#like. here's the fucking problem. every time you try to talk about business models of tv and why certain things are different than others

[walks-the-ages]

Hey, hey everyone! Did you know? "AI Haters" like myself don't hate AI because it ~looks bad~

-- we hate it because it is a fucking Plagiarism Machine that "learns to make art" by scraping the art and written words of millions of artists, writers, and literally just anyone on the internet without consent or knowledge or any oversight.

People not being able to tell Ai-generated images apart from real human's art is not a "gotcha" like you think it is.

Declaring that people simply "hate ai art because it's imperfect" is a strawman, and you're not gonna get anyone on your side by saying "Here! See! Some people like the finished product of ai-generated images!" because that is NOT what the actual core belief behind disliking AI generated images are.

Yeah, people will be pretty vocal about the inaccuracies in a lot of AI generated images or writing, because that's something easy and surface level to point out even for laymen, especially when the generated image in question is being framed as being a real photo or video of real living things or objects as opposed to stylized art, especially when people refuse to even tag their art as "ai" to get clicks for misinformation.

The difference between photoshop and generated images is with photoshop someone at least did the work and has skills at photo manipulations; with ai, someone can just type in prompts and churn out hundreds of images as fast as their computer can handle it, which is being used to scam vulnerable people, especially older folks on facebook and other sites even more than the usual "photoshopped blue roses"

The core, actual values behind not supporting AI-generated images is that there is currently NO ethical generative AI. None of it.

The only way you could make one that is even remotely ethical is to build your own model and train it exclusively on your own works, and that is NOT what 99.99999% of "ai art makers" are doing, and you know it.

AI generated images are hated not because they're "ugly", they are hated because they are the souless product of giant, billion-dollar megacorporations that are scraping the art, prose, and personal words of millions and millions of people without any consent or even knowledge, and all those things are being shoved in a blender and being churned out en masse for corporations to profit from.

People will also literally go out and deliberately target small-time artists by downloading all of their existing works, feeding them to the machine (hey that's a catchy song lyrics doncha think?) and then selling the images they create from that artist's style and work, while the actual human being who made that art to begin with doesn't get a fucking cent.

There's a reason "Ai-artists" put up such a fucking uproar when Glaze, Nightshade, and other experimental 'anti-ai' watermarks started to come out, because they were pissed off they wouldn't be able to steal the works of the artists using those watermarks as easily.

If you genuinely think that the problem people have with "ai" is that its "ugly".... try talking to some actual fucking artists, writers, and working class people in your life.

Because people have already been fucked over by these billion-dollar corporations, and more and more people are being laid off enmasse every day from companies thinking they can replace their workers with generative ai.

https://www.reddit.com/r/ChatGPT/comments/1guhsm4/well_this_is_it_boys_i_was_just_informed_from_my/

https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/business/business-news/pbs-strike-averted-deal-reached-writers-guild-east-1236069276/

https://time.com/6277158/writers-strike-ai-wga-screenwriting/

Last month, over 11,000 people took Astral Codex Ten's survey to see if they could they tell the difference between 50 human-made art and AI-generated images. The results were humbling for humans, especially ones who professed a loathing for AI art.

Most participants stumbled through the test, scoring just 60% — barely better than flipping a coin. What tripped them up? Our preconceptions about art styles, it turns out, are deeply ingrained. When people saw classic Impressionist paintings, they confidently declared them human-made (and were often wrong). When they encountered digital art, they quickly labeled it as AI (and were frequently mistaken).

Perhaps the most ironic finding was about people who claimed to despise AI art. When these AI critics picked their favorite pieces without knowing their origin, they consistently chose AI-generated works. Even among those who rated their hatred of AI art at maximum levels, their top two favorite pieces were created by machines.

[essektheylyss]

.

[lady-raziel]

and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

[soft-persephone]

Your What I Need (An Intentional Accident)

Nick Miller x F!Reader  //  Nick Miller x Black!F!Reader

WC: 1.5k // MDNI // More Nick Miller // Masterlist //

I wrote this with black women in mind but any woman could read it. 

Just a short little blurb of something that crossed my mind one day.

Go to school, get a good job, find a good man, and live happily ever after. That was the model presented to you since you were a child. 

A false promise everyone swore would be your reality.

No one prepared you for the world's outlook on certain women. Not even how other men will position themselves over you for little to nothing in return. 

Derik promised he would never do that to you, but you met online off an app somewhere. 

You already know he’s lying, or there’s something else that hasn’t quite yet reached the surface.

“This is a nice restaurant.” He grit his teeth. “I don’t see what you're complaining about.”

“The waiter has done nothing but look at us in disgust and make slick remarks about the type of people we are and what we can afford.” You whisper yelled back.

“He’s racist, and I don’t want to eat here.” You ripped your napkin out of your lap and threw it in the center of the table, “Fuck this resterant.”

Derik had the nerve to twist his mouth in anger, not even bothering to hide the grinding of his teeth. A habit you had the fortune of witnessing all night and anytime you brought up your successful career and fortune in life. 

“It took me a long time to make this reservation, and even if the staff is shitty, I’d like to stay”

“There’s a big difference between racist and shitty,” you halfway joked, “this  might be your red flag of the night. Perhaps this is my sign to go to the bathroom and not come back.” 

You disagreed on every level, but if this stupid reservation meant that much to him, you’ll stay. You’ve made it a month with him so far. As stubborn as he could be, he wasn't that bad. 

You were as equally as opinionated. 

Which might have been the actual problem. 

“You want to talk about fucking red flags!” He slammed his fist on the table.

“You—“

As soon as he yelled, you grabbed your purse and stood up.

You knew better.

Smacking his teeth, he stood up and reached for you which was more like an aggressive swipe or grab in your direction, but you swiftly jerked your arm closer to your person.

Oh he’s insane. 

“Sit back down!” He hissed. “You're making a scene!”

You could only look at him. A vile laugh bubbles in your chest. 

“Oh, I’m the one making a scene. I wasn’t aware.” You batted your eyelashes and gave him a flash of a smile. “ I am so sorry for ruining your night Derik.” 

He smoothed his clothes down and held out his hand to lead you back to the chair.

“I know sometimes you get in a mood about things, but let’s try and be ra—“

“You asshole!” You hissed. “I was being sarcastic!” You slapped his hand out the way. 

Not wasting anymore time you stormed towards the door and out the restaurant. 

The nighttime L.A. air was warm and hot. 

You longed for home. 

For someone who would just care.

“You fucking—“

He followed you. He fucking followed you and had the nerve to try and call you out your name. How dare—

“This guy bothering you?”

You blinked. 

“This isn’t any of your business. You—“

The stranger ignored Derik and positioned himself halfway between you two, facing your direction.

“I’m sorry but I was a few tables away from yours, and I couldn’t help but notice this guy balling his fists while you were talking, and you looked sad and you were kinda shrinking yourself in this odd way that didn’t look right.

 He talked on and on. Moving his hands a lot, and his eyes seemed a little manic.

The bizarreness of him appearing seemingly out of nowhere and the wildness of his mannerisms oddly repositioned your emotions. An eerie calm washed over you. 

At least for a brief moment.

“It wasn’t right, your way too pretty and important looking to make yourself smaller for some guy.” His eyes locked with yours. “Your date, or whatever it is, can’t be consensual. Because there’s only one way a guy like him could make a woman like you do that.”

He licked his lips, and quickly looked back at Derik before he looked over to you again. 

“You look too amazing,” he frantically ran his fingers through his hair,” and excuse me for saying this. I don’t know you, but you seem too strong and independent of a woman, or strong and independent may not be the right word. Your just too you.” 

“You have five seconds to go away and shut the fuck up before I-—“

“Watch it pal, or I’ll—“

It was over before it started.

Derik instantly hit the ground. One punch from a mysterious stranger and he was down.

“Did he drive you here?”

You shook your head. 

“I’ll take you home.”

“Ok.”

His name was Nick,  he was a bartender, and he had friends who loved him a bit too much.

However, that couldn’t be true. 

They loved him just the right amount. 

He dressed like a lumberjack hipster, or an average working man. Whichever it was he seemed the type of  a man persistent on being different from the rest of modern society, but he didn’t look as burly or surly as most of them tend to, but still stronger than he looked. 

Physical aside, you were sure it was his heart that made him seem gentler. He wasn’t just aloof or someone who kept to themselves in fear of the greater society and its agenda. 

He cared. 

He was kind and he wore his heart on his sleeve. He couldn’t live with himself if he let her stay with Derik for the night. Whether selfish with his intentions or not, you don’t mind.

Deep kind brown eyes and all, you were into it. 

You were into him.

“Nick,” you gently placed your hand on his leg. “Did you have dinner already? I didn’t get the chance after storming out.”

He swerved a bit. Chancing a glance at you and quickly back at the road. 

“Uhm, yeah,” he half choked out in a soft voice. “But I’m always kinda hungry. You have a place in mind?” He nervously looked at you again before looking back at the road.

You brushed your hand up his leg to his chest.

“Anywhere is fine. We can go anywhere as fancy or as casual as you like. My treat” you smiled at him, biting your lip a bit before removing yourself from him completely.

His chest followed your hand. His eyes were on the road but he leaned a bit more in your direction.

“Y-yeah. Ok” 

—-

You were straddling his lap. He was holding you against him with a firm grip. As if  after one blink you’d be gone from him forever. 

You ground against him in slow movements, and he guided you with his hands.

 The friction of his jeans on your bare skin left a hot prickly sensation you couldn’t get enough of. His mouth trailed over yours in a slow firm movement on the edge of desperation before dipping across the skin of your neck, down the curve of your chest and any and every inch of skin his mouth could reach. 

The soft warmth of his mouth in contrast with the prickly tickle of his beard left goosebumps along the expanse of your skin. 

He stops you from grinding against him with the grip of his hands, making you hiss. 

His thumb replaces the slow and steady friction of his jeans going straight for your clit and applying the right amount of pressure, moving it in slow circular movements.

He lightens his grip and your hips chase the movement, chase him as you get closer and closer.

“Let me taste you after you come.” He pleaded in her ear. Moving his hand faster in the process. 

“No.” You moan softly and put your hand on his. “Not yet.”

You were out of your nice top and Nick had discarded your underwear ages ago, hiking your skirt up in the process to please you with his hand. 

He had taken off his flannel, but still had on his undershirt and jeans. 

You reluctantly removed yourself off his lap. 

“Take your clothes off,” you commanded softly, gently placing your hand on his face, you softly brushed your thumb on his lip, “ and get on the bed.”

He placed his hand on top of yours, his humb copying the movement of yours. 

“Use me.” He licked his lips and looked you in the eye. “Take what you need from me.”  

He kissed the palm of your hand and obeyed. 

[idontlikeem]

tw incoherency self-pity and discussions of cancer and medical stuff surrounding it, honestly this is just me being so whiny and i just need to get it out, but i'm talking about actual medical procedures and etc in here so if that or me being a terrible self-centered daughter is going to trigger you please don't read because i'm not censoring this or making it palatable.

i have had a little bit of a fraught relationship with my mom for my whole life, as i think a lot of eldest/only daughters do. there was friction when i was a teenager, there were (are) body image issues thrust upon me, there were expectations and unfair standards and as the only girl a bit of sexism mixed in with it all...the usual, you know. but once i graduated college and grew up a little we've had a much better relationship. i've gotten better at letting her stray comments about my weight and life choices roll off my back (mostly), and she's trying to be less overbearing and critical. i talk to her a lot, and i want to share stuff with her.

she's stopped picking up when i call.

it's not every time, but it's enough that i'm noticing. it's enough that i text to follow up. it's enough that my throat gets tight whenever it happens. aaaaand it's enough to make me cranky and petulant when i don't get a reply.

i have this blue armchair i bought a few months ago. it was my first big furniture purchase after i got divorced that wasn't a necessity and was just something i wanted, and i love it. the problem is it was a discontinued model and color from ikea, so there was no ottoman/footrest that matched that i could buy, and i've been looking for something that was at least a close match ever since, because i'm tall enough that even a chair and a half is not comfy for me to sit on for long periods of time without somewhere to prop my feet.

and i finally found one! it's not perfect but it was inexpensive and i like how they look together, so that's all that matters. come thru target, i should have started there tbh. so i wanted to show her since it got delivered today and i was able to confirm it was a match.

i facetimed twice and she didn't answer, and i texted asking if she was busy with no reply.

i got mad! i got pouty and texted my friends about how my mom barely ever picks up when i facetime her anymore, and i always have to follow up and ask what's going on and if she can talk, and it's annoying to me. as i was doing that, i was texting my dad asking if she was ok.

turns out yesterday she was in the hospital all day getting fluid drained from her abdomen. the chemotherapy she'd been receiving since last fall has recently stopped working, and her blood markers are skyrocketing and the tumors are growing again. she's started a new treatment, sort of a hail mary, but if this doesn't work that's kind of it.

we've always been buying time, but i'd stupidly let myself sort of...i mean, i didn't think she was going to be cured, that's not possible, but when a treatment is letting her sort of seem better, feel better, be out in the world and doing stuff and closer to 'normal'...it's easy to lull yourself into a sense of denial, like 'oh this is just how it's going to be forever'.

stupid. of course it wasn't.

and meanwhile i'm sitting here reading my dad's text about the procedure, about how she had to get 2.75 liters of fluid drained out of her abdomen and she's probably going to have to get a drain re-installed so they can do it at home again (she'd gotten it removed early summer because of how well the chemo was working, the ascites was all but gone), and all i can think is:

i want to show my mom my stupid ottoman. i want her to say 'oh that looks great! isn't target the best? why do we ever shop anywhere else. oh and it has storage! you could put your hats and gloves in there, or maybe even some extra toiletries.' i want to chat about a fucking furniture purchase and listen to her talk about how she's going to try it out when she comes to visit me next. i want her to keep me on the phone for too long, to the point where i get annoyed and make up a meeting so i can hang up.

it's not fair. i want my mom to be my mom. she's sitting at home so exhausted and dying and this is all i can fucking think about. it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair it's not fair.

[doublel27]

When we talk about character development for Carlos, all I want more than anything is for him to unequivocally fuck up. Where something is his fault and he needs to take responsibility for it and fix it. Where the show acknowledges that he did something wrong. Where TK gets to be mad at him without apologizing or calling himself crazy or a bitch for being mad. Where Carlos doesn't get to make snide comments like "I thought maybe we broke up" or "I thought you ate with Coop" when TK tries to fix things. Where Carlos has to be like "shit, I messed up, and I need to be the one to take the first step with TK". I know you probably don't agree with me on this, but every time they've fought or had issues, to the best of my recollection TK is the one to step up to start the conversation and fix the issue. I don't mind Carlos having major flaws or doing messed up things like hiding a whole ass wife (in fact I love hot mess characters), I mind that it's always treated as a) not a real flaw or fuck up, or b) equally or mostly TK's fault. I want to see Carlos show real regret, and not for things that are just his anxiety talking - like not having a fire extinguisher in the bedroom or not being able to forsee a plane malfunction - but real, actual things he did that were wrong. And I just don't think we've seen that, even if I suspect you disagree.

Here's the funny thing, sweet nonny, I don't disagree with you as much as you think I do.

I've been shouting from the rooftops alongside others that TK IS the better communicator of the two. TK always brings stuff up to try and fix it. He's the one with strong boundaries and clear communication because he has learned and practiced doing so. TK is always the one giving speeches. TK is always the one modeling solid communication and relationship skills. He is the one who knows how to pull information out of Carlos that Carlos would rather not voice.

Carlos...is not a talker. Oh, he'll sit and help TK talk through one of TK's problems. He's gotten better about sharing his feelings and concerns as the seasons have gone on, but Carlos is a doer not a talker.

We've seen it pretty consistently. When Carlos fucks up or is mad, he tends to shut everything down or he gets snippy. My man is very attractive and he's very acts of service driven and very clearly cares very deeply, but when he has feelings he doesn't want he shuts it all down.

He's also conflict averse and is prone to telling white lies to avoid conflict. He's been like that since day one. FRIENDS the man sent a "You up?" text that TK thought was a booty call and had a candleight dinner with a fish from the farmers market that he "knows it looks like a lot but it really wasn't that big of a deal" CARLOS YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE ABOUT.

This man said with a STRAIGHT FACE "I'm not trying to be your boyfriend, or even your friend if you don't want that." after the infamous red snapper dinner. SIR! You wanted to marry that man from the first moment you met him. Carlos, you damn liar. TK touched you in the middle of a rescue and you then went and mooned over him in a honky tonk until you asked him to dance and y'all got very busy in the bathroom...I JUST WANT TO POINT OUT THAT YOU ARE OCCASIONALLY A LYING LIAR WHO LIES.

I don't know if we're ever going to get a big verbal mea culpa out of Carlos though, Nonny. If that's what you're looking for, it make take awhile.

Carlos's mea culpas (when not things he didn't actually do like fire extinguishers or planes) tend to be actionable items that he does to show he's heard TK or he's sorry or that he's working to be better. It comes in the form of asking TK out or giving TK space in 1x10 when TK says he has no idea what he wants. I know we all wanted Carlos to do a little more fighting there, BUT the last time TK tried to throw out boundaries in 1x02 we had Carlos calling TK crazy. Backing off WAS growth and an offering, that they clearly figured out sometime in the midst of that call.

We see it in season 2, when in 2x08 Carlos absolutely doesn't even attempt to back away from TK after rescuing him, even after his dad shows up, and Carlos heads over there with his chin raised ready to hear something about his relationship with TK as well as his poor choices.

Again in season two, after the fight at the fire station, while TK tries to apologize for what seems like the second time, Carlos insists they've already discussed it enough and he's busy making TK dinner (which is a massive way that Carlos shows he cares - feeding TK. He does it all the time)

Again, in 3.04, we have Carlos move TK in without saying anything as a sign that TK is fully welcome home regardless of whatever transpired before. In 3.13 Carlos learns from his spiral of not being able to be the one to acts of service TK into being better (because love doesn't cure mental illness) and manages to correct his mistakes and get out of the way of TK accessing life saving treatment from Cooper and stops conflaiting it with the acts of service Carlos performs (like putting pizza in the oven).

He's going to DO things not SAY things. And I think Carlos gets a lot of that from his family. Specifically, Gabriel. AND I think he does several of the things that rub him the wrong way with his father in his relationship with TK. Like, his father's attitude with Carlos and the bomber in Bad Call was not that dissimilar to Carlos with TK in 4.03 (although Gabriel was calmer, if not more disappointed) and even Gabriel's ability to shut that shit down got to TK in 4.04.

Apples don't fall far from the tree.

Anyway, in summation dear nonny, I don't disagree that TK has done a lot of verbal processing, apologizing and communication in this relationship. I just don't expect that Carlos is going to respond the way TK responds, because they're two entirely different people with two entirely different backgrounds that fit together like puzzle piecess.

[adiduck]

33? For kisses?

You got it, Anon! This is... a follow-on for a couple of @oathkeeperoxas's fics in the timeline. I highly recommend you read their MI3 rewrite believe in you and its sequel thunder only happens when it's raining for context as to the particular events Simon's referencing here, though I am fairly certain you can figure it out from context regardless. ;) They're really, really good though, so I promise it won't be a hardship!

Send me a kiss for SaintSpy May!

-

33. Hungry kiss

Being sexually exclusive with Ethan is both easier and more difficult than he thought it would be.

He told Ethan, during that month in Virginia, after they—miracle of miracles—managed to behave like adults and actually talk about what happened to lead to their two year break, that he spent their time apart wishing it was Ethan in his bed, rather than whoever it actually was. That’s true, and he’s pleased to note that it remains so over the month and a half after Virginia, when Ethan’s immediately chucked straight into a deep undercover mission and—for all their careful planning—completely unreachable for his own safety.

(He has his theories about that—the IMF making Ethan pay for his two years out of the field, and the month they couldn’t get their pound of flesh from him at all. It’s an uncharitable thought, and he knows it.

After the Julia incident, and a man Ethan trusted using his face to torture Ethan to confirm he’d done what was asked of him, he finds he is uninterested in being particularly charitable towards this organization as a whole. If Ethan left tomorrow, he already knows how he’d slot him into his own one-man business model, and he’d be happy to fucking have him.)

So, the sex isn’t something he misses—not per se. That part is easy. He didn’t want anyone but Ethan in all the time they were apart, and he still doesn’t. A relief—he knows himself, and had wondered in his heart of hearts if maybe it was the not-having that had caused the problem, if he’d have to train himself to be patient now that Ethan was back. Not the case. Excellent.

