#me at every one woman show i was ever forced to watch for my degree

[mummer]

have never seen myself in a character more than lestat at a show watching a performer be slightly wrong or amateurish and seething with hateful murderous rage and killing them badly. Me watching community theatre.

[malleleothreesome]

Stage Sex - Fellow Honest x Fem Reader (Part One)

🌟 summary: Fellow convinces you to become his latest star, taking your virginity shibari style in front of a live audience. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: afab fem reader. Porn with plot – if the plot is him convincing you to partake in the porn. I didn't write this with the intent of it being dubcon (in my mind, reader is a willing participant, and I never describe her as otherwise), but please err on the side of caution if you're sensitive to that. It's starring Fellow Honest, after all – he comes prepackaged with manipulation skills. He does use a bit of his UM after reader already consents, and I refer to his magic as hypnosis, playing into the fact that you're obedient to him and he can use you as he pleases. There is a MAJOR VOYEURISM theme to this. He calls you names like "good girl", "slut" and "whore". In part 1 he helps bring you to clitoral orgasm for the first time while he jerks himself off. Also a few lines of cunnilingus and some fingering. Shibari bondage starts in part 2, additional warnings will be listed there. Please let me know in the comments if I missed a warning or tag idk I haven't written something of this caliber before. ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 7.2k words because I'm DERANGED ༶༶༶ 🌟 song: Carousel - Melanie Martinez "And it's all fun and games... 'til somebody falls in love"

Fellow Honest’s tail swung back and forth. He had certainly done his research, and all of that hard work would finally pay off. He watched as you entered the theme park, skulking in the shadows behind the rest of the students. You struck him as an outcast—no friends, no family. A beautiful girl from another world, with a figure that would make even the Gods themselves lust after. The only magicless human girl at the all boy’s magic college. Nothing to lose. How perfect.

“Hello, Miss…?” Fellow’s eyebrow raises as he tilts his head, leaning towards you on his cane. His calculated, fox-like eyes drink in every inch of you. Extending his right arm out to you, he welcomes your hand into his.

“Y/N,” you answer, a bit startled at his overt friendliness. Yet, you allow his white satin glove to grasp firmly around your hand. 

“What a lovely name for such a breathtaking woman.” He bows forward to kiss your hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. In one swift motion, he turns toward his amusement park, wipes his mouth clean of your touch, and proudly waves his arm in the air to show off his property. 

“Miss Y/N! Welcome to Playfulland!” he boasts. He turns back toward you, weaseling his way deeper into your personal space. “It is an incredibly rare occasion to welcome someone as beautiful as you into my humble little park.”

You dismiss his praise with a flick of your palm and a shake of your head, desperately hoping not to blush. “Oh, no need to be so modest, dear. A shape like yours could make any man fall in love. I doubt the students at the college are the only ones that appreciate it.” A sly smile is plastered on his face while his eyes continue to look you up and down with intention. Your mind runs wild as you try not to absolutely melt into his praise. “Are you sure you’re not a talking doll? It’s a marvel that a woman so flawless could exist.”

You smile softly and look to the ground, cheeks burning. You tuck a strand of hair awkwardly behind your ear, stalling for composure. How are you supposed to respond to a handsome, magnetic stranger saying all the right things? Not a single soul has spoken so highly of you since you found yourself trapped in this world, forced to attend Night Raven College. Your growing ego leaves you no choice but to soak it all in.

“Tell me, Miss Y/N. Have you ever thought about becoming a performer?” He doesn’t pause to let you answer. “Why waste your valuable early 20’s by studying and attending lectures and surrounding yourself with pathetic boys? Women as blessed as you are don’t need a degree. Surely a wealthy man can care for you far beyond a measly degree. And while you wait for him, why not fill your days with fame, riches, and adoration from performing on my stage?”

You stand in a stunned silence. This guy isn’t holding anything back, is he? Charm and charisma ooze from each syllable, making your heart race. It feels a little wrong, basking in the praise of a stranger like this. But you feel beyond lonely and underappreciated at NRC. You long to feel wanted and cared about. Why not give this attractive, complimentary man a chance?

Before you know it, the fox beastman's arms are wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how rude I am!" he exclaims. "I haven't even given you my name."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." With a quick spin of his heels, he steps back and bows, taking your hand once again. "The name's Fellow Honest, owner of Playfulland." He lifts his head, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "But please, you're welcome to call me whatever you'd like." He winks.

You could have sworn you felt a physical spark. Suddenly lightheaded, you pull your hand from his grasp, heart pounding in your chest. You can't take your eyes off him. You can't tell if your nervous system is trying to tell you to run towards or away from him. The longer you stare into his fire-orange eyes, the weaker your knees feel. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of his body—is his perfume made of magic? 

Something inside of you urges you to step away and re-evaluate. "Uh... I should probably get back to my friends," you stammer, trying to get your legs to move. "I'm sure they're wondering where I went. Thank you for the, uh, offer, though. I’ll think about it."

Fellow's arm is suddenly around your waist yet again, his fingers pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulls you close. Your eyes widen and your breathing hitches as you make contact with his chest. You feel his lips brush against your ear, and he whispers, "I have to insist, my dear. My employees are quite skilled, but you'd be the best thing that has graced my stage in years. It would be an honor to have someone of your caliber work for me."

His proximity. His hot breath on your ear. His possessive touch digging into the soft skin of your back. You feel a familiar flutter deep in between your thighs—you like this. You want to protest, to push him away, but the electricity between you is hypnotizing. His aroma—sweet wine and fresh roses—only adds to the spell, drowning out all logic and giving way to your body’s desperate pleas to take the lead.

"I have an office inside the theater where we can discuss this further, if you'd like," he purrs, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "And please, take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay the night. We have luxurious rooms available—a small taste of the lifestyle you’d have if you make the right choice. I'll have someone escort you back to campus if you change your mind."

Your eyes dart around, desperately looking for a familiar face—a way out. Where the Hell did Ace go?! What about Leona or Trey–surely your upperclassmen should have stuck around to make sure the only magically defenseless student isn’t being taken advantage of by any sexy, suspicious strangers. Not to mention the fact that you’re the only girl at school. Chivalry must be extinct in Twisted Wonderland. You feel your heart drop: maybe they never cared about you at all.

Fellow's tail flicks in excitement as he watches your expression. Your eyes are wide and panicked, and he can sense your desperation. He smothers his own smile as your body language slowly indicates defeat. How utterly effortless! He has you right where he wants you. You're his to play with, and no one is there to stop him.

"Come now, dear, it won't hurt to indulge a little," Fellow coos sweetly. Your brain short circuits, blocking all thoughts unrelated to the electrifying feeling of his slender fingers dancing along your waistline. "You're already here! Why not stay and have some fun?" His lips find their way to your neck and you let out a soft gasp as a pulsing warmth radiates from your cunt.

"Fine," you finally whisper.

Fellow chuckles victoriously against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "I knew you’d be such a good girl." He spins you around, the sexual tension forcibly dissipating as he rips you from your lascivious thoughts and begins walking you down the cobblestone path. His hand rests on the small of your back, and his cane taps merrily against the concrete as you go. Your mind is still reeling from the shocking exchange, and you can barely match his pace as he escorts you to the grand theater. 

You stifle a blush as you hear park goers whisper amongst themselves, eyes glued on you, mouths falling open. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity?”

“She looks like a supermodel,” a woman chimes in, her tone covetous. 

Fellow would never waste an opportunity for free advertisement. He turns his head toward the group as you both keep walking. “Stick around ‘til after dark and you might just see this beauty show it all off on my grand stage!” He shouts, waving his cane in the air. 

The two of you enter the theater and Fellow wastes no time leading you up the stairs toward a private hallway. His hand never leaves your waist. You pass several doors before reaching a pair of large, heavy wooden doors, which Fellow opens with ease.

You can't help but gawk at the size of his office. A massive, ornate wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, flanked by shelves lined with books and trinkets. There's a fireplace and two plush leather couches, as well as a small bar in the corner of the room.

"Please, make yourself at home," Fellow says as he closes the door behind him. He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with two glasses. You perch on one of the leather couches and he joins you, placing the wine and glasses on the table in front of you. As you inspect his office, you can't help but feel drawn to a mannequin adorned with a gorgeous bejeweled brassiere and matching pants—if there’s enough coverage to even call them that. Your faces heat up, and you quickly turn away.

"Beautiful, isn't it? One of my favorites," Fellow says, following your gaze. "Unfortunately, no one has had the pleasure of modeling it just yet." He furrows his brows in disappointment. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and begins to pour. "Maybe tonight will be the night. How lucky for me that I have the perfect model."

Something is starting to feel very exciting about all of this. You’ve never had an opportunity to wear such a costume. After being enrolled in Night Raven College only because Crowley didn't know what else to do with you, being here is starting to feel quite freeing. And the way Fellow looks at you… you’ve never felt more attractive. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, gifting you the courage and desire to be exactly who he believes you to be.

"Would you like to try it on?"

The question catches you off guard. He's now looking smugly at you. Your cheeks flush red, but you hold eye contact.

"Wh-what?"

"The outfit, Darling," Fellow says, nodding his head toward the mannequin. "You can try it on if you'd like." You take a long sip of red wine, savoring the smooth fruitiness. It immediately goes to your head, and you can't help but down the rest of it.

"Come now, Love," Fellow says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We both know what you want."

You stare at the outfit and then back at him. Your whole body feels like it's on fire. This is a bad idea, right? Or is it?

"Okay," you say, almost surprising yourself.

Fellow claps his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Don't worry, I'm a gentleman—I'll look away while you get changed."

You make your way over to the mannequin, wobbling a bit from the alcohol. The bra is a dark purple while the jewels are varying shades of blue, making the whole outfit glitter like the night sky. The "pants" are a matching, dark purple lace thong, with ribbon and jewel embellishments. There is a sparkling, sheer miniskirt attached, more of an accentuation than actual coverage. You reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at how silky it feels. It's so sexy. Imagining yourself wearing it on stage in front of thousands of people, with everyone staring at you, craving you, makes you a bit wet with excitement. Maybe you do want this.

You look at Fellow one more time to ensure he’s not peeping.

Reader, take note that Fellow is, in fact, peeping—through his pocket mirror that he is blocking with his body. He’s far too good at this. 

Feeling secure, you unbutton your uniform blazer, letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor. You undo the buttons of your shirt next, slowly exposing your bare chest. 

Fellow bites his lip as he stares into the mirror, watching in awe as you undress. Your body is even more incredible than he could have imagined. 

You slip off your shorts and underwear next, leaving you completely naked except for your bra. Your hands fumble a bit as you unhook the costume, letting it fall to the floor. 

Fellow feels his pants tighten. 

You can feel yourself getting more aroused, the excitement of being naked in a room with a stranger—soon to show off a revealing costume—starts to go to your head. You grab the brassiere off the mannequin, throwing your arms through the loops, eager to see if you look as good in it as you hope you will. 

Fellow takes his sweet time watching in the pocket mirror. He grins, pleased with your inexperience, watching carefully so that he can see every inch of your struggle, savoring in it. “Oh, how easy this is,” he thinks.

After finally finding the right combination of hooks and clasps, you manage to get the brassiere fastened. You gasp softly, feeling the cool jewels press against your nipples through sheer fabric. You can't help but feel like it was made specially for you. The way it pulls your boobs together to create perfect, plump cleavage gives you actual pride. You shimmy the panties on next, loving the way the lacy fabric rubs against your clit as you pull the thong taut against your hips—a tingling reminder that your body is desperate for any sort of friction that may be interpreted as pleasure. You give your ass a little shake as you put on the skirt, reveling in how good the material feels as it brushes against your bare skin. Engrossed in your own experience, you’re completely unaware that you're giving Fellow quite the show. 

He can't help but lick his lips, reaching down to massage his groin through his slacks. 

You spin around and strike a pose for your imaginary crowd, feeling powerful. 

"Are you ready, my love?" Fellow asks, startling you out of your daydream. 

He pockets his mirror and adjusts the front of his pants, trying to disguise his erection as best he can.

"I'm ready."

"Show me what you've got," he says. You both turn around to face each other and he gasps, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.

"My goodness, darling," he whispers. "You're exquisite."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel like the sexiest woman alive. You take a step forward, heart pounding in your chest. Fellow stands up, taking his cane in his hand. He walks over to you and stalks circles around you, gazing up and down as though inspecting merchandise. You yelp as his cold, hard cane smacks your ass.

Finally he stops directly in front of you, meeting your gaze once again. "Oh, Darling, you're an absolute vision." He cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across your lips. He wears a sinister smile, and you feel your mouth run dry as you finally realize how sharp his fangs are. You're almost certain he can tell how turned on you are right now.

He pulls away to replenish your wine glass.

"I can't wait to see you dance, my dear. You're going to be a star." He gazes dramatically into the distance, waving his hand like he’s envisioning your name written in dazzling lights. He hands you the full glass and you gulp it down greedily, eager for the liquid courage. You don't even care that this man is a total stranger—it actually makes it hotter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fellow says. He stands up and walks over to the mannequin, opening a drawer next to it and grabbing a matching set of lacy thigh highs. He kneels down in front of you, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he slips the stockings onto your feet. He repeats the process on your other leg, taking his time to run his hands up and down your thighs.

You bite your lip and look away, feeling embarrassed by how wet you are. He's so close to where you want him to touch you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stand this before giving in and doing something you might later regret.

Fellow stands up, his hands gliding up your legs as he does. He gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up so you're forced to look at him.

"What a naughty little minx," he whispers. "You're practically dripping." He smirks, once again bearing his fangs in the process.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink.

Fellow laughs. "Oh, there's no use hiding it, love. I can smell it." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal. "It’s heavenly."

God dammit. You can't help but throw your head back in frustration from being outed so easily. Never underestimate a beastman's sense of smell.

He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, making his way back to the bar. "I'll make sure you're properly taken care of." He refills his glass and downs it. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait until he's inside you.

You try to get back on track to a more... professional topic. "So, is this the type of outfit I would wear if I were to perform?" You try to sound as innocent as possible.

Fellow laughs a slow, deranged, almost maniacal laugh that makes your skin crawl. "Oh, no, darling. Outfits like these are reserved for the backup dancers. With the plans I have for you, you'll be wearing far less." He sets his wine glass on his desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out a roll of thin, dark brown rope. Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks toward you, unraveling the rope as he goes.

You stumble backwards instinctively and even in your drunken haze, you start trying to take note of your surroundings and look for the exit. "Is this a joke?" you ask, trying to sound as calm as possible. "You know you don't need to tie me up if you want me to stay, right?" You try your best to reason with him and hope to God you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"Oh, I'm not tying you up to get you to stay, Miss Y/N." He puts on his most pleasant and agreeable facial expression, lips contorting into an innocent cat-like smile, eyes crinkled as he feigns benevolence. "It smells to me like you'd do that all on your own. Am I correct?" He tilts his head toward you and gazes into your soul with piercing, knowing eyes. 

He makes a show of walking over to the door and opening it, waving his hand through the open air of the doorframe. "Make no mistake, I'm certainly not forcing you to stay here. You are welcome to leave right now. I'll even let you keep the outfit, if you’d like." He gives you a knowing smirk and continues to hold the door open.

You gulp, feeling the familiar heat between your thighs grow stronger. Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible rationalization to feel safe staying—anything to get your pussy the relief it deserves. If he really was a predator—you try to reason with yourself—you'd probably be dead by now. And he was right, you do feel like you could get off, just from being tied up. Your body seems to be the decision-maker here, and it’s telling you to stay.

You shake your head at his offer. "No, I'm good."

"Wonderful," he purrs, his expression darkening. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, letting the thud of the door ricochet through your body. "Now then! The reason I am tying you up is for your performance. Just a few short hours until showtime!" He steps forward, closing the gap between you. He runs his fingertips down your bare arm, stopping to wrap them around your wrist. You shiver at his touch, your body instinctively leaning toward him, yearning for more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment and arousal. You don't understand how he's able to turn you on so easily.

"You see, my dear," Fellow begins, his voice soft and seductive, "I'm not the only one who's been watching you hungrily." You feel his hot breath on your neck as he brings his lips close to your ear. "Believe me, Doll, they're going to love what they see." He takes your hand in his and places it on the bulge in his pants. His cock throbs beneath his clothes and your eyes widen at how big he is.

"I'm not just a magician, but a master of hypnosis as well," he elucidates. 

He's never before been so forthcoming in his whole career, but there's just something about you that makes him want to be upfront. 

Truthfully, he hasn't had to use any hypnosis magic at all to persuade you. No, you wanted this on your own. Despite your innocence and reluctance—you wanted him. His cold heart skips a beat at the thought. He releases your hand and once again cups your cheek. He pushes a thumb past your lips and forces you to suck on it. A deep moan escapes his lips as the sensation of your soft tongue against his thumb runs straight to his aching loins. Removing his thumb from your mouth, he slides it down your chin, tracing your jawline before moving to your neck. You arch your back and press your body against his, feeling the tip of his thumb press along your jugular, sending chills down your spine.

"And I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect little hypnotized whore." You shudder as his tongue traces the side of your neck—it feels so good. He continues to drag his tongue up to your ear, and you moan loudly as he suckles your earlobe. Your knees are giving out, so you wrap your arms around him for support. "That's the beauty of my magic, love. No prior experience necessary. I'll ensure you put on the show of a lifetime. Simply allow yourself to enjoy the ride." You whimper softly, unable to form coherent thoughts or speak intelligibly, too caught up in the way he's pleasuring you.

"But don't worry, Love," he says, his voice low and raspy. "You'll still remember everything when we're done."

Your head is dizzy, trying desperately to process his every word. You can't stop yourself from moaning as his hands continue to explore. As far as the current circumstances go, nothing matters, as long as he’s making you feel this damn good. He takes his time groping and squeezing wherever—and whatever—he can get his greedy hands on, relishing in the opportunity to touch your perfect frame.

Looking into your eyes, he's suddenly overcome with emotion—unusual for him. This isn't something he's ever done with his employees, but there is a twinge in his chest willing him to do it. Perhaps—just this once—he can deviate from the script. Fellow hungrily crashes his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. You melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him entry. You feel yourself losing control as he dominates your mouth, exploring every inch with his tongue. You grip onto his hair, pulling him closer. His fangs lightly graze your bottom lip and it makes you shiver. The way he kisses you is so possessive and needy, and it's driving you wild. You've never been kissed like this before. His hands travel down your body and grip your ass tightly, causing you to yelp. Your hands claw at his blue coat and green vest, desperately trying to remove his clothes so you can feel his bare skin. He growls into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod in response, gasping when he suddenly pulls away. Seeing how needy you are, he smirks, delighted at how much you want him.

"Oh, Darling. Why don't you save that for the audience?" he teases. "You're going to put on a good show for them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. I promise I'll make you proud," you gasp, feeling even more aroused by his words.

"That's a good girl." Fellow paces the room, circling you like a vulture. You can feel his eyes on you and can't help but squirm under his gaze. He grabs the rope from earlier, stopping right in front of you. His cane appears in his grasp, seemingly out of thin air. "Such a perfect little slut, so eager to please. I bet you'd do anything I asked you to, wouldn't you?" he asks, spinning his cane with the flick of his fingers, utilizing his hypnosis magic for the first time that day. He needs to ensure your loyalty lies with him.

"Yes." You answer without reluctance.

Fellow's cane magically disappears from his hand. "Such a good little whore." He takes a strand of your hair in his fingers and twirls it before gently tucking it behind your ear. "Now, a few more formalities before we get you ready for the stage. Shall we?" You flinch at the sound of him smacking the rope against the floor, like he's trying to command a circus animal.

Your mind is fuzzy, body practically burning with desire—you don't even notice him guiding you to his desk. He bends you over the hard wood, your breasts and stomach pressing against the cool surface. He presses his body against yours, his erection grinding between your ass cheeks, and you can't help but moan. Fellow rips off his gloves, tossing them aside. His right hand snakes around your body and reaches into your panties, his fingers rubbing against your wet clit. He slips a finger inside you—finally.

"My, my…" he whispers. "So wet for me already. You’ll look so beautiful when you're on stage for everyone to see. My precious little toy."

Your breathe heavier as he continues to fuck you with his finger, tantalizingly slow. Just as you open your mouth to beg for more, he slips his finger out of you and slams a contract on the table in front of you.

"I need you to sign this first. Standard contract," he says casually. "This is a business, after all." He drops a pen within your reach. All the while, he continues grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against the sheer fabric of your panties, further tantalizing your throbbing clit. "Go ahead, Darling. I can't wait to show you off."

You sign your name on the dotted line, quickly dismissing what seems to be the final roadblock in your path to pleasure. There's nothing else in your psyche than how badly you need him to fuck you. Your pussy aches with desire—you can't wait any longer. "Please. Please, fuck me," you whimper, begging him to give you what you want.

"Oh, Darling," he purrs. "All in due time."

Fellow leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I wonder how many people will come tonight just to see this pretty little body of yours?" he asks. "How many men and women will stare at you, touching themselves as you writhe in pleasure? I bet you can't wait for them to see how much of a needy little whore you are. You were born to be a star." His voice is soft and seductive as he plays on your desperation.

"Now. Let's get you out of these clothes." He expertly unhooks your bra with a single hand. With a swift yank, it falls to the floor, revealing your perfect tits, hard nipples on full display. "Beautiful. So deliciously plump and round, my flawless doll." 

