#i did not consent to self wreck that hard

[cicaklah]

It's nearly 2024 and I'm having violent feelings about finn and poe and the force awakens again.

[dbnightingale24]

React

A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

I think my internet has finally stopped hating me, but I can't be too sure. We'll see what happens.

Word Count: 5,531

Warning(s): SMUT (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Stepcest, Infidelity, Step-Daughter/Step-Father relations, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Lying, Sneaking Around, Emotional Cheating, Drinking, Self Loathing, FLUFF, Crying...I think that's it?

Summary: You and Jim have discovered that you don't want to stop, and don't even want to entertain the idea of it.

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I do not give permission/consent for my stories/works to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior/relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

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Chapter 4

You and Jim are horrible people, there’s no other way to put it. Jim woke you up the next day with his head between your legs, and you didn’t even attempt to stop him. Nor did you stop him when he told you get on top of him and get yourself off on him. The first two hours of the day were spent getting lost in one another and, for a moment, you forgot why it was wrong.

Then, you heard your Mother the second you opened the basement door.

“Well, why did ya sleep on the sofa, Jim?!” she snapped.

“My kids are still asleep, Y/M/N,” he huffed as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You were a mess yesterday and-”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“I had to carry you up the stairs in the middle of the movie.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I got nervous and they seemed to take more to-”

“That’s been your reason for every time your shit faced now, and it’s always Y/N’s fault.”

“I don’t say that it is-”

“Yes you do, and she’s only here because you asked her to come! Jesus, where’s the woman I met? The woman I fell in love with?!” he snipped and your heart broke.

You wished you’d never come back.

“And you? What do you think?” your Mother asked once she spotted you trying to creep out of the kitchen.

“Please, leave me out-”

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You let out a heavy sigh, because you knew how the rest of the day was going to go.

“I think I should’ve never come back,” you sighed as you leaned against the entry way. “I feel like you do better when we don’t see each other, and I’m not even mad about that. That’s how things have always been between us, and I don’t know why I expected it to change. Since I’ve been home, you’ve been drinking non-stop and an emotional wreck. You asked me to come back and I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t have done. I messed up your progress,” you finished softly as you toyed with your fingers, avoiding her hurt and irritated gaze.

As far as she was concerned, you and Jim were ganging up on her. Hell, if you hadn’t spent the previous night and that morning fucking her husband, you would’ve been able to feel like you weren’t ganging up on her. However, the guilt was eating you alive instantly, and it only got worse when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey off of the top of the fridge. 

It wasn’t even 10am and she’d snapped.

She was drunk off of her ass by 12pm, which meant that it was up to you to save the day for your...step-siblings. 

The day wasn’t even hard because you didn’t like them, it was hard because of what you’d done. With their Father. It didn’t help that they really had seemed to take a liking to you, and they wanted to do everything with you. Especially after your Mother passed out at 1:30pm.

“You alright, Angel?” Jim asked softly once he’d closed the door behind him to your bedroom.

The room that was right next to your Mother’s.

“It’s fine. They go back tomorrow and I’ll go to Ciara’s-”

“I want you here-”

“We already had this talk. Once was enough, Jim.”

“Angel-”

“It’s wrong! You’re married to her! Even if you get a divorce, she’s still my Mother! We can’t just...no, this can’t happen again.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day, Angel,” he confessed softly as he made his way closer to your bed.

“You’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ me.”

“No, I’ve been thinkin’ about you,” he confirmed softly. “Your smile, the way you laugh, the sound of your laugh, how caring and sincere you are, how thoughtful-”

“Jim-”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he promised as his right hand cupped the side of your face. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Jim-”

“Have you?” he asked sincerely as he focused your gaze on him.

It slipped out before you even had a chance to stop yourself.

“Yes.”

You honestly hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the kiss, and you hadn’t meant to give him a blowjob. However, both of those things happened, which led to him fucking senseless in your bed.

Which is, once again, right next to your Mother’s bedroom. The bedroom that she shares with your Stepfather.

You couldn’t get out of that house fast enough the following day. However, when you got to Ciara’s, she wasn’t proving to be much help either. 

“I’m sorry, you two did what?! How many times?!” she squealed before she took a sip of wine.

“We only did that position once, but we had sex.. a few times,” you mumbled, very clearly ashamed of yourself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re in love,” she shrugged as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

“I’m in love with my Stepfather. He’s married to my Mother-”

“Your Mother is awful.”

“Be that as it may, she’s my Mother. She wanted to start a new chapter with Jim, and her new found sense of-”

“She did this, love. She created this fake version of herself, then let it all come crumbling down when you came home. She invited you back, then had a meltdown on the both of you. Is this right? Of course not. However, do I understand it? Of course. I know you feel terrible, and I would too, but lets not pretend you meant for any of this to happen. Hell, you didn’t even know she’d gotten married. Yes, it’s wrong, but you both did your best to fight this and seemed like the harder you two fought against it, the more she went out of her way to be problematic,” she sighed as your phone went off again. “What’s goin’ on there?”

“Jim and my Mother have been messaging me all day,” you muttered with an eye roll. “She wants me to come back because she feels awful and is tired of driving me away. He wants me to come back because he misses me and wants to fall asleep next to me. I’m staying far the fuck away from both of them.” 

“You’ll be goin’ back soon enough, and that should help,” she smiled mournfully.

Honestly? It should’ve. It should’ve been enough to keep you focused and your thoughts away from all of the other bullshit. It’s your final year, and you have so many things to figure out. You need to decide on a job, figuring out living arrangements, where you’re going to live, and a million other things. However, Jim was persistent. If he wasn’t calling and texting, he was sending you flowers with the cutest notes attached. 

By day four, you’d crumbled and told him to come to Ciara’s. 

He took you out to dinner at a cute little restaurant outside of town, and spent the entire time picking your brain. He wanted to know if you were excited or nervous about graduating (you told him that it’s an evil mixture of both), he wanted to know if there’s anything in particular you’re excited about getting back to (you told him about the cute dog adoption center that’s not too far from campus that you visit when you’re feeling too overwhelmed), and he wanted to know your favorite things (that had you rambling longer than you meant to).

Yes, the whole thing was sweet, but you rightfully had your reservations.

“Jim, how do you know this is real? No to be a total fucking cunt, but this will be your second failed marriage. What makes you so sure this will work?” you asked softly before you took a sip of your drink.

“This isn’t like what Yvonne and I did. I was in a good marriage and I fucked it up. I fucked it up for selfish reasons and looked for everyone to blame but myself. This...I honestly never knew this side to your Mum. If I had, I wouldn’t have married her in the first place. Yvonne and I...it started for all the wrong reasons. It started for selfish reasons on both of our parts, but this isn’t wrong or selfish, I promise.”

“Your wife made you unhappy-”

“Don’t. This isn’t something I started because I was havin’ a bad day. You just...you’re so beautiful, Angel. I don’t just mean on the outside. You step up when you shouldn’t have to, you’re thoughtful, you’re so damn funny, you’re witty, you’re patient, you’re painfully considerate...I could go on for hours. When everything started to fall apart, you stepped up and kept a level head. Between the two of us, you were the more mature and calm one. Hell, this whole thing started because I can’t control my feelings for you.”

“What about when I make you mad?” you asked timidly as you toyed with your fingers. 

“You’re not your Mum, Angel. We can talk things out and make it work. We can have an actual relationship that works.”

“Your kids-”

“They love you-”

“As their step-sister.”

“They’ll get used to it.”

“Jim-”

“Angel, I love you and I want this with you. I know I have a lot to prove, but I’m willing to try if you are. We’ll...test this out for a few months and you can decide-”

“A few months?! Jim, she’s my Mother-”

“I’m filing for a divorce, Angel. No matter what we do, I’m filing for a divorce. Things aren’t what they were and they never will be again,” he confessed with a scoff, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

He really thought he got it right with your Mother.

“We can’t...we have to take our time with this,” you told him softly as you tried to force yourself to come to terms with what you were saying.

What you were agreeing to.

“We can do whatever you want, Angel. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“We should wait until we have sex again.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” he promised with a nod as the waiter came over to ask if you both if you wanted anything else.

You folded like a lawn chair the second you and Jim were in front of Ciara’s house. You pulled him to the backseat of his car and had him until you were both spent. He ended up sleeping over Ciara’s that night, and he held you so close, as if he were afraid you’d run off in the night.

No, none of it had gone ideally. You and Jim spent every moment you could together, and he made it so easy to ignore the guilt. Every kiss, every touch, every date, every laugh...he made you forget how wrong all of it was. He made you forget that the both of you were committing the worst kind of betrayal.

Which is why you’re now pacing around your dorm room, waiting for his phone call. It doesn’t matter that you have an essay you need to start on, or that you have job applications to fill out, because you miss him and he makes you feel like a lovesick idiot. It also doesn’t help that he sent you a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies earlier in the day.

The second your phone goes off, you almost pounce to answer it.

“Baby?” you ask breathlessly, a smile coming to your lips.

A horrible way to answer the phone for the current situation you’re in, honestly. 

“It’s me, Angel,” he chuckles softly. “I miss you too.”

“In my defense I ‘aven’t been this excited to speak to someone...ever,” you giggle softly and he laughs. “How was your day?”

“A bit stressful, but it was good. I hate drivin’.”

“Why were you driving?”

“Had some things to take care of,” he sighs as someone knocks on your door. “Who’s that?”

“I’ve no clue. I didn’t make any plans with anyone,” you shrug as you make your way to the door and unlock it. “JIM!” you scream, throwing your phone to the side and jumping on him as your legs wrap around him, and he laughs softly. “Why are you here?! How?!” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi to you too, Angel,” he laughs, carrying you inside with a smile, before kicking the door shut behind him. “I missed you, and I wanted you to have a good few days before...”

“Before what?” you question with a cocked eyebrow.

“When I go back....I’m filing.”

“Jim...”

“I want this, Angel. I want us. I’m not gonna regret this and I hope you won’t either.”

“I just...Jim...”

“Do you still want this?”

“You know I do, but...you have to really commit. You’re leaving your wife for her daughter. Are you truly sure this is something you want? Are ya sure you want me?”

“Get dressed,” he smiles once he sets you down, “I’ve got somewhere to-”

He’s cut off by a knock on your door, “Y/N, are you in? It’s Mum,” your Mother proclaims from the other side of your door.

FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“What are ya doin’ here? Give us a moment, I just got out of the shower!” you panic as both you and Jim try to find a place to hide him.

“Well, Jim is gonna be gone for a few days to go and see a friend, so I figured I should come and see you. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“Mum, I really don’t have any issue with you or Jim. It’s just better for you if-”

“I know I haven’t always been the best Mother, but I want to change that. With time, you and Jim will grow to like each other and get along. I know I don’t always act like it, but I want all of this to work. I want us to be a proper family,” she confesses, remorse painfully clear in her voice.

By the look in his eyes, you can tell that Jim wants to say something, but he can’t without giving himself away.

“I don’t hate Jim,” you prattle on as you push him into your bathroom and motion for him to lay down in the bathtub. 

You’re quick to run to the sink and wet your hair, while trying to swallow down all of the anxiety and guilt.

“I don’t hate either of you,” you continue as you look yourself over in the mirror, “I just felt that it would be better if I finished holiday with Ciara. Let you two work on things.”

Lie, lie, lie.

“I just feel like me being around only makes things worse for you, and I don’t want that,” you explain, making your way back over to the shower. “Silence your phone,” you whisper before closing the shower curtain.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door to your room, “I really wish you would’ve called.”

“I figured it would be fine since you didn’t get back too long ago. You don’t have too much work, do ya? We could grab a quick bite,” she smiles hopefully.

You truthfully don’t know what to do, because it’s not like the trip from Dublin to London is an easy one, but Jim also made the same trek and is currently hiding in your bathroom. Seeing as he is about to file for a divorce just to be with you, maybe you should go to dinner with her.

However, Jim did get here first.

“What are you doin’ tomorrow?” you ask, hopeful that she won’t be too hurt.

It’s not as if you’re saying no all together, just not right now.

“Leaving,” she laughs awkwardly. “I figured I’d head back early tomorrow. I’m hoping Jim will come back early and we can talk things out. We got into a bit of an argument before he left, and I’m afraid I’ve really made a mess of things,” she admits shyly.

Fuck.

“Let me grab my things and we’ll go,” you smile solemnly.

Quickly grabbing your phone, you text Jim a quick ‘I’m sorry’, before grabbing your purse and key to your dorm.

“Is there any place in particular that you wanna go to?” you ask, locking the door to your bedroom.

“I figured we’d go somewhere you love. My treat,” she smiles and it only makes you feel worse. 

“We can go to Chez Jules, and don’t worry about me, I can pay for-”

“I’m surprisin’ ya, I should at least pay for dinner. Besides, I put you through a tough Summer-”

“It’s alright-”

“Just let me be a proper Mum for once. Please?”

You hate yourself. You hate yourself to your core. Yes, you and her have always had a turbulent relationship, but never in a million years did you see this scenario playing out as it is. Hell, you honestly didn’t think you two would be in each other’s lives at this point. You and Jim falling in love isn’t even a result of you being angry with her, it just happened. Hell, you fought it so hard because you do actually love your Mother.

Now, it’s just a big mess. You don’t want to hurt her, but you can’t pretend your feelings for Jim aren’t real. You honestly wish you never came home for the Summer.

“How does it feel to be back?” your Mother asks once you’re both seated.

“It’s weird,” you laugh awkwardly, “I can’t believe this is my final year.”

“I’m so proud. Ya did what I couldn’t.”

“You can always go back whenever you want. You know that.”

“It was never for me. I don’t think an of this was ever for me,” she laughs softly.

You don’t even catch yourself as you mumble, “don’t I know it,” slips out.

“ ‘m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You’re hurt and you’re angry. You have every right to be. This past Summer...I don’t know why I reacted like I did. I don’t know why I always react the way I do to you. I do love you, I just don’t know how to be a Mother. I never have and I never wanted to be one. I just...I really thought it was a role I could grow in to. I’d like to think I’m better now, but we both know that I’m not and it doesn’t even matter now. You’re an adult all on your own and your own person.”

“Can we not do this in public? I’m too sober for an argument-”

“I don’t want to argue, I want to be honest. I’m trying to...I want to apologize. Ya didn’t know about Jim and for me to react the way I did...I just felt like he was taken with you more than I would’ve liked,” she sighs as the waitress comes over.

“Y/N, I already know your order,” she laughs before turning her attention to your Mother, “for you?”

“Gin,” she smiles.

“Do you need a moment for food?”

“Um, I’ll have the pork loin steak.”

“Mum!”

“Jesus, I can afford it, as can you,” she laughs. “What do ya want?”

“I don’t-”

“She’ll take the braised shoulder of lamb,” your Mother nods, grabbing your menu and handing it back to the waitress.

“Mum, we can’t-”

“It’s a girl’s night!”

“I have class in the morning,” you lie with a giggle. “I can’t be out too late.”

“I won’t keep ya too long,” she smiles. “I just felt like this would be good for us. I was afraid if I called, ya’d say no.”

“I just...time apart has always been best for us.”

“That’s not how it should be. Jim loves ya, his kids love ya, and I just...I got jealous. You getting to the house before me...I should’ve waited, because I knew you would’ve been hurt. It was a big decision and I didn’t even take you into consideration. I was just so in love with Jim and I felt like...I figured I could finally do it, ya know? Be a proper wife and Mother. Be someone everyone could finally be proud of. I didn’t tell Jim much about my past, because it’s not anything to be proud of, but I did tell him about you. I told him that you’re the only thing I’ve done that’s right. I knew you two would get along, but I still had my reservations. The way I had been with him was a side of me you’d never seen, and I was afraid you’d resent me for being better with him and his kids than I ever was with you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about him?” you ask, swirling your drink in the glass.

“I don’t know. We were in our own little bubble, and it was nice. I didn’t want to ruin it, and I know you’ve never been a fan of the men I’ve been with, which I can’t blame ya for. I was just scared. It got so bad so fast, and I know it’s on me. I’ve never actually committed to this part of myself and failed before I even gave myself a chance. I let you down, again, and I’m sorry.”

You say nothing as a new wave of guilt washes over you as your dinner is delivered. How could you fuck up this badly? How could you let yourself end up in a situation that will end so horribly?

“I know it was all in my head though,” she continues after the waitress walks away. “Jim barely knows you and you don’t see him like that. You don’t know him well enough to look at him in that light. It was just my own insecurities getting in the way, and I’ll do better. I’ll be better for the both of ya.”

“What did you and Jim argue about before he left?” you ask, doing your best to fight back your tears as you cut up your lamb,

“He’s rightfully angry with me. The drinking, the way I acted around his children, the way I treated you...he said he doesn’t know how to be with me anymore. I was drunk, we both raised our voices, I threw some things...it’s not lookin’ good,” she chuckles humorlessly as she wipes away a few tears. 

“What do you think-”

“He wants to leave me,” she interrupts with a shrug. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he said it in so many words.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t, but I can tell that he really is at his end. Even with sex-”

“Sex?” you eagerly cut off before you mean to.

You hate that you care so much. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to give you too much information,” she laughs softly. “We barely ever have it, and I feel like I have to beg for it anyway. When we do, he never seems to be...in the moment. He always feels a million miles away, and it feels so empty. It was never like this before, and I know it’s on me. I made such a mess of everything this Summer.”

“Maybe you two just need some time apart,” you suggest, knowing damn well that, that won’t solve anything.

The man is waiting for you in your dorm room.

“He seemed pretty put off before he left. I tried to talk to him, but he just...he walked out. He doesn’t love me anymore, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Well, why do you do this shite? Huh? You finally had what you wanted-”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, throwing her fork down and drying her eyes with the backs of her hand. “It was goin’ too good. I got too nervous and I just...I let my fears win. I took it out on you, I took it out on him...I can’t fix it,” she sniffles, drying her eyes.