What he misses is the physical contact.

The thing about his life, he knows, is that really, day-to-day and hour-to-hour, there really aren’t many people in it. Oh, he’s surrounded by people, of course. He’s always thrived in a crowd, people-watching and brushing shoulders with strangers, all the interesting conversations he could have. Thank god, frankly, if he’d been an introvert he probably wouldn’t have survived. But, see, he doesn’t touch those people. Not without a reason—a job, or a night out. He’s taken both those options off the table now, and about two weeks into his new normal, he starts to notice lack.

He handles it. Brushes off some of his more… gregarious names, goes out to clubs and bars and lets the press of bodies be a bit of a bandaid on the problem, though of course he doesn’t go home with any of them. He takes himself in hand in the bathroom of his hotel room instead, and misses Ethan like a limb.

It works, to some extent, and work itself is another distraction—he’s always working. Even with that, though, he finds himself in the IMF system every day for the last couple weeks of Ethan’s mission—checking reports, checking running missions, reading Ethan’s check-ins like a starving man trying to figure out when he’ll be out and it’ll be safe, again, to go to him—

Ethan’s call for extraction comes during the seventh week after he goes under.

He has a plane ticket back to the States in the next twenty minutes.

-

“Anthony,” Ethan greets, blinking in surprise to find his partner sitting on his desk, the very first afternoon he’s back, long legs crossed and hair piled high and careless on the top of his head.

Anthony smiles at him like the sun coming out, dark eyes scanning him head to toe. “Hello,” he says, voice drawling in an easy Italian-American accent. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember this one.”

Ethan laughs. “Well,” he says, and crosses to his desk. “The context of the meeting was memorable.” He frowns as something occurs to him. “You making a point about being heard again? I’m sorry the mission was so long—”

“Not this time,” Anthony interrupts, and unfolds his legs to spread them enough to draw Ethan forward as he reaches him, bracketing Ethan’s hips with his long, long legs and drawing him down, immediately, into a deep, hungry kiss, right there in the middle of IMF headquarters. Ethan startles a bit, and then gets with the program, leaning in and kissing back with everything he’s got. He wonders if Anthony can taste the stress of being back in such a high stakes mission immediately, the long nights missing their bed in Virginia, wondering how he was doing and where he was doing and it and whether he regretted any of those so-easy promises alone in a house in the suburbs—

Well, he needn’t have worried, Ethan thinks dizzily, as Anthony finally lets him up for air, finding his hands in Anthony’s hair and Anthony’s own hands fisted in his shirt, the two of them flush together in the IMF office shit—

Ethan pulls back, glancing around at the—thankfully—empty floor. He was here late—jetlagged and too pent up to go home alone to his newly assigned apartment, and hoping he could use some of it to power through all the reports he was going to need to write up even after the very, very thorough debrief he just endured. “Maybe we should—”

“Yes,” Anthony says. Ethan looks back at him, finds his eyes endlessly dark and very much focused on Ethan, still holding him tight. “I think we’ve been missing each other more than long enough.”

-

[wumblr]

still think it was remarkably and unusually shitty for y'all to brigade me because i saw a bomb test. i have, again, said it all before but there's functionally no difference between these dumbasses and a far-right conservative. they're lucky i have bigger problems than arguing with the cartoon obsessed braindead about nuclear policy, i know i'm not getting an apology when i'm proven right yet again, because i have, again, been talking about this since longer ago than when some of y'all were first learning shapes and colors. ain't my first goddamn rodeo, i can tell it is some of y'all's though because you were asking for photos as if there's anything to be proven by that. think for one fucking second. sorry for not talking down and explaining it in easy to digest little animated stories, maybe that would have worked since they're all hopelessly conditioned to expect nothing else.

you think i took a dslr out to visit a decommissioned proving ground in between visits with my dying mom? do you know i stopped out there because i was driving 1200 miles further to pack up the last of a storage unit to move across country for an engagement to marry that fell apart? even aside from the fact i didn't go expecting to see anything, it's fucking personal. i wanted to walk the leviathan ground like some belly of the beast shit and my mom was getting sick of me trying to hold her to account on her deathbed anyway. no, it's not radiation poisoning or cancer, it's octopus-pot heart and i'm pretty sure it's my fault. it's my aunt that's fighting cancer, currently, this year, as opposed to every other person i've known who's fought it. not that it's any of your fucking business but if any one of you took the time to walk a mile in my shoes you'd be dead from sheer stress on the first step. stress is what killed the engagement. little else i can do but laugh at how stupid this is because of course, what else would happen? you can't make me unsee it, so none of your objections matter one half of a shit. i didn't want your attention and i don't care what you think.

the fact that still gets me is like... so we both agree you shouldn't believe me sight unseen -- that was stated outright in the one post you couldn't read -- so... what were you actually disagreeing with? abject lack of context? the precious idea of me you have in your head? it'd be hilarious if it wasn't such pathetic, wilfully malinformed bullshit over such a gravely serious subject. we were disagreeing over whether authorized testing is detectable by unauthorized test detection methods or over whether another country would call our bullshit in the middle of declaring six different wars? i'm sorry, i mean humanitarian proxy conflict interventions. so, we were disagreeing about reactors, huh? as a proxy conflict? i've already said that the braindead model the behavior of the empire interpersonally. we were arguing over whether you knew more about detection than the wing of government designed to evade precisely that? appealing to the authority of a crumbling infrastructure? which part, precisely? we were arguing because i said maybe two kilotons and you pictured castle bravo? stupid.

so hellbent on believing you wouldn't hear about a bomb test on the internet while you fawn over the possibility of covert celebrity migration from twitter. yet more trifling ass bullshit. put it together, dumbass. you didn't hear me any of the other times i talked about it, maybe that's why i have a notebook here while i'm trying to figure out how to detect what's designed to evade detection so i and the other three people in the world who care about this can figure out the appropriate means to make you hear about it in a way you can afford to believe without having to crush yourself under the weight of your own culpability in it while the IAEA is busy debuting drones at COP27. i wish they'd all just die on god but that'd be a mercy they don't deserve.

[at-the-sign-of-the-fox-n-phoenix]

From a 50 year old artist who is also Not Disney who is a long time Tumblrite who wants to support your livelihood but can’t for many reasons -

You appear to be a Twitter refugee, if I’m understanding your 'I make money on Twitter’ statement correctly (which I may not have properly understood), who seems to be struggling because you have not yet adapted to the local culture and are, as a result, completely misreading the room.  It happens and is not something to be ashamed of, but it is also NOT the culture you’re new in’s problem.  It’s a you thing.  When I was moved by my family with them to South Korea during my childhood, I had the same problem for a good long while. I learned and adapted over time.  I believe you can do the same.  You’re a fucking artist.  OF COURSE YOU CAN.  YOU ARE BRILLIANT.

HELPFUL QUESTIONS TO SUPPORT YOU BUILDING YOUR FRIEND GROUPS HERE AND ALSO YOUR BUSINESS NETWORK (THEY MAY OR MAY NOT BE THE SAME THING) -

1.  Have I made sure my profile picture IS a profile picture I put effort into and not one of the default Tumblr ones?  Having a default Tumblr profile pic screams I AM NOT A HUMAN, and NOBODY will buy shit from what they think is a bot.

2.  Have I made sure I reblog things that I like (especially my and other artists’ art)?  Have I commented and added on every post I have enjoyed?  Tumblr is a team sport where there is no ‘enemy’ and it all becomes jokey art.  Even the just talking posts.  Even the instructive posts.  We have a Science Side.  We have a History Side.  We have experts on shit, who really, really are EXPERTS, who won’t tell you their names since they’d love to get tenure but if you read in their disciplines, you know who you’re talking to.  (NO WORRIES REPUTABLE ACADEMICS I AM NOT GONNA OUT YOU!)  Not reblogging, commenting, etc means you’re not participating.  Nobody willingly spends time with people just leeching off of them, let alone buys anything from them.  We care about each other here.  It will help if you cultivate that, as well.  We are not mere ATMs.  Nor are you.  We are in your same boat, for the most part.

3.  If you have fixed items 1 and 2, if they needed fixed, now you move to the real way you find your people: 3a.  What fandoms do you suspect might most vibe with your work?  Go find out.  Share your art.  What is the response?  Is this a spot to consistently share your work (with prices listed in case anybody is interested in having it on their wall or side table)?  

EXAMPLES of 3a - 3ai.  Do you draw Dean Winchester’s car model and year in various situations?  SPN WANTS THEIR CAR BACK, BABY.  and you can give it to them. 

3aii.  Do you do lots of abstract stuff?  Make bizarro world fantasy thingies?  You may walk into UNREALITY, ABSTRACT, FANTASY tags and find your people.

3aiii.  Does your art fit mostly into one or a few different aesthetic styles?  We have whole aesthetics fandoms here.  Do you do sweet pastoral landscapes? GET THEE TO THE COTTAGECORE TAG! 

3aiv.  Do you like drawing giant monsters, original or otherwise?  JAPANESE KAIJU, GODZILLA, etc tags are calling your name. 

4.  PROMOTE YOUR FELLOW ARTISTS.  It is proof you aren’t just out to cover you own ass.

4a. EXAMPLES

4ai.  NOW to the Absolutely Shameless plugs for all the artists I already know (if we want our own livelihoods to happen, friend, we boost everyone else who also is Not Disney who is just trying to survive late stage capitalism):

4aii.  I buy from Diane Duane (@dduane) and boost all sales notices I see from her eBooks Direct shop so others can, too. She writes the safe for neurodivergent, queer kids Young Wizards series (So You Want to Be a Wizard, etc), she writes Middle Kingdom, and her dear one, Peter Morwood (@petermorwood) - who is beloved on Tumblr for his in depth swords posts and adorable cat posts, also has many books in that shop.  Both are veterans of writing for the Star Trek franchise OFFICIALLY!  No, no ST series are in eBooks Direct, those are all property of the Franchise and so not for them to sell. There are often sales including EVERYTHING IN THE SHOP for like 40 USD.  They cannot sell to UK, sadly. (Corrections welcome, Writer Aunti!)

4aiii.  When I have money again I will be buying from @momolady - she writes exophilic love stories and makes some epic, genre related stickers.

4aiv.  Also from @monstersandmaw who’s art is diverse and lush and wonderful and I can’t even accurately describe it aside from often sculpture or useful and LUSHLY BEAUTIFUL. 

4av.  my friend Ashleigh makes some epic, investment worthy collage art over on Etsy - https://www.etsy.com/shop/aTinyArtGarage.  Check it out!

4avi.  Our Beloved @theshitpostcalligrapher​ also has an Etsy shop - OMG the calligraphy, Illumination and the SHITPOSTS!  https://www.etsy.com/shop/WitchsGrove?ref=shop-header-name&listing_id=1326505436

4avii.  Finally, I (Phoenix M.T. Noah @at-the-sign-of-the-fox-n-phoenix) am a poet and bookbinder.  You can hear my first spoken word album, produced by Thomas Herlofsen, a Norwegian punk musician and author of the poetry book Chatterheart, on Google’s assistant just by telling it to give you the latest album by Phoenix M.T. Noah.  You’ll get to hear FENRIR’S MOTHER.  And yes, I’ve earned a tiny amount from people here choosing to listen.  It’s also on YouTube, SoundCloud, and everywhere else, I’m told.  I do have a Patreon and that sponsors 2 in person, outdoor in the park open mics (POETIC MISCHIEF IN THE PARK) every month so people can come and share their work in a supportive environment.

You can do this, @mtomauw.  I believe in you.  Show me your art so I can plug it, too.  : )  YOU ARE WORTHY OF YOUR LIVELIHOOD.  So are we all.

The only thing I need tumblr to do is to get like... cool with the idea you can hire people here to do commissions for you and to like.. consider monetary support for artists cuz one of the reasons and the biggest reason I moved to twitter in the first place is because people there buy my art. I make a living there doing art. And the vibe here is **we don't do that here** If you want artists to be here and do art you gotta be okay with the concept of artists trying to make money. I hate capitalism as much as the next person but I'm also 30 years old living with my fucking parents because I can't pay for a 1 bedroom apartment. Artists are not 'big business'. We're not Disney. We're just people trying to make a living or some money for groceries and shit.

[dezdemonomania]

Okay, I don't have a horse in this race because my antipathy for romantic fiction Is Known, but I have to take issue every time fictional relationships as a Dangerous Example gets brought up. (I can't comment on the thing with her son, idk enough about that, and I have no expertise raising kids, only having been one.)

From the article: "But the problem with that is that fiction, especially fiction read by younger audiences, can have a large effect on how people perceive topics like consent and healthy relationships."

Listen. Can we stop treating kids reading adult material like they're completely unable to distinguish reality and fiction? Like here's a quick list of shit I can remember reading at 12-ish.

• Anne Rice (including her pseudonymous porn)

• V.C. Andrews

• literally dad's porn (the letters to Penthouse kinda things)

• Hollywood Wives (for a good breakdown, try

• Go Ask Alice (recommended to me by a teacher)

Shockingly, I didn't end up an incest-obsessed person with a fetish for ponyplay (or bestiality, fucking machines, etc for Anne Rice)* with unhealthy relationship dynamics and the certainty that I'd be slipped acid and end up turning tricks for drugs. Because I knew what was fantasy and what wasn't. I knew what vibed with me and what didn't. And I didn't model my real-life relationships on fiction, I used the observed world to decide what I would and would not put up with.

And no, I didn't have a lot of healthy real-life relationships to model; I ended up doing a lot of, "well, this person gets treated like SHIT by all the men in their lives, I'm not doing that for sure."

The easiest way I can figure out to make sure youngsters end up in healthy relationships is to y'know...talk to them about what that means. Give them opportunities to see that modeled IRL as far as personal boundaries go. Give them a stable environment and future so that they don't feel pressured into viewing a romantic or sexual relationship as being (for instance) the only way out of a shitty home life, or the only way they can gain support either financially or emotionally. And let them read whatever bad fiction they want.

And obviously the same for the adults who are the intended audience for this material. If you're grossed out or troubled by a fictional portrayal of a relationship, put the book down and read something else.

*I make no personal judgments on other people's kinks, obviously, whatever gets your motor going that's between consenting adults isn't my business.

[sinfulspencer]

Through the walls (part I)

Prompt: Spencer’s neighbour annoys him with her unusual job. One day she asks him to join her. Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: light dom/sub undertones (Sub!Reader, SoftDom!Reid), daddy kink, use of “Doctor” and “sir”, dirty talking, self-masturbation, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male receiving)

Words: 11.1k

A.N.: Reader is a cam-girl. I have no idea how those websites work, but let’s pretend they’re all legal and the FBI can’t do anything about them. There’s going to be a part II because I feel like they deserve a good night of pure fucking.

Check my masterlist here. Check my OTHER MGG ROLES masterlist here. JOIN MY TAGLIST! Read my guidelines here and send your requests here.

Spencer Reid is not a bad neighbour.

He doesn’t throw parties with strangers. He doesn’t listen to music at a high volume.

He doesn’t yell when he’s on the phone. He cleans the stairs when it’s his turn.

He pays the elevator’s bills on time even though he never uses it.

He doesn’t steal his neighbour’s spot in the parking lot.

Spencer is a model neighbour, always helping the old lady on his floor with her groceries and offering to help with her laundry when he spots her walking down the stairs.

He has been living in that condominium for the past three years and he has never had a problem with the rest of the co-owners before.

That’s it until you arrive.

Spencer noticed you while he was getting ready in his living room after Emily called him for a case. You were on the balcony with one of your friends, smoking a cigarette and laughing about the episode of a TV show you just finished watching. You were so loud.

The old lady told him that a young woman was going to move into the apartment next to his, but he hadn't seen you until that day. Spencer wasn’t worried: that condominium is filled with quiet people, living in silence and enjoying the gorgeous sound of absolutely nothing.

You don’t.

You listen to your music at a high volume and you make sounds.

Lots of them.

Spencer wasn’t a big fan of earplugs until you came along, until he had to wear them to silence the anger ringing through his body, and to focus on his book instead of those sounds. He was on the verge of jumping off his couch and coming straight to your door, but he didn’t.

He had to stay quiet, reading that book and shaking his head.

Spencer was tempted to talk to the old lady about you and ask her if she has heard the sounds you make, but the old woman started to praise and express how much she loves having such a beautiful new neighbour around and how sweet you are. While Spencer was away to work on cases or when he was busy with his part-time job as David’s TA, you came down to help her every single day – and you became her friend, offering her some tea and talking to her about the weather.

Spencer wanted to hate you so bad because you kept bothering him with those sounds, with those obnoxious screams of pleasure that he couldn’t stop thinking about. No one in the condominium has heard his neighbours doing such lewd activities, no one even thought about yelling so loud and moaning so whorishly – because they’re all very private people.

There’s no point in being so loud.

But you?

Spencer is puzzled.

He’s not surprised you get laid often, you’re fascinating and incredibly beautiful. He can’t deny the truth. Your beauty is almost painful to admire, a beauty everyone should be jealous of.

However, he thinks you could be just a little quieter.

You can have sex as much as you want. He can’t deny you such pleasure, but you can tone your voice down a little. Spencer doesn’t care if you’re enjoying whatever your partner is doing to you, but he would love to keep his focus on the book he has in his hands or on the receipt he’s trying to cook without thinking about sex.

The first time Spencer says something, he doesn’t actually talk to you.

It happens on a Saturday night.

The rest of the team has decided to hang out for a drink, but unfortunately Spencer doesn’t feel too well so he stays at home. And for the rest of the night, all he can hear is a chorus of moans coming from the walls and the creaking sound of the bed hitting the wall over and over again. Annoyed and with a horrible headache that doesn’t seem ready to leave him just yet, Spencer decides to act.

He slips a post-it underneath your door and hopes you don’t throw it in the trash.

‘Hi, I’m really sorry to bother you. I don’t want to seem rude, but the walls are quite thin and I can hear everything. Could you please keep it down?’

Spencer doesn’t see you around for the next few days and he thinks it’s because of his note. He manages to sleep without hearing your moans, he gets to bake a cake for JJ’s birthday without complaining about how loud you are, he can finish his two new books without the earplugs bothering him.

He doesn’t feel bad for speaking up about a situation that made him slightly uncomfortable, but he feels bad because you disappeared. He can’t hear the sound of your laughter on the balcony, he can’t hear the sound of your door closing and the sigh you release once you get home.

He can’t hear anything at all.

Everything is perfect.

Everything is back to normal.

Until you come home, two days later, and start making sounds again.

Spencer has organized a little party at his apartment with Penelope, JJ, Emily and Derek. They’re watching a movie all cuddled up on the couch, too focused on the plot of the story until they hear a long whine. At first JJ thinks it’s one of the actors in the movie and she doesn’t say anything, but then Spencer’s friends hear another moan.

And this time, Morgan speaks up.

“Someone’s having fun.”

Spencer acts like nothing is happening, shrugging when Morgan touches his shoulder. He doesn’t want to get angry when his friends are there, he wants to enjoy this night with them and forget about the sounds you’re making.

Maybe you forgot about the note, maybe you didn’t read it and maybe you were out of town – or maybe you’re doing this on purpose.

You and Spencer have never actually met before. He doesn’t know your name, you don’t know his. You know how the other looks like, but you’ve never faced each other before – and Spencer thinks it’s finally time that you do, or you will never stop acting like this.

The night passes in a hurry.

When Spencer is alone and is ready to go to bed, he lays down on his mattress with his eyes on the ceiling. He has slipped a note underneath your door. What else does he have to do to make you stop? Why can’t you just understand that you have to keep it down?

You’re not the only person that lives inside this building.

Spencer stares at the white cracks on the ceiling, with your moans almost lullabying him to sleep.

Lifting the blanket to cover half of his body, Spencer lets out a frustrated sigh. No matter how tired he is and how exhausted his body feels, he can’t bring himself to close his eyes and drift off to sleep. He’s supposed to go to work really early in the morning, to attend David’s lesson as a guest, but if you keep moaning like that and yelling about how much you like getting fucked, Spencer won’t wake up in time.

How can you possibly be okay with your co-flat owners knowing when you’re getting laid? Shouldn’t you be a more private person when it comes to this kind of business?

Spencer runs his fingers through his hair, sitting up in the centre of the bed. He’s tempted to run out of his apartment and bang on your door to give you a piece of his mind, but at the same time... He doesn’t really want your voice to vanish.