You're still bent over the table as his fingers snake into the elastic waistband of your skimpy skirt and thong. He pulls it taut, ready to tear it right off of you... but he hesitates, remembering its one-of-a-kind value. Squatting slightly, he gently pulls your skirt and panties to the floor, utilizing the opportunity to bask in the aroma and view of your now-exposed pussy. He grabs your thighs where the stockings are and, quite impatient, rolls them down as his fingernails trail lines down the flesh of your legs in the process. He guides your feet out of each leg hole, revealing your full nudity. Seeing your juices glisten makes his eyes light up, mouth curling into a grin. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent. He can't help but lean for a taste, his tongue gliding against your folds and lapping up your essence. Your knees buckle as his warm, wet tongue explores your deprived cunt. Nothing has ever felt so good. Your entire body trembles and you cry out in pleasure. He keeps his hands firmly planted on your ass, holding you in place as he continues to lap up your pussy. It feels so good, it's almost painful. He pulls away after a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"So, tell me, Love. Are you a virgin?" he asks with a sneaking suspicion. He traces his fingertips down your spine, awaiting your response.

You shudder, the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin is so tantalizing. "Yes," you answer, unable to hold back your excitement.

Fellow's eyes widen, surprised by how easy it was to get you to admit that. He smirks, continuing to caress your back. "Ah, perfect," he hums. "What a privilege it is to deflower you." He reaches for his phone on his desk and utilizes the speech to text feature to say one thing: “We’ve got a virgin.” He clicks the display off and gives you a wink. "The marketing team will start advertising for a very special show tonight. I wonder how many people will come to watch me break in a virgin? I'm sure we'll sell out! An incredibly rare specimen indeed."

His words send a chill down your spine. The thought of thousands of people watching you lose your virginity excites you even further, and you find yourself becoming increasingly aroused. Your whole body is hot—you can't help but squirm as your juices slowly drip down both legs. You shudder, picturing an entire audience getting aroused, their attention rapt on you. Just the thought of how many people will want you... all of those horny people, with their eager bodies and impatient erections at the sight of you losing your innocence. A hot sensation pools deep in your belly and your clit throbs with need. You roll your hips back toward him, wordlessly indicating your desires.

He pockets his phone, delighted that the plan is progressing so flawlessly. "Tell me, my dear, have you ever orgasmed before?" You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you shake your head. He grins, leaning in closer, his tail swishing between his legs and up onto your throbbing clit. It tickles so good. "Have you ever touched yourself?" Your body heats up, and a wave of shyness washes over you as you attempt to suppress a groan. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to surrender yourself completely. "What a beautiful thing, modesty…" he muses. "Tell me, Dear. No need to be so shy." Your face is turning a dark crimson, and he's never found something so appealing in all his years.

"No. Not successfully," you answer softly. You've never been able to get yourself off. Your hands would wander as you'd lie in bed, desperate to find some sort of relief, but it never came. You've never had that pleasure before, and you were starting to think you may never experience it.

"Oh, Darling, you poor thing. I'll have to take care of that for you. I know all the tricks.” Hearing the zipper of his pants, you gasp in anticipation. He takes his cock out of his boxers and you feel the flesh of his hardened tip slide over your wet labia. He takes your hand in his and guides it to your clit, teaching you how to circle your fingers around it in the perfect motion.

"Just like that, Love," he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're doing so well. Doesn't that feel good?" You moan softly as he continues to guide you, his free hand on his cock, sliding up and down its length, using your never-ending juices as lubrication. He bucks his hips slightly as he starts to jerk himself off, letting out a quiet moan, teasing himself and rubbing his cock head against the sopping wet folds of your untouched pussy—knowing he has to save it if he wants a fruitful show. The way your face contorts and your lips part with desperate pleasure, he suddenly has to fight himself not to lose control and break your hymen right then and there.

Knowing that Fellow can’t help but touch himself to you amplifies the pleasure even further. Your fingers continue to dance over your clit and for the first time, it feels amazing. Every nerve in your body is electrified, your breath coming in short pants. Your hand feels like it's floating through space as he moves you like a puppet, directing your motions the way that he wants you. He rubs himself a bit faster as he watches you writhing, becoming more desperate and vocal than before. His own lust becomes insatiable. He’s sculpting you into the perfect masterpiece, just the way he likes it—his own custom sex toy.

"Just imagine all those people in the audience," he murmurs. His hand quickens on his cock and he groans. His hand over yours speeds up to match his pace, and he adds more pressure to show you exactly how to pleasure yourself. "All of those hungry eyes on you, craving every inch of you…" His hips jerk slightly and he moans, losing himself to his own dirty thoughts. Your clit is throbbing so painfully that tears begin to form at the edges of your eyes. He has never seen anyone become so intoxicated with the simple idea of him before, and you don't even realize how loud and desperate your moans and cries have become. His face flushes every time you scream his name, and your beautiful expression fills him with the greatest satisfaction, an image forever imprinted in his brain. The sight of you, so eager to please him—he knows now that he'll never let you go.

You feel yourself approaching explosion—the very first time—and your muscles tense in response. "Oh, fuck, every single one of them will be touching themselves, getting off to the sight of you, desperate to be where I am right now. And here you are, moaning my name as I prepare you, just aching for me to bring you to your first orgasm. You'll look so beautiful when I pop that sweet little cherry of yours." 

He groans and bucks his hips, jerking himself off faster and faster. Your clit throbs, ready to explode. "You want to cum, don't you, darling?" His voice is low and husky, and he pants heavily. "Cum for me, darling, cum for me. I want to hear you scream for me." Your toes curl, knees buckling in ecstasy. He guides your hand even faster over your clit. "That's it, Love, just let go." His voice is the sweet encouragement that pushes you over the edge, almost on command. You feel a strange electricity ripple through your leg muscles, a release that exceeds every single thing you thought you knew about pleasure.

Your first true orgasm rips through your body like a tornado, tearing apart any inhibitions and preconceived notions about reality. Everything around you turns bright white as euphoria sweeps through your body, wave after wave leaving you moaning and shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Your legs feel like jelly, and it becomes impossible to hold yourself up. His fingers leave yours, transferring their tight grip to your hair, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he fucks himself furiously to the sight of you. You were like putty in his hand, melting and molding according to his wishes—a perfect, brainwashed, fucked-out little slut.

Fellow lets out a strained grunt as he orgasms, painting your ass with his seed. He can't help but sigh in pleasure as he gazes lovingly at the blank and pliant expression on your face as he drains the rest of himself onto you. He sighs as his last spurts dribble from the tip of his cock, admiring how much he's marked you as his. You're still shaking and whimpering as you come down from your high, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. You look absolutely fucked out, and he takes a moment to admire your blissful expression before finally releasing you from his grip. He gives you a small push, causing you to fall forward onto your hands. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork—your thighs are soaked with your own cum, and your ass is dripping with his.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You did such a good job for me. You're going to be the best performer I’ve ever had. It's about time we take you to the stage to get you set up, my dear. You’re better than I could have ever imagined.” You can only gasp, too wrecked from your pleasure to respond in words. Fellow grins with satisfaction, memorizing the sight of his seed glistening all over your back, chuckling to himself as he wipes it off with a tissue. He tosses the tissue into a random corner of his office and then helps you find your footing again.

Gently lifting your chin, his gaze softens, mouth opening to form a gentle smirk. His thumb brushes against your trembling bottom lip, a caring and fond expression overtaking his features. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you begin to question the warmth in his smile and his affectionate gaze. Is your body's chemical response misreading signals, or are you witnessing evidence that Fellow perhaps has a bit more going on than simply taking sexual interest? A new, deeper desire to understand the mysterious man behind the curtain of your own experience begins to bloom in your mind. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your cheek. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and you return it, savoring the way his soft lips feel against yours. It feels so intimate, like a lover's kiss, and your heart flutters in your chest. You pull away and look into his eyes once more, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but you can't read his expression. His face is completely unreadable, granting you no indication as to whether you're making any progress in decoding him.

He takes off his coat and helps you put it on, wrapping you up to ensure your modesty is protected for your short walk to the stage. He takes your hand and guides you out of his office, your legs still shaking from climax.

You walk together in silence, hand in hand, your head still spinning as you try to process everything that just happened. You can't believe how incredible your first orgasm felt, and you're already craving another.

"What are you thinking about, Darling?"

"I'm thinking about how I’ve never felt that good before," you admit, blushing slightly.

Fellow chuckles. "That's very sweet," he says. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to give you many more orgasms in the future." His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing for him.

You continue walking in silence until you arrive at the stage. Fellow stops in front of the stage door and turns to face you.

"Are you ready, Love?" he asks, his voice gentle. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. His carnelian gaze holds yours, his hot breath dancing across your fingers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your heart swells and you feel yourself melting.

You nod enthusiastically and squeeze his hands, hoping he doesn't pick up on your nervous, pounding heartbeat. "I'm ready," you affirm, gazing intently into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes, feeling braver and more confident than you have all day.

He flashes a subtle smile. "Wonderful." He gives you one last peck on the cheek before turning to open the stage door. He places his free hand on your lower back and guides you onto the stage, leading you towards the center, where the lighting crew are busy at work. He introduces you and makes a show of presenting you to the crew—holding out your arm like he would for a debutante entering a ball, a prince presenting his chosen partner to a ballroom dance. The crew whistle and holler as you walk onto the stage. All you can do is stand there with the distinct smile of a hypnotized-yet-willing participant in the world's most eccentric 18+ theater. Their ogling is the furthest thing from your mind, as your attention remains firmly rooted on the charismatic manager in your grasp.

"Sorry, Boys. This one is mine. No one can have her but me." He places his hand on the side of your arm and pulls you close to him, draping an arm over your waist possessively.

As you glance up, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat; your adoring, hungry gaze is returned by his, a mirror of your own emotions shining through in his flaming irises. There's something strange about his stare—there always is. His face betrays some of that vulnerability again, an instance where he's truly letting his guard down, a crack in his meticulous and calculated visage. It’s a warm hint of softness that signals what he said to the crew might ring true outside of these walls as well.

Fellow turns back toward the crew as a new scene is placed before them, and within a split second, he resumes his demeanor of a business-oriented gentleman. "One hour ‘til showtime. Make her shine, People! We want the audience drooling the second she gets on stage!" He holds out his hand, his cane reappearing like magic. "Have fun in makeup!" He winks at you, the flick of his head gesturing you away.

Stylists appear behind you, and you reluctantly release your hold on him. He flashes a reassuring smile as you are guided away, a bewitchingly charming smile settling onto his lips. You head backstage, and he turns to get back to business.

Damn, if you made it all the way down here... wow. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you enjoyed this, that means a lot to me because this is pretty much just a self indulgent fic I started writing as soon as Fellow dropped without really knowing too much about him. I haven't begun writing part two, but I have my general ideas of where I want it to go. If you have suggestions for part two, please comment or send me an ask, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome

[emmaofnormandy]

Imagine you and Aegon find comfort in each other.

Warnings: mediæval like; canon divergence with the series; Y/N’s plot is loosely inspired in (TV Show’s) Helaena’s; drama; smut.

***

• (I)

You have dreams. What do you know about them? They come true, that is what you understand. Whatever colours they are painted of, they come true. Mostly they show you the past, but every now and then… these dreams show something beyond your historical comprehension.

“Y/N, my dearest”, the queen calls you out, bringing you back to reality. You raise your eyes and spot this red-haired woman dressed in fanciful green robes eyeing you with a maternal, yet distant care. “There is something we must speak of.”

“What is it?”, you remember your filial duties. Leaving aside your books, you concentrate on what your often absent mother has to say.

“By any means I mean to bring to you a subject that makes me uncomfortable in speaking of”, the Queen forces a smile, but you can tell by the awkwardness in her eyes that she wishes to be elsewhere. “You are soon going to be married.”

“To Aegon”, you observe, resigned. “How could it be otherwise when he’s the heir?”

For someone so young, your tongue can be sharp whilst your eyes give tons of liveliness not afore perceived by your mother. An awkward silence hangs in between the two of you.

“Yes, to him. This will not happen soon, though.”

“But from now on my lessons will change. I am aware.” And you smile to break the sudden tension. “Fear not, mother. I think Aegon and I will be… in good terms.”

She doesn’t know how you can be certain, but the Queen is relieved for delivering at last what she formerly thought to be dreadful news.

***

• (II)

“Marriages are alliances that must not be focused in sentiments”, instructs the Queen. “These must be placed aside for the sake of duty.”

“Is it not commendable to have some degree of affection between the parties?”, asks Aegon, somewhat confused with where this is going.

His mother gives him a look, deprived of comprehension: how could she, when she married his father by force, never nurturing any affection for this man?

“Nay. The Church strongly discourages affection on both parts, for otherwise marriage, sacred in its end for the purpose of continuing the lineage, becomes profaned.”

Aegon sighs heavily. It is worthless to discuss with his mother, he knows it well. This is a matter that women are better familiar with, for, like his grandsire likes to say, it is linked with a feminine world of which men have little doing in it.

According to the old Valyrian tradition, the heir to the throne comes to understand that he’s to marry his younger sister, Y/N. The young man closes his eyes, at first not really excited about making you his wife.

“I shall do as my lady mother commands”, says he in a mechanic tone, eager to leave the meeting.

Must it be constantly uncomfortable every time they gather together?

A question the Queen sees unposed in her boy’s eyes. One of the kind she wishes she could answer, but trapped in her own ambitious web, all she does is eventually dismiss his presence of her.

And serve herself some wine, naturally.

***

• (III).

Aegon watches as you sit by the fountain. Years gone by since you and him grew up and were forced to marry. The union has been consumed, but you have been avoiding each other’s presence ever since.

However, for some inexplicable reason, here he stands, watching you absorbed in your usual reading. The book is black velvet with golden pages, but judging by the content that has you frowning your eyebrows, Aegon believes it not be of religious type.

He hesitates at first in how to come at you. There had seemed to be an unspoken agreement between both of you since that unfortunate day that once consumed, the marriage would remain as void as possible.

Duties were performed, of course. However, ever since Prince Jaehaerys came to pass, a victim of the Summer Fever, neither could console the other properly. As a result, Aegon produced bastards… but never a legitimate son to continue the line. Perhaps this was arranged, albeit unconsciously so, between him and you against Queen Alicent’s and your grandsire Lord Otto’s ambitions.

But now… Aegon cannot handle his demons alone. Out of his siblings, you are the one whose nature somehow… does not mirror others or his own.

Sensing the weight of his stare, you lift your gaze only to be caught off guard by your estranged husband’s presence. You quickly stand, somewhat fearful he might be here just to scowl at you for failing your duties—something that you’ve seen in others’ eyes.

And even though you’ve been having odd dreams where Aegon and you get along, overcoming these initial struggles that a forced match put you through, you are somehow faithless in this. In addition to this, there’s the fact neither speak to the other since your only son’s demise.

“I do not fault you for his… premature departure of this world”, says Aegon, not needing too much to disclosure the reason why there’s a distance between both parts, under covered by a mutual distrust. “His suffering was short.”

“‘Tis part of our position to accept that what the Lord gives, the Lord takes.” You muse thoughtfully.

Aegon glances away. Religiosity has never been his best, even if he’s forced to play the pious.

“Ours, however, has been unnecessarily prolonged.”

The silver haired prince, who wears court garments today, looks like an empty vessel when these words reach his ears. You hope to reach out for him, but…

“Pardon?”

So close, yet so far.

You are dressing a cream silk gown with details in green and pearls. Aegon notices the result of the embroidery you’ve been working, particularly focusing at the dragons that have been so perfectly woven in the cloth.

“I’ve only meant to say…” You sigh, shaking your head as you quit. “Never mind. This battle is lost.”

Aegon scoffs at your behavior, but in retrospective could you be the one to blame when he walked away so easily?

Biting down a bitter answer, he looks down at his feet before saying:

“May we… walk around the gardens? I think we must speak.”

You cast him a long look.

Could this be?

But when this pair of lilac irises encounters yours, mirroring each other’s soul deprived free will—for where hast it been put if not casted upon the creature done in the similitude of its Creator?—it as if the divine ire has been placated at last. As if little by little all is starting to settle.

Almost if there is hope.

“Aye, lord. I do not see why not”, and when you smile, Aegon realizes this is no time to winter, but to spring. “It has been too long since we last spoke.”

So too he smiles, charmed by this woman whom he neglected by force of pride, weakened in flesh and spirit as he knows.

“True.”

In his own way, Aegon and you begin to gravitate towards each other. Thus the dragons dance.

***

• (IV)

“There is a sadness behind your eyes I cannot decipher”, Aegon muses.

You are lying on his lap. The two of you are found at the gardens in this cloud day. You like how he strokes your hair, careful, tender. A positive change in his manners in these weeks which you gladly welcome despite the early distrust.

“I think I might when I come to think about it, but I fear to dig into it…”, he proceeds. “It makes me want to demove it out of you.”

“That is kind of you, but some people are born with it, I guess”, you close your eyes, unsure where these waters are leading you to.

Though your dreams, green they might be, show you facts that come to be true, you are still frightened by them. Some of them brought you to this very moment in spite of your reluctance to it.

Here you are, though.

“I think we are rather creatures of it”, says Aegon. “And I fear that I am one of the reasons why melancholy has found solace in your heart.”

You carefully rise and contemplate your husband. Your eyes scan his handsome features, part of which mirrors yours. Lilac eyes and silver locks, but a nose and a mouth that certainly take after your mother.

Pulled by strange strings that come from above, you are reasoned by the certainty of being pawns of the gods. Regardless of never answering to them, these never answer to your family either. The clash of mortality and immortality often results in misery.

“Pride is our fall”, you muse, able to see so many tragedies in the past that lead to this current one. “It is only equaled by selfishness. We are all doomed in the end. ‘Tis the nature of us all.”

“I often wish I was worthy of being loved, made different by the divine”, so much being brought out by words and yet you are drawn by them.

“No, my dear lover; my sweet brother, we are all capable of loving… and being loved”, you tell him, capturing his face with your hands.

You rest your forehead against his. Aegon closes his eyes, swallowing the tears he’s been ashamed to keep when darkness rises.

“I am not. And I lament with the depths of my soul for it.”

“Shush now. Quiet the riots of your heart, for we are neither too pure nor too profaned, despite being creatures of sin. We can be light when there is darkness.”

“You are too pure for this world.”

Oh, the anguish. The atonement behind words that hurt like knife, so vicious is the pain these cause.

And yet your lips seek for his in attempt to mend it. Aegon is surprised by your pursuit, but he doesn’t shy away. He welcomes gleefully the sweet taste of your lips.

For the first time in a very long time, pain is left aside by another sentiment, to both of you unknown. What is this? What is this if not the spark of joy? The start of something new, where no words are sufficed to translate.

“I want you”, he whispers like a pained lover, realizing a little too late how his prideful heart and doomed soul stole him away from you for too long.

Whilst his tongue mixes with yours, you succumb to the power of gravity. Like the planets attracted to the sun, so is your heart to his. And you want to steal his misery, you want to be desired as much as you want to love this man.

Half of your soul, your other half.

“I am yours, Aegon”, you bite down his lips, letting him have his way to you when lying down the grass and pulling him over you. “Reclaim me, I beg of you.”

“I shall do as my damsel commands me to”, he gasps, breathless.

Where there was cold, there is now fire. Two dragons, two sides of the same coin, about to get burnt.

He kisses you hard, famine for your affection, desperate to reach out for you and you lift your legs to tie him in between all the whilst returning his fierce kiss, hands gripping his hair, making a mess with his silver locks.

And then…. His lips comes to your neck, biting and leaving bruises, pleased to hear small sounds out of your mouth.

His eager hands start to work on your gown, unlacing it eagerly, digging his hands possessively against your back, very clear in his selfish gesture.

“Mine, mine lady”, Aegon whispers against your chest, pausing breathlessly to contemplate the mess you are now.

Your eyes are partially closed; your red-ish lips are open in a small “o”, wanting for more, releasing these desires for so long repressed, for years repented as wrongs that should be cleansed of your soul.

“Mine lord”, you sigh in content.

And looking down at his face, you see a smile crawling over his lips, which rises to his eyes. Your heart melts and you smile too.

“I exhort you to give me a precious gift”, and you lift him so you steal a kiss out of his lips. “Your heart, your soul… I cannot sleep well at night knowing my lover is not well. Let me be your healer as Venus healed Ares when he was in his worst. For I’d go to hell and cross through damnation to save you.”

“Lady, profess naught these words, I forbid you”, and he kisses you in turn. “Unworthy I am of this gesture, this affection! I shall guard, however, your heart as the great treasure to me sent by the divine. Sinful and doomed I may be…”

“I will redeem you if you let me.”

You shush his uneasiness with another kiss. Now you lay him down, taking control of the reins. You reclaim him like he did to you, except the dragon fire makes you bolder this time.

So your kisses do not concern his lips alone: your hungry mouth captures his neck and his chest… all the whilst you unlace his pants. Starving for affection, one needs the other; a need released after being repressed under the guise of good behavior and social rules.

Oh but where’s the etiquette when your hand grips his manhood, taking it the way he likes—oh you still remember your first night together, when even under the effect of alcohol he was excited to teach you the way it’s done.

Bearing this recollection in minds, Aegon throws his head back and lets out a loud groan.

“Heavens! Oh, my lady! Never before so fair, my leof!”

His chest growing heavy, Aegon’s body is instantly warmed with fire. Eyes rolling in the back of his mind, he’s about to come undone, but not wasting his seed, he turns tables and soon you are no longer the hunter, but the prey.

That in finding pleasure you are able to bury scars of cloud days formed through pain is to delight yourself in these marital activities you and Aegon prevented each of the other in the past years.

Now he’s sliding his manhood into your core after locking your hands above your head, you comprehend at long last what these dreams are about.

Your promise prince. The hope of a yet to come spring.

‘Tis the way upon which salvation is craved: when hearts are blended and bodies are intertwined, when parted souls are one united.

***

• (V)

Politics are not the world you were educated to be part of, which is something you are content about. Unlike your mother, the former queen. This is not a field where you intend to seed your ambitions.

