#that anyone who's attracted to men is supposed to lust after

[tiger-moran]

I do actually kind of want to watch (hate-watch?) the new film but no way am I paying for that. I don't know, maybe I'll try to find it some day though.

(I've been reading reviews trashing it and though I rarely take much notice of reviews since they're often praising things I hate and trashing stuff I like, these are pretty funny)

I just watched the trailer for The Crow (the new one). It seems like everyone in it has a different accent and I can't understand any of them

[sweetestpopcorn]

Hello!! I know that aside from Daemon/Rhaenyra, you are a fan of Baelon/Alyssa. I just wanted to ask, what is your opinion on Viserra, or on the whole Viserra seducing Baelon after Alyssa’s death? Do you think Baelon might have been able to save Viserra from her fate if he had agreed to marry her (even if he didn’t love her)? What is your opinion on this pair?

Hi there :)

Yes, after Daemyra Baelon and Alyssa are definitely my favourite Targaryen couple.

About the rest of your ask, I don't think Viserra fans will like my answer, but I don't quite care for Viserra. I have talked about it in the past that I see Saera and Viserra as very shallow characters with almost nothing to them. They were written as mean girls and that's about it, besides being Targaryens and physically very attractive, I don't actually see any redeeming qualities in them.

Saera at least you could argue was sort of funny, in a heartless, sociopathic Cersei kind of way, and I did admire how she later on in life wanted nothing to do with Westeros or the Iron Throne saying she had her own kingdom was a cool moment. But regardless she was cruel, unnecessarily so (e.g., Tom the Turnip anyone?), and worse with someone much weaker than her which also makes her a sort of coward. Like I said she had many sociopathic traits, and her behaviour itself is very congruent with a sociopathic personality type.

Viserra is a bit better in that regard in the sense that she was not needlessly cruel to anyone weaker than her for fun, even if she poked fun at young men who lusted after her, sometimes in quite dangerous ways (e.g., when she dares them to put their heads inside a dragon's mouth, I think the prize was her V card if memory serves right). But like Saera is mean and cold for the sake of being mean and cold, Viserra is ambitious and cold for the sake of being ambitious and cold.

We are both shown and told she wanted power and to be queen and F feelings and all that, but we are never really given a proper reason as to why. I would guess that being child #10 in a very large family would make you starved for attention, likely importance as well, since her only selling point in that family was being the most beautiful of the sisters. It was (VERY) unlikely she would ever be queen, so maybe because of that it became an ambition of hers? There was also something arrogant about her because of her looks, thinking that that would be enough to just give her what she wanted without having to rely on anything else. In that sense she has no depth, what you see is pretty much what you get and neither is very good or particularly compelling.

So, no, I wouldn't want her to marry Baelon, nor for Baelon to be interested in her. In fact, I loved that he wasn't and that after she spoke in such a nasty way about the sister she thought herself so physically superior too that Baelon gave Viserra a cold hard dose of reality of he's Baelon Targaryen, not a failed Baelon like Tywin Lannister.

Sure that some people find love again in life, and I am all for it. But some people aren't like that, and I found a lot of beauty in that aspect of Baelon's character, of how devoted he remained to the memory of his lady with the mismatched eyes. I would have hated for that to be ruined, especially in the name of such an ambitious and empty character like Viserra. If he was to marry her, whatever the reason, he would not be Baelon because that was a central aspect to his character.

All this aside I did feel bad about how Viserra was treated by Alysanne, almost like she was the final boss Alysanne had to defeat. I think this is a great example at times of George's incongruence with how he writers characters in F&B. Pretty much their end is decided so he just does whatever he has to to get there, at times with little regard with what he previously established. Are we supposed to believe that the same Alysanne who still loved and wanted to forgive Saera, even defended her, would be so cold and mean to Viserra? Sorry, I don't find it the least bit believable. Like show us on the doll where Viserra touched you Alysanne. Regardless of her not deserving this or her cruel fate, I still don't really care about Viserra nor think she had any redeeming qualities.

And that is my take.

Thank you for coming to my Tumblr Ted Talk!

Much love to you <3

[mahou-furbies]

Now caught up with Mermaid Melody Aqua

When this originally started my involvement was mostly about gawking at Lukia's design and I only read a couple chapters before dropping off, but now I'm caught up. Aannnddd how do I put this... it's hard to gauge how critical I can be since this is clearly aimed at a younger audience, and also romance stories aimed at tween girls are already such a punching bag, but... this is the first time I'm considering if I should give a mal rating of 1/10 to a manga. I've read other Nakayoshi series and for the most part have been able to find something like or at least end with a wishy-washy "I'm not in the target audience but I guess it's okay for what it is" sentiment, but this one just has so many issues, in addition to a myriad of stuff that personally pisses me off.

The story is about the original series' heroine's teenage daughter Lukia, who, as anyone who knows anything at all about this manga, looks exactly like her mother for no reason. The ocean is in danger again and Lukia has to marry this one merman to prevent a catastrophe, but she is in love with a human boy, who doesn't know about her mermaid identity and is into both her human and mermaid personas separately and struggles to choose. There are also some magical girl battles. So not that unusual of a shoujo premise.

I tried to think of what my biggest issue with the manga is, but it turned out to be difficult since there are so many to choose from. For starters, I can't think of anything I like about Lukia. Obviously for someone who is into fun anime designs her look is an immediate 0/10 for being an exact copy of an existing character, but it also makes the story harder to follow at times when it's difficult to tell if a character is supposed to be Lukia or her mother. But even apart from the character design she's just so bland, and doesn't have much other passions than lusting after a boy and doing the plot, and even with the plot she's just sort of passively stumbling through. Like in the part where she's being pushed to be with her fiancé and she just limply goes along, and overall it feels as if she spends like 95% of the story looking flustered.

The boys are pretty generic shoujo love interests, and in general in control of the situation while the heroine blushes and follows. They also have little else going on outside chasing Lukia, and get into arguments with each other over who gets her while she feebly stands on the side (her opinion is irrelevant).

However despite the people in the main love triangle being extremely unlikable to me, somehow I'd say that the returning MMPPP cast draws the shortest straw in terms of characterisation. The former heroine Luchia has two roles; either she is the butt of the joke as an embarrassing mum, or an obstacle to Lukia's romance who pushes the arranged marriage, and both are depressing when you consider how she was originally a typical magical girl heroine. More often than not Luchia and her friends are more often than not written like immature teenagers, and at their lowest swoon over how attractive Lukia's fiancé is (all the while the readers are shown how unhappy Lukia is about having to marry some rando).

Lukia spends majority of the series thinking about men, and she doesn't really get proper friendships to balance that out. At the beginning the series does introduce a new mermaid as a friend to her, but they quickly fade into being just an accessory to Lukia. It feels like when the series wants to have a "the heroine is doing fun stuff with her girlfriends!" scene, it just has Lukia hang out with her mum and her mum's friends (who never grew up), which is kind of cringe.

Then there's the fanservice aspect; this is a shoujo series but it sure likes to have Lukia wear tops that show off her sizable rack and skirts short enough to show her butt cheeks. In one scene Lukia is just flat out naked so the main guy can walk in on her. And the mermaid tails have been drawn to display the curves of their legs, which to me creates a kind of grotesque effect when it looks like their feet have been cut off from the ankles.

Then finally some complaints about the overall storytelling, it's just so clunky. Like Luchia reveals that Lukia is a mermaid and already engaged, and Lukia runs off in anger. Next page she is introduced to the mascot and has some banter with him, and two pages later it's already the next day and we're at school. You would think that Luchia would at least try to talk a bit more about how her daughter's life is about to take a huge turn, but apparently nothing that was important enough to show to the reader happened during this time. In general there are a lot of moments where transitioning from one scene to another, or even from panel to panel, is noticeably clumsy. Characters also feel like they act just however the scene needs them to.

I am aware that there are plenty of women and girls who are into this kind of love stories where a big strong man shows up to swoop the blank slate heroine off her feet (just think about the popularity of Twilight and 50 Shades), and I would imagine that Mermaid Melody Aqua is aimed at 12-year-old girls who want a "sexy" romance with hot boys totally devoted to the viewpoint character. But I've never been there so I can't relate, and if I had to think "well someone else probably likes this" every time I think of writing a review I could never criticise anything. So let's just close with the sentiment that with the laziest character design imaginable, wet rag of a heroine, super conservative gender roles in the romance, inconsistent and dull characters, undignified portrayal of original series heroines, unappealing fanservice and overall weak writing this is a good contender for my least favourite manga ever. The story isn't over but it's hard to see how it could crawl out of this hole.

[doing-something-unholy]

Father Adrian, there's something I've wanted to admit for a long time, but I've never dared to say it out loud.

Please forgive me for all the unholy words that will come out of my disgusting mind, but they must. I was raised Catholic, I pray as often as I can, I cherish our Lord and Saviour and I do everything I can to help our Church, I promise you, Father.

But the thing is, for the last few months I've been having terrible, unholy thoughts. I prayed even more, I did everything I could to be devoted to God, but nothing works. I am so ashamed, Father Adrian, I really am. I confess a lot, but this secret has never come out of my mouth before...

I've been... well... I've been thinking about other men, Father. The way they look... the way they talk... I've even found myself staring at men's waists and getting excited.

Oh, Father, I'm so sorry, God, I'm so sorry. I'm new to this town, I moved from my hometown hoping that all these thoughts would go away, but... they've gotten worse. Since I've been here, I've appreciated this church, I've talked to the other citizens about what I can do to help this church, and yet these thoughts won't go away.

If I'm honest with you Father, those thoughts came back because of you... I can't say more Father, I'm sorry. All I could do was write this letter to you. I haven't even dared to go to the confessional to say it, Father. I will continue to pray, to come to this church, but I can't even dare to look you in the eye after my thoughts, Father... I haven't even spoken to you yet.

As I write this, I can feel my hands shaking. I can't get your dark red hair out of my mind. Please don't be too ashamed of me, I know I'm a bad Christian, but I can't help it. The thought of someone underneath me, a man underneath me, consumes me from the inside.

Father Adrian. I hope God will be with me. With this letter you will find money for this church. Maybe one day I will go to the confessional, but the thought is too much. I will go to Mass, tomorrow, praying for myself, for you, for this world.

C. 🦇

[I received the letter a while ago, but it still makes me blush to think of it. His (I'm assuming 'his', given the phrase "other men") unholy thoughts have so easily jumped to me, some part of me hoping to be that man underneath him. But the way he writes... my heart aches in sympathy with his shame. I remember when that same kind of guilt nearly ate me alive, and even if it's lessened now I still feel that old fear of being inherently broken haunting me. And by the sound of it, it's definitely haunting him.

I know what I'm supposed to tell people in this situation, steer them to "normal" attractions, but I can't make myself do it. God made us as we are, and loves us unconditionally, the sin of lust is in letting it spiral out of control, not necessarily in who its directed at. Or so I tell myself, I know all too well how hate sticks in your subconscious. I try not to care what anyone else thinks. If only he'd come to confess in person I could have told him that, tried to ease some of the guilt in his heart.

I wonder, as I look at the crowd at Mass, which one of them left the letter. I tell myself it's only out of concern for unconfessed sins weighing on some poor sinner’s soul, but I can't help but be curious who was looking at me so intently that it drove them to sin.]

[peonypics]

Does anyone else see “Booktok” as kinda of…pitiful, in a way? I should think of a way to phrase that nicer, but let me explain.

I was a decent reader as a kid, but when I really started reading was after Covid ended and I got hooked on a book my friend recommended to me. It was a fantasy romance that became pretty damn popular on “Booktok”, and I was well aware it was poorly written. But it was a new form of escapism that really appealed to me; mostly because I was young and going through puberty.

Being fed the idea that I’m supposed to be with a man to be truly happy, yet being surrounded by the worst men have to offer (middle school boys) left me uncomfortable and dejected. But these books left me with something valuable; the idea of a good man.

Almost all of the main male characters in Booktok romances were attentive, and strong, and loving, and truly cared for the heroine. These men were written by women for women. It was a delicious idea that a man could love the flawed and quirkily sassy heroine so genuinely- and by proxy, the idea that someone could love me too.

I eventually aged out of this media, both by simply maturing and becoming aware that I’m attracted to women. But now, as a high schooler I see “booktok” being more prevalent than ever, and I’ve come to notice the kind of people who are involved.

To put it bluntly: normal people. Simply, I mean women who’ve never been really involved in fandom spaces. These weren’t usually people that were scrolling Wattpad or Amino as kids. And I think the socialization and community of fandom spaces has a huge impact on the community of Booktok we see now.

If you’re on Tumblr, you probably remember scrolling Wattpad and reading the comments. Laughing and chatting with other fans of self indulgent fan fictions and fanart- a community built around a mutual love of a form of media. And in fanfiction spaces like this, sexuality and sex talk in general isn’t so stigmatized. You could open up a Wattpad comment section and see other people talking vulgarly about a character and laugh it off and smile. But a lot of people who now engage in booktok didn’t have that experience. A lot of women are taught that sex isn’t something to be discussed, especially not in a crass way. This is the first chance of community where expressing desire or lust is acceptable for some women.

Honestly, I see it as sort of sad for a large part of straight women who use booktok books as a form of escapism. This post is mostly about older booktok, and not the hyper-consumerism dark romance it’s turned too, but that can be a whole other post in itself.

In conclusion, I see Booktok more as an example of a lack of free unstigmatized community for women, and a desire for a kind of love a lot of men aren’t willing to provide. I don’t think it’s wrong or not valid to enjoy Booktok books of course, but the psychology behind it is really interesting to me!

[that-rat-of-a-opossum]

Me ranting about my dumbass OC that's named after a alcoholic drink

So this is just basically me rambling about my OC because I need to write this down somewhere so I can ramble about it at like 3 in the morning to my best friend

(Thanks to my best friend for the best picture of my stupid rat man of an OC <3 although they unfortunately don't have any social media so I can't tag them :/)

Tonic died in 1967 only a few days before the movie The Jungle Book came out.