Your moans are... something else.

If he felt violated before, now he doesn’t anymore. It’s actually interesting hearing your voice and listening to what you have to say while you’re getting laid, mostly because you seem such an innocent and sweet person.

When he saw you the first time, he didn’t know you actually liked to call yourself a ‘whore’ during sex, but apparently you do. Because it’s what he’s hearing right now, with your bed creaking and knocking against the wall of your bedroom.

‘Yeah? You like when I’m a whore for you, daddy?’

Spencer shakes his head, covering his face with both his hands. That sweet voice of yours is contradicting your harsh words and Spencer is truly terrified, because this shouldn’t feel as good as it does. And it shouldn’t wake a certain part of his body up.

He can’t touch himself just because he can hear you moan like that.

He can’t imagine having you in his bedroom, on your knees for him while you whisper about being a whore ready to get used and ruined by him.

However, you don’t need to know what he’s doing. You don’t need to hear his moans and luckily, Spencer can be quiet when he wants to – especially if he has someone at home, waiting for him in the bedroom as eager as he is right now to play with his body.

Spencer manages to stand up from the bed, gathering everything he might need to clean himself up after doing the deed – should he really do this, though? He doesn’t want to watch porn and your voice sounds so perfect, echoing in his brain and through the thin walls of his bedroom.

You’re much better than those fake moans in porn videos.

‘You’re so big, daddy. Oh my God, you’re so fucking deep.’

Spencer groans at your words, closing his eyes and laying back down on the bed. It’s been so long since he has been intimate with somebody and he thought he didn’t miss it, but his body is betraying him right now and it’s all your fault.

Everything’s your fault.

If you toned your voice down, he wouldn’t have felt this way.

‘Harder, please. Fuck me harder.’

Spencer pushes his briefs down his legs, now resting completely naked on his bed. Maybe fucking you harder will make you quiet, maybe fucking you to the point you can barely understand where you end and where he starts will shut your mouth for once.

There are so many thoughts running through his mind right now. Spencer’s hand is tight around his cock and his movements are quick, bringing him to the edge as fast as he can. Maybe having an orgasm will make him fall asleep faster, but he’s not so sure – your voice is still haunting him.

‘You know I can take it, daddy. I’m your good girl.’

Spencer releases a moan, throwing his head back as he pictures you sitting on his thighs and bouncing up and down his cock. It’s difficult to take that image off his brain and it will be even trickier not to look into your eyes in the next few days without remembering what he’s doing right now.

His wrist is working rapidly, producing a wet sound followed by short moans escaping his lips.

He would love to watch you take his cock inside of you, stretching you out and filling you up until you can’t take it anymore. He would love to put a hand over your mouth and tell you to be quiet, because you need to be fucking silent for a few seconds – so that his brain can function correctly again, so that he can focus on whatever he needs to be focused on.

‘I’ve been such a good girl, daddy. Can I come? Please?’

Spencer cries out in pleasure at the saccharine tone you’re using right now, completely different from the context you probably are. He imagines you naked, whining on your bed and on top of your partners. They’re touching you, using you, marking you – and you’re almost there, almost hitting that delicious peak of pleasure that will leave you high and satisfied.

Using his free hand to grasp the bed sheets, Spencer can feel himself getting closer to the edge as well. His whole body is tense and a heat spreads through his whole body, making it difficult for him to keep quiet – and a loud moan leaves his lips.

‘Fuck.. Just like that. So good, daddy. You feel so fucking good inside of me.’

How the Hell is he going to look at you in the eyes without remembering what he’s doing now?

Spencer gasps when the pleasure spikes inside of him, throwing his head back against the pillow. His heart is ready to jump out of his throat, smashing on the ground and hiding from your sight if you ever end up walking out of your house while he’s out too.

‘Come inside of me, daddy. Let me make you a real daddy!’

And that’s all it takes for Spencer to jump over the edge.

Painting his lower abdomen with his own come, Spencer finally goes limp. If he thought he was tired before, he didn’t know he’d feel much worse right now – his arms are aching, his eyes are burning and he’s all dirty.

He should’ve known.

Spencer sighs softly, turning his head to the side and staring at the sheets of paper he prepared just in case.

‘Thank you daddy, I’m so happy now.’

His eyes are closed, his hair is messy, his lips are parted and every cell in his body has finally reached a state of peace he didn’t think he’d find in a moment like this. Stretching his legs, Spencer grabs a few tissues and starts to clean himself up – he took a shower this morning, he doesn’t want to get off the bed and take another one.

He’ll do it in the morning, no matter how dirty and sticky he feels.

Your sounds stop abruptly.

Maybe you’re just as tired as Spencer is, or maybe your partner told you to stay silent. Either way, you’re not speaking and suddenly Spencer misses your voice – as if it was the soundtrack of his nights and his days.

Once Spencer has thrown all of those dirty tissues in the trash can beside the nightstand, he tucks himself into bed and grabs his phone. It’s almost midnight and he has an alarm ready to wake him up in less than six hours, which means he needs to go to sleep.

Having an orgasm definitely helped.

‘You should’ve seen that guy! Fucking pathetic, babe. He paid me a hundred bucks just to see me humping a pillow and calling him daddy.’

Spencer frowns at the sound of your voice suddenly filling his brain again. Maybe he misheard what you just said, maybe you’re talking about something else – and Spencer’s brain, still riding that delicious edge, is too dumb to actually focus on something that makes sense.

It happens, oxytocin is a weird hormone.

‘Yes, he’s the one that offered me a thousand bucks to see my face! Fuck that, it’ll never happen.’

Spencer stays silent, lifting the blanket to cover his body up to his nose. So you weren’t having sex with anybody? You were just... recording something for someone? You get paid to do this?

Spencer is well aware of websites where people show off their bodies and their skills for money. He has used one to get off for a couple of times but then he stopped. It wasn’t as fulfilling as Derek told him it would be.

However... he wasn’t expecting you to do this kind of job.

There’s nothing wrong with it. If you’ve got a wonderful body, you should flaunt it however you prefer. He’s just surprised, because through all this time he thought you were actually having sex with someone – and he was jealous of that someone.

Now he’s just jealous of the people who get to hear your pretty moans every night.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll quit in a few weeks. I have enough money to pay the next three years' rent.’

Oh, so you plan on quitting this job.

‘Stop asking me about my neighbour! You’re so obsessed with him.’

Are you talking about Spencer? And who are you on the phone with?

‘He left a note and begged me to keep quiet. I was this close to telling him to make me shut up, but I didn’t. I heard he’s an FBI agent. I don’t want to go to jail.’

Oh, so you read the note. You just didn’t know how to stop yourself.

Spencer puts a hand over his mouth, closing his eyes and shaking his head. There are too many things you’re saying that are messing with his brain – now he’s sure you’re talking about him, because there are no other FBI agents inside the building.

He would’ve known.

‘Listen, I don’t want to get arrested, but if he’s the one putting me in handcuffs, though... I wouldn’t complain at all.’

Spencer releases a loud laugh before he realises what he has done.

Covering his mouth with a hand before he could do more damage than what he had already done, he closes his eyes and shifts underneath the blanket. Suddenly you don’t speak anymore and he feels like shit because he jerked off due to your voice, he’s eavesdropping on your conversation and he’s laughing about it as well.

He shouldn’t have done all of that.

He should’ve just minded his own business.

‘I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight babe, sleep well.’

Your voice sounds unsure and Spencer hopes it’s not because you heard him laughing. If you had, he’ll never live up to the fact that he heard you moaning like a whore for no one in particular and that you’re actually making fun of the man that paid you to see your body.

Spencer turns off the lights in his bedroom, hoping not to meet you tomorrow.

And soon, he drifts off to sleep.

Sitting outside with a cigarette between your fingers and a drink in your other hand, you cross your legs while the music in your earplugs. The gentle melody brings a smile over your lips, forgetting about the cold December air caressing your arms barely covered by your sweater. You’ve spent the whole morning inside your house, cooking for the dinner you’re supposed to have with your best friend.

It’s been two days since you’ve heard someone laugh.

You know who that “someone” is, but you’ve tried to forget and pretend like nothing has happened. You were so embarrassed because you knew damn well he heard you talking about him – which means he heard you before while you were working.

However, your neighbour has been kind enough not to say anything yesterday.

You saw him getting out of his house with his leather satchel hanging from his shoulder and you were tempted to stop him, but your cheeks were too red and your heart was throbbing in your chest. It would’ve been a disaster – mostly because you had no idea how to approach him and what to tell him.

‘Hey, sorry you heard me moaning while I was pretending to enjoy humping a pillow for a client. Please, can we forget what happened and move on?’

No, that would’ve been too stupid.

You don’t want to get in trouble with an FBI agent.

Crushing your work cigarette inside the ashtray, you blow out the grey smoke and wait for your song to end. It’s a December night and you’re wearing your warmest sweater, enjoying the purple fabric caressing your body and protecting it from the cold outside.

Your hands are cold and you know you should go back inside your kitchen, but you don’t want to move from where you’re sitting. It’s the perfect spot from where you can peek into his window and see your neighbour pacing around his room with a book in his hand. He’s talking, probably reading out loud whatever is written on those pages.

You’ve heard his voice before.

Smooth, warm, adorable.

It fits him perfectly.

You don’t know much about him besides his job because the old lady told you all about it: he works for the FBI as a profiler, which means he uses psychology to catch criminals. Not only is he incredibly beautiful, with those adorable chocolate eyes and those soft hair, but he’s also smart – and you were tempted to knock on his door and ask him a bunch of questions on his job.

You’ve always been into true crimes and those kinds of documentaries, but living close to a person that actually works in that field feels so weird. Maybe you can use that as an excuse to go over to his place.

You take off one of your earplugs when you spot your neighbour walking closer to the window and you raise a hand, waving at him. He sees you and your heart immediately drops to your ass when he waves back at you.

Spencer is confused.

He doesn’t know why you’re trying to catch his attention, but he doesn’t complain. He saw you outside on the balcony earlier and he was tempted to come and say hi, but he didn’t.

You did it first.

Gathering some courage given by the fact that you know he listened to you “working” two days ago, you snap your fingers in hope to catch his attention – and keep it for a few seconds, enough for him to close the book in his hands and leave it somewhere in his living room.

“Hey! Come outside!”

You put both your earplugs inside the pocket of your trousers and you get closer to the metallic railing that separates your balcony from his. Your neighbour opens the door of his balcony and peaks out with his head, before heading back inside after yelling “Sweater!”.

He disappears for a few seconds before coming back wearing a grey sweater.

“It’s not as cold as it should be.” – you say with a smile, still leaning over the railing – “I bet that sweater is warm. It looks very comfortable.”

“It is! My best friend, Derek, gave it to me for Christmas. It was an early gift.” – he explains, gently touching the edge of the sweater – “I like yours. Navy blue is my favourite colour.”

You take a step back, grabbing a chair and pushing it closer to him. “I found out your favourite colour before your name. Good to know, though.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Spencer looks at you, a tight smile spreading over his lips. “Nice to meet you. It’s a shame we haven’t met before, but I’ve been kind of busy and...”

“I understand, don’t worry.” – you tell him, pointing to his trousers where you can see the logo of his job written in white fabric– “You work for the FBI, I can imagine you don’t have much free time.”

He releases a short laugh, looking down at the point you’re directing. “Yeah, I’m always working but it’s almost Christmas, which means I’m more free than usual.”

“Are you going to spend Christmas all by yourself?” you ask

Spencer shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “I’m going to visit my mother in DC and then, yes. I’ll probably make myself some vegetable soup and watch a Christmas movie alone.”

“All alone? Absolutely not.” – you tell him, giving him a wink – “Come over to my place on Christmas. We can play scrabble or start a puzzle together. I don’t like being alone on Christmas, but my parents are on a cruise so they can’t really come here to Quantico.”

Surprised by your offer, Spencer widens his eyes. He wasn’t expecting you to be so incredibly sweet – he can still hear your moans from two days ago ringing in his head, how you called that man ‘daddy’. It’s fun to see how different you are from the persona you pretend to be.

If he has to be honest, Spencer is supposed to go to JJ’s Christmas dinner with her kids and the rest of his colleagues, but he’s not a big fan of Christmas’ celebration. Maybe celebrating it with you could be an interesting twist to his year.

After all, you seem nice. He can’t deny he feels weird talking to you after jerking off to your voice and your moans, but at the same time you might be used to it. At the end of the day, you’re a camgirl – or whatever it is called nowadays. People jerk off to you all the time.

However, he feels bad.

Terribly bad.

“That’s a lovely offer I might take.”

“Wonderful! I’m not the best cook in the world, but I’m sure we can manage to find something decent to eat instead of ordering take out. I always feel bad ordering from bars and restaurants during Christmas time.”

Spencer nods eagerly at your words, leaning forward. “Same! Those poor waiters and cooks are probably overworked. I don’t want to add to their stress with my order.”

You sit down on your chair, brushing your hands over your arms. “Exactly. We can find some recipes you’d like to try and make it ourselves!”

“Sounds perfect.” – he gives you a thumbs up, smiling – “Uh, I... If you’re cold, you can go inside. I don’t want to keep you out.”

You shrug. “Yes, I’ll go now. My friend should be here any moment.”

“Oh, good for you.” – Spencer mumbles, running his fingers through his hair – “I hope you have a good night, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Spencer.” – you tell him, holding out your hand – “I’ll see you around.”

You wait for him to shake your hand, but he simply stares at it. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, then he gently holds out his hand and shakes yours. His fingers close around yours, warming you up from the insides, but the contact is so quick – before you can blink, he’s already turning away.

So do you, heading back to the living room.

“Wait! Y/N?”

Spencer’s voice catches you off guard, almost making you bump against the glass. “Yes, Spencer?”

“I’m sorry about two nights ago. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your, uh, moment.”

Your heart drops down to your chest once again and you have no idea how to answer him. You were expecting him to say something because it was so obvious he was listening to you, but at the same time you were hoping he wouldn’t say a thing.

It’s already embarrassing knowing that he heard you.

It’s even worse listening to him talking about that out loud.

“I’m sorry for being so loud.”

“No, it’s fine. Now I know why you’re doing it, I just...”

You lift your hand, interrupting him. “I’ll tone it down, don’t worry. I’m sorry if I bothered you two days ago, it wasn’t my intention.”

“Oh no, you were actually helpful.” he says

When Spencer realises he said those words out loud, he wants to slam his head against the metallic railing of the balcony and hope the floor swallows him whole. He wasn’t supposed to say that out loud, he wasn’t supposed to hint at the fact that he touched himself due to her voice and her moans, but he did – and now you’re staring at him.

A devilish smirk appears on your lips and Spencer knows it won’t go away any time soon.

“How so, Spencer?”

The young doctor shakes his head, blushing hard. “Sorry, I...”

You release a short laugh, forgetting about the bell ringing on the other side of your house. Your friend is there, but you’re too busy flirting with Spencer and watching him squirm in anticipation.

He wasn’t supposed to reply to you like that, but you’re a woman full of surprises – and he’s going to discover them one by one before the end of the year.

“Hey, it’s fine if you’ve masturbated because of me. That’s kind of my job, you know.” – you whisper, making sure to keep your voice low so that your other neighbours don’t hear – “Next time you want some help, come and knock at my door. I’ll be even more helpful on my knees.”

You leave Spencer standing like an idiot on his balcony, with his eyes fixed on your glass and his heart ready to jump out of his throat.

What the fuck has just happened?

“How’s it going with your neighbour?”

Spencer takes a sip of coffee, sitting down on his couch. “I have no comments on the matter, Derek.”

Penelope widens her eyes, sitting up on her chair. “That means something had happened! You just don’t want to tell us! Come on, Spence! We’re curious!”

Derek taps her on the shoulder, silently telling her to calm down. It’s obvious Spencer doesn’t want to talk about his neighbour – who appears to be a cam-girl or something similar that gets paid from men who want to see her in sexual situations.

“Has she stopped making sounds?”

Spencer shakes head, tightening his grip on his mug. “Not really. She just toned her voice down a little, but I can still hear her pretty clearly. It’s getting uncomfortable.”

That’s not true.

On the contrary, it’s getting way too comfortable – and pleasurable.

Spencer heard you moan his name a couple of times, if he has to be honest, but he’s also not really sure. He thought he was dreaming the first time because it happened on a night he wasn't supposed to come home; he returned earlier from a case and he went straight to bed, but you were awake.

You were wide awake and recording a video, because he could hear you shuffling around the room and making those adorable squeaks you always release when you’re almost there. And then, when it was time to let go, you called out his name.

It was a whisper.

Spencer thought he misheard you, but then you moaned his name again. He couldn’t believe what you were doing and he forced himself to think that you were just working for a client with the same name as him – you weren’t. You just wanted to turn Spencer on and it worked. You sent him into a spiral, with his hands down his body and his back arching off the bed.

You could hear shuffling from his bedroom as well and just like him, you worked yourself to reach that delicious heat that spread through your body at the idea of him touching you.

“You should just talk to her, Reid.” – Derek suggests, raising his brows – “I know you don’t like confrontations, but if you’re that uncomfortable, I think it’s the only option.”

“It’s Christmas, maybe I’m just being more annoying than usual because…”

Penelope puts a hand over her mouth, pretending to cough. “Bullshit.”

The young doctor rolls his eyes, taking another sip of coffee. “Okay, that was a lame excuse. How do I approach a woman that moans too loudly for my tastes?”

Derek holds back a laugh, nudging Spencer’s knee with his shoe. “Just knock on her door and ask her to keep it down because you don’t need to hear her getting laid while you don’t.”

“Hey! Stop it, Derek.” - Spencer points his finger at him, shaking his head - “That’s not the point.”

Penelope leans forward, giggling. “Then, what is it? Do you want to be the one making her moan?”

Spencer grabs his leather satchel from his desk and stands up from the chair, leaving the empty mug of coffee next to Derek’s. He’s not going to stay there with his friend making fun of him, he has better things to do at home - such as trying to talk to you again.

Tomorrow it’s Christmas’ Eve and he has no idea whether he should come over tomorrow and the day after, or just on Christmas. He wouldn’t mind staying both days.

After all, he’s alone and he knows you are as well, but.

“Have a wonderful Christmas, Pretty Boy!”

Spencer hears Derek’s voice coming from his desk, but heads to the elevator. He has so many thoughts running through his head: he hasn’t read a single recipe since you suggested he find one, he hasn’t picked an outfit to wear while he’s with you, he hasn’t styled his hair decently, he hasn’t looked at a list of movies you can watch with him.

He wouldn’t mind doing something else with you instead of watching a movie.

However, Spencer knows that will never happen.

Leaving his car parked right in front of his condominium, Spencer notices the lights in your living room are on. You’re home and he smiles, because he was planning on knocking on your door - not to ask you that kind of favour, but because he wants to talk to you about your Christmas celebration.

Spencer takes the elevator for the first time. His knees are buckling and he’s nervous to knock on your door because he’s terrified of bothering you, but when he approaches your apartment, he hears moans.

They’re not as loud as the ones he can hear from his bedroom, but he can definitely recognize moans of pleasure from other kinds of sounds.

Are you working right now?

He figures you are. There are a lot of lonely people in the world right now who want that kind of company and you’re giving it to them, even though you’re just doing that for the money.

Or maybe for the praise, too.

Spencer doesn’t know, he hasn’t had that conversation with you and in full honesty, he doesn’t want to. He’s scared it might make you uncomfortable - and he doesn’t want that.

Never, ever.

Spencer stares at your name over the bell next to your door before pressing the button twice, hoping that you can hear it. And you do, because your moans stop as soon as his finger leaves the button.

‘Fuck!’

He can hear your voice from inside your room, followed by quick footsteps towards the door and a frustrated sigh. You haven’t opened the door and he can still hear you curse at whoever bothered you.

Spencer holds back a laugh.

He feels bad, yes, but at the same time he finds it funny.

It’s the first time you interrupt someone in a particular situation. Normally he’s the one being bothered in those moments. It feels slightly better to be on the other side of the matter.

‘Dammit! Where the fuck is my sweater?’

Spencer looks around the hallway. It’s completely empty.

“It’s Spencer.”

You hear him talking on the other side of the door. Stopping your research for a sweater, you unlock the door of your apartment and open it just enough for him to see that you’re not wearing anything.

Well, that’s not true.

You’re wearing a Santa hat.

And a pair of white tights with a pom-pom on each side.

You were definitely working on your Christmas’ video.