“I can talk to him for you,” you offer quietly.

You fucking idiot.

“My estranged daughter pleading my case for me? That’s even more pathetic,” she scoffs, before taking a sip of her drink then picking up her fork. “Anyway, tell me about school! Are you more excited to be back, or to be graduatin’ soon?”

For the rest of dinner, you try to keep up appearances, but your mind is going a million miles a minute. You know what you need to do, but you also know how much it’s going to hurt. You and Jim have spent so much time trying to build some form of a relationship, and you’re about to destroy it. 

To be fair, the relationship should’ve never happened in the first place.

“You’ll tell me when you’re home and safe?” you ask once you two are back at your dorm.

“Of course,” she smiles, wrapping you in a tight hug, “thank you for this. I really needed it.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you get back to your studies,” she laughs awkwardly as she lets go of you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you smile with a nod before unlocking your door, “let me know when you’re at your hostel, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“Well...goodnight,” you nod once you’re in your room.”

“Night.”

You wait until you see her turn the corridor down the hall before finally closing the door, and letting out a heavy sigh. You know what comes next is gonna break both you and Jim’s heart.

“I know that sigh,” he comments as you close the door.

“Ya can’t leave her, Jim. Make it work.”

“Angel-”

“She’s so in love with you and she’s so sorry-”

“Stop it.”

“She’s my Mother! What do you want me to do-”

“Why do you keep trying to spare her feelings? She did this!”

“Jim, please-”

“I love you, Angel. I’m in love with you-”

“She’s your wife, Jim. She’s your wife and I’m her daughter. Your stepdaughter!”

“I didn’t even know you until I met you! This isn’t some relationship that we built up over years! I met you and we just-”

“Jim...please,” you sob.

He lets out a heavy as he wraps his arms around you, “please don’t cry.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the reason you walk away-”

“She did this! She lied, she drank herself into a stupor, she lied-”

“You married her,” you sob softly, looking up to meet his heartbroken gaze. “I can’t hurt her like this, Jim. I can’t be the reason something else-”

“You’ve never taken anything from her!”

“Jim...”

“I love you! What’s the point of staying with her if my heart isn’t in it? What’s the point of faking it-”

“You two can find that happiness again-”

“I’ve found it with you, Angel,” he husks as he pins you against the wall.

“Jim...stop,” you moan as he kisses down your neck.

“No.”

“Jim-”

“Say it like you mean it. If you really want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he promises, unbuttoning your shorts and pushing them down along with your panties. 

“This...this is the last time,” you whimper as he starts teasing your clit.

“Sure it is, Angel,” he chuckles as he hoists you up and forces your legs around his waist. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck...Jim!”

“I know, Angel. I need you too,” he groans as you undo his jeans, and force them down.

“I love you so much!”

“Do ya? Do ya want me?”

You know where he’s going with this, and you know it can’t go any farther.

“You know it’s wrong, Jim! We can’t keep on as we are!”

“Lets see how wrong we can be tonight, shall we?” he chuckles as he thrust himself inside of you, barely giving you a chance to breathe before he starts loving you hard and fast.

“Jim...don’t stop!’

“That’s a good girl.”

Yes, you’re going to end things with Jim and do your best to move on from this completely fucked up situation, but for now? For now you just want to live in this moment.

You just want to be with him. 

“I want to be with you,” he pants as he lays you on your bed, before resuming his pace and fucking you brutally hard. “I love you!”

“Oh my God!”

You don’t care if you two wake up the whole damn building.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same! Lie to me and tell me you don’t feel the same!”

“I fucking love...Jesus...Jim! Don’t stop!”

“That’s right, Angel. Take everything I’m givin’ ya,” he husks, pinning your hands above your head as starts biting and sucking on your neck.

“Oh fuck!”

“I’ve missed you so much, my Angel,” he grunts, the feel of his breath on your neck making you clench him tighter. “Fuck, just suckin’ me in!”

“Jim...aht...please!”

“Give it to me,” he groans as you ball your hands into fists.

You squirt hard as you lull your head back and arch your back,”fuck!”

“So good for me, Angel,” he groans as he pulls out.

Before you can whine in protest, he flips you as if you weigh nothing, and you’re instantly ready to go again.

“Hands and knees for me, Angel,” he demands gruffly, and you instantly comply, arching your back and curling your toes in anticipation. “You think we can just stop?” he asks rhetorically, gripping your hips tight before thrusting into you.

“Ah shit!”

“You’re mine, Angel. You’re mine, just like I’m yours,” he whispers seductively against the shell of your ear, thrusting harder and faster.

“Jim...I love you! Fuck, I love you so much! God...that’s it!” you cry out, strangling your pillows as he hits that spot he’s only ever been able to find. “Right fuckin’ there! Don’t stop!”

“Say it! Fuckin’ tell me what I need to hear!”

“ ‘m yours, Jim! All yours, always!”

“Fuck, not gonna...cum with me Angel! Please!” he husks pathetically, resting his head in the crook of your neck, kissing it softly as he coats your inner walls with his desire.

You have no choice but to obey, and you yell his name in the process, as mind numbing pleasure washes over you.

“So good for me, my Angel. So sweet,” he coos as he rides out both of your highs.

You’re quick to collapse onto your bed, trying to clear the euphoric clouds out 

of your head. You don’t know why you thought you’d be able to think clearly 

around him, especially when you’re already so emotional. You know what the 

right thing to do is, but it’s not what you want. It’s not what either of you want.

You hate this so much.

“We can figure this out,” Jim promises softly as he gets in bed next to 

you, instantly pulling you close.

“Jim...what we’re doing is wrong. What we’ve been doing is wrong-”

“I want to be with you.”

“You’re her husband and she’s my Mother. Jim, it should’ve never 

gotten this far. We’re horrible people.”

“Are you afraid of her hating you?”

“I can deal with her hating me. Shes always resented me a bit and 

that’s fine, I’ve always been able to handle it. What’s hard to handle is me 

being the reason she’s heartbroken. She doesn’t deserve that.”

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Jim you may have been the one who initiated everything, but it’s not 

like I ever tell you no and meant it. I want every part of ya just as much as you 

want every part of me.”

“I don’t wanna stop, Angel. I don’t want you with anyone else and I 

don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

“I love you and I’m so happy when we’re together. So fuckin’ happy, 

but this isn’t right. You leaving her for me...Jim, we can’t.”

“So, this is it?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We do, you just don’t like the other option.”

“Jim, for as angry as ya are, I know you don’t wanna hurt her.”

“I don’t, but you’re who I’ve always been lookin’ for. We were made for 

each other.”

“Jim...we have to let each other go.”

“After this week,” he sighs heavily, pressing a kiss to the back of your 

neck, “I’ll stay away.”

“Jim, I do love you, it’s just that...this is the right thing to do. Give it a 

few months, and everything will be back to how it was. It’ll hurt for a while, but 

it’ll be alright.”

“How it is now is how it always should be,” he mumbles into your hair 

before pressing a soft kiss into it. “Lets sleep, you have a lot of work to do in 

the morning.”

It’s not like this isn’t ripping your heart up. You want to be with Jim more than 

anything, but you can’t handle hurting your Mother like this. The ultimate 

betrayal. You have to get over this, because what’s the point? Your 

happiness shouldn’t have to make your Mother miserable. No, this is for the 

best. Yes, it’ll hurt and drive you insane for a while, but it won’t always be like 

this. It’ll get better.

Or so you hope.

~~

[pluralbyler]

i would love to hear more of your thoughts on omegaverse byler with o!will and a!mike!!

ooo giggles okay so

sections:

★ omega will → alpha will

★ omega mike → alpha mike

i'm gonna talk about ALL OF THEM bc im brainrotting

💚 omega!will . . .

★ loves fucking, being filled, that whole stick

★ easily gets the hang of parenthood and loves his kids

★ i have a weird thing that whenever will gets knocked up, it's always twins or triplets. why? idk to be honest

★ again, pretty normal, average heats.

★ still maintaining size kink will here too, he likes showing off

★ still has ass? absolutely

★ scent: honey, lavender, and linen

★ still an earthy tones guy and goes for baggy more that tight, but that just means it's harder to tell mike has a hand on his ass (bare ass, that is) in certain circumstances

★ definitely the brat here but like. public teaser. gets mike hard with their friends so mike will take them home and knot him instead which obviously means he'll only be on his stomach or feet for a week bc ASS obvi

★ LEAKS like wtf how is he so wet???

★ fucking LAP SEX all the way, back to front or facing each other, doesn't matter

🟢 alpha!will . . .

★ TEASING TEASING TEASING

★ ruts are lighter than average but only bc i think it'd be required to fully commit to the teasing when they sync

★ a whore for mike being wrecked; tear tracks, smudged eyeliner/tinted lipgloss (maybe teehee), soft whines

★ likes hair pulling a LOT just so he can hear the noises it causes

★ big family just because he keeps knocking mike up (who loves it too)

★ yes his koala has a name (hi mike)

★ scent: cedar, mulberry, and smoke i believe

★ still a public teaser but pulls mike into bathroom stalls and hidden locations

★ does he EVER stop holding mike's hand in a white knuckled grip so he can't avoid him (or self-isolate on perceived wrongdoings)? no ❤️

★ cuddly as shit

★ exhibitionist for sure but more blanket-consent voyeurism of clubs than anything else

🔵 omega!mike . . .

★ just loves being pregnant full stop

★ scent: chocolate, blueberry, and a little vanilla

★ intense heats, little breaks, yeah okay, but he's also super fucking sensitive so he's always out an extra week because his legs refuse to work and will has to carry him around

★ which he obviously hates (not)

★ very into physical comfort, needs puppy pile aftercare during and after heats and in general

★ puppy boy stereotype but like... grumpy

★ again, tries to be a brat but fails bc will only needs a single look to break him

★ loud as shit and needs to be muffled if they're around people

★ grips will's hand back just as much but make it jealous possessiveness this time

★ cockwarming and car sex are his top favorite

💙 alpha!mike

★ just- TOYS. plugs and dildos and vibrators and sometimes rings, he wants will plugged up with cum or stretched and ready for when will eventually begs to get fucked again

★ intense ruts, but will loves it because mike is the alpha that leaves so many bites and hickeys it seems ridiculous

★ scent: coffee, cinnamon, and a little mulberry, maybe apple instead

★ arm around the waist ALWAYS

★ gets "down doggie"'d by will ALL the time and it makes him splutter but also stfu will you weren't complaining when you got turned on by the possessiveness yesterday...

★ a big tummy toucher when will's pregnant and has a massive breeding kink lmao (he did that!!!!! he gets to knot will!!!!! the babies are his!!!!!)

★ reverse cowgirl PLEASE but spooning during sex is also one he really likes

...

all dividers by @cafekitsune

[system-of-a-feather]

(CW brief cannibalism joke)

So recent talk in the system has been that Chunn's really genuinely kind of over his stuck points and feels being around is pointlessly redundant and taking up space (or in less I - XIV - guess disparaging phrasing, he feels he's hit a wall on his personal development as a seperate part and doesn't see much work he has left; only when writing that out did I realize Chunn still uses self depricating language like Data used to but hes genuinely not self-hating internally) and has flagged an active interest to fuse

And so the two large candidates are me and Lin due to our synergies; generally we disagree with him and Lin for the same reason Riku and I don't fuse; their dichotomous energies need to currently stay seperate to reach a positive middle ground rather than a crash wreck of one

So in all actuality its probably best for me to eat him for dinner, and I am open to it, but I don't think I am currently grounded in our life rhythm to feel comfortable doing that atm so I respond with a "Closed for Maintence" sign on XIV's Butchery (I don't actually have one, its a genuine metaphor cause I dont fuse with alters, a cannibalize them with consent and thats a factual reality this system accepts /hj) and leave him in the queue for when I am back in my rhythm of things now that things with Lin and a new direction have been mobilized

But the thing with planning fusions that I find a bit unproductive but hard to avoid is thinking too much about the potential resulting fusion and doing that has me having reservations

Either way, I don't think it'd be as much of an issue once I am more out of my head again cause I've literally been mainly co-con for the past two or three weeks and while that's fine, it's very easy to loose sight of my life principles when Im not directly engaged in said life and it screws with my judgement

Anyways I think we are gonna initiate "Aight lets get XIV back on the field" which is proven to work and once we do that we can talk a out fusion but like damn

Unfortunate thing is, if Im slotted to eat Chunn, Ill probably have to go back to work (at least part time to support Lin if he needs a break) which is so

[asexualone]

(pls take the time to read)

Signs I should have known I was aro: Disney edition

I think this topic has been stressed a lot already. But here is my take, anyway.

Of course, romantic love had been, is and will always be one of the main themes in kids' movies. Why, I can never fully understand. I'll explain below how I like other themes more.

Some time ago, I did a post on the kiss/hug scenes in Rapunzel which depicts how much more I value acts of showing love that don't include kissing.

Not only those two. I have a history of hating Disney on-screen smooches. As a kid, I thought, "Well, maybe, I don't like seeing these characters kiss because it's a grownup thing."

Could you blame me? When my parents were in the room and a kissing scene appeared on the screen, they changed the channel. So my toddler brain concluded that the reason I didn't like watching kisses was because I wasn't of age to like it. Or something.

At the time, I had no idea that I was hand-picking my favorite movies by the level of romance they had in. Or lack thereof. And I was a very judgemental kid. Let's go through my original thoughts on some Disney classics.

Snow White — No. Just no. She's a child, fourteen. Marrying an older guy she doesn't even know. After he kisses her corpse. NO.

Cinderella — The age difference is a little better, I guess. So is the age of consent. But they only talked one (1) night and he relied on that slipper to find her instead of asking to meet all women and see for himself. Fairytale logic I guess. I didn't like how she called it love immediately and kissed the prince at least once that same night. Or how they got married immediately.

The Sleeping Beauty — Must I even explain? Aurora didn't even know Philip that much, had only met him once (if you exclude the "dreams"). And yet, he's her true love, the only one who can revive her corpse. Ridiculous. And yes, kissing a comatose body, ew. Also, the arranged marriage trope pisses me off, royalty or not. Aurora was engaged as a newborn baby, come on.

Mulan — Cinematic gold. I didn't know it back then, but the fact that romantic love is such a pushed-aside aspect in this movie gives me life. The songs give me life. Especially when the trio dresses as concubines and "Be a Man" plays in the background. An absolute gem, lmao. The sequel however ruined the story somewhat for me, too much lovey-dovey stuff. I like Mulan more when she's fighting than when she's acting all sappy towards Shang, sorry not sorry.

Peter Pan — Loved it, still do. But I did dislike the mermaids, the image of fangirls who are petty towards other girls. And Pan's brief "relationship" with Tiger Lily was nauseating to me. I couldn't explain it but when Pan blushed at her nose-nuzzling thing, I always pulled a face.

The Princess and the Frog — In my opinion, (remember, always my opinion): Tiana, this hard-working girl who doesn't belong to anyone, was lost to love. Well, not lost. But falling for Naveen in the course of three days? Unrealistic and kinda unnecessary. Sweet, but still. I adored the "relationship" between Ray and Evangeline more. Either way, it's a movie that I enjoyed when love wasn't that prominent on screen.

Aladdin — I love this movie because of the Genie. The relationship between Jasmine and Aladdin is meh. She forgot his face and didn't recognize him until later. Their coming together is a lot like that trope "first guy who treats her right sets the expectations and wins her heart". Usually that's a thing, not only in Disney movies but media in general. The female lead settles for the first guy that treats her right because the bar is that low. A good movie, all in all. Love how Jasmine stands up for herself at least. Not a lot of princesses fight against the objectification of women.

Pocahontas — I used to hate this movie. I didn't sit right with me: the racism in it, the manipulation, the murders. And the romance, yes. Pocahontas fell for the strange man who tickled her curiosity in the span of two days. I also hated how her father just sold her to marry Kocoum like that. I know it's tradition. Heck, that's a tradition that still goes on in my country. Maybe that's why I didn't like seeing it on screen. And Pocahontas doesn't even end up with John Smith. The second movie definitely ruined the story. So yes, she's the first princess who fell for a man in three days, TWICE. Needless to say, only the songs kept me from blacklisting the movie entirely.

The Little Mermaid — I actually loved this movie for some reason. I can't explain why, maybe it was my obsession with mermaids. Yeah, that was probably it. But I was pissed when Ariel exchanged her tail for legs. Not to mention human periods and overall, all the bad in the world, for a man she'd only seen once. As I grew up I realized just how f*cked up that story was: Ariel giving her entire lifestyle, family and identity up for a guy she hadn't even spoken to. I don't know why I loved that movie, alright? Hell I still do a little. The sequel too. Say what you want.

Brave — (I know this is technically Pixar, shut up) Much like the paradox with Ariel, I didn't like this movie. I can't explain it. Maybe because Merida wasn't the typical Disney princess I had been used to seeing. Now though, I ADORE that story. No, it's not because Merida knows archery... Okay, yes maybe a little. I love the aro-arrow word play, alright? Anyway, the way Merida fights against being shipped to a husband like the "tradition" I aforementioned asks her to, has always had my heart, even when I didn't like the movie. The focus on the mother-daughter relationship is special, I love it. Stellar movie.

Tangled — One of my favorite Disney movies, my favorite princess. But her relationship with Eugene.... Well. Again, three days. That's all it takes to fall in love. Classic of Disney. Not only that, but Eugene is literally the first man person Raps has ever since, besides Gothel. The bar is nonexistent for her, she would have fallen for anyone. He lied to her and she still... Well, I won't stress that any longer. Their relationship in the end is sweet, one of the few cases where we are actually shown that they would risk their lives to save each other. Respect that. Mostly, I love her magical hair and Pascal. And the guys of Snuggly Duckling.

Moana — EPIC MOVIE. The story, the culture, the character growth, the plot twist, everything! Loved it at first sight, at second and forever. Even more when I became aware that there's no romance in it. I don't think I need to say more.