Tonic was born on October 20th in 1930 with his twin brother Gin

Tonic's real name is actually Hendrik (he-nd-rik) Kaiser (kahy-zer)

His brother's name is Hendrick (he-ndri-ck) Kaiser (kahy-zer)

And he will hurt you if you get them confused

Tonic was leaning against the large tree with his nose buried into a book when one of Gin's stupid friends approached him. "Dear God, go away" Tonic thinks to himself as Gin's friend speaks up with happiness dripping from their mouth "Hey Gin! I was wondering where you-" Gin's friend is immediately cut off once they see that they are talking to Tonic and not the other twin that they were hoping to find ". . . . I'm gonna go find Gin . . . ." Is all they said before running off

Tonic wasn't the most popular kid in school (That spot was saved for his condescending? stuck up? Prideful brother)

. . . . . Tonic didn't have the best relationship with anyone in his family, the best relationship he had was with his mother but she was still a bit distant with him

Anyways

The last thing Tonic remembers was that stupid stage and the . . . . . . Pretty? . . . . Pretty The face of that actor. But he wasn't on that stage or with that actor, so where was he? Tonic's answer came in the form of the cement that he hit with a sickening "SPLAT" and a groan of pain coming from the man who actually hit the cement. It took a few seconds but Tonic eventually managed to regain his senses and he realized something- Well he technically realized a lot of things but the main thing was that he differently wasn't in Hollywood anymore. "Thank fucking god"

Tonic never truly enjoyed his time on the earth but he did attempt to make it bearable, for both him and others

Which is why many women attended the Killer's Hero's funeral, even if they didn't know him personally. But they knew that Tonic cleaned up the mess that many men left.

If it wasn't obvious by now, Tonic's biggest sin was the murder of many disgusting men and he would do it again

There's also the more petty stuff like stealing small stuff and being a slut Lustful person . . . . Mainly towards men

Yes, he's gay and has murdered several men. Shush. let him be

Tonic was just sitting at the bar (once again) nursing a glass of whiskey (No, not a Gin and Tonic (am I supposed to capitalize Gin and Tonic?) because Tonic doesn't actually like the taste of Gin and Tonic) When he suddenly get's approached by a small imp demon which is very confusing for the opossum Sinner. "H-Hey dad! D- . . . Do you think we . . . . Do you think we could go home soon?" Now Tonic was a lot of things, an asshole, a bitch, a flea infested rat. But Tonic was never a father, Tonic already knew that he was gonna be a shit father, much like his own, so he never had kids (Not that his romantic attraction to men was gonna let him) So it was definitely a surprise that this little three foot Imp, was calling him dad. ". . . . I think you're drunk, little guy." Tonic says before he suddenly sees a Sinner watching the little imp from a far "Come on dad, you know I don't drink. I just wanna go home and out of here already, do you at least think you could drive me home?" And it clicks for Tonic. This little Imp is using Tonic to get away from this creepy Sinner that's watching him like he's a fucking piece of meat. Which is why Tonic's opossum ears flatten against his head and his hackles suddenly stand on end, he then swiftly downs the rest of his whiskey (With a bit of protest from both his taste buds and his stomach) ". . . . . . . Yeah let me just pay my tab and we'll go home kiddo" Tonic says as he pulls his wallet out of his jacket pocket and pays his tab with a bit of a silent groan because of his expensive drinking habits. Although, while Tonic was struggling with paying, his tail subconsciously curled around the little Imp protectively.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well I think I talked a lot longer than I was planning . . . But I might do a second part of this if I get the motivation to write again, but according to the internet (Because I'm too lazy to count) this was 711- hheheheh 7-11 hahahahah- words long and 3,903 characters.

Man idk if anyone is even gonna read this . . . . Oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[wendyliddel]

Marilyn Monroe marathon and review

A while back I purchased a digital set that contained 11 Marilyn Monroe movies, most of which I had not seen before. I recently watched the ones I hadn't seen and wanted to give my thoughts here

All About Eve This was one of the few Marilyn movies that I had seen before I bought the collection. Her role is not very big in this movie, but it is a classic for a reason. Next time it's on your local classic movie station or streaming service, give it a watch.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and How To Marry a Millionaire I put these together because, in both movies, Marilyn is trying to catch a rich husband. The concept is not great, but it is executed well in both movies. GPB has the classic Diamonds Are a Girls Best Friend performance, and HTMAM shows Marilyn's comedic chops when she refuses to wear glasses because she insanely thinks men won't be attracted to her if she wears them.

There's No Business Like Show Business: Marilyn is not the main character, but she does have a significant role. It is one of the few movies where I think her character comes off as an actual person and not just some male fantasy, and her chemistry with Donald O Connor is excellent.

Niagra: Marilyn plays a femme fatale who seduces a man into killing her husband, but the tables get turned. It's intriguing, and, no surprise, she plays her role well.

Don't Bother to Knock: This movie does drag a bit, but Marilyn shows off her dramatic chops as a character who is both dangerous and sympathetic.

Monkey Trouble: Mildly funny, but ultimately forgettable film. Marilyn is not the lead.

The River of No Return: Fairly mediocre, but ultimately harmless until the male lead tries to assault Marilyn. Why they thought that was necessary or acceptable, I don't know.

Let's Make Love: I get the impression we are supposed to be rooting for the main character, (a rich man who seems to think he is entitled to Marilyn), but I don't know why we should root for him.

Bus Stop: There are a few laughs in this movie, but, in this day and age, it's hard to stomach a movie where Marilyn's "love interest" kidnaps her, and we are supposed to excuse him because he is a simple country boy who doesn't know better.

The Seven Year Itch: The fact that Marilyn's dress getting lifted up by a subway grate breeze is the only thing anyone talks about from this film should have been my first clue that it would not be good. A married man spends the whole film talking to himself and lusting after Marilyn. Pass.

[junow-honours]

Oral Presentation Feedback:

Trying to remember everything..

Unfortunately when under the pressure of orals I didn’t do the best job of answering these questions, so I thought about it further and am writing my responses here

Gender roles- Stereotypes: Reason for archetypes being all male, and the Watcher representing the ‘Father’?

I think it was Noel who asked this? Thank you 👍 I made the decision last year to address specifically ‘male’ archetypes and stereotypes. At the time I was interested in fan bases surrounding male idols, specifically within anime or K-pop because the fan bases are massive and often involved in a lot controversy and toxic behaviours (otherwise being an impressively dedicated type of fanbase.) I also was very interested in Greek myth depictions of the problematic male hero, reminding me of my other interest in film noir ‘anti-heroes’. Then I was interested in men being the dominant gender present in gore media and crime, as both the perpetrators, victims, and watchers. Also interested in male serial killers, and why people tend to romanticise and create fan bases for them.

I am interested in this dynamic between the ‘male idol’ and the ‘female fan’. It is more accepted for females to express their adoration and obsession for male celebrities and idols, it is seen as ‘cute’ and is a stereotypical behaviour for young girls. On the other hand, it isn’t as accepted for men to express their adoration and obsession for female idols- it may come across as predatory or unhealthy- I’m guessing that pornography and the male gaze plays a large role in this.

Within this, I am interested in the Japanese archetype ‘yandere’, which describes a fan whose love, admiration, and devotion is so strong that it is expressed as an excessive obsession and possessiveness. How are the male and female versions of the ‘yandere’ different, and why is it more accepted for one gender?

Conventional attractiveness and unattractiveness playing a role in this. If a serial killer or criminal is conventionally attractive then they are more likely to be deemed as innocent. If an obsessive fan is unattractive then they are labelled as predatory, if they are attractive then they are no longer predatory. Violent and predatory behaviour being ignored in favour of attraction, women being naturally attracted to men with personality traits in the Dark Triad. Good boy vs Bad boy trope.

Without any explicit intention of being controversial, I wanted to utilise stereotypes of men to discuss my field of enquiry. Also, in a way, by viewing certain things through a ‘masculine’ lense (stereotypically logically and ‘without emotion’). The stereotypes of men cover the many aspects of the human condition that I am interested in; violence, desire/ lust, war, anti-hero, anger etc.. Also referring to the idea of ‘men’ encompassing all of humanity, my characters are men but the personalities/ ideals they represent can be applied to anyone.

As for the ‘father figure’ of the Watcher, I was interested in the symbolism of the ‘father’ representing the concept of God and paternal influences. The ‘Father’ as the one inflicting judgment and punishment.

Finally, also interested in the current world’s understanding of ‘masculinity’, and how the notion of masculinity has shifted in our current generation. What are masculine traits, why are some of these traits deemed as oppressive? Why are certain ideologies (liberalism) influencing men to become more feminine?

Is there room for a fourth archetypal character encompassing the idea of ‘Enchantment’?

Thank you Glen, surprisingly this is something I hadn’t even thought about so I’m glad it was brought up. This needs more thought but I can see that a fourth archetype would be necessary. Originally the Victim was supposed to represent this concept in some way, as he was supposed to be the opposite of the Aggressor, so good vs bad. However, after further development of the Victim character I realised that the ideals I wanted him to represent actually weren’t morally ‘good’ or ‘enchanting’. Will think about this more, most definitely.

This statement did remind me however, that I am entirely convinced that there needs to be more realms, ones that aren’t occupied by either god. The roles of my realms have gradually changed from what they were initially supposed to represent. Initially the Overworld was supposed to represent some sort of Utopia, which could be tied to my idea of ‘Enchantment’. However, over the year I have developed these realms further and Glen’s comment made me aware that any sign of ‘Enchantment’ was no longer evident. The Overworld now represents the manifestation of artificial perfection, instant gratification, and the concept of “grass not always being greener on the other side”. The grass is greener in the Overworld, but it is because the grass is plastic.

[vierandancer]

Meiko had felt stupid plenty of times throughout her near twenty-five years of life, but tonight that thought was especially oppressive. She knew she wasn’t in the right mindset for this – she hadn’t ever been, and yet perhaps out of boredom, for want of warmth, she wanted to try again. Just try.

It had been naive to think that her training with Troupe Falsiam would have somehow forged a stronger bond with her body, had awakened something in her; even when she danced for the many hooting and hollering crowdss, it was only for the music. A performance –a lie.

She wasn’t particularly thrilled or complimented by the lustful jeers and applause/ After all, it wasn’t like they would differentiate her from any other grouping of arse, tits, and legs. They reacted the same to Ranaa, and to Nashmeira before them. Meiko never caught sight of an attractive face in the crowd, rolled off the stage, and dove into some dark alley to fantasize about them. She barely even picked out faces in the crowd at all! And it had always been that way. Even her first inklings of attraction back in Wadewick had been more about wanting attention more than anything, and fleeting in any case.

So if she had never experienced any real desire for anyone in her life, how the fuck was she supposed to imagine anything worth masturbating to?

At a loss, she stared up at the ceiling and tried to block out the sounds of Camp Dragonhead just outside. The sun hadn’t even set yet, but she had drawn the curtains of her little room shut and locked her door in an attempt to get some privacy.

She was just – she was just so sad. Sad for the Scions, or what remained of them, sad for Alphinaud out there blaming himself, sad for even Haurchefant’s story of how he was the black sheep of his family! Sad for her br–

NO! Stop! None of any of that! She abruptly shook her head violently, as if the increased aggression would physically halt the thoughts from forming. This always happened. Her mind would drift towards current events, and the anxiety and shame would set in. How could she even conceptualize pleasure at a time like this? How dare she.

I just want to feel good for a bloody minute, she pleaded with herself, and squeezed her eyes shut. Just a few minutes. Then she’d wash away her shame and do a thousand errands to make up for her selfishness. She would!

Her heart was already pounding. She only had so much time until her companions returned to the Falling Snow, and if she heard any of them pass by her door, it’d be over. Fuck.

No, no. Deep breaths. She tried to force the anxiety away and inhaled slowly, adjusting to get comfortable on her mattress. She had already stripped her clothing off before climbing into bed, and the wool blankets provided to them felt nice against her bare skin. She did everything she could to focus on that.

Of course, nobody got taught how to touch themselves. The way people talked, men just figured it out on their own. Women? Absolutely nothing. Maybe a crass joke here and there about using cucumbers had been tossed around a tavern back home, but aside from that, it was pure mystery. And who else could she ask? Her mother would have chased her out the room!

Already feeling defeated, Meiko slid one hand beneath the blanket. She wasn’t numb, at least; her breasts were sensitive like most people’s presumably were. Cheeks warm with shame, she hesitantly pressed two fingertips to either side of a nipple and – assessed.

Nothing. Fuck, she was so stupid. Broken, maybe, too. But she continued to try, despite cursing herself, and rubbed around the area as well. It brought small success; feeling the skin harden under her touch, she continued her ministrations…until she got bored.

Both hands then came up again and covered her face, which was burning. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this and she was pathetic for even trying! A dumb, desperate fool rubbing her own tit to get off, and not even able to do that right.

She slumped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling again. She couldn’t even conjure some faceless person to try and imagine her touch belonging to another, and Twelve forbid she try and fill in anyone she knew in their place. No, no, never. That was – that was disgusting. And she didn’t even have anyone in mind!

Because more than anything, Meiko couldn’t imagine anyone actually wanting to have sex with her. Aye, there were bastards who’d be fine with anyone, but that didn’t make her feel very good. How could she appreciate herself if she didn’t believe anyone else ever would?

She sighed. Slid her dominant hand back down under the blankets. One more try. Maybe her tits were broken or something. Maybe she just had to go right to the source?

She shut her eyes again and tentatively laid her fingertips over her mound, scooting her hips up and legs a bit wider apart. Frowned at the scratchiness here; it had been weeks since she’d done the bloody waxing thing for Troupe Falsiam, and now that they were wanted criminals for Eorzea, it was likely she couldn’t do it again for a very long time. So now, she’d be stuck with that discomfort between stripped fields and wiry bush for who knew how long! Great.

That did not improve her mental state. She tried to ignore it again and pulled her knees up higher, stretching the blanket like a shitty tent over her lower half. Would it have been better to see what she was doing? Likely, but she’d feel even more self-conscious then. So for now, she’d just have to fly fucking blind.

Fingers tentatively stroked in a slow line up from the bottom, feeling between the folds. Again, like when she had touched her breast, there was a tingle, and a faint slickness that came with the territory. Her lips twisted. She repeated the motion. With the slickness that lingered on her fingertip, she brushed over the sensitive nub of flesh just above. More tingles. Was she finally getting somewhere?

Fuck, she felt like she was doing a puzzle at gunpoint.

She touched herself again in the same gesture, swallowing. She didn’t know if she was doing it correctly, but she had to be on the right path. When the wetness thoroughly coated the top halves of her fingers, she dared to slide them a little lower, a little closer to her entrance.

Once again, she tried to imagine someone wanting to be doing this, too. But when she really couldn’t, she backed away from the thought and just focused on herself again. That nonsense was getting depressing.

Another stroke. Then back down, tentatively pressing inside just barely an ilm. When there wasn’t any pain or discomfort, she slid it in a little deeper – and wondered how the fuck a whole cock was supposed to fit in there. Like, it did, but it felt like it shouldn’t.

Brow furrowed, she slumped back and withdrew her hand. She was tired already. Psychologically, emotionally, and her hand was starting to cramp. If a slew of dragons attacked the camp right now, she’d be throwing her chakrams crooked – and for what? Some moist, vague bout of self-discovery?