“Sorry, just… Give me a second. I’m not ready.”

“Take all the time you need.” Spencer tells you, leaning with his back against the wall

He can’t take the image of you completely naked, besides that stupid Santa hat and those thighs, off his brain. Spencer found you attractive with all your clothes on, but almost seeing you without them and in a festive outfit, is driving you almost wild.

He can’t barge into your apartment because it’s a crime, but imagining doing that and dreaming of taking you from behind while taking off the hat from your soft hair, it’s not.

The door opens, revealing your body now completely covered by a long sweater.

You’re still wearing those tights, but the pom-poms are covered by the fabric of your top. It’s a shame, Spencer thought they were pretty cute - at the same time he can still dream of having your legs wrapped around his waist.

“Sorry, I was.. Uh.”

“Working? It’s okay.” - Spencer says, moving away from the wall and stepping inside your place - “I can come back later, if you want. I don’t want to interrupt your, uh, scene.”

You stand next to the entrance, watching him look around your apartment. You’ve thought about this before. You were tempted to call him the other night when you couldn’t get off decently for a video you were recording, but you stopped yourself before you could do more damage than good.

Now, however, you’re tempted to open your mouth.

So you do, because who fucking cares.

The worst thing that could happen is hearing him say ‘no’.

“You can watch, if you want.”

Spencer turns to look at you, almost dropping his leather satchel to the floor.

“I won’t make you pay, don’t worry.”

Your body language suggests you’re not lying to him and you’re not making fun of him either. Spencer doesn’t know if he should stop and watch you while you record a video of yourself humping a pillow - or worse, riding something else - but he wouldn’t mind.

What if he gets hard while you’re moving and moaning? What if he has to cover his hips with a pillow because you’re disgusted by him?

“Y-Yeah. I, uh… Okay. Yeah.”

You smirk at his answer, pointing to the door behind you. “Come to my studio, then.”

Spencer clears his throat, leaving his leather satchel on your couch before following you down the short hallway of your apartment. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but he’s not going to stay silent if something makes him uncomfortable - this is the point of communication, right?

But what if all he can say is ‘please, ride me and not that toy’?

Or worse, what if he gets so worked up he interrupts your video and people see him?

You wouldn’t send anything with him to anybody, obviously, but Spencer doesn’t want to jeopardize his job for something like this right now, however his brain is not working correctly.

He’s too focused on the way you’re swinging your hips and how your sweater is revealing more than he thought.

“You can sit there.” - you open the door, pointing to a pink couch on the other side of the room - “My cameras are here and they won’t record you, but I’m going to watch the video later to make sure of that.”

You cross your arms to your chest, watching Spencer walk to the couch and sit uncomfortably on it. He has his legs crossed and his eyes fixed on your face, waiting for you to say or do something.

“If you don’t want to stay…”

“No! No, I.. It’s fine. I’m curious about your, uhm, occupation.” - Spencer mumbles, pointing to the set-up cameras next to the small bed in the middle of the room - “My bedroom is right behind that wall, isn’t it?”

You nod your head, taking off your sweater and standing completely naked - besides those tights on - in front of him.

Spencer almost passes out at the sight, immediately feeling all of his blood rushing down to his lower abdomen and right between his legs. He shouldn’t let this simple sight excite him too much, but it’s difficult when you look so deliciously sinful with nothing on.

And the way your body looks…

Spencer could spend hours worshipping every single inch of it and writing poems about how beautiful you are. He doesn’t know what he has done to deserve such an incredible sight.

“You can speak, Spencer. I’m not going to bite you.” - you say with a smile, sitting in the middle of the bed - “Well, unless you want me to.”

Spencer clears his throat, fidgeting with his fingers. “You, uh… Are you supposed to be Mrs. Claus?”

Shrugging, you fix the camera pointed right at you. “Not really. The guy asked me to wear something festive because it’s his birthday tomorrow. I thought this was fitting. I didn’t want to go out and buy a whole outfit, you know.”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

He nods his head, too focused on admiring your beauty instead of listening to your words. He can’t believe you’re letting him watch and he can’t believe he accepted your offer, but again he didn’t think it would’ve happened.

Derek is going to freak out the moment he hears about this.

It’d be even funnier if Derek actually subscribed to see her and paid for one of her videos, while Spencer had everything handed to him on a silver platter.

You position yourself in the middle of the bed with a pillow right between your legs and run your fingers through your hair, making sure you look like you hadn’t been interrupted by the same person sitting in the room with you.

“Are you uncomfortable?”

Spencer shakes his head, forcing himself to keep his eyes on your face. If he gives in to his desire to look at another part of your body, he’s not going to last.

“No, it’s just... The first time something like this happens to me.”

“You’ve never seen a porn video before?” you ask

Spencer shrugs, biting his bottom lip. “I have, just not in real life. Not in front of me, I guess?”

“You’re free to go if you’re uncomfortable.” – you tell him, making sure that he knows he has the chance to leave whenever he wants – “I don’t want to force you to stay here.”

The young doctor has no intention of getting away from your studio. He’s going to enjoy the show, forge the image of your naked body in his mind and replay it every single time he needs to get off after a long, frustrating day.

You look so fucking beautiful, Spencer can’t even begin to think about leaving this place.

“I have to start recording now, so... Keep your mouth shut.” – you tell him, winking at him – “And enjoy the show, Doctor Reid.”

Ah, so you know his full-name.

And you also know he’s a doctor, much to his disadvantage.

He might enjoy being called like that in the bedroom.

You tap a button on the controller next to your pillow and the camera turns on, capturing half of your body without your face. Spencer leans to the side to look at what you’re recording and he smiles, because you’re deliberately covering your face so no one knows who you are – and who looks so deliciously pretty.

Smart move.

When you start rolling your hips against the pillow, a soft moan leaves your lips and Spencer thinks he’s going to pass out right now. You sound so innocent, so sweet, so gentle while you’re rocking against your pillow to seek that friction you desperately crave.

You throw your head back and Spencer can’t stop watching your face. Your lips twitch into a devilish smirk and your hair falls down your back, increasing the desire in his body to tug on it and force you to look at him.

Your neck needs something right there, possibly his hands.

Spencer shifts on the chair, feeling himself giving it to the desire to have you.

“You would feel much better, daddy. I wish you could be here with me.”

The friction from the white pillow against the soft fabric of your red panties is not enough, but Spencer’s hungry stare on your body is helping you get off quickly.

Arching your back, you grab your breasts with both hands. “Fuck, daddy... I want to ride you, I bet you’d feel much better than this fucking pillow.”

Spencer watches you as you twist your nipples between your fingers, tightening his hands in fists. He wonders what kind of sounds you’d make if he wrapped his lips around them, sucking them gently while he guides you up and down his length.

“Would you let me ride your pretty cock, daddy? Would you let your little girl bounce on it and show you how good she is for you?”

Your voice is broken because of the pleasure.

Rolling your hips over and over against the pillow, you feel yourself getting wet. The tension is building in your stomach and you don’t know if it’s because Spencer is staring at you or because he has a hand between his legs, trying to cover up his bulge.

You see it, though.

And you’re dying to feel it, to use it to get off.

Turning your head to look at him, you lick your bottom lips and slide both your hands down your body to reach your waist.

“Or would you just watch me hump this pillow, daddy, and pretend it’s your cock? Do you want to watch me get off while you tell me what to do?” – you whisper, circling your hips – “You know I need your cock, daddy. This is nothing compared to that.”

Spencer unzips his pants as quietly as he can, keeping his eyes on your face the whole time. Watching you hump that pillow and moaning such naughty words is driving him crazy. You don’t seem disgusted by his action; on the contrary, you look even more excited to see him acting like this than before, when he was just quiet.

“Please, daddy, let me ride your cock. I need it, I’ve been so good for you.” - you whine, massaging your clit with the tip of your thumb – “See? I’m so fucking wet at the thought of riding you, of having your cock so deep inside of me.”

Spencer’s heart is beating fast in his chest as you throw your head back, releasing a long moan that echoes through the walls of the room. You look sinful like this, with your hair now messy and your chest heaving.

“Give it to me, daddy. Please?”

You clench your thighs at the sight of Spencer pushing his trousers and his boxers down enough to expose his cock. His eyes are filled with desire and he’s biting his bottom lips, bucking his hips forward.

“I bet you look so hot right now with your cock in your hand and watching me get off.” – you say with a smirk, clearly referring to the man in front of you and not the one who’s going to receive this video – “Oh fuck, daddy. I’m so c-close.”

Spencer pulls out his hard cock and grabs it by the base with his right hand, smirking when you part your lips at the sight. Your rhythm gets back to how it was before and you circle your hips, pushing it against your pillow.

A long moan comes out of your lips while Spencer starts stroking his length, smearing the pre-cum all over it. He has seen beautiful women and he has been with them before, but none of them was like you – so sensual, so innocent, so gorgeous.

“Daddy, oh fuck!”

Spencer bites his bottom lip to stop a moan from slipping out and watches you sit down on the bed with your legs wide open right in front of him. Your panties have a wet spot right where you were humping the pillow, but before he can think of something, you push them off your legs and throw them at Spencer.

He catches them with a hand and brings them down to his cock, using them to get off. Sliding his length against the soft fabric of your panties, he throws his head back while you sit back against the pillow.

It’s a shame the man you’re recording this for has only requested another session of pillow-humping, because you would’ve loved to give Spencer another kind of show with your favourite dildo. Not that you were planning on him joining you anytime soon, but he would’ve probably enjoyed it more.

Spencer picks up the pace of his movements and so do you, feeling that tingling sensation running through your bloodstream. Your moans get higher and your head is thrown back, bouncing and rolling your hips against the edge of the pillow. The delicious friction against your clit is getting stronger and stronger, until it gets too much.

You come with a loud whine, spreading your wetness all over your fingers and the pillow beneath your body.

“Oh fuck, daddy. Hm! You feel so fucking good.”

Spencer stares at her with wide eyes and his heart beating loud and fast in his chest, silencing every single sound outside that room. He focuses on your pants and your whimpers and the lewd sounds of your hand against your wetness, now smeared all over the bed.

He can’t wait to dip his face between your thighs and taste you, because he knows you would taste absolutely delicious – the kind of scent he would never get tired of.

“Thank you, daddy.” – you whisper, bringing your hand up to your mouth – “And since you’re not here to tell me how sweet I taste, I’m going to do it for you.”

With trembling thighs, you crawl towards the camera without showing off anything above your mouth. Stuffing your index and your medium finger inside your mouth, you suck on them and taste your own arousal.

Spencer is dying right now, flicking his wrist and pumping his cock harder at the sight.

He wants those fingers in his mouth, he wants you to bounce on his cock the same way you did with that stupid pillow and he wants to be the cause of your orgasm.

Right now, you are the reason why he’s coming.

Without making a sound, Spencer comes in his own hand and parts his lips. You have your eyes fixed on his face, admiring the way his eyes are closed and his nose is scrunching. He looks adorable even while he’s coming.

You wonder what sounds he would make if you’d been there on your knees.

“Hm, so sweet.” – you pull your fingers out of your mouth, smiling – “I hope you enjoy this birthday gift, daddy. I’ll see you next time.”

Kissing the camera as your client always wants, you interrupt the recording and lay back down on your bed. The Santa hat falls down on the floor, long forgotten by your desire to just get this over with, but you’re too exhausted to pick it up. You’ve been recording videos for your clients since this morning. You need a little break.

Spencer clears his throat, looking down at the mess he has made in his hand and in your panties, and glances at your naked body splayed on the bed. He watches you close your thighs and roll onto your tummy, with your eyes now on his face.

You give him a smile, pointing to your panties in his hand. “I guess you enjoyed the show.”

Spencer blushes at your implication. “Yeah, you could... You could say that.”

“I’m glad you did, Doctor Reid.” – you say with a wink, struggling to hop off the bed – “Come on, we need to get cleaned up.”

You take off your tights, leaving them on the bed, and you climb off the mattress. Spencer follows you out of the room and right inside the bathroom, with his trousers and his boxers down like an idiot.

He feels like one, because he ruined your Christmas panties.

He’s going to buy you another pair for Christmas, you deserve it.

“You’re free to join me in the shower, Spencer. I think we both need one. I’m all filthy.” – you say, opening the faucet of the shower – “Unless you plan on just washing your hands and walking back home.”

“No, no. I’d love to join you.” – he whispers, unbuttoning his shirt while looking away from you – “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Once he’s completely naked in front of you, Spencer steps inside the shower. You bite your bottom lip in order not to yell at him to fuck him – you’re too exhausted to survive another orgasm, but that doesn’t mean you won’t suck him off.

You will, because you want it so badly.

The warm water runs down Spencer’s back and he feels his muscles relaxing, allowing him to fully forget the busy day he had at work and the conversation he left his colleagues with. His wet hair is sticking to his forehead and he releases a low hum when your hands run up and down his back in a comforting motion.

“You okay, Spencer?”

He turns to look at you, drenched in water. “This is the first time I take a shower with a-a stranger. It’s, uhm, weird.”

“I can say the same.” – you nod your head, taking a step back – “I hope it’s the good kind of weird. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t. I came here on my own.” – he tells you, making sure you understand you didn’t force him to do anything he didn’t want to – “Thank you for offering me the shower, though.”

You lean forward, pressing your breasts to his chest. Spencer whimpers at the touch and slides his hand down your back, looking down at you. Your body is warm against his and your nipples are brushing against his chest, making it difficult for him to focus on the fact that one of your hands is sliding down to reach his cock.

It’s already hardening.

“I can offer you something else, Spencer.”

Spencer’s breathing becomes faulty when you brush with the tip of your fingers the base of his cock, but he quickly recovers with a quick kiss on your bare shoulder. Spencer is not going to reject your offer. He has been dreaming of you touching him or worshipping a certain part of your body.

Even though the shower is not his favourite place for this kind of activity, he’s not going to ask you to go to another room. If you want to move, it’s your decision – Spencer is going to enjoy whatever you’re willing to give him.

“Show it to me, then.”

You immediately drop down on your knees once you’ve got his answer. Leaving a trace of kisses down his perfectly toned tummy, you slide your hands up to his chest to tweak his nipples between your fingers.

Spencer whimpers at your gesture and leans with his back against the cold wall of the shower, watching in awe everything you’re doing.

“You are so beautiful, Spencer. The prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Your hair is completely drenched in water, so it’s easier for Spencer to grab a fistful of it and yank your head back. He doesn’t know why he did that and he’s pretty sure you weren’t expecting him to act like that, but there’s no point in pretending he hasn’t dreamed about pulling your hair like this.

You smirk at his movement, maintaining eye-contact.

“What, sir? Do you like what you see?”

Spencer licks his bottom lip, brushing his hair off his forehead. “I do, but I think I’d rather have your lips around my cock.”

“Don’t be greedy, sir. I’m just getting to know you.” – you whisper back, winking at him before wrapping your fingers around the base of his cock – “You’re so big.”

You feel it hardening under your touch and you start stroking it again, repeating the same movements you watched Spencer do a few moments before. You are replicating exactly what he did to make sure he enjoys everything – and Spencer appreciates that, because you look so focused and happy about the moans coming out of his lips.

“Can I suck your cock, sir?”

Spencer nods, watching your tongue swirling on the head. “Go ahead.”

You don’t hesitate to take control of the moment.

You run your tongue up the underside of his cock, tracing along the vein with your eyes never leaving Spencer’s face. A drop of water runs from his forehead down to the tip of his nose, smearing against his chest. He looks so fucking delicious right now.

“You look so beautiful on your knees for me, pretty girl.”

You flash him a smile, pressing a soft kiss below the head of his cock. “Thank you, sir. You look even better with my cock down my throat, don’t you think?”

“Hm, let me decide that.” – Spencer mumbles, watching you wrap your lips around the tip and slowly take more and more of him into your mouth – “Yes. I a-agree with y-you.”

You pull away from him again, focusing with your tongue on his head. Your tongue is pressed against the fraenulum and Spencer’s back arches off the wall, while his hands tug on your hair in a delicate manner.

Watching him fall apart because of your moves is so exciting, so hot.

Who would’ve thought you’d end up on your knees for your neighbour?

You tighten your fingers around the base of his cock and hum with your lips pressed to the tip, admiring Spencer’s lips parting again and allowing a chorus of moans to slip out.

“Good girl.”

Giggling, you look up at him and run your hands up to his chest. Spencer covers them with his and looks down at you again, watching you finally take his cock into your mouth. Your tongue is warm and he can feel your throat relaxing in order to take as much of him as you can, probably to prove to him that you really want him.

Spencer doesn’t need that, he can read your body language pretty well.

Your pupils are blown out, your stare is hungry, your hands are antsy and you’re desperate to do anything for him and with him. You’re like an open book.

“Your mouth is so fucking perfect, pretty girl.” Spencer whispers

Never in the world did he think he’d end up with you, in your shower, on your knees.

Spencer has his brows furrowed in concentration as you start to bob your head with your eyes still on your face. You want him to know that you’re not ashamed of what you’re doing, that you crave this moment and that you’re not going to stop this until he comes in your mouth – or on any other part of your body.

You want him to crumble.

However, something tells you that you will probably crumble first.

Moaning against his length, you free your hands from his grip and slide them down to his hips in order to steady yourself on your knees. Spencer moans when you hollow your cheeks and throws his head back, keeping his hand through your hair and using the free one to caress your cheek.

He can feel his cock pressing against the palm of his hand as you suck on it, too lost in the moment to realise that Spencer is touching you.

“You taste so good, Doctor Reid.” – you whisper, pulling away completely before dedicating some attention to his balls – “I wish I could do this for hours. Would you like that? Having me on my knees whenever you want, for as long as you want?”

Spencer gulps at your words, looking down at you. The sight is absolutely shocking: he’s never going to forget how you look right now, so desperate and exposed, on your knees to worship every inch of him – until your knees start to hurt.

“A man can only dream, pretty girl. Now get back to sucking my cock.”

You don’t hesitate to obey, craving to show him that you’re a good girl. Your tongue runs up to his balls before getting back at the base of his cock, making sure to give it the same attention as the rest of his length.

And then you wrap your hand around it, stroking it gently and taking him back into your mouth.

“Is that what you wanted, pretty girl? Is that why you were moaning about my name days ago?” – Spencer says, placing a hand over your throat and forcing you to look at him while you continue your ministrations – “Did you invite me here because you were craving my cock?”

You struggle to nod at his words, licking the sensitive skin and sucking right below the head. There’s nothing better than a confident man fucking your mouth – in this case, Spencer Reid fucking your mouth and showing you that right in this moment you belong to him.

You wouldn’t want to belong to anybody else, if you have to be honest.

Your nose brushes against his hips and you have tears in your eyes, but Spencer is too lost in his own pleasure to realise that you’re struggling. You don’t care, you just want him to know that you’re a good girl and you want him to come down your throat.

“Fuck, pretty girl, you’re so good at this.”

Spencer lets you suck him freely for a couple of seconds, looking down at you and moving your hair off your forehead. The water is running down his back and he’s protecting you from the water hitting you in the face – adorable.

Making eye-contact with him, you wink and Spencer yanks your hair. “Don’t tease.”

His voice is now shaky and you can feel him twitch inside your mouth, another clear sign that he’s almost there. Spencer starts rolling his hips, rocking back and forth into your mouth to claim it and fucking it leisurely.

Watching him crumble down turns you on more than anything, in fact your right hand is already sliding down your body. You find your clit in a second and you start massaging it, while sucking Spencer’s off – or better, allowing him to use your mouth.

The deeper into his throat he goes, the harder you touch yourself.

His long hair is dripping on your face, his hungry stare devouring the sight of you on your knees as much as he can. He’s probably going to jerk off to this moment for years to come, he’s sure of it.

“I’m so close, pretty girl.” – Spencer whispers, pressing his palm against your cheeks – “Do you think you can let me come down your throat?”

You struggle to nod your head, looking at him and hoping he does. You feel his thigh muscles tensing underneath your left hand and you hollow your cheeks once more, quickening the pace of your fingers between your legs.

Slipping your index inside of you, the moan coming out of your mouth captures Spencer’s attention because he looks down at you with a smirk. He’s not surprised you’re touching yourself, he could see your thighs squeezing as soon as you got on your knees.

“Oh, look at my pretty girl touching herself. Did sucking my dick turn you on?” – Spencer asks you, his voice breaking because of the pleasure increasing at the sight – “Do you want to come on your fingers while you’re getting me off?”

