it, just like that…” She rasps, voice thin and shaky. “That’s a good girl.” 

Your chest bursts at the praise, heat doubling in your cheeks. It cracks your eyes open, vision glazed. The sight of her, brow furrowed and lip caught between teeth—you did that. 

You dutifully continue, responding to each jerk of your head with soft groans, each one a direct line to your cunt. Pressing your thighs together, you feel how soaked you are, the cotton sticking. By the time you drag your tongue up to her clit, her legs shake, thighs trembling and bumping against your ears. Kate’s trying to keep them still; the tension beneath your hands charged and telling. When you wrap your lips around her clit to suck, you watch her eyes roll back and square your shoulders to keep her open.

“Atta girl.” She grits between her teeth, the fingers in your hair tightening to pull you snugly against her pussy. Her other hand fists the comforter, the fabric crinkling in her white-knuckled grip. “Don’t stop,” It’s almost a whine, bitten back and forced into a grunt. You could die here, nose buried in her bush and tongue stuck to her clit, chin slipping through her wetness. Drown or suffocate. It’d be a hell of a way to go.

But she comes, eyebrows pinched and mouth wide, going stock-still and rigid until the tension snaps. Kate shakes through it, letting all of one moan loose before clamping her mouth shut, baring her teeth to hiss instead. Her hips buck, and you carefully move with her, intent on catching everything she gives, greedily lapping at her until she tugs your head back.

A wet sheen paints your upper lip to your chin, possibly your throat, and you stare, hands on her knees, up at Kate. Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her eyes dark and color high on her cheeks. Mild carpet burn bites your knees, but you don’t dare move. 

It’s like that for a few minutes. Her hand loosens its grip to pet your hair, her breathing gradually leveling out. Her scent permeates the air and your skin. God, even if you never see her again after this, she’s a part of you now.

“Up,” She suddenly says, standing and gesturing to the bed. “Take off the rest, then on your back.”

You scramble, wincing at the pops of your knees, but she doesn’t seem to notice. The clasp of your bra works with you, unfastening easily, and you shiver when the damp gusset of your underwear slaps wetly against your thigh on the way off. She grabs bottled water from the nightstand instead, drinking deeply, looking away at the curtains covering the windows.

Turning around, she twists the cap and sets the water aside, licking her lip free of a stray droplet. The pink tip of her tongue enough to expel a sharp breath.

Peculiarly, she leaves her shirt on but joins you, crawling onto the bed with a smile that might’ve passed for soft if her eyes weren’t so sharp. She leaves barely any breathing space, draping a warm leg over yours and pulling it toward her. Her elbow rests beneath her, propping her up with a closed fist to her temple. Her other hand drifts from the crease of your thigh, over your stomach, and between your breasts. Head tilting, her tongue darts out again in apparent study, drinking you in. Her attention to the physical is just as reverent as it is in conversation. 

You cannot bring yourself to speak, afraid you’ll break the spell. But you twitch once, when her fingers ghost over a hard nipple, and she smirks.

“Yes?”

“Please,” You whisper, not too proud to beg, and reach for her hand. “Please touch me. I am so fucking—”

Kate tuts, freezing your hand’s approach, then softens it with a hushed laugh. “Impatient. If that’s what you want, then let me work.” She pinches the bud between her fingers, slowly maneuvering to her knees. “You were so sweet at the bar. Don’t tell me I’ve brought a selfish brat home.”

A frustrated groan slips out, stuttering into a whimper as she withdraws to sit on her heels. Your teeth catch your lip to silence another when she moves between your legs, not sparing a single glance to her prize. Her hands spider up your shins and down your calves. It’s torture, and she’s incredible at it. 

Never in your life have you been called a brat past childhood, and certainly not in the bedroom. It pokes at that earlier inkling, urges it out into the open, but you stubbornly smother it. Maybe you are—but you don’t want to be for her. 

“Kate, please,” you plead again. “Please, I just–I just got worked up when I–”

“Shh. I know. I’m being awfully rude. I’ll take care of you, pretty thing.” Kate purrs, finally lowering her gaze to your dripping center, and her lip curls. It’s calculated, the glacial speed with which she approaches your cunt. Situates herself nice between your spread legs, returning the favor of littering your shaking thighs with kisses, adding teeth into the meatiest parts. 

Her nails lightly comb south through your thatch of hair, two callused fingers tracing over either side of your sex. A third finger teasing a trail through the wet, before dipping into the first knuckle. “Fuck,” she gaps, marveling at the ease. “You weren’t kidding.”

Surely you’d think of a smarter comeback other than the nonsensical babble you stammer instead.