What the fuck was she doing? There was a war going on. People of Ishgard died every day, there were Ascians on the loose, the Scions were scattered to the winds and falsely accused of regicide and this is what she was spending her time doing?

As shame rose in her, Meiko sat up and angrily rubbed her hands on her blankets. “Idiot,” she hissed, feeling emotion rise in her throat. “Fuckin’ idiot, Mei!”

And now she wanted to cry! Cry! For not only wasting time to get off, but not even achieving that in the first place! She cursed herself again and threw the blankets off her bed, then followed them to grab her clothes up off the floor.

She’d wash her hands and get right back out to helping around Whitebrim. Back to doing something worthwhile.

[theprettynosferatu]

1 - The Professional

I don’t expect you to like me. In fact, I’m willing to bet that by the end of my story you will loathe me. That’s okay. I’m not a good person– no one in my line of business is. But I do want you to understand I acted without malice, no matter how cruel my actions may seem. I just take my job seriously, that’s all.

When he walked into my office I could read pain in his deep black eyes, his slow, defeated gait. He was a broken man, and as he told me his story I could tell he wasn’t just speaking: he was living it all over again. The surprise and fear when he realized he was attracted to the babysitter. The thrill and guilt of the illicit affair. The shame as he realized she had played him and he had been too weak to resist her. The rest was predictable: pregnancy, shattered marriage, loss of custody over his only son, child support payments for the one that ruined his life. And yet in that ocean of despair he had found a light, a hope. He called it a need for justice. Others might call it a lust for revenge. I didn’t care either way as long as I got paid.

After we reached an agreement, I went to work. The first step for a proper hunt is to study the prey, to get to know its haunts and routines, its weaknesses and blind spots. Old timers waxed poetic about how hard it used to be, the hours of surveillance and shadowing the mark. All I needed to do was boot up a computer. No point in watching a generation that surveils itself, that lives its life like a mixture of advertisement and open wound. What they post and what they don’t, when they are active online, who they follow… the rosetta stone to their hearts is out there for anyone that can read it. Kate Meadows was no different than most twenty one year olds, in that regard. If anything, she had a taste for the attention that salacious pictures brought her. 

I printed a picture of her and pinned it to my board. A completely unnecessary action, I know; but we all have our quirks. I looked deep into her blue eyes and asked the key question I needed to solve. Kate Meadows: what do you lack?

2 - The Homewrecker

Kate barely ever thought of James. He was punctual with his payments, and so he mostly existed as a line on her income sheet. She supposed he was the father of little Marie in a biological sense, but deep down she felt Marie had been born simply as a result of Kate’s own skill. She had willed the child into existence. A part of her had been concerned that some useless maternal instinct would appear, that she would be trapped by a genetic monstrosity hidden somewhere in her DNA and would become one of those disgusting women that cooed and posted pictures of their spawn online for the world to see. Happily, after the birth she felt no more attachment to little Marie than she did for a particularly cherished scarf. No, her most pressing concern after the birth had been to get back in shape.

Aunt Carmen could handle Marie. That had been one of the reasons for Kate’s move to Miami. Carmen was childless, resentful about it and had skeletons in her closet. She embraced Marie as her own just as Kate expected, and if she ever decided to tell Kate a peep about parenting, the younger woman had leverage to keep her quiet and servile. All things considered, a good deal. As Kate walked to the gym, she took in the looks from passers-by. Ah, there was the other reason for the move.

Miami was where rich, older men came to express their various midlife crises. Honestly, it was too easy to do her job here.

Sex was a key that opened many doors, as Kate had learned quickly. It wasn’t just looking desirable– although that was important, hence her strict gym routine and skincare habits. No, it was more than that. It was knowing how to convey a look of innocence with a hint that, perhaps, this good girl would like to be corrupted; or to say without words that she was a freak that would gladly engage in any kink and make every wet dream come true; or to project an aura of vulnerability, like a wounded kitten only looking for a protector, a guide to whom she would be oh so very grateful… The trick was knowing who to become for each mark, and she had been honing those instincts for years. Miami was the perfect hunting ground: the male loneliness capital of America.

Hell, she didn’t even need to fuck most of her marks. They kept her cozy, brought her to the best clubs, bought dinner at the most exclusive restaurants, gave her clothes and jewels and all manner of presents, all for a dream stoked by Kate with smiles, looks, suggestive words. Hope was a powerful force, and that she could provide. False hope perhaps, but real enough for her marks to fantasize the nights away. Sure, she did fuck some of them every now and then but that was hardly a sacrifice. She loved the thankfulness in their eyes, the sensation that she was a goddess bestowing her blessings on these damned souls. She came so hard bouncing on them, knowing they were her toys, her little walking ATMs. She loved that they didn’t know, loved how they looked at her with complete adoration. Nothing felt better than riding their cocks like she rode their hearts, coaxing moans and words at will with her skills. 

Suddenly, a warm shower fell on the street. Tourists, unaccustomed to the city’s regular midday rains, started running. Kate let the water caress her, let her clothes get soaked and cling to her every curve, accentuate her silhouette. Who knew, maybe she would land a rich tourist to ride and drain for a few days.

Then, she was on the ground. It took her a moment to realize someone had bumped into her. She would be upset if she didn’t know the “accidental bump” was a standard lame attempt at approaching a woman. Well, one look would tell her if she had gotten a quick success or landed a dud. 

The man barely looked at her. Expensive watch. Classy but not tacky shoes. Understated clothing in that way that old money men tended to play down their inherited wealth. Fucking bingo. A tad too young for her usual fare, but she could hook him. She took his outstretched hand and got up, expecting the usual apologies, followed by an offer to make things up to her– with a drink, perhaps? 

Instead, all she got was a quick glance. Oh, that would not do. She smiled.

“Sorry! I’m so clumsy sometimes”, she offered. There. Door open. Come in, little man.

“Yup,” he replied. Nothing more.

He left her standing there, dumbfounded. He hadn’t spared her a second look. If anything, his tone had been of utter derision. What the fuck? Whatever. He was probably gay anyway. She shook off the strange feeling in her chest and resumed her walk to the gym.

3 - Analysis

After a week of observation, I made first contact. Oh, Kate. You thought you were so complex, so smart. I went to the board. Lots of sugar daddies, that was for certain. You felt on top, and yet you were a prisoner, like everyone else. Your cage was gilded, your life a race from pleasure to pleasure, all so short lived, all so disappointing in the end. You were a seeker, and didn’t even know it. Like a fool, you went to the ocean and believed it would take the thirst away. Kate… I would have felt sorry for you, if my job allowed such things.

4 - Apocalypse in Neon

She took a deep breath, smelling the sea. Todd had just left, and Kate felt things had gone as well as they could have. It hadn’t been a hard call: Todd’s wallet had gotten lighter, his gifts slightly cheaper, his demands more intense. Sure, she could have made up some medical emergency or family crisis to squeeze one final paycheck… but she didn’t need the money at the moment and it was always better to let the used up ones go with as little bitterness as possible; and so she had pulled out the “need to find myself, you deserve someone that is focused on you” speech. It was bullshit, but she could sell it and it kept the number of angry men in her life at a minimum. Besides, one never knew when a sudden return to their lives might be needed. 

She looked at her drink. It was sweet and sour and she wasn’t sure she liked it at all: she had let Todd order for them both. Men liked that. Colored lights flashed and shifted, tinting the liquid in her hand. It felt a bit weird. A million imagined futures had been shattered by a single conversation, entire possible worlds had collapsed with her words and Miami didn’t care: it kept its bright night going with party music and a multitude of artificial suns painting scene after scene in different colors.

“Well done. I’m impressed”

Kate had been too immersed in the neon spectacle to notice the man sitting down on the chair in front of her. It took her a second, but she recognized him. The asshole that had pushed her down a few days before. Oh, great. She wasn’t planning on hunting that night, but… still, who the fuck did this dude think he was?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“The landing, girl. That could have gotten nasty, you know. But I guess you’re clever about picking your men, filter out the violent ones early, keep the more melancholic ones hooked”

Kate looked at the man, anger bubbling up. Part of it was his sheer rudeness. Part of it was that he was absolutely right. She did know how to tell if a man had that violent streak deep inside and how to keep them away. She knew she should just get up and leave, but her curiosity got the best of her. How had this random guy made her?

“What the fuck do you mean?”, she blurted out.

“Look around you. At a glance, what would you say is the average age of the men in this bar? And how old are the girls? Quite the gap, right? Look at the way they’re dressed. That’s bait. The short skirts and tight pants, the pink tops with childish designs, the eye-catching makeup… advertising, that’s all it is. Sure, I suppose it could be a coincidence and they all have daddy issues and a fetish for beer bellies and expensive cars, but I doubt it. They’re working, just like you. I was merely expressing admiration for good work, from one manipulator to another”

Kate felt her chest tighten. It wasn’t just that this asshole had called her out: it was the fact that looking around she saw other girls like her, flirting and luring men in. For the first time Kate Meadows felt something, something she definitely didn’t like. She felt common. There were so many girls… some barely out of their teens; others with cosmetic enhancements that drew the eye to their chests; others catering to special tastes: goths, tradgirls, babygirls… She felt so small, just another fish in a vast ocean… no, she wasn’t like them. She was better. She was the best at what she did. Still, it was an uncomfortable feeling. And who the fuck was this man?

“That’s a cynical view of things, don’t you think?” she challenged. She took the time to really look at him. He was handsome, sure… and his blue eyes were positively entrancing, his lips almost femenine in their fullness; but a deeper, primal part of her told her that he was dangerous.

“True. Cynical, certainly. But I’m not mistaken, am I? Don’t get me wrong, you seem really fucking good at your job, but you are delusional if you think some new girl will show up and do your gimmick better than you. And besides, this… this whole grind, it’s a fool’s game”

“Oh, so I’m a fool now too?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying that the real money, the fuck you money… they don’t come here, to this neon purgatory. They have their exclusive resorts and hotels in Monaco and private islands and Lord knows what. Sure, you can make a living here for a while but it seems to me like you should be aiming higher”

“Is that so? And apparently you would know how to reach those higher goals? Who the fuck are you to tell me how to do my job?”

“I’m a professional, like you. True, I don’t con middle aged divorcees, but I’m really good at what I do. I can read people. And I can give you the skillset you still lack”

“I see. And you’ll do this out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Of course not”

“So what’s the gameplan? You teach me, hook me up with richer people and… what? Get to fuck me whenever you want? Get to have me on my knees with a snap of your fingers? Get a cut of what I make? Protect me, maybe? Are you trying to be my pimp?”

He laughed. It was a delighted, genuine sort of laughter, as if the idea of pimping was ridiculous on its face. Or maybe what was silly was the idea of pimping her. For some reason she felt slightly insulted. What, was he too good to pimp her? Did he think pimping her wouldn’t be profitable? Did he think she couldn’t be a top notch whore if she put her mind to it? And was the idea of keeping her as his fucktoy so… without charm?

“What’s so funny?”, she grumbled.

“Nothing. Just the visual of someone like me being a pimp, of all things. No, that’s not the plan. But I do have a plan. You see, I’ve been in contact with a certain individual… I’ve been looking for an angle to do my job... And as much as it pains me to admit it, this is a job I cannot do alone. This particular case needs, well, you. But it needs a better you. A more… diverse you in terms of attitude and willingness to do certain things”

“Ah. You have a mark with certain tastes. You want to ingratiate yourself with him, and introducing me to him would get you closer to him, but you want me to be his perfect woman. You want power over him and to use me to get that, is that it?”

“Something like that”

“Why me? You said it, there’s a lot of girls to pick from here”

“I want to do the job right. That means it has to be you”

Kate felt flattered, she had to admit. Perhaps that’s why she found herself more and more drawn by the man’s proposal.

“How big is the target?”

“The person involved is Important. A man that feels very strongly about many things. Driven. Willing to pay to see his desires fulfilled”

Kate made a mental image of the man. A CEO maybe. Maybe an investment banker. In any case, way above the upper middle-management types she usually dealt with.

“Let’s say I’m interested. What, you take me to him?”

“Eventually. When you’re ready. Like I said, he has very concrete ideas. We need to work together first so you can fulfill that role. Practice. Train. Study. It would be a challenge”

Kate felt her competitive blood boiling. She could be anything. She could become anyone’s perfect dream. That was her gift, and frankly hunting the same kind of man over and over was getting a bit boring. A challenge with a big payday? That sounded intriguing.

“When would we begin?”

“Tomorrow”

“You know you didn’t tell me your name, right?”

“I know. Does it matter? It’s not like you’d ever know if any name I say is real. So… you choose. What should my name be?”

“Hum… something European, maybe? Classy. Leon. How about that?”

“Sure. Leon it is. Nice to meet you, Kate”

“Nice to meet you, Leon. So, we exchange numbers now?”   

5 - Improving

The hotel room was clearly expensive, with nice, classy furniture and a large bed. Kate noticed there was absolutely nothing that would give her a clue as to Leon’s state of mind or habits. No personal effects, no little objects that might offer any sort of clue. She didn’t look for long: her eyes were drawn to the tripod and the camera aimed at the bed.

“So we’re shooting porn now?” she asked

“Don’t be silly. It’s for you. So you can review your performance and improve”

Right. Improving. Training. It still felt odd: seduction came to her as naturally as breathing; how special could this target be? How refined his sexual tastes? Of course, there was always the chance that Leon was a psycho and lying to her face… and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that. It wasn’t anything concrete, just a sort of aura, a vibe she couldn’t put into words. In short… Leon just felt like a good person, deep down. Dangerous, but good.

“Okay. So, let’s make me this dude’s perfect girl. How is she?”

“Hard to sum up. Submissive, but more than that. He needs a woman that just… feels the need to please him deep in her bones, needs it more than anything. A woman that can overcome any moral or personal limit if she thought it would bring him pleasure. A woman devoted, body and mind, to his happiness. A chameleon that can be the most traditional housewife and the trashiest slut”

“Oh, I can do that”

“Show me”

“Man the camera and learn, ‘professional’”

Leon did just that as Kate hopped on the large, white bed. When she saw Leon giving her the sign that he was recording, Kate closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them and pierced the lens with her gaze, Kate was gone. Instead, a new person seemed to be inhabiting her body. She stretched like a cat and let her hands roam over her body.

“Daddy,” she moaned, “look at me. I’m yours. Let me be yours. Let me please your cock with every inch of my tight body… please, please, use me. I need it, Daddy. I need you to use me… abuse me… anyway you want. Anywhere, anytime. I’m just your toy, your little fuckdoll for you to play with… I need it! I need to make you happy…”

“I don’t buy it”

The words hit Kate like a bucket of freezing water.

“Sorry?”

“You’re good. That little performance might work for most, but I don’t buy it and neither will he”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you wet?”