Frozen — My opinions on this movie have always been changing, accompanied by mixed feelings. So the relationship between sisters was cute, but Lilo and Stitch made that more realistic. Anna's relationship with Hans, ugh. I think that for a long time I used the fact that he was the antagonist to justify my absolute hate for the way Anna "fell" for him in one evening. Again, Anna sweetheart. This is the first man you've met. The bar is nonexistent for you too. God bless Elsa for forbidding her to marry Hans. And while it's cute to think Elsa as a lesbian, she has aromantic vibes. Sorry not sorry, but she's also a God by the end of Frozen 2. Gods are beyond attraction, I said what I said.

Raya and the Last Dragon — Loved it, still do. Say what you will about "dragon Elsa". Sisu is her own character, and I adore her. And yes, I love the lack of romance in the movie. Make no mistake, I shipped Raya and Namaari from the first moment they smiled at each other. I swear on my name that I paused the movie and screamed, GAYYYY, at the top of my lungs. Luckily, I was home alone. If only Disney directors would do the right fcking thing and give me a queer main couple!! I swear I wouldn't mind the lovey-dovey romance one bit.

Of course, I've left dozens of movies out. This post is already way longer than I wanted it to be. But I think that was enough to make a point.

While I'm not romance-repulsed, seeing animated kisses (and unnecessary relationships) on screen makes me uncomfortable. As a child and as a grownup. It just doesn't sit right with me. Not to mention all these princesses who identify with their princes and specifically their relationships with said princes when they're perfect on their. Wreck it Ralph 2 made them a favor, I think, by making them work together and showing their strengths. Another movie I love.

Friendship just makes an overall better theme to apply to kids shows, my opinion. Family, work, self-discovery, mental health, happiness. These are all better themes to portray in media dedicated for children. Which is, again, my opinion.

And yes, Disney has been getting better. They've fixed the age difference and the age of consent. The female characters no longer depend on the male ones, at least not as often. They understand the assignment, alright. There are still many questionable things about Disney's reputation though, things we all choose to overlook for the sake of the good movies. But who knows? They might change. Hopefully soon we'll also have an obviously queer couple in a movie. Hope dies last.

[thunderheadfred]

🤚Shigaraki HC's🤚

Part 1 of my Shigaraki Thesis HCs. The Second Worst: 1 - 2

This was rough because even though Shigaraki is one of my favorite characters of all time, I have nothing sexy to say about him canonically.

that's a lie, i'm lying. i had to break this post into parts, that's how much of a liar liar pants on fire i am

Warnings for quite possibly everything. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

Okay first of all:

You know it. I know it. We all know it. This man is not boyfriend material. He disintegrates boyfriend material for fun.

You don’t want to date this man.

Frankly, you can’t date this man.

Seriously. Run.

If you’re a villain, you’re his underling. Maybe, if you squint, you’re kind of like his... um... least-hated workplace associate. What do you want, a trophy?

If you’re a hero, good luck not dying horribly. Maybe you’d make a cute hostage. Hope you can escape cuz he is NOT letting you out alive.

If you’re a civilian, perhaps that’s the best case scenario. He stalks you a little before he becomes infamous. You go on the worst date of your life but luckily you don't tell him where you live. Later you see him on the news standing in a pile of rubble and you just think, “ohhhhhhh.”

If he somehow, impossibly, against all odds, manages to develop a single affectionate feeling toward you, AFO is going to hunt you down for sport. You are NOT getting in the way of world domination. Again, good luck with that.

If somehow you managed to clear all those hurdles and kiss Shigaraki Tomura square on the lips, I can see one of two things happening.

1) You’re his body pillow now. Goodbye sunlight. You live in his room. He doesn’t have to chain you to the bed, because you know escape is pointless. Congratulations, the end is nigh.

2) Total mind break. At the first sign of genuine human affection, his trauma vault is instantly unlocked. Memories come rushing in, his quirk goes nuts. There’s like a 99.9% chance he’ll accidentally kill you and it will destroy his soul forever. But let’s say you’re the lucky 0.01% - then it’s time to fuck off together to a foreign country. He’s terrified, traumatized, and possibly broken beyond repair, but I guess he’s not a villain anymore? Have fun nursing him back to... semi-sanity.

Moral of the story: you’re better off getting hit with a quirk that takes you to an alternate universe where the worst thing Shimura Tenko ever did was throw a Playstation controller at his sister’s head. He’s an aspiring video game journalist with zero charisma and severe self-image issues. He has no earthly idea how hot he is. Please, for the love of God, fall for that guy instead.

haha just kidding

join me in hell, fellow Shigaraki fuckers:

- - - - -

Scenario the first:

so apparently you enjoy living in a cage?

Listen. He does not smell right. He doesn’t need to bathe much because his skin is constantly annihilating itself. So he’s not exactly dirty, but every instinct in your body is screaming in confusion, unsure if he’s alive or dead.

Breath of the damned. Sweet as moldy lemons. Whatever he eats just... rots. He doesn't produce enough spit.

He will kiss you very deeply. Until you choke. Forget the cold, chapped lips because they're the least of your problems. He's got those skeleton hands caging your face and you're trapped against a wall and his gigantic biting teeth are prying you open. He licks inside your mouth like he's trying to steal your soul. He'll probably succeed.

His hair is exactly as soft as it looks. Too bad you'll never get to touch it.

He’s either got no sexual impulses at all and will laugh at you for trying, or he’s a full-on incel. I don’t know which one. I don’t want to find out. Apparently you do, and I salute your resolve.

You will be lucky if Shigaraki treats you like a pet. He loves his Nintendo DS more than you.

Consent is not applicable. You showed interest in him once, now you're his plaything forever. There's a power imbalance between you so wide you could chuck a planet in there.

Safewords? lol

Doesn't want to break you, because what would be the point? He's already broken enough things. He wants to keep you around for a good long while. He'll take good, good care of you.

Unless you disobey.

Obsessed with making you cum whether you want to or not. Yes, this IS a high score thing. It's just so flattering. Say hello, orgasm torture. Was that another one? Aww. You barely moved. Oh, what's that? You're begging him to stop? Haha. He won't.

Don't cry. He'll drink your tears.

He'll touch you everywhere with bare fingers. Slow, feather-light strokes, like some kind of demented ASMR artist. This is not a trust exercise. He knows exactly how much it terrifies you.

Oh yeah. You're getting finger FUCKED. Do you fantasize about having a loaded gun shoved inside you? Same difference.

Will eat you out like nothing else, but not in bed. That's the kind of shit he does on a boardroom table where anybody could walk in and see you writhing. Spreads you WIDE open and sucks on you. Makes out with your asshole. The whole nine yards. It's wet and loud and nasty.

Only time you're out of his sight (and not locked in your room) is when he shoves a remote control vibrator where the sun doesn't shine. Operates it through an app while he calls you and jerks off. Wants to make your knees fail on a crowded train.

Come here. You get to sit on his lap like a dog. Four fingers on your throat, dick hard under your ass. He'll dry hump you in front of God, the Devil, and everyone else.

If he's playing video games, you're cock-warming. He does not care which hole. He won't even look at you.

He might get hard but he does not get naked. You do not know Shigaraki Tomura on a personal level. You have only the vaguest idea what his dick looks like. It feels long and thin, almost sharp. Maybe he's actually been fucking you with an ice pick this whole time. His hip bones dig into you and bruise. He likes to kiss and bite the marks he leaves.

He mocks you for being so fucking pathetic. Have you always been a such a needy slut or is he really that special? What is wrong with you? Even he thinks you're crazy.

Shigaraki won't kill you, but All For One will.

- - - - -

The Second Worst Scenario:

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck.

(this half of the post went completely off the rails and turned into like... a whole-ass Victorian Novel)

[sweetestlamb]

Temptation

Summary: Vincenzo is feeling parched.

Author's note: These two have been living in my mind rent free lately, I'm just shallow and they look so damn good together and when you add the chemistry, well I'm a goner. Just a little drabble based on today's episode, I'm taking a break from BMTL this weekend because it's going to be another 10k probably and it's the first weekend I'm off with my bf so I promised not to ignore him to write all day lol. Update soon though!

Bon appetit!

Wispy dark lashes flutter just above her high cheekbones as she awaits the blow, her pretty face scrunched up in anticipation as a minor twitch in her lip distracts him.

That's been happening far too often lately, more than he'd care to admit. It was easier when she was blindly following Babel and refused to see the insidious truth about the morally bankrupt company, it was easier to pacify his attraction when she was the bad guy. Not that he was the right candidate to judge, he'd done notifiable heinous things in his life. Her father had been the first person to look at him like he was worth something, like the evil that lurked under his skin could be used for something good.

But her eyes had been opened, in the end she had chosen her father. If only he'd been here to see it.

That decision unhinges the small grapple he has on his control, he finds himself looking at her all the time cataloging the many emotions that distort that expressive face. She's like a living caricature and instead of finding that off-putting he's intrigued and mesmerized. Constantly battling with his lips that won't stop rising in her presence, he's not someone who smiles lightly. Has never had much of a reason to.

Until now.

"What are you waiting for? Just do it." She whines impatiently, squirming side to side and pursing her full lips.

That small move captures all his attention, eyes locked on the rosy pink skin. Instinctively he steps forward until he can feel her body heat, her face is even more captivating up close. She was beautiful, that wasn't hard to admit he was a man after all and his eyes were functional. It was.... everything else that he couldn't admit, not even to himself.

Just do it.

If only she knew what those words did to him, he felt as if he was lit in flames by his own lighter; burning up just from his prolonged vicinity to the loud lawyer. She was being her usual brazen self but she had no idea, not the slightest inkling of what exactly he wanted to do to her. It usually ended in passionate screams in his dreams. Her wild abandon was a thing of beauty, he didn't even mind the mess on his silk sheets because his mind supplied such vivid imaginings.

Staring down at her he wonders how she would taste, perhaps like the spicy noodles she was so fond of or maybe something sweeter and forbidden, once you peeled back the many layers you would discover something so delicious it was addicting. She would be his ambrosia.

"Come on, you're killing me! What's taking so long?" She grumbles now pouting, plush bottom lip jutting out enticingly and his finger hovers in front of her forehead but he can't move, can't bring himself to hurt her no matter how insignificant the hit. Somehow this woman has weaved a web around him, he feels like a fly caught in a spider's deadly but beautiful trap.

What's wrong with me?

There must be indeed something wrong with him because he feels his hand unfurling and lowering until he's nearly cupping her jaw, the delicate point barely above his hand. He's so tempted. Taking another step forward he lifts his second hand, curling around the dip of her lower back. She's so petite despite her loud bark, her entire body could fit easily in his hand.

He wants to lower his hand, grab her face and her waist and.... And what? What is he thinking? This is not why he came to Korea. He wasn't supposed to get involved more than he needed to and he knows no good can come of this, there's only one outcome for men who are lured by seductive sirens. He has to ignore her song no matter how much his body aches when he's with her. Woman have never been elusive in his line of work, gorgeous Italian women who opened up for him easily, surrendering under his capable hands. They were nothing but a good time, a perfunctory scratching of an itch. But, Cha-young he wants to wreck her, take her apart piece by piece until she's putty in his hands.

"What are you doing?" She says sounding amused and he lifts his eyes to find her twinkling ones already on his face. She looks at the twin hands hovering above her body with a raised brow, face now turned into the hand adjacent to her cheek.

"Do you want to change the specifics of our deal?" She teases darkly and he gulps, finally lowering his hands but twisting them around his back to prevent himself from making a huge mistake.

"No." He lies, trying to douse the fire that is blazing in his blood.

"Aishhh. You're such a bad liar." She huffs, nose crinkled up in disbelief and he hates the way his heart smarts his lips twitching to form a smile. He feels so warm and he doesn't know what any of it means.

"Come here." She doesn't give him an opportunity to disobey before reaching out to grab his tie, her hands wrapped around the luxurious material and with a sharp tug he's pulled into her, their bodies colliding and everything feels right.

"Stop." He whispers throat feeling raw, his voice comes out rougher than he intended. His eyes widen at the red flush that it yields, he's not the only one affected it seems.

"You don't want to flick me," she states with certainty, eyes searching his face as she tightens her hold on his tie his neck strains under the slight pressure, leaning down to lessen the tension. Too late he releases how much closer that brings their faces, she's barely an inch away from him now her soft puffs of breath landing directly on his face. "What do you want to do to me instead, Mr. Cassano?" She boldly finishes her statement, dark eyes ping ponging between his lips and his eyes.

Mentally berating himself for his weakness he suddenly grabs her waist, his arm circumvents the entire circumference with room to spare. She gasps in surprise but doesn't look scared, rather she looks curious, biting her bottom lip as she earnestly watches him.

"Do you really want to know?" He bites out, bringing his hand to her jaw and then sliding lower curling it around her neck, fingers tickling the soft nape of head.

She smirks, unflinching in the eye of his storm. She stands on the tips of her toes, bringing them that much closer, "Oh you don't know how much I want to know, Vincenzo." His name is exotic on her tongue, the letters not quite settling correctly but it sounds delectable to his ears, he wants to hear her scream it loudly too.

"I'll show you then." He's done with words, it's clear that they're both cognizant of what's happening between them, the air is so charged it's nearly crackling. She isn't backing down and despite his better judgement he doesn't want to lose, he can't be the way to pull away now. Simultaneously they yank each other closer, him by her neck and her by his tie. He sees the passion in her eyes, finally bursting to the surface and that's all the consent he needs, if she wants him too then she can have him.

Twisting his head he surges forward, eager to capture her lips and devour her moans of pleasure, his hand is now curled possessively around the small swell of her tight posterior, her suit pants always putting it beautifully on display. He had been hungry to touch it, grab it and feel the plumpness in his hands. It's every bit as amazing as he's imagined, her lips fall open as he squeezes at the flesh and he leans forward prepared to eat her alive.

She wraps her free arm around his neck, dragging him down to meet her and he easily lifts her off the ground, grinning boyishly when she squeaks releasing his tie to wrap both arms around his neck, their faces are now level. His hand remains on her ass.

Silently they move towards each other, intent crystal clear.

He can feel the heat from her lip, just as he grazes the smooth skin he hears a loud crash from behind them and they both jump, foreheads knocking accidentally as they react to the sudden sound.

He unceremoniously drops her, but her arms still latched around his shoulder force him forward making his forehead now collide with her chin. She lets out a loud scream of pain, shoving him away and shouting obscenities. He rubs at the pained skin, wincing in discomfort before turning towards the loud interruption with a murderous glare.

Who the fuck was it?

Nam Joo-Sung stands quivering in apparent fear looking like he's seconds away from urinating himself, his knees knocking together viciously.

A deer in the headlights, his eyes are as huge and terrified as one.

"I--um well you see.... I forgot to water the plants....you both look angry. Scary. You don't want an explanation. I'm going. Gone. I'll just. Go." He stutters out nonsensical, suddenly grabbing the plants and he watches as the frightened man awkwardly lifts the pots, cursing when the soil falls out dirting his clothes and the wooden floors, then he falls to his knees scooping it back into the pots, crawling backwards until he's out the door.

They both stare at the door.

Awkward silence remaining even with the man's departure.

And then a vibration fills the air, she jumps as if broken from her stupor reaching into her tiny bag and retrieving her phone. He can barely hear her over the beating of his own heart but he catches the disappointed look she sends his way, they can't continue this.

"Yes. I understand, we'll be right there."

Grabbing his briefcase he takes a moment with his back turned to her to catch his breath, collect himself. He's Vincenzo Cassano, not some prepubescent teenager. He can control himself, control is his middle name.

Then he turns back around and loses all his hard worked composure.

She's right in his space, rubbing absently at her neck as she looks at him.

"We'll finish this later. Don't think I'm going to let you off easy, I always finish what I start." She promises, pointedly looking his lips before grinning then boldly she lightly smacks him twice on his cheeks, "Pick your jaw off the ground, we have to go."

Her long hair bounces over her shoulder as she skips away, his eyes locked on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Her hands are cutely by her side, her signature walk that he had found ridiculous before. He doesn't view it the same way now.

Next time, there will be no interruptions he will make sure of it. Even if he has to kill someone.

[monstersandmaw]

Male drider x female reader - Part Three (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Sorry for the huge delay on posting this - I was prepping to drive halfway up the country last week, and then when we got here my mother in law fell and badly broke her arm at the shoulder, and had to go to the local hospital, with surgery scheduled for Monday, so it’s been... busy...

Here’s part three of cranky spooder, with part four (final, long, and nsfw) scheduled for next Wednesday so that even if there’s more drama up here in the Lakes, you’ll still get your story.

This one is shorter, but I still hope you enjoy it. The fact that he's a widower is brought up, and the fire in which his wife and unborn eggs died is also mentioned, but briefly, and in no real detail. Hope you enjoy getting to know him a little better, and we find out his name in this one too.

On Monday morning, you pushed the door open with no small degree of trepidation, but found it deserted. Your task for that morning would take you up the wooden and brass ladders into the upper reaches of the library shelves, up and down, up and down. It was exhausting, but you welcomed the exertion after days of standing over piles of books and noting down titles.

On your fifth trip down, arms laden with books, you heard your name spoken from below, but as you looked down, your foot slipped, and the books rained down to the ground.

With a shout, you scrabbled for the ladder rung but missed, and found yourself falling through the void behind you. There were easily fifteen feet between you and the hard floor, but before you could even process what was really happening, something cushioned your back and you bounced softly, swaying perhaps four feet off the ground.

Looking around, you found that you were lying in a hammock of white webbing, slung hastily from a shelf nearby and gripped in the front talons of a drider’s two front legs.

Carefully, he lowered it to the ground and held out his hand to you. Shaking, you stepped from the webbing, too surprised to notice that it wasn’t sticky, and let him lead you back to the table. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You nodded, adrenaline still flooding through you.

“I thought I wasn’t going to catch you for a second there.”

“Thank you,” you managed. “That would have been a nasty fall…”

“I shouldn’t have distracted you like that. It was thoughtless of me.”

Looking up at him as he cringed away slightly, you found yourself asking, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Why?”

You shrugged. “Everyone calls you ‘the master’, but you’re not my master. I don’t work here.”

“Yes you do,” he said, glancing at the table groaning with books for reshelving.

“Only for another four months,” you said. “I mean… I’m not part of your staff. I don't know what to call you.”

He swallowed thickly and half turned from you, showing you his profile. He had a slightly hooked nose and a sharp chin, and his dark, glowering brows didn’t lend any softness to his already angular and gaunt face. “Gilvas,” he said, so softly you nearly missed it. “My name is Gilvas.”

“Well, Gilvas,” you said with a faint chuckle, “I think we’ve got to find a way to stop scaring the living shit out of each other whenever we meet… Unless you want to keep shaking me from the stacks like an apple from a tree…”

He stepped back then and blinked softly. The tiniest smile graced his lips and he stared at you. “Perhaps we should,” he said. Taking another few steps back, his legs moving like silent mechanical levers in an inventor’s toy, he swallowed again and sighed. “What are you working on today?”

Your gaze dropped to the scattered books and you picked one up and held it out to him. “See for yourself.”

He reached falteringly for the book and missed, eyelids fluttering. “Like I care anyway,” he said, turning and leaving.

“Wait,” you called. “I’m sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

At that, he halted again. “Excuse me?”

“I forgot…” you admitted. “I forgot that…”

“That what?”  he snarled, rounding on you and rearing up again, though only slightly this time. His pendulous body acted as a counterweight and he hung there like a nightmare between the shelves. “That I can’t see you in this light? That catching you was a literal shot in the dark? That I can’t read the title of a book this close to my face?” He brandished the tome before flinging it roughly into the depths behind you.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly.

Your admission must have taken the wind out of him because he sagged, returning his lethally-clawed spider legs to the ground again and turning away, resting his weight on the shelf with a hand as he did so. “I shouldn't have lost my temper,” he said quietly, and then left.

Chance meetings with him after that seemed to occur more regularly, though none matched that one for drama, to your relief. Finally, on one rainy afternoon as you stood by the window taking a break, he approached you. His hair was tied back off his face that day, revealing its gaunt angles and bruised-looking shadows. He was clearly a wreck of his former self, but you thought you could see the ghost of who he had been.

“You’ve finished the first four sections,” he stated.

You turned from the rainy view and nodded. “Yeah. It’s still a lifetime’s work to fix all this, you know? I’m just grouping it by category. If you want a detailed catalogue of everything that’s in here, you need to hire someone permanently.”

He nodded. “I’m aware. Though frankly, I can’t see the point. When I die, the whole estate will be broken up anyway.”

The bluntness of his words took you by surprise and you paced over to him. He wavered, as if on the point of stepping back into the safety of the shadows, but he remained where he was. He had the body of a black widow spider, you had come to realise, with the black carapace marked with the hourglass of red. The red streak in his hair highlighted it, and the colour was picked up again in his inhuman, garnet-red eyes and in the swirling, watercolour birthmark across the right side of his face and neck.

“Don’t say that,” you breathed.

“Why not?” he scoffed. “It’s the truth. I have no heirs.”

“Gilvas…” you began, but you stopped. It wasn’t your place. In the months you’d been here, all the two of you had discussed was poetry and shared the odd comment on whatever your current topic was.

With a long inhale, he said, “Tell me about yourself?”

“What about me?” you laughed. “I’m an archivist, my best friend is an orc, I’ve lived in Starfall Springs all my life, save for going to the university at Old Trollbridge, and —”

“What college?”

“At Trollbridge?” you asked. “Lady Francis.” Lady Francis of the Barbed Arrow, to give it its full title, but no one called it that.

He smiled. “I was at Calnehouse.”

Something softened in him then as he trailed his elegant, if bony, fingertips along the edge of the table.

“Met my wife there.”

Your heart leapt. This was the first time he’d ever mentioned her - or anything personal really. “What did she study?” you asked in a whisper.

“Foreign languages,” he said, voice catching. “She was brilliant.”

“You must have loved her very much…” you offered, your words feeling empty and inadequate.

Meekly, he nodded. “She would have liked you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm.”

With a shy smile, you ventured, “May I ask why?”

He twitched his head in a ‘follow me’ gesture, and you walked by his side to the back of the library. A panel stood between two wide bookshelves, and he pressed a rosette amid the ornate carving. With a click, it sprang free from the wall, and he ducked through it with barely a whisper of room on each side of his body, leaving you to follow after. As the door closed behind you, the corridor was plunged into complete darkness.

You gasped and shot a hand out for the wall.

“This way. It’s not far,” Gilvas murmured, and a moment later, a shaft of light pierced through the absolute blackness and the pair of you emerged at the other end in an unfamiliar part of the house.

“Where are we?” you asked as you watched him squeeze through and step down into a slightly lower passage. He turned and, to your surprise, offered you his hand.

You took it and found his skin cool, almost cold, and his grip strong despite the slight tremble to his fingers. He steadied you and then let go, allowing you to look around. Portraits hung all down the corridor and you stared from one to the other of them. Most seemed to be of driders, although you picked out a tiefling in one, and what appeared to be a human in another.

Finally, your eyes lighted on a striking likeness of a young, female drider with pure white hair and lavender skin. “Is that…?”

Silently, he nodded and blinked slowly.

You crossed to her and stared up at the modestly sized painting. The drider was laughing, caught on the moment of turning to look out at the viewer, hair swirling. You thought of all the life and vivaciousness he’d missed out on since holing himself up in here after her death. “She’s beautiful,” you choked. “I’m so sorry you lost her.”

“There was a fire,” he said. “Took out the whole east wing. Gutted it. I… I couldn’t reach them.”

“Them?” you blurted unthinkingly.

“She was… She was with…”

A chill plunged through you as you remembered what Naril had told you, and you turned from the painting. “Stop,” you hissed. “You don't have to relive that. I’m sorry.”

He blinked down at you, face achingly sad. “I’m glad you came here, you know?”

“I thought I was just a nuisance, reorganising all your books and getting in the way…”

He managed a weak, wonky smile and shook his head. “This place has been the same for too long.”

With a quick glance back over your shoulder at the laughing drider, you asked, “How… Low long?”

“Nine years,” he said. “She died in our last year of university. In the spring.”

“And you’ve lived here alone all this time?”

“I’m not alone,” he said, turning and looking pointedly down the length of the corridor.

Frowning, you turned and found Chiara standing at the far end, gawping at the pair of you. “My lord?” the harpy croaked, looking stunned to find you there. “Is…?” she looked from you to him again. “Is everything alright?”

His lip twitched fractionally, and he nodded. “I was just…” he sighed. “Never mind. I should let you get back to work. I promise not to shake you from the rafters again.”

“Only if you promise to catch me,” you grinned as he opened up the passageway for you.

He faltered. And then nodded. “Deal.”

Final Part --->

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

__

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[sisternihil]

Dosed

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Spencer is dosed with sex pollen while searching an unsubs home lab.

A/N: the reader is plus size and tall, race is unspecified. Also, not beta’d and the first time I’ve written in a year.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY, penetrative sex, hand jobs, vaginal massage and fingering, cream pie.

Word Count: 1.8k 

Why was it always Spencer? Surely he was smart enough to recognize a trap when he saw one.

Yet here you are, looking at his flushed face as he strips off his cardigan and tugs at his tie.

‘Spence, we need to get you to the hospital. You’ve clearly been dosed with something. What did you touch?’

‘It was jus-, uh, I-I, that’ he blurts out pointing to an open envelope on the floor. Bending down to get a closer look Spencer kicks it away.

‘Don’t touch it, don’t breathe it in’

He’s starting to sweat as he unbuttons the second and third buttons on his dress shirt. You’re starting to panic, you have to get him out of here. Your phone chirps in your pocket. Thank god it’s Garcia she has to have something.

‘Mama, please tell me you know what this unsub was making’

‘That’s the bad news kitten.’ Your heart drops in fear for Spencer who is currently seated in the corner of the room, legs spread, and rubbing his hands absentmindedly against his thighs. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it’s sex pollen like in fanfiction’ Penelope says excitedly. You blink and can’t believe what Penelope just said. ‘What?!’ ‘Yes, it won’t hurt him but he’s going to be uncomfortably turned on for the next 12 hours unless he finds some relief’ her voice trails off at the end and you know what she’s implying. You hang up and contemplate your choices.

Oh god. How could you have gotten into this? Yes, of course, you were attracted to Spencer but you didn’t want to take advantage of him. ‘Come on Spence, we’ve gotta get out of here.’ Heaving him up you can feel the heat radiating off of him. He stumbles forward and catches himself by clutching your shoulder. His face nuzzles into your neck as he whines happily. Did he just sniff you? ‘You smell so nice’ he’s starting to slur and you take his hand guiding him outside and into the car.

‘Y/N, I’m so hot— please do something’ he’s begging and you can feel his words affecting you.

You point the AC directly at him hoping that helps in some way. ‘Spencer, I need you to listen to me. Garcia said you’ve been dosed with something like sex pollen’

‘Sex pollen, I thought that was only in fanfiction?’

‘Obviously not, it should wear off in about 12 hours but until then you’re gonna be—‘

‘Horny like a fucking teenager, I know’ he huffs out. Under normal circumstances, Spencer would be horrified that this was happening but at this present moment the only thing he can think about is how he would look between your thick thighs. It’s not the first time he’s thought about it but you’ve never been so close while the thought ran through his mind.

Glancing over you can see the outline of his cock stiffening in his khakis. You focus back to the road not wanting your stare to linger too long. He’s writhing in the passenger seat trying to find some type of friction without using his hands. Somehow he’s trying to maintain some semblance of decency in front of you. Boldness takes over as you reach past the console and run your palm over his cock.

‘Fu-‘ is cut off by a loud guttural moan. He pushes his head back into the seat and you can see the flush of his skin has spread down to his chest. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he catches your wrist to hold you in place.

‘Is this okay?’ It comes out just above a whisper but you’re trying to find consent in some way. A simple ‘yes’ is all he can get out as he undoes his belt and slacks just enough to pull his cock out. He guides your hand in a few experimental strokes and then he’s fucking your hand and panting out more curses than you’ve ever heard him say. His rhythm starts to stutter and you hate that your focus is on the road because you can only imagine the beautiful faces he’s making. Luckily you’re pulling into your drive just as you feel a sticky warmth coat your hand.

He’s collapsing against the seat and you can see his muscles relaxing. He looks wrecked, cheeks dusted pink, hair mussed and pupils blown wide. You come to his side and help him out of the car and into your house.

‘Oh fuck’ he whispers out ‘What?’ You can hear a slight panic in his voice and you know this can’t be good. ‘You know there are usually a few types of sex pollen, the type that eases after orgasm and the type the gets worse after orgasm’

‘Yea? And what does that mean for you?’

He swallows harshly, ‘I think this is the kind that gets worse after orgasm’

‘Come on let’s get you out of these clothes and into a cold bath, you’re burning up’ you’re pressing him toward your bedroom when he stops.

‘That’s not going to help me’ he grits out. He’s frustrated at having to spell this out for you and the way you’re looking at him with doe eyes only makes him want you more. Spencer closes the distance between you by pressing a hungry kiss against your lips. It’s all tongue and teeth and his hands are gripping your hair at the nape of your neck.

Shock wears off and you respond urging him into your bedroom. You finish the last buttons on his shirt as he toes his shoes off and shrugs his pants and boxers into a pile on the floor. The backs of his knees hit the bed and with a little shove, he’s seated.

You’d always wondered what he looked like underneath all the sweater vests and cardigans. He’s lithe - slim without bones and you never imagined his arms and back were so well defined. You take him in from head to toe and stifle a laugh as his socks catch your eye (one hot pink and one brown argyle) - yep, he’s still Dr. Reid.

He doesn’t falter under your gaze, however. He’s emboldened by it even as he drags you into his lap and into another hungry kiss. Spencer has wanted this for longer than he’d care to admit and he takes his time touching studying every inch of you, greedy to feel you against him, skin to skin.

Standing as you strip down to undergarments, he positions himself in the center of your bed. His cock is painfully hard and leaking as he watches. Skillfully you unhook the black satin bra as your heavy breasts spill out and his cock twitched against his stomach. Before you can move, he’s hauling you on top of him.

Soft, that’s the only word Spencer can think of as he sinks his fingers into your substantial waist. God, you’re so impossibly soft. It’s dizzying how comforting your weight feels on top of him. A moan from your lips as you grind against him brings him out of his reverie. Soft kisses are placed at short intervals down his neck and chest. ‘More. Please.’ he whimpers out as you spread kisses from shoulder to shoulder and gently tug at his hardened nipple. He grabs your hips harshly as you repeat the action over and pushes you beneath him.

Two fingers are pressed into your mouth as he commands ‘suck’. You sob around his fingers as he takes a nipple into his mouth and grazes the hardened peak with his teeth. He’s cupping your sex and massaging gently (you make a mental note to ask him where he learned this later) while teasing your entrance with each passing. ‘Spence’ is all you can choke out before he’s filling you up with two fingers. You can feel the slight burn of stretching as he scissors his fingers inside, pressing against your tight walls, and fuck it feels so good.

‘I wanna feel you’ your face flushes at your bold request and he presses a soft kiss to your lips and moves between your legs. Positioning a pillow under your hips and he slowly sinks into you. He can’t remember if his last time felt like this but you’re so fucking wet and warm that it takes his breath away and he steadies himself before creating a rhythm he can’t keep.

It starts slow and fervid, soft moans fill the room as you both adjust to the other. Then something awakens in Spencer and your legs are over his shoulders while he’s buried completely inside of you. ‘Fuck, Dr. Reid you’re filling me up so good’ tears prick the rims of your eyes as he continually brushes against that sweet spot inside of you. His hips start to falter as he brings your legs down to settle on his hips ‘you feel so perfect around me’ and you can feel his breath on your skin as he rests his head against yours.

With his second wind, all you can do is whine as he fucks into you impossibly faster. This pace brings you to the ledge and pushes you over as his thumb rubs assured circles around your clit. You’re clenching around him and leaving half-moons pressed into his back as your eyes close and white burst fill your vision. One, two more thrusts and he’s cumming inside you.

Slowly as he disconnects from you and he sits back on his heels, he spreads you open watching as a creamy white mess leaks out of you. Dragging a middle digit up your slit he collects the mess and fucks it back inside of you. ‘No, no, no. I’m too sensitive’ you squeal clamping your legs together. He brings his finger to his lips, lapping it clean, tasting both you and his self.

Spencer’s phone chimes from the floor and it’s Garcia again. ‘Kid are you still alive?’ She says loudly over the speaker. ‘I think the dose is finally starting to wear off’ ‘So, did you—’ Garcia cuts herself off. ‘I, uh, I have to go Garcia. Talk to you later.’

‘It’s wearing off’ you question covering and pulling yourself up in bed. ‘What happened to this is the kind that gets worse?’

Spencer rubs the back of his neck and looks at you sheepishly ‘I thought it was but I guess that was just my own sex drive.’

You’re covering your face and laughing as he takes the spot beside you. His kisses you like a different man, gentle as he cups your face and it so sweet, you could almost cry.

As nice as this is a shower is better and you opt for it together. You had the rest of the day to spend in bed with him.

[yutahoes]

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Six)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning:  Matured Content, Smut, One Night Stand

Word Count: 3.6k

(I suck at writing smut. 😭 I don’t even know why I’m doing this. Kill me now.)

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

6. That Hot, Romantic Parisian Night

On the cab, Yuta had made a point that he wanted her as he didn't shy away at the bulging arousal getting evident on his pants. "Why are you so embarrassed?" he asked while looking at the driver who was obviously checking if the two are going to fuck in his car. "This is because of you so you have to be proud of it." Oh, she thought, come to think of it he has a point. They're both consenting adults and it's normal, they're in the city of love. "He might just be curious about why I'm not fucking you merciless in his car."

"You know, with all the cab fare you wasted, you can buy a car here in Paris or even rent one," she claimed when he fished out some cash to pay the driver, making Yuta laugh. "It's my last day in Paris, maybe next time I'm here," he said while guiding her inside the posh hotel.

Some people were greeting him and (Y/N) wondered how rich Yuta is in reality, maybe he really is a CEO. "Rich people," she mumbled while shaking her head as they enter the elevator.

When it stopped on the top floor, (Y/N) was again in awe. Damn, Yuta is really wealthy. His hotel room is really spacious, like a real house and even their house isn't as big as this. "Feel at home," he said as he opened the stereo for some slow songs and opened the lights for her to admire the room more.

"This is amazing and I thought my hotel room is really great, this is just superb," she claimed as she eyed the tall windows, overlooking the streets of Paris at night. She wanted to draw this scene before her, her hand itching to get a pencil and a piece of paper. "You are one wealthy man." she complimented that made him smile, moving closer to her. "You're lucky I'm not some hooker who's here to get your money."

She gave a little yelp when he pulled her closer and held her waist. "I'm glad you aren't." He kissed her, the same French kissing that they did earlier but now, she wanted to melt at the way he holds her. Yes, she isn't a hooker but she felt like one, his own personal hook up.

He pushed her on the couch, not breaking away his lips from her that made her grab the back of his hair. Fuck, Yuta and the things that his mouth can do. She is so wet that she wanted him to touch her immediately. Well, it's not like this was the first time to have sex with him but when he removed his dress shirt, she was suddenly self-conscious about how perfect he is. "Shouldn't I shower first?" she asked when Yuta went back to attacking her neck. He gave her a hum of disapproval, licking her sweaty skin as if proving a point. "Yuta." she moaned that made him look at her, eyes hooded with lust.

Once again, he sucked on her neck that earned a moan from her, arousing his sexual desires. "You sound so sexy calling my name," he mumbled as his hands caressed her back, feeling the hook of her bra. "I want to fuck you so bad that you'll only remember my name." He nipped on her ear, eliciting a throaty moan from her. Damn, his words were so powerful that she could feel the dripping wetness on her core. "I can do that, right?" he asked while staring at her, waiting for a confirmation that made her nod.

In no time, he carried her inside the bedroom and threw her to the bed, completely removing his dress shirt that she was ogling at his toned body. Damn, he has such an erotic body and even his abs were visible. God, he is so fucking hot that she'll definitely just cum by watching him strip. Yuta removed his pants then crawled on top of her, touching her leg going up to her thigh under the skirt. His mouth was on hers in a rough kiss and the girl moaned when he cupped her sex, letting his tongue slither inside her mouth. "Lace," he mumbled when they broke off the kiss and she smiled at the thought.

"Red to be precise," she claimed as she sat down to remove the upper part of the dress, revealing her red lace brassiere that made him smirk.

"God, you are so hot," he exclaimed then kissed the spot between her breasts that made her moan. She arched her back as he touched her stomach, south to where her dress ended. "I want to do a lot of things to you," he mumbled as he gave her stomach butterfly kisses.

"It's all yours, Yuta. You can do what you want with it." That was the only invitation he needed to remove the dress off from her and revealed the red lacy wet panty that he was yearning to see. He wanted her, so bad. And with how she smelled and looked, she might have wanted the same thing.

Although he loved the red lace on her, he slowly removed her underwear that made her groan. "Stop teasing and fuck me, please," she begged that made his sanity go down the drain. Quickly, he pulled down his boxers to spring his hard cock free. (Y/N) gulped at the anticipation, he looked bigger than when they had sex on the plane. But when he entered her, she realized the reality of it. Yuta Nakamoto is really big in size that he filled her up almost immediately. "Fuck, Yuta!" she screamed and he smirked, pushing his cock deeper into her.

All the teasings were so worth it at how amazing he felt inside her. He started jerking his cock at a steady pace, pushing her body down the mattress. His mouth attached themselves to her neck that made her moan, giving supple kisses on her sensitive skin. "Oh God!" she shouted when she felt his tongue trail to between her breasts.

Instead of removing her bra, he pulled them down and gave one nipple a suck. Her hands were pulling his head closer as she bucked her hip, sending him deeper into her. This was so hot and by far the best sex she had, topping the airplane one which was caused by him as well. Yuta was so good, never faltering his thrusts that sent her on edge. "Aaah." she moaned, feeling that coil in the stomach as her walls tightened around his cock.

"Fuck baby, you are so tight," he mumbled before moving to another nipple to play and suck with.

"Yuta, I'm..." she started, shaking at the sensation engulfing her.

"I know baby." he mumbled before thrusting into her one last time that she shouted "Daddy!" while getting an orgasm. "Fuck!" the guy shouted, groaning as he jerked into her. "Say that again," he begged as he felt himself edging towards his orgasm.

"Daddy." she moaned and with one last thrust, he came inside her. (Y/N) giggled at the newfound information, he has a daddy kink.

"Do you have some kind of a daddy kink?" he asked that made her laugh, she was thinking of asking him the same thing.

"Well, you called me baby so it just clicked. Do you?" she asked as he rolled beside her.

The guy started rubbing his cock with his hand and she was surprised at how fast his little buddy recovered. "You sounded so hot shouting that."

The girl smiled. If he's ready for another round, then she's dead set on making this night as memorable as possible. "Then I want you to be rough on me daddy," she said in a low voice, holding his cock too tight that he groaned.

Yuta smirked and sat up, "On fours, baby girl." And the way he said it, with the dominance, made her so wet that she obliged almost immediately. Taking her from the back, he almost moaned when his cock sank in inside her wet pussy hole. "Fuck, you are so wet. You wanted Daddy to take you like this?"

(Y/N) had always hated the idea of a doggie position since it wasn't satisfying enough but here is Yuta proving another thing. Fuck, the way he slammed his cock on her made her moan nonstop that she concluded that it takes skills to fuck in this position. And damn it but Yuta Nakamoto is obviously at the top of this sex food chain. "What's wrong baby girl? You lost your ability to speak at how amazing daddy is fucking you?" he asked that made her scream at the dirtiness of his words. Fuck, she does feel slutty now that Yuta is like this. "Am I wrecking you, baby?"

"Yes, daddy!" she shouted as a wave of orgasm enveloped her for the second time tonight. How long is he going to make her cum like this? But she isn't complaining, she loves it when someone takes her rough, and maybe she is really becoming a masochist just like what Jungwoo would often say.

Breathing hard, he pulled out of her after he came and let her lie on the bed on her back. He started kissing her, sweat forming between their bodies. "Are you alright?" he asked and she nodded, cupping his face for a kiss. "I'm sorry for being rough though. Fuck, I didn't know that it turns me on when someone calls me daddy," he confessed while kissing her chest. He started giving her body butterfly kisses while muttering words like 'You're so beautiful.', 'You are so pretty.' 'You are so hot.' and 'You are so sexy.'

The guy smirked when his finger felt her wetness. "You are so wet again. If we continue this, we'll be fucking the whole night," he claimed but he was already jerking his cock to make it hard again and she was in awe at how fast it grows for her.

"Maybe that's what I want," she mumbled. Yuta parted her legs, his cock sinking inside her and giving her the third round of their sex marathon.

On usual occasions, (Y/N) wouldn't even stay this long in fucking but Yuta is so good that she doesn't want to miss a moment with him. His mouth was on her breasts, sucking it like a baby that made her moan non-stop. Her sound turned him on so much that he thrusts into her harder and deeper, wanting her to feel the orgasm. "Oh, God. Yuta!" she screamed as he kept slamming into her, making her see stars.

This was the third tonight and Yuta isn't thinking about slowing down. "Fuck, you are so tight," he muttered, pushing her closer to him if possible, letting his whole large cock enter her sensitive pussy. (Y/N) could almost feel his cock in her stomach, hitting some new place that no one had ever discovered yet. She is so tired because of this guy but he seemed like someone who had a really high sex drive. "Oh God, baby." he groaned just as he came inside her, filling her up.

By now, she should have hurried to the comfort room and remove all the cum in her body but she knew that she's safe now and Yuta's looks would be a blessing if she gets a child because of this. Fuck, she thought, although she is safe, what if she does get pregnant?

The guy heaved a sigh as he lay down on the bed, pulling her body close that they were hugging. Well, that's just great. After tiring her out, he's now cuddling her. He doesn't really look like a cuddler at all, she's even ready to leave since this is a one-night stand but he doesn't even let her move even an inch away from him. "Do you want something?" he asked in that low voice that made her look at him.

"Can I at least pee?" she asked but he pulled her closer to him.

"No. I want you to keep my cum just for tonight," he said in an authoritative voice that made her look at him. What the hell is this?

"Yuta, I can get pregnant," she stated, as a matter of fact, surprised that he smiled and hugged her.

"Then I'll take responsibility for you. Be my..."

But she didn't let him finish and sat up that startled him. "I have to go," she said and was about to stand up when her legs gave in, trembling at how tired she is that made her fell back down the bed while muttering a curse.

"Is it that good?" he asked then stopped when she glared at him. Yes, it was but he didn't need that much ego boost anymore. "Can't you at least stay for the night? I'll bring you to your hotel tomorrow morning, I promise," he said in a soft voice that made her look at him, contemplating the offer.

There were lots of pros and cons to staying the night. Who knows, they might end up with another round of intense sex once his cock is recharged. And not to be so slutty, but when sex is that good she'll definitely not miss on the opportunity. Yuta smiled when she decided to went back to bed, "I'm tired, I'll just leave tomorrow."  

He giggled as she turned to face him, pulling her close to feel her skin again. Yuta had serious issues with cuddling, she thought. "God, you smell so good," he mumbled as his nose was just by her breasts, his breathing tickling her skin and making her hot and bothered once again.

She laughed at what he claimed, she smelt like cum and sweat combined, then stopped when she felt something poking her leg. "Seriously, Yuta?"

The guy just chuckled then hovered above her that made her roll her eyes, the pros and cons of staying the night are actually happening right now. "You are so fucking hot." he complimented before rubbing his semi-hard cock on her wet clit, making her moan.

Damn it, her body is liking it. At this rate, he's going to fill her up with too much cum that it will definitely make her pregnant. Is this what this is? Maybe he has a breeding kink and really wanted her to get pregnant. His mouth started getting busy with her right breast as his hand was playing with the other one, rubbing the nipples that earned a sigh from her. His other hand was scattering the wetness of their mixed cum on her pussy, making it glisten with her wetness and his cum from earlier.

In a snap, his cock was inside her and thrusting at a speed that makes her moan. Her fingers found his naked back, scratching the skin. "God, you are so fucking good," he muttered, not faltering with his thrusts. This is too much, (Y/N) thought. How can one guy make her cum like this repeatedly? Yuta is indeed a sex monster.

She heaved a breathy sigh when she came, really sore and tired out of her own wits. "Yuta..." she called breathlessly and she glanced at the still hard cock that he was jerking, "I'm really tired." He laughed and kissed her lip that made her body warm once again. Oh, God.

"Then go to sleep already. I'll just soften my buddy over here," he claimed just as she tried to fight the sleepiness.

"Can I fuck you?" he asked and she smiled, obviously tired.

"Whatever. Be my guest." Yuta fucked her as her eyes drifted to sleep, not caring if he stops fucking her or make her reach orgasm again.

Yuta had discovered a lot about himself lately. First, he was easily turned on by a woman screaming his name, the same woman who made his insanity drop low when she called him daddy. Second, his cock has a really short refractory period and who would have thought that he could cum this much in one night, his stamina really is no joke. Third, how can he get turned on by a sleeping person naked in front of him? He kept on fucking her, cumming on her body then licked every drop that made him repeat his actions from earlier, fucking her. And although she's asleep, he loved how her body was reacting to him, loved how tight her pussy is and how wet she becomes at a simple touch.

He breathed heavily as if running a marathon when he came once again, his body shaking both at the height of the orgasm and the cold. Someone could die of too much sex and he felt like a murderer with the state she's in. Luckily, she's still breathing. "I'm cold..." he heard her moan in her sleep as she scooted near him. Yuta pulled the blankets up to her body and she snuggled on it while humming in delight.

God, she is beautiful and he wanted her so bad, wanted to see her face every day and every night. He smiled at the thought of falling in love with a complete stranger, a girl who he only had sex with and never really knew her name. Will they still be like this when they get back to Korea? Will he even defeat his record of sex marathon with her?

Instead of sleeping, he wanted to stare at her much longer, trying to etch her sleeping figure on his mind. What if she doesn't want the proposal he wanted to ask her? She was sure about declining him earlier and that made him nervous.

Damn it, he's Yuta Nakamoto. And not to be cocky or anything but girls want him, not him desperately wanting a girl who doesn't seem fazed by his appearance. But in the end, the tiredness loomed in stronger that he ended up sleeping, hugging her frail body and feeling her warmth in the cold night of Paris.

--

The sunlight was up when (Y/N) opened her eyes, feeling the soreness and stickiness on her body. Fuck, how long did this guy fuck her last night? How many times did he come inside her? Standing up, she can feel her legs wobble. Is that how good he is? Well, he is in fact, no question about that. But enough is enough, a one night stand is enough to discover how wild she is and Yuta in bed.

Instead of heading to the bathroom to take a bath, she decided to wear the clothes that he had given her last night which were scattered on the floor. She needs to move and leave fast before he could wake up.

Before she could even hold the doorknob, she turned to look at the guy with who she just spend the night. He looked really amazing, his white toned body lying on the bed and snoring soundly as if in a deep sleep. He must be tired as well. Well, who wouldn't? He really showed his wild side last night. She could smell sex and sweat, as well as her crinkly clothes that are evidence of being thrown on the floor that the people were looking at her when she left the hotel. She looked like a hooker who just came back from intense sexual activity.

When she reached her hotel, she started showering in warm water and that's when the marks on her skin started appearing. She looked like a bruised person who just came from a gang fight because of the redness of her skin. Trying to rub it off, she recalled the night with Yuta, making her unconsciously touch her wet core.

Fuck, just thinking about how he thrusts into her had made her horny. All-day, she can't stop thinking about him and the things that he did and can do to her. What if she accepts to be his girlfriend? Maybe this will be an everyday scenario for her. Can she live like that? Maybe not. So it might really be a good decision to decline his offer.

She stayed in the hotel the whole day, sleeping then ordering food from the nearby restaurant. (Y/N) doesn't really want to go out now since her body is really sore and all. A day in Paris wasted just because of last night but she didn't regret it as she started updating her manga with Yuta in mind. Fuck that Japanese guy for invading her mind like this. She wanted to see him again, to thank him properly but it can lead to other things especially with the state she's in.

All in all, she didn't get to enjoy her free time in Paris. First, the weather is shitty that she can't have the freedom to walk the streets of Paris which was her goal. Secondly, a certain Japanese guy took all her time and energy. But she doesn't hate it, wanting to meet him again in fact and that's why she was silently praying as she waited for her seatmate in the airplane. When a girl, probably younger than her, sat beside her, she lost all hopes. Will she ever see him again? But knowing his line of work, it's not possible to have their roads cross again. Maybe, this really is a one-time Parisian romance. And she's happy that she felt it like this.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 5 / Chapter 7

[justforbooks]

The many lives of John le Carré, in his own words.

An exclusive extract from his new memoir, The Pigeon Tunnel.

How I write

If you’re ever lucky enough to score an early success as a writer, as happened to me with The Spy Who Came in from the Cold, for the rest of your life there’s a before-the-fall and an after-the-fall. You look back at the books you wrote before the searchlight picked you out and they read like the books of your innocence; and the books after it, in your low moments, like the strivings of a man on trial. ‘Trying too hard’ the critics cry. I never thought I was trying too hard. I reckoned I owed it to my success to get the best out of myself, and by and large, however good or bad the best was, that was what I did.

And I love writing. I love doing what I’m doing at this moment, scribbling away like a man in hiding at a poky desk on a black clouded early morning in May, with the mountain rain scuttling down the window and no excuse for tramping down to the railway station under an umbrella because the International New York Times doesn’t arrive until lunchtime.

I love writing on the hoof, in notebooks on walks, in trains and cafés, then scurrying home to pick over my booty. When I am in Hampstead there is a bench I favour on the Heath, tucked under a spreading tree and set apart from its companions, and that’s where I like to scribble. I have only ever written by hand. Arrogantly perhaps, I prefer to remain with the centuries-old tradition of unmechanized writing. The lapsed graphic artist in me actually enjoys drawing the words.

I love best the privacy of writing. On research trips, I am partially protected by having a different name in real life. I can sign into hotels without anxiously wondering whether my name will be recognised, then, when it isn’t, anxiously wondering why not. When I’m obliged to come clean with the people whose experience I want to tap, results vary. One person refuses to trust me another inch, the next promotes me to chief of the secret service and, over my protestations that I was only ever the lowest form of secret life, replies that I would say that, wouldn’t I? There are many things I am disinclined to write about ever, just as there are in anyone’s life. I have been neither a model husband nor a model father, and am not interested in appearing that way. Love came to me late, after many missteps. I owe my ethical education to my four sons. Of my work for British intelligence, performed mostly in Germany, I wish to add nothing to what is already reported by others, inaccurately, elsewhere. In this I am bound by vestiges of old-fashioned loyalty to my former services, but also by undertakings I gave to the men and women who agreed to collaborate with me. It was understood between us that the promise of confidentiality would be subject to no time limit, but extend to their children and beyond. The work we engaged in was neither perilous nor dramatic, but it involved painful soul-searching on the part of those who signed up to it. Whether today these people are alive or dead, the promise of confidentiality holds.

Spying was forced on me from birth much in the way, I suppose, that the sea was forced on CS Forester or India on Paul Scott. Out of the secret world I once knew, I have tried to make a theatre for the larger worlds we inhabit. First comes the imagining, then the search for the reality. Then back to the imagining, and to the desk where I’m sitting now.

My Father: conman and inspiration

It took me a long while to get on writing terms with Ronnie, conman, fantasist, occasional jailbird, and my father. From the day I made my first faltering attempts at a novel, he was the one I wanted to get to grips with, but I was light years away from being up to the job. My earliest drafts of what eventually became A Perfect Spy dripped with self-pity: cast your eye, gentle reader, upon this emotionally crippled boy, crushed underfoot by his tyrannical father. It was only when he was safely dead and I took up the novel again that I did what I should have done at the beginning, and made the sins of the son a whole lot more reprehensible than the sins of the father.

With that settled, I was able to honour the legacy of his tempestuous life: a cast of characters to make the most blasé writer’s mouth water, from eminent legal brains of the day and stars of sport and screen to the finest of London’s criminal underworld and the beautiful creatures who trailed in their wake. Wherever Ronnie went, the unpredictable went with him. Are we up or down? Can we fill up the car on tick at the local garage? Has he fled the country or will he be proudly parking the Bentley in the drive tonight? Or is he enjoying the safety and comfort of one of his alternative wives?

Of Ronnie’s dealings with organised crime, if any, I know lamentably little. Yes, he rubbed shoulders with the notorious Kray twins, but that may just have been celebrity-hunting. And yes, he did business of a sort with London’s worst-ever landlord, Peter Rachman, and my best guess would be that when Rachman’s thugs had got rid of Ronnie’s tenants for him, he sold off the houses and gave Rachman a piece. But a full‑on criminal partnership? Not the Ronnie I knew. Conmen are aesthetes. They wear nice suits, have clean fingernails and are well spoken at all times. Policemen in Ronnie’s book were first-rate fellows who were open to negotiation. The same could not be said of “the boys”, as he called them, and you messed with the boys at your peril.

Ronnie’s entire life was spent walking on the thinnest, slipperiest layer of ice you can imagine. He saw no paradox between being on the wanted list for fraud and sporting a grey topper in the owners’ enclosure at Ascot. A reception at Claridge’s to celebrate his second marriage was interrupted while he persuaded two Scotland Yard detectives to put off arresting him until the party was over – and, meanwhile, come in and join the fun, which they duly did.  But I don’t think Ronnie could have lived any other way. I don’t think he wanted to. He was a crisis addict, a performance addict, a shameless pulpit orator and a scene-grabber. He was a delusional enchanter and a persuader who saw himself as God’s golden boy, and he wrecked a lot of people’s lives.

Graham Greene tells us that childhood is the credit balance of the writer. By that measure at least, I was born a millionaire.

Sixty-something years back, I asked my mother, Olive, how prison changed Ronnie. Olive was a tap you couldn’t turn off. From the moment of our reunion at Ipswich railway station, she talked about Ronnie nonstop. She talked about his sexuality long before I had sorted out mine, and for ease of reference gave me a tattered hardback copy of Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis as a map to guide me through her husband’s appetites before and after jail.

“Changed, dear? In prison? Not a bit of it! You were totally unchanged. You’d lost weight, of course – well, you would. Prison food isn’t meant to be nice.” And then the image that will never leave me, not least because she seemed unaware of what she was saying: “And you did have this silly habit of stopping in front of doors and waiting at attention with your head down till I opened them for you. They were perfectly ordinary doors, not locked or anything, but you obviously weren’t expecting to be able to open them for yourself.” Why did Olive refer to Ronnie as you? You meaning he, but subconsciously recruiting me to be his surrogate, which by the time of her death was what I had become.

There is an audiotape that Olive made for my brother Tony, all about her life with Ronnie. I still can’t bear to play it, so all I’ve ever heard is scraps. On the tape she describes how Ronnie used to beat her up, which, according to Olive, was what prompted her to bolt. Ronnie’s violence was not news to me, because he had made a habit of beating up his second wife as well: so often and so purposefully and coming home at such odd hours of the night to do it that, seized by a chivalrous impulse, I appointed myself her ridiculous protector, sleeping on a mattress in front of her bedroom door and clutching a golf iron so that Ronnie would have to reckon with me before he got at her.

Ronnie beat me up, too, but only a few times and not with much conviction. It was the shaping up that was the scary part: the lowering and readying of the shoulders, the resetting of the jaw. And when I was grown up, Ronnie tried to sue me, which I suppose is violence in disguise. He had watched a television documentary of my life and decided there was an implicit slander in my failure to mention that I owed everything to him.

For the last third of Ronnie’s life – he died suddenly at the age of 69 – we were estranged or at loggerheads. Almost by mutual consent, there were terrible obligatory scenes, and when we buried the hatchet, we always remembered where we’d put it. Do I feel more kindly towards him today than I did then? Sometimes I walk round him, sometimes he’s the mountain I still have to climb. Either way, he’s always there, which I can’t say for my mother, because to this day I have no idea what sort of person she was. I ran her to earth when I was 21, and thereafter broadly attended to her needs, not always with good grace. But from the day of our reunion until she died, the frozen child in me showed not the smallest sign of thawing out. Did she love animals? Landscape? The sea that she lived beside? Music? Painting? Me? Did she read books? Certainly she had no high opinion of mine, but what about other people’s?

In the nursing home where she stayed during her last years, we spent much of our time deploring or laughing at my father’s misdeeds. As my visits continued, I came to realise that she had created for herself – and for me – an idyllic mother–son relationship that had flowed uninterrupted from my birth till now.

Today, I don’t remember feeling any affection in childhood except for my elder brother, who for a time was my only parent. I remember a constant tension in myself that even in great age has not relaxed. I remember little of being very young. I remember the dissembling as we grew up, and the need to cobble together an identity for myself and how, in order to do this, I filched from the manners and lifestyle of my peers and betters, even to the extent of pretending I had a settled home life with real parents and ponies. Listening to myself today, watching myself when I have to, I can still detect traces of the lost originals, chief among them obviously my father.

All this no doubt made me an ideal recruit to the secret flag. But nothing lasted: not the Eton schoolmaster, not the MI5 man, not the MI6 man. Only the writer in me stuck the course. If I look over my life from here, I see it as a succession of engagements and escapes, and I thank goodness that the writing kept me relatively straight and largely sane. My father’s refusal to accept the simplest truth about himself set me on a path of enquiry from which I never returned. In the absence of a mother or sisters, I learned women late, if ever, and we all paid a price for that.

A trip to Panama

In 1885, France’s gargantuan efforts to build a sea-level canal across the Darien ended in disaster. Small and large investors of every stamp were ruined. In consequence there arose across the country the pained cry of “Quel Panama!” Whether the expression has endured in the French language is doubtful, but it speaks well for my own association with that beautiful country, which began in 1947 when my father, Ronnie, dispatched me to Paris to collect £500 from the Panamanian ambassador to France, one Count Mario da Bernaschina, who occupied a sweet house in one of those elegant side roads off the Elysées that smell permanently of women’s scent.

It was evening when I arrived by appointment on the ambassadorial doorstep wearing my grey school suit, my hair brushed and parted. I was 16 years old. The ambassador, my father had advised me, was a first-class fellow and would be happy to settle a longstanding debt of honour. I wanted very much to believe him.

The front door to the elegant house was opened by the most desirable woman I had ever seen. I must have been standing one step beneath her, because in my memory she is smiling down on me like my angel redeemer. She was bare-shouldered, black-haired and wore a flimsy dress in layer after layer of chiffon that failed to disguise her shape. When you are 16, desirable women come in all ages. From today’s vantage point, I would put her at a blossoming thirtysomething.

“You are Ronnie’s son?” she asked incredulously. She stood back to let me brush past her. Laying a hand on each of my shoulders, she scrutinised me playfully from head to toe under the hall light and seemed to find everything to her satisfaction.

“And you have come to see Mario?” she said.

If that’s all right, I said.

Her hands remained on my shoulders while her eyes of many colours continued to study me. “And you are still a boy,” she remarked, as a kind of memo to herself.

The count stood in his drawing room with his back to the fireplace, like every ambassador in every movie of the time: corpulent, in a velvet jacket, hands behind him and that perfect head of greying hair they all had – marcelled, we used to call it – and the curved handshake, man to man, although I’m still a boy. The countess – for so I have cast her – doesn’t ask me whether I drink alcohol, let alone whether I like daiquiri. My answer to both questions would anyway have been a truthless “yes”. She hands me a frosted glass with a speared cherry in it, and we all sit down in soft chairs and do a bit of ambassadorial small talk. Am I enjoying the city? Do I have many friends in Paris? A girlfriend, perhaps? Mischievous wink. To which I no doubt give compelling and mendacious answers that make no mention of golf clubs or concierges, until a pause in the conversation tells me it’s time for me to broach the purpose of my visit which, as experience has already taught me, is best done from the side rather than head on.

“And my father mentioned that you and he had a small matter of business to complete, sir,” I suggest, hearing myself from a distance on account of the daiquiri.

I should here explain the nature of that small matter of business which, unlike so many of Ronnie’s deals, was simplicity itself. As a diplomat and a top ambassador, son – I am echoing the enthusiasm with which Ronnie had briefed me for my mission – the count was immune from such tedious irritations as taxation and import duty. The count could import what he wished, he could export what he wished. If someone, for instance, chose to send the count a cask of unmatured, unbranded Scotch whisky at a couple of pence a pint under diplomatic immunity, and the count were to bottle that whisky and ship it to Panama, or wherever else he chose to ship it under diplomatic immunity, that was nobody’s business but his.

Equally, if the count chose to export the said unmatured, unbranded whisky in bottles of a certain design – akin, let us imagine, to Dimple Haig, a popular brand of the day – that, too, was his good right, as was the choice of label and the description of the bottle’s contents. All that need concern me was that the count should pay up – cash, son, no monkey business. Thus provided, I should treat myself to a nice mixed grill at Ronnie’s expense, keep the receipt, catch the first ferry next morning and come straight to his grand offices in the West End of London with the balance.

“A matter of business, David?” the count repeated in the tone of my school housemaster. “What business can that be?”

“The £500 you owe him, sir.”

I remember his puzzled smile, so forbearing. I remember the richly draped sofas and silky cushions, old mirrors and gold glint, and my countess with her long legs crossed inside the layers of chiffon. The count continued to survey me with a mixture of puzzlement and concern. So did my countess. Then they surveyed each other as if to compare notes about what they’d surveyed.

“Well, that’s a pity, David. Because when I heard you were coming to see me, I rather hoped you might be bringing me a portion of the large sum of money I have invested in your dear father’s enterprises.”

I still don’t know how I responded to this startling reply, or whether I was as startled as I should have been. I remember briefly losing my sense of time and place, and I suppose this was partly induced by the daiquiri, and partly by the recognition that I had nothing to say and no right to be sitting in their drawing room, and that the best thing I could do was make my excuses and get out. Then I realised that I was alone in the room. After a while, my host and hostess returned.

The count’s smile was genial and relaxed. The countess looked particularly pleased. “So, David,” said the count, as if all were forgiven. “Why don’t we go and have dinner and talk about something more pleasant?”

They had a favourite Russian restaurant 50 yards from the house. In my memory, it is a tiny place and we are the only three people in it, save for a man in a baggy white shirt who plucked at a balalaika. Over dinner, while the count talked about something more pleasant, the countess kicked off a shoe and caressed my leg with her stockinged toe. On the tiny dance floor she sang Dark Eyes to me, holding the length of me against her and nibbling my earlobe while she flirted with the balalaika man and the count looked indulgently on. On our return to the table, the count decided that we were ready for bed. The countess, by a squeeze of my hand, seconded the motion.

My memory has spared me the excuses I made, but somehow I made them. Somehow I found myself a bench in a park, and somehow I contrived to remain the boy she had declared me to be. Decades later, finding myself alone in Paris, I tried to seek out the very street, the house, the restaurant. But by then no reality would have done them justice.

Now I am not pretending that it was the magnetic force of the count and countess that half a century later drew me to Panama for the space of two novels and one movie; merely that the recollection of that sensuous, unfulfilled night remained lodged in my memory, if only as one of the near-misses of interminable adolescence. Within days of my arrival in Panama City, I was enquiring after the name. Bernaschina? Nobody had heard of the fellow. A count? From Panama? It seemed most improbable. Maybe I had dreamed the whole thing? I hadn’t.

I had come to Panama to research a novel. Unusually, it already had a title: The Night Manager. I was looking for the sort of crooks, smooth talkers and dirty deals that would brighten the life of an amoral English arms seller named Richard Onslow Roper. Roper would be a high-flyer where my father, Ronnie, had been a low one who frequently crashed. Ronnie had tried selling arms in Indonesia and gone to jail for it. Roper was too big to fail, until he met his destiny in the shape of a former special forces soldier turned hotel night manager named Jonathan Pine.

Working with Sir Alec Guinness

“We are definitely not as our host here describes us,” says Sir Maurice Oldfield severely to Sir Alec Guinness over lunch. Oldfield is a former chief of the secret service who was later hung out to dry by Margaret Thatcher, but at the time of our meeting, he is just another old spy in retirement. “I’ve always wanted to meet Sir Alec,” he told me in his homey, north country voice when I invited him. “Ever since I sat opposite him on the train going up from Winchester. I’d have got into conversation with him if I’d had the nerve.”

Guinness is about to play my secret agent George Smiley in the BBC’s television adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, and wishes to savour the company of a real old spy. But the lunch does not proceed as smoothly as I had hoped. Over the hors d’oeuvres, Oldfield extols the ethical standards of his old service and implies, in the nicest way, that “young David here” has besmirched its good name.

Guinness, a former naval officer, who from the moment of meeting Oldfield has appointed himself to the upper echelons of the secret service, can only shake his head sagely and agree. Over the Dover sole, Oldfield takes his thesis a step further: “It’s young David and his like,” he declares across the table to Guinness while ignoring me sitting beside him, “that make it that much harder for the service to recruit decent officers and sources. They read his books and they’re put off. It’s only natural.” To which Guinness lowers his eyelids and shakes his head in a deploring sort of way, while I pay the bill.

“You should join the Athenaeum, David,” Oldfield says kindly, implying that the Athenaeum will somehow make a better person of me. “I’ll sponsor you myself. There. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” And to Guinness, as the three of us stand on the threshold of the restaurant: “A pleasure indeed, Alec. An honour, I must say. We shall be in touch very shortly, I’m sure.”

“We shall indeed,” Guinness replies devoutly, as the two old spies shake hands.

Unable apparently to get enough of our departing guest, Guinness gazes fondly after him as he pounds off down the pavement: a small, vigorous gentleman of purpose, striding along with his umbrella thrust ahead of him as he disappears into the crowd. “How about another cognac for the road?” Guinness suggests, and we have hardly resumed our places before the interrogation begins: “Those very vulgar cufflinks. Do all our spies wear them?” No, Alec, I think Maurice just likes vulgar cufflinks.

“And those loud orange suede boots with crepe soles. Are they for stealth?” I think they’re just for comfort actually, Alec. Crepe squeaks. “Then tell me this.” He has grabbed an empty tumbler. Tipping it to an angle, he flicks at it with his thick fingertip. “I’ve seen people do this before” – making a show of peering meditatively into the tumbler while he continues to flick it – “and I’ve seen people do this” – now rotating the finger round the rim in the same contemplative vein.

“But I’ve never seen people do this before” – inserting his finger into the tumbler and passing it round the inside. “Do you think he’s looking for dregs of poison?”

Is he being serious? The child in Guinness has never been more serious in its life. Well, I suppose if it was dregs he was looking for, he’d have drunk the poison by then, I suggest. But he prefers to ignore me.

It is a matter of entertainment history that Oldfield’s suede boots, crepe-soled or other, and his rolled umbrella thrust forward to feel out the path ahead, became essential properties for Guinness’s portrayal of George Smiley, old spy in a hurry. I haven’t checked on the cufflinks recently, but I have a memory that our director thought them a little overdone and persuaded Guinness to trade them in for something less flashy.

The other legacy of our lunch was less enjoyable, if artistically more creative. Oldfield’s distaste for my work – and, I suspect, for myself – struck deep root in Guinness’s thespian soul, and he was not above reminding me of it when he felt the need to rack up George Smiley’s sense of personal guilt; or, as he liked to imply, mine.

Lunch with Rupert Murdoch

One morning in the autumn of 1991, I opened my Times newspaper to be greeted by my own face glowering up at me. From my sour expression, I could tell at once that the text around it wasn’t going to be friendly. A struggling Warsaw theatre, I read, was celebrating its post-communist freedom by putting on a stage version of The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. But the rapacious le Carré [see photograph] wanted a whacking £150 per performance: “The price of freedom, we suppose.”

I took another look at the photograph and saw exactly the sort of fellow who does indeed go round preying on struggling Polish theatres. Grasping. Unsavoury appetites. Just look at those eyebrows. I had by now ceased to enjoy my breakfast. Keep calm and call your agent. I fail on the first count, succeed on the second. My literary agent’s name is Rainer. In what the novelists call a quavering voice, I read the article aloud to him. Has he, I suggest delicately – might he possibly, just this once, is it at all conceivable? – on this occasion been a tad too zealous on my behalf? Rainer is emphatic. Quite the reverse. Since the Poles are still in the recovery ward after the collapse of communism, he has been a total pussycat. We are not charging the theatre £150 per performance, he assures me, but a measly £26, the minimum standard rate. In addition to which, we’ve thrown in the rights for free. In short, a sweetheart deal, David, a deliberate helping hand to a Polish theatre in time of need. Great, I say, bewildered and inwardly seething.

Keep calm and fax the editor of the Times. His response is lofty. Not to put too fine an edge on it, it is infuriating. He sees no great harm in the piece, he says. He suggests that a man in my fortunate position should take the rough with the smooth. This is not advice I am prepared to accept. But who to turn to?

Why, of course: the man who owns the newspaper, Rupert Murdoch, my old buddy!

Well, not exactly buddy. I had met Murdoch socially on a couple of occasions, though I doubted whether he remembered them. I have three conditions, I say: number one, a generous apology prominently printed in the Times; number two, a handsome donation to the struggling Polish theatre. And number three, lunch. Next morning his reply was lying on the floor beneath my fax machine: “Your terms accepted. Rupert.”

The Savoy Grill in those days had a kind of upper level for moguls: red-plush, horseshoe-shaped affairs where in more colourful days gentlemen of money might have entertained their ladies. I breathe the name Murdoch to the maître d’hôtel and am shown to one of the privés. I am early. Murdoch is bang on time. He is smaller than I remember him, but more pugnacious, and has acquired that hasty waddle and little buck of the pelvis with which great men of affairs advance on one another, hand outstretched, for the cameras. The slant of the head in relation to the body is more pronounced than I remember, and when he wrinkles up his eyes to give me his sunny smile, I have the odd feeling he’s taking aim at me. We sit down, we face each other. I notice – how can I not? – the unsettling collection of rings on his left hand. We order our food and exchange a couple of banalities. Rupert says he’s sorry about that stuff they wrote about me. Brits, he says, are great penmen, but they don’t always get things right. I say, not at all, and thanks for your sporting response. But enough of small talk. He is staring straight at me and the sunny smile has vanished.

“Who killed Bob Maxwell?” he demands.

Robert Maxwell, for those lucky enough not to remember him, was a Czech-born media baron, British parliamentarian and the alleged spy of several nations, including Israel, the Soviet Union and Britain. As a young Czech freedom fighter, he had taken part in the Normandy landings and later earned himself a British army commission and a gallantry medal. After the war, he worked for the Foreign Office in Berlin. He was also a flamboyant liar and rogue of gargantuan proportions and appetites who plundered the pension fund of his own companies to the tune of £440m, owed around £4bn that he had no way of repaying and in November 1991 was found dead in the seas off Tenerife, having apparently fallen from the deck of a lavish private yacht named after his daughter. Conspiracy theories abounded. To some, it was a clear case of suicide by a man ensnared by his own crimes; to others, murder by one of the several intelligence agencies he had supposedly worked for. But which one? Why Murdoch should imagine I know the  answer to this question is beyond me, but I do my best to give satisfaction. Well, Rupert, if we’re really saying it’s not suicide, then probably, for my money, it was the Israelis, I suggest.

“Why?”

I’ve read the rumours that are flying around, as we all have. I regurgitate them: Maxwell, the long-term agent of Israeli intelligence, blackmailing his former paymasters; Maxwell, who had traded with the Shining Path in Peru, offering Israeli weapons in exchange for strategic cobalt; Maxwell, threatening to go public unless the Israelis paid up. But Rupert Murdoch is already on his feet, shaking my hand and saying it was great to meet me again. And maybe he’s as embarrassed as I am, or just bored, because already he’s powering his way out of the room, and great men don’t sign bills, they leave them to their people. Estimated duration of lunch: 25 minutes.

A meeting with Margaret Thatcher

The prime minister’s office wished to recommend me for a medal, and I had declined. I had not voted for her, but that fact had nothing to do with my decision. I felt, as I feel today, that I was not cut out for our honours system, that it represents much of what I most dislike about our country. In my letter of reply, I took care to assure the prime minister’s office that my churlishness did not spring from any personal or political animosity, offered my thanks and compliments to the prime minister, and assumed I would hear no more.

I was wrong. In a second letter, her office struck a more intimate note. Lest I was regretting a decision taken in heat, the writer wished me to know that the door to an honour was still open. I replied, equally courteously I hope, that as far as I was concerned the door was firmly shut, and would remain so in any similar contingency. Again, my thanks. Again, my compliments to the prime minister. And again I assumed the matter was closed, until a third letter arrived, inviting me to lunch. There were six tables set in the dining room of 10 Downing Street that day, but I only remember ours, which had Mrs Thatcher at its head and the Dutch prime minister Ruud Lubbers on her  right, and myself in a tight new grey suit on her left. The year must have been 1982. I was just back from the Middle East, Lubbers had just been appointed. Our other three guests remain a pink blob to me. I assumed, for reasons that today escape me, that they were industrialists from the north. Neither do I remember any opening exchanges between the six of us, but perhaps they had happened over cocktails before we sat down. But I do remember Mrs Thatcher turning to the Dutch prime minister and acquainting him with my distinction. “Now, Mr Lubbers,” she announced in a tone to prepare him for a nice surprise, “this is Mr Cornwell, but you will know him better as the writer John le Carré.”

Leaning forward, Mr Lubbers took a close look at me. He had a youthful face, almost a playful one. He smiled, I smiled: really friendly smiles. “No,” he said. And sat back in his chair, still smiling. But Mrs Thatcher, it is well known, did not lightly take no for an answer.

“Oh, come, Mr Lubbers. You’ve heard of John le Carré. He wrote The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and…” – fumbling slightly – “… other wonderful books.”

Lubbers, nothing if not a politician, reconsidered his position. Again he leaned forward and took another, longer look at me, as amiable as the first, but more considered, more statesmanlike.

“No,” he repeated.

Now it was Mrs Thatcher’s turn to take a long look at me, and I underwent something of what her all-male cabinet must have experienced when they, too, incurred her displeasure. “Well, Mr Cornwell,” she said, as to an errant schoolboy who had been brought to account, “since you’re here” – implying that I had somehow talked my way in – “have  you anything you wish to say to me?”

Belatedly, it occurred to me that I had indeed something to say to her, if badly. Having recently returned from South Lebanon, I felt obliged to plead the cause of stateless Palestinians. Lubbers listened. The gentlemen from the industrial north listened. But Mrs Thatcher listened more attentively than all of them, and with no sign of the impatience of which she was frequently accused. Even when I had stumbled to the end of my aria, she went on listening before delivering herself of her response. “Don’t give me sob stories,” she ordered me with sudden vehemence, striking the key words for emphasis. “Every day people appeal to my emotions. You can’t govern that way. It simply isn’t fair.”

Whereupon, appealing to my emotions, she reminded me that it was the Palestinians who had trained the IRA bombers who had murdered her friend Airey Neave, the British war hero and politician, and her close adviser. After that, I don’t believe we spoke to each other much. Occasionally I do ask myself whether Mrs Thatcher nevertheless had an ulterior motive in inviting me. Was she, for instance, sizing me up for one of her quangos – those strange quasi-official public bodies that have authority but no power, or is it the other way round? But I found it hard to imagine what possible use she could have for me – unless, of course, she wanted guidance from the horse’s mouth on how to sort out her squabbling spies.

• This is an edited extract from The Pigeon Tunnel: Stories From My Life, by John le Carré, published next week by Viking at £20. Order a copy for £15 from the Guardian bookshop.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[libsterslobsters]

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

*************************************************

 Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

 The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

 Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

 Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

 If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

 The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

 Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

 “Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

 “Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

 Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

 It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

 “I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

 She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

 “Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

 “Oh.”

 Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

 “I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

 “I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

 “No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

 It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses  her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

 So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

 Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

 He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

 He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

 “Hey, Doll.”

 “I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

 “At what?”

 “The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

 “How-”

 “I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

 “Jesus.” 

 She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

 “So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

 “I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

 She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

 “Better than you are.”

 “What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

 “No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.”  Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

 “Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

 “I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

 “Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

 “That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

 “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” 

 “Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

 “See you then.”

 As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

 His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember. 

 By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

 She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

 It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

 “Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.  

 “Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

 She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

 True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

 “Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

 “Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

 “I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

 “I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

 They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

 Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

 “Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

 “Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

 It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her.  He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

 “You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

 “Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

 “It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

 “I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

 “Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

 “I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

 “I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

 “I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

 As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

 “Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

 “Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

 “You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

 “Care to make things even?” It���s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

 “Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

 “Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

 “Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

 “Yes.”

 Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

 “May I touch you?” She nods.

 “You’d better.”

 It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

 “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

 “What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

 Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

 “Are you okay?” She nods.

 “Don’t stop.”

 The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

 “Do you still want to-”

 “If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

 “I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

 “Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

 He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

 “I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

 He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

 “Definitely.”

 There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

 “Can you wait a second? Please?”

 “Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

 “Fine. You can move now.”

 She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

 “I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

 “I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

 The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

 The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

 That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

 “Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

 His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

 She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

 She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

 “Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

 “Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

 Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better. 

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like  her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

 “I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

 “Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

 “Nothing.” He shakes his head.

 “Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

 “Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

 “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

 “I did.”

 She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

 “Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

 “Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

 Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

 “Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

 “And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

 “Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

 “That’s not the same thing.”

 “How is it not the same thing?”

 “I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

 She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

 “Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

 “Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

 “Hey!”

 “Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

 “So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

 “But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

 A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

 “Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

 He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

 “I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

 “That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

 “Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

 Smirking, he asks her,

 “You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

 “Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.”  That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

 “You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

 “I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

 “I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

 “And what’s that?”  The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

 “Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

 “So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

 “Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

[0dirty-deals0]

Hey, might I request an NSFW yandere Asmo headcanon? Or fluff, either would be amazing. Thank you in advance! And thank you for just looking at this (if you do qwq)

WARNINGS: Let me make it incredibly clear that I do not and never will condone behavior like this. Yandere behavior and n/s/f/w content

Yandere Asmo:

♡Oh honey, he's obsessed with you. However, instead of wishing to keep you locked up in a cage, he wants to show you off like an expensive jewelry set, because that's what you are to him. Unlike a jewelry set though, you're irreplacable

♡He's a being of lust and love was never something he thought about, before you came along of course. He fell h a r d for you solely based on how sweetly you treat him while also mantaining a resistance towards his charm. He had to work for you and that got him off in ways he never knew possible. Despite being hard to get, you still gave him innocent attention that he never knew he craved so desperately.

♡Has to constantly hold you, not even in a sexual way most of the time. He just needs to feel even the slightest graze of your fingertips on his body to function. He's hungry for your affection and if he could, he would probably have you holding onto him 24/7.

♡Before you two dated, he would imvite you over for self care sessions. He did this often with some of his other friends and even roped Solomon into a few sessions as well. However, your sessions are very physical. He insists on helping you with everything, from applying your face mask to painting your nails and even helping you apply moisturizer on your hands and legs. His excuse is that he knows the best method to use on you and his explanation is convincing.

♡He doesn't care if you two are in public or not, he really enjoys kissing you and whispering the sweetest compliments to you, saying how the two of you make the most gorgeous couple in the whole universe. He lives for the reactions he pulls from you.

"None of god's creation could ever compare to us~"

♡Loves buying you outfits that match or co-ordinates with his. He wants you to look good and feel just as great. Having you match with him also sates a bit of his possessiveness over you, to him it makes it super obvious to others that you belong to him. May have gotten you a sort of collar that looks like a choker for your different outfits and managed to get you to wear them.

♡Asmo is a bit of a hypocrite in the sense that while he may let others touch him, absolutely no one can touch you. He'll whine whenever one of his brothers need to borrow you for a while and will always blow up your phone to remind you not to let them touch you so much. He can't have your perfectly imperfect skin ruined. Almost got into a scrap with Satan because you came back with a papercut after studying with him.

♡Has so so many pictures of you, taken with and without consent. Most involve you doing your everyday things but dig a little deeper and things get... a lot naughtier from there. The prettiest pictures of you are made into polaroids covered in cute stickers and hearts drawn with red pen. He keeps them in a very hidden part of his drawer.

NSFW TIME:

♡Since we're on the topic of pictures, he has 100% jacked off to them. Every single one of them, he doesn't care if it's an innocent picture or not. He cleans it up well but if you're incredibly observant you'll be able to figure it out.

♡Fucking sex god, we're talking about the embodiment of lust here. He usually likes to be worshipped but with you he can't help but turn the tables. He wants to make you feel better than you'll ever feel in your whole life. Boy wants you addicted to him.

♡Other than a few hard no's he will always comply to every single one of your sexual requests. You want to handcuff and top him? He's ready and he even has a cute outfit you'd look good in while doing so. You want to be his princess and have him wreck you? Man is the most versatile switch in the Devildom, watch him go from Sweetie to Savage in seconds, you ain't walking for possible months. He'll comply to anything if it meant you being his completely.

♡While he doesn't have a thing for being marked, with you it's all he can think of doing. He wants you to remember what sinful actions the two of you were doing the night before, he wants to be on your mind all the time. The bitemarks are always in obvious places with his most favourite place being below your palm. If others point it out, he isn't shy to barge in and explain, especially if it's one of his brothers asking.

♡You two have been caught by all of his brothers. I am not even kidding, you two get it on at very obvious places in the House of Lamentation. Half of the reason for it is because he honestly can't wait most of the time and the other half is because he wants you two to get caught. He wants his brothers to see how well he takes care of you in bed and how blissed out you look. Whenever he locks eyes with his brothers, a smug grin can be seen along with a dark, almost abnormally scary look in Asmo's eyes.

♡He gives hella good aftercare after the act. Consider it a treat from him for keeping him company in bed. Be careful though as some of the bath products he uses on you may have some sort of sedative mixed in. He won't be affected by it at all but the sweet scent pulls you into a peaceful slumber quick. He can't have you just running off after a night of passionate fun with him. That won't do in his books at all, he hasn't gotten enough of you just yet. You aren't just a one night stand to him

"Let me have you just until tomorrow morning... maybe even the mornings after that"

Others: YANDERE REQUEST! I may be terrible at writing them but god do I love them- I'm so sorry if this headcanon list seemed incredibly messy and if it wasn't very good. Like usually, do feel free to inform me! Thank you so much for reading!

[doctorofmagic]

I read reviews of Doctor Strange comics where the reviewer felt that Stephen doesn't really tell Clea what's going on. How true do you think that is and do you feel they got away from that?

Greetings and thanks for asking!

Oh, that’s a... very tough spot to be but I’ll try my best. Just friendly reminder that this is merely my opinion and interpretation of all comics I’ve ever read. Beware the long post!

Alright, so... First, I don’t think Stephen leaves Clea in the dark. However, it is true that he reproduces three kinds of unhealthy behavior towards not only her but most people around him.

1) He’s overprotective, and that comes from a very long story about losing people dear to him. For instance, his entire family, starting with Donna, the most painful and crucial loss in his life. Also the Ancient One’s death is another reason for him to be afraid of losing people, not to mention the burden his mentor left to him: the mantle of the Sorcerer Supreme and all the responsability that comes from it. Stephen instinctively tends to leave people behind without their consent and that’s very troublesome. But mostly because, when someone gets hurt, he tends to blame himself and seek self-isolation. This is why he left both the Defenders and the New Avengers, a decision made upon the same feeling: guilt. That said, he’s always trying to improve. Concerning Clea, in Sorcerer Supreme #32, he did leave her behind, casting a sleeping spell on her without her consent, and they nearly broke up because of that. But Stephen acknowledges he’s wrong and apologizes. I could also bring Zelma to this conversation and the consequences of keeping her in the dark. So yes, he does that. But he’s trying.

2) He’s patronizing. It is true that Stephen still keeps a little bit of arrogance within his soul. But I suppose, when the writer isn’t Waid, that Stephen also tries to become a better person by acknowledging his own flaws. On a side note, I’m not justifying his flaws, far from it. But I’d say it’s understandable that he acts this way sometimes because he IS Earth’s best sorcerer. He IS overpowered. And yet, when something is out of his league, he does call qualified people, proving that he also knows the proper time to be humble.

3) He struggles with introspection. Stephen has A LOT going on. As an apprentice, he could always rely on the Ancient One. After all, it wasn’t his responsability to protect Earth’s plane, even though he did help his mentor. But the moment TAO dies, he’s forced to live alone with such a heavy responsability. And magic itself is a burden, especially to the Sorcerer Supreme. In Clea’s case, it’s even deeper because, at that certain point of their relationship, Stephen was becoming more and more lost in introspection, concerned about magic and being the leader of a whole team, something that wasn’t planned at all. And since Stephen is also terrible at interpersonal relationships, he struggles a lot to talk about feelings. Even externalizing words are hard for him I relate on a spiritual level. On the other hand, Clea thought that Stephen didn’t love her anymore, which only deteriorated their relationship. So you see, Stephen doesn’t do it on purpose. It’s really an introvert struggle. It goes way deeper than a conscious behavior.

So, in short? I see where those reviews came from. I didn’t read them, I don’t even know which reviews they are. Still, I can’t help but point out my impressions regarding Stephen’s subjectivity. I know it’s not fair because I go REALLY deep into him, and of course I’m not justifying his unhealthy behavior. I’m just saying he’s human. He makes tons of mistakes and he’s still paying for them. His mental health is WRECKED. And one of the most crucial mistakes he has ever made was pushing Clea away. It still haunts him to this very day. It’s still a source of great pain and guilt. He can’t forgive himself for it, which only becomes another “eye in Mr. Misery’s body” - in other words, another voice in his head to make him feel miserable and unworthy.

I’m not sure if the reviewers wrote that, but you cannot talk about Doctor Strange’s flaws without mentioning how much they have hurt him throughout the years. Otherwise, they’ll just write a very incomplete and shallow analysis.

That said, I hope this post was enough to show my perspective! Of course, I’ll always encourage people to show theirs. As I said, this is merely my opinion!

Thank you so much for asking my thoughts, though! I’m really glad people are interested in what I have to say about Stephen. Much appreciated!

[connorandersons-blog]

Computer Virus

Connor gets a virus from a murder victim, but the only way to 'cure' himself is... you guessed it! Have sex! This has definitely been done before it was still really fun to write! I also blame the convin discord server for this. It's just pure smut with feelings thrown in at the end.

The reference to rape is from the victims of the crimes, Gavin and Connor very much want this and consent. There is dubcon only cause its the whole fuck or die and I wanted to be safe!

Word count: 3,037 Rating: E

Hope you enjoy!

----------------------------------

He shifted in his sheet for what felt like the hundredth time since getting back from the case, trying to ignore the shivers and jerks that wrecked his body. He grabbed the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white as his… problem got worse again. "Ha-Hank, I um, need help." It was getting too much, and he needed it to just stop. 

Hank hummed looking over with a raised eyebrow. "What's up, son?" 

"So, I uh, may have downloaded a virus." One that his systems didn't exactly know how to fight. "Normally I can fix it myself, but it isn't acting like a normal virus." It wasn't creating anything new but just enhancing things that were already there.

Hence why he kept staring at Gavin and having to stop certain programs, even when they kept coming back online without his permission.

He pouted when Hank burst out laughing, drawing nearly everyone's attention, even Gavin looked over rolling his eyes. Fuck, Gavin's eyes on him (or at least in his general direction) wasn't helping at all. Gavin caught his staring and stared right back with blinking. It reminded him of cats finding for dominance, and now he's thinking about that, fuck. 

He had to look away, trying to focus on Hank and not the rising heat in his face and his whole body for that matter. "Hank! This is serious! I got it when I connected to the victim." A dead one, so he thought it would be safe. Apparently, this virus didn't need power to stay alive, fucking wonderful. 

That sobered Hank up a bit, realizing exactly *what* virus Connor was infected with. "I am not helping in that way. Sorry, Con, I appreciate it, but no. Not happening." 

That only caused his blush to get deeper, shaking his head so quickly he's worried it would fall off. "What? No! I don't, oh my god, Hank, what the fuck? I meant I literally need help: I'm overheating!" 

"Oh. Uh, I can get you a drink? But you know what you have to do to kick this if you don't wanna burn up." Hank moved to stand, and Connor let him. They had both seen the burned bodies when the androids hadn't been able to work it out of the systems. 

And that was the problem. Connor would have to have sex with someone, the even worse problem was it didn't have to be consensual. With the cases they'd seen one too many sexual assaults due to it, which was hard to figure out how to charge them. On one hand it was self-defense, if they didn't they would die, but it was still rape. They'd let the lawyers figure that out, their main mission was to watch whoever created the virus. 

"I know, I know. I'm going to go to the bathroom, splash some water on my face so I can think clearly for a second." Standing was awkward but he shut down that program so he could at least make it there without his problem being too obvious. 

The bathroom was blessedly empty, he went to the sink. He yanked off his tie, tossed that and his jacket to the counter, and unbuttoned his shirt, the cool air making him shiver in relief. "Fuck." He grumbled, leaning against the counter. He cupped his hands under the cool water and splashed it onto his face, feeling the wet trail down to his chest. 

He didn't have time to pull his shirt on again before the door swung open and none other than Gavin Reed stoked in, eyes catching Connor's before sliding down to openly stare at his chest. 

"Jesus, what the fuck Tincan?" Gavin said, crossing his arms. 

Connor ran a hand through his hair, trying desperately to not jump Gavin here and now. "I'm having some technical difficulties, I apologize for my appearance." 

"Right… you know if I found a human-like this I'd say they were horny. Can droids even get horny?" Gavin leaned on the counter, apparently forgetting why he came in. 

"We can, the case I currently have deals with a virus that does just that but to the extreme. If the android does not release the tension they will overheat and die." He should have told him to just fuck off, use the bathroom and leave, but he wanted Gavin to know. 

"Right." 

"I've been infected with this virus." 

He watched as Gavin's face morphed into one of shock, then worry, then… interest? "Well damn. Can't you just rub one off? Not the first time someone's done that in these bathrooms." Gavin let his arms relax, eyes trailing up and down Connor's body. He lingered on his chest and crotch where there was definitely a tent to his pants. 

"It seems it must be done with someone else. I'm not sure why. I was going to contact one of my friends, perhaps Markus, to help if I couldn't get this under control." He knew Markus would understand, he'd been kept up to date on the case and had worried about the possibility of Connor getting infected. He had assured Markus it wouldn't happen, his firewalls were too strong and if it did get in he could work it out without a problem. 

"Don't you have like… android antibodies?" 

"Not exactly. This virus is different than most. I have to go and find the strings of code myself but they keep multiplying faster than I can delete it. My systems aren't recognizing it as a virus but part of my normal coding." Which just made it so much harder. And it took them a while to find in the androids since scans had said nothing was wrong. 

Gavin's face scrunched up adorably, trying to process the information. "Fucking hell. Well, how much time do you got left 'til you literally die from being too horny?" 

"Approximately thirty minutes unless I have sex, then the timer stops as long as I eventually climax." Might as well be as honest as possible if he really was going to die. It didn't feel real like it was just some silly prank, but he'd seen the damage. He knew how much agony the androids went through as they caught on fire and burned alive. 

"What the fuck?! You're going to die in thirty minutes but you're standing around talking to me? Go get some dick or whatever!" Gavin pushed away from the counter, shaking his head. Connor couldn't help but try to get closer, leaning forward just a bit. "... Why are you looking at me like that?" 

"I'm sorry, I'm trying to control myself, I swear." He tried to say it normally but it came out as a whine. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to take in slow breaths. The closer he got to the timer running out the harder it was to think clearly or even stop himself from grabbing Gavin and fucking him on the counter. 

He jolted, biting his lip to stop the moan that threatened to spill out when rough, calloused, warm hands ran up his chest. "Oh god," he whined, tilting his head to expose his neck. 

There was a tentative hot lick to it, a moan slipping out of him. "Can't let you die, I guess. Do you need to fuck or be fucked?" Gavin asks, fingers massaging Connor's chest. He shivered when those hands started playing with his nipples, getting them since and hard. 

He kept his hands to himself even as they twitched to hold and pull Gavin even closer. Each touch from Gavin was like an ice cube to his skin, burning cold, yet it felt so good. "I don't know, just need you." 

Gavin hummed, pulling Connor down enough so he could suck a nice big hickey onto his neck. "I can do that." 

No. Fuck, no this wasn't right. He weakly tried to push him away and off but his hands just holding him by his shoulders. "Don't do this, don't want to hurt you or… not without you wanting it too." He couldn't rape someone, he couldn't do that to Gavin or anyone else. 

Gavin paused, pulling away so they could see each other's faces. "I've wanted to get my hands on you from the moment you walked in. It was so unfair, it was like they stole you from my dreams and made you real. Drove me fucking insane." 

"Please touch me," he whimpered, leaning closer. It hurt so much, his body tugging him closer to Gavin to get anything he could from him. 

"Shit! Right, sorry Tincan." Gavin grumbled, crashing their lips together, teeth clinking awkwardly until they got into a fast rhythm. Gavin leans against the sink until Connor needs more and picks him up to sit him on it, slotting himself between his open legs. 

Connor ground his hips forward, hissing at the electricity that shot through him, making his arms tighten around Gavin. 

Gavin broke the kiss, gasping for air but taking the time to shrug his own jacket off and Connor grabs his shirt and yanks it over his head. He needed his hands on Gavin and he needed it now. His chest has some hair, and Connor couldn't help but squish and play with those soft but firm pects. 

"I want you to fuck me." He sighed out when Gavin scratched down his back. "I need you to, please Gavin."

Gavin sucked at the skin on his collarbone before pulling off with a soft, wet pop. It hit him that they were in the bathroom… at work. Anyone could walk in and see them and yet he didn't want to stop. It only made him want to keep going, the idea of being caught sending a thrill through him. He could easily say he had to, he had the virus after all. 

"Yeah, yeah ok. I, oh fuck, I don't have lube or a condom on me." Gavin leaned forward, resting his head on Connor's shoulder, biting down to keep his own moans quiet. The bathroom may have thick walls but if someone walked past there was the possibility they'd hear. 

"Don't need a condom with me and uh… I don't need lube either. I kinda self-produce it." Thank God for that. He could get away with doing it without on himself, it wasn't like humans could hurt him in this way. 

Gavin's mouth dropped open as he leaned back, eyes wide as saucers. "Well fuck me then."

"I thought you'd be doing the fucking," Connor teased, reaching a hand down to cup Gavin through his pants. He bucked his hips into the hand, letting out his own small whimper. 

"Fuck off! Shit, ok uh, how do you wanna do this?" Gavin asked, pushing off the counter, but his hands quickly went back to touch and pull Connor close. 

Connor glanced around before eyeing the stalls. He hooked a finger around Gavin's belt loops and pulled him into one, sitting him down. "This ok?" He pulled his own belt off, tossing it to the ground. 

Gavin nodded so quickly his head was sure to fall off, but he pushed his own pants and boxers down, eyeing Connor as he did.

The cold hit him up but he really couldn't care less. He hadn't even closed or locked the stall door before he reached behind himself and pushed a finger in. He bit his lip, working himself open quickly, eyes squeezed shut. He could hear the slick sound of Gavin fucking his own hand roughly at the sight of Connor. And if that didn't do things to him. 

He pressed a second finger in, then a third after a glance down at Gavin's length. It wasn't too long to be a problem, but it was plenty thick, flushed from the blood rushing through it. His lube had already kicked in, it had done that the minute he was infected but now he had an actual use for it. 

"Have you done this?" It was probably a stupid question to ask, but he wanted to make sure Gavin at least had an idea of what to do, even if Connor would do most of the work. 

"Trust me, I've had plenty of dick and given plenty. You aren't my first pretty boy, not by a long shot." Gavin smirked up at him with all the confidence in the world. 

Connor keened at the petname, nodding quickly. "Thank god, so have I if you're wondering." He had been very curious after deviating and had some friends that had no problem helping him experiment. 

Apparently, he was taking too long because his body started to tremble and the timer started up again. He pushed it out of his HUD with a small huff. "Shit, ok, you ready?" He positioned himself over Gavin, glancing down to make sure they were lined up. 

Gavin's hands rested on Connor's waist, thumbs rubbing soothingly into his perfect skin. "Course I am, take what you need, baby. I'm yours to use." 

His hands rested on Gavin's shoulder as he slowly sank down onto his cock, both groaning at the sensations. He just felt so sensitive, skin burning in a good way from where they were connected. He sat himself down, hips twitching but he needed to give them both time to adjust. 

Then Connor rose up and sank back down, again and again, speeding up to an almost inhuman pace. Gavin leaned forward capturing Connor's lips in a heated kiss. 

"So good, baby," Gavin mumbled when he needed to breathe again. "Keep going, ok? Shit, you're so beautiful." 

He rolled his hips just the right way that had him close to screaming, but Gavin was quick enough to stick two fingers into his mouth. Connor sucked on them, licking between them and swirling his tongue around the tips. Gavin pressed the other to the small of Gavin's back, almost reverently as he let Connor fuck himself just how he wanted it. 

Connor took the fingers out his mouth to intertwine their fingers, his other still holding desperately to Gavin's shoulder as their foreheads pressed together. It was close to being caring and intimate, but Connor didn't want to think too hard on that. Gavin was just doing this to keep him alive, nothing more nothing less. Right? 

Gavin kept mumbling sweet nothings against his lips, their breaths mingling as Connor's bouncing started losing its rhythm. "You close?" Gavin whined, his hands tightening enough that would hurt a human, but the pressure just felt good to Connor. 

He nodded, already feeling the tenseness come over him. There was a coil inside him but he couldn't get there, he needed something. 

"Come on, Connor. Let me see you come." Gavin pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Gavin probably had no idea what he'd done, but Gavin saying his name like a prayer shook him to the core and he couldn't hold on anymore. He said it like he… like he loved him, but his mind went blissfully blank as he sat him onto Gavin's lap, squeezing around him. 

He could feel Gavin in him, feel himself being filled up but he went limp in Gavin's arms. The man didn't seem to mind, just putting his arm tightly around him as they tried to slow their breathing. 

He checked for the virus but it was completely gone and out of his system. He felt overheated but not unnaturally so now, now he felt content and satisfied in Gavin's arms. He pressed soft kisses to his shoulder and neck, leaving lazy hickeys here and there. "Thank you," Connor mumbled against his skin. 

"Yeah, no problem. Hopefully, you enjoyed yourself?" 

Connor nodded, his eyes still closed in bliss. "Very much so. Though we should both get cleaned up and back to work." Not that he wanted to even move let alone work, but he had responsibilities. He had to tell Hank he was ok and managed to get it out of his system. 

Gavin's hold tightened protectively around him, their hands still clasped together. "Nuh-uh, not yet. You fucked me so hard I need more than a minute and you're staying with me for it." 

Connor hummed happily, nuzzling at Gavin's neck before laying his chin on his shoulder. "Ok." 

The two sat there and no one even came near the bathroom (little did the two know, Hank had said there was a problem in there and told people to just hold it for now, and everyone listened). It was calm and warm, but he did pull off, making them both hiss. He sat back down, wrapping his legs around Gavin's waist. 

"Could we do this again?" He asked meekly, still hiding his face. He didn't want to push, Gavin was generous enough, but he didn't want this to stop. 

Gavin was silent for so long he was sure he'd be thrown off and yelled at for even thinking it was a possibility. But then Gavin pulled back, cupping his cheek gently and pressing the softest kiss to his lips. "Yeah, we can do this if you want. I'm ok with whatever you want, just sex or… more?" Now Gavin looked nervous, but Connor broke into a wide grin.

"More! More, please, I um, yeah I'd like more." This couldn't be real, but Gavin was still holding him and pressing kisses all over his face making him giggle. "Gavin!" He whined, his smile widening impossibly. 

Gavin smiled back, his eyes lighting up beautiful even in the bathroom lighting. "Good, cause so do I. But I think we should at least leave the bathroom, my ass is getting sore."

"Oh!" Connor jumped back, offering a hand to help Gavin up. They got toilet paper and cleaned each other up with soft words and laughter. They still both looked thoroughly fucked, but maybe people would think they just fought? One look at either of their necks would prove otherwise, but that was fine. 

He wasn't sure if he'd first thank or punch the person who created this virus, but either way, he would catch them. Plus Gavin had promised a reward for doing so, and he wouldn't fail his mission.

[augurhound-a]

“You’re serious about this? ‘S a terrible idea, Two, you have no idea what sort of effect it’ll--”

“04, have I ever wanted to hear one of your endless explanations. Ever.”

The hypnotist Lancer stiffened his jaw, and nodded. This was not the reunion he’d hoped for. The reunion he’d hoped for would have involved far more violence and maybe a little bit of retribution for his lost siblings. For himself. For the lives they could have had but now weren’t going to get. Because of the selfish little monster in front of him.

It’d be easy, that little voice in 04 tells him. Just reach into his mind and rip it into tiny little pieces, tear it and him apart and leave him a stuttering wreck.

04 calms himself. He smiles a smile that makes 02 furious and places a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Listen brother, we have a proper duty to do. Besides, I think your big bloke will come and snap my head in two if he finds out what I did to you. No way to prove you wanted it, either, yeah? Doctor-patient ethics and also basic self-preservation tells me I say no to this.” 02′s hand swats the one on his shoulder away, his teeth bared.

“Since when have YOU cared about anything 01 has said. Y--” He doesn’t get far before 04 whirls around and begins walking away, “Where are you going?”

“Away from this useless conversation, Two. You really haven’t--ah--changed much, yeah? Sorry mate, but it’s not my responsibility to make it so you don’t have to wake up in the mornin’ hatin’ yourself.”

“You’re literally a therapist, so.”

“You literally haven’t filled out a consent to treatment form, so.”

02 chews the inside of his cheek so hard he feels metallic synthetic blood fill his mouth. He spits it out onto the floor (earning a wince from 04), and nearly collapses into one of the annoyingly soft seats in the other Lancer’s office. One of the stress toys is plucked from its place in the small bin next to the coffee table, turned over and examined by violet eyes.

He pitches it at the wall and shatters it.

“You gotta pay for that.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Other than pay for my property damage, no.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Please--!”

“No!”

04 stomped the ground hard enough to make the bobbleheads on his desk feel the tremors. Nothing compared to what the poor office had underwent yesterday. Poor Peggy/Sarah/Diane/whatever his receptionist’s name was. The resolute BANG of the other’s loafer on the hardwood makes 02 shrink back in his seat, knees pulled to his chest and hands knitted in his hair.

“HONESTLY, Two, what did you think was going to happen? You and your siblings are soldiers in a bloody war against GOD. You really thought that now was a good time to be entertaining flights of fancy? To sit there with your head firmly in the clouds and up your arse and not here, where it matters? I’m right sorry that this isn’t workin’ out--I’m sorry you aren’t goin’ to get the happy ending future you wanted for yourself, but boohoo. You’re a Lancer. See the bigger picture like you always tell us to.”

04 sets his jaw tightly while 02 lets out a sound that bears some similarity to a whine of distress. The sight is pitiable but draws no compassion from 04--this is not his responsibility anymore. This is hardly even his family anymore. A long pause before the hypnotist, in a rare moment of compassion, steps closer and takes a seat next to his older brother.

“Look right, you tried your best. I get that--really do, mate. An’ it hurts that now’s not the time for what you want. But you know what you have to do. You also know you’re the only one that can make it happen. But pullin’ that bandage off is gonna hurt and it’s gonna sting for a while afterwards.”

“I hate my life.”

“I know.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“What you know you’ve gotta, mate.”

“Will I ever--”

“You’re the one that can see the future, mate, not me. Can you tell if you’re going to kill the Dark Star too?”

02 is silent, tellingly so.

“That’s what I thought, mate.”

“Stop saying mate.”

“You don’t pay me, you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“I’m so tired of things going wrong. Of things in my life going wrong. Sometimes I wonder if I’m cursed. If I just destroy everything I touch.”

“Well, there’s one common denominator in all the relationships you’ve destroyed, isn’t there?”

“Not the time.”

“Let me be angry. Two, I’m sorry your circle’s collapsin’. I’m sorry you couldn’t save Mewtwo. I’m sorry you failed your boyfriend and I’m sorry he’s a blitherin’ idiot that has no idea how conflict resolution works. But maybe this’ll be good for you. Time apart. Reflect on yourself. Your priorities. Your life up until now. Get perspective. Go win the war. Let me talk a bit of sense into the lad. When this is all over... we’ll see how things play out. I’m not promisin’ anything nor should you take this as endorsement of that. But I am saying that you picked the worst time to start daydreamin’. It’s time to get your head back in the game.”

“I don’t like this.”

“Nobody does. Deal with it. We all have had to make sacrifices for the rest of the world. This one’s yours. Right now isn’t about you, mate. You, or him, or anything. God’s a bigger priority than your happy bloody ending.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Yes.”

“Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him.”

“When did you start caring about other bloody people?”

“When I failed you and the others eight years ago. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

04 goes silent, and his lips purse. 02 turns away, and then stares at the door. His legs pick him up and march in lock step towards it, fingers brushing the knob. How much had he missed by being here in 04′s office, hiding from the consequences of his choices? Were they even his to begin with?

“For what it’s worth right back, Two, ‘m sorry your foray into this has ended badly. I really mean what I say. Win the war. Earn that happy endin’ with your family. Then start dreamin’ about distant galaxies and the future, yeah? And after a healthy dose of couple’s counselin’, maybe. And family therapy. Look right--I think you’ve got a real chance at happiness with this, but I think now is not the time for it.”

“No time in my life ever has been. The world’s never been kind to me.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, innit? Guess you’ll have to go do what Lancers do and make the world do it instead.” 04 cracks a smile, one that’s just distracted enough by his anger to be genuine. One that belays just a bit of family in it.

02 returns it with a nod, and a faint, faint smirk of his own. Lancers--ever impractical, ever clever, and willing to do anything for their own sakes.

“I better not see you on the battlefield, Four.”

“I’m a bloody Lancer, Two. You know damn well you won’t.”

“Good. That’s... yeah. Good.”

02 turns, and walks through the door.