To many, you are content with the role delegated to you, and this isn’t completely untrue. But there are times where nights are dark…

…and full of terrors.

“Aegon”, you whisper his name, but he doesn’t respond; his snore tells how asleep he is. You sigh, but you don’t call him again.

Untangling of his arm, you roll out of bed, anxious. Another dream comes to take your peace… something no one knows, no one’s understand.

You walk barefoot towards the window and there you stand, watching through the glass the darkness above. You can still hear the screams in the back of your head, accusations, the sound of blades…

War is coming.

What is there to stop it? The ambitions of the men are seed to the inevitable. Even so, the scenes are hard to unsee.

Lost in your world, you miss Aegon’s groaning when noticing the cold you left your side of bed and not much time after coming for you.

“Y/N”, your husband snakes his arms around you waist, resting his head on your shoulder. “You look pale. Are you unwell?”

You chew your bottom lip, a sign of distress that Aegon’s familiar with. He suddenly recalls the reason why you and him were never close throughout your childhood and subsequent early adulthood: the fact you were always stuck in your own world.

A reason there was to it, but he was afraid to figure it out then.

“What bothers you, my sweet?”

As you slowly turn at him, Aegon spots tears forming in your eyes.

“You’d not understand.”

“Try me.”

You hesitate, fearful of losing him. As if he could read your thoughts, Aegon cups your face and rests his forehead against yours.

“I shall not leave your side, regardless of what it is that daunts you so.”

“You may call me witch for what I am about to tell you…”

The king chuckles.

“Hardly.”

He waits, aware that this is where you open yourself to him. Aegon can tell, by the looks you cast him, how important this is, a test of trust that will rely on his reactions.

Eventually though, with little need to reassure you that whatever that comes out he will not leave your side, Aegon holds your hands firmly and says:

“We have been under neglect for so long. We were not taught affection nor approval, or any of the values our mother praises in public. And yet here we are with the crown over our heads.” He kisses your cheek, there staying for a while. “We cannot be faulted for the sins of our parents, my wife. We are of the same blood, but we are more than that.”

It is only then you finally grant him entrance to a world where none had dared to do so. Aegon is thus told that you have inherited an ability few possessed in the Targaryen dynasty: the one of having green dreams.

Even so… here it is where one estranged couple gets intimate in the most blessed of forms: by trusting each other and overcoming former difficulties.

Indeed, a victory to the Cupid… or the Virgin Mother who brought harmony to two troubled souls.

***

• Epilogue.

War eventually makes its way to the realm. But when it does, all is settled.

“I must lead my troops against this pretender to the throne”, says Aegon in reference to their sister, Rhaenyra, who never entirely accepted to be cast aside in favour of her younger brother.

“Be mindful. She has Lord Daemon by her side”, you advise him.

“But we have Aemond by ours”, Aegon smirks at you.

As you two embrace, Aegon places a kiss on top of your forehead and a hand over your growing belly.

“Beware, my love”, says he, and you detect concern behind his eyes.

But you sweep away his concerns when you smile the brightest.

“No need to worry. You shall come back to my arms and I will perform my duty accordingly. Dare I say that more children will come in due time!”

Aegon chuckles quietly. When he smiles, no beautiful sight could have warmed your heart like this.

“Aphrodite blessed me indeed!”

He takes your hand to his lips before leading you both to the court where he expects to part with his men soon. Aemond soon comes, joined by Lady Alys, his wife.

Even though this is an unusual union for the time where low born are hardly married into high born houses, you and her got along just fine… and she’s been a good help with the dreams you have.

“This shall not be a farewell!”, says Aegon before all, in a ceremony that you are the protagonist of it. Oh, courtly nonsenses, you know, but here are the perks of being queen. “For the divine calls me to take in arms with the one who, as the same blood of ours, has been conspiring with violence and never befriending with peace!”

“The Fortune has set the path to you, my king. Be merciful, I ask.”

Aegon nods his head regally, every inch a king.

“I will keep your request in mind, my damsel!”

And to prevent a civil war, he goes, mounted in his golden horse whom he calls Sunfyre.

***

However, women are not prevented to fight their own wars even if their victories in childbed are not sang nor praised by poets and bards.

Surrounded with the women of your trust, you are now closed to a feminine world where men take no part. Curious to notice that where Aegon fights for the survival of his dynasty, you too take a similar part in delivering its success.

Amidst pain and blood, though, you perform your duties accordingly. Most would applaud your bravery in facing the process with no tears and few screams.

I am as Targaryen as any of them.

A pair of twins comes to breathe the air after the process is done. You opt to name the male after your husband, Aegon, and the female after Rhaenys. It is only fair since you come after their line.

“How is my queen doing?”, Lady Alys asks you once the labour comes to an end and the babies are taken to be cleaned.

“Good”, you smile at her, taking the hand offered and giving a slight squeeze. “Thank you.”

“More will come”, she whispers.

Your smile spreads fully.

“Oh, indeed. A victory granted by the Divine.”

“Even if the Targaryens answer to no men nor Gods”, says Alys.

Both of you chuckle.

“It is what it is”, you give your motto to your sister in law.

Towards the end of the reign of Aegon the Wise, the chronicler writes how you, successfully known as the peacemaker, set the path to other queen consorts in your queenship. Popular throughout the Seven Kingdoms, your hand extended where your husband’s could not.

For example, you helped arranging the marriages of your third child, Rhaella, with Rhaenyra’s son, Jacaerys, as well as your fourth, Hughes, with Visenya. That way you brought Rhaenyra closer to your family instead of instigating another possibly revolt. Such matches pleased her.

It all ended well.

As for you and Aegon, no successful match has been seen since King Viserys wedded Lady Aemma.

You and him found solace in each other and would remain so until the end of your days. There’s a saying in King Aegon III’s reigns that you and your husband’s bond was so strong that both of you were found dead sleeping in each other’s arms in an advanced age.

[pirateshelly]

I haven't been able to get Claudia's line "I never thought about choosing to pretend, life hasn't been kind enough to allow me that" out of my head and how it really is THEE Claudia thesis (and in some ways a thesis for the whole show).

Because performance really does define every single character in this show, as does the degree to which that character has chosen that particular performance or whether it's something the world/other people/necessity has imposed on them. On one hand you have white men like Lestat and Santiago up on stages by choice performing these romantic/intimidating/charismatic roles. And then you have both Louis and Armand who are both people who, in different ways, have had to essentially be chameleons their whole lives just to survive. But for both of them there's a sense that it becomes, to some extent, something they simply cannot emotionally break free from rather than a material necessity for the sake of survival (and obviously the necessity never goes away for either them entirely, but they're both also very much characters prone to getting trapped in cages of their own making).

And then you have Claudia who is so DESPERATE to just be herself and to be seen. I read a great interview with Delainey recently when she says that she thinks of Claudia as probably the most honest and reliable narrator in the story and I think she's absolutely right, Claudia is not duplicitous by nature. It's that she has simply never once in her life been in a situation where she wasn't forced to perform to survive. As a young black girl in the early 1900s. As an adult woman in the body of a child who must perform childishness in order to not seem monstrous and disturbing. As a young woman living in an abusive home where she has to navigate an angry man's moods. As Louis' loving sister/daughter and emotional tether. When has she ever had the chance to CHOOSE to pretend, just for the sake of it, in all of that?

We see her watching Santiago on stage performing as this romantic yet intimidating personification of death and she is ENTHRALLED. It's a power fantasy she desperately wants for herself, but when she's finally allowed on stage there's no seductive power fantasy waiting for her, just the same humiliating child role she's played her whole life and once again she has no choice in the matter.

[aerospectrum]

Unsure if I sent a response back sorry adhd brain is bad sometimes LOL but it’s been lovely talking to you too! I don’t have anyone to talk about the show with besides my mom who watches it with me but I still have Yellowstone brainrot. Again I’m a Beth girlie but it’s nice to talk to others in the fandom and discuss. I think the show is great because they’re all such victims of each other and the family dynamics are just horrifically toxic. Every relationship John has with his children is abusive and volatile in some degree. Branding Kayce because he disobeyed him. Pushing and punishing Jamie because he’s not who he wants him to be, sending him away to college when that’s not what he wanted. Beth is extremely loyal to him to her own detriment because I personally feel like she’s trying to make up for killing her mother and taking his wife away from him, but no matter how much she tries she won’t ever make that up in John’s eyes. Anyways, you have a good one 💕

Aaaahhh I have so many thoughts also the adhd brain is a mood for sure my dude! sorry it took me forever to get to this! I’ll put my stuff under a cut again only because I tend to ramble and I gotta save the dash sanity for others lol

ok first I wanna go back to Beth lmfao. god she has such depth to her and I feel like we’ve been cheated by T.Sher so badly. Her trauma is unreal and so unprocessed and so unexplored and it’s not faaaair. When it’s Christmas and she is terrified of what’s happening to her??? puberty and she’s terrified, my poor child, I felt so sad that that was such a scary moment for her and then she was already in pain too and her mom was just like “now I have to make sure you’ll survive this man’s mans world and make you ultra haaaard” that made me so sad because I feel like she already was trying so hard to survive as a child. then the flashback to her mothers death. Genuinely I still feel so much rage over it. She was clearly uncomfortable and did not want to be on this big animal that she wasn’t comfortable controlling and unsure of being on and her mom just idk completely disregarded her and basically told her “you’re shit outta luck man up” like girl what??? Your young daughter is feeling very unsafe on a dangerous animal, I get pushing your kids to face their fears but like why did it have to be a joke to East Jesus nowhere??? Then ITS NOT EVEN BETH’S FAULT, Evelyn’s horse spooks(it’s not even looking at Beth, Beth does nothing wrong and nothing at all to affect her horse) but yeah it spooks it’s fucking self and obviously crushes her but Beth is already weeping and scared and blaming herself and Kayce is so intune with the needs of everyone so he pleads for her to let him go get John and she LOCKS EYES WITH BETH AND BLAMES HER!!! straight up is like nah Beth’s the reason my horse spooked it’s her fault my horse crushed me she made this mistake being a completely normal scared child she has to fix this mistake

Beth didn’t even hardly know the way back her horse bucks her off, she gets hurt she runs back she’s already internalizing the grief of this unfair blame she’s saddled with and then what happens???? JOHN YELLS AT HEEEEER. crying screaming throwing up dyyyyying. home girl literally got blamed by her mom for killing her and then he dad yells at her for crying and being hurt and scared oh my gosh I’m so mad lmao. Um…. but yeah. Beth clearly struggled with anxiety and security at a young age and I think she wanted to make her mother proud and prove she was hard enough to survive “with the boys” so she could survive her own survivors guilt that Evelyn forced her to experience maybe???

also yeah!!! I do think John blamed Beth for his wife’s death and she’s desperate to make up for it but also resents John for moving on with any other woman because I think he made sure she felt she was responsible for Evelyn’s death and his unhappiness afterwards— maybe somehow that ties into like her resentment of what Jamie did to her too? Like maybe it triggers this massive guilt in her where she subconsciously thinks well fuck I stole my fathers happiness so my brother stole mine??? God idk what even is meta? Probably not this lol.

not me writing a novel on Beth’s childhood… but then a few years pass and she asks Jamie for help and yeah he fucks it up because well idk part of me does feel it was lazy writing on Tshers behalf again, because they had to be teens in the 90s and sterilization on Rez’s stopped in the 70’s I’m pretty sure idk still. But also like I just think with the fear of failing and the deep rooted trauma of “inate otherness” that Jamie clearly carried around from a young age I just don’t genuinely feel like it was in his character to allow Beth to suffer like that. He would’ve spoken up or argued with her about how he wouldn’t let her go in that clinic. They would’ve fought like shit but he would’ve convinced her that John finding out was better than being cheated out of motherhood and idk Beth and Jamie are just so goddamn conniving (in a good way) that they would’ve saved Rip from John’s wrath.

John’s undying love for the land and his egos unquenchable thirst for false pride and accolades is definitely his downfall as a father in my mind. They definitely are all victims of one another’s traumas and John’s refusal to acknowledge he’s the creator or root/epicenter of it all. All the siblings deserve so much better and I’ll never forgive the writing for completely wiping Lee out of the story too!!!

I also think about how if this is along the storyline that the Rez is still sterilizing women then John was completely ok with Kayce forcing that torture and agony on Monica if it meant protecting the pride of his ranch. But suddenly he’s upset Jamie took Beth there, like is he blind to his own double standards? Fuck but I love johns depth too. They’re all so weirdly complex and i end up thinking damn this man has a lifetime of unfiltered and unfinished trauma too aaaaaaaaahhhhh. I want to write all the things with Beth and John and Jamie lol. They sooth the shallow waters of my weird little soul soil.

sorry I ramble so badly, I can’t tell if that’s the adhd working or if I’m really just bad at staying on track because everything reminds me of something else and then I can’t find my way back to the circles beginning! But I’ve loved your asks they’ve been such high points in my time here thank you so much for talking and sharing in this with me my dude, I hope you have an excellent day/night/afternoon/dusk and beyond lol.

[lesbianmaxevans]

Thoughts on George? After he slept with Meredith even knowing she didn’t want to while she cried, I lost any respect for him. Also the way he treats Callie is so fucking foul.

ok so I want to preface my answer with the acknowledgement that I grew up watching this show. I watched seasons 3-7 live as they aired while I was in high school (I stopped watching at some point during s7). so there is a big nostalgia factor for me.

also pretty much every male character is misogynistic to varying degrees. alex and mark are basically sex pests and don't think of women outside of sexual gratification until they suddenly fall for someone. (hell, denny is also kind of a sex pest, like all his convos with izzie are basically sexual harassment, but apparently she's into it????) I love derek and he's by far my fave of the men, but the fact that mark is his bff means I would not be trusting him irl. I just got to the episode where alex almost slept with april and jackson punched him for being an asshole to her, but then a few days later they're laughing and friendly w each other again, so the same for jackson. I haven't gotten to it yet, but I know owen is pro-life and gets mad when cristina has an abortion (which is incredibly unsurprising after that ep when he kept trying to stop that one woman who wasn't even his patient from going thru with physician assisted suicide). my issues w burke and webber are more due to them putting people in danger bc their egos (i.e. burke not saying anything about his tremors until he was forced to disclose it, richard still operating once he started drinking again) than misogyny. point is, the moral compass of the show is fucked and none of the men here are winners lmao (except ben! ben has never done anything wrong in his life ever. but he also is a very minor character if we're looking solely at grey's and not including the spinoffs (at least where I am so far))

anyway, the point of saying all this is that in order to have any kind of enjoyment when it comes to this show, you kind of are required to overlook some of this. I love derek and jackson (and ben), I like mark (most of the time), alex is sometimes okay. there's also the fact that the early seasons (where george was part of the cast) were the aughts and characters like george were becoming more common as an alternative to characters like alex and mark. (hell, not to stray super far off topic but look at himym - specifically ted and barney. same thing lol.)

I give all this context to say that I do like george. now before I do any sort of defense for him, let me break down your reasons for hating him:

After he slept with Meredith even knowing she didn’t want to while she cried, I lost any respect for him.

I agree that him sleeping with meredith was a gross moment and tbh I do my best to ignore that subplot completely bc it didn't do either character any favors imo. he shouldn't have told her his feelings when he knew she was in a bad headspace, and while she was the one who initiated the kiss/sex, he should have immediately stopped it and not let things progress to the point of her breaking down and crying. I can't defend him for this, he was undeniably in the wrong. I want to believe that if the show started airing today instead of 20 years ago, that the whole george pining after meredith thing wouldn't have ever existed bc it was just. really strange and unnecessary when there was already so much merder drama.

Also the way he treats Callie is so fucking foul.

maybe it's my nostalgia goggles, but ig I have a bit more of a charitable read on this? there were a lot of issues in their relationship bc it started when he was still hung up on meredith, and he really should not have jumped into a relationship in that headspace. he was also terrible at defending her and choosing her over his friends, which was disappointing but tbh I chalk that up to the writers living up izzie's insufferable ass and acting like she's the most moral character on the show while she was there (news flash to the writers room: she is one of the more morally bankrupt characters in the show!!!). george being pissed at callie for sleeping w sloan while they were broken up is shitty, but 1) almost every male character on this show has a fucking meltdown when they learn the ex they're in love with slept with another person (hell, that includes derek!) 2) it tracks with the aforementioned writing for male characters in the aughts (which tbh the show hasn't really progressed past in 20 years 🫠)

but as for george and callie getting back together after all that? I have a hard time faulting george. his dad had just died and he's being impulsive and reckless and asks callie to marry him after barely getting back together and she says yes???? girl, you know he is not in a good headspace why would you do that?????? I think he was starting to do better by her at that point tho, bc doesn't he freeze izzie out for a few episodes after they're married bc izzie won't stop being a bitch to callie? as for the thing about callie coming from money, I think he overreacted but looking at how things play out in s4, it's clear that this whole argument solely happened for the writers to start pushing george and izzie's "romance" (barfs for 50 years about it). and narratively george and izzie's "romance" makes no fucking sense!!!!!!! izzie sleeping w george reads as her being upset about alex dating other people when she said she wasn't ready to be with him (especially if we take s5 into consideration), for george it reads as a drunken mistake while he's still processing his father's death. and don't get me started on izzie confessing that she loves him and george avoiding her, like that doesn't read as him fighting his feelings that he loves her back, it reads as him being sick of her hot and cold shit and wanting to move on. writers die by my blade for forcing this george + izzie "romance" it's by far one of the things I hate most about the early seasons.

(and if you feel like I'm forgetting anything about george + callie's relationship, please feel free to send me another anon ask about it. binge watching + covid brain damage means I forget things kinda quickly - like I had to pull up the grey's wiki to remind myself of some of these events lmao)

anyway, I feel like where the frustration from you and other ppl who don't like george comes from the fact that the show tries to paint him as superior than most of the other male characters, which is very, very fair. he's not - like I said, pretty much every male character is misogynistic to some degree. it's all bad, it just presents differently for different characters. that being said I would much, much, much rather deal with a george than an alex or mark in my daily life.

anyway, reasons I like george:

he's actually one of the better doctors of the interns. like the heart surgery in the elevator? it's badass and it pisses me off that the show kept bringing up his "007" status from the pilot when he did that by himself!

his loyalty. as much as I fucking despise izzie, he really was always there to support her. and while I don't really think he loved her romantically, he clearly loved her with his whole heart.

he was good with his patients and often was able to be a sensitive person for them to talk to (i.e. that episode in s1 with the fat patient that alex insulted, george was the one who she felt comfortable enough to open up to; that one episode w a kid that was afraid of needles and george demonstrated what was going to happen on himself so he'd stop being scared)

his bravery. that episode where the doctors have to care for the n*zi paramedic is extremely fucking cursed but george telling him that he would've killed him on the table? fucking ICONIC. and I feel like it's hard to talk about george w/o discussing the fact that he died by saving a woman from getting hit by a bus. I don't think there's any other character in the cast (besides maybe owen) who would've saved a stranger by putting themselves on the line like that.

[imunbreakabledude]

Regarding Pattison not happening, I actually think there's a good chance we're right that it wasn't Valerie Armstrong's choice. I saw an interview with her (wish I could find the link) where she alludes to choices she would have made differently. She also seems to regret AMC, saying it wasn't accessible to enough people; it turns out they picked her script out of the blue and wanted to make the show. Otherwise I imagine she would have gone somewhere else and we would have gotten Pattison.

first off, I just have to say, what a funny feeling it is to me, to get an ask about pattison in the year 2024. nothing bad, just, like, for context, if you don't know this about me... I was a fan of KCFH from the literal beginning, heard about it shortly before it started airing and liked the concept, watched every episode as it aired (which is pretty unique for me, i rarely get into a fandom From the Start like that), and I was a big champion of it, spreading the word, because I looooooved season 1. i got a lot of people (relatively speaking) into the show and ran a memes account on twitter... I was a #pattison truther the whole time. and so i was wicked hyped for season 2, had a good time with it even if it was a bit short of my expectations even before the finale, but the finale really just pissed me off because I felt like, wow, I loved this show so much and was really hoping at least, it would give me one piece of vindication from a middling season 2. so I have barely thought/posted about the show since that period right after the finale, because it disappointed me more than any other show, maybe, ever has. (that doesn't mean it was the WORST finale i've ever seen, far from it, but it disappointed me the most because I cared so much about the show, and also because so much of it felt like it just fell short of being so much better.)

ANYWAYS... if you do find the link to the interview you're talking about let me know. no pressure but it intrigues me. I haven't read a single interview with Valerie (or anyone else who worked on the show) since the immediate aftermath of the finale, since that interview where Valerie said it was the right choice to not go for pattison and how they were "romantically alone but fine" (ugh). so if she hypothetically has gone on the record with a different sentiment about it, not defending it, then i'm interested.

because. i recognize most of this is parasocial and just my desire to believe that I did see some Pattison Truth and wasn't dumb to believe it the whole time, so I need to believe in a Person who represents that Truth and wanted it to happen while other forces prevented it, and Valerie is a convenient person to imagine in that role both as the creator of the show & a bisexual woman who spoke openly about the queer parts of the story she was telling. I recognize that I will probably never know for sure what happened behind the scenes and to what degree pattison endgame was ever on the table or not. But i do feel the urge to believe it is true. so if there's evidence that supports it, lol, i'm interested. (for the record, if there's evidence that WEAKENS this theory i'm also interested in that. lol) i just do not have it in me to go looking for it, because, as I said, I gave so much of my head & heart to this show and it felt so bad after the finale that I just cannot go down the road of spending conscious waking hours thinking about it again, because it just makes me sad.

[sillysurrealwriter]

Vivi teaches some jerk, a lesson!