“What?”

“Is. Your cunt. Wet.”

Kate took a moment.

“A… little bit” she admitted.

“That’s not enough. That’s the problem. You’re still in control. Measured. I can see your mind at work behind your pleading eyes. You can fake arousal, but desperation, true desperation… that’s not something you can just pretend you feel. Your pussy needs to truly need it. You need to train your body, not your acting skill.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?”

“I assume you know how edging works”

“Yeah, but I don’t see the point in it”

“That’s because you’ve never reached the state of absolute need you have to reach for this job, Kate. Every movement, every inflection of your voice needs to be a manifestation of a physical, irresistible urge to please. And edging will help you get there”

Kate thought for a moment. Edging seemed silly to her. Pointless. But if it might make her better at her job… why not try?

“So… what now?”

Leon tossed a tablet on the bed.

“That is loaded with porn. The kind he likes, straight from his browser history. Edge to it for a few hours, and whatever you do, don’t cum. I’ll go do some shopping in the meantime. Have fun.”

With that, Kate was alone and mystified. He had just… left. After that performance, he had felt no need to even touch her, or tease her, or offer a single word of praise. What the fuck? She felt her competitive spirit rising again. Fine. She’d show him. Kate made herself comfortable, removed her small skirt and turned the tablet on.

The first video was quite standard, Kate felt. The girl was hot, docile and so, so eager… when the inevitable cocksucking happened, what Kate saw was less a blowjob and more an act of religious worship. The girl kissed, liked, cuddled the big cock as if it was the single most important thing in the universe. Suddenly, unexpectedly, an orgasm started to build and Kate managed to barely stop it. Shit, that was a surprise. A part of her felt frustrated and angry at her own denial, at the orgasm that never came, but damn it she would show Leon she could edge with the best of them. She took a deep breath and went to the second video.

Oh, a solo work. Interesting. The girl was in what Kate assumed to be anime cosplay. Sure, whatever. People liked what people liked. Then something remarkable happened. The girl was edging, like her. Her tongue was out, which made her look almost less than human, like a mindless animal in heat. Kate’s pussy sent a wave of pleasure at the realization. Maybe she should… why not? Kate opened her mouth and did her best to mimic the desperate expression in the girl’s face. It felt… good. Good in a way she had never experienced. Somehow… relaxing. As if she didn’t have to think about anything but pleasure, anything but rubbing. Then, the girl spoke to the camera. Her voice was a plea, the expression of a deep, overwhelming need.

“Please… please make me yours… make me your property, your pet, your fuckdoll… I don’t want to think anymore… I’ll do whatever you want, whenever you want… I’ll be… fuck… whoever you want me to be… I’m empty… You can fill me with your ideas, your desires… please, please… let me live for you… share me with your friends… use my holes whenever you want… that’s all I am… holes and tits… rent me out… make me do things I can never take back… ruin me for your amusement…”

It hit Kate like a truck. The girl meant every word and Kate found herself muttering along before having to stop herself from cumming. Panting, she looked at the ceiling. Fuck, that was hot. She would never have guessed seeing that degree of utter submission would do anything for her, but… Well, the edging didn’t help, she supposed. She would probably find anything hot. She went to the third video.

Things became a blur of edges, drooling and images. At some point her mind… shut down. She only edged and watched and imitated what she saw. One of the girls was bound, helpless, used over and over and over like a good girl… another was teaching a younger girl to be obedient, to suck cock, to worship… another only proclaimed herself to be a silly cow, edging and mooing and playing with her huge udders…

At some point, Leon came in. Kate couldn’t stop. His eyes were cold, clinical. He was evaluating her. Kate could only think about his cock… cock… that was all that mattered. She couldn’t think. Everything was fuzzy and warm and vibrating. 

“That’s enough for today”, he said.

What? No, it couldn’t be! She needed to please cock… she needed to serve her purpose, to be a good girl! 

“Now, we’ll meet tomorrow. But remember: don’t cum”

Don’t cum. He had said it as an order. To her, it was a divine commandment. Good girls didn’t cum.

6 - Bound

Kate knocked on the door with more intensity than she intended to. Her mind flashed back to the previous night. Leon hadn’t told her to do anything and still… her memory was a blur of edging and porn, of speaking out loud words she’d never would have said and enjoying every second of it, of denying herself an orgasm she desperately craved just because… why? Because the Leon in her head would approve of it and she needed to please him. Because the videos made her say it over and over. Because good girls didn’t cum.

When the door finally opened, Kate fought the urge to drop to her knees. There was something so liberating, like losing all control was true freedom. No calculation, no plans, only pleasure and obedience. Leon, on the other hand, was in no hurry. He showed her in, asked her if she’d like some water. Kate couldn’t really decide if she did, and she wished Leon could make that choice for her. She was so fuzzy she didn’t notice the leather bindings on the bed until Leon pointed them out.

“The mark is very, very interested in these. Top notch, expensive stuff. You can adapt the length of the chains and everything. A bitch to set up, let me tell you”

Kate’s pussy sent her a pang of pleasure. Leon had set this up for her. She needed to be thankful. She needed to prove she was worthy. She needed to express her appreciation… her lips felt warm. She needed to please his cock. She took a step toward the man that seemed less and less a man and more and more a divinity… but he stopped her with a single gesture.

“Oh, the edging did a number on you. But we need to focus on the task at hand. Take of your clothes and get on the bed, Kate”

She removed her scant clothing as if it was asphyxiating her, tossing top and jean shorts on the floor. As she crawled (like a bitch in heat, her mind added) on the bed, she became aware of something… something out of place. But what? She couldn’t tell. Her mind was too fuzzy and dizzy to pinpoint her. Something didn’t add up, but she didn’t care. She spread her arms and legs and let Leon strap her, every moment feeling herself become more and more her property. He owned her. Or would own her if she was deserving of it. What had happened to her? Why did she want this -need this- so much?

She was exposed. Spread-eagled on the bed, incapable of escaping, at the absolute mercy of the man standing before her. It crossed her mind that he could do anything to her, anything at all– and not only she didn’t care, she relished the feeling. She was an object, without will or freedom and all she could feel was… relaxation. Letting go was something so new, so exciting: like he was a river after a storm and she was nothing but a leaf, carried along. She didn’t have to scheme, she didn’t have to fake. All she needed to do was feel and obey. His hand barely touched her inner thigh and a shiver ran up her spine. She bucked her hips. Her cunt needed to be used, and it was so strong, so powerful… while she was so powerless and deliciously weak. She’d do anything, anything to please him. It was something she had needed her whole life and never even known it: to just… be. No more chasing, no more pointless holding on to control. Just existing, just being empty… it was bliss. But the hand was skilled, and caressed her softly without even touching her pussy, without giving her a measure of relief. She moaned and whimpered and her breathing became a ragged, shallow thing.

Without a word, Leon took off his pants. There it was. His cock. It was all that mattered, all she needed. Please cock. It was as simple a purpose as she could imagine, and yet it felt like the most glorious task. A miniscule part of her was trying to ring an alarm, to tell her she had missed something important. But then, looking at that beautiful cock… nothing else was important. Her mouth filled with saliva and she stuck her tongue out like a brainless puppy. She needed to feel it inside her. Inside her mouth, her pussy, her ass… it didn’t matter. And, she knew, it wasn’t up to her. All she could do was squirm, and hope.

Leon took a step towards the side of the bed, studying her with his big, blue eyes. 

“You are not faking this, are you Kate?”

Kate could only shake her head. Words were too complex for her.

“I can sense it. This isn’t one of your two-bit performances for sad bastards. This is real despair. Real need. Real submission. And to think you achieved it with only a single day of edging! Some girls take weeks or months of training to get to this point, but not you” He climbed on the bed. Kate could smell him… all she could do was drool and pant and hope he would use her mouth-hole… “Wonder why that is? How you broke so easily, Kate? Now, I need you to tell me the truth: what would you do to please my cock?” 

Kate had to make a superhuman effort to speak, and even then the words came in bursts, not even proper sentences. “Anything… edged doll… make me better… anything… take me… own me… edged… needy…”

Leon examined her. Her body didn’t lie. He pinched her nipple, drawing pitiful moans from the former homewrecker. The fall had been spectacular, and much quicker than he had anticipated. He moved a bit closer, and Kate strained to reach his cock, desperate to feel it in her mouth. He decided to give her a taste.

She didn’t really suck his cock. She devoured it, kissed it, licked it, made love to it. Her hands strained against their cuffs, eager to hold the marvelous member, to feel its warmth, the way the blood flowed through it. This was it. All she was. All she wanted to be. And she felt… grateful. So, so grateful that Leon was deeming her worthy enough to use her mouth. She soaked the sheets while humping the air. The world faded away. Please his cock. That was all that existed.

He spoke with unusual composure, given the spectacular job Kate was doing. That only made her more eager. He was in control. She was barely more than a beast.

“Kate… you broke so easily because that’s what you wanted, deep down. You were afraid of it, so you always put yourself in a position to rule others. Don’t you see? You were never satisfied because you were too scared to admit it to yourself. You needed to be… taken”

Yes. Yes. Leon was right. Leon was always right. He knew best. He knew her better than she had ever known herself. This was what she had always desired. To serve. To obey. Now… now she was home, having found someone worthy of worship. She took the cock deep in her throat, trying to milk it, to coax the wonderful cum from it… that would give her all the validation she’d ever need. It all began and ended with making his cock cum.

“It even made you blind to the obvious”

There it was again. The alarm. She pushed it away. She didn’t care. She was a cockslave. His cockslave. That's all she ever wanted to be. The idea of going back… unthinkable. Cumming without Leon’s permission? An abomination, not worth considering. His words came from far away, fuzzy and indistinct. She needed to serve.

“Kate, think back to our first conversation”, he said, pulling away. Kate whimpered. She had been given an order, and so she obeyed. Her mind went back to that encounter under the neon lights. It was hard to focus. Hard to remember.

“Kate, when did you tell me your name?” 

It hit her like a train. That was it. The thing that didn’t add up. She never did. She never told him her name… and still…

“Sure. Leon it is. Nice to meet you, Kate”

“Nice to meet you, Leon. So, we exchange numbers now?”   

She felt as if the floor had disappeared. She was floating in a vast, silent void. Only her needy pussy kept her linked to reality, demanding her to obey. She felt Leon lengthen the chains on her feet.

“Now you know. You are the mark. You were always the mark. Or the… target, so to speak. I never lied to you. There is a man. You just assumed he was the victim, rather than my employer. Hell, I almost told you as much”

“This particular case needs, well, you”

“I want to do the job right. That means it has to be you”

“The person involved is Important. A man that feels very strongly about many things. Driven. Willing to pay to see his desires fulfilled”

The phrases floated in her head. Leon was right. She should have seen it, should have noticed. Yet she hadn’t. Why? Because… because a part of her wanted to fall. Wanted to be defeated. Wanted to bathe in the despair and become a willing slave. And Leon had seen that in her.

“I’m a professional, like you. True, I don’t con middle aged divorcees, but I’m really good at what I do. I can read people”

It was true. He was better than her. She should hate him. But she could only feel wetter and wetter as the depth of her failure sunk in. He had conquered her. Defeated her. Broken her. He deserved to be her owner.

“And knowing the truth, I know what you’ll do. You’ll obey, even if you know you shouldn’t. Raise your legs”

Before the words had registered in her mind, her body was doing as it was told, and in a flash her knees were beside her ears, her holes presented as a token of her submission to her superior.

“I tricked you. Used you. Warped you. And still, you’ll beg me to use your ass. How pathetic is that?”

“So pathetic… I’m so pathetic… I deserve this. I deserve to be a fucktoy. Nothing more. I deserve to be used. I deserve to be abused. I deserve this. You own me. You own me. You are better than me… so please… please use my tight asshole! Please! Please let my body please your cock! It’s all I’m good for! I’m a living fleshlight, a breathing cumdump for you!”

She felt him stretching her. It hurt in the best way possible. She was being useful. He was taking ownership of her. A mixture of pain and pleasure coursed through her body, her brain overwhelmed by the sensations and the acceptance of her utter, complete defeat. It was so good. So good to finally embrace it. With every pump, he blasted away pieces of the person she had once been. She welcomed it. She was ready to be a lesser, greater being. She was ready to take his cum deep inside her body. A body he owned…

Then he stopped.

He pulled out and the emptiness he left behind wasn’t just physical. Kate felt cold. She needed it. Needed him. He had shown her her true self, and only he was worthy of her devotion, of her undying, slavish love. Only he could make her feel like her true self…

She panicked as he put his pants on. No, no, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t… Her life… there was no return to the gray days of teasing and using lesser men. Not when she had tasted this. Not when she had seen the light. He couldn’t just…

“For what it’s worth, let me tell you this: you had no chance. There was nothing you could have done differently, because you are what you are, and I am what I am. I don’t hate you. I don’t even dislike you that much. But I take pride in my work, and I believe I did quite a number on you, didn’t I? Now you know what you were looking for all along, and you know you’ll never reach it. This, I’m afraid, is goodbye. Someone from the hotel will untie you shortly”

Kate weeped. It was all she could do, and she knew it. Her old self now appeared to her a silly simulacrum, shattered by the truth Leon had shown her: as artificial and tacky as Miami’s neon nights. She watched him walk to the door. He paused, and Kate let herself feel hope for the last time.

“James says hi”, Leon said.

7 - Goodbye?

I told you I wasn’t a good person, and reading this, you’d be correct in hating me. I don’t mind.

I don’t mind because I know that if we were ever to cross paths, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to. I don’t mind because I know that, whoever you are, I’ll find that small crack in you, that need everyone has and doesn’t even realize it, and I’ll use it against you. I’ll be what you need, and you’ll never be able to tell what I truly am. I don’t mind because you’ll love me, and I’ll break your heart.

If not me, someone like me. There’s more of us than you may think. Professionals. We don’t advertise, yet clients always manage to find us. 

In fact, can you be sure you haven’t encountered one of us already?

Did you enjoy this story? You can support my work at patreon.com/prettynosferatu and get early access and the full library!

Special thanks to @dumb-doll-lips for being Kate in the cover!

[enchantricksbot]

Let’s talk about Amora’s seduction and how it works.

In her origin, Amora could manipulate how she looks, however she is supposed to appear so naturally beautiful, that she is any man’s weakness. No magic involved.

Despite many asgardians able to enchant, this is why she’s called “The Enchantress” This is a 60’s cliche, the fantasy that she is so gorgeous no man can look away.

She has an spell on her lips, that works like a sort of venom gloss. Upon kiss, it can enthrall someone for a limited amount of time. Because of her perfect appearance, it’s the most subtle way to lure men.