Pulling out his cock from your mouth, you nod again. “Yes, Doctor. Please, can I come?”

He yanks his head again, stroking his cock with his own hand. “Go ahead, but let me come down your throat. I want you to feel me.”

Without hesitation, you take him back into your mouth again and start sucking even harder. Your index slides in and out of you at a steady pace, while Spencer’s moans are echoing through the bathroom and ringing in your head.

His fingers tighten on your hair and a litany of pleas leaves Spencer’s mouth.

“Yes, yes, yes... Fuck, pretty girl.”

You moan around him when you hit that spot inside of you and you close your eyes, completely lost in your pleasure and in the sensation of being nothing but an object for him.

“Such a naughty pretty girl I have right here, huh?” – Spencer says with a smirk, moving his hips back and forth – “Is that what you were doing two days ago? Were you thinking about me using my fingers to fuck you? To stretch you out for my cock?”

Whining against his cock, you release a frustrated moan. It’s difficult to ease the throbbing desire inside of you while you’re also sucking his dick, but Spencer thinks you’re doing amazing.

He’s closer than you think, he’s just good at hiding it.

“Come for me, pretty doll. Let me see how pretty you are while you come on your own fingers.”

You whimper with your eyes settled on his face, pumping your fingers at the same pace he’s fucking your mouth. You can feel the pleasure beginning to spread all over your body and in a few seconds, the orgasm takes control over you.

Pulling away from his cock, you rock your hips against your own hand and let the desire drive you off the edge. Just thinking of Spencer fingering you and then fucking you nice and well, like you dreamed off a little too many times in the last two days, sent you over the edge.

Spencer, who has taken a step back to admire his pretty girl come, touches himself in slow strokes – he doesn’t want to come until he’s back in your throat.

And when you’re done, when you open your eyes and immediately crawl towards him, Spencer pushes his cock back into your mouth.

“Such a greedy little thing. You drive me crazy, pretty girl.”- Spencer says, running his fingers through your hair – “I’m coming. Please, m-make me come.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you feel him twitching into your mouth. Soon enough, Spencer comes in a rush that leaves him shaking, panting hard and whispering your name over and over again like a broken record.

You wish you could frame this moment forever.

His broken voice, his chest heaving, his hands tightening around your head.

Everything is heightened due to your previous orgasm.

You wish this moment never ends as you swallow his arousal, cleaning everything you can before he throws his head back and allows the water to drench you again.

“Holy fuck, pretty girl.”

That’s all Spencer can say before you get back up from the floor and cover his mouth with your own, kissing him with such passion to leave him breathless. Spencer can taste his own arousal on your tongue and he doesn’t care, because it tastes way better on your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck and you pull him underneath the stream of hot water, making him giggle and turn his head to the side.

“Hot water is good for muscle relaxation because it relieves body tension and can help soothe muscle fatigue.” – you whisper against his cheek, closing your eyes – “I think we both need it for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

You nod, brushing the water off your face. “This is not over, Spencer Reid. A simple blowjob is not enough for me, and something tells me it’s not enough for you either.”

Spencer answers you by kissing your mouth again, pressing you to the cold wall behind you. “We’ll see what’s going to happen tomorrow. Christmas day might become my new favourite holiday after Halloween.”

Chuckling, you close the distance between your bodies again and kiss him.

NSFW taglist:

@softreidx @getyoutmoon @bookishspencer @calm-and-doctor @reidswhore @nazifa94 @srhxpci @eevee0722 @reichelhache @aperrywilliams @escapingrealities @beepbooptoop ​@anime-for-live @alfonsais @lil-stark @muffin-cup @allexthakatt @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @nomajdetective @gyllord @winterwhore @pauline5525mgg @hotchandspencearedilfs @matthewgraygublerwife @Jadealicious06 @avocadopenguins @reidsmilf @bohemianrhapsody86 @joy-soul-gallery @matthewgraygublerlover @sweetandsunny @starrylang @void-m-stilinski @alexxavicry @addievermore @luckysuitcaseheroroad @safespacespence @enchantedengland @baby-reid

[marksbear]

Thanks bear and yes its true. Am a slut for hot men being dicked down. But how about something different how about sub Steven grant and he sending nudes and videos to reader while at work which leads to Steven getting recorded while he sucking reader off and being called a slut.-🐻‍❄️

Here you go 🐻‍❄! Enjoy love! And thank you for your request I look forward to your request everyday. Anyways enjoy the porn- I mean story

WARNINGS! HARD SMUT, hair puling, business man reader, public masturbating,slut, slapping,phone sex, dildos, skull fucking, Dom reader, Recording, and talks about past sex videos, recording a sex video. and etc.

STEVEN GRANT X MALE READER

Y/n has been at work for the past fourteen hours. And Steven has been counting every second of it. Waiting for Y/n to get on his lunch break. Everyday Steven sends pictures of themselves once the other is on their lunch break.

Today Steven had a no work day and he wanted to spend time with Y/n but he had to work. Y/n works as a stockbroker at one of those wolf of wall street types Stratton Oakmont in its prime type of business. He was the owner so he was respected and very busy but always missed boring meetings to go hang with Steven.

Sometimes he'll send one of his workers or his assistants to go to his house or museum or wherever Steven is at to check on him and buy him something to eat.

But the downside of their routine is people are always wanting to talk to Y/n during his break trying to get a promotion. Of course Y/n sends the fake people out but the real ones who're actually trying to get to know him talk too much in his opinion.

Today is one of those days during lunch "Learn things about the boss!" Today and there are like thirty people in your office trying to talk to you. You had your headphones not even bothering to make an effort that you're listening to. Looking at your phone eating your lunch. Only looking up once in a while to make sure they ain't stealing or killing each other. You see the reminder you set to send Steven a picture of you. "How do I look?" You ask looking at all of them. The whole room goes silent looking at you examining you. They all give you praise and roll your eyes. "Someone gets Jenny shes always honest with me." Everyone tries to get out once trying to find jenny. Once some one finds her you ask her do I look. She eyes you up and down and says you look messy but good. The response makes you smile and praise her for her honestly.

You look at the mirror one last time before sending Steven a picture of yourself. You hype yourself up in your mind saying that you should be a model. You giggle to yourself and make everyone look at you. "What! All of your lunch break is over to get back to work." A chorus of yes sirs leave the room leaving you by yourself. You get up from your chair and walk around making sure everything is in the right spot and nothing is missing. You hear a buzz from your phone and walk over to it picking it up and clicking on the picture to see what Steven is doing. It's Steven wearing your boxers loosely while their cum stains on it and cum all over him. You were about to text him but before you did he sent you another picture. It was his fingering his whole while jerking off.

You begin to get hard in your pants and walk over to your door and yell "Keep out!" and slam it locking and closing the blinds to be extra careful. You walk back to your desk and send Steven a picture of your hard on. Steven had seen it as soon as you sent. He sent you a video of himself sucking the dildo you bought for him when y'all had yall's first date. Most people would had thought you were crazy but you didn't care you wanted the old or sex talk out of the way in your relationship. The thought of him keeping for all this time made you dick throb. Before you were dating you'll just find a desperate female worker or man you didn't care much to solve this problem. But now since you're in a pretty deep commitment to him planning to propose cheating is out the window. Steven sent you a video on the dildo deepthroating it while he played with his hole.

You keep replaying the video over and over listening to it and imagining it's you that hes sucking. Well you started to record yourself jerking off and groaning his name as you imagined his mouth sucking your cock dry. Once you were satisfied with the video you stopped recording but you didn't stop fucking yourself. You set your phone down and started to close your eyes focusing about Steven's body and how it reacts to your cock. Oh god at this point you were rubbing your cock onto your desk for extra friction. Your phone buzzed and picked it up fast looking to see what he sent. It was him riding the dildo screaming your name and moaning your name and cum flying out his cock. Some of the cum landed on the phone and even more than before on his stomach and thighs. You begin to wonder how much Steven is masturbating. It's only been a few hours you look at what time it is and you gasp. What the hell fourteen hours. You slapped yourself in the face to stay up for too long. You shock your head. This is not the time. You'll make it up later but right now you gotta focus on cumming. You start to replay and stare at all of the pictures and videos. But the one when Steven sucking on the dildo makes you cum on the dot.

Once you come out of your heaven you clean yourself up and the desk. You fix your clothes and hair and pick up your keys and your other things like wallet,phone and ID. You walk out of the office and tell your right man to take care of everything. You find your driver and ask him to take you home. Once he drops you off you walk into the house closing and locking the door. You strip off everything besides your boxers. And leave it in a random corner. You make sure to bring your phone and walk around the house looking for your bf. Once you find him you see him jerking off to some of your older and new nudes you sent him at the start and weeks ago of your relationship. "We should make a new album once I propose." Your voice scares him and makes him jump and yelp "Y/n! h-hi! You said your g-gonna propose when?" You laugh and walk over to him raising his chin up "I can't believe you pulled a stunt like that. Really sending me a nude at work like the slut you are." You slap his face lightly laughing. "What if my workers saw and saw how slutty their boss bf is huh? And they all get their panties or boxers wet because of my whore of a bf." You look down at him with dominating eyes while he looks up at them looking pretty and almost like an angel. "Thats your dream fantasy huh slut? Looking so pretty to other people but they can't touch you because you belong to me. Do you belong to me Stevey?" Steveny shakes his head yes. "Good boy."

"Now I want you to suck on my cock like you did to the dildo. Okay boy?? Now go!" Steven does as he told pulling down your boxers fast taking your cock down his throat with no hesitation. You begin your record Steven laughing. "Welcome to Mr Steven Grant future l/n first porn video." The truth is this isn't the first time Steven has done this. It's one of your guys things that brings you closer. Surprisingly Steven had brought it hope at first you didn't trust it since you are a celebrity and well respected and honestly better than Tony stark business man but soon you didn't even care you loved being filmed and doing the recording. You two have days of footage of the other or both of you together. Steven's favorite one of them is your first time being powered bottomed like your first ever time was with him. And you were a moaning sobbing mess. You even called him daddy. But he hides the video from you since you would kill him you found out. Your favorite one of him that you was fucking him at some charity. But you did it in the owners office of the charity. You asked the owner if you can record the meeting she said yes but you were really recording Steven riding your cock in the meeting on your lap.

Steven was growing tired and you noticed so being the good bf you are you took control. Taking him by his curls yanking his head down and up on your cock. "Look at the young porn star letting the guest fuck his mouth without mercy." You say zooming in on his face. "Did y'all know the Y/n L/n boyfriend is a total slut and cocksleeve for him?" Y/n pulls out his cock from his boyfriend's mouth and slaps his face with his cock with a few laughs. "Now watch as the L/n cock split his throat in half." You say to the camera opening Stevens mouth with your hand and placing it back onto his head. You snap your hips forward hitting the back of his throat holding him still. His wet nose touching your stomach and his hands scratching your thighs hard enough to scar. You begin to face fuck him even faster when you feel your orgasm nearing "Fucking h-hell your slutty throat is gonna make me cum!" "Ah fuck" Stevens eyes roll backwards when he taste the salty liquid. You cum deep in his throat recording his every move. You pull out and finish off your load on his face. You take off your underwear and throw it in some random corner in the room.

Steven lays on his back trying to catch his breath while cumming onto his stomach. You record him as he runs down his high. You record what his face,thighs, and stomach looks like and walking around the room showing the camera all of the toys Steven had been using when you were at work. "And look what the slut did to my underwear its cover in cum! And my pillow! Hes such a slut!" You show the camera your boxers and your pillow. "Look at my thighs they're bleeding!" You laugh and walk towards the bathroom starting bathwater you set up the camera leaving and you come back to Steven who's almost about to pass out and getting into bath placing him on your lap kissing his shoulders.

"I Love you Mr l/n" You say kissing his neck. Steven hums a "I love you too" relaxing onto your lap.

THE END

I love you all-love papa bear

[naamahdarling]

WE ARE. This division is not natural and is deliberately cultivated in order to keep people relatively powerless. It takes more money to run a unit like that, which ensures a steady source of desperate labor, especially in the system where wages are artificially suppressed, and it puts money into the hands of corporate entities as people have to purchase and repurchase the essentials of a household instead of sharing them. It isn't even subtle. This fragmented family model is of immense benefit to the extremely wealthy and the people who are already in power. When people talk about eroding families and social ties being the downfall of America, they usually mean women having bank accounts, queer kids, and divorce, when what they really should be looking at is whether there are enough resources for your sister to babysit your kids every day in the summer because she doesn't have to have a job. You know?

It doesn't matter if it is family groups or friend groups, found family, adopted family, it literally doesn't matter. We need other people and the fact that our society is structured to keep us apart and sometimes deliberately punishes efforts to pool resources is deeply fucked up and makes me so so furious.

Literally my only problem with any of this is the significant overlap in the Venn diagram of large, close-knit families and familial abuse. Hence why I think children should have a great deal more autonomy than they do, and that their existence as legal entities should not be as dependent on adults as it is, it should not be as overshadowed by the assumption that parental custody is the same as safety.

That's the big, glaring hole in all of this, and I'm not sure what to do about it? But I know that it probably looks like the way I was raised. We sheltered kids and young adults and sometimes outright whole ass adults both short and long-term, either for a few days or a week here and there or for a long continual period of time. My mother always made extra food, there was always an extra place set at the table, and the doorbell ringing around dinner time not only happened more often than not, it was openly welcomed. (Okay, not everyone was well LIKED, some were just sort of tolerated, but they never got turned away, and it was nicer to have them there than not.) After I moved out, it was several years before I could sleep normally without hearing laughter and cold drinks being poured in the background.

This sort of thing is immensely helpful for disenfranchised people trying to get back on their feet, or for children who would otherwise have poor adult supervision or inadequate care. Usually not even do to parents being pieces of shit, but due to parents being so busy the child would be left alone for an advisable periods of time. The kids who stayed with us a lot mostly had loving homes, but all of them had single parents.

I tell people about this, about the way I was raised, and they think it's crazy. It isn't. I believe it is a lot more common in poor, rural communities, where people have a lot of "cousins" or "foster brothers" or "sister's kids". The only people I've ever known who haven't expressed surprise at it were either poor, or people of color, or both. Mostly from the South, but some from impoverished urban communities elsewhere. And it was a lot more common in the past. It was common for people to go and visit friends for 2 or 3 weeks at a time, to just go drop in and check on their neighbors every few days and expect to be invited in, for a child of one family to move in with another family who had more room.

My mom was a piece of work, but my grandparents were dust bowl farmers and oil field laborers who knew what it was to struggle, my mom spent her early years either on a farm or moving around through oil country, and of all the rancid shit she did, rejecting other people because of their circumstances and not offering hospitality to a hungry person who came to the door sure as hell wasn't one of them. I had a bad example in so many ways, but that wasn't one of them. I am really grateful for that.

You know what? You know what I think?

I think that if we lived as we were meant to, in larger intimate ("extended family") groups and with more shared labor and time to do it (UBI NOW) people like me would not feel so useless and burdensome because there would be people around to help and to do what neurodivergent people can't while making valuable space for the neurodivergent to do what they ARE good at.

The way we live right now, all right, the way we live right now forces units of two adults to be able to do EVERYTHING or PAY to have someone come do it for them. I have to do the housework. I have to do it! But I am having to do a million different things and most of them I am not good at. I suck at them.

I wouldn't feel like shit, okay, if I had more than one other person around who was not a child and who could do the things I can't, like do the yard and cook and do repairs and basic maintenance; and someone else to split everything else that I like but is too much for me. It would free me to do what I am good at and enjoy. Cleaning, as in the sink and toilet, the windows, the blinds. Taking out trash. Folding, hanging, and sorting laundry.

But because all the shit I can do often relies on other shit being done first, and I can't do or have trouble doing those things, the shit I can do often can't be done. And even the shit I can do, I can't do ALL of it. So I can't keep up, and things get very bad.

We aren't meant to live like this. We are not meant to live like this.

That thought hurts so much because being able to flee the birth family is integral to survival for so many people. I'm so afraid that living in larger family groups would create more opportunities for, say, queer kids to be isolated, rejected, bullied, and abused. But if we gave people enough money to survive, and stopped considering children the property of their parents with no system in place to help them escape bad situations except a system that is often just as bad, just different.

I'm aware that communes and collectives aren't all that successful and are kind of a joke. I don't mean that. I mean a fundamental shift to multigenerational families where taking in "strays" (which my family did) is also normalized so people escaping abuse into existing households was accepted, with these families centered in maybe a couple of different larger residences so not everyone has to buy and maintain their own fucking washing machine and vacuum cleaner, and so people can benefit from large group meals that yield leftovers, and so child and elder care can also be centralized.

Then disabled people and the neurodivergent and sick and injured people, and pregnant people, and grieving people, would not have to either labor through all those stressors or consign themselves to living off an unlivable pittance or being put under legal guardianship.

I'm not saying anything new. I'm just really mad right now because I can either do laundry or clean the sink but not both, and I really think we could improve society somewhat by making it so I did not have to choose.

[prettybrownelf]

Just A Late Night

Non MLM/NBLM DNI

Pairings- Bucky x Male Reader

Summary- A night at the bar gets tensions high with you and Bucky, leading to some emotions you’ve both been keeping in

Word Count- 1508

Content Warnings- Smut, Oral (Reader Gives), Rough Sex, Rough Makeout, Praise

He’s such a fucking heart-throb. The small bar you’re currently at with Bucky was nice and cozy as always, besides the high-pitched laughter coming from the other end of the bar. You glare daggers at the brown-haired man who’s currently covered in women; this happens every time you go out. Unfortunately, Steve wasn’t with the two of you this time; he was busy or something, which means you have to sit in silence and drink away your sorrows. You take another sip of your drink as you rip your eyes from him, staring behind the bar in the hope of clearing your head. 

“You doing alright tonight?” The bartender asks. A grin forms on your face before you even look up at him. He’s a sweet guy, blonde with green eyes, an absolute model. You can’t help but feel a blush creep onto your face as you look at him over your drink. 

“I’m doing fine, Roy, thanks.” You’d met him when you first came here, and he seemed to always be behind the bar when you came in. You can’t tell if he was doing it on purpose or not; either way, you didn’t mind. The small glances and late nights the two of you shared weren’t something you’d ever talk about, but it made your face heat up either way. 

As you spoke, you felt a familiar presence grab your arm. You turn with a smile to see an anything-but-happy Bucky. 

“Come on; we’re leaving.” He says, not giving you a chance to say anything as you turn and wave to Roy, who happily waves back. Bucky’s grip on your arm is tighter than you liked as you tried to get him off. “What the fuck is your problem, Buck?” You ask as he says nothing. 

The two of you arrive at Bucky’s apartment; he hasn’t stopped fuming since the two of you left the bar. Maybe one of the girls said something to him, or he was just drunk and didn’t know what he was doing. 

As he walks in, you close the door, locking it as you rub your arm. “Can you relax for a moment and tell me what your issue is?” Bucky runs his hand through his hair as he stands in front of you; you hated how tall he was. “I don’t have an issue.” You roll your eyes with a scoff as you reach for his arm. “You clearly do.” Bucky grabs yours first and holds you close, face inches from each other. Was this motherfucker going to fight you? “I’m sick of watching you flirt with that little blonde twerp.” You can’t hide the shock on your face as you lose your words, trying to search your brain for something to say. 

You give a worried smile as you try and force a laugh. “I wasn’t flirting with Roy.” That only seemed to piss him off more as he somehow got closer; there’s nothing on his breath indicating he was drunk, so what the hell is his issue. “We both know that’s bullshit.” He sneers as he pushes you away. What the hell else could have gotten into him?

“James, just tell me what’s wrong.” You were honestly getting somewhat worried; maybe someone put something in his drink. He rubs his hands over his face as he speaks. “We both know you and Roy fucked.” Your breathing stops. “James, I’m serious we didn’t -.” Soft lips cut off your excuses on yours. A sudden tight grip on your hips makes you moan on accident as Bucky licks your bottom lip. It doesn’t take any convincing for you to let him in, groaning around his tongue. Bucky’s hips move against yours as you feel your back hit the wall, a low groan coming from his throat. He pulls away, both of you out of breath, desperate to get air back in your lungs, suddenly realizing just how close the two of you were. 

Bucky looked an absolute mess, his hair falling in front of his face and half-lidded eyes. It took a moment for you to realize what had just happened, an overwhelming feeling of dread coming over you as you tried to say something. Bucky beats you to it as his hands squeeze your waist again. “Can I kiss you again?” His voice is low, softer than before; the anger wasn’t all gone, just replaced with something that made all your blood flow from your head. You can’t say anything, so you nod up at him. He smirks and bends down again, capturing your lips in his. His tongue immediately finds yours, hands holding you up as you try not to fall over.