I could not sleep.

I couldn’t sleep for a long while. The heat was rather excessive to say the least, even though the AC was going on full power. It was currently 1 AM and the night was clear. Stars were shining and were rather bright, watching over the small town.

Like the guardians they always were.

It....was rather depressing, though.

See, this town had its best days long behind itself. It was located in the lower part of the country and ever since the main economy collapsed, it affected most of the major regions. Including this small town.

We used to actually have a working industry here.Well, more than one actually. We had a mine deep in the woods, which we used to mine rare goods, you see. And tons of factories, manufacturing all kinds of sweets. Chocolate, gummy bears, licorice, you name it.

But thanks to a strong inflation, the economy suffered under it. It was so hard to buy even a slice of bread. Now, it’s 9 times more expensive and our currency is quite worthless too. What a shame.....

I was one of the many workers, who were let go because we couldn’t get paid. I just dropped out of school too, because I had some trouble with the law here and there. Even though I didn’t get, why people were upset with me selling drugs to kids. It’s a vital business strategy. Pure capitalism, baby.

Because my father was a local judge, I was let off the hook and was forced to work at the factory there, as a way to atone for my non-existent sins. The work was actually fun there, not gonna lie. Manufacturing candy was quite fun and the work atmosphere was relaxing too. I actually felt at ease there, unlike here.

Mother was in the hospital, still in a coma. Doctor said she may not make it. Not that I really care, to be honest. Unlike my dad, my mother was a loser. Seriously. All she did was clean, clean, clean and just clean the house. I had to make money, because that bitch didn’t have a good education. And no, a history degree doesn’t count. Who needs that shit nowadays?

Not me, I’ll tell you that much. Thanks to her being not a good wife, my dad divorced her and fucked a much prettier girl. Big boobs, fat ass...Just thinking about her, gives me a big fat boner.

My father was much better though. He was strong and rich. Because mom wasted all her time at home, I spent most of the time with him. And learned what it’s like, to be a real man.

To be strong. To be successful. And to dominate every bitch, you see.

I still have yet to find a bitch to fuck though. I am 22 and I am still a virgin. Guess those virgins are more into those woke femboy bitches. Eww.

I turned to the side and tried to close my eyes again.

No....damn it, it was so frickin hot.....There’s no way, I’d fall asleep like that...

I got up and checked my social media stuff.

0 followers and an account strike. Just because I pointed out how that one guy was a fat fuck and got no bitches. Is it bad to speak the truth?

I checked YouTube. My favourite pundits did not upload anything yet. I wanted to see them bully naive young college men/women. And only those. Especially those fucking pronoun freaks, who are all extremely fat, have tons of coloured hair and are gay too.

Did Jesus Christ die for this? Really?

Well.....Guess I’ll turn on the TV. Maybe they’ll air that one show, with the sexy woman that looked a bit like a man and had some facial hair. Eh.

I moved myself off my bed and the ground shook, as I placed my feet on it. Grinning, I grabbed another big chocolate bar and pushed it down my throat.

Yum. 10% less sugar too.

I stomped and eventually went downstairs, because the house was just so ridiculously small. Urgh.The upper floor just had two bedrooms. Mine and mom’s. And I am sure she used hers in the past, to fuck with woman while dating dad.

She really deserved all those beatings.

In any case, I sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. I changed through the channels, but most channels were shut down on maintenance. And my usual porn channels were having some strange issues, as static was shown there.

Weird.....

After finally scrolling through the program, I stopped bewildered.

Dreamy Eden.

The hell? I never saw that channel before.

And what I saw confused me even more.

A whimsical intro music played, showcasing a small town with all kinds of strange creatures. Furries of all shapes and sizes doing mundane activities like walking, talking, cooking....

Was that a kids show? At 1 AM? Geez, if they wanted to entertain kids they should do it throughout the day. Not at night.

I was about to switch to another channel, when I suddenly saw the title of this show appearing on the front. The animation was quite old and stiff in general, like the first season of the Simpsons.

Before that show got ruined later, for being dragged out too long. And for encouraging men to not be men and to kiss other men. Eww.

Just watching that, made my boner perk up in disgust. What else?

But the title.....

“Vivi’s Garden”

“What kind of shitty name is that?”, I asked, as I stared at the colourful title. It was awful, really. I could barely make out the letters of this show. They were too many colours, ranging from rainbow, to....

To......black?

Weird.....

The scenery changed and then I saw some girl on screen. And her appearance was....odd.

Her hair was all orange and long and wavy, reaching down her hips. She was wearing an oversized white coat, depicting smiley faces, flowers and other strange stuff. She was wearing yellow clown shoes and her hands were rather thick too.

But the creepiest part....

Were her eyes...

All of those furry characters had classical cartoon eyes. You know, white circles and black circles inside of them.

But...not with this character....The black circles were much, much larger. Not only that, but there were several white circles inside of them.

What was that thing supposed to represent?

The character waved.

“Howdy, lousy mousies!”, she exclaimed with a shrill and super excited voice, as if someone had taken too much heroine. “I am Vivi Vicky! And welcome to my garden! Isn’t it wonderful? I LOVE GARDENING!”

She jumped up and down at least 90 times a second (Don’t ask me how I counted) and the screen actually shook so much, which caused me some headaches. That...Vivi girl then suddenly ran towards her garden and indeed those flowers looked........colorful.

I’ll be blunt. I have no idea, what those things are. Those were little balls and shapes in all sorts of color. It reminded me more of candy you’d buy from the store and not....flowers.

Vivi did a backflip and giggled.

“ARENT MY FLOWERS BEAUTIFUL!?”, she asked happily. “But I couldn’t do this alone! No, no! My dear mommy made this garden to begin with! Mommies are the best!”

“Bs.”, I muttered annoyed. “Mothers are useless worker bees. Only properties and waste of space.”

“That’s not really nice mister!”

Surprised, I stared at the screen and Vivi was frowning at me, shaking her head.

“Mothers take care of you. Of all of us. Of the kids. They are wonderful.”

“Yeah, but they barely make money.”, I shot back annoyed. That little bitch-

Wait, why the hell was I arguing with my TV? This was stupid!

So I aimed my remote at the TV and switched the TV off....

...to the p*rn channel.

Much better. Staring at those girls making love was so hot. God...my fat pot belly was....

But suddenly, the channel changed back to the stupid kids channel. Vivi pouted annoyed.

“Mister, it’s not nice to leave. We were-”

“Shut up.”, I muttered and changed the channel again. I drooled, as I saw those lesbians have coitus...

And then, the channel switched again. Vivi glared at me even more.

“Hey! Why are you so mean?”

“Shut up, f*ggot.”, I mumbled and changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I said, I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

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...I changed the channel again.

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...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

...I changed the channel again.

!!!!!!!!!!!

But no matter what I did, it wouldn’t work. The TV wouldn’t turn off. Vivi shook her head angrily.

“No Mister, we’ll talk. Whether you like it or.......”

All of a sudden, she stretched her arms out towards the camera. I laughed at her, finding her too stupid to be terrifying.

And then suddenly, a large pair of hands emerged out of the screen and grabbed me. I tried to free myself, but the grip of those massive hands was too strong. Vivi laughed from the inside.

“Don’t worry, it won’t take long mister bister sister!”, she exclaimed and her laugh distorted, as my ears bled and the hands began to drag me into the TV. I gritted my teeth.

Hell...No!

I bit the giant hand, only to feel all my teeth breaking upon impact. Terrified and bleeding all over the mouth, I was dragged deeper and deeper into the TV...

And then the next moment I awoke. With a smile, I got up and smiled outside. I really needed to see my mother and to make sure that she is all well and good. Maybe she woke up yet?

And I also needed to talk about dad, as to how he treated women. They deserved better. And maybe I should ask that man out that I’ve been crushing on for weeks.

I had so much to do!

So, with a huge smile and all colorful clothes I stepped out into the world, aiming to improve the world.

I may not have any teeth any more...

But who cares, if I can help people and protect women?

Right?

RIGHT?

R I G H T?

RIGHTEOORIJOR§NROHN§O§NF”I=!!”===!=!=§!==!=!=!==!§==§!=!!=!=

:)

[percontaion-points]

Can We Fix It?! Jocelyn's Choice

It’s been a while since I last did one of these… AKA it’s been a while since I last read a book/series that I thought was remotely salvageable. 

Anyway, can I fix Jocelyn’s Choice? Yes, I think that we totally can!

My biggest problem with this story is the age-gap between Jocelyn and Alex. Again, it’s not so much the six (?) year difference between them, but their life experiences. Jocelyn hadn’t even graduated high school when Alex knocked her up, while he has a fucking master’s degree. Icky. 

Ideally, Jocelyn should probably be in college. Maybe shift her age up 4 years, have her be on the brink of her COLLEGE graduation, and that immediately solves so many problems.

But, if one were to be hung up over the idea of a teen pregnancy, then obviously Alex’s age needs to be lowered. Maybe he’s a year or two older than she is. But not six. However, I feel like even 2 years (with him being 20) is kind of pushing it, so I’d want to establish that they knew one another before this, and it’s not like the relationship sprung up out of nowhere. That would probably curb the icky feeling of their relationship feeling forced and groom-y. 

I think that either of these options could give way to some interesting options as far as Jocelyn’s worry about Alex’s future. In the college-only version, his educational background wouldn’t necessarily change that much. But in the teen pregnancy version, maybe Alex has a full-ride to Yale. She doesn’t want him to drop out, because… bro. Full ride to an ivy-league. 

Now obviously, my second biggest problem with this book is that the title is “Jocelyn’s CHOICE”, yet we never see her making any sort of decision. She simply falls into bed with Alex, zero questions asked. She never puts up a fuss when he said he didn’t have a condom. 

She also NEVER thinks, even for a nanosecond, about anything to do with getting an abortion or even giving the baby up for adoption. Also, Max never questions any of this, either, and never brings it up. The only time that it’s mentioned is when Alex comes home. But as I said during that conversation, it was beyond tacky to suggest to a woman who is heavily pregnant that she should have gotten an abortion. 

So obviously, that’s something that I’d want to see in this kind of a book. Even if even the readers know that she does end up keeping the baby, there should be the actual choice. She’s looking over brochures or maybe she watches Juno or something. IDK. I feel like there are a lot of good ways to go about it, even if the end goal isn’t to abort or adopt. 

Something that bugged me about this book was the way that every single thing was simply told to us. I felt like I walked away from it all without knowing a single thing about what Jocelyn wanted from life. Yes, she wanted Alex and the baby. But what about before that? What were her goals, her hopes and dreams? We knew a little bit more about Alex, but not much. The background characters were even worse. 

This book has got to be one of the worst cases of passive story telling that I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. The entire book was like this! This is exactly what teachers are complaining about when they tell you “show, don’t tell!” PLEASE SHOW JOCELYN HAVING INTERESTS OUTSIDE OF HER PREGNANCY AND LUST FOR ALEX! 

I WANT to get to know the characters, especially the two leads in a romance novel! I want to care about them, and to understand the decisions that they make. 

I feel like even if somebody were to copy-paste all of the beats of the story yet work in deeper characters, and do none of the other suggestions that I talked about, that the story itself would be IMMEDIATELY improved. And I personally find it insanely sad that I have to say shit like this. 

But then again, if Jocelyn, Max, and Alex had any sort of depth to their characters, they might have naturally had the “should I/you get an abortion? Should I/you/we consider adoption?” BECAUSE THEY WOULD BE PEOPLE IN THEIR OWN RIGHTS, WHO HAVE OPINIONS ON ABORTION!

I feel like there’s less here than what I normally write about. But I thought that the base of the story wasn’t terrible, it was mainly the execution of it all that fell really, REALLY flat. 

As usual, these are only ideas, and I don’t lay claim to them. Feel free to use any of these suggestions if you want for your own story! And if you do use this, I want to see what you’ve written! Please?

[ear-worthy]

NYT "The Interview" Podcast With Serena Williams On Retirement

I admit upfront this number is sketchy. Approximately 25 percent of all podcasts are interview podcasts, where a host or co-host interviews a guest, or guests. That is often a default format for podcasters because they believe that preparation is much easier since you are not researching a topic like the Bolivian Striped Mosquito (Not a real bug). 

Here's the thing. Conducting an interview is hard. It's one of those activities that seems easy and seamless, yet it has the degree of difficulty of a Reverse 2 1/2 Somersault springboard dive.

Check out Elaine Appleton Grant's Sound Judgment podcast for how to conduct an interview. It's a masterclass. Grant will tell you that anyone can do an interview, but only a few can do it well. Then she will help you learn to be a more skilled interviewer.

My point here is that interview podcasts done well are worth the time. Those podcasts with a celebrity or celebrities who once worked together on a TV show in the 90s and now hold "unfiltered conversations" with a guest who is selling a product, service or themselves are self-replicating in the audio world. It's branding that is blunt force trauma, battering listeners with the same three talking points the guest was given by the P.R. team.

To blunt some of my snobbishness about interview podcasts, let me recommend an excellent one -- the New York Times' The interview podcast. 

NYT's marketing pitch is: "Conversations with the world’s most fascinating people. Each week, hosts David Marchese and Lulu Garcia-Navarro talk to compelling, influential figures in culture, politics, business, sports and beyond" Unlike most marketing hard-sells, this podcast delivers on its promise.

 So far, the podcast has interviewed famous people about what's changed in their lives, not a rehash of their past achievements or a platform to sell their latest project.

For example, a recent episode had director, Richard Linklater, whose latest movie, Hit Man, is a bit of a departure for the director, who has made some of the most acclaimed and influential indie films of the last 30-plus years. Another recent episode had Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Here's the podcast setup to that interview: "At some point in almost every performance she gives, Julia Louis-Dreyfus has this look. If you’ve watched “Seinfeld,” “The New Adventures of Old Christine” or “Veep,” you know it — the perfect mix of irritation and defiance. As if she were saying, Try me.Louis-Dreyfus’s performances in those shows — from the eccentrically self-actualized Elaine Benes in “Seinfeld” to the completely un-self-aware Selina Meyer in “Veep” — were comedic master classes. But in recent years, she has been moving toward more introspective and serious work."

This week is tennis great Serena Williams. Here's the podcast listening proposition: "A lot of people reach middle age having achieved some career success and ask themselves: Well, now what? Apparently this happens even if you’re Serena Williams."

"Williams, who’s now 42, retired from competitive tennis a little under two years ago. She won 23 Grand Slam tournaments, more than any woman in the Open era and one shy of the record. Her level of fame and achievement — both on and off the court — broke boundaries for Black women and female athletes in general. She is, by most accounts, the best ever at what she did. Since retiring, Williams has directed that drive at her family and several new projects. But the tennis court still calls."

In the latest episode of The Interview, the legendary tennis player spoke to David Marchese about trying to find her new normal in retirement, the uncertainty of pushing children to achieve their full potential, her thoughts on “Challengers” and more.

“I always look at my dad, and I think, How were you able to do that?” Williams reflects. “Because I’m like, Oh, they’re so cute. I just want them to relax, and I don’t want to over-push them. But I would be devastated if I wasn’t pushed, because we wouldn’t be having this interview and there would never have been a Serena Williams. So I feel so fortunate that I had an opportunity to have that extra oomph. But for whatever reason, I’m having a hard time connecting to that extra push, and that’s something I’ve been trying to figure out myself, how to give that extra motivation to my daughters… I always say I wouldn’t trade anything that I’ve done. So why in the world am I not pushing my daughter a little bit more?”

Check out this latest episode.  Some interview podcasts go shallow because that's what the guest wants and the listeners expect. Here, the backhoe is out and going deep. Put on your miner's hat.

[internauts]

A humiliating personal fact: two years ago, when the first season of Emily in Paris came out, I watched it and had the closest thing I’ve ever had to a breakdown. It was the antisocial first winter of the pandemic, and I was, at the time, not doing much with my days besides working a job that involved handling digital advertising for this magazine. I had a lot of shame about this job, which more and more struck me as mindless work for a radically unserious person. We would publish an article about the threat of far-right nationalism, or a review of a book about surveillance capitalism, and then I would turn the piece into a Facebook ad. Was “marketing,” even for a good cause, fundamentally slimy, hypocritical, and beholden to capital’s most powerful and destructive digital actors? Was I? Emily in Paris spectacularly confirmed my suspicions. Watching it at the well-meaning suggestion of a friend, who thought I might be amused by its outrageous portrayal of millennial women, I felt almost violently interpellated. Emily, everyone agreed, was catastrophically dumb, hooked to her phone, skilled at the non-art of digital branding and nothing else. Her savviness in marketing was enabled by an inner emptiness that left her sublimely incurious about life’s loftier realms. In one episode, she meets a semiotics professor at a café, who tells her (prompting, of course, a marketing epiphany) that “when two things are next to each other, you’re forced to compare them.” The viewer is supposed to apply the statement to Emily and the semiotician: he’s cool where she’s ringarde, he’s got a Barthes paperback where she’s got that huge honking phone. But right there on my computer, the two things that were next to each other were the Netflix tab and the Facebook Ads Manager tab. Was my work for n+1 any different from Emily’s work for Savoir? Was I, in fact, any different from her? The more I watched, the more real despair I felt, identification striking me like a French laundry truck. Emily and I were the same age, same demographic profile. Like her, I speak no French and don’t know the third arrondissement from the twelfth. And I thought about Instagram ads all day, too.

THE EMILY IN LITTLE PARIS event seemed to promise, if not liberté, at least some degree of sororité: here was a place where everyone was Emily. I don’t know if I’ve ever been to a “pop-up event” before—the term has always reminded me of erections, and I don’t like lines—but, as an indulgent friend and I approached the mass of people grouped on Centre Street, I intuitively understood the gist of the thing: the attendee is prompted to live life like Emily.

It was not hard, either, to discern a powerful strain of Emily-ness among the attendees. The lines for each Experience teemed with white women (“where are the fruity men?” my friend whispered), a sort of surprising percentage of whom were wearing berets. One person was trotting around a poodle, who was also wearing a beret, and every so often I’d glimpse a cluster of beret-clad little kids—Emilys Junior. Wandering around the event’s periphery, I asked a few visitors what they liked about the show. One woman told me she liked the scenery. Another—an Australian—told me that she’d lived in Paris before and found the show “authentic.” “I mean, I didn’t do the things Emily did,” she amended. “But today I am!”

[etrosgate]

putting this under a cut because it's REALLY long. and so halloween fans don't have to read about me being very mean about it

part of this is the fact that black christmas is just one of my favorite horror movies, but i swear the comparison isn't coming from nowhere. halloween itself was heavily inspired by the film, its literal premise and title came from a conversation between the directors of both movies over what a sequel to black christmas would look like.

and when you see the films back to back, that inspiration becomes Extremely obvious to the degree where it's difficult to Not compare them. and compare them i will.

a big aspect of my annoyance with the film is how people have talked up halloween for decades, when pretty much every aspect they bring up (besides like. the theme song being catchy) was not only already present in black christmas, but IMO done wayy better.

people love to talk about how mysterious a character micheal myers is, a force of nature that you can't comprehend. so it was surprising to me when i watched the movie and it literally opens with his backstory, and has a whole subplot dedicated to that detective guy for the purpose of exposition about his life story and to tell you flat out that he was Born Evil.

you know who a REAL mysterious villain is, who we know almost nothing about and feels more like a force of nature than a person? the killer from black christmas.

you see this poster?

this is not a pure stylistic choice for promo material to conceal the identity of the culprit, this is literally the most you EVER physically see of him in the movie. his presence is from first person pov shots (sounds familiar?), his voice, and heavily shadowed silhouettes that feature only fractions of a face or hands.

all you learn about him through the entire movie is through the killings, sexually harassing phone calls, and incoherent talking to himself. his name literally isn't even listed in the credits, fans only call him "billy" through conjecture and outside sources.

then there's the suspense. people say that halloween is so scary cause you never know if he's there or when he might show up, but his theme song literally blares every second he's on screen, and the movie Has to keep bringing him out constantly cause there's literally nothing else interesting going on in the movie.

black christmas is very conservative with its killer's appearances, he shows up just frequently enough that you never forget that he's a threat, but not so frequently that you're ever certain of what exactly he's doing. and this works because there's actually a plot to this movie

in black christmas, there's 3 major plotlines running concurrently;

the first woman killed (funnily enough, she is the "pure" one that would be the final girl in a regular slasher film) doesn't have her body discovered, so throughout the movie the other characters believe her to be missing and are trying to find her

the protagonist has gotten pregnant and clashes with her boyfriend over her intention to get an abortion, and refusal to quit college and marry him. (which he is framed as being obviously in the wrong for btw. 1974 film)

and the killer, killing people.

and within these plots, when the majority of the cast are killed off throughout the movie, you actually give a shit about it because they are compelling characters with heart and personality. especially notable for a "proto-slasher" the woman dominated cast are like actual people with personality flaws, and their deaths are portrayed like an actual tragedy and not comeuppance.

the characters in halloween are such paper thin stereotypes that the movie never bothers to get you invested in, just cows to herd to the slaughter. even the final girl has barely anything to her.

now lets talk violence.

the kills in halloween were shocking to me in how NOT impactful they were. they were so blandly shot that most of the time it just felt like an excuse to show its teenage female characters topless for longer. (the topless shots in general were so excessive and voyeuristic, i really hated them.)

meanwhile black christmas' kills were really punchy and effective, and they don't even show much of anything! they love to do a bit of build up, and then when the killer strikes you see the very beginning of the attack, the initial clash, and then the movie hard cuts to the main plot in the middle of it.

it's really effective to me, suddenly you're watching the rest of these women answering the door for some carolers and know that someone they care about is getting killed upstairs right at that very second and they don't know.

okay im getting tired of typing but like. i also did not get Anything to chew on thematically in halloween beyond "omg this guy has Scary Mental Illness that makes him Evil" and "Oh no someone's attacking the sanctity of Suburbia!"

black christmas definitely has the ableism with its villain too, but there's also a really compelling through-line on misogyny (the biggest wrinkle being that very bad victim blamey comment about rape at the beginning. really could've done without that)

it's really easy to read the killer as like, an embodiment of the material threat of Misogyny. the whole movie they bring up ways women suffer from it, like sexual harrassment, and jess's whole obsessive boyfriend plot, and how they can't get the cops to take them seriously until they bring a man in to vouch for them.

like, to me The scariest scene in black christmas is when jess has locked herself in the basement to escape from the killer and you see the silhouette of someone walking past the basement windows and when its revealed to be the boyfriend it's no better than if it Had been the killer. so she ends up having to protect herself from him too.

and then all the deaths are blamed on the boyfriend and jess is left in the house with the real killer still completely free. the boyfriend was simply one agent of a systemic issue, while the true threat remains not only unaddressed, but not even identified in the first place. and then the movie ends on the implication that the killer gets her in the end anyway (that ending shot+credits scroll is sooooo iconic)

anyways. Basically i got fucking nothing from watching halloween. it was boring, lacking in substance and subtlety, and it wasn't even scary. so now i become insufferable when i think about it for too long.

and please watch black christmas 1974 <3

im genuinely sorry for being a hater, but i made the mistake of watching black christmas 1974 BEFORE seeing halloween 1978, and now i can never shake the impression of the latter being Black Christmas But Worse

[mediocre-writerr]

better man [love quinn]

love quinn x fem!reader

requested by anon: Girlie, I need more love Quinn stories with Taylor Swift titles and themes!! I think “Better Man” is so interesting and I think the theme of joe being horrible and love letting go of him to get with a beautiful woman

a/n: taylor swift is running my life lately, so if you have any requests with taylor swift titles/themes with any characters that i write for, feel free to request!

