#without my main directive being attractive to men

[fortunatefool]

guys I know this is the homosexual website but I think I might actually be a homosexual for real now

[sundrop-writes]

Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work. 

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life. 

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation. 

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you. 

But you weren’t needed on that front today. 

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated. 

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer. 

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks. 

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next. 

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving. 

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target. 

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.) 

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it. 

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information. 

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap. 

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else. 

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position. 

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.) 

Speaking of which: 

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation. 

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.” 

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously. 

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.” 

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way. 

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics. 

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console. 

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation. 

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply. 

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback. 

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off. 

… 

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes. 

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves). 

He was being far too quiet for your liking. 

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was. 

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all. 

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. 

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said. 

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him. 

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself. 

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his. 

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you. 

Again, you found it so utterly adorable. 

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road. 

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off. 

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid. 

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.) 

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.” 

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this. 

You continued. 

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. 

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got. 

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance. 

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore. 

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!” 

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment. 

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting. 

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you. 

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him. 

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear. 

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview. 

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car. 

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off. 

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out. 

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault. 

… 

The ex-wife didn’t know much. 

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years. 

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back. 

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused. 

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood. 

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one. 

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.) 

… 

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help. 

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do. 

… 

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car. 

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car. 

“Your room key?” 

You suppressed another grin. 

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?” 

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle. 

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves. 

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you. 

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed. 

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together. 

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin. 

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it. 

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head. 

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes. 

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words. 

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-” 

“I don’t think it was stupid.” 

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking. 

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.” 

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain. 

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric. 

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore. 

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second. 

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve. 

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?” 

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited. 

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was). 

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound. 

“Nngh.” 

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy. 

You giggled quietly. 

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.” 

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain. 

His mind was racing, chanting out: 

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’ 

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was: 

“Please.” 

“Good boy.” You sighed. 

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second. 

It was cute, to say the least. 

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed. 

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.” 

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins. 

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him. 

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now. 

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples. 

“Here, come on, baby.” 

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it. 

Truthfully, he did get something out of this. 

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet. 

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling. 

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears. 

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.” 

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits. 

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence. 

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more. 

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.) 

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh. 

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest. 

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically. 

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.” 

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too. 

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint. 

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.” 

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up. 

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.” 

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him. 

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load. 

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath. 

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest. 

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.) 

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that. 

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly. 

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants. 

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked. 

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum. 

“So pretty baby.” 

He only whined in response. 

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him. 

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him. 

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked. 

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again. 

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’ 

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop. 

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.” 

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.” 

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” 

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.” 

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock. 

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears. 

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again. 

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?” 

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy. 

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop. 

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix. 

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth. 

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover. 

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team. 

You came back with a small grin on your face. 

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.” 

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.” 

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him. 

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again. 

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

[erodasfishtacos]

Wedding Band Cuts

prompt: YN goes into a massage and things go haywire quickly

word count: 8k (oooops)

warnings: this is all filth, i couldn't get this concept out of my mind

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

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you can check it out here

first fifteen to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month<3

=================

YN may or may not have a slight crush on the owner of the health club that she belongs to.

An boujee, exclusive type of place that there was a waitlist for membership and the prices to join were insane.

The only reason she could attend was because she got a massive discount because of her work.

He wasn’t what someone would imagine the typical gym owner to look like. 

No, he wasn’t a meathead with bulging biceps, thick veins protruding from his forearms, and  a protein shake in hand at all times.

Harry was lean.

Built in a way that was quietly powerful, his strength evident but not flaunted. 

The kind of muscular that didn’t demand attention but commanded respect nonetheless. 

He was intimidating in a different way—not because he towered over people or grunted loudly when lifting weights, but because he moved with an effortless grace that made everything he did look easy. 

The men who spent their time flexing in the mirror and slamming weights to the ground were often left in the dust by him. He bypassed them without so much as a labored breath, but he was never condescending about it.

He didn’t rub it in their faces or attempt to show off.

That, somehow, made him even more attractive.

YN knows that she has never, in her whole life, found someone as attractive as Harry. 

It was almost embarrassing how her stomach flipped whenever she caught sight of him in those tiny workout shorts, the ones that made it impossible not to stare. 

She wanted to drool like a dog when he lifted weights shirtless, every muscle in his torso shifting in perfect harmony. 

But she wasn’t the only one who felt this way—every woman at the gym seemed to have the same not-so-subtle admiration.