His lips suddenly leave yours as he goes for your neck, hands feeling up your sides. Your hips instinctually bucking into his, earning a low groan from him, vibrating on your skin. All your blood rushes from your head as your senses become entirely overwhelmed with Bucky and his hands. As you’re focused on the feeling of his lips dancing on your neck, he tugs you forward, turning you and leading you towards his bedroom. He was going to make you pass out. 

The mattress hits your back as Bucky immediately falls on top of you, wasting no time removing his shirt and going back to your neck. You quickly disregard your shirt, throwing it to the side as your hands find their way to his hair, giving a slight tug as he bites down, drawing a little bit of blood. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer to him, feeling he’s just as hard as you are. Sudden anxiety creeps into your lungs as you feel one of his hands slip into your pants. “Bucky, maybe we shouldn’t be doing this.” Your voice is barely a whisper in the darkroom as Bucky kisses up your neck to your ear. The only light in the room comes from the moon, right outside the window. His voice is layered with lust as his voice tickles your ear. “No ones gonna know, just relax, pretty boy.” His lips find your collar bones as you remember where his hand is. You swear you see stars as his hand wraps around your cock, slowly moving as you arch into his grip. 

Bucky’s hips grind into your thigh as you moan into his ear, making him groan a bit as he moves his face to yours as his hand leaves you, making you whine. “Think you’re ready, baby?” You vigorously nod as you move quickly to unbutton your pants. You’re both breathing heavily as the cold touches your exposed skin, Buckys gripping your thighs as you feel his tip press against you. He holds himself up with one hand, the other holding onto your hip as his eyes meet yours. 

His expression is softer now, like you’d break if he weren’t careful. Your breath leaves you as he slowly bottoms out, groaning lowly in your ear as he uses your hip to keep himself steady. He begins to move slowly, bucking his hips to you as you claw at his back, holding him close to you. “Your so beautiful.” He whispers as he begins to pick up his pace, groans getting louder as he brings his face to yours, forehead pressed against yours as you moan, one hand gripping into his hair as you try to keep up with him. 

“Bucky, please.” You’re not sure what you were begging for, but you needed it. Bucky chuckles lowly in your ear as he goes faster; his groans tickle the skin on your neck as his grip on you tightens; you can already feel bruises forming on your hips. You can barely feel your legs as Bucky’s thrusts get sloppier. His moans turn into low whimpers, matching yours as you feel the tight knot in your stomach snap as you see spots. Your body shakes as you feel Bucky pull out. “Not done yet, doll.” He smirks as he grabs you by the hair, bringing your mouth to his cock. “Suck.” He commands, though there’s still a soft look in his eyes. Your still light-headed and fucked out as you put him in your mouth, immediately feeling him hit the back of your throat. It only takes a couple of minutes for him to finish, holding your head down. “Swallow like a good boy.” You do as he asks, barely feeling any of it. 

You feel a hand on your cheek as you look up at him, eyes still half-lidded. He kisses your forehead as you lean against his shoulder. “You were so good for me.” He mutters as he pets your hair. Bucky picks up a dirty shirt and wipes your chest off. You can barely make out words as you grumble. “Let’s go to bed.” Bucky giggles as he puts your underwear back on before putting back on his own. You nearly pass out when your head hits the pillow. Bucky rubs your cheek as he begins to fall asleep as well.

[boop-le-snoot]

@buckyownsmylife hey babe! Remember that one time you threw that cool challenge? Here's my entry. Prepare to get absolutely ruined because daddy!Bruce is exactly that sort of man.

main masterlist ☀️ taglist

emotional support nerd

Your best friend's dad, Dr. Bruce Banner, is hotter than you thought he would be. 6k words, NSFW. Kind of Alt!Reader - she refers to herself as 'goth' in one instance. Tony Stark makes an appearance because God forbid I write a fanfic without him in it.

This is filthy pron, ft. age difference (reader is college aged) daddy kink, throat fucking, dirty talk, praise kink, cream pie, possessiveness, belly bulge and ending with a hint at a threesome. I really crammed all I could from Eyre's wheel in here, didn't I. Oh well.

"How much longer, dad?" Lyra's annoyed voice struck a chord within me. I tried to hide my snickering - unsuccessfully might I add - causing my best friend to shoot me a hurt look, equally fed up with me as she was fed up with her forgetful adopted father. "You know what, we'll take the subway."

Lyra's father's voice, both agitated and apologetic, reached my ears in bitten-off phrases as the traffic noises around us grew in volume, NYC rush hour rapidly approaching its peak.

With a sound huff, Lyra removed the phone from her ear, staring me down with the most amount of petulance I've ever seen on her usually reserved, placid face. "It's twenty more minutes. Apparently he's driving Tony's car," she offered in the way of explanation, like it actually did anything to better the cold, wet situation we found ourselves in. "Please, and I can't stress this enough, please don't be weird."

I felt a flood of amusement at Lyra's pleading tone. "Darling, if you wanted a normal friend, you should have looked elsewhere," I gestured to my outfit. I looked like a goth boy's wet dream: chunky platformed boots, fishnets, heavy eyeliner. Of course, all in black.

"You know what I mean," she whined, waving off my pointing hand and fixing me with a hard stare. "The least my dad needs is someone that is terrified of him just because sometimes he turns into a big green monkey. It's not as exciting as internet thinks, anyway," the last part of the sentence was mumbled but I heard it nonetheless as Lyra stared out into the traffic, clever eyes looking for a particular car model.

What Lyra didn't know was that I was not at all considering to be terrified by the man who dosed himself with radiation and developed an advanced version of split personality disorder. I could be intimidated by him, sure, because he was incredibly intelligent, a world class scientist with more PhDs than I had zeroes in my bank account, but even despite his green problem, Dr. Bruce Banner was about as far away from 'scary' as a man could be.

The few scarce pictures of him on the internet showed a short, stocky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper curls, always dressed in un-ironed, crumpled button-ups with dorky patterns. Looking at him, I mused that there was a high chance he spoke with a stutter and that fact amused me to no end. Jekyll and Hyde, alright.

Lyra was much the same way. Shy and reclusive, with curly brown hair and doe eyes, she spent a good chunk of her first semester in college being avoided by everybody because of her last name; I, on the other hand, avoided everyone out of habit, I'd never been a social butterfly, but the way people subtly made sure to exclude Lyra from all the activities filled me with quiet, seething rage, and I stepped over my general distaste of people and removed my bag from the seat next to me so Lyra could at least study in relative peace.

Yeah, yeah, you've heard it all, I'm sure. Weird goth chick adopts a socially awkward, shunned nerd and they become best friends forever. I had to admit that under the shy exterior, Lyra was smart, witty and even funny sometimes. She was willing to entertain my crude jokes without moaning, at least, and I was perfectly okay with listening to her rant about science every now and then.

Rain banged on the slanted roof of the café we were hiding in, the autumn wind howled, making both of us shiver at the prospect of having to go outside, even if it was for a short moment to run to Lyra's dad's car. The day had started out warm and sunny, but much like a badly calculated chemical formula, it all went downhill a split second after we had set out to leave campus.

"There he is," the grouch in Lyra's expression had me once again unsuccessfully attempting to conceal my snorting.

Nonetheless, I followed her out into the rain, struggling to keep up with the brisk running in my platformed shoes, unceremoniously crawling into the car behind her without sparing a glance at the driver in my eagerness to get out of the freezing downpour.

"Hi, dad," Lyra's tired voice spoke up at the same time as I angrily shook out my hair.

"I've just about McFuckin' had it with New York," I was afraid the dye in my hair would bleed out into my clothes, or even worse, the nice, cream-colored car seats.

"Hello, ladies," the voice that greeted us was low, gravelly and apologetic to boot.

My eyes shot up, meeting an expression full of surprise and amusement. I stared at the shockingly handsome face of Dr. Bruce Banner like a deer in the headlights.

The fine mimic wrinkles had stretched into a resemblance of a smile, soft, plush lips revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The five o'clock shadow framed his jaw, giving it a sharp, defined edge, his clever brown eyes slid down my form, faltering on the pentagram on my belt and my fishnet-covered legs, settling on my chunky boots before hastily snapping back up to my face.

"Dad, this is..." Lyra's voice was full of suspicious bewilderment as she attempted to dissipate the sudden awkwardness.

"Oh, yeah, I'm Dr. Bruce Banner, but you can call me Doc or Bruce," he cleared his throat, turning himself towards the windshield and starting up the car.

"Nice to meet you," I busied myself with putting away any stray hair just to occupy myself with something during the time I needed to recuperate from being just... Looked at by Lyra's dad.

It sounds ridiculous, I know, but I was so taken aback by his handsomeness and his aura of a gentle but powerful man that the ride to Stark tower, however swift, went on in slightly awkward silence. The streets outside were, thankfully, noisy, and the lack of an attempt to have a conversation could easily be attributed to Bruce's need to focus on the road, but Lyra's increasingly concerned looks did very little to settle the sudden racing of my heart.

"C'mon, I'll give you some sweats so you can let your..." Lyra's vague gesture towards my upper body disappeared behind her side of the door. "Hey, Tony," she suddenly interrupted her sentence, very obviously addressing another person who I managed to miss as Bruce parked in the spacious garage.

"I've been told you're finally bringing your friend, Green Pea," a voice I'd heard a thousand times on the TV poked fun at Lyra.

She bent down to retrieve her bag, shooting big eyes at me and mouthing an exaggerated "Sorry!"

Tony Stark looked about a week in debt on sleep, a contrast to the way he usually appeared in public. The exaggerated eyebrow raise made me shuffle awkwardly in my spot; the Led Zep tee caught my eyes as I lingered on it, aware of my own Mötorhead top on display. He noticed it too, causing his face leave the snide territory.

"Wow, I didn't expect kids these days to have any resemblance of taste in music but you've surprised me, Corpse Bride," he gave me a quiet wolf-whistle, watching me through lidded eyes.

I felt my eyebrow crawl upwards at his attitude but Bruce spoke up before I could say anything: "Tony, no," so firmly, I had to raise both of my eyebrows. I felt a smile tug at my lips, the situation strikingly familiar in it's essence. Like father, like daughter...

"No," Lyra's identical expression, fond and annoyed, topped up with an accusing finger pointed in my direction had everyone snorting a giggle at the situation.

"Lyra," I whined, just so I could coax her grin that she was very obviously trying to conceal. "See, I told you, every crazy genius needs their emotional support nerd," I fixed her with a pointed look.

She promptly grabbed me by the arm, leading all of us to the elevator as the two men behind us shared a hearty laugh at my well-timed joke. It was either that or I would have completely embarrassed myself by gaping and drooling over both THE Tony Stark and Lyra's father.

The rush didn't stop there. I was promptly and generously offered not only a spare pair of pants but also a whole room to stay in after an invitation to dinner I simply could not refuse. Dr. Banner firmly coaxed me into staying overnight with his pleading eyes and a hearty seasoning of guilt tripping, softly crooning how he simply could not let a young woman to wander the cold, rainy night in NYC alone.

Tony added something too, in a tone way too surefire and patronising. I guessed he noticed my eyes lingering on Dr. Banner, being a genius and all.

In a short amount of time, I found myself seated at a dinner table next to a happy, giggling Lyra who'd downed a glass of wine and was well into her second. I found it adorable how much of a lightweight she was; not hesitating in the slightest to point out that fact when she made hands for a pitcher of water.

Tony was the first one to snark back something vague about his college days and all the wild parties he used to throw, booing Bruce upon discovery that he, in fact, actually studied in college in favour of partaking in various illicit activities. That had both me and Tony giggling with Lyra promptly joining in, both of us losing it over the running joke or her being either a test tube baby or the result of immaculate conception.

Bruce's face blushed scarlet. He sputtered, a few stray drops of his lemonade landing on the (ironed!) collar of his purple shirt, cough disappearing in the wake of Tony's truly amused cackling. Dr. Banner was well on his way to either choke on his Lo Mein or turn green; thinking quickly, I decided to defuse a situation by sharing a harmless, funny story that happened to me as a freshman.

"I went on a date with this guy who said that music was the most important thing in his life, and I thought, wow, that's so beautiful!" I began my story over Lyra's incessant snickering. "So we had dinner and went back to his place because I'm a whore," the whole table erupted in laughter at my deadpan remark, Tony reaching over to give me a high five.

"And as we got there, he put on one of his demos which was just a bunch of sampled and remixed Guns'n'Roses songs, and I thought wow, that's gotta be one of the worst things I've ever heard," I pointedly looked away as Lyra's cackling grew in volume, having heard the same story several times by now and the outrage I expressed at the situation first hand.

"But instead of that I said, wow, that's so cool! Then we did the thing and his whole bedroom was covered in Axl Rose posters and I'm sure at some point Mr. Rose stared right up my asshole," there were tears streaming down Lyra's face as Tony flopped his upper body onto the table and Bruce convulsed helplessly in a silent fit of giggles. "And then I thought to myself: wow, I would have to pretend to like his music if I dated this guy and I just couldn't do that..." I breathed out, succumbing to the mirth at the dinner table. "It was good but not November Rain good, y'kno?"

Bruce snorted loudly, sliding down his chair with a hand over his face. The table shook with the force of Tony's cackling; I didn't see his expression but the howling, rasping noises sent me into another fit of laughter, right on par with Lyra.

"Is this..." Tony rapidly inhaled the much-needed oxygen. "Is this why you keep wincing whenever I play the 'Roses in the lab?" Tony wheezed and Lyra nodded.

"I just... I can picture it, and I-" she made a vague, encompassing gesture and a face.

"Please, don't," I urged with a snort. "There are better ways to get disappointed."

Dinner went on by smoothly after that, everybody happily making remarks on my dating fail, the topic of Lyra's birth and Tony's college shenanigans dismissed.

I caught Dr. Banner's pointed look as we finished our dessert - he was studying me, eyes searching for something that he very obviously wished was there. From the damp roots of my hair to the soft, cotton top clinging to my chest, I wasn't left unscrutinzed and unexamined. Like one of the many specimens he studied on a daily basis, Bruce lingered on the many characteristics that made me stand out in the grey crowd.

"Would you like to see the labs?" He asked, appearing behind me without a single sound.

The freshly cleaned dishes clattered in my arms. I'd almost dropped them, startled, but Bruce's hand landed on the top of the stack right before the top plate would have slipped off and shattered into pieces on the cold tile of his kitchen.

Blood rushed to my ears. "I'd love to," my brain had briefly returned to reality, the rush of meeting both Stark and Banner succumbing to logic and reason. My and his fields of study briefly overlapped, the question he posed was more than reasonable. In fact, many people would cheat, lie and steal to be in my position.

Bruce smiled, opening a cabinet and taking half of the dishes I was holding to stack them up in their proper place. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing wide, muscular forearms littered with dark, coarse hair.

I was sure my face was flaming. After waving off Lyra's attempts to put shoes on me and leaving her to watch her TV show, a wide, warm palm rested on the back of my waist, gently steering me towards the elevator.

I tried to keep my eyes off Bruce in the large mirror on the walls of the car as it swiftly moved down, scrutinizing my appearance instead. My throat bobbed, the elevator car suddenly too small and too hot.

His eyes left marks on me - invisible ones, the kind that I knew were there just from the scorching heat sizzling on my skin.

There was a certain je ne sais quoi about him. Perhaps, it was in the way he was acting - a polar opposite of what I'd had expected, Dr. Bruce Banner possessed a quiet confidence and his patience appeared to be endless, heartily doused with an appreciation for his closest ones. The way his eyes lit up in response to people smiling around the dinner table was hard to miss.

When Bruce spoke about his research - whatever wasn't classified, anyway - the spark expanded into a mischievous fire. I could hardly understand the nuances in his work, scratch that- I could not understand a single word he was saying, at all. The individual syllables registered as they should, but my traitorous brain could only focus on the way he licked his lips in between quickly inhaled breaths.

"You're not... Following, are you?" The corner of his mouth lifted upwards, clever brown eyes fixed on my face.

God, I hoped I wasn't drooling. But to deny the obvious would have been a stretch. "No, not really," I swallowed, willing my eyes to lift from the large veins on the hand that was pointing at a set of equations. Reasonably good at math any day, they looked like the scribbles of a madman to me at the time.

Dr. Banner sighed, letting silence creep among the whirring machinery in the lab for a brief moment. "I don't scare you?" He removed his glasses, cleaning them with the corner of his shirt.

The question reeked of self-doubt and, perhaps, insecurity. "No," I answered simply, not giving him the slightest chance to find doubt in my words. I was barely holding my voice from shaking, afraid he'd misunderstand my reaction to the sudden change in atmosphere.

He was closer to me than I recalled. My hip was almost brushing his, the bulk of his shoulder millimeters from touching against my bare skin, the smell of something herbal, like tea, and sharp chemicals clouding my senses. It was such a contrasting experience.

Bruce turned to me, an expression between hunger and regret forcing me to shiver and look him straight in the eye. A hand landed on my waist, holding me in place with gentle firmness. "I'm a monster, I could hurt you," he whispered, leaning into me like a touch starved kitten. The man screamed contradiction. "We shouldn't."

Vivid images of the Hulk and the rampages years prior flashed through my mind; the rubble, the collateral damage in the form of many lives. I barely remembered it, having been too little to really understand what was going on. One thing, though, I knew for sure: ever since the world became aware of Lyra's existence, there had been no incidents. Sure, the Hulk still appeared when there was a threat, but there were no documented incidents of the green creature running amok, accidentally.

"You won't hurt me," I spoke with conviction. Perhaps, I was bluffing just slightly but I wouldn't lie like that to myself. The variable, the... Twelve or so percent chance of things going... Awry, it made a small, malicious worm inside of me rejoice and fill my limbs with familiar adrenalised yearning. "You're not a monster. Far from it, actually," I used the hand that was not supporting me against the desk to gently cradle the side of his face, letting my fingertips brush over the rough five o'clock shadow on his cheek.

Bruce emitted a sound somewhere between an agitated grown and a pleading whine, sagging with the sound exhale, pressing himself flush with my chest. His face slipped from my palm, the warm tip of his nose running a steady line up my neck, sending goosebumps running wildly down my back as his hot breath tickled the arch of my throat.

"Baby," the nickname punched a stuttered gasp out of me with the intensity contained in just that one word. "I've been hearing all these amazing things about you," his voice dropped, low baritone rumbling straight into my ear. "I won't be able to hold back. I'll want you all to myself," his bicep flexed under my hand.

My knees would have bucked if I wasn't grasping onto Bruce for dear life after those words. I had some sense of personal pride in me, so while my body was an easy, traitorous thing, my mind was more than eager to participate in this game, to ping pong a little bit before... "Yeah? What things?" I breathed.

Teeth briefly closed around my tender skin, nipping for just a second. "You're kind, beautiful," his hand took a steadfast hold on the back of my neck, exposing my throat to his mouth. More skin to mark, more time to whisper. "Intelligent, bright and clever," the more he spoke, the fiercer he became. Bruce's grasp tightened until I was pliant in it, willingly following his silent commands. "A bit of a pain in the ass," a healthy dose of humour was added into the mix as my ass was roughly grabbed, our fronts pressed together at his insistence.

"That sounds about right," I didn't resist the sudden urge to snark, thoughts lazily floating in my head, like clouds on a bright sunny day, fleeting and sparse. None of them caught on. I was focused on feeling the need, on my need to feel.

A sharp smack landed on the plump of my ass, the sound resonating in the eerily quiet lab. The sounds of machinery had dulled at some point, leaving just the two of us panting our lust into each other's space. "I know you can be a good girl. Will you, princess?" His fingertips dug into my flesh, surpassing the soft sweatpants as if they weren't even there.

I could only nod, dumbly, overcome by the sudden rush of blood to my body. The life coarsing through me sang, demanding a release of the pent-up tension.

"What's that?" Bruce removed himself from my neck, catching my unfocused eyes with a crooked smirk on his lips.

"Yes," I swallowed, breathing through my mouth.

"Mmm," he hummed, running both hands over my sides, over the frayed edges of my Mötorhead top. He admired it, briefly, setting his eyes on the band logo that was right over my breasts. Having decided something to himself, Bruce promptly removed it, lifting it over my head with ease and leaving it right on the science lab table.