*not my gif*

Reflections are scary. 

They can show you the scariest parts of yourself. The parts you hate the most about yourself tend to show. 

It was dark, the only source of light was the full moon shining through Love’s bedroom window. It was four in the morning and she was just staring at herself in the mirror that showed her worst nightmare. 

“Why don’t you love me anymore?!” her voice echoed in her mind, replaying the conversation with the man who she should love with everything in her. 

But she doesn’t. That’s the crazy thing. She doesn’t love him, not anymore. Not like how she used to. If anything she hated him.

She let out a sigh as she thought about him. She could practically feel his arms wrapped around her from behind. Love could physically see Joe holding her in front of the mirror. He was like a ghost haunting her every move. A force holding her down. 

Love couldn’t escape it though. It’s like she was magically bound to this one man, her soulmate, the man who used to understand her in and out. But now, now he looks at her like she’s a monster when she was the one who made her like this!

Joe had fucked with her mind so much that there was no ounce of the real her left. Yet, every damn time he still made her feel like it was her own fault. Like she was so fucked up in the head and he was this perfect guy who would never do something like that. Ever. 

“Fuck you, fuck you! You act all pure and noble, like you have reasons for what you do what you do, but when I do it I am crazy, right?! I-I’m some manic nut job, but oh wait! Oh wait! She’s a mom now, I guess I can’t slit her throat! He is the only reason I’m still alive!” she argued. 

She doesn’t deserve this, right? This unhealthy, toxic, relationship where she’s being gaslit in her own fucking home? But maybe she does. She doesn’t deserve love. She doesn’t deserve you. 

You, you were different than every snotty two-faced person in Madre Linda. When Dottie was no longer to be trusted as a babysitter, they went looking for a babysitter, and found you. 

Love instantly drew a liking to you. The way that you cared for her and for Henry. The way that you were so interested in her baking and cooking and just her in general.

But she only thought of you as a friend in this lonely town...hell, in this lonely house. That was until the scariest day of her life.

Henry was basically screaming and crying bloody murder as you watched over him. Love was working at the bakery and Joe was working at the library and Henry well, he wasn’t having a very good day.

You picked him up from his crib and started rocking him back and forth. His eyes were bloodshot red and you started noticing a rash forming along the smooth skin of his body. The worst popped into your head as you grabbed the thermometer, already making a bee-line towards your car that was parked out front. 

Beep beep! You quickly pulled out the thermometer that read: 106 degrees Fahrenheit. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, strapping him into his carseat and immediately calling Love.

You sped to the hospital as quick as you could. This wasn’t your first babysitting gig, but Henry, for some odd reason, meant so much to you. So you needed to get him to the hospital and if getting pulled over was a risk, it was a risk you were willing to take.

“Hey Y/N! Everything o-” she started, but you immediately cut her off. 

“Love, I’m on my way to bring Henry to the hospital. His temperature is 106 and he has a rash forming. I think someone gave him the measles,” you quickly got out. 

“Oh God. I’m on my way,” she responded and you were about to hang up the phone when her voice cut through, “Y/N, are you okay? Are you vaccinated?” her voice laced with worry.

A part of you wanted to believe that the worry in her tone was for you and your safety. But you shook it off knowing that it was for Henry.

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay. Don’t worry about me, just come quickly,” you responded.

That night you didn’t leave their side. Joe came to the hospital for two seconds and then dipped to who even knows where. You sat in the waiting room, slowly falling in and out of sleep. 

“Y/N, go home,” Love whispered to you.

You shook your head, trying to knock the sleep out of you, “No, I’m staying here until he leaves this hospital,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to do that. You’ve done more than enough,” she said to you, taking a seat next to you. 

“I know, but Henry means a lot to me. I won’t be able to go home and sleep if I know that he’s still in here,” you told her.

Love just stared at you. Her blue eyes staring right at you, but you couldn’t read her expression, “Thank you,” 

“Anytime,” 

Love remembered that night vividly. The way that your head drooped slightly onto her shoulder. She didn’t want to move. She was fighting every muscle in her body because she did not want to wake your sleepy figure. You drooled on her a little bit, but she thought it was the cutest thing in the world. 

But Love knew she was better off on her own. She didn’t need to drag you into her drama. Her mom was a lunatic. Her dad was now nowhere to be found. More importantly, Joe would kill you in a heartbeat if he ever found out Love’s true feelings for you. 

Maybe that’s why she buried her feelings for you because she knew she wasn’t enough. Joe reminded her every day that she wasn’t. Even though she knew better to wait around for a guy who constantly changed his mind. 

One day he absolutely adored her. He would be all over her, the sex would be off the charts. But the next day? He’d hate her with every being in his body. 

He gave her false hope on a daily. That one day his severe mood swings would stop and he’d love her just like he did in the beginning. Instead of killing for other people, he’d kill for her. He’d compliment her pastries and meals. He would stop thinking of her as a monster and finally think of her as the girl he fell madly in love with. 

So she tried. She tired to be sexier, more caring, a better mom to Henry, a better wife, but it didn’t matter. Nothing she did mattered because it was never enough. Joe’s heart was never in it. 

And maybe Love’s heart wasn’t in it anymore either.

“Hey Love! I forgot to switch out Henry’s carseat. I was halfway home when I noticed it in my backseat-” you entered the house to see Love sitting on the couch quickly wiping her face, “Are you okay?” 

She planted a fake smile on her face, before nodding, “Yeah, yeah. It’s just allergies,” 

“What’s wrong?” you whispered, sitting down next to her, dropping the carseat on the ground. 

“I’m just so tired,” she lets out, “I’m trying so hard to keep my family alive. I mean I’m trying to be the best mom for Henry while running the bakery. I could sense that Joe’s slipping away every single day and there’s absolutely nothing I could do to stop him. I’m just not enough for anyone, anymore,” 

You hesitantly placed your hand on hers, staring into her deep blue eyes, “You, Love Quinn, are more than enough. I mean you said it yourself, you’re doing everything in your power to keep your family alive and if Joe is too much of an idiot to see that well...that’s on him,” 

Love could see the genuine glint in your eyes. That every word that came out of your mouth was true. It was genuine and it was for her. 

“You deserve someone whose heart is made just for you. You shouldn’t have to try 24/7 to be this perfect person for someone who doesn’t care for you. I know it’s not what you want to hear, but as someone who cares so much about you and Henry, I think that’s for the best,” 

“Baby, what are you doing up?” you whispered as you wrapped your arms from behind Love. You awoke from your shared bed to find her staring at herself in front of the mirror at four in the morning. 

Love blinked a couple times, the figure of Joe fading away. His hauntingly cold touch was slowly replaced with your warmer figure. The force that was binding her heart to his faded away.

She let out a sigh as you nuzzled your face in the crook of her neck. She turned her head and placed a soft kiss to your forehead, goosebumps rising onto her skin at the feeling of your warm breath on her neck, “You should be sleeping, this is the first time Henry has slept through most of the night since we moved,” 

“I know I went to use the bathroom and I just stopped in front of the mirror to think,” Love told you, her hand reaching out intertwine with yours. 

“About?” you mumbled into her neck, taking in her sweet scent. 

“I thought about what I saw when I look at myself in the mirror and how I don’t like who I see. Or well I guess I don’t like the image that was planted into my head of who I am. That I’m a monster,” she opened up to you. 

You finally removed your face from her neck, staring at her through the reflection of the mirror. Love wanted to shrink at how you were studying her intently, “Do you want to know what I see?” you whispered and she just hummed in response, “I see the best mom in the entire world. The best girlfriend that a girl could ask for and an absolutely stunning and strong women. I will love every single part of you. Even the parts that you see in your own reflection that you hate or the scariest parts of yourself I will love with my entire heart,”

“Whatever Joe planted in your head is not true and I will remind you every single day if I have to,” you told her and she could see the same genuine sincerity in your eyes from the night she ran away from Joe to be with you. 

Love turned to face you, wrapping her arms around your neck as she pressed her lips against yours. You kissed back immediately, practically drowning at the feeling of her lips. A feeling you know you will never get used to. 

“I love you,” she whispered to you as she pulled away.

“And I love you,” 

With those simple words, it released Love from Joe’s grasp.Her heart and mind slowly letting go of the words that used to drown out her thoughts that she deserved something better. Someone better. 

[starbuckie]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

pairing(s): college!peter parker x reader, dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!sam wilson x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader

words: 8.1k words

warnings: DARK!FIC, SMUT 18+ (unprotected sex, foursome turned fivesome, gangbang, non-con/dub-con, daddy kink, oral M and F-receiving, spit kink, degredation kink, praise kink, creampie), age-gap (reader is in her early 20s), cheating, angst, there’s like zero fluff

summary: peter should’ve made it back to the tower for date night on time, or maybe just before he found his girlfriend being fucked by three other superheroes.

a/n: eee my first dark fic! im so so happy with the way this turned out, and even though it was a pain in my ass for nearly three months, im so hapy to share it with y’all. this idea was brought up by an anon from @mypoisonedvine’s saturday sleepover a few months back, but i switched up tony and sam bc i didn’t like the tony and peter stuff. hopefully my smut has improved from the first time i wrote it in january, and just a reminder that in no way, shape, or form do i condone rape of any kind. there’s a large difference from the page and the real world. i try to put all tw’s in the tags and warnings, but if there was something i missed please tell me. thank you to my lovely bestie @mermaidxatxheart for beta-reading(i have no fucking clue what i’d do without your help). feel free to leave a comment or two and reblog, but don’t repost anywhere or i will hunt down your ass. thank you again and please please enjoy <3

main masterlist || mcu masterlist || sebastian stan characters masterlist

Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck Y/N as soon as he saw her.

It started with a faint mention, something Tony had thrown around along the lines of, “Parker’s bringing his girl down here tomorrow, don’t be an asshole”. He didn’t give a damn what Tony said or how he acted around Peter’s girl. Years of being thrown between gruesome mind-wiping and being half-dead, asleep in a freezer would do that to a man.

So the next day when Peter brought his girlfriend in, he was scratching his ass like a fucking ape and downing a beer with a messy bun at the nape of his neck, until he actually saw her. Neat hair, even neater laces with a sweet smile but a body that could kill. Didn’t matter that she was bundled under Parker’s hoodie and a pair of jeans- he could always admire a pretty dame, but Bucky could see that she was beyond that. It was as if God had intentionally made the one being, the one ethereal creature beautiful and angelic enough to be a sin away from him, so that he couldn’t touch her. Because she was young, and in her twenties, and that shouldn’t have even been the first two things that popped up in his mind because she was also Peter’s girlfriend.

But then she had the audacity to stick her hand out, a shy grin and twinkle in her eyes as she gave her name. It sounded so pretty rolling off of her tongue, and he wondered what it would sound like while he groaned it into her cunt.

Y/N. 

So, yeah, maybe Bucky wasn’t planning to fuck her as soon as he met her, but it was pretty damn close after.

-

Steve Rogers was one of very few men who said they had the pleasure of banging nearly every woman on the north side of Manhattan. Bucky indulged in the fact that the man who had once been too shy to do so much as meet a gal’s gaze was now “a dollar whore”, but he was more than happy to keep that title if it meant he could continue to get off in the nearest woman’s mouth everyday. 

Every time he walked down the streets of New York with just a simple ball cap and jeans, he could feel stares on his back from what seemed like miles away, girls on every street corner just waiting for him to take her into the nearest public bathroom and fuck them dirty. CEOs, baristas, girls fresh out of getting master’s degrees with stars in their eyes and big dreams, until he shattered them by making them gag on his cock and scream his name into bedsheets. Or tile floors. He didn’t care as long as they were screaming. The girls of this century were just too delectable to turn down. He didn’t discriminate. His dick had been in women of every height, stature, hair color, and he had quite the variety throwing themselves at him as well.

And then Tony ruined it all and sat him down with a simple explanation that the image of Captain America was being tainted with disturbing stories of girls being fucked in the ass and thrown on their knees in dirty bathroom stalls. The blond was beyond pissed when the billionaire told him to stop dicking around, but he couldn’t do anything else if he wanted to keep his title and job. In a new century, even if he’d had a few years to adjust, he was still absolutely oblivious when it came to anything outside of aliens and sex. There was nothing left for him outside of being an Avenger, so reluctantly he agreed to keep his number of conquests to a minimum, and most definitely inside of the tower rather than out on the street.

However, inside of the tower seemed to be no problem at all when Peter brought his girlfriend over, all smiles and straight A’s, and that’s when Steve realized that he’d yet to fuck a bright, little college student. He could see himself stripping her from the innocence in her eyes, loosening up her pussy with his thick cock against the wall in his room.

Surely Tony couldn’t reprimand him for spending a little time trying to bond with Peter’s new girl, right?

-

Sam Wilson was a simple man. He had a job, a well-paid one at that, somewhere to live, a girlfriend, or a woman to keep him company, that’s for sure- but for once in his life he was seeking out something other than missions, something that would keep him busy when he was feeling bored, something like-

Pleasure, and he knew that he’d finally found what he was looking for the moment Peter brought his girlfriend through the elevator doors on the fifty-sixth level of the Avengers tower. She’d shaken his hand so daintily and spoke so politely that if he were to see her without any backstory, he’d think she was another innocent, dim-witted college student, breaking her bank account every Saturday morning and naively believing that her relationship would last longer than a few months. But by the things Parker had told him, she was much more than that.

Was it shitty of Peter to tell his teammates, the people he worked with, how Y/N was in bed? By the majority’s vote, probably, and by Sam’s strict conduct of his own morals, definitely, but when Peter’s girl looked like that and he was so incredibly bored with his routine? 

Well, fuck, Sam had never been happier that the Spider-kid had told everyone how his girl gave head.

Peter brought his girlfriend in daily after that, and every one of her visits, she grew less shy and more friendly, and the Falcon saw each of his friends gape at her growing comfortability with a wolfish demeanor. It started with the water incident with Steve in the kitchen, where he so clearly spilled water on her already thin, white camisole with intention. Sam couldn’t say he was upset though, after all Steve had offered him and the rest of the Avengers quite a show when he tried to clean up her shirt, taking his sweet, sweet time to fondle her tits as subtly as he could, his eyes staring at her pebbled nipples poking through the material. He could see Bucky hiding his boner under his cereal bowl on the couch that day. 

Then of course, he’d been no better than America’s sweetheart himself when he greeted Y/N with a hug that in hindsight, was a little too enthusiastic. His large hands squeezed into the pockets of her back pocket, and if the college student found anything weird with it, she didn’t say so, but Sam graciously palmed the round globes of her ass in his hands, feeling the muscle clench under his fingers. Oh, how he’d never hugged someone that tight ever before in his life. Maybe he would’ve gotten a bit further than squeezing her ass had it not been for his own girlfriend standing behind him, ready to introduce herself to Y/N.

Bucky, well, Sam could admit that Bucky had the most guts out of all of them. Though the super-soldier was normally well-reserved and polite, the dark glint in his eyes the day he met Y/N let him in on the secret that he had a much dirtier mind than most thought. It had been movie night that time, and he barely even tried to cover up how much he wanted the girl, his hands resting all over her as they watched Inception. Hardly a movie to get so riled up over, yet Bucky’s hand still inched its way up her thigh, his rough fingers gently carressing the flesh until they started to lightly trace the apex of her thighs. 

If she noticed anything then, she didn’t comment on it, doe-like eyes just marvelling at the screen in great intrigue. It was only when Peter’s arms wrapped around her a bit tighter did she scooch away from Bucky’s touch, with a small apology and shy grin. 

That only made his dick harder.

On the other side of Bucky, his super-soldier counterpart tapped his knee gently, forcing their blue eyes to meet each other. No words had to be said between the two, three men when they looked over to Sam, because they all recognized that look they saw in each other's eyes; predatory, dark, nearly voracious in the way they all wanted to be balls deep inside of Y/N.

And they would get there. No matter how long it took, they knew that the ultimate prize of tearing their prey apart would be more than worth the wait.

-

“Hey, babe, I’m gonna be a little late. Ned and I got stuck back in the lab, so we’re gonna need to stay until eight or nine. Can you make it to the tower by yourself alright?”

Peter’s concerned voice made Y/N smile gently as she trudged along the rainy streets of New York. He always loved to worry about her, especially when it was dark and gloomy out, but she could handle herself pretty okay. By pretty okay, of course meant she could kick ass like no other twenty-something year-old, but she wasn’t one to brag. Y/N readjusted the Kate Spade purse on her shoulder with her right hand, attempting to keep her umbrella over her head with the other. “I’ll be fine, Pete, just go finish up and get back to me. I’m gonna be waiting in your room at the tower before you go off on that mission this weekend.”

A small sigh came through the speaker, “Okay, I’ll try to get back to you soon. I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Pete.” 

“Oh,” she could hear the shy but no less mischievous smile that was taking over his face, “I left you a little present on the bed, make sure you open it before I get back.”

Y/N’s face heated at the implication. “Peter Parker, you dirty little-” He ended the call with a laugh, and she huffed out a small chuckle at his childish antics.

The walk to the Avengers tower would have been nice, had it not been for the downfall of rain, making everything mushy, socks being absolutely soaked through her sneakers by the time she arrived. The receptionist at the front desk, Jenny, if Y/N remembered correctly, stared at her a little oddly, probably not expecting to see the young college girl in such a state of disorder, but it didn’t affect her at all. She confidently strutted up to the elevator, pressing in the floor number where all the rooms were located. Y/N scrolled through her Twitter feed on her phone while classic rock blared through the elevator with the constant shuffling of people moving in and out. Seven minutes and thirty-two seconds later she was sprinting down the halls with soggy shoes and damp hair, her cold body screaming for warmth.

Peter’s room was the farthest down the hall, and the room was fairly empty. He rarely stayed at his room in the tower, preferring to stay with his Aunt May or keep Y/N company in Brooklyn. When she entered the room, she saw a plain white shirt and a pair of socks strewn upon the carpeted floor, but what really caught her eye was the red box wrapped in a pink bow on the bed. Deciding it would add more suspense if she opened it later, she quickly hopped in the shower, letting the hot water warm her freezing, rigid muscles under the spray. 

Peter didn’t have all the products she’d usually use before she knew they were going to have sex, so she had to make do with the half-used bar of Irish Spring and his small travel-sized bottles of shampoo and conditioner, promising the fresh, breezy smell of citrus and mint. It was a quick process; two squeezes of shampoo, shaving with the green soap as best as she could without cutting herself, one squeeze of conditioner. A fuzzy towel sat waiting for Y/N on the rack, with the Spiderman symbol as a prank gift from her to her lovely boyfriend, and without a second to let the heat leave her damp skin, she wrapped herself in it, quickly hopping out to the bedroom again.

The lingerie she set out on the bed was a deep set burgundy color, with lace decorating the delicate corset and the trim of the satin panties. The packaging really did not do it justice. Y/N grinned at the new set, one that she knew would happily be torn from her body later. A shiver ran through her as she let the cold air fall over her skin, carefully slipping the lingerie on. It was a damn shame, really; the set was quite nice, and she reminded herself to buy more of the nicely suiting color for their nights together. 

Click.

Y/N’s heart thumped with anticipation as she heard the door open and she took a quick moment to ready herself. Hair in perfect style, legs stretched along the length of the bed to make herself look as seductive as possible, a small smirk thrown on her pouty lips.

But in the darkened room, it wasn’t Peter’s shadow that appeared. Three men, three tall, bulkier men’s shadows appeared at the foot of the bed, and horror washed over her as she realized who they were. “Goddamn, dolly, I’ve imagined what you would’ve looked like under those sweaters, but this is much sweeter than I expected.”

The sinister face of Bucky Barnes came into her view, just a sliver of moonlight lighting up his pale skin. His eyes raked over Y/N’s uncovered skin, and goosebumps appeared as she tried to cover herself up under his predatory gaze.