(Dr Strange thought she was suspicious, and too beautiful to be a mortal. Despite this, on lust alone, he engaged in kissing her and is put under her spell for 7 days)

To be enthralled, someone must already be attracted to her. What I’ve gathered over majority of the comics, the kiss has to be initiated or mutual. Without any magical intervention or spelled seduction.

This has some limitations. Characters who are pure of heart or noble minded can break free. Thor cannot be ensnared by her kiss, for he does not truly have interest in her, he may find her physically attractive, but knowing her as a person, he isn’t attracted to her personality. Dr Doom cannot be enchanted by her kiss, as he is not interested in her. (Panel below, She can be seen switching tactics to bribery instead.) Nor can Loki because despite his attraction to her, his seidr is too powerful to possess him.

She’s a villain but she’s not quite evil. Concerning an argument I saw from someone who’s never read the comics…She’s never used any of her servants for anything sexual or even romantic, and does not keep anyone continuously under her spell. Yes the “too gorgeous to not fall in love” is very old cliche. Modern comics she relies more on her spells. Though regarded as beautiful still, her power and enchantments do not rely on her looks or her kiss of death.

Much of the time after they kiss her and the spell begins to take hold, they realize they’ve just been baited into a fly trap. Kissing Amora does not mean you will be under her spell, she can kiss people with good intention.

Why is she so bent on love?

Every man Amora ever wanted, has in her hold. Everyone but Thor. Odin had sent Amora to seduce Thor and bring him back to Asgard (away from earth and Jane) but in failing she was devastated by her imperfection. What was likely out of a teenage crush (and rivalry with Sif) became a failure and obsession, For everyone to love and accept her.

We don’t know much about Amora and her sister, Lorelei’s parents, other than they were not present. Whether alive or not. Amora runs off to apprentice under Karnilla, Odin’s personal sorcerer and the queen of Nornheim. We can infer that Karnilla became a mother figure to Amora.

When Amora tried too hard to please, and became too strong, too ambitious, Karnilla exiled Amora. Amora was a scared child, and sought safety in power and controlling those powerful. Inside her this child remained. Unable to grow past her fears.

Other examples to femme fatale characters are Poison Ivy, Emma Frost, Loki

[loststarphounix]

I Present to You: My Kazuich and Gundham Headcannon’s that Just Make Sense to Me

Gundham

Repressed his emotions so much that when he feels his emotions anger/sadness/lust etc overflows it overwhelming and becomes 10X more intense than anyone expected

Very socially awkward and escapes reality using his imagination as a coping mechanism. Gundham’s unusual way of speaking is due to insecurity. Growing up powerless and in constant fear of his father, he retreated in the macabre and occult around 9-10 years old. A lot of the literature and fiction surrounding the genre became his source of comfort and he liked to imagine he was a strong, powerful and mysterious figure of the dark arts.

Overtime, this incorporated into his sense of self. Still, he’ll have times of a fluster where he’ll drop his speech patterns and stutter clumsily over his words.

Kazuichi. Kazuichi makes him a stuttering little nerd. He secretly loves it when Gundham drops his act and becomes flustered he finds it cute

He is (shockingly) actually a bit perverse but he hides it well...kinda. It manifests by his bandage arm suddenly groping, lingering touchings or slapping butt (Kaz). Kazuichi is still not believed by this fact when he told Hajime but Sonia knows and she finds it all amusing

Gundham is gay but did have a relationship with Sonia until they both realized they worked better as friends/placebo siblings than actual lovers. Sonia is Bi leaning towards women and Kazuichi is Pan

Gundham gets very very ghetto when he’s super upset. He breaks his “Overlord of Ice” character and while still using his high level vocabulary, will speak normally and curse you tf out - like Celeste but more scary Kazuichi is equal parts terrified and turned on by this and he always berates himself for it

He cares about his animals a lot and feels like a complete failure when one is beyond saving even his ultimate talent. Kazuichi saw this first hand when he was still struggling with his attraction to the breeder and not for Sonia and was kind and offered him comfort and a small funeral. He visited Gundham for a week after  to make sure the “idiot didn’t beat himself up about it” as he put it. This was around the time Gundham found himself actually falling for the mechanic

Has cute Hamtaro and Hello Kitty sleepwear - given to him by Sonia and later Kaz.

Has a lip piercing but doesn’t wear it often

His hair is naturally streaked with grey but his eyes are not heterochromatic

Scar is kinda not real - the shape is exaggerated but there is a long, somewhat thick scar running down his forehead to under his eye that he uses makeup to hide

Kazuichi

For Kazuichi the inverse is true- only his eyes and teeth are natural. His hair is actually black but he dyed it to look more like his mother, who had more pale rose colored locks and less like his father

Kazuichi’s simp behavior and low social intelligence stems from several different factors - the main being his home life and the fact that he doesn’t know what a good mutually beneficial  relationship looks like. His mom died when he was too young to really remember her, and his dad was an abusive alcoholic who brought women in the house like it was a weekly grocery trip. He also wasn’t allowed to go out and play or have friends due to his dad beating him and not wanting people in his “business”.

Kaz was taught that women were pretty and needed a man to provide for them as well as how men were “supposed to be” and that warped him into his unhealthy habits of crushes and even friendships. He was also taught and told that he was worthless and would be ignored by his father and his dad’s lovers to the point that he’d do something-anything- to get their attention/approval

He has an unfortunate habit of developing crushes and feelings for anyone very easily - it’s kinda why he doesn’t like Nagito in the beginning cause the dude reflects it to a point that it disturbs him. Most people respond to abuse in different ways: I like to think Kazuichi’s hyper sexual attitude and high emotional state and it’s highs and lows, are responses to his abuse. For comparison, Gundham is the opposite in his response to trauma and abuse: he also lacks social intelligence, but he was raised by a mother who loved, helped him through his abuse and taught him to treat everyone like, well, people. He doesn’t like touch and will react violently if someone didn’t respect his physical boundaries. His response was escapism and playing himself to be something other and stronger than a human.

Anyone who shows him a hint or crumb of kindness or compassion and he is head over heels. This is later curbed thanks to therapy and his friend group

Despite his easy to crush mentality, Kazuichi is always on guard and hesitant around people. This is due to a “friend” who betrayed him in middle school that was so horrendously horrible that Kazuichi changed nearly everything about himself before he was scouted for Hope's Peak. Thanks to class 77 - his new real friends - he has begun to shed that suspicious nature bit by bit. But he is always on the lookout for the next betrayal.

Kazuichi is ticklish on his ribs. It’s the only place he’s actually ticklish and it’s abused greatly by Hajime, Sonia and Gundham

Kazuichi is secretly well toned and plump underneath his jumpsuit and is insecure about it.. His figure is very curvy and his thighs and butt are thiccccck as hell and he HATES it. Dad would beat him for trying to get “attention” from his employees and male customers and kids are just cruel

Wearing baggy jumpsuits makes him feel better and feel more “normal”. On really hot days he has to be convinced to wear “10 shorts and a tshirt or else have a heatstroke. Gundham is personally working on getting his paramour to love his body

San-D is Kazuichi’s favorite Deva - she was the first one to cuddle into his hand and not bite him. He spoils her with extra sunflower seeds when Gundham and the others aren’t looking. They can be found together most days with her nesting in his beanie or cap on a workstation

Kazuichi is touch starved. He wants to hug and headlock his friends and cuddle  and hold hands but his home life makes him feel like this is “unmanly” and represses it. Because of this, he has moments of aborted attempts at contact and will cling to someone when he is scared or stressed. Gundham and Sonia notice this and along with Chiaki and Hajime, sit him down and have a long discussion about it and how if he needed to, he could come to them for comfort. Chiaki is (un)surprising the best at it and when Kaz is having a mental breakdown and Gundham can’t be there, she’ll lay in his bed with him and let him hold her while she plays Zelda cause he once told her that the soundtrack was soothing.

While it’s known that Kazuichi has a tongue ring, he actually has four piercings - two on his tongue and one on each nipple (Gundham is fond of all of them)

[queenshelby]

My Friend’s Father (Part Nine)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Age Gap, Smut, Domestic Violence, Angst

Words: 3,064

Please comment and interact...it's what keeps this blog going

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

Almost a week had passed since you stayed with Cillian at his unit in Galway and, despite the fact that he was away, things had further developed between you as emotions grew with every day.

He was different to any man you had ever been involved with and, whilst your involvement with each other stemmed from purely sexual lust and hunger, you had evolved from this to something different entirely within a matter of days.

Of course, you knew each other for years and, whilst you had a crush on Cillian for as long as you could remember, you never thought that it would be like this and, for Cillian, this feeling had never been mutual.

Whilst he always considered you to be attractive and very intelligent and kind, he never felt any emotional connection or sexual attraction towards you, at least not until that weekend when you visited Denise, which was also the first time he saw you again after six months had passed.

On that night during which you slept with each other, he let his sexual hunger take over his reasonable thinking mind after he saw you, in his kitchen, making pancakes and you had since, quite openly, talked about it. He saw sleeping with you as a mistake but, ever since that night, he couldn’t get you out of his head.

For you, things weren’t just sexual anymore and you began to feel strongly for Cillian which worried you especially since he was open about the fact that he didn’t know where things were heading with you. The fact that you are his daughter’s friend and much younger than him clearly bothered him and he sometimes admitted to you that he felt strange about building such a strong connection with you. A relationship was not what he wanted but he liked you, a lot.

As such, during the past week, Cillian called you every day after he finished filming and you were talking to him more frequently than you were talking to Denise.

During his breaks, he would also text you and check in on you as you were in the middle of exams. He always remembered when you had a test and asked you how it went and, when you told him that you didn’t feel confident with your results, he reassured you that you probably did well and, even if you didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. According to him, a pass is a pass and you needed to lower your expectations of yourself just a little.

To your surprise, he also remembered appointments you had scheduled and things that bothered you which meant that, unlike other men you had been with, he was actually listening and was interested in what you had to say.

Some nights, you had spent hours on the phone or Skype, joking about things you had encountered that day or talking about books, literature and music, which is something you both enjoyed.

Politics and social issues were other matters you could discuss endlessly and, even when you were of different opinions, you would be able to argue in the most satisfying way. Cillian always treated you as an equal and even opened up to you about his divorce from Denise’s mother recently.

Another thing you learned from Cillian was that Denise was brining along her friend Amalie to Manchester to stay at his apartment and, when you gave him a warning about her and her intentions, he reminded you that he only had eyes for you. In fact, he always showered you with compliments and all of his compliments were genuine and came natural to him, helping you immensely with your self-consciousness.

Unfortunately, whilst you enjoyed how engaging Cillian was with you every day, like a teenager in love, with the constant text messages and calls, your father soon got suspicious and confronted you about.

****

“Dad, I am almost 22, you don’t need to be spying on me” you said somewhat frustrated as he asked you who you were talking to every day.

“You live under my roof and you answer me young lady” he said harshly and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes just as your mother stepped in, trying to calm him down. Your father was much older, approaching sixty and fairly old school in the way he expected you and your sister to behave.

“A friend…I am talking to a friend” you explained and your father asked again, telling you not to lie to him because he would know.

“And this friend of yours, you can’t meet him…you just text and talk? You can’t bring him to our house and introduce him?” your father asked along with a million other questions.

“No, I can’t. he lives in Dublin and I, most certainly, wouldn’t bring him into this…” you said somewhat irritated by the interrogation.

“Dublin, huh? So, you met him when you visited Denise?” he asked and you nodded.

“It’s not her brother, is it? Because I really don’t want you to get involved with him. I don’t like this family and their views” your father said harshly, causing you to chuckle.

“Their views?” you asked somewhat surprised and your father nodded.

“Yes, their views on what’s right and wrong. If I recall correctly, this girl you call your friend was going out with someone of the same gender for a while. God didn’t tell us to do this but her parents obviously didn’t have an issue with it which, apparently is called new age parenting. Everything is pro choice and lets their children decide what is best for them even if they lack experience” your father went on to say and you couldn’t help but shake your head at his absurd commentary but, he continued and you soon learned what had happened between your parents and Denise’s parents many years ago, before which your mother had called Denise’s mother her friend as well.

According to your father, Cillian had voiced his opinion to your father when it was found out that your sister was pregnant following a short affair with a man she had met through university.

Cillian’s ex wife had told your sister that she had options, causing your father to get rather angry with her, which is when Cillian stepped in, supporting what Denise’s mother had said.

She had offered your sister help but your father considered this to be a betrayal and, whilst your mother maintained contact with Denise’s mother for a while, your father refused to get involved with Denise’s family thereafter.

Cillian’s often all so public views angered him and he made this very clear. He didn’t want you to be involved with his children and you couldn’t help but laugh about the irony of it all when you found out about this incident.

“Jesus Dad, that was years ago and not everyone has to have the same views as you” you said before confirming that you weren’t seeing Denise’s brother.

“No, they don’t, but I am just looking out for you and, instead of acting the way you do, throwing yourself at guys with new age ideas, I would much prefer if you met a nice young catholic man” your father explained, causing your mother to fume in anger with him.

“Throwing myself at guys? Listen, I am not sure what slut you think I am but it’s nice to know that you think so little of me” you said before storming upstairs and into your room.

Having to deal with this crap bothered you and you knew that, when this semester came to an end, you could be moving out now that you saved enough money for a bond and rent.

*****

As the evening went on, you spent all of your time in your room, reading a book until, finally, at around 9 o’clock you saw a notification on Skype.

‘Hey Beautiful’ Cillian said as you picked up and popped in your headphones.

Cillian apologised for calling through so late and informed you that he was finally able to speak to Laura, the woman he was seeing before you.

He knew that you wanted to know about it and he had no problem telling you what you needed to hear while telling you that you had absolutely nothing to worry about.

It was Laura’s first day back on set after a week-long break and Cillian told you that she wasn’t exactly impressed when he stood her down.

‘She probably likes you…I can understand that’ you said calmly but Cillian told you that he was pretty clear with her about what this was between them.

‘Well, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have gotten involved with her’ he went on and you were quite happy to change the topic by this point and told him that you were aching for him.

‘Well, I am not sure that I can help you with that’ Cillian chuckled.

‘We could have Skype sex I suppose’ you giggled.

‘Skype Sex?’ Cillian laughed before telling you that he didn’t think that this would be a good idea since you were at home with your parents and you had previously complained about the thin walls of the house.

‘Oh Jesus Cillian, my father already thinks I am a slut, so I personally don’t care if anyone hears me getting myself off. I’ve got my earphones in and am the only one who can hear you and my door is locked’ you chuckled.

‘Your father thinks that you are a slut? Do you want to talk about that?’ Cillian asked concerned but you shook your head.

‘I rather not. You met him and know what he is like’ you explained.