Taking hold of my hand, he walked over to a hidden set of sliding doors that revealed a rather large, frequently used bed, shutting them just as I walked in, wearing only my bra and borrowed sweats. My back was pressed to the door in mere seconds, hot palms chasing away the chill of the lab as Bruce slotted his lips over mine.

He tasted like something I've never had before. His lips - so plush and supple, took hold of the kiss with practiced gusto, sucking me in without a chance or the desire to escape. I drank from him, sucked on the bottom lip as his tongue explored my mouth, danced with mine.

The room was spinning, the ringing in my ears growing in volume. I was only partly aware of the sensation of sliding down the wall; our knees thudded on the carpeted floor simultaneously, heavy breathing the only noise I could distinguish.

"Breathe, baby, that's it," Bruce coaxed, gently stroking my nape. The soft cotton of his shirt crumpled under my fingers where I held onto him, desperately searching something to ground myself with.

The buckle of his belt clattered and then clinked again as he wrapped the worn leather around my wrists, bringing them together in front of my chest. I exhaled sharply at the intimate gesture, a whine bubbling up from my chest when Bruce used a single fingertip to raise my chin.

My eyes met his; a brown iris tinged with the faintest of green around the outer edge. "This okay, princess?" He sought my face for confirmation, for agreement, for anything.

I nodded, stuttering mid-gesture, remembering our previous interaction. My mouth did not want to cooperate but I forced it to, even if it came out as little more than a pitiful mewl. "Yes, daddy," the word, sweet and sticky like fruit syrup, poured from my lips.

My eyes slid shut as my conscience - or was it common sense? - took hold of the situation. I was on my knees in front of my best friends dad, a virtual stranger, and I'd just-

Bruce's soft chuckle stopped the negative spiral of my thoughts. "That's my girl," he sounded a tad more breathless now, a hairliner in his perfect façade of self-control. As if he'd sensed my indecisiveness, he tugged on the makeshift restraints, pulling me closer, closer and into his lap.

A warm, solid chest with a healthy amount of fluff greeted me. Bruce let my lax, pliant body fall into his arms, catching me effortlessly and bringing my face to his lips. "You have nothing to be ashamed of, you're my good girl," he peppered soft kisses all over my flaming cheeks, my twitching nose, my fluttering lashes.

"Please," I begged, shame giving way to the flood of arousal that seemingly hit me all at once. I was aware of the dampness collecting in my panties, the stiffness of my limbs from holding back the ravenous desire to paw at Bruce like a wild animal. "Please, daddy..."

"I know, I know, baby girl," he soothed, not stopping his tender assault on my face. "Daddy will make it all better. I know just what you need," Bruce finally pulled away. I heard the sound of him undoing his zipper and then the awkward shuffle of him shucking off his pants.

Somewhere in between of all that, he'd ended up sitting down on the bed, wearing only his boxers, his shirt hanging open. The red crawled down his chest, partially masked by the coarse salt and pepper hair; his lips were cherry red and his hair was sticking out in odd directions. Bruce looked sinful.

My eyes inadvertently landed on the impressive bulge in his boxers; in response to my widened eyes, he reached out for it, stroking the outline of his thick cock through his boxers. "Like what you see, baby?"

"Yeah," My mouth watered.

"Baby wants a fat cock?" He teased, sounding like he knew exactly what he was doing, testing my self-control like that. With a flick of his wrist, it sprang free, slapping against his tummy, coating the fine hairs with drops of clear, musky fluid.

I swallowed, feeling the taste of him from afar and yearning for more where I was parked between his spread legs.

In a gesture almost loving, he tugged on the belt still wrapped around my wrists, bringing my face to his leaking shaft and my hands to the base of it, letting me feel the weight of his balls in them. The cock throbbed, neglected, weighed down by the heaviness of his full balls.

"Go ahead, baby, suck my cock," the encouragement came with a gentle push to my head.

I obediently followed, wrapping my lips around the pink, moist crown of it, a hum beginning in the back of my throat. My God, Bruce tasted heavenly... I whirled and slipped my tongue a around his head, I dipped into the slit to drink the nectar right from the tap, idly coming to awareness of the broken, choked moans coming from the man above me.

Raising my head got me a view of his chin; head thrown back, the lax O of his mouth glistened in the meager light. My eyes slid lower, to the flex of his abs. Bruce fought hard to stay still. The desire consumed me, a sudden rush of power at having Dr. Bruce Banner's cock in my mouth and the man at my mercy; I inhaled, sliding my mouth further and further down his throbbing length.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter before his hands gripped the sides of my face. "Hungry, baby, are you?" His eyes glowed a faint green; I shuddered at the power he held within himself. Held back for me. "Tap my thigh twice," he spoke and I had no choice but to obey. "Okay. Do that if it gets too much, alright?" I nodded. He gave me a wide, beaming smile. "Good girl," he praised, experimentally bucking his hips into my mouth a few times.

In and out. I focused on my breathing, sharp, little inhales: his girth took up all the free space in my mouth, the tip of it barely fit into my throat. The burn, the stretch; I felt every tenth of an inch, every bulging attempt of my body to accommodate Bruce's huge cock. It was delicious, I couldn't help but crave the same stretch in my neglected, sopping wet pussy.

"Fuck, you're taking it so well," Bruce moaned wetly. "Your mouth... S'like heaven... Could fuck it all day, that's my good girl," the rambling increased in it's intensity as the pace of his hips hastened. Drool and tears flowed like a river; my chin was dropping with it, spit connected my face to his pelvis. "Oh," there was a brief pause to his movements; suddenly, he pulled out, fisting the base of his cock, staring me down with a ferocious gleem in his eye.

I must've looked a straight mess; my face like a crime scene, my clothes disheveled, covered in fluids and most of all - I was desperately grinding against my own feet, too focused on the glorious cock in front of me to notice the weakness of my own flesh. "Daddy?" I questioned, wincing at the grating of my own voice.

Without a word, the belt was tugged once more; in a set of movements just slightly north of acrobatic, I found myself laying on my back in the middle of the bed, my sweatpants suffering a haste demise in the corner of the room.

Bruce crawled atop me, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on every inch of my skin he could reach, mouthing something inaudible into every pore of my body. As he drew closer, I discerned bitten-off phrases, stringing my desire into sticky, tangy mess at the apex of my thighs.

"My perfect baby girl," the words reached me; all tongue, he kissed me once more, arching into me as much as I arched into his hot grasp. A brief inspection of my face - he was satisfied with what he saw - and Bruce crawled back, settling in between my spread legs, breathing hot air on the lips of my sex still covered by a sopping wet piece of fabric.

"Oh fuck," I yelped, feeling him smooch it soundly, the hot wetness of his tongue penetrating the meagre lace barrier with ease.

He moved it aside anyway, with a single finger, giving my pussy a broad lick, moaning into my cunt like a man gone mad. It took a few more licks for him to feel sated enough to surface, all the while holding my hips down. I was so sensitive, I felt even the tiniest flicks to my clit, I was sure if I didn't cum then and there, I would explode.

"Such a pretty pussy, princess," his heavy breathing paused briefly. He nipped my thigh. "So wet, is that all for me?"

"Yes, yes, daddy," I rasped, pushing my cunt into his face, losing all shame and trepidation.

"So tasty," he continued the torture, outlining my lower lips before taking another nosedive right into it, swirling his tongue around every fold, sucking onto my clit.

Bruce ate my pussy until my thighs shook, until my core quivered and I could no longer hold back the choked, ragged screams starting somewhere in the low of my belly and coming out as unholy, all-consuming yowls filled with unadulterated lust.

"Louder for me, baby," he inhaled rapidly, and then, he sucked on my clit.

The world stopped, halted on it's axis, every muscle going rigid in my body and every nerve ending simultaneously coming alive. Faintly, I heard a chant, repeating two syllables over and over, it sounded like my voice - but I had no control over myself. All I could do was weakly grind my hips against Bruce's mouth, faltering when the crashing waves of my orgasm began to recede.

The infuriating overstimulation stopped; blinking hazily, I saw Bruce's eyes glimmer brown and green in front of my face. His nose and his chin was glistening with a thin coat of sticky fluid; disheveled and red, he looked a man on the verge of a revelation.

Something hot and blunt nosed at my cunt, bringing back the moment to me - I realized, with a great deal of impatience - how empty I felt. The decision was minute. "Daddy, fuck me, please, I want your cock," the words came easily.

"That's my girl," his eyes fluttered shut as the first inches squeezed through the snug of my cunt. I was sopping wet and as relaxed as I'd be, but even then, it was a stretch. "Good girl, good baby," the mumbled praise made me whine and my pussy clamp on his cock. "Relax, let daddy fill you up." Breathing through it, I consciously unwound myself around him, letting my palms rest freely on his shoulders. "Let daddy take care of you."

Like melted sugar, his husked words stuck to me inside and out. Short, sharp thrusts; Bruce was patiently burrowing himself inside of me, making his way to reach the deepest parts of me I didn't even know existed. His cock head pressed against something hard and spongy inside of me; stars burst behind my eyes I'd clamped shut on reflex.

I moaned weakly, tugging on his arm, pressing myself closer. It felt so, so good. Like a raw nerve had been exposed and he was stroking it, pushing that little switch with every stroke of his hips.

"I'm not gonna last," he muttered as once again, my cunt squeezed him snugly in place, just as greedy as I was to feel that tiny explosion spark up within me again.

"I want..." I panted. Bruce set in a punishing pace after that, a palm under my ass, squeezing it so hard there would definitely be bruising. I craved it, I needed to see the evidence this was not some elaborate fever dream. "I want... Daddy to fill me up," words came out garbled; it sounded like gibberish to my ears but Bruce - they spurred him on.

"Oh yeah?" That breathless, boyish cockiness was back in his voice again; despite how fucked out he sounded, I prepared myself for something truly out of this world. I just knew.

He sat back on his shins, dragging me by the hips with him, making me shiver and moan and twitch and clamp onto him again as his throbbing cock hit that special spot again. And again. And again.

"Look at me, baby," a hand on my belly and his eyes burning right through me. As they slid down, towards the apex of my thighs where he was still moving within me almost lazily, I saw it.

"Oh fuck," I couldn't utter much more than a two-syllabled profanity. There was a bulge in my belly, just above my pelvis, moving in rhythm with Bruce's hips. And then he pressed on it and I-

Something, someone, somewhere was screaming. The noise was loud and pitched, but even then, I could barely hear it though the neverending waves of bliss that enveloped my whole being. Gold and silver at the edges of my rapidly darkening vision; I was drowning in something that smelled and felt like Bruce. The safety of his arms, the warmth of his heated body, the rapid snapping of his hips-

Oh.

"I'm gonna, fuck," the last word was but a ghost of a human speech. Growling low and filthy, Bruce leaned into my ear, his breath hot and moist. "Mine," his hips stuttered, his cock nestled deep, the sensation bordering on painful, forcefully extracted pleasure. It throbbed with every spurt of his seed; each one felt like a solid punch in the gut to my abused pussy.

"Daddy," I mewled, my body jerking away from him but my mind and my soul yearning for more. His rapidly softening flesh made the idea of being separated unbearable.

"S'good, s'my good girl, m'so proud," he mumbled, looking slightly disoriented as he removed himself from me, immediately pressing me to his side and interwining any free, flailing limbs.

We laid in silence, each of us slowly coming back to Earth after the completely unreal experience we just had. I didn't know what to think, didn't know what to do as the realization set in, the post-orgasmic haze giving way to a sudden rush of clarity.

"I can hear you overthinking," Bruce's voice was fond.

Before I could muster up the courage to snark back, the divided doors opened, one very concerned Tony Stark standing there, armed with a tranquilizer gun in one hand and a pack of cookies in the other. His mouth, previously open to (probably) yell at us, remained as open when his eyes had registered the scene in front of him.

I stared at Bruce. Bruce stared at Tony.

"The noise," he offered in the way of explanation, dangling the pack of cookies, looking, for once - speechless. He recovered quickly, however, even if the remark was a thin ghost of his usual sass: "You pick the nerd over me? I'm hurt," he scoffed in mock irritation, although I was pretty sure I saw some satisfaction in there, too.

Bruce looked at me. I looked at Bruce.

A mischievous grin slowly crept up his face, an identical one beginning to appear on my own face seconds after.

"Hey, two nerds is better than one, right?" My response is what did it; or, rather, it was the evidence of my previous throat-fucking clearly audible in my voice... Tony dropped the cookies and then, the tranq gun.

Bruce Banner taglist: @pilloclock @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @mostly-marvel-musings @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @sapphicnoodle69 @couldntbedamned @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @tripleyeeet @tatestripedsweater @stuckybarton

[americasass91]

The Shield and the Sweater

Hello lovelies! This little fic came to me when the lovely, beautiful, talented @stargazingfangirl18​ asked a very important question on her blog. Would you rather be enemies to lovers with Steve Rogers or friends with benefits with Ransom Drysdale. Well my greedy ass wanted both. Thus the birth of this story. I also turned it around a little to make it fit into Siri’s 5k Soft Dark Challenge! I’ve never written anything dark before. Also not sure if this classifies as soft!dark or if it’s more dark. But it’s one of those! If that makes you uncomfortable, then please don’t read it. This is also my first time writing a threesome, so let me know if it sucks! I hope you enjoy it! 😘

General prompts:

8)The town golden boy isn’t as sweet as everyone thinks.

Dialogue prompts:

3)”Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

11)”I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.”

Rating: Explicit(if you’re under 18, please leave)

Words: 6.2k(this one got away from me, sorry)

Warnings: soft!dark/dark themes, unprotected sex, anal sex, vaginal sex, threesome(M/M/F), manipulation, language, model!Ransom being an asshole, Steve not being who you think he is

“And I really think if everyone pitches in to make these changes, it’ll really make a difference in the long run.”

Wow, so this is how you were going to die. In your whole 20 something years of existence, you never thought boredom would be your cause of death.

Sure, you were the lead Accountant at Stark Tower and these monthly meetings were mandatory. But did you really have to be here to listen to Rogers go on and on about how we can ‘improve our working environment’? Why did he even care anyway? He was barely ever here as it is.

You must have been zoning out worse than you thought because next thing you know your coworker, Janet, is poking you in the side and pointing towards Steve.

With a quick glare sent her way, you move your gaze to the Captain. He is giving you the same look he always does. Like he’s disgusted with you. “I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N. Am I boring you?”

A scoff escapes your mouth. “No, not at all Captain Rogers. I just love when people who are never here seem to always have an opinion on how things are run and how they could be better.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Do you have a problem with me, Y/N? Cause if you do, I’m sure there’s a way to solve that.”

You stand up and match his expression. You lean forward with your hands resting on the table. You can’t help but notice the Captain drops his gaze to your cleavage that’s now on more display than before. But just as quick as it was there, his gaze rises back up to meet your face. “Is that a threat, Captain Rogers?”

“Oh, it’s more than a-“

Tony quickly stands up and claps his hands together. “Okay! Meeting adjourned! You two, come here!”

You quickly straighten yourself up and make your way over to Tony. You always try to make sure you show him as much respect as you can. He’s your boss after all.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. My emotions got the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

He nods to you. “Thank you, Y/N. I accept your apology. But what I’m not understanding is why Steve here wanted to fire you?”

You both turn to look at Steve who has a sheepish expression on his face. “Yeah, sorry about that, Tony. She just seems to bring out this ugly side of me. I’ll try to keep it more contained next time.” He then moves his gaze to you. “Sorry, Y/N. I promise to be more professional moving forward.”

He makes a quick exit, leaving you shocked that he apologized at all. Ever since you started here almost a year ago now, you’ve been at each other’s throats. It was your fault really.

It was your first week and you were in the break room grabbing some coffee when you overheard a few of your coworkers making fun of Steve for being a virgin. Now, you weren’t sure if it was true but you wanted to fit in so you made your way over to the group and asked if anyone calls him Captain Virgin. That earned you some big laughs. But the laughter died down quickly as Steve entered the room to grab some coffee. Judging by the glare he gave you, he heard what you had called him.

You went straight to Tony after that to apologize. You really didn’t want to get fired. But you wanted to make sure Tony heard the story from you before Steve got the chance to talk to him. To your utter surprise, Tony found the name hilarious and gave you a high five, saying you were going to fit right in.

Well long story short, it’s almost a year later and Steve is still getting called Captain Virgin. Oh but don’t worry, he has names of his own for you. His favorite is Tony’s Pet. For some reason, it really eats at you when he calls you that.

But the one thing you hate the most about Steve?

Is how utterly, hopelessly, and desperately attracted you are to the son of a bitch.

That happened in your second week when you went to use the complimentary gym and saw him beating the shit out of some poor punching bag. Your panties and your workout were definitely ruined after that.

The more you fought with Steve, the more you just wanted him to bend you over any surface and have his way with you.  

It was despicable how horny you were for him. You were pretty sure all he’d have to do is snap his fingers and point to the floor in front of him and you’d happily drop to your knees and take him down your throat.

So that left you leaving work every day in a horny state. You started by taking care of it yourself when you got home. But after a while even that wasn’t cutting it. Then you started bringing home one night stands. But after the 4th disappointing non-orgasm, you gave up and just learned to live with it.

Sure, you could attempt to start being nice to Steve and maybe ask him out. But you were pretty sure he hated you. Plus you have way too much pride to actually do that.

So that leads to now. It’s Friday night and your workday is almost over. You’re inputting the last few numbers from the last expense report in your pile.

You get the last number put in when Janet approaches you. She sits on the corner of your desk. “So, you coming tonight?”

You take your glasses off and lean back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head. “Coming where?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Oh, come on Y/N! You know we go out almost every Friday night. You never come and you always say you will!”

You start to clear off your desk and put things back in their place. “Yeah well I could. Or I could go home and sit on my ass and do nothing.”

“Well, that explains why it’s looking a bit bigger lately.”

Janet’s jaw drops as she directs her gaze at Steve, who is now standing in front of your desk.

You smirk and lean on your elbows towards him. “You like looking at my ass, Rogers?”

He scoffs. “Well when it takes up that much space, it’s hard not to notice. But here, I came to give you this.”

He hands you what looks to be a 10 page expense report. “Sorry it’s late, I’ve been busy, you know. Saving the world.”

You ungraciously take it from him and throw it in your to-do pile. “That can wait until Monday. I’ve got plans. We’re going to-” you look towards Janet for clarification. “Lavo.” You turn your gaze back to Steve. “Yeah, we’re going to Lavo. So this will wait til Monday if that’s okay with you, sir.”

Steve does his best to move his bag and jacket subtly towards the front of his pants so you won’t notice his growing hard-on. He hates how turned on he gets when you guys get into it. And then you call him sir? Jesus. He clears his throat. “Of course, I'm the one who turned it in at the last minute.”

Janet speaks up quickly. “You could always come with us! It’ll be fun!”

You grin widely at him. “Yeah! You could finally get your cherry popped, Captain Virgin.”

Steve can’t help the blush that covers his cheeks. “Uh, I can assure you my cherry has been popped since the 40’s. But thank you for your concern. And thank you for the invite, Janet. But i think I’ll stay in tonight.” He takes out his phone and sends a quick text before turning around and walking towards the elevators.

Wow. He didn’t even try to retaliate. You shrug your shoulders and grab your purse before standing up. “Alright, I’ll go! But on one condition!”

Janet claps her hands in excitement and starts walking with you towards the elevators. “Sure, anything!”

You press the button for the lobby. “You are going to be my wingwoman. Cause this girl definitely needs to get laid.”

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Lavo is super packed by the time you guys arrive. Of course you all had to go home and change.

You decided to go with a simple, yet effective, little black dress that showed off just enough to get men’s attention.

Thankfully you are able to score the last table. The waiter comes over and gets everyone’s drink order. You decide to stick with your favorite. You don’t want to get too drunk on the off chance you find someone to take home.

About a half hour into hot office gossip, Lucy, who is sitting across from you, taps your arm. You raise your eyebrows in question towards her.

She subtly nods her head towards the bar. “Okay I’m pretty sure the hottest guy I have ever seen is checking you out.”

You can’t help the smirk that crosses your face. “Yeah? Which one?”

“You can’t miss him. He’s fucking hot. Like no comparison to any of the other dudes sitting up there.”

You glance down at your drink and quickly finish the remainder. You stand up and adjust your dress, pushing up your breasts in the process. “Well, then I guess it’s time for a refill.” You wink and turn to make your way towards the bar.