“W-what are you doing here?” She whispered worriedly. Sam and Steve flanked the bed on either side of her, plastered sickly sweet smiles on their faces, providing her with a false sense of security that made her heart scream in fear. Though she wasn't making any noise, her lungs felt like they were going to give out, her throat closing up like an allergic reaction. 

Her head whipped every which way in robotic movement, her brain seeming to fail her as she scanned the room for an exit. Several moments of shortened breaths, cold air chilling her body, before she came out of her freezing shock to realization.

“Why are you here? Please, get out, just g-get out!”

A calloused hand pushed away Y/N’s left arm that covered her tits, and Steve groaned at the sight of her pebbled nipples. “God, baby, they’re as pretty as I thought they’d be. Been trying to feel them up all week, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

Saturday the week before at lunch when he’d spilled water over chest and tried to clean her up. Sam’s friendly hug that became a bit less friendly when his hands slipped into the back pockets of her jeans. The movie night on Monday when Bucky’s hand caressed her thigh a little too close to her core. All of their touches began to make more sense, and her eyes filled with tears at the realization. 

“Please,” she begged, tears blocking her vision, “I promise I won’t tell anyone, not even Pete, but please just go.”

“You just don’t get it, do you?” Steve asked. He grasped her chin roughly, his face close enough to hers so that she could feel his fiery breath on her lips. “We’re not leaving, sweetheart. You’re gonna let all three of us play with your pretty little body, and you’re gonna make the prettiest sounds for us, alright?”

Y/N shook her head violently, too afraid to make noise, but also bold enough to make one last attempt at freedom. The hand that held her chin quickly moved to slap her cheek, and she hated the way the sting made heat stir in her lower belly. She tried to shy away from their touch again, but Bucky’s face simply held the same smirk as he trailed his vibranium fingers up and down her leg. 

“Oh, come on, Y/N, don’t act all shy now. Peter has been telling us how good you’ve been to him and don’t think he hasn’t told us about your little childhood crush on little ol’ me. Been wanting to fuck you ever since.” Bucky’s hand quickly left her body, instead moving to palm over the bulge in his pants. “Fuck, sweetheart, got me real hard just thinking ‘bout your pussy swallowing my cock. Bet you’re gonna be a sweet, obedient girl for me, right?”

Fire started to course through Y/N’s veins, and with all the power she tried to dampen it down with, it seemed to push through her body that much more dangerously. She despised the fact that she could feel herself growing wet for the three older men, but God, she had never felt the need to be filled up as badly as she did in that moment.

“You’re a bit of a slut, don’t you think?” Sam mocked. He kneeled on her right, his eyes fixated on her panty-clad pussy, a wet patch already forming on the soft satin. It really didn’t help that three of her teen celebrity crushes were eyeing her nearly naked body like a piece of meat. “I mean, look at you, already growing wet and needy for three cocks. Is that what you want, honey? Parker not treating you good enough?”

She hesitated. Goosebumps rose across her skin at the sinister tone of his voice, like he already knew it was true. And it was true and she hated that Sam was right, but as amazing as Peter was a boyfriend, it was clear from the vibrator hiding in his apartment’s bathroom that he was not amazing in the sheets. Every time, she held hope that it would be better, that she would finally get to stop faking an orgasm before he rolled out of the bed with a filled up condom, but she knew deep down inside of her that it wasn’t happening anytime soon. Y/N forced herself to nod weakly at Sam’s questions, and Bucky chuckled. “Oh, you poor dolly, we’re gonna have so much fun with you. Treat you better than that little boy ever could.”

All it took was a whimper, a nearly audible, deadly silent whimper that managed to squeak its way past Y/N’s throat, and the three men took it as permission to ravage her body however they pleased.

Steve made quick work of his pants as Sam lifted her chin to kiss him, his tongue hot and heavy against her mouth, coaxing her lips open. The sound of belt buckles hitting the floor shamefully turned on Y/N even more. Panic coursed through her senses, her mind wanting to scream for them to stop, but her body knew her too well as she felt a wave of slick run down her thighs. Cold metal digits slipped under the waistband of her panties, moving to her wet folds, and she whimpered into Sam’s mouth at the touch. 

“You look so nice, baby, so pretty all laid out for us like this.” Bucky’s hands pulled down her panties as Steve pinched her peaked nipple through the lace, laying lavish, open-mouthed kisses down her torso. The cool air hit her pussy when Bucky’s hands pulled her legs wide open, fully exposed to the three men ready to use her against her will. “Knew you’d be so wet for us, sweetheart, just look at you. Dripping all for your daddies,” Steve murmured against her skin.

Hot breath fanned over her cunt before they rolled her over on her stomach, someone’s hands forcing her up onto her knees with her face smashed into the cotton pillows. She could feel two rough human hands pulling her ass cheeks apart, spreading her ever wider for their view. “Would you look at that, boys, look how fucking hot she is for us.”

Sam’s thick finger ran through her folds, the calloused pad of his finger just teasing her clit before landing a harsh smack to the inside of her thigh. Her moan was muffled through the mattress and she prayed they wouldn’t hear how being treated like whore made her wet like nothing else. 

Hot slick dripped down her thighs, a pool of it staining the pristine sheets by each knee. It was quite a sight, Steve, kneeled by the bed as his face hovered next to her ear, whispering filthy things into her ear as Bucky stroked his hard, leaking cock right next to him. Sam’s lips were making their way up the inside of her right thigh, cracked skin gliding across her sticky flesh. “Oh, baby,” he purred, “you smell so good. Bet you taste even better, don’t you, little girl?”

His tongue reached the apex of her thighs, finally licking a stipe up her center with no warning. Y/N sobbed into the comforter below her, mascara stained tears marking up her face. Two fingers edged their way between the bed and her face, forcing her head upwards and arching her back. Steve’s face was caught in a dirty smirk above hers, lip pulled taut between his teeth, until he saw the tears trailing down her face. “Oh, sweetheart, you look so desperate like this.” His fingers traced her smeared lip gloss around her lips, before opening her lips harshly. “Open up, you dumb baby.”

Y/N forced her jaw open wider, just enough to watch a string of Steve’s saliva drip into her mouth. The thick spit pooled on her tongue and she tried hard not to grimace in front of him, in hopes that he wouldn’t make her- 

“Swallow it, sweetheart.” He saw the hesitation in her eyes, how her lower lip trembled at his words, but he just laughed at her. “Now.”

The warm saliva slid down her tongue and more black tears ran down her face as she obliged his orders, finally gulping it and cringing at the taste. Steve loved the way her face screwed up in displeasure, how she still had the audacity to pretend she hated what they were doing though she was moaning and whimpering with Sam’s tongue attacking her entrance.

“What do you want, sweetheart? We might give it to you as long as you use your words.” Bucky taunted lightly.

Y/N stared up at the brunette, staring menacingly down at her with his cock in hand. “Please,” she whimpered.

The three found it woeful, the way she could barely get a full sentence out as Sam went to town with his skilled tongue, but even with that onslaught, a simple please wasn’t enough for them.

“Please what, honey,” Sam moaned from between her legs, “you gotta use your big words or we’ll never know what you want from us.”

Steve and Bucky nodded in fake-agreement even though they all knew exactly what she wanted and where. 

“I don’t-” her widened eyes glanced into Steve’s, blown-out and teary. “I don’t want anything, not from you.” She lied through her teeth harshly.

Sam removed his head from between her thighs and Y/N immediately whined at the loss of contact almost hilariously. “You don’t want anything, little girl?” 

The air felt static, every hair on her neck rising in the pressured silence. The angel and the devil clawed at her heart, each trying to show her what was right. And she wanted to sin, God knew that she would love nothing more than to let that little greedy part of her take over, but she’d already cheated on Peter and that damn good part of her conscience stole the wheels of her brain.

Slowly and shamefully, she shook her head, though the downright dirty monster inside of her wanted the men to ignore her words and keep assaulting her body. 

“That’s a shame, baby, I thought we were having fun.” Sam sighed. He met Bucky’s gaze on the side, and though they seemed to be in resignation with her wishes, their eyes twinkled devilishly. He positioned his body over Y/N’s kneeled over form, his bare chest glued to her sweating back as his hands ran up the sides of her ribcage and to her front, just barely grazing over her sensitive nipples. “You mean, you don’t want me to touch you here?”

He pinched the darkened buds and she had to use every ounce of self-restraint to not collapse at the sensation. His calloused hands moved back even further, tracing down to the stretch of skin just above her mound, swiping a finger across the skin delicately. “How about here? Or even,” he brought three fingers around her body, over her ass, and into her glistening cunt again, just rubbing along her entrance, not daring to go further in. Y/N couldn’t hold in her reaction to his prodding anymore, his teasing chipping away all of her dignity and pride in a few simple touches. 

“Yes, please, please, use your fingers,” she blurted against her will. Where shame should have washed over her, there was only lust, raging red and coursing through her body so forcefully that she felt braindead. “Put your fingers in me, daddy, please.”

The pet name rolled off of her tongue so easily and she was barely ashamed of how it made her feel. The name especially shocked the three men, who smiled even wider with their cocks harder than before at the little slip up. “That was all you had to say, dolly, gonna have your daddies make you feel real good,” Bucky laughed.

Sam finally plunged his thick fingers knuckle-deep into her cunt as Steve’s mouth captured hers, effectively swallowing her scream with ferocity. The long digits scissored and swirled inside of her, pressing against new unexplored areas that she’d never even gotten to with her own fingers. White dots danced along the front line of her vision as teeth clashed against hers and though it’d been mere minutes she already knew she was close and the men did as well.

“I can feel you clamping around my fingers, honey,” Sam taunted. His lips were moving sinfully around her ass, planting sloppy kisses and drooling all over her skin while he fingered her deep. “Are you gonna come soon, baby?”

“Yes, daddy, I’m so- fuck,” Y/N panted into Steve’s mouth, “m’ so c-close.” The blond bit her tongue hard enough for her to taste blood and she yelped as she heard Sam and Bucky laugh. 

“Watch your language, dolly,” Bucky sneered from the side of the bed. His hand was rapidly moving around his cock, corkscrew motions edging him towards the brink of pleasure. 

“Little girls like you don’t get to use big swear words,” Sam’s face was still buried between her legs, his soaked fingers pulling out of her cunt only to rub at her little pearl of nerves in circles. His tongue still lapped at her dripping entrance and he could feel her tight hole start to pulse as her breathing picked up. “Oh, baby, you’re getting close, aren’t you?”

Y/N was hesitant to answer at first, the sweat on her body seeming to cool immediately in fear of what would happen if she messed up. But after five seconds Steve stopped kissing her, gripping her chin and staring into her eyes deeply. He looked as debauched as she felt, with his rosy lips swollen with spit and cheeks tinged with pink. “Are you gonna answer daddy, sweetheart?”

That knocked her into shape real fast.

“Yes, daddy, I’m so close. P-please let me come,” she whimpered. The whine in her voice pleased the two men, and Steve went back to exploring her mouth before she felt something poking against her asshole.

“Gonna let daddy put his cock in you, little girl?” Sam asked gently. His words had panic coursing through her system, a chilling realization like water being poured on her head and she began to wiggle around, trying to free Sam’s hand from her hip. Her arms weakly pushed at Steve’s chest, trying to push him as far away as he could, but the men only laughed at her flailing limbs. Y/N wanted to scream no to them, and despite her contrasting love-hate relationship with Sam’s fingers inside her cunt she knew it was time to go. It was laughable how much she would continue to say that to herself for the rest of the night. 

But Sam managed to sense her panic, knowing exactly what the issue was before harshly spanking her and effectively stopping her struggle. “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t come inside of you. I’m not risking knocking up a whore with my kids, I’ve got more dignity than that.”

He led the leaking tip of his dick down her crack, rubbing it along her slick entrance before pushing in with a groan. “Oh my fucking God, that is so hot.” Bucky admonished from the side. “Gotta get in on that soon.”

Steve chuckled against Y/N’s lips, pulling away with a strand of saliva connecting them. He adjusted himself up so his dick was centimeters from her face, a knee propped up on the bed for balance. “Gotta wait your turn, Buck, we all want a piece of her.” He noticed the way Y/N’s eyes were transfixed on his cock, the red mushroom head smeared with precome along the slit, nearly purplish veins standing out prominently on his shaft. Yeah, he couldn’t even deny that he was big because he already knew how many girls had dropped down on their knees for him. “Go ahead, sweetheart, open up those pretty lips for me.”

Almost too excitedly, she dropped her jaw, allowing him to slide his cock into the silky warmth of her mouth. As his hips started to thrust into her mouth, Sam’s started to do the same into her cunt. Both men moaned in tandem with their movements as Y/N’s worries faded away to the back of her mind as they stuffed her to the brim.

“You can come now, baby,” Sam nearly ordered, “go and cream on daddy’s cock- fuck, I know you’ve been waiting.”

It was a harsh bump of his head against her G-spot that sent her over the edge, walls clamping down with ferocity and milking him for all she was worth. Y/N reeled in the sunlight infested warmth that coursed through her body as she finally let go, whining around Steve’s dick as he continued to abuse her throat with long, deep thrusts. 

Bucky was still holding his orgasm off, fondling with his tight, heavy sac while his dick remained a painfully hard mess, glistening with precome. “I’m so glad I got to see you come, dolly, look so fucking pretty when you do.”

She couldn’t deny the little skip of her heart at the praise, just a few simple words that made her feel like a good little girl. But no, God-fucking no, she wasn’t supposed to let them make her feel this way. Guilt washed away that warmth in her chest just as quickly, knowing that her boyfriend was just waiting to come back to see her, finishing up his studies so that they could live their lives out together after college while she was getting her pussy and mouth absolutely wrecked by his co-workers. 

As soon as Y/N got her brain thinking straight again, Sam started moving inside of her again and she garbled out a strangled cry. “If you thought we were done here, baby,” Sam laughed, “you’ve got a lot left ahead of you.”

“We’re not leaving until all of us have come, brat.” Steve’s palm gripped the back of her skull roughly, pushing her head so far down on his dick that her nose was squished against his abdomen. “Greedy little bitch.”

Both men started to thrust into her again, and just like that she was back to being absolutely lost in desire and lust like the bitch in heat she was until there was a sudden shift in the air. So much that the sweat on her body began to cool her skin, Sam’s hands still gripping her hips so tightly she knew they’d leave marks that she would have to hide when she wore her favorite low-cut shorts. 

Bucky’s eyes seemed to drift from her tits moving with each movement of her hips, checking behind the door as if there were something lurking there, but she was too afraid to see for herself. If she stopped she would get spanked, and they’d probably prolong her second orgasm even further, and her pussy couldn’t handle any more subtle teasing.  

“Hey there, Parker, why don’t come on out here?”

But that, that was what made the hairs on Y/N’s neck rose, dread filling her to the fullest as she realized the implications of Sam’s words.

Peter had seen everything. Peter, her boyfriend, had seen three of his co-workers, three men who she barely knew, fuck her deep into his mattress. Peter, her boyfriend, had watched her get fucked into his mattress, without trying to stop them whatsoever.

She couldn’t tell if it was the guilt of cheating on her boyfriend or the freezing realization that he hadn’t done anything to stop the three men that hurt more. 

Yet Peter still walked from behind the door, dressed in a NYU hoodie and a pair of khakis slung low on his hips, just drawing attention to the sizable bulge that stretched out his zipper. His umber eyes, normally full of so much joy and love, were possessed by the same lust and darkness as the three men, as much as he tried to hide it behind a shyer facade. 

His eyes were trained on the tightness of how Y/N’s pussy was gripping Sam, her lips glossed over with come and spit wrapped around Steve’s dick. The girl stopped in her movements, her eyes no longer full of tears for just being gagged, but as soon as her mouth came to a halt around the base of his cock, the blond slapped her across the face. A sharp crack echoed around the room and though she couldn’t see him, she heard Bucky’s feral growl of pleasure at the whorish treatment she was receiving. 

“Didn’t say you could fucking stop, sweetheart, keep working on daddy’s cock.” No more words needed to be said as Steve gripped her hair once more, forcing himself farther back into her throat to the point where she couldn’t breathe. Sam’s thrusts were quickening, closer and closer to release as the sounds of the girl struggling to breath made his balls tighten. 

“Fucking shit, baby, you feel yourself squeezing my dick? I bet you like teasing daddy like that, don’t you?” One of his hands were brought down on her ass in a quick smack that resonated with Bucky, who was staving off his orgasm for something much sweeter than his hand. She was moaning raucously around the dick stuffed in her mouth, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure up every nerve in Steve’s body as he came with the tip of his dick nearly being swallowed by Y/N’s throat. There was barely any time for her to fully down the thick come in her mouth before Sam was threatening to orgasm. “I’m gonna come so soon but you better fucking not, little girl, you hear me? Gotta let your daddy come before you, you ungrateful little bitch- oh.”

It was a really fucking close call, Sam’s dick pulling out of her with one quick movement before spilling pearly ropes of come onto Y/N’s spine. A high whine escaped her mouth, clit throbbing as she was so, so close to coming, and she was too far into her crazed pleasure to realize that she was letting three older men, men who fought to defend the universe from evil, use her as an over-glorified fleshlight. 

She couldn’t really blame them for calling her a cockdrunk whore. 

Bucky sauntered over to the bed, eyes trained on the pool of come centered around the base of her spine before flipping her over onto her back with his large hands and shoving three vibranium fingers back into her hole. She gasped and held onto his forearm as he continued to fingerfuck her to her second orgasm, eyes screwed shut in a delirious haze of contentment for being filled with at least something again. 

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, please-” Steve slapped her along the face, correcting her words immediately. “Daddy, daddy, please let me come.”

Bucky chuckled, tweaking one of her nipples with his flesh hand as he hovered over her face. “I don’t know, dolly, you’ve been a little naughty, callin’ me the wrong name, not listening to Stevie’s orders- don’t think you deserve to get what you want.”

A muffled whimper escaped her swollen lips, and he sighed in surrender. “Okay, dollface, go ahead and come on my fingers. Let me see how you wet ‘em up real good.”

Y/N’s hips bucked into his metal digits with finality, come leaking out of her cunt and soaking the sheets below her. Her sweat-glazed skin shone even against the darkening sky, and all Bucky could do was chuckle at how her chest rose quickly as she tried to catch her breath. He thought about teasing her clit again, just circling around the little bud of nerves to get a rise out of her, but he decided against it. Sam probably had better plans for her anyway. 

On the other hand, Y/N’s orgasm was starting to wear off as she noticed the hardened stare from the edge of the room. Her boyfriend.

“Peter, I…” Y/N made eye contact with him, suddenly noticing how mousy he looked in his own bedroom. 

“I nearly forgot you were here, Parker,” Sam smirked darkly. “Why don’t you come over here and fuck your little whore. I’m feeling a little generous today.”

Steve and Bucky nodded with the same infuriating smugness as Sam. The brunette boy opened his mouth to object to the degrading statement, but when he met his girlfriend’s eyes nothing needed to be said. There was no escaping this. Nothing he said mattered to the three older men, because really they had already gotten everything they wanted right in front of their disgusting, perverted eyes. 

He unbuckled his belt, letting the weight of it drop his khakis to the floor. Maybe if he’d known he would be forced into join a fivesome later that night he’d have picked any other boxers but the Ducktales one, but no one seemed to say a word about them, rather focusing on what they were failing to conceal. 

Peter’s cock had always been admirable to Y/N by its length and God, definitely its thickness. Curved upwards towards his abdomen with a vein running along the left side up to the bulbous head, it was definitely more than average. It was really just a shame he didn’t know how to use it well enough.

His shirt was pulled over his head just as quickly, and if Y/N knew any better she would say that he was excited to get to fuck her in front of the three men. He placed himself in between Y/N’s parted legs, standing in the same position as he had so many times before.

But when Y/N cried out in pain and pleasure as he slid into her, Peter knew that this time, it was different. This time three men, men that he used to trust with his life, stood on either side of him and his girlfriend and jerked their hands up and down their cocks as they watched her get fucked relentlessly. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t romantic, but he couldn’t really think when his thick cock was stuffed inside of her stimulated pussy, juices and come leaking out of her abused sex. 

“Go faster, Parker,” Steve instructed, his face contorted in pure pleasure. The pace of Peter’s thrusts sped up, and he threw Y/N’s ankles over his shoulders, hitting deeper inside of her, with the sound of her sobs only turning them all on more. “Oh, right there, shit, shit, shit-”

Steve came first, a low groan escaping his lips as streams of come landed on her tits, still bouncing with every movement of Peter’s hips. 

“Open up,” Sam gritted through his teeth, and Y/N obediently opened her mouth to let his bitter come coat the inside of her throat, some of it landing on her face and neck. The string of curses he let out made Peter thrust even faster into her, and he hated, absolutely despised the way it turned him on to see the three men use his girlfriend to their pleasure. But soon enough a hand pushed against his chest away from Y/N and he reluctantly pulled out.

“Move aside, kid,” Bucky instructed, “Wanna come inside of her.”

As he lined his gigantic cock up with her entrance, her eyes widened with fear. “No, please, I didn’t take my pills, I can’t- I won’t, please not inside-”

“Shut the fuck up, you slut.” Bucky’s fingers came to slap her clit harshly, and she cried out in pain. “You’re gonna be quiet and let me come wherever I damn want, right?”

He punctuated his last word as he thrust inside her, filling her up to the hilt with his girth. She was too drunk on the feeling of her cunt being filled up to argue again. It was painful, extremely so, even though two different cocks had been inside her overstimulated pussy already and Bucky stretched her out wide, his cock thicker with veins to hit every pleasure point. With her legs tossed around his tapered torso, he slid out until his very tip was left in her, then slammed back in with a small moan. The head of his cock relentlessly pounded into her cervix in a nearly soundless tempo and all Y/N could hear were her own gasps of pleasure, jaw-dropping moans that made drool slide back down her throat in her laid down position.