The issue was with her (and the other women) she was married.

Despite being the owner, Harry was always around.

 Sometimes he was doing administrative tasks, other times he was covering for employees who had called in sick. 

Hiring college kids meant dealing with last-minute schedule changes, so he often found himself playing the role of front desk attendant, janitor, or—on rare occasions—masseuse.

It was a health club, after all. 

The gym offered more than just workout equipment; there was a spa with facials, manicures, and, of course, massages. While Harry wasn’t an esthetician and couldn’t fill in for those services, he was a certified masseuse.

However, he rarely stepped in for that role because his staff was dependable.

That didn’t stop the women from hoping.

It was common knowledge among the female members that if someone called out, there was a slight—very slight—chance that Harry might step in. 

None of them had been lucky enough for it to happen, though. 

And when news spread that Jerry, a seventy-one-year-old man, had received a massage from Harry when his assigned therapist had to leave due to a stomach bug, the collective jealousy among the women was almost comical.

Jerry, blissfully unaware of the silent resentment directed his way, had wobbled out of the building looking loose-limbed and content, oblivious to the scowls of women who had never before envied an elderly man quite so much.

Tiffany, one of the braver women, decided to test her luck. 

With a sickly sweet smile, she had approached the front desk where Harry was working, tilting her head just so as she asked if he might be able to squeeze her in for a massage.

Harry, ever professional, had simply glanced up from the computer screen, offered her a polite but firm smile, and informed her that since the therapist had left early, they unfortunately wouldn’t be able to accommodate her request. 

He didn’t offer to step in himself, and Tiffany had to swallow her disappointment as she rejoined her friends, shoulders slumping in defeat.

YN was excited for the massage because she kept such tension in her lower back, her thighs, her glutes.

And she definitely didn’t get them regularly enough because life was busy so the strain and stiffness built and built until her body ached enough to have her make an appointment.

It was last minute, they were able to squeeze her in at the last session available, eight in the evening.

The gym was closed at that point but the spa was open until nine.

When YN steps into the dimly lit lobby of the building, she immediately notices how quiet it is. 

The usual low hum of voices or the distant clinking of weights from the gym is missing.

 Instead, the only sound is the faint buzzing of the overhead light and the gentle click of the door settling back into place behind her. She makes her way toward the receptionist’s desk, her steps echoing slightly against the polished tile floor.

The desk is empty. 

No receptionist in sight, no signs of life beyond the unlocked door. 

If the entrance hadn’t been open, she would have assumed the place had already shut down for the night. 

It’s unsettling, the stillness of it all. 

There had been only one other car in the parking lot—a sleek black sedan parked near the entrance. 

She could only hope it belonged to her massage therapist because if she didn’t get the relief she was craving, she might actually scream. 

Her shoulders ached, tension coiled tightly along her spine, and she needed to feel like jelly by the time she walked out of here.

YN lingers at the front desk, her fingertips lightly tapping along the smooth oak surface as she chews on the inside of her lip. 

She glances over her shoulder toward the hallway leading to the massage rooms, her nerves prickling when she hears footsteps approaching. 

The rhythmic sound of sneakers hitting the linoleum floor grows louder with each step.

She fully expects to see Pedro—her regular massage therapist. Pedro, who always greeted her with a knowing smirk and a shake of his head, chastising her for letting herself get so tense.

But it’s not Pedro who steps around the corner.

No, it’s Harry.

Harry, the owner of the gym.

He’s always been effortlessly charming, the kind of man who draws attention without even trying. 

Women often mistook his friendliness for flirting, but that was just his nature—engaging, attentive, and naturally likable. He had one of those faces that made it hard to pinpoint his exact age. 

Deep-set dimples softened the sharpness of his jawline, giving him an almost boyish appeal, while the light scruff and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes betrayed his real age.

“Hello, I’m sorry about that,” he says as he moves behind the desk, leaning down to click around on the computer, hiis voice is smooth, deep, the kind that makes you want to lean in just a little closer, “You must be… YN, right? Here for your massage with Pedro?”

“It’s okay,” YN reassures him with an easy smile, a bit fluttery because he was cute, “Yes, that’s me,”

“Pedro had to leave earlier due to a family emergency,” Harry informs her as he clicks around a bit more before looking up at her, “I should have called to cancel but I got distracted with some paperwork. Are you comfortable with having one with me? Or I can reschedule and give you a free massage on the house for the inconvenience.”

YN hesitates. A free massage sounded tempting—nearly $200 worth of pampering for nothing. 

But then there was the other option: a paid session with Harry, the hot gym owner with broad shoulders and an easy smile. 

She hadn’t expected to find herself in this predicament, but now that she was here, her stomach gave a nervous little flip.

“I really need one. I’m really stiff,” YN’s eyes darted away nervously, something akin to the feeling when you’re about to drop down on a rollercoaster creeping into her stomach, “But I don’t want to inconvenience you at all.”

“It wouldn’t be an inconvenience to massage you,” Harry replies, his words slow and this morbid monotone that somehow works for him, his eyes narrow just the slightest, and even though nothing he said was inappropriate.

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. 

It’s not the words themselves—it’s how they linger in the air between them, heavy with something unspoken.

 YN presses her thighs together instinctively, pulse quickening as heat creeps up the back of her neck.

YN rolls her lip between her teeth, she doesn’t know when she got so brazen but she gives him a small, unsure smile, “Hopefully you’re as good as Pedro.”

Harry’s grin falters slightly, eyes narrowing at the challenge, “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands.”

“Pedro’s hands are amazing though, not just good, you know?” YN keeps her tone casually like she’s not trying to bait him but she’s pretty sure that she’s not misconstruing the sexual tension for him just being nice, he wasn’t like this all the time. 

“I'm sure you’ll be satisfied with my services. Are you hard to please?” Harry asks with a tilt of his head, a slight smirk she's never seen before.

YN lets out a breathy laugh, tapping her fingers against the desk, “Most people would say no. My husband, on the other hand? He might say something different.”

Harry’s eyes flicker down to her left hand, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly when he finds her ring finger bare. 

His jaw clenches just the slightest bit before his tone turns cool, more businesslike,  “I’ll show you to the room we’ll be using.”

YN wonders if she shouldn't have mentioned she had a husband, maybe she had led him on with the fact that she didn't have her wedding band on.

She knew she would have to take it off anyways, and didn't want to get the lotion rubbed into nooks and crannies that are difficult to clean.

He steps out from behind the desk.

YN’s eyes drop to do a full body scan, she often subtly checked him out when she was here but now with a bit of arousal pooling in her tummy - she had a whole other perspective on him.

How his legs were such a sweet juxtaposition of lean but thick at the same time, she could easily imagine herself sinking her nails into them.

The shorts he wore showed them off entirely too well, he absolutely knew what he was doing when he stepped into those short shorts that morning.

And when he turns to start walking down the hallway, YN can appreciate how broad his shoulders are, and they're accentuated by the way they lead down into narrow hips.

The definition of manly.

As they walk down the hallway, YN peeks into the other offices—empty, confirming that they are, indeed, alone.

 It shouldn’t matter. 

This was a professional massage.

 Nothing more.

“I didn't know you were certified in massages,” YN chimes in as they walk, just to break the silence that had fallen in between them.

YN deemed it awkward but she didn't know if he did.

He doesn't turn around but he does reply, “I got a certification when I got my doctorate in exercise science and kinesiology. It was an elective. I did them more when I started the business but now I have employees for that.”

“So you're rusty, is what you're telling me?” YN teases, she should stop baiting him because he seems easy to react and not always in a good way.

YN has seen Harry yell at grown men over poor form that could have seriously injured their backs or throwing them out for not respecting the gym rules.

He was intimidating to say the least.

“Did I say that?” Harry turns to look over his shoulder, “My wife requests them enough that I don't get to become rusty.”

“Oh,” YN replies lamely, eyes darting down to see that he did in fact have a gold wedding band on his ring finger, hard to miss, and proudly shining.

 It’s hard to miss.

And yet, for a moment, she had.

“Oh?” Harry questions, still glancing back, “Is there an issue?”

YN swallows harshly, his eyes were laxer focused and challenging her to say something that she shouldn't.

She shouldn't because he's married.

She shouldn’t because she’s married.

“N-no,” YN stammers at the sudden question, tightened uncertainty winding in her belly - mixing with the hot, subtle arousal.

“Good,” Harry nods before he's stopping one of the last doors on the left, his hand curls around the knob, “Undress to your comfort. Some people prefer keeping their bra and underwear on, others go nude. Whatever you feel best doing.”

YN hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides.

 Normally, she’d strip off her bra but keep her underwear on—just enough coverage to maintain a sliver of modesty. 

But something inside her stirs, something unfamiliar yet enticing, daring her to step beyond her usual boundaries.

She bites her bottom lip, the decision swirling in her head as she looks at Harry.

 But his expression gives nothing away, his patience unwavering as he waits for her to step inside.

“I'll give you a few minutes to get settled. Please lay face-down under the sheet, pull it up to your lower back. Do you have any questions?” Harry asks as he flips on the light, the beautiful room already set up, and a twinkling zen music filters through the built-in speaker.

“No,” YN says again, quiet as she steps past him into the space, “Thank you.”

Harry dips his chin in a silent nod before stepping back, allowing her to move past him. 

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

++

It takes longer than she expects for him to return.

At least ten minutes pass, maybe more. 

She can tell by the way the medley of soft instrumentals has shifted two or three times, a seamless transition of calming melodies. 

She breathes deeply, inhaling the mix of essential oils perfuming the air, but the stillness is beginning to make her twitch.

The way that she can feel her nipples against the sheet, the way that every part of her skin is touching it actually.

It’s warm in the room, enough that she can feel the perspiration start to prickle at her lower back, and she can’t decipher whether or not it’s from the temperature of the room or the flush of her body.

YN digs her fingernails into her palms momentarily, to ground herself, to get a hold of herself.

She’s not in some fucking fantasy novel.

Harry is a professional. 

He’s probably oblivious to the thoughts swirling in her head.

He’s married.

She told him that she is married.

The last thing he probably wants is a client sexualizing him in the middle of his job.

Before she can scold herself enough to feel guilt of her rather debach thoughts - the door opens and her heart squeezes with anticipation.

He cracks the door before stepping in, “Ready?”

“Yes,” YN swallows as she squeezes her eyes shut, the door clicks closed behind him.

YN had pulled the sheet up over her shoulders, every masseuse had different protocol, and as soons as he steps over - she realizes that she already hadn’t been great at following his very simple instructions.

She hears his measured footsteps approach before feeling his hands on the sheet—his fingers brushing against the warmth of her bare back as he carefully folds the fabric down.

 It settles just above the swell of her bum, exposing the curve of her lower back.

He stills for the briefest moment.

Then, a deep inhale.

It’s almost imperceptible. A barely-there intake of breath that might be nothing—or might be something.

YN convinces herself she’s imagining things.

He’s probably adjusting his stance. 

Or stretching his fingers.

 Or something entirely mundane that has nothing to do with the fact that he just discovered she’s completely bare beneath the sheet.

“I'm going to begin. Please, let me know if anything is sensitive or sore during. Is there anywhere you would like me to focus in particular?” Harry inquired, he sounds formal, professional as he should.

“My glutes and calves,” YN responds after a moment of thought.

The calves part was true - they were tight and sore from her legs days at the gym.

Her glutes, however, did not need any work but she couldn't get the imagine of his hands massaging her there out of her mind.

“Noted,” Harry replies with a gruff, clipped agreement like he was gritting his teeth at her answer.

The beginning of the massage is as normal as anything, his fingers press deep into the knots lining her shoulders, working out the tension that she hadn’t realized she’d been carrying. 

The pressure is firm, methodical.

But the moment his palms cup around the nape of her neck, a shiver bolts through her spine.

She tries to squeeze her thighs together subtly, a feeble attempt at quelling the heat pulsing low in her belly. 

But it’s impossible, her legs already splayed relaxed on the table.

Harry notices the movement.

“Are you uncomfortable? Do you need to reposition?” Harry asks when he notices her fidgeting, concern in his voice that makes her feel even more guilt at her thoughts.

“No, I'm good,” YN’s reply isn't more than a strained squeak.

Harry doesn’t comment on it, but he does press his thumbs deeper into the base of her neck, a silent cue for her to relax.

“Try to relax then. You're tight,” Harry continues to move his fingers and all she can hear is that last sentence on repeat.

He's talking about back muscles, she has to remind herself.

You’re tight.

YN does finally listen, relaxing into the soft, heated cushion of the table, and purposefully clearing her mind.

“There you go, good girl,” Harry murmurs when he notices her shoulders start to loosen, neck letting her head hang more into the face cushion, and her thighs melting into the table too.

Good girl.

YN’s clear mind is now filled once again.

Her muscles should be turning to liquid under his touch, her mind blank with relaxation. 

But all she can focus on is the phantom sensation of his voice curling around those words.

By the time he finishes her back—nothing but completely professional work thus far, she’s half-certain that if she were to open her mouth, she’d be panting like an overheated dog.

“I’m going to start on your calves,” Harry informs her, shifting his stance beside her, “Then I’ll work my way up to your glutes. Since you requested them, I just want to confirm you’re comfortable with my hands there.”

YN knows he’s only being professional, ensuring her comfort.

If only he knew the absolute filth running through her head.

If only he knew just how much she wanted his hands there.

“Yes,” YN replies shallowly, she had been laying down for at least the last twenty minutes and she felt like she’d just ran a marathon, her throat parched and aching.

Harry’s tone sharpens, more assertive than she’s ever heard before. 

There’s a domineering edge to it that sends a shiver down her spine, “Yes, what? Yes, you are comfortable with that, or yes, you do want to change your mind?”

YN feels embarrassment flushing her at the miscommunication, it blends into the heat she already has seeping from her skin so there’s no difference.

“Yes, I am comfortable with your hands there,” YN manages to get out, she wonders if Harry thinks she’s an absolute basketcase or if he even has any awareness of the situation.

If he notices, he doesn’t show it.

 Instead, he resumes his work, his hands slick with the massage oil he had been using. The scent of sweet almond fills the space between them, subtle yet intoxicating.

 It’s her favorite scent—always has been.

 It reminds her of the raspberry almond cake she and her husband had shared on their wedding day, the same one they’d made a tradition of enjoying every anniversary since. 

Her train of thought was interrupted by an involuntary groan that she lets out when he presses on a tight spot right in the center of her calve.

The pain is sharp and sudden, and instinctively, she tries to yank her leg from his grip, but Harry’s grip is firm, steady.

 He doesn’t even struggle to keep her still. 

His hold is effortless, almost dismissive of her attempt to squirm away.

“You should stretch for longer than five minutes before you work out,” he chides, his tone laced with knowing disapproval,“Especially when you’re doing legs. You need to be warming up your hamstrings, groin, calves.”

He punctuates his point by pressing into the same tender spot again, and she lets out a similar sound—somewhere between a whimper and a gasp as the ache flares up once more.

“How do you know I’m not?” YN challenges, trying to regain some semblance of control over the situation. 

She hadn’t even realized Harry was paying attention to her.

 She hadn’t thought he noticed her at all, let alone enough to critique her habits.

Harry chuckles, the sound low and rough, curling at the edges with amusement, “That reaction, right there.”

YN is about to deflate because it wasn’t because of him noticing her until -

“I’ve seen you stretch. You sit on your mat and scroll on your phone for five minutes while barely trying to touch your toes,” Harry calls her out.

His assessment is shockingly accurate, and she doesn’t have much of a defense.

 Instead, she deflects.

“I’m plenty flexible without stretching,” YN quips, allowing a teasing edge to slip into her tone. 

The innuendo is obvious, intentional.

Harry doesn’t rise to it in the way she expects.

 He doesn’t laugh or smirk or falter.

 Instead, his response is delivered in the same flat, unimpressed drawl. 

“Are you?” His thumb digs into her calf again, pressing into another tight knot of tension, “You’re just as tight as you are flexible.”

Touché.

She doesn’t realize just how tightly she’s been clenching her thighs until Harry’s palms press flat against the backs of them. 

Firm but not forceful.

“Spread your legs for me.”

Fuck.

His voice is steady, authoritative, yet devoid of hesitation. 

There is no question in his command. 

She obeys without thinking, parting her legs easily, pliantly.

 But as soon as the sheet shifts—just slightly, the reality of her own arousal crashes over her in a suffocating wave. 

Embarrassment sinks its claws into her as she wonders—can he see?

 Can he tell? Is there enough of a telltale sheen on her inner thighs to give her away? 

A visible wet spot on the table?

“Why are you clenching—” Harry starts, but then he stops.

Silence.

A sharp inhale.

It’s as if something clicks into place, something he wasn’t expecting, and it cuts off his line of questioning entirely.

“Wha—” YN begins to ask, shifting slightly to glance behind her, but before she can move too far, a hand comes down to the base of her neck.

His palm cups it, firm yet controlled, pressing her back down into the face cradle. 

The pressure isn’t rough, but it’s purposeful.

 It’s the first real slip—something that isn’t professional, not even close.

The way he grips her isn’t the neutral, detached touch of a masseuse simply guiding their client. 

No. 

This is something else entirely.

“Don’t move.”

His voice is rougher now, deeper.

 There’s something strained in the way he speaks, his accent thickening as if he’s forcing himself to remain composed.

 It takes her an extra beat to process his words, to pick them apart through the weight of his tone.

“Jesus. S’ridiculous. Just trying to do my fucking job.”

The words aren’t meant for her, not really.

 He’s speaking to himself as much as he is to her.

And yet, they hit her like a slap.

Embarrassment rattles through her, her heart climbing up into her throat. 

He sounds frustrated. 

With her. 

The realization makes her shrink, makes her feel small—like a child being scolded.

“I’m s-sorry,” YN stammers, her mouth suddenly dry, her tongue thick and useless in her mouth. 

She doesn’t even know what she’s apologizing for—only that she feels like she should.

 Because whatever he saw, whatever he realized, it was enough to shift the entire dynamic between them in a matter of seconds.

To Harry’s credit, he doesn’t stop, he doesn’t pull away. 

His hands remain on her, though now they focus on her glutes, kneading into the muscle with a more methodical, calculated touch.

Subconsciously, she starts to clench her thighs again, as if trying to ground herself. 

As if trying to remind herself that this is just a massage. 

That she isn’t some… deviant, reacting to something as simple as his hands on her.

She isn’t.

But then…

His hand moves.

It grips the soft flesh of her ass, squeezing just hard enough that the tips of his fingers press deep into the skin, surely turning it white beneath his grasp.

The gasp that rips from her chest is instant, shocked, sharp.

Because this isn’t just crossing a line.

This isn’t just towing the boundary of professionalism.

This is tearing right through it, shattering it to pieces, leaving nothing behind.

“Stop apologizing and stay still,” Harry orders, his voice rough with unspoken tension.

His fingers remain where they are, digging in just enough to make a point, to drive something unspoken between them.

“Do you understand me?”

YN swallowed hard, her heart was trying to escape her chest at the moment.

Yes.

Yes, she understands.

The massage resumes, thumbs pressing into knots, trading the ache for a different kind.

Should she end the appointment? 

Apologize and never show her face in the gym again?

YN does better, she does, she lasts at least another five minutes as she tries to stay as stock still as possible.

His touches are back to professional and she’s starting to question herself, start to question whether or not he had even squeezed her ass like that.

But then her thoughts start to spiral again, horny and desperate in a way they’ve never been.

It must have been a wiggle of her hips, maybe even a subtle attempt to see if she could find any friction against the table, but whatever it was—Harry had noticed. 

He had noticed, and she knew it the moment the air in the room seemed to shift, thickening with the weight of his attention.

“What the fuck did I just say?” Harry scolded with no more softness in his voice, that upbeat bubbly man that everyone around the gym knew and loved - nowhere to be found and it was as intimidating, thrilling as it was frightening.

The smack comes fast, hard, landing squarely on her left ass cheek with a force that makes her gasp before she even realizes what’s happened. 

The sharp sting spreads out in waves across her skin, the heat sinking into her already sore  muscles. 

She jerks, instinctively trying to sit up, but she doesn’t get far before his palm is at the base of her neck, pressing her face back into the cushioned cut-out of the massage table.

The stinging sensation lingers, blooming like fire just beneath the surface of her skin

 It’s different, though—not just the typical burn of an open-handed slap. 

It’s sharper, pinpointed.

And then she realizes—

His wedding band.

It had cut her. 

Only slightly, just enough for her to feel the tiny scrape, but still, the knowledge of how it had happened made her stomach clench.

 Her cunt shouldn’t pulse around nothing at that thought, but it does.

 It totally does.

“You’re ruining my sheets,” Harry observes, full of judgement and disapproval, like she was inconvenience more than anything.

YN stays quiet because he had told her to stop apologizing and is she pouting about because she just got smacked? 

Maybe.

Harry leans forward, his body heat radiating against her back. 

The soft cotton of his t-shirt brushes against her skin, and she can feel the cool chain of his necklace ghosting over her shoulder.

 When he speaks next, his voice is quieter, deliberate, “You have four options.”

Her breath catches.

“You can either stay still and get your normal massage. You can keep moving and have an ass that aches for the next week. You can end the massage right now and walk out the door. Or…”

YN waits for him but she realizes that he’s teasing it, edging it, her voice is barely above a whisper,  “Or what?” 

“Or you can tell me exactly what you want me to do to you and I’ll do it,” Harry hums as he stands back up, his hands gripping the back of her thighs, and pushing them apart from where they started to drift together once again.

She could tell him. 

She could put it into words, could give voice to the heat curling low in her belly, but the thought alone makes her want to squirm in embarrassment. 

She’s already acted desperate enough—she refuses to push herself further into that category.

The tension in her stomach, the feeling of his wedding band leaving a mark on her ass.

“I’ll stay still,” YN replies with as much of a steady voice that she can manage.

Harry laughs, deep and mean, amusement tinged with something almost cruel. 

It makes the humiliation simmer hotter beneath the surface of her skin.

“Do you soak Pedro’s table?” he asks conversationally, like he’s discussing nothing more than the weather, “Because he’s never mentioned it. And I think I’d remember something that pathetic.”

She knows exactly what he’s doing. 

He’s trying to break her, to make her react. 

His hand twitches against her skin, like it’s itching to leave more marks. But she refuses to give him the satisfaction. 

She clenches her jaw, grits her teeth, forces herself to keep still even as his hands press into her muscles with increasing pressure.

YN doesn’t bite, has to squeeze her eyes shut but she doesn’t, teeth gritting as the pressure of the massage increases.

Then, he revisits the small cut, pressing his thumb against it, rubbing over it in a way that makes her tense involuntarily.

“Does your husband not fuck you?” His voice is scalding, lips brushing her cheek as he speaks, “You’re squirming like you’ve never been touched before.”

The impulse to shoot an insult at him is hard to not take but she’s staying still out of spite.

Harry’s hands start to dip further in between her inner thighs, his fingers swipe against the damp skin of her thighs, and he then rubs it on her asscheek, “Can’t tell when the massage oil ends and your slick starts.”

Her thighs part slightly wider, a silent offering, even though she knows better than to expect mercy. 

She should have anticipated it—the punishment that follows.

The next smack is harder, sharper.

 It radiates through her lower half, a forceful enough hit that her nipples brush against the sheet below her. 

She swallows back a moan, biting her bottom lip until she nearly draws blood.

“You should be thanking me, do you know how many women wish they were in your position right now?”

Even though it was true, he didn’t have to be a cocky prick about it.

YN stays silent, she didn’t know how he still managed to get up the massage at this point.

“I said thank me.”

Another slap. 

Same spot. 

This time, the band on his finger catches her skin just right—or just wrong. 

She feels the sting of it cutting into her, nothing deep, just enough to make her gasp softly. 

Her breath shudders as she exhales.

YN gnaws on her bottom lip to prevent herself from speaking.

Harry’s patience snaps.

His hand knots in her hair, jerking her head up so that her cheek is exposed to him.

 His lips hover on her cheek, just near the corner of her mouth, but he doesn’t close the distance, “Speak the fuck up,” he growls, “or I’m stopping.”

She can’t believe she’s in this situation.

With a married man.

As a married woman.

But when she speaks, her voice is even, measured.,“I would like my massage to continue.”.

Harry exhales sharply, nostrils flaring.

 He unwinds his fingers from her hair, pushing her head back down onto the table.

“Fair enough.”

He does exactly as she asked.

He massages her like nothing happened, his hands working over her shoulders, the backs of her arms, expertly kneading out tension.

 It’s frustrating. 

Infuriating.

Because he has more energy for edging, doing things out of spite than her.

And fifteen minutes later—she’s the one struggling not to move again.

Harry actually starts to hum, an annoying tune from an old game show, completely out of place in the dimly lit room. 

It breaks into the soft rhythms playing from the speakers.

YN squirms.

Harry smacks her again, sharp and precise, the sound echoing through the space, echoing in the thick air between them.

 It stings.

Of course it fucking does.

 It leaves heat blooming across her skin, a reminder of his control. 

But he does not speak.

 Instead, he returns to the slow, methodical touches that are driving her mad—too firm to be teasing, but nowhere near what she needs.

She breaks.

She fucking breaks.

"Touch me, please," YN throws her pride out the fucking window, off a bridge, down into the deepest black hole where she doesn’t have to face it again. 

Desperation drips from her words, heavy and undeniable.

Harry exhales a long-suffering sigh, unbothered by her distress, "I am touching you," he bleats, his voice laced with indifference. 

His fingers trace aimless patterns along her skin, not nearly enough, "We have about ten minutes left of the hour. Where would you like me to focus the rest of the massage?"

“I need something, please,” YN asks with a pathetic plead starting to work her way into her tone.

Harry, ever unyielding, remains unaffected, "You came in with the complaint of calves and glutes. Are you still not—"

YN wants to cut the shit.

“Please, fuck me. Please,” YN feels like she’s on the line of sobbing for relief at this point, she doesn’t know if she’s even been this worked up, and the inability to see him somehow makes it worse, makes her feel more vulnerable, more desperater, “Please.”

“You could have had it fifteen minutes ago,” Harry chastises but his hands - they slide down her body, teasing the sensitive skin, but they don’t go directly to where she needs them the most.

“Harry, I -”

A smack.

Unraveling her like that wedding band on her sensitive skin.

Then his hands are gone entirely. 

The loss is immediate, unbearable. 

The air crackles with unspoken tension before she realizes—he’s just looking at her.

"Knees," he commands, his voice sharp enough to slice through the thick fog of her arousal.

“I-” YN begins to asks but he’s not patient any longer.

“I said get on your fucking knees,” Harry repeats, louder and thankfully, no one else is here.

Before she can fully process, he takes it upon himself to move her, gripping her hips and lifting them effortlessly. 

Her knees slide inward, bringing them closer to her chest, forcing her body into a position that leaves her fully exposed, fully at his mercy.

He winds his fingers into her hair again, fisting the strands tight enough to pull her out of the cradle of the cushion. 

Her cheek is smushed sideways against the table now, breaths coming in shallow, uneven pants.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry has no manners, taking what he wants by spreading her cheeks to get a better look at her.

There is no manners left in him. 

No pretense of control.

YN realizes belatedly that there are fat tears rolling down her cheeks, that Harry must now be able to see, and in a break from the thick tension in the room.

He does something oddly sweet, it reminds her of her husband actually, he presses his lips to her cheek.

His voice is soft, more so like she hears around the gym or when he greets her in reception, “Okay?”

“Okay,” YN nods in agreement, her voice cracks, and she can see him smile before slipping back into a scowl.

She appreciated him checking in, warming  her up in a different way.

“Never seen a needier thing in my life. God, your husband must not do shit for you. You're clenching around nothing—both holes,” Harry murmurs thoughtfully, his tone a perfect blend of mockery and amusement. 

His words are crude, biting, but they set her nerve endings on fire.

YN barely has time to react before she feels it—his spit landing on her tighter hole, warm and slick, quickly chased by the rough pad of his thumb spreading it around.

Her skin prickles, her breath catches, and then he continues, his voice dripping with sinful amusement.

“Everyone around this gym thinks you're this sweet, kind person. I hear them talk,” He pauses, tilting his head as if considering something. “What would they think if I told them about this? A bored housewife coming into a massage and begging to be fucked decently.”

It's a monologue, she knows he isn't expecting an answer.

“Spread out on this table, showing me everything with no shame.”

Two fingers—his index and middle, drag lazily through her folds, teasing, pressing at her entrance but never quite pushing in.

YN is trembling, trying not to move but everything aches.

“I would have subbed in much soone for Pedro if I knew I'd get such a sweet cunt out of it. I should have known you'd have the prettiest one I've ever seen,” Harry accentuates it with tucking his fingers into her, the slight stretch of his two thick digits were welcome with how ready she already was, “Those little bike shorts you wear hide absolutely nothing.”

YN pushes back, pulling him in even deeper, and luckily, he doesn't scold her.

But he makes her work for it.

“Ride ‘em. My hands are tired from the massage,” Harry curls them forward against her spongy front wall, hitting her spot head on like he had it memorized on a map.

YN was sweating, hair matted to her skin, and visibly droplets of west gathering around her temples as she started to push back on him.

She couldn't believe what she was doing right now.

“You hear that?” Harry asks, thrusting his fingers a few times to make the sound even more obscene, slick and lewd in the quiet room, “Should record that and make it the spa soundtrack. S’that sound like a good idea, baby?”

Her head drops forward, a loud moan tearing from her throat when his thumb presses into her tighter hole, sending pleasure ricocheting through her body. 

She’s never been this full before—never felt this close to unraveling without even having her clit touched.

Harry’s laugh cuts through the haze of her pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” he groans, watching her. “You like your ass played with too? This is my lucky day, huh? Is that how you’ll tip me? Let me choose?”

“Yes, yes—you can choose,” YN babbles, her voice high and desperate, her stomach tightening, her body coiling tighter and tighter. 

She’s grinding now, less controlled, more frantic, chasing something she’s not sure she could explain, “Please, I just need to come. I need it, please—”

But Harry pulls his fingers out.

The loss is devastating.

Tears sting at her eyes, spilling freely, mixing with sweat, with spit, with the sheer mess of her. 