It doesn’t take long for you to spot him. And boy was Lucy not kidding. He was fucking hot. Brown hair, blue eyes, and a smug smirk that would normally turn you off. But on him it worked. And who even looks that good in a fucking cream colored cable knit?

You go up to the bar, not too close to Mr. Hottie of course, and patiently wait for the bartender.

Hottie McHothot not so subtly moves his gaze up and down your body. He must like what he sees. “Hey honey, have you ever raised chickens?”

Uh. That’s definitely not the first thing you expected to come out of his mouth. You look over at him with confusion on your face. “Uh, no. Why do you ask?”

He just shrugs his shoulders. “Just kinda figured you might. Cause you sure can raise a cock.”

Okay, you’ve definitely never heard that line before. You crack up. You’re pretty sure you even snorted on accident. Once you collect yourself you ask, “Has that line ever worked for you?”

The bartender makes his way over to take your order. After reordering what you had before, you turn towards Hottie and wait for his answer.

“Not sure, my buddy told it to me yesterday so this is the first time I’m using it. Did it work?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t know. It was pretty cheesy.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it got you to laugh. So I’d say mission accomplished. Name’s Ransom. What’s yours, pretty girl?” He holds out his hand for you to shake.

Ransom. Now where have you heard that name before? You accept his hand shake. You can’t help but notice how much bigger his hands are than yours. Jesus. You could already feel your panties getting wet.

“My name’s Y/N. Ransom, that sounds familiar. Do I know you?”

He releases your hand and goes to take a sip of his bourbon. “Well, I guess that depends. Do you read magazines or have you seen the side of the city bus lately?”

You quickly wrack your brain. You don’t read many magazines. But the bus drives by you everyday on your walk to work. Holy shit! That’s it! He’s in his underwear on the side of the bus. You’ve drooled over that picture plenty of times.

“Oh, yeah! I remember now! I’ve seen you on the bus! What’s it an ad for? I can never really get past the almost naked man. A bit distracting on my way to work.”

He smirks as he briefly glances down at your breasts. “I’m glad you know my work. It’s an ad for Calvin Klein. For their new line of men’s briefs. Sorry I’ve been a distraction.” He sends you a wink.

Fuck. He was a model. And a popular one at that if he’s in an ad for Calvin Klein.

“I didn’t say I minded. You can make it up to me you know.” You wink back. Holy shit. Were you really flirting with a model?

“Yeah? Well, how about we get out of here and I’ll show you a fully naked man.”

Okay. Cheesy line number 2. Was that really going to work on you?

Yes.

Yes it was.

“Let me just go grab my purse.”

Drink forgotten, you go back to your table as quickly as you can without looking desperate. “Sorry, girls. But this is where I leave you.”

Janet glances down at her phone. “We haven’t even been here an hour yet! Where are you going?”

You send her a wink. “I’m leaving with that guy! You guys know him! Remember that ad on the side of the bus?”

They all turn their gaze to him. And they all make it very obvious. He just waves and sends them a smirk.

“Holy fucking shit! That’s the new Calvin Klein guy! Oh my god you lucky bitch!”

“Wait! Listen. We’ll let you go on one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion. “Okay?”

Janet gives you a naughty smirk. “On Monday I’ll need a report on if they had to stuff his briefs to get that delicious looking bulge or not.”

You give her a naughty smirk of your own. “I can totally do that.”

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Monday morning you were all smiles as you stepped off the elevator and headed towards your desk. You give Janet a wink as you pass by her. She quickly makes her way over just as you sit down. “Um, excuse me hoe. But is that the same dress you were wearing Friday night?”

You quickly grab the cardigan you always keep in your desk out and put it on and button it up, attempting to look a little more professional. “Maybe.”

Janet opens her mouth in shock. “You stayed the whole weekend with him? You little slut! How was it?”

You turn on your computer and grab for the expense report of Steve’s you left in your to-do pile. Then you turn towards your nosy coworker. “Well, if you must know, yes. I did stay the whole weekend with him. And I’m pretty sure I was in an orgasm-induced coma the whole time. It’s all kind of a rough, sticky, mind-blowing blur.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

You shrug your shoulders as you put in your login information on the computer. “I haven’t decided yet. While the sex was the best I’ve ever had, he’s kind of an ass. Talked about himself and all the famous people he’s hooked up with since becoming a model. I honestly kept initiating sex just to make him shut up.”

She gives you a look like you’re stupid. “I’m not seeing the issue here. So what if he talks about himself a lot? The sex was amazing. You need to lock that down girl.”

You roll your eyes at her. “That’s the thing, Janet. He doesn’t do relationships. He told me so multiple times. Plus I’m pretty sure he was texting another chick in between our ‘sessions’. I suppose if I’m desperate, I’ll get a hold of him.”

“You know you could always just have him on backup for sex. Like a friends with benefits situation.”

“Janet, I’m in my late 20s. I’m too old for that kind of relationship.”

“Exactly, you’re in your late 20s! This is the perfect time for that kind of relationship before you settle down and get married! Have one last final hoorah!”

“I can’t have this conversation before caffeine. I’m going to get coffee. You act like I’m dying soon or something.” You turn to walk away but then remember you were supposed to tell her something. “Oh yeah and by the way. The bulge is definitely not stuffed.”

You give her a wink and then head to the break room for some much needed coffee. When you see who’s in there, you almost contemplate going downstairs to a different break room.

Steve is standing at the counter, preparing his coffee. He turns when he hears you come in and gives you a once over. “Well, look what the cat dragged in.”

You grab a mug out of the cabinet beside him. “Sorry my appearance isn’t up to your standards today, Rogers. I was a little...busy this weekend.”

He takes a sip of his coffee to make sure it’s right. Then he moves out of your way so you can get to the coffee, but still staying close. “Busy getting run over by a truck? Cause that’s kind of what you look like.”

You pour yourself a generous amount of coffee and take a long sip, letting the bitter liquid slowly make you human. “Yeah, well. I was busy getting fucked all weekend, Rogers. But I know your little innocent mind wouldn’t know what that’s like.”

That wipes the stupid little smirk right off his face. He almost looks pissed. He moves even closer to you. Almost pressing himself right up against you. So close that you can smell his coffee-scented breath. If you were wearing panties, they’d be ruined.

“Not all of us feel the need to sleep around. Some of us are looking for a real connection. Not just a one night stand of meaningless, mediocre sex.”

You press yourself just a little closer to him, his chest now touching yours. “Oh, it was anything but mediocre. Maybe if you actually got some, you’d know what that feels like.”

He leans his head down until his mouth is next to your ear, his left hand now resting on your hip. “You really need to stop insinuating that I’m a virgin sweetheart. If you were nicer to me, I’d show you that I know how to fuck.” With that he backs up and heads out of the break room.

You let out the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Jesus Christ. You swear you almost came.

And if you were nicer to him? Fuck him. He’s not nice to you either. That’s okay. You have someone who can scratch this itch.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text.

To: Fuckboi

You busy tonight? I could really use a release.

The reply came almost immediately.

From: Fuckboi

Didn’t get enough of my cock this weekend huh? I suppose I could make myself available.

You roll your eyes and quickly reply with your address and what time to be over.

The rest of the day passes by slowly. It takes you half the day to enter Steve’s expense report. God he’s descriptive. At least it’s completed. You can’t really say that much for the other Avengers. They usually half assed them and made them barely acceptable.

You are shutting down for the day when Steve approaches your desk. You remove your glasses and look at him expectantly. “Is there something I can help you with, Steve?”

A blush creeps it’s way across his cheeks. “Um, I was actually just wondering if you had time to go over the new expense report forms? They should be a lot easier to fill out.”

You glance down at the clock on your computer. Ransom is going to be at your place in about 20 minutes.“Can we do it tomorrow? I have company that’ll be showing up at my apartment in like 20 minutes.”

His hopeful smile falls. His face is now unreadable. “Would your company happen to be whoever you spent the weekend with?”

Confused, you grab for your purse after getting your computer shut down. “Actually, yes. Should I have asked your permission first?” You attempt a joke to ease the sudden tension.

He pulls out his phone and starts typing furiously. Wow. You weren’t aware he knew how to text. You hear it ping with a reply before he angrily puts it back in his pocket. “Sure, we can do this tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of your whoreing around.”

Your jaw drops in surprise. Sure you guys were always throwing jabs at each other. But he’d never said anything like this before. And in such a mean tone.

You round your desk and stand right in front of him. “Fuck you, Steve.”

You hurry towards the elevators before he can see the tears that have welled up. You couldn’t let him know he had that power over you. Asshole. Thank god Ransom was coming over. Hopefully he could fuck what Steve just said right out of your head.

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

You’ve lost count of how many orgasms Ransom has pulled from you with his mouth when there’s a knock on your door.

Ransom looks up at you from his kneeling position on your living room floor. “Did you invite someone else to join us, pretty girl?”

You scoff and push him away so you can stand up. You pull your dress down as you make your way towards the door. “Yeah. I can barely handle just you. I’m pretty sure if we added someone else, I’d actually die.”

You open the door and gasp in surprise. ���Steve? What are you doing here?”

He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Look, I know you probably already have company but I felt really bad about what I said to you earlier today and wanted to apologize.”

You have so many questions. “How did you know where I lived?”

That sheepish smile makes its appearance again. “I may or may not have looked in your employee file.”

You shake your head. “And you felt the need to come all the way here and apologize? Why not just text me?”

“It would only have felt right to me to do it in person. I really am sor-”

You feel a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. “Well, who do we have here? Why is Captain America at your door?”

You turn your head to address Ransom. “He just came by to apologize to me. I think he was just leaving.”

Steve has a disappointed look on his face. “Yeah, I suppose I was.”

“Awe, what a shame. I thought you were gonna ask him to join us, pretty girl.”

Steve’s eyes grow wide at the thought. You quickly speak up. “No, I don’t think he’d be comfortable with that. He’s a little old fashioned.” You give him a sincere smile. You didn't think that was a bad thing.

Steve looks back towards the elevators and then back to you. He clears his throat. “What if I wanted to join you?” Seeing your wide eyed look, he quickly adds, “Only if Y/N would be comfortable with that of course.”

You contemplate what the consequences could be in your head. But then you get distracted when Ransom starts grinding his hard on against your ass. “Come on, pretty girl. Make a decision.”

The next word comes out of your mouth faster than what your brain can process. “Okay.”

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

Now you were standing awkwardly in your bedroom with Steve and Ransom looking at you expectantly.

You’ve never done this before so you’re not sure how this is supposed to go. “So, um. How do we start exactly?”

Ransom smirks and comes up behind you. “I think you should call the shots, pretty girl. If you’re okay with that, Steve?”

With the mention of his name, he walks towards you and places his hands on your hips. “I think that’s a great idea. Can I kiss you now?” He places his hand under your chin and raises your face up to meet his. “I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetheart.” With that, his lips meet yours. It’s explosive. You quickly wrap your hands around his neck and press yourself up against him.

You get so lost in the kiss, you forget that Ransom is there. That is until he presses his lips against your neck and presses himself against your ass. It presses you even further against Steve, making you feel his excitement against your lower belly.

You’re so overwhelmed already and you’d barely started. You may not survive this evening.

As you move your hands down to remove Steve’s shirt, Ransom is unzipping your dress, pressing kisses to every inch of exposed skin.

Without breaking the kiss, Steve moves his hands around to unhook your bra so he can get his hands on your breasts. He pinches your nipples, causing you to moan into his mouth. He moves his lips to your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

After successfully removing your dress, Ransom stands back up and turns your head to connect your lips. He starts rutting his clothed hard on against your naked ass. His left hand reaches around to bat one of Steve’s away so he can squeeze your breast.

Steve takes the hand that had been swatted away and moves it down to your soaking wet core. He starts lightly circling your clit. Just enough pressure to make you mewl.

You reach behind you with your left hand and tug at the waistband of Ransom’s briefs. “Off.” You moan out as you take your right hand and start attempting to take off Steve’s jeans. He smirks into your neck and helps you out. He barely gets them unbuttoned and unzipped before you’re reaching your hand into them and his boxers to grab his cock. It feels big.

Ransom grabs your left hand and places it on his now free cock. You wrap your hand around it and give it a squeeze before you start pumping your hand up and down. You do the same to Steve’s, making the both of them let out grunts against both sides of your neck. Steve increases the pressure on your clit a little. Still not enough.

“Nee-need, you. Please.” You weakly moan out. Ransom moves his mouth up to your ear. “How do you want us, pretty girl?”

You reluctantly pull away from both of them so you can think. You decide to be greedy. You point to Steve. “I want you to lay on the bed, please.”

He does as you ask. Putting his hands behind his head as he awaits further instructions.

You get on the bed and straddle him. You turn around and reach your arm out for Ransom. “Want you behind me.” You lean over and open your bedside drawer to grab the lube and toss it at Ransom. He smirks as he straddles Steve’s legs and gets behind you. He uncaps the lube and starts coating his cock with a generous amount. “Need my cock in that ass, pretty girl?”

You hold up your hand. “Wait.” You lean down towards Steve and give him a quick kiss. “Are you okay with this?”

He nods his head. “As long as you are.” You raise back up and smile at him. You turn your head and look at Ransom. “I’m assuming you're okay with this?”

He just smirks and squeezes some lube out so that it slides down the crack of your ass. “More than okay, pretty girl. Need me to stretch you out first?”

You smirk and pull him in for a quick, filthy kiss. “I think it got plenty stretched out this weekend.”

He matches your smirk. “You little slut. Wanting both of our cocks stuffing you full.”

You whimper as he lands a smack on your ass. Leaning up on your knees, you grab a hold of Steve’s cock and start running his tip up and down your folds. He places his left hand on your right hip and his right hand on your left thigh. “Condom?”

You quickly shake your head and pause your actions. “On the pill. Unless of course you’d be more comfortable with one.”

He shakes his head. “No, just making sure.”

You turn back to Ransom. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready for you.”

He nods and places his hands on your shoulders, waiting somewhat patiently.

You slowly sink down on Steve’s cock. He’s stretching you out so deliciously. It burns in just the right way. Ransom may be longer, but Steve is definitely thicker.

After you get fully seated on him, you take a minute to adjust. It only takes a few seconds. You turn your head towards Ransom. “Okay, I’m ready.”

He removes his right hand from your shoulder and grabs the base of his cock and starts pressing against the tight ring of muscle. He’d been in there a lot over the weekend. But it was still a tight fit regardless. He doesn’t go as slow and sheaths himself to the hilt, causing you to moan out in slight pain and pleasure.

Holy fuck. You feel so full. You think you might die. That is until Ransom removes his cock until just the tip remains and then forcefully thrust back in, causing you to grind on Steve’s dick.

Steve grunts out from the movement and starts thrusting up into you the best he can from his position. Ransom wraps his left arm around you and continues his thrusts, not letting up his pace. You don’t even really have to move, the both of them doing it for you. They somehow find the perfect rhythm. Each of them pulling out and pushing in at the same time. One of your hands is behind you, resting on the back of Ransom’s head while the other is resting on Steve’s chest.

Steve sits up suddenly and pulls you in for a kiss. “Like being stuffed with both of our cocks, pretty girl?” You hear from behind you. “Yes. So good. So full. Gonna cum.”

Ransom removes his arm from around you and reaches down and starts circling your clit. “Do it. Cum all over us. Make a mess.”

Steve can feel you squeezing him. “Please, sweetheart. Need to feel you cum on my cock. You’re gripping me so good.”

You explode. You clamp your eyes shut, seeing stars behind your eyelids. You let the both of them fuck you through it.

Ransom’s hips stutter. The fluttering around his cock is too good. He cums with a shout of your name, filling up your ass to the brim. He gives you a few more thrusts before he pulls out and collapses beside you two.

Steve’s been patient while you come down from your high. He lays back down, pulling you with him so that your chest to chest. He bends his knees and grabs onto your hips. “You ready, sweetheart?” You raise up, both of your hands on each side of his head. You give him a nod.

That’s all he needs. He starts fucking you, hard and fast, chasing his release. He can feel it building. He just needs to feel you come undone around him again. He moves one of his hands and starts circling your clit with his thumb. “Need you to cum for me again, Y/N.”

You shake your head. “Can’t. Too much.”

Ransom sits up beside you. “I know what she needs.” He reaches over with his left hand and wraps it around your throat, squeezing gently.

It makes you clench down on Steve’s cock. “Yeah? That all you needed, sweetheart? A hand wrapped around your pretty throat? I know you like it. Can feel you squeezing me.” He picks up his pace. The only sounds that can be heard are his grunts, your breathy monas, and skin slapping against skin.

It doesn’t take long for your orgasm to hit you. This one is somehow even more intense than the last.

You must’ve blacked out for a few seconds because the next thing you know, you’re waking up in between Steve and Ransom.

Steve smiles down at you. “There she is. We lost you for a second, sweetheart.”

You feel drunk. You smile goofily up at him. “Did you cum?”

Just as you ask that, you can feel his release seeping out of your overused cunt. Then you feel cum leaking out of your ass. You hide your face behind your hands in embarrassment. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

Ransom removes one hand while Steve removes the other. “Nuh uh uh. No hiding allowed, pretty girl. I have no regrets.” He looks at Steve. “Do you?”

Steve smiles down at you and leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips. “None from me. You tired, sweetheart?”

You let out a big yawn and nod your head, slowly closing your eyes. “Get some rest, pretty girl.” That’s the last thing you hear before sleep takes you.

😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈😈

You wake up sometime in the early morning, stretching out your sore limbs. You know you have a dumb smile on your face. But you can’t help but notice your empty bed.

You sit up and hiss at the deliciously sore feeling between your legs. You grab your robe and slip it on. You can smell coffee coming from the kitchen. You giddily make your way out of the room and down the hallway. They both barely just come into view, still unaware you’re there, when you hear Steve speak.

“I thought you were going to be an asshole to her? Make her see I’m not that bad.”

You hear Ransom next. “I was an asshole to her. I’m sorry I dicked her down so good that she wanted more.”

Steve scoffs. “I never gave you the okay to fuck her!”

“You also didn’t tell me it was off limits. Look you got what you wanted right?”

“No, actually I didn’t. I didn’t pay you so we could have a threesome together.”

What the fuck? Steve paid Ransom to help him get in your pants?

“Ok, how about this? I’ll give you all of your money back if I can fuck her one more time before I go? Then we’ll be squared away.”

Steve seems to be conflicted. “Fine! But this is the last time Ransom. I have to get to work anyway. After this, she’s mine. And make sure she’s not late for work herself.”

Before you have time to react, Steve rounds the corner and sees you standing there. He has a deer caught in headlights look. Ransom comes up beside him and sees you. “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.”

You slowly start backing up towards your bedroom. Steve moves towards you, stopping once you put your hands up. “Stay away from me! Both of you! I want nothing to do with either of you!”

Ransom moves past Steve and grabs onto your arms. “Oh, please. You’d fuck us again if we wanted. Wouldn’t you?”

You spit in his face. “Fuck you, Hugh.”

He gets a sinister look on his face. “Wrong move, pretty girl.” He looks toward Steve. “Don’t worry, I’ll fuck the brat out of her. You better tell her boss she won’t be in today.”

Your eyes go wide at his words. You start thrashing against him, trying your best to get away. Steve has had enough. He comes over and yanks you away from him and presses you against the wall. “You better calm down, sweetheart. I’ll treat you like a princess if you can be my good girl. Can you do that?”

You shake your head. “Why would you think I’d want anything to do with you after finding out you paid someone to help get into my pants?”

He gives you an evil smirk. “Because if you don’t, I’ll just have to release the tape of last night on the internet. Let everyone see how much of a slut you actually are.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re bluffing.”

He smirks and turns his head towards Ransom. “Show her.”

Ransom gets his phone out of his pocket and swipes at the screen for a second before turning it in your direction.

Holy shit. They weren’t bluffing. There you were, getting fucked by the both of them. That would ruin you if it got out. Not only would you get fired, but your parents would probably disown you. You’d never have a normal relationship again. You’re fucked. Even more than you were last night. How had you not noticed they were recording it?

Ransom must have read your mind. “I set my phone up while you were busy with Steve’s fingers on your cunt and his tongue down your throat. I think you need to ask her again Steve.”

Steve grabs your chin and moves your gaze onto his face. “I’ll ask you again. Are you going to be my good girl? Let Ransom fuck you one more time and then it’ll just be me and you?”

You drop your gaze to the floor. You feel a tear run down your cheek as you whisper out, “I’ll be your good girl.”

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