She turned her head to the side, and though her vision was bleary through the tears, she could see Sam and Steve watching Bucky fuck her while Peter, her boyfriend, her sweet, sweet boyfriend, was caught up fucking his hand to the sound of Bucky’s balls slapping against her ass. 

“Fuck, ‘m not gonna last much longer, dollface.” Bucky gasped. “You gonna come soon? You’re gonna come for daddy one more time. I think you’ve got a third one in you, you little fucking slut.”

“Shit, shit, daddy, please ‘m almost there,” Y/N wailed absentmindedly. A thumb came down to circle her clit quickly and she felt the coil in her stomach grow tighter and tighter, until she finally let out a high whine, finding her release as Bucky’s cock pulsed inside of her, ready to come just as easily as her. Her pussy clenched around his cock as she rode out her orgasm, fingers grasping at the sheets in order to find some sort of grounding. His come painted her walls white, and Bucky could’ve sworn there was no better feeling than feeling his blood warm in every vein as he finally let go. With stunted groans, his hips slowed its rhythm, lost in watching how his cock disappear into Y/N’s pussy, her slick juices coating his dick each time he pulled out. 

“Ah, fuck, dolly, you did so good for me. Pussy tight as a fuckin’ vice.” Bucky hugged her limp body close to his sweaty chest, letting his dick soften inside of her for a good few moments before pulling out. He tossed Y/N back onto the bed below him, barely even caring to clean the come dripping down her ribcage and out of her cunt before grabbing his boxers from the cabinet next to the bed. 

Steve was already buttoning his jeans up, checking the notifications on his phone before shoving it back into his pocket. The blond seemed to have better things to do so soon after, rushing his way to the door before pausing where Y/N laid to watch come drip out of her pussy. One more time he pushed Bucky’s come inside of her abused entrance, watching as it oozed out from behind his digits. “Look at you, fucking full of of his come. Such a goddamn whore,” he muttered under his breath.

Those were the last words he said to her before patting Bucky on the shoulder and leading him out of the opened door. 

Maybe Sam was a bit more kind, or affectionate at least. He was already dressed but visibly hard again beneath the thick denim of his pants, and he made sure Y/N knew it, taking her left hand and placing it over his dick. “You still got that effect on me, honey, even when you’re all fucked out like this.” He dragged his fingers through the thick ribbons of come that coated her chest, bringing them up to her mouth so she could taste. Even though she was more than exhausted, she wrapped her tongue around the two fingers that were pushed past her swollen lips, sucking them clean with a tired vengeance. Satisfied with her work, he kissed her chin one more time before leaving without so much as another word, slamming the door shut on his way out.

Click.

It ended exactly the way it started, the lock jostling into the doorknob just as easily as the high of Y/N’s final orgasm slipped away.

Stifling silence suffocated the room around them. Peter refused to meet her eyes, just as much as hers did his. She laid motionless on the bed with him standing at the foot, his dick soft and if she narrowed her bleary eyes just a bit, she could see how his knees were shaking. Neither of them were able to say anything, losing the ability to converse as soon as the three men left the room.

“Peter,” her voice was throaty after the rough fucking she took, “C-can you please get me a drink?”

The brown-haired boy looked down to meet her face, and she could finally see the reason that he had hid it from her. His eyes were red and bloodshot, snot running from his nose with tears running down his cheeks. She’d been so caught up in the after haze of the sex that she didn’t even notice how his bare chest was heaving so deeply, nearing hyperventalation. 

But still, he grabbed his boxers, pulling them over his weakened legs clumsily. “Y-yeah, what kind do you want, Mr. Stark has a ton-”

“I don’t care.” She cut him off firmly, a sharp tone in her voice as she rolled over on her side. Y/N tucked her knees to her chin, fingers running over the side of her neck which was marked with bruises and scratches. “I don’t fucking care.”

Without another word Peter slipped out of the room quietly, knowing better than to try to talk to her about what they had been forced to participate in. It wasn’t as if there was much to say anyways.

Rain pattered against the window. It was only six o’clock in the evening. Cars honked and beeped and Natasha’s Igor Stavinsky record played for its fiftieth round of the day, and to anyone else in the tower it was a normal night. Normal, just like the ones spent sitting on the couch with Bucky’s hand creeping up her leg or Sam’s hands groping her ass, but this time they’d made a move. 

The silence was far too much to handle, the unspoken truth of what she’d done with Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Peter finally hitting her, knocking the air out of her lungs as she suddenly struggled to breathe. Gripping her face, clawing at it like a goddamn wolf, Y/N began to cry. Silently at first, gradually growing into heartbroken sobs, she let her trodden pride carry her voice wherever it wanted to go. 

The men’s whispered words haunted her mere moments after they’d left the room, but most audibly she could hear a faint husk of a voice, Sam’s low moan in her ear looming in the dreadful silence of the room:

Thanks for sharing with us, baby.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

rhinestone eyes

PAIRING: Rich Boy!Eren x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS [present+future]: infidelity, dubcon, gaslighting, manipulative and toxic behavior, toxic relationship, sexual content, yandere tendencies, suggestive hand-holding

part one

kofi

There's a sneer on Eren's face as green eyes behind Versace aviators glide over your form, staring you up and down. His gaze is so penetrative, it makes your teeth chatter. Maybe he was just checking you out. Maybe he was scrutinizing every blemish.

You suddenly feel so very small in your tennis skirt, the tight collared shirt stretching over your breasts, and wished that today out of all days wasn't when you decided to dress a little more stylish.

"Fancy seeing you here." His voice is nonchalant but there's a tone of humor that accompanies his brisk words. How long would it be until he laughs at you?

He scowls, "Are you mute or something? Why aren't you greeting me back properly?"

"Eren," You took a deep breath, "What are you doing in Paris?"

It occurs to you that you've never seen him out of his uniform before. He's wearing a light blue button-down, half the buttons left unfastened, polo shorts, an expensive black watch glittering on his wrist, silver rings on his slender fingers, and a thin silver chain dangling around his neck.

He's also acquired a new piercing, industrial, judging by the bar across his ear. The silver glints harshly under the sun.

"Are you done burning holes through me?"

You blush, embarrassment coloring your cheeks: "No, I'm just surprised." You tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear, "Didn't expect to run into anyone I knew in another country."

You were just taking a pleasant walk in the acclaimed Champs-Élysées, the avenue every bit as a picture-perfect postcard as it had been described.

"Have you eaten?" The question is spoken with a sigh like he couldn't believe he was asking you this, and you couldn't either.

"Oh, um, no?" You responded, bewildered.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, which reached the nape of his neck by now: "I know a cafe around here. Let's get brunch. We'll talk there."

You don't know what possessed you to nod but you did so, trying to match his quick and long strides. The walk was silent, presumably because the two of you were saving your burning questions for the cafe.

He rolls his eyes when you stutter through your French. He raises a hand, and simply tells the waiter his order and dismisses him. His French is flawless and you're tempted to ask him how it's so good, but you already know the answer. Probably had hordes of tutors to help him.

Merci Monsieur

"Wait," You remark to Eren, "I didn't order."

"I ordered for us. Pain au chocolate, savory crepes, eggs, and ham. Coffee after. For me. Hot chocolate for you because you don't drink coffee."

Oh. That actually sounds good. How did he know your beverage preferences?

He fishes out a cigarette from his pocket, skinny and hand-rolled, "So what are you doing here? No offense but you don't exactly seem like you can afford a vacation to France. "

Now is your turn to sigh. You've nearly forgotten how blunt he could be: "Here on an internship. For art" You supply.

"I assume you just regularly come to Paris every summer?"

He doesn't deny or verify your statement, "Something like that."

"So you're staying at a hostel or?" He asks, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke that makes your nose wrinkle.

The waiter comes by with food, and you turn to Eren with a sour look, "I sincerely hope you're not going to smoke while we're eating."

To your utter surprise, he ashes the cigarette. You were expecting a witty and mean retort at the very minimum, not silent compliance.

You pick up the earlier conversation, "Well, I'm actually staying with my boyfriend." You mummer the last word quietly but the viridian-eyed boy's ears are keen. You don't notice how his grip on the knife tightens.

"You're staying with your boyfriend?" He repeats.

You nod, "Yeah, he's an art student too."

The rest of the meal is completed in sparing small-talk and lengths of silence. But it's not awkward. It's weird. On one hand, having brunch with Eren Yeager in fucking Paris, heir to a billionaire pharmaceutical company should feel surreal, but it's strangely peaceful. You feel more at peace sitting across from him in France than you did when he sat next to you in homeroom.

When it's time to pay the check, Eren looks amused by the very notion of you digging into your purse.

"What kind of gentleman would I be if I let the lady pay?" His words are spoken with a teasing smile.

You roll your eyes but can't help a glimmer of a smile from peeking through on your lips, "Didn't take you much for a gentleman."

He tosses his black card on the bill, "You'd be surprised."

What's there left to do now? Is it time to part ways? There's a part of you that craves more but life has taught you to not be greedy when you already have so so much.

You dabble the corner of your lips with a napkin, "Well, this has been fun-"

"Wait, uh, do you wanna check out the Louvre? Since you're an art student and all, you might uh enjoy it."

You stare at him. Is he tongue-tied?

"You've probably there been a million times already."

"Yeah...but you haven't been, right?"

You blink before breaking into a smile that Eren is sure is going to give him heart palpations, so sunny and bright.

"I would love to!"

You guys check out Mona Lisa for the sheer novelty, and you're bouncing around the museum, oohing and ahhing at the chiseled statues and Renaissance paintings. There is so much history here, it blows your mind.

Eren finds himself watching you more than the paintings. You have this veneer of snark that you wrap around yourself like a protective gauze (maybe that's how you maintain your survival in a world of hyenas) but you're different now.

You're yourself. Watching you here come alive in unbridled enthusiasm, eyes widened in passion, makes him reach out to his pocket and fish for his disposable film camera. He doesn't know if he's ever seen anyone in his vapid life look like the way you do, so filled with a zest for things that are greater than themselves.

He wants to burn you into his memory, praying to all the gods that you won't notice when he takes a picture of you admiring a bust of a goddess. He slyly tucks his camera back into his pocket.

The world seems to stand still when you tug his hand to show him a painting, an expression of unadulterated wonder on your face. But when you realize you pulled his hand, you immediately drop it like hot coals.

Why do you look so worried? Why do you look so scared?

"You can hold my hand if you want. It's-it's okay." He can't believe he's gotten the words out.

You're taking too long, your hands still hanging limply by your side, an indiscernible expression on your pretty face. Eren doesn't understand why it makes him so mad, why your sudden hesitation grated his nerves. Deciding to make your choice for you, he grabs your hand, squeezing your palm as he flashes you the charismatic smile that's got him out of countless incidents.

He doesn't like the expression of worry marring your features. Where did the happy jovial girl go? Just a few seconds, you were poking him with sparkles in your eyes, "Look at this Eren!" and "So beautiful, right?"

He forces another smile: "Show me the painting you wanted me to see." Maybe it was meant to be a request but it comes out as a demand.

You cast a glance at your joined hands, his grip borderline painful. "O-okay."

You lead him across the floor, and Eren can feel the stares of people around him. They are smiling. An older woman utters a "Un si charmant couple."

You take him to a grand painting. It's haunting and dark, swirling with so many shades of dusty red from vermillion to scarlet. A pregnant woman lies reclined, arm hanging and head lolling. She appears to be asleep, and there is a cacophony of men around her portrayed in varying degrees of stress.

"Death of a virgin", you breathed.

Such a macabre name, Eren thought as he gazed longer into the painting. He loosens his grip on your hand, testing whether you would pull away.

You don't.

It's raining outside and you're giggling.

"Fuck" Eren swears, "I'll call a cab."

You're a vision drenched in rain. Your clothes are soaked, and he could see the outline of your bra from your thin shirt. But it seems like you don't even care.

"Let's just enjoy it!" You cry out. There are thick droplets stuck in between your eyelashes, and you smell like rain too. It's dangerous, he can see chords of purple lightning flash the sky, thunder booming, and it's like you're dancing, the way you move so effortlessly.

You hook his hands in yours, "Doesn't this feel good?"

He feels like all his sins are being washed away, all the impurities and muck that clung onto him after nineteen years of existence. His heart nearly jumps out of his throat every time he looks at you.

He cups your chin and kisses you. When he feels the threadbare resistance, he kisses harsher, tongue and teeth swallowing your protests, coaxing your mouth open with a skillful pinch to your nipple. He pulls away just before you feel like all your breath has been robbed.

You're stunned speechless, "Eren...I...h-have a boyf-"

He kisses you again. And this time you kiss back, holding nothing back.

taglist: @candy-hime @cinnamon-n-roses @forwardpair

inspo: @candy-hime's rich boy!shoto. the iconic golf club one <3

[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer is left waiting at a bar when he gets in some trouble, and meets a woman who offers to help him out in more ways than one.

Category: SMUT (18+)

Warnings: Language, virgin!Spencer, car sex/exhibitionism, handjob, brief mention of edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, degradation kink, minor voyeurism kink, dirty talk (If I missed anything, please let me know!)

Word Count: 7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hi, there!! Most of you have been extremely excited about this one since I shared the idea for it a few weeks ago, and so I’m glad to finally get to release it for you!! There’s a playlist here for you to check out if you’d like some ~vibes~ and over on @mercy-midnight I shared a few visual inspirations last night, so check them out if you want! Thank you for all your enthusiasm over this fic, I hope it lives up to your expectations!! 🥰

***

I've always loved the rain.

And it was definitely going to rain soon. How soon, I wasn't entirely sure, but as I made my way into the bar, taking one final breath of fresh air before it would inevitably be taken over by alcohol, greasy food, and way too much cologne, I could smell it. Cool and fresh, waiting to serve as some type of fresh start, to wash away all the hard shit and give me a clean slate.

The gaudy ring on my finger was one of those hard things I wished I could wash away. At least, it had been for a long time. Patrick never asked for it back after he left, and I'd had every intention of pawning it off, but I started noticing—after a few nights out where I'd tried to get hammered and nailed—that it scared everybody off.

I guess no one wanted to fuck a married woman—and a drunk married woman at that. Even if she technically wasn't even married anymore. Which I found all particularly odd considering my experience with men in the past has proved to provide me with extremely low standards.

It'd turned out to be a blessing in disguise, though. Sure, it might have taken me longer to completely get over Patrick and the mess he left me, but rather than losing myself in the lonely company of strangers, I forced myself to reflect and move on, to take each day in stride and take time for myself. Could I have just taken the ring off and gotten laid? Absolutely. But being on my own like that was the wakeup call I didn't know I'd needed.

And now, almost a year later, the ring sat tucked away in my jewelry box until I wanted it— usually when I knew I was going to the bar with every intention of getting hammered and not nailed. There were the occasional persistent players, but they were few and far in between, and if all else failed I resorted to smiling sweetly at them and lying, saying my "husband" was a cop. That shut them up pretty quickly, and by that point I was ready to leave anyway.

Like I said, blessing in disguise.

After a long day at work being called in on a Saturday, a few drinks at Waterson's sounded like a perfect way to end the night. I'd gone home, showered, ate dinner, and got dressed before taking a walk down the block and crossing the near-packed parking lot. The air was quite muggy despite it only being around forty degrees, which was the first indicator of rain. The second was the smell, of course, which I'd always been fond of, and the cobbled pavement had some type of haze around it that served as the final confirmation of my theory.

Honestly, I was hoping to get caught in the rain on my way home. I couldn't tell you why, exactly, just that the idea of walking home in the rain gave me the most excitement I'd felt in a long time. Life was great at the moment, of course, but between work and my less than ideal commute there on the train every day, I think I was due for a little excitement.

That excitement, naturally, started once I opened the door to the bar, taking a step inside and quickly being smacked in the face with the smell of fried everything. A small smile crossed my lips as I went in further, jumbled conversations, glasses clinking, and music humming softly behind the sharp snaps of pool balls being shot forward with the cue completing the picture.

I walked up to the bar to find Carla standing behind it, and I smiled at her. "I didn't know you were working Saturday," I called to her as I approached.

The brunette looked over at me and beamed, her teeth as perfect as ever. "Y/N, I didn't know you came in on Saturdays! How've you been?"

I took a seat at one of the barstools, nodding as I set my wallet and my phone down. "Alright... Work's a bitch, of course, but when is it not?"

"Yeah, I hear that. There's only so much relentless flirting I can take." We shared a good laugh at that before she nodded. "What can I get you?"

"A beer?"

"You got it."

I turned around then, surveying tonight's crowd. Waterson's was decently sized— definitely not as big or popular as the other bars in the city, but it got enough traction on the weekends, and even on Tuesdays when they had open mics. As my eyes wandered, they passed over all kinds of people. Women in tight clothes and men all over them, large groups of friends over by the pool tables who were betting and yelling with large smiles on their faces, old men by themselves in some of the tucked away corners... Anyone you could think of, name it and they were there.

One scene in particular caught my eye, though, and I thought about leaving it alone, but my gut twisted when I noticed how obviously uncomfortable the person was and how there was no one around who seemed to care enough to say or do anything.

Sitting alone at a rather large table was a guy who... no offense to him or anything, but he didn't look like he belonged here, not alone anyway. With a formal button-down short sleeve, meek stature, and a pair of glasses sitting atop his nose, he was an easy target for the two men that were towering over him as he sat, eyes averting them while they conversed. It could have been nothing, but occasionally the man in the glasses would flinch or look around nervously like he was waiting to be rescued.

Not that I wanted to rescue anyone or anything tonight. But he reminded me of someone being stood up, and from experience I knew how embarrassing that was, especially in a space crowded with other people who could obviously see what was happening to you. I hated Patrick for standing me up time and time again, and it wasn't until this waitress once intervened and offered some advice that I started to understand just how fucked up it was. That didn't make it hurt any less, of course, when he inevitably said he was moving across the country and dropped divorce papers on my desk at work, but still... The talk gave me some clarity.

Whether or not this man was actually being stood up or not, it was obvious that he was uncomfortable, and I figured he could use some help.

And I had just the plan.

I watched the scene until Carla came back with my beer, at which point I turned to her with a smile and got money from my wallet.

"Hey, could I get another?"

***

"No, you specifically told me 8pm..."

"I'm pretty sure I told you 9..."

I sighed, glancing around briefly at everyone and everything around me before speaking again, almost yelling into the speaker over all the noise. "Maybe you meant 9, but you told me 8, so I'm here. Alone!"

"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Kid, alright? But we're not gonna be there until 9, so... keep yourself busy until then? Let loose, have a couple drinks..."

I could hear the smirk in Derek's voice just as easily as I could picture it in my head as I sighed out a, "Fine," and hung up. The whole situation significantly raised my blood pressure, not to mention my anxiety— It wasn't hard to see that I stood out here. Bars were most definitely not my scene, and the only reason I'd agreed to go in the first place was so that I could try something new. Expand my horizons, as Penelope had told me right before I caved and agreed to accompany her and Derek on their little outing. I'd even drove my car here, a move I rarely made, as a start.

But now I was sitting alone at a booth, a glass of water in front of me and this twisting sensation in my gut that usually came to me when I didn't know what was going to happen.

I leaned back in my seat and sighed, staring down the glass of water as my cellphone tumbled around between my hands. All I had to do was wait here for an hour and remind myself over and over that eventually I'd be with people that I knew, people that I felt comfortable around. Only an hour.

One hour...

One hour, one hour, one hour... It was a chant in my head that went through different pitches and speeds until it was interrupted by a loud, "Hey, you!"

It could have been for anyone, but it was right next to me, and I knew when I wasn't wanted somewhere.

Sure enough, I turned my head to see a rather large man, a football player-type if I had to guess, wearing a grey tee shirt that hugged every muscle. There was a beer in his hands, and someone next to him, another man slightly shorter but still definitely athletic, held what looked to be a glass of hard liquor. By the looks on their faces, it was obvious that they were looking for a fight.

And it was also obvious that I was the easiest target in the whole bar.

One glance at the clock across the room and above their heads told me that I still had 54 minutes until my friends showed up, and that meat I'd either have to give these men whatever they wanted, tell them I was just about to leave, or attempt to pull the "I'm a Federal Agent" card, which I knew would probably get more laughs from them than a simple, "Sorry," and an exit.

I was about to run through every outcome of tonight's events in my head when the bigger guy spoke again, making me jump.

"Hey, m' talking to you!" He was drunk, most likely toeing the line between sobriety and a fist fight if I wasn't careful.

"I—Is there something you need?" I asked, hoping that if I could get this over with quickly, they'd leave me alone and maybe I could get out of here...

He mocked my voice in a way I'd heard more than once while growing up, and though I knew it was childish of him, saying more about him than me, the action got to me more than I cared to admit. Call it intuition, but when a nearly-drunk guy two times your size starts picking on you like a kid and you know he's just looking for a fight, the odds aren't very good when you're someone on the smaller side like me— Federal Agent or not. And he wasn't an unsub. He wasn't someone I could pick apart and just hand over to my team once I pushed back his defenses. If I picked this man apart, he'd likely throw a punch at my face.

Of course, I could get him arrested for assaulting a Federal Agent, but... Obviously I didn't want to get punched in the face.

As soon as his mumbled mockery of my words ended, he punctuated them with his own. "Yeah, I'm thinkin' I need you to find a new place to sulk. Go to the library or somethin'."

His friend laughed beside him like he'd just said the best comeback anyone's ever heard, and that alone almost made me laugh. Though, I knew that might have gotten me into more trouble.