Your stomach twists into knots as a second finger joins the first, easing deeper, thumb hovering over your clit like a trigger. Her fingers move slowly and deliberately, but within seconds you’re taking them to the webbing. They crook and drag against your inner walls, coaxing a stream of needy sounds from your lips.

“Wish you could see yourself,” Kate rasps, voice a hair lower. Brow narrowed with rapt attention. “Think you can take three?” She chuckles at the breathy little in a minute you force out. “Good girl, telling me how it is.”

Her fingers start to scissor and stretch, thumb occasionally tapping your clit to see your hips jolt. Your eyes are rolled back into oblivion when her tongue makes contact, and they snap open so fast you need to blink away black spots. Your hands hover over her head, unsure if she’s—fuck, if she’s—

She unlatches from your clit, giving it a peck before nodding at your outstretched palms. As if all business, she sinks back into your cunt mouth-first and closes her eyes with a groan. Your pussy squeezes at the sight, a needy whimper accompanying your fingers as they thread through her hair, ruining her bun. 

Kate alternates between devouring your pussy and tongue-fucking your hole, showcasing an almost animalistic side to the controlled woman who charmed you at the bar. The sounds muffled by your thighs, so hungry and urgent, it’s almost too much. You suck your lip into your mouth as the heat flooding your abdomen steadily migrates.

“K-Kate, fuck, I’m close.”

With a wet pop, she lifts her head, face flushed and mouth drenched. Though you quietly protest, your orgasm dancing out of reach, you let a curse shrivel on your tongue. Her fingers slow to allow a third to prod at your hole. It’s a stretch, even as slick as you are. The two of you groan as she feeds them into you. She drops a kiss to your thigh once they’re in, gaze flitting up to read your face on the first languid push and pull.

“Yeah?”

“Y-Yeah, oh, oh fuck.” Your answer turns stupid at the insistence behind Kate’s renewed thrusts. The lewd, squelching sound drowns whatever shreds of coherency and possibly dignity you have left.

Her mouth returns, sawing your clit back and forth, applying pressure in tandem with the plunge of her fingers. 

If she minds the number you’re doing to her scalp, she doesn’t show it. Her hair comes undone under your desperate hands, trying to fuse your cunt to her jaw. Tit for tat, though maybe she thinks as you do, finding a warm and wet pussy a suitable demise. 

With deliberate timing, her fingers bury themselves, bullying through the tight clasp of your walls, and teeth graze your clit. They sever the last thread of control, and your vision whites out. Head tipped against the pillow and heels digging into the bed, you shatter, voice unrestrained and echoing through the hotel room. A sliver of embarrassment stitches through the silence after, the neighboring suites an afterthought.

Kate cleans you in the afterglow. Your legs twitch uncontrollably as a towel dips between your legs, brain too muddled to appreciate her undoubtedly flattering words. 

She climbs into bed after that, tucking the pair of you underneath the sheets. You guess you’re staying the night when she folds around you in a spoon. She sighs, deep and satisfied, breath tickling your ear. “Good?”

“Better than good.” A tired giggle ekes out, snuggling into the bedding. Your eyelids droop, your head blissfully swimming from the faint smell of Kate on your lips. You swallow, unable to stop yourself from sleepily asking, “What’s after this?”

Her lips press to your temple in a prolonged kiss. Long enough to make you think you made a mistake. Then she whispers. “Sleep. A shower. Then room service in the morning.” She must sense your unease, though, as she adds, “We’ll talk then.”

You nod, half-lost to slumber already, savoring the figure eights she traces on your side. 

In the morning, you wake to an empty bed and a knock on the door. One foot in post-sex sleep-induced delirium, you find a robe in the ensuite and greet an amused-looking hotel employee at the door. Cart in tow, they breeze past you, lifting a cloche from a mouth-watering breakfast and a small carafe of coffee.

“Do I need to…pay for this?” You ask, head as scrambled as the eggs on the plate. 

“No, it’s being charged to the room.” The man says as he unloads the cart onto the room’s table. He delays his departure, though, and you get the message. He leaves with the last of your cash, and you spot a note tucked under Kate’s pillow.

Sorry to leave you like this. Duty calls. Take your time with the room. No one will bother you beyond delivering breakfast. You can reach me at this number if you need a finger or three, again. - Kate

You snort and shove a piece of bacon into your mouth to distract yourself from the ache between your legs.

Later, you consider adjusting your age preferences up a bracket across your dating apps before deleting them altogether. You send a text, and it’s under a minute that three dots appear. 

>> Miss me already, kid?