‘I do. He takes God very seriously’ Cillian said before continuing on. ‘But, if you have problems at home you need to tell me please. You can stay at my apartment. I can get my house keeper to meet you there with the key’ he offered.

‘You said you were going to stay out of stuff between me and my parents just as I would stay out of matters between you and Denise’ you then said, reminding him on the conversation about your respective roles which you had three days ago.

‘Yes I did, but I can’t if I have to worry about you’ Cillian said firmly.

‘There is no need to worry Cillian. I promise’ you reassured him. ‘Well, actually, I need you to worry about my sexual needs right now’ you then went on to say with sly grin.

‘Through Skype?’ Cillian asked again somewhat concerned.

‘Yes’ you said with a cheeky smile as you settled more into your bed with your laptop.

‘Alright then, show me what you are wearing” Cillian said as he cut straight to the point.

‘Can you see?’ you asked as you adjusted the cam and showed Cillian your dark blue lingerie.

‘Very nice…but…I think you would look even better if you were naked, don’t you think?’ Cillian said somewhat nervously and you nodded in agreement.

‘Well, I suppose I should strip for you and you should strip for me’ you giggled as you seductively took off your bra slowly, showing Cillian your perky breasts through the camera.

You heard him inhale sharply as he watched you and took his t-shirt off at the same time, leaving him in nothing but his CK briefs.

Without words you then scooted back on the bed and removed your undies, allowing him to watch before you sat down on the bed, spread eagle and naked, giving him a good view of your mound.

‘Jesus Y/N, you are so fucking beautiful and sexy…touch yourself for me, nice and slow’ Cillian breathed out and you let his soothing voice wash over you, knowing what he was trying to do and happily helping him succeed.

‘Like this?’ you moaned as you began to run circles over your clit with your fingers.

‘Yes, just like that babe’ Cillian groaned as he shuffled down his briefs and you were finally getting a good look of his hard cock.

‘Oh god, I want to stroke your cock so badly’ you moaned as you seductively opened your pussy lips with your fingers, opening yourself up before reaching for the black vibrator you kept in your bedside table.

‘Well, someone's particularly horny tonight’ Cillian chuckled as he watched you play with your pussy, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

You mumbled a small "mhm," and he laughed.

‘Good, that's exactly how I like you, so naughty and needy’ Cillian said as he slowly began to stroke his hard member.

You barely registered his words enough to answer with another "mhm," but your subconscious managed it. Your weak answer elicited another delicious chuckle from the other end of the line.

"Why don't you show me how this little toy of yours works?” Cillian then asked as he watched you eagerly.

“I was just waiting for you to ask” you giggled as you began to run your fingers along your stomach and back up to your chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps their wake before reaching for the vibrator and turning it on.

“Put into your sweet pussy babe, let me see it” Cillian groaned and you moan in response, barely processing his words but still understanding enough to answer and do what he asked.

"I bet your pussy is already dripping” he said as you slid the vibrator into you slowly. He was right, you could feel your wetness pooling.

“I am so fucking wet and I wish it would be your cock inside me” you moaned as you began to stroke the toy in and out of you.

Cillian was groaning on the other side, his eyes full of lust and desire for you and you let out a quiet moan as you watched him with the same desire and hunger while you were pleasuring yourself.

“Good girl, keep going…” Cillian tells you and you moan again hearing it.

“Tell me how much you are aching for my cock” he then said you moaned again.

“I want your cock so badly, fuck…I want your cum inside me, dripping out of my wet little pussy” you moaned, eliciting a groan from Cillian as he began to stroke his cock harder and faster.

“Such a naughty needy girl, aren’t you? I can’t wait to be inside you again and make you cum over and over again” Cillian said with a laboured breath and you are barely listening at this point.

“I want you to cum for me and show me this dripping pussy when you do…I fucking love hearing your moans, so fucking sexy…common babe….let go” Cillian said, knowing that you were close and your orgasm rolled over you as soon as the word 'cum' left his lips, and although your sensitive clit was screaming at your hand to stop, you couldn't.

‘Oh god fuck, yes…’ you moaned as you came hard and fast.

“That’s it babe, don’t stop” he instructed as your moans continuously spilled from your mouth, and you were not even sure what you were saying or if you were forming words at all. The only thing in your head is a deliciously heavy fog and Cillian’s voice guiding you to do what he wanted.

“Don’t stop, keep fucking your sweet little pussy babe” Cillian ordered as he knew you weren’t done and, just as he did, you let out a high-pitched moan, bordering on a scream, as an even stronger orgasm washed over your body.

‘Cum for me babe…I want to see all this cum’ you moaned in return, focusing on the delicious image in front of you as Cillian was stroking his cock and, just when you finally come back down you heard Cillian groan loudly.

“Fuck” he groaned as he stroked his cock hard and fast you watched rope after rope of cum spurt onto his stomach.

‘Oh god, what a waste, I want to lick your cum off your skin so badly” you breathed out as Cillian came down from his high slowly and used a tissue to clean himself up.

‘Stop saying those things or you have to stay on the line for another twenty minutes at least’ Cillian chuckled as he could feel his manhood stir again.

‘Well, I think you shouldn’t cum again until you come to visit me in Galway the weekend after next…I want you to save it all for me’ you said, causing Cillian to cock an eyebrow as he pulled his briefs back up.

‘Fat chance babe’ he chuckled, knowing that going without an orgasm for nine days would be rather difficult for him.

Eventually, after a lot of begging, he agreed to try but he wouldn’t be able to make you any promises to this effect.

***

The following day, you went to work and then university thereafter but, when you eventually returned home, your father was in a worse mood than ever before.

‘Can you explain this to me?’ he asked angrily as soon as you walked through the door and you couldn’t help but gulp when he pointed to a white box which he had placed on the living room table.

‘You went through my personal belongings’ you huffed out as the box contained some lingerie and intimate items, including toys, that you were hiding in the bottom of your dresser.

‘Again Y/N, this is my house, my rules and I don’t want my daughter to own filth like this’ he said, after having heard small pieces of your conversation with Cillian on Skype the evening before.

It was obvious to you that your father was appalled and you were outraged that he had been snooping through your room and, as you would later learn, had even tried to access your computer.

‘I can’t fucking believe you dad. These are my personal belongings and you have no right to go through them’ you huffed out and, just as you did, you could feel a sharp strike across your face.

‘Get this shit out of my house and talk to me with some respect’ he said harshly, leaving you speechless and in tears as he walked away, leaving your cheek burning red.

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[mercy-burning]

Fake Fiancée - Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader becomes rather possessive over Spencer when she learns he’s been been with someone else since they hooked up four months ago. Category: SMUT (18+) Content Warnings: Language, mutual masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, hand-on-neck (no choking), praise, degradation kink, possession kink, dirty talk Word Count: 7.1k (I didn’t mean for it to get this long I swear aldjfsdlfksk)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 

MASTERLIST

NOTE: HERE IT IS!!! 🥰 Thank you all for showing so much love to Part 1, I seriously wasn’t expecting all the requests for more of the story, so it was fun coming up with ideas! I’m still not sure if I want to do 3 or 4 parts yet, but I’ll let you know soon! In the meantime, I hope you all enjoy reading this second installment! ❤

***

He's been a ghost in my head for four months.

Everywhere I went I could hear his voice, hear the way he whimpered out my name and how cries got higher and higher as I clenched around him. I felt the rough grip he held on my hips as I rode him, the pads of his fingertips leaving behind faint bruises that I currently wished I still had.

And more prominently, I saw his face. It was always in the back of my mind, burning into me with lust-drunk eyes and a pouty mouth in the shape of an O. It sizzled into my brain, the sound definitely sounding more like raindrops than fire, but I was more than okay with that.

Though, every time it rained, I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same— if he stood outside or watched from the safety of wherever he was and replayed that moment over and over again until he was aching to be in my presence once more.

I also had to wonder if he knew about the ring I'd left in his front seat.

Did he leave it in his car, perhaps in the glovebox or on a string that he tied around his mirror? Or did it fall somewhere between the seats? Maybe he found it and did what I never could, pawning it off for some happily-accepted cash while he laughed at how careless I was to take a stranger's virginity and then leave my expensive diamond ring behind like a fool.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the means to find out.

It's not like I could have wandered up to the FBI building and ask to meet with a Dr. Spencer Reid... Right? Because that as absurd. I'd only met the guy once, and he'd probably think I was crazy for trying to track him down.

It was a whole ordeal that I'd mulled over again and again, and I ultimately decided that it was ridiculous.

If anything I was happy to be rid of the ring. I could move on with my life, and maybe Spencer sold it for money or he's held on to it as a souvenir for a special night.

Win-win.

It didn't dull the small ache I felt for him, though. Every once in a while I found myself remembering how great that night was... I hadn't felt that way—sexy, confident, fun—in a long time, and as much as it sucked that he was getting picked on by some drunk idiots at a bar, I was glad it led me to him.

Some nights, when I was missing him significantly more than usual, I even went back to Waterson's in the event that I'd run into him again, hopefully under better circumstances.

Tonight was one of those nights.

This time I didn't have a ring to keep most of the men from hitting on me, but now that I was well and truly over my ex-husband, I was glad I didn't use that as an excuse to keep the ring around anymore. As annoying and painful as the drunken flirting was, I was way better equipped to handle it and truthfully somewhat relieved that I could get back to normal.

You know, save for the fact that I was only at Waterson's in the first place to maybe see some guy I hooked up with four months ago and still haven't stopped thinking about...

Because that was totally a normal thing to do.

I was on my second beer of the night when I felt a presence behind me. And even though I was pretty sure than I'd be able to tell if it was really Spencer, a part of me still buzzed thinking of the prospect of seeing him here again.

I turned around though, and was met with an entirely different person. I tried not to look disappointed, but it must have shown because the man who'd caught my attention gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting someone?"

I liked to think that I had a good read on most people, especially when it came to men in bars. This man was someone I looked at for a few seconds and immediately knew that he wasn't looking to make me uncomfortable. He had come over to flirt with me, no doubt, but the difference here was that where most men would have gone straight into it, this man genuinely looked like he was willing to haul ass if I really was waiting for someone and didn't want his company.

That alone made me willing to entertain him a little, even if I was disappointed that he wasn't who I desperately wanted him to be. But it certainly helped that he was attractive.

The first word that came to mind was smooth. Even as I laughed back at the man and answered him, my eyes did some wandering of his figure and admired what I saw. A crisp, tight grey tee shirt that hugged some rather nice muscles, and brown skin that was just a few shades lighter than his eyes, which were kind and a little playful. His smile was stunning, sharing that same playfulness that his eyes held as he practically sparkled to life at my answer.

"Oh, no, I'm not... But I certainly wasn't expecting you..."

I made sure to smile at him, a little smirk that complimented the admiring eyes I was offering him and a little laugh that never failed to get me what I wanted.

He gently leaned into the bar, one of his hands coming to rest of the cool wooden surface. "I'm Derek."

"Y/N."

"Pretty name."

I don't know what made me so bold, but I nodded and shot him a wink. "Not as pretty as you."

We shared another laugh, and then I took a swig of my beer, finishing the last of it and then sliding towards him. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"We just met and you're already stealing from me... That's my line."

"What can I say, I'm quick... Hey, Carla! Can I get two more for me and my friend here?"

The bartender—and my longtime friend—laughed a little, taking my empty bottle. "Sure thing."

The look she gave me right before turning away practically yelled, I thought your type was helpless skinny white guys who can barely look you in the eye without creaming themselves...

Yeah, well, you worked with what you were given. And besides, my type was practically anyone with just a shred of decency.

Real high bar, huh?

But after Patrick, I couldn't complain. Derek seemed like the type of guy who would flirt with you at any given chance, but respected your boundaries all the same. Unfortunately that was hard to find nowadays, especially in bars like Waterson's.

So, yeah, he wasn't the man I was naively wishing to see here tonight, but he was into me, he was decent from what I could tell, and he was hot.

So we had a drink and spent a good twenty minutes chatting it up. Since it was my third beer of the night, I was accumulating a pretty steady buzz, and the longer I talked with Derek the more I opened up a little. I found myself leaning into him and finding excuses to lightly touch his arm, but I kept noticing that he was glancing down at his watch occasionally.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, playfully.

"Right, uh... Yeah, I was supposed to be meeting a friend here. He's usually early, but I think we got our times mixed up again..."

"Again, huh? You two aren't very good coordinators?"

Derek laughed, the sound making me feel all warm. "Well, for FBI agents you'd think we'd be better at it."

"O—Oh," I said, my heart stopping for a beat. Had I heard that right? Was I more tipsy than I thought? "FBI?"

"You seem stunned," he said with another laugh. "What, you're not a criminal, are you? Do I have to take you in?"

I laughed, albeit nervously, but decided that this all had to be pure coincidence. If I didn't, I would have gone insane. Even still, it was difficult for me to sit here and openly flirt with this man when I knew he just confessed to having the same profession as the literal man of my dreams— and as of late that also included daydreams.

In fact, I was positive that's what it was when I saw Spencer approach us— a daydream.

Derek was calling my name, I knew that much, but I couldn't do anything but look over his shoulder where Spencer's ghost practically froze in place when he spotted me.

"Y/N?"

That wasn't Derek's voice. Spencer's mouth moved in time with the calling of my name, and it even sounded like him. I blinked rapidly, hoping that I could snap out of it and excuse myself for the rest of the night, so I could go home and sleep it off.

But even when I finished blinking, expecting Spencer's figure to be gone, he was still there.

At this point Derek had turned around, and what he said next snapped me out of it pretty damn good.

"Reid? You know her?"

"You're real," I said, speaking for the first time in a while. My throat felt dry, and my heart came alive at the sight of him.

Spencer stared at me, his eyes softening after I spoke to him. I saw his lips twitch into a shy smile before his hand came up in an equally shy wave. "Y—Yeah, I'm real." What followed was a huffed laugh that cemented his nervousness at seeing me again for the first time in four months, and it was the most refreshing thing I'd heard in a while.

"Oh my God," I said, a smile of my own starting to creep up.

I'd completely forgotten about Derek being there until he spoke up, snapping us out of our reunion, his voice conveying every range of confusion.

"What the hell is this?"

***

I knew there was always a minor chance that I'd run into her again, but it still rendered me utterly still and practically useless when I spotted her across the bar with Derek.

She was just... there. After months of debating whether or not I should send her a letter with the ring mailed back or stopping by to see her, or even using Garcia's help to find where she might have been so I could 'surprise' running into her... It happened to chance that I didn't need any of that at all. Because she was really there.

And she was flirting with Derek.

I'd have been lying if I said that didn't really bother me, but truthfully I'd always felt a bit insecure around him, mostly when it came to being surrounded by women who were most likely fawning over him instead of me.

Not that I particularly wanted or even needed them to fawn over me in the first place... It was just... Telling.

And it's not like I knew or thought I wasn't at least somewhat attractive. But seeing the one and only woman who'd ever made me feel very good about all of that for probably the first time in my whole life openly flirting with my best friend? It stung. It felt like now that she'd seen me and him in the same place, she'd decide that she'd made a mistake before and that she'd be better off with someone else— someone who was stronger and more skilled and probably easier to look at.

Even when the three of us sat at a booth and Y/N decided to sit next to me, her proximity dizzying after all this time apart, the first thought that came to my mind was, She doesn't want to see me. She'd much rather sit across from Derek so she can look at him instead.

I was starting to think maybe I should have stuck to mailing her a letter...

"So... Are you gonna tell me how you two know each other?" Derek asked, leaning back and easily amused.

Y/N seemed to be amused by all of this, too, because she answered immediately, a tone in her voice that I'd only dreamed about for four months and nine days straight.

"Oh, we were engaged."

If I didn't know any better, I would have thought Derek's eyebrows were going to fly straight off his head. "Engaged? Like... Engaged?"

"I—It's not what you think," I jumped in, suddenly a little embarrassed. "Not really engaged, but... Y/N pretended to be my fiancée once... There were, um... There were these guys who wouldn't leave me alone and she came over and told them off."

I hoped he wouldn't piece it together, but it was inevitable, and the look of realization that crossed his features made me feel extra warm with embarrassment.

"Oh... Is she the reason why you actually said yes to that date last month?"

Y/N turned to me, an eyebrow raised. "A date? Because of me? I don't... I don't follow..."

I was going to explain, but Derek beat me to it.

"I've always tried to set Pretty Boy here up for a date, but he's always said no, and then out of the blue I ask him and he agrees. Which was a shock in its own. I knew something was up, something had to have given him the confidence to go on the date... And all along its been you, hasn't it?"

"Well, I... I don't know, I guess so?"

They both looked at me then, and I stared down at my hands, unwilling to look either of them in the eye. "Y—Yeah... I don't know, I guess Y/N just... helped me see something in myself I hadn't seen before."

I half expected them to think it was silly, but Y/N's hand dropped down onto my knee and I stared at it for a moment before flitting my eyes up to meet her gaze. It was soft, and a small smile grazed her pretty features.

"Oh, Spencer, I'm so glad I could do that for you... How was the date?"

"O—Oh, it... It was fine. Not... I'm not seeing her anymore, but it wasn't bad... Just, um... There wasn't much of a connection, that's all."

In simpler words, She wasn't you.

But I couldn't tell her that, not when she was staring at me again with those sparkling eyes and her hand burning a hole through my pants with her electrifying touch, and most certainly not with Derek sitting right in front of us.

"Hey, whether it worked out or not, whatever you did to get him out there, it must have been one hell of a job," he said as if he'd been reading my thoughts.

Y/N gave me a knowing look, though, and suddenly I was transported to my car, feeling her hand explore my body as she showered me with filthy words and names that set me alight and cemented something about myself that I'd never known. Since then I had dreams about her, telling me how much of a 'good little whore' I was for her, and I always woke up from those dreams clutching her ring around my finger.

"Well, like I said, I'm glad I could help. Your boy here is one in a million."

It was awkward. This was all very extremely awkward. And even though I knew that, I still couldn't bring myself to stop it. I couldn't bring myself to stop staring at Y/N, soaking her all up like she was going to leave again at any given second. I couldn't stop thinking about her, our predicament, what we did and what I discovered about myself back then...

God, I was talking like we hadn't seen each other in years. It was only four months and yet I was acting like she'd left me alone after years of being together. This was ridiculous, right?

Thankfully Derek's phone rang, snapping us all out of the bubble of silence we'd been in for what seemed like forever.

"Uh, I'm gonna... get this. Be back in a few."

I expected Y/N to drop whatever act it was she had going on with me after he left the table, but her hand remained firmly on my knee. And then she moved a little closer, turning to me completely and tilting her head with a smile that only meant mischief.

"So... Looks like we have some catching up to do..."

***

I was practically giddy when Derek excused himself for a "Garcia Emergency". Though, I was concerned until he assured us that it wasn't anything bad, and by the look on his face as he quickly talked things over With Spencer, I got the feeling he was expecting his friend to 'have some fun' tonight. And that's what truly made me giddy.

We sat close to each other again, a few drinks between us and only a few booths away from the one we sat in the first time we met. If it weren't for the rock missing from my finger, I would have been convinced we'd actually transported back to that exact moment.

"You getting Deja vu, Doctor?" I asked with a smile, watching as he swallowed.

"Y—Yeah, kinda. It's great seeing you again, I... I really didn't think I would."

I laughed. "You know where I live, and you're an FBI agent... I'm pretty sure you could have saw me again if you wanted to."

"Well... Yeah, but I didn't want to be creepy or anything..."

"Trust me... If you randomly showed up at my door, I'd be anything but creeped out. I missed you..."

Spencer looked up at me for a moment, his eyes shifting before he seemed to relax. "You... did?"

"Of course... I haven't stopped thinking about you since we met. And I hope that's not creepy," I added in a laugh.

"No, not at all," he reassured with a nervous laugh of his own. "Actually, um... I've been thinking about you a lot, too..."

"Even on your date?"

I'd only meant it as a little joke, maybe another conversation starter, but at the mention he seemed... embarrassed.

"Oh, no, that was... That wasn't really... I—I only really did it to get Derek off my back, it—"

I rested a hand on his arm and smiled gently. "Hey, it's alright... I didn't really mean anything by that, I'm just... I meant it before, I'm really glad you did it. I know you said it didn't really work out, but did you have some fun at least?"

He laughed again, but this time there was hardly any humor in it. "Well, she wasn't you..."

I smiled a bit, but immediately following his words was a wide-eyed terror and instant regret. "Oh, I didn't... I'm sorry, I—"

"So, you did think about me on your date, huh?"

He froze then, presumably at the low, seductive drawl I blanketed over my words. His mouth slightly hung open, tongue flittering behind teeth as he tried to find the right words.

I smiled at him, and then he settled on, "Yeah. I did."

"It's not very polite to think of other girls while you're on a date, you know..." I made sure to let him know I was only teasing, and that I just wanted to know what his reaction would be.

Still, he surprised me when he said, "It's not my fault you're impossible to forget..."

He flashed me a smile then, and my stomach twisted deliciously at the little dash of confidence he'd grown in the past minute.

Maybe I could bring more out of him...

"Okay, fair... But it is your fault that you didn't come find me."

"Also fair... But... You're here now..."

Spencer inched closer to me, and I smiled, taking my bottom lip gently between my teeth before leaning in, too. "How about that..."

Our lips brushed for a second, so gentle it was like being tickled by a feather, and then he spoke again, his breath hot on my mouth. "I've... dreamt about seeing you again for so long now... Kissing you..."

"Me, too," I responded, bringing a hand down to graze the inside of his thigh. "Guess it's a good thing I'm a firm believer that dreams come true."

"Yeah," is all he said before he finally took the initiative to finally kiss me.

I sighed, melting into his touch and tightening the grip I had on his leg. Meanwhile his hands rested at my forearms, fingers dancing experimentally over my skin and making me tingle in their wake. And once I parted my lips, he took his shot and gently brought his tongue out to meet mine in a collision that quite frankly made me throb.

He'd been a decent kisser before, but... It's obvious he's had a little practice since then. Not that I'd have minded either way, but damn if this newfound experience didn't give me the most sinful idea.

I felt him whine as I pulled away, and that made everything even better.

"You wanna get out of here?" I said in the cheesiest way possible. But he didn't seem to mind.

In fact, he nodded rapidly and took a quick drink of his beer before following me out of the booth and towards the door.

***

Leading Spencer up and through the doorway of my house was probably the most electrifying 'date' experience I've had... well, ever. I'd been excited to sleep with people, sure, but with Spencer I found something greater. I wasn't entirely sure what that was, yet, but it was definitely good.

He reiterated that thought nicely once the door was closed and his hands were on my face, bringing my mouth to his again while I dropped by keys and haphazardly threw my phone and wallet on the side-table next to us in favor of gripping his shirt.

Just through his kisses I could tell how much he'd longed for this moment. I know he told me, and I'd certainly understood the feeling, but when it came down to actually acting it out in the flesh, I was much more in favor of that method of communication.

I gladly accepted his wordless confessions, through every groan and gentle graze of his tongue that he offered to me. And in return I gave him sharp tugs of his shirt and hair, conveying my urgency and the need to be closer to him.

When my legs started moving, his did, too, and we reluctantly pulled apart in favor of not tripping up the hard wooden staircase on the way to my bedroom. Though, I was thankful he was in just as much of a rush as I was, because otherwise I probably would have gotten embarrassed.

And that didn't happen easily.

I fumbled for the light switch once the door shut and our mouths connected once again, and I could have sworn it was like something out of a trashy TV show. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it in in favor of moaning when Spencer lowered his hands to my ass and squeezed, pulling us closer together. I finally hit the light switch and then flow both of my arms to wrap around his neck and draw him even closer.

He was everywhere all at once, and it fueled me. I'd come to miss physical human interaction, but I hadn't realized how badly I craved it until he was right there, taking up all of my personal space and aiding me in creating this perfect recipe of frantic, glorious electricity.

It was going to kill me, and I would have gladly let it.

I experimentally rolled my hips forward and felt him gasp into me, and it wasn't long before he started growing hard.

Good... Now I could set the plan in motion.

"Remember what you told me?" I asked breathlessly before our heads switched sides and leaned in for more kisses.

In between them, he returned, "When?"

"The first time we met..." I trailed my lips down the column of his throat as I continued. "When you said you edged yourself..."

"O—Oh... Yeah, I remember."

"Mmm," I hummed, sucking a mark into his neck for the time being. As I did it, the grip he held on my ass tightened a bit, and I laughed lightly over his skin, slowly licking my way up to his ear. "I wanna see..."

The trembling he provided under my influence was a good sign. And then another came when he whispered. "Y—You want to see... me? Touching myself?"

"Mhmm..." I planted kisses all along his jaw before pulling back to look him in the eye, making sure he knew I was serious when I told him, "But only if that's okay with you."

He didn't even take a second to think, nodding rapidly once more and giving me a flash of a smile. "It's okay."

I hummed happily, leaning forward to give him one huge kiss, long and hard, before pulling away from him completely and nodding towards the bed. "Clothes off..."

Our hands got to work as soon as the words left my mouth.

And it wasn't until my shirt was on the ground and Spencer's eyes remained glued to my chest with trembling hands that I realized, even though we'd slept together before, our clothes had never actually come off. Tonight we were completely baring ourselves to each other, and that was somehow more intimate than the idea of taking his virginity was.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt, gently assisting him in removing it, and it must have snapped him out of wherever he'd gotten trapped because he shook his head and let out a nervous laugh, averting his eyes from me and staring at the ground.

"S–Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for," I reassured, throwing his shirt to the ground next to mine and bringing his hands to rest on my bare stomach, slowly sliding them up. "I like when you look at me..."

His eyes reached mine once again, breath hitching as I guided his hands to cup my breasts over the bra. "Well, I... I like looking at you."

I kissed him again, hoping to bring forth some familiarity to our current routine, and it worked like a charm. Our movements were slow and steady, each article of clothing joining the floor one by one until we were down to nothing but my underwear.

I led him to the bed then, breaking us apart and making him sit. Now that I was taller than him, I gripped his chin in my hand and tilted his head up to look at me.

"Lay back for me?"

He scooted further along the bed until finally he leaned back, his head resting nicely on my pillows. I climbed up after him, kneeling at his feet and bringing a hand down trace lines along the inside of his thigh. Meanwhile I looked him up and down, finally getting a decent look at his full, bare form.

"Ohh, so pretty... And I bet you're even prettier when you're touching yourself... You wanna start?"

He reached out for his dick in answer, wrapping a delicate hand around it and slowly stroking up and down as he looked up at me with the stars in his eyes. "Like this?"

"However you normally do it, baby. Just relax. Make yourself feel good..."

After a slight nod, his hand picked up a little speed. He swiped his thumb over the tip to gather some precum for lubrication, but as hot as that was, I had a better idea.

"Here, let me help," I offered with a smile, leaning down and bracing my hands on his knees. I let spit gather on the end of my tongue before allowing it to drip down and land right on the tip of his cock. The sound he let out, broken and dripping with want, sent a jolt of electricity through my blood, only amplified by how wet he sounded once he started moving his hand again.

I let my eyes roam all over, taking in every heave of his chest, the veins in his arm and hand as he worked himself, the soft fluttering of his eyes as he lost himself in the moment... At the risk of sounding absolutely cheesy, it truly was a magical sight. I felt entirely lucky that I got to see him again at all, and now like this, bare and vulnerable and exuding lust while I was left to my own devices.

All that to say, I hadn't realized I was touching myself as well, until a whimper came from my mouth, my clit gently throbbing with stimulation at the hands of... well, my hand.

Upon seeing me, Spencer let out a whine of his own, picking up speed with his hand and throwing his head back onto the pillow.

"Y/N..."

He wasn't addressing me, wasn't asking me anything at all... My name on his lips was more of a declaration, like some type of chant, a string of letters and syllables formed specifically to bring him closer to the edge he knew he'd have to resist falling from.

"You getting there, baby?"

"U—Uh huh..."

"You better hold it," I drawled lowly, bringing myself into the more strict persona I wanted to bring out tonight, given that's still something he was into. "Just like you promised."

After a few more hard strokes of his hand, Spencer leg to quickly, bringing his hand to rest on his chest as his mouth let out the most delicious whines and grunts of determination to keep it all in. Without the stimulation, I noticed his dick slightly twitching over his stomach, glistening and  hard...

Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest fucking thing I'd ever experienced with my own eyes and ears...

I pulled my hand out of my underwear, too, still a little shocked that I hadn't realized before that I was doing it to myself and a little turned on at the fact that it had that big of an effect on him.

"I—I would have been able to go longer, but... But you were there, and you were... And I only ever have you in my head, not right in front of me..."

It was obvious that he was probably afraid he'd let me down somehow, and that was definitely not the case. So I leaned down and dragged my hands over his lower stomach, feeling inch of skin while my mouth came down to press featherlight kisses to the base of his dick. "Spence, that was hot as fuck... You really think of me when you do that?"

"Mhm," is all he offered, currently reveling in the way my tongue darted out to explore the lines of his cock.

"I think of you, too," I admitted, pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his tip. "When I touch myself... I think about how pretty you were the first time I called you a slut... Tell me, baby, you still like that?"

"God, Y/N, yes..."

I sucked gently on his tip now, watching as he watched me, his bottom lip occupied between his teeth and his eyes on the brink of closing.

He was getting close again. So I stopped, pulling off of him with a soft pop and smiling as I crawled up his body and planted a kiss to his cheek. My legs straddled his hips, and I got close to his ear.

"Tell me, what about this... other girl you went on a date with... Did you sleep with her?"

"Um... Y—yes..."

"I'm willing to bet she didn't make you feel half as good as I do..."

"She didn't..."

I smiled against his jaw, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair. "Was she mean to you? Did she make you her dirty little whore?"

I could feel him let out a trembling breath as he answered, "No."

"That's right," I said softly, right before switching gears and tugging on his hair, pulling back to look in his eyes. "Because you're my dirty little whore."

His cock twitched along my ass at my words, and it made me smile. But before I could speak again, he did it first.

"I'm all yours, Y/N... No one else's..."

I couldn't help it then. His words, our position, the needy look in his eyes as he confessed this to me... All of it was enough to make me snap.

So I leaned in and kissed him, hard. My hands tangled in his hair while his flew to my waist, sliding down to play with the hem of my underwear as his tongue slipped into my mouth and against my own with ease. I swallowed each whine with the greatest pleasure, my hips involuntarily grinding down and spreading the evidence of my arousal along the fabric of my panties. I wondered then if he could feel how wet I was, how much I wanted him.

I didn't have to wonder for long though, because he slipped one of his hands around front and dipped into said fabric, finding how wet I was and groaning into my mouth at the feel of it.

"You've been dying to get another try at this pussy, haven't you?" I whispered into his mouth.

Unsurprisingly, I was met with a whine in return. "Uh huh... I missed you so much..."

I ground down into his hand, nipping at his lips a little before giving my next demand.

"Then prove it."

Rather than fingering me like I expected him to, Spencer rolled over and straddled my legs, tearing my panties down and leaving me with a smile.

"I love the confidence you've grown, baby boy... Proves how dedicated you are... to being the best little slut you can be."

"Yes, Y/N," he responded, leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. "I wanna be good for you... Let me show you, please..."

"Show me..."

His tongue came in contact with my pussy, and it immediately sent my head flying back into the pillows, a low whine escaping my throat. He flicked it over my clit expertly a few times before going down and licking a broad strip up the entire area. Vibrations flittered along his path through his groans, and just hearing how much he enjoyed it had me clenching the sheets for stability.

"Ohh, what a good boy," I praised, bringing one of my hands to stroke his hair back. "Who's my good little whore?"

He grumbled into me, but I tugged at his hair.

"Say it."

He pulled away briefly then, still in contact with my pussy as he breathed out, "I'm your good little whore..." And then he promptly got back to work, devouring me with a hungry precision that made me laugh.

"Needy, too, I see... So desperate for that cunt..."

"Yes, " I heard him mumble into me. He repeated it a few more times, chanting it as his tongue flicked through me and tasted every last drop of my impending orgasm.

I sat up a little and held his head to me, his tongue moving at a quicker, more relentless pace. My stomach started to twist and my legs clenched, holding Spencer firmly between my legs as my hips rolled forward and met his every movement. Moans fell sweetly off my lips with every second, getting higher and higher until I finally held myself still and let the high take over. His tongue drew out one of the sharpest orgasms I'd ever had, the fervor he delivered making me see stars for a solid twenty to thirty seconds before it finally subsided and my muscles started to relax.

"Fuck," I breathed, almost whining when he removed his mouth from me and just kneeled there, studying my form as I tried to catch my breath. "Get up here," I asked more than demanded, though it might have been hard to tell what with my head spinning.

Spencer climbed over my body and I pulled his face down into a warm, wet kiss that had me tasting myself and growing wet again at the taste. I pulled away then, looking into his eyes and playing with his hair.

"I can't believe you didn't come see me sooner... Depriving me of that pretty fucking mouth..."

He kissed me again briefly, whining into my mouth before I continued. "But no... You were busy going on dates..."

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he said, kissing my cheek softly, over and over as his lips made their way down to my neck. "I'm so sorry, I... I wanted to see you, I just..."

"I know, I know," I cooed, closing my eyes and relishing in the feel of his lips on my skin. "But tonight you're gonna make up for lost time, got it?"

"Yes... Yes, I'll do whatever you want..."

I hummed, bringing his head back up to meet his gaze, and my thumb stroked over his bottom lip. "I want you to put that pretty cock to good use and fuck me like the desperate little slut I know you are..."

I kissed him then, gasping out once he shifted his hips and entered me slowly— I knew he was going to get to it quickly, but I guess I'd underestimated his need to please me.

The sentiment had me curling with want, more of it coming when he bottomed out inside me and trembled. Really, I could feel him shaking as he started to pull out and then back in, setting a steady pace that would surely become more erratic once I started talking to him again.

"Shit..." Spencer cursed, shifting up on his arms for more leverage as he steadily drilled into me. "I m—missed this... Missed you..."

"I know, baby, I know... I missed you, too... And you know what else?"

I drifted one of my hands down in between us, spreading out my fingers so that his cock fit nicely between them as he fucked me. The added friction of my fingers had him whining out, dropping his head down so that his ear was right by my mouth.

I whispered. "So did my pussy... So you better fuck her good..."

The sudden brutal velocity in which he slammed his hips against mine felt like a strike of lightning, and the loud groan he let out against my neck was the thunder. Everything shifted then, Spencer lifting himself up and holding onto my legs as he drilled into me at full force, his body glistening with exertion and my own succumbing to his wind.

"Yeah, that's it," I cooed through a laugh of pure pride. "That's a good fucking whore... Giving me that cock like I own it..."

"Y—You... do," he stuttered through a broken whine. He was getting close again, and I knew just the thing to do the trick.

I reached my hand up to hold his neck, not applying any pressure, but just holding as I forced his eyes down to look at me. "That's right... That slutty cock is mine... Now give it to me..."

The end of my sentence was punctuated with a sharp cry out as another orgasm tore through me. I shouted Spencer's name into the abyss as He fucked me through it and started twitching inside me, signaling his end as well. And the added warmth from his cum as it coated my insides well and truly marked me as his, despite the words we'd just exchanged.

I belonged to him just as much as he did to me, and I wondered if he knew that. If he knew just how much he inhabited my every thought.

I wanted him to know that I was practically infatuated with him.

But that conversation could wait until after we were... settled down.

He was still inside me as he slumped forward, laying his head on my chest and rubbing lines into my forearm.

"You okay?" I asked gently, combing through his hair with my fingers.

"Most definitely... Just... tired."

I smiled, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You're welcome to stay here for the night..."

He was silent for a long while, almost so long that I thought he'd actually fallen asleep. But then he said, "Right here? With you?" and my heart soared.

"Of course."

Truthfully, I'd have let him stay forever.

But when I opened my eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed was cold, and his body was nowhere to be found.

***

Dear Y/N,

I'm sorry for leaving you alone last week. I know you must be a little hurt and confused, but if you aren't, then just forget I ever said anything.

Nonetheless, I regretted leaving you behind last time without at the very least sending you a letter, so I hope this one finds you well. After all, you have shown me experiences I never could have imagined enjoying as much as I did, so I should thank you for that.

But that's not all that this letter is for.

I also want to invite you out to dinner some time. I know this might be a little unconventional, but given how we met and also how we reunited, I figured this would be a fun, romantic way to ask you out. I understand if you don't feel that way given that I've more or less abandoned you twice now, but I promise it was all for good reason.

If you'd like to talk more, about anything I've disclosed in this letter, I've attached my phone number below, otherwise I'd love to hear back from you. I know this sounds strange, but I've been dying to know what your handwriting looks like. I bet it's pretty, like you.

Once again, I am truly sorry for leaving you behind without a word, but I want a chance to make it up to you. Please say you'll reach out. Otherwise, I know where to find you if you'd rather I make some cheesy romantic comedy—esque gesture of affection that either makes you fall in love with me or hate me.

Yours, Spencer Reid

***

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[calaofnoldor]

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290​‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass​​ (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural​‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant​‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo​ and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes​ Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.  

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.  

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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[buckybarnesdiaries]

“Love's my religion but he was my faith, something so sacred, so hard to replace. Fallin' for him was like fallin' from grace”.

PART ONE. INDEX.

bucky barnes x reader ⎢ masterlist.

word count: ±1.4k.

warnings/tags: none.

author notes: none of my stories contain reader’s body descriptions to be inclusive.

Join the tag list here.

Four years had passed since you left New York to study in London. Your parents went to visit you every two months, but it wasn't the same. You missed your home, the rest of your family, your friends. England was pretty different from the USA in many aspects, so you couldn't wait to leave that city as soon as you were done with your final exams. Your father was supposed to visit you in the next few days, but you wanted to surprise him too by coming back home earlier.

You didn't tell anyone about your flight, taking a taxi outside the airport. Along the way, you were fascinated looking through the window. Your city hadn't changed too much, maybe a couple of shops and cafeterias, but that was everything. You couldn't help but sigh when you left the jungle of skyscrapers to Cold Spring, where you grew. A beautiful and small village with its own charm. Checking the time on your phone and finding some unread messages from your mother, you bite your lips with a soft grin on your lips imagining her face when she watched you there.

But before, you had to make a stop in your own house to leave your suitcase, have a shower and change your clothes. Yes, you would have preferred to have a quiet evening at your home, with your family, but James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was giving a party.

Oh, that man. Your first love. You knew him ever since, being the son of your father's best friend and, now, his associate. He had more than twelve years than you, but love didn't understand about age. And you were conscious that he felt something for you. Maybe attraction, maybe desire. Whatever was enough for you to keep alive the flame inside your heart. You weren't going to lie, you wanted, needed to see him after four years. Four long years without knowing anything about him more than what your father used to tell you about businesses and the presents Bucky used to send you on your birthday and Christmas with a short letter.

You didn't lose time in your task, getting ready to join the party in less than twenty minutes. Looking at your reflection in the mirror of your private bathroom, you couldn't help but feel butterflies fluttering within your belly, fantasizing about what he would do when he had you in front of his eyes. You were almost sweating, remembering how good it felt whenever he touched your hand slightly, or how his fingers gripped gently around your thigh sitting together —under the table. Bucky never crossed the limit since he wasn't an associate yet, but now he was the boss the story was pretty different.

The parking attendant took the keys of your car after opening the door for you and stepping out. You said thanks before taking a deep breath with a hand on your belly, trying to calm the nerves as you raised your eyes to the luxurious and ostentatious manor occupying completely your field of vision. The guests outside enjoying different kinds of conversations turned at you astonished but pleasantly surprised. You weren't the innocent girl that left that village four years ago anymore. You were a woman. A lawyer ready to take your throne. To take your place in the company. And you were stunning and radiant on your silk white dress with the back open and exposed.

Not wasting more time on being contemplated, you walked in swinging your hips sensually, calling everyone's attention. Your gaze traveled the place all around till they got bewitched by a pair of oceanic blue eyes among the crowd. Bucky was there between other men, listening to a conversation he wasn't interested in, with a glass of whisky close to his mouth. He took a sip, licking the flavor impregnated on his lips. For a reason you didn't understand, he didn't look surprised, nor curious to know how it was possible you were there. The smile that appeared on your face suddenly went down with disappointment, turning at the amazed tone of voice your father used to call you before embracing you into his arms.

The next hour, your parents introduced you to anyone who didn't meet you personally four years ago, making you feel out of place. Yes, you missed your home and your family, but Bucky's indifference broke your heart in a thousand pieces, glancing at him flirting with any women rattling his saber. Adoring him as if he was some kind of god. It was suffocating you to the point of watering your eyes. As soon as you could escape from the situation of your father showing you like a trophy, you went upstairs to the old library George Barnes owned, and where you used to spend a lot of time in your adolescence. It was a quiet room, soundproofed and packed with huge windows to the nearest forest. A view you liked to stare at in silence during autumn.

Walking inside and closing the door, you toured the hundreds of books thoroughly placed and conservated through the years, landing your fingers in an original version of Alice in Wonderland. You always felt like that, surrounded by people only moved and controlled by money. Money that gave you freedom for four long years in England, but the same that now was your sentence for life.

You couldn't help but shut your eyes when a fingertip traced your bare backbone, causing you goosebumps all over your skin. His strong scent flooded your lungs racing your pulse, as his closeness made jump your heart bout to fly off from your chest. You could recognize that touch between a million. The tenderness with he caressed you, the delicacy he had to admire your beautiful and warm skin.

“White makes you look like an angel”. Bucky whispered hoarsely into your ear, noticing him placing himself behind you.

You swallowed hard, keeping your lips parted while both hands found their way to your arms, pawing them down slowly till being laced with yours. Then, a fond kiss was placed on the back of your head. A sigh escaped his throat when he was able to sink his nose in your hair. The fruity, but subtle, smell dizzied him.

“Red…” He mumbled urging you to turn around and face him, stroking gently your bottom lip with his thumb when he had the opportunity. “Red makes you look like a dangerous weapon”.

“I've been both all my life, not needing clothes or makeup to demonstrate it”. You replied raising your chin in a proud gesture that caused him to chuckle.

“How many boys have kissed them?” Bucky wanted to know, shortening the distance between the two of you until he was practically melting with your body, wrapping his left arm around your lower back. His voice was so sensual that it made your legs feel weak.

But you didn't answer his question. No one. You didn't kiss anyone while you were in London. Barely neglecting your studies, only desiring to pass your exams and come back home to finish the last year of college in New York. You could swear that a lustful shine crossed fleetingly his pale blue eyes, trying to maintain his gaze while his thumb wandered down your throat, moving slowly between the gap of your neckline and enjoying how good it was to touch you again, continuing to your abdomen. Bucky urged you to rest your back against the library, bringing his lips closer to your ear at the moment his hands meet almost in your ass.

Shameless, he settled himself between your legs, leaving a kiss on the sweet spot behind your ear before tracing it with the tip of his nose. “So… you kept your promise”.

Your fingers got tangled strongly in the laps of his jacket when you remembered that precise instant before leaving your house four years ago.

September came with warm evenings and different kinds of orange, brown, and red decorating the trees all around Cold Spring. You were sitting on the grass of the back garden of your house, alone, drinking a glass of vodka. You knew how hard it was going to leave the place that gave you life, happiness, love. Bucky joined you without expecting it and gave you a bracelet made of white gold exactly like the one his father gave him for his eighteenth birthday, with the coordinates of his home —what took you some months to notice was that yours had his coordinates too—. And he asked you if you would wait for him all that time till you were back to his arms.

And there you were, with his lips tracing a path of sweet, loving kisses through your jawline. But they never touched yours, leaving you wanting more, needing him.

“Welcome home, doll”.

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