Speaking of, I probably should have just got up to leave. That would have been the perfect time to say, "Okay," get up, and drive home. Sure, Penelope and Derek would have probably given me crap about chickening out, but I'd have avoided getting beat around or ridiculed further by these morons, so it was overall a win, right?

But my stupid mouth didn't agree with what my brain was thinking. "Oh, well, um... I'm waiting up for some friends, they should be here soon—"

"You have friends?" the other guy retorted before I could finish, and he looked proud of himself for it.

"Look, I don't care who you're waitin' on, pal, Right now you're alone, so I want y—"

I didn't see it coming. I couldn't have seen it from a mile away, never dreamed of anything like this happening in a million years. It was certainly not one of the possible outcomes to the night that I'd had in mind. And actually, even if I'd had any time to prepare for it, seeing the woman walk up to us with two beers in her hand and the biggest smile on her face, I still wouldn't have believed what was happening.

She blocked me from the men's line of sight, sitting herself promptly on my lap as she set the drinks down. "Hey, babe, I'm back with our drinks," she chirped, leaning forward and stopping just under my ear, whispering. "If you play along, I can get them to leave you alone..."

She didn't even give me any time to process, quickly pulling back, but not before kissing me firmly on the cheek, leaving my face in a warm flush as she turned back around to survey the men, who I'd quite frankly forgotten about once she pressed her soft lips to my skin and set her hands on my chest.

What the fu—

"Who're you talking with?"

Her voice was so... low and smooth, and it sent a flood of warmth throughout my whole body. If I could have bottled up her voice to drink, I would have. But instead, I settled for the beer she'd brought, grabbing it and chugging down four big gulps even though I hated it.

"You're with this... loser?" the bigger of the two men said, and truthfully it was the first time all night I'd well and truly felt inadequate in front of them. Sure, I knew I'd stood out, that physically I was weaker than them, but I also knew that deep down they were just drunks looking for a fight. I was better than that, regardless of whether or not they'd almost bullied me into leaving the bar.

I didn't have a problem with who I was, but when it came to women, I was pretty much a total wreck. I'd only ever kissed someone once, and much like back then, this woman was absolutely stunning and completely out of my league.

The man was right to be suspicious.

"Excuse me?" my savior retorted, standing up off my lap and removing herself from me completely. I exhaled, trying hard not to look like I was just as shocked as they were as she tore them a new one. "This loser happens to be my fiancée. And I'd watch what insults you're throwing around— You're the ones going around some bar picking on someone you don't know like you're middle schoolers. Now grow the fuck up and back off before I take your drinks and shove them so far up your asses you'll still be able to taste them."

Truthfully I was surprised when they didn't back down. The bigger guy scoffed, his eyes raking the woman up and down with a wicked glint in them. "Y'know, maybe if you ditched him and got fucked by a real man, you wouldn't be such a bitch."

And once again, I was stunned by her ability to quip back quicker than lightening. "Maybe if you weren't such a childish prick, you'd actually get fucked in the first place. Now back. The fuck. Off..."

While I should have been more grateful that her words got them to scoff and turn away, a small, absolutely random part of me wanted to hear her yell at them some more. The longer she did it, the warmer my body got, and the second I started to put together why that was, I chugged more of the beer that was currently resting in my shaky hand.

It was even worse when she turned around to face me again, her radiance and beauty intimidating me in an entirely different way than those men. She wore a simple black dress that complimented her figure extremely well, minimal makeup and jewelry, and her hair was pinned back, showing off her neck and collarbone.

If she hadn't just helped me out, with the way she was looking at me I probably would have wondered if she was... trying to pick me up.

The thought made me all warm again.

"Y—You didn't have to do—"

She stepped forward and sat on my lap again, and I swallowed hard, the beer almost slipping from my hand entirely. "Don't worry about it. You looked uncomfortable, and those boys were absolute meatheads. But they are still here, so we should probably keep up the act, huh?"

I couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Either way, I set the beer on the table, though my hand still kept it firmly in my grip as I looked down at the ring on her finger. "I—I wouldn't want to get you in trouble... with your husband..."

"Oh! Uh, funny story," she laughed, leaning in and running her hands over my shoulders, most likely to keep up the façade. "I'm not actually married. Or engaged. I um... I wear this to deter people from trying to take me home."

I actually laughed a little, though my stomach still flipped at her touch and her proximity. "And that... actually works?"

She laughed with me, bringing her hands up to cradle my face as she tilted her head and looked me over. Her pretty, pillow-y soft lips quirked into a smile before her eyes flitted up to mine. She looked like she was entranced, like she was in a dream, and honestly I felt the same way. Because there was no way in actual Hell this was a real thing that was happening to me, right?

"Not always," she answered in a whisper, her face inching closer to mine. She smelled a little like beer, but mostly some type of fruit, probably pear. I didn't eat pears, but maybe I should start...

A gentle tug at the roots of my hair pulled me out of my thoughts, a soft sigh escaping me at the sensation. The woman laughed, brushing her nose against mine for a moment before pulling away and grabbing her beer. "So, since we're engaged, I feel like I should know a little about you. At the very least, your name?"

"O—oh," I laughed nervously, swallowing as she sipped her beer. And I tried not to let it get to me, but the way her lips wrapped gently around the bottle had my mind going a mile a minute, laser focusing on one image in particular of those perfect lips wrapped around something else. I wondered if she could hear the longing in my voice when I whispered my name. "Spencer."

With the beer still in her hand, she lowered it and rested it on my knee as she smiled. "Mmm, and what's my last name going to be?"

The thought of actually marrying this woman infiltrated my thoughts as I answered, louder this time, "Reid."

See hummed again, using the hand that was currently massaging the back of my scalp to gently tug at my hair again. "Y/N Reid... I like the sound of that."

I do, too, is what I thought, and I almost said it, but she started talking again.

"So, Spencer, what do you do?"

I would have gone into my entire spiel, but she was so pretty, and so close, I didn't want to scare her off. So, I simply stated, "I work for the FBI..."

Her eyebrows raised, and I felt her hand slide down my neck and settle on my shoulder. "Really?"

"Y—Yeah, I'm a profiler. We aid law enforcement in catching serial killers."

"So, Agent Reid, huh? That's hot..."

I should have just left it alone, because it was common knowledge that if a woman has any reason to call you hot, you just let it happen, right?

Well, like I said, when it came to women I was a complete wreck.

"A—Actually it's Doctor... I, um... I have 3 PhDs."

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them, but the hunger in her eyes deepened and her free hand roamed my shoulder and the front of my chest as she scooted even closer, her mouth coming up right under my jaw. "Mmm, even hotter..."

This time I didn't hold back, my voice audibly whimpering as I sighed out a simple, "Oh..."

Y/N pressed a featherlight kiss to my neck before dragging her lips to my ear again. And I'd been so hyperaware of her proximity to my face that I hadn't even noticed she'd set her beer down and took that hand to rest firmly at my hip, her palm pressing into my lower stomach. I only felt it when that hand moved over, the tips of her fingers hovering just above the buckle of my belt.

"Tell me something, Doctor," she whispered just under my earlobe. I was nothing short of putty in her hands as my brain tried to focus on what she was saying over the more prominent desire to focus on the way she pressed her whole body into mine. She was everywhere, taking up every ounce of air that found its way into my lungs, and I'd never breathed in anything sweeter. "Are you saving yourself for marriage?"

I found the question odd at first, but remembering the circumstances of our fake situation, my body suddenly flared to life at her implications. "N—No..."

Her hips shifted against my lap, and I swear I could have fainted on the spot as she hummed in my ear, "Good."

***

I certainly didn't expect for the night to end the way it did.

I mean, I knew I was going to be wet when I got home, but damn. We hadn't even made it out of the bar before my panties were soaked through at the thought of fucking my fake fiancée. Who worked for the FBI and called himself Doctor...

Not to mention he was fucking dreamy as hell with those honey doe-eyes and pouty lips... And his hands? I had taken one look at the one tightly holding his beer bottle for dear life and instantly went white-hot with desire, visions of them disappearing inside of me swimming in my head.

And then he had to fucking whimper when I called him hot.

Yeah, I definitely didn't expect the night to go how it did, but I wasn't mad about it in the slightest.

After explaining to him that I'd walked, and that my house was only a few blocks away, we decided to just hop in his car. Though, by the time we got there, I think we were both so eager to "get to know each other a little better," as I'd said before we actually left, that we didn't even make it out of the parking space.

Spencer fumbled around with his keys for so long, and he kept dropping them, so I just said fuck it and kissed him when he came up the third time. The sound of his keys hitting the ground for a fourth time excited me almost as much as his the way his hands trembled as they rested on my forearms.

"Pull the seat back?" I mumbled against his mouth, sliding my hands down the sides of his face and over his shoulders.

He let out a strained, "Uh huh," and fumbled around with that too, his urgency and nerves all rolled into one adorable spectacle that had the pit of my stomach in desirable knots. The seat sprung backwards, and I laughed lowly as I climbed over the center console and right into his lap, my dress riding up incredibly high.

The way Spencer looked up at me then, his eyes just as pouty as his lips as they practically sparkled with adoration and need, gave me this feeling I hadn't experienced in a long time— something that filled my bloodstream with fire and made me feel... wanted.

And that's not to say I hadn't slept with people since my divorce, but every time it happened there was hardly any connection besides the obvious need to get off. Here, with Spencer, it was different. And realistically I knew it was most likely the fact that a beautiful woman came to his rescue and pretended to be engaged to him just to get some morons off his back, but... In his eyes I saw this vulnerability that I'd never gotten with another partner. He was open and willing to take advantage of our situation to the fullest extent, sure, but within that was a pure longing to be close to someone after going so long without that connection.

I knew that look so well because it was exactly how I felt. We wanted to have sex with each other, that much was obvious, but less so was the fact that we could feel each others' loneliness. It was a shared bond that ran deeper than sexual desire, and in his eyes in that moment, I knew he could see it in me.

"D—Do you know... what it's like to feel alone, even... when you know you really aren't?" he asked as though he was reading my mind. His voice was soft, so curious and hinted with a little sadness that it made me want to hold him tight and rock him to sleep more than anything.

Still, I nodded. "Mhm... After my husband left I haven't... really been the same. I act like it's okay, and I... I really am better now that he's gone, but I just... I've spent most of my life with him, and now it's like I don't know what's out there beyond... loneliness."

It wasn't the most sexy conversation in the world, but Spencer reached out, his hands less shaky, and ghosted them over my bare arms. He looked up at me with those pretty eyes and let out a relieved breath before he spoke. "I kinda know what you mean... Not to that extent, but... I get it."

Seeing that he was more comfortable with me, I leaned in closer, bringing my fingers to brush the underside of his jaw. "And that's why you make the perfect fiancée."

I felt the laugh leave his lips before I kissed him, soft and steady, and reassured that I was in this for as long as he wanted me to be. Obviously we weren't actually engaged, but the connection that came with a real engagement felt pretty damn close to what we had going on.

And he conveyed that in the way he kissed me back, stronger than he'd been before and most certainly more skilled than he'd let on. His tongue expertly caressed mine with just the right amount of pressure and precision, and it made it easy for me to fall into him. Over time we grew more hungry, but for the most part our dance of mouth and tongue was so slow and intense, it felt like we really had known each other forever.

Eventually though, I did feel him grow harder underneath me, and the feeling kickstarted this more primal urge that caused me to groan into his mouth and rock my hips forward. Spencer's hands rested firmly at my lower back the whole time, though when I moved, I could feel him tense a little, like now that it was actually starting to happen, he was suddenly nervous again. So I brought my hands around my back to grab his wrists, gently sliding them down over my ass as I pressed myself into him and nipped at his bottom lip.

"Mmm, your hands are so big," I purred as I kissed my way over his jaw. "They feel so good all over me..." He relaxed a bit at my reassurance, but I wanted to give him more. So I helped him slide his hands underneath my dress, feeling him shiver under me when I assisted him in squeezing them into my skin. "You can touch me however you like," I whispered into his ear. "I'm all yours, Doctor..."

He squeezed my ass then, of his own accord, and I hummed happily before kissing my way back to his mouth, running my hands through his hair.. "Just like that, baby, whatever you want..." He swallowed my words with his tongue, taking a deep breath and inhaling me like I was his only source of air. Respectfully, I gave it all to him, happy to be of service as long as he wanted me— and in that moment, I hoped it would be forever.

Maybe that was cheesy. But he was an excellent kisser... And I was sure there'd be something equally as excellent waiting for me once I got the clearance to get my hands down to his belt.

Thankfully, that clearance came pretty soon. I would have waited as long as he wanted to, but with the way his hips jolted upwards and the needy whine that erupted from his throat at the contact it provided, I knew now was the time.

So I smiled over his lips and then kissed his jaw again, one of my hands staying threaded in his hair while the other snaked down his chest and lower, undoing each button on his shirt as I went down... "Forgive me if I'm feeding into the stereotype by asking you this, Spencer," I said, leaving small bites on his neck in between words. "But have you ever done this before?"

His hands continued kneading my ass as he let out a shaky breath. "N—No. But I've um... I've p—practiced..."

"Hmm, how so?" I wondered, sucking a big hickey into his neck. Meanwhile my hand traced along the waistband of his pants, not quite dipping underneath but teasing the skin just above the material.

"U—Um, well... I regularly t—try to edge... myself, just... I—I want to last longer, and... And I thought it would help..."

God, the images of this man lounging in bed, training himself to last longer in the event that he had sex with someone? I groaned into his neck, taking the initiative to move my hand lower and gently palm him through his pants. "Fuck, that's so hot..."

"Re—really?"

"Mhmm... You really wanna make a girl feel good, huh?"

"Of course..."

"So eager to please?" I cooed, starting to undo his belt. He gripped my ass tighter like he was holding on for dear life, like he'd some how fall out of the car if he didn't hold on to me tight enough. The way his fingers dug into my skin brought me almost the same amount of joy as the sound he made when I finally snuck my hand down the front of his pants and pulled his dick out, gently stroking it and getting a feel for him. "Obedient?"

"Y—Yes, Y/N, please, oh God..." he jumbled out, his hips bucking into my hand. I sighed into his neck, kissing him again as my hand slowly jerked him off.

"Is this how slow you go?" I asked, making sure to memorize how every ridge of him caressed my hand. "Hmm, you wanna draw it out? Feel every ounce of pleasure as you possibly can before you come?"

He didn't answer so much as he let out a loud, whiny breath that sounded very much like a broken, "A-hh."

"I'm clean... On birth control, too... So what do you say we trade this hand in for something a little more... wet..."

Spencer grabbed my underwear then, pulling at the fabric and bucking his hips again. Taking it as a good sign, I adjusted myself so that I could slide them to the side and hover above him. Meanwhile I pecked at his lips and he did the same, meeting me with urgency and anticipation.

And when the head of his dick finally came in contact with my pussy, he threw his head back and exhaled, exposing his neck and the front of his chest, which was lightly glossed over with sweat already. The only source of light in the car came from the neon bar lights and one single streetlight outside, which gave us this dark, aesthetic lighting that only made what we were doing even hotter.

I sank slowly onto him, letting out the longest sigh of my life until he bottomed out in me. "You doin' alright, Doctor?" I asked, pulling his shirt open some more to get a better view of his skin.

He sat his head up a bit and looked at me, breathlessness in his eyes. "F—Fantastic. You f—eel so good..."

I ground my hips in slow circles, nodding down at him with a wicked grin. "Feeling's mutual, babe... You stretch me out so good... It's like we're a perfect match."

The moment I started lifting myself only to sit back down, Spencer shut his eyes, his hands roaming my ass and my thighs as I rode him. It looked like he was concentrating on lasting, and I was going to tell him not to worry about it, but then he opened his eyes and started to speak.

"Will, um... Will you be m—mean to me? Please?"

I halted my movements for a moment, taking in what he just said, but then it came to me immediately. And my discovery turned me on way more than I would have liked to admit.

So I grinned and circled my hips again, leaning forward to practically crawl up the front of his body. My hands tangled in his hair as I studied his face, which was ridden with worry and maybe regret at what he'd just confessed. But I kept circling my hips all the same, clenching myself around him as I spoke against his lips.

"Ohhh, did hearing me insult those guys in the bar turn you on?" I drawled, gently pecking his lips.

"Uh huh," he breathed in response.

I smiled, rocking my hips a little faster and feeling him start to relax again— The worries he had about his desires faded into nothing as I gave into them, feeding them with an open palm and embracing them with great pleasure. "I bet you just couldn't wait for me to take you outside and fuck you after that, huh? For me to treat you like a needy little slut..."

With every word and every quick rock of my hips, Spencer started to pick up his breathing. He leaned back completely and let me take care of him, gave me every green light, every go-ahead... I never got to be like this in bed before, and the fact that it came so naturally sparked this confidence within me that was hard to quell once it got going.

"Is that what you wanted?" I asked him, picking up my pace and bouncing steadily back on his dick. "You were so desperate to get fucked, too, you couldn't even make it out of the parking lot before you gave into me... And now everyone in the bar could see us out here..."

He groaned out at that, his hands digging into the flesh of my thigh, which already burned from straddling him like this, but considering everything, a little burn never hurt anyone.

"Ohh, you like that too, huh? The thought of everyone seeing us?"

"Y—Yes... Y/N, yes... o—oh, fu..."

I took his face into my hands then, grabbing him by the chin and making him look at me. "And what about your friends, huh? What would they think if they showed up and saw their precious Doctor Reid getting fucked like the dirty little slut he is, huh?"

Even though his face was in my hands, he still managed to lean his head back with a loud groan. His hands were now sliding over to my waist, where my dress was bunched up. His nimble fingers slipped just under the fabric and explored the planes of my stomach as I continued riding him, and the feeling of it all coupled with the looks on his face and his reaction—verbal or otherwise—to my words grew the fire simmering in the pit of my stomach.

I wasn't sure how mean to him I could be anymore now, though, considering we were both so close to finishing, and the closer I got the more it became harder to focus on stringing together the perfect words.

Still, I tried the best I could, because it was his first time, and it's what he deserved.

I leaned in and kissed his neck and collarbone, simultaneously riding and grinding for extra stimulation. "You're doing so well, Doctor... Taking this pussy like a good little whore..."

Okay, so it wasn't entirely mean, but it was the best I could come up with on the spot.

Though, it seemed to have done the trick, because Spencer drove his hips up to meet mine, panting and whining out my name as his eyes fluttered open and he looked at me with the most desperate look. I almost fell apart right there.

"That's it, baby, take it," I cooed, leaning over and kissing him. One of his hands came out from under my dress to rub tight circles into my clit with an expert thumb, and it started to break me down immediately. "Ohhh, I'm almost there, honey, just like that... Show me what a good little slut you are, baby, c'mon... Just like... that... Ohhh..."

I kissed him hard as I shook and clenched around him, holding still as he drilled his hips upwards into me. His thumb kept up at my clit until I was whimpering into his mouth, and then he just held it there, a few grunts of his own rumbling in his chest before he stilled and filled me with his warmth. I kissed him through it, gently swallowing all his whines and sighs as he gradually came down from his high.

Immediately after we both settled, with his dick still sheathed inside of me and my hands rubbing gently over the planes of his chest as we slowly and softly made out, the unmistakable sound of raindrops hitting glass covered us on all sides.

I pulled away from Spencer with a small smile, resting my head on his shoulder and looking off to the side, out the window at the sea of cars slowly getting covered up by a multitude of rain droplets. "I hope that was okay," I whispered against his skin, willing myself closer by draping an arm over his shoulder and using my hand to twirl some of his hair around my finger.

"That was more than okay," he responded contently. His chin rested on the top of my head and I snuggled closer into him. "Thank you, Y/N... For... For everything."

"It was my pleasure, Doctor."

We sat in comfortable near-silence for a while then, letting the rain tapping gently over the car be the steady sound that grounded us and washed away everything we had until there was a clean slate.

That was the one bad thing I found about the rain. I loved it, yes, for all its cleansing properties, and as I came into the bar tonight, I looked forward to them— to clearing my head with alcohol and a walk home in the rain.

But as I laid there, breathing in every ounce of Spencer Reid, I watched the rain roll down the windows and actually dreaded the moment it would stop.

"I wish it would rain forever," I sighed wistfully, playing with one of the buttons on Spencer's shirt.

He drew patterns into my leg all the same. "How come?"

"Because... I have to walk home. And the longer it rains, the longer I can stay here with you..."

He chuckled. "That's a nice sentiment, but you know I can drive you home, right?"

"Yeah, but... I really don't want this moment to end."

He was silent then, and for a while I thought maybe he was just going to leave it be. But then his soft voice broke through the rain and cut into me like a piece of glass. "You know you're gonna be okay, right?"

I broke away and looked up at him. "How do you mean?"

He sighed, thinking before continuing. "I mean... I'm guessing it's been rough since your husband left, and... being here with me has given you some companionship and comfort, but... Even after we part ways, you're going to be alright... It's still going to feel lonely, sure, but if there's anything I know for sure after tonight, it's that you're going to get through it just fine."

My heart swelled, though it still broke all the same. "How do you know?"

Spencer smiled, bringing a hand up to gently brush the side of my face. "Because you're my fiancée and I know you better than anyone."

As I laughed at the joke, he looked back at me with sparkles in his eyes. And then minutes later, I was haphazardly cleaning myself up in his passenger seat with a wet-nap that I'd kept tucked away in my wallet while he fumbled around for his keys.

Even as I stood on my porch that night, under the rain as I watched him drive away with the lingering buzz of our final goodbye kiss on my lips, I wondered if I'd ever see him again.

And I wondered if he would ever notice or do anything about the sparkly diamond ring I left behind, sitting beside him in my place— a reminder of our time together, the comfort he provided me with, and the clean slate that always inevitably came with the rain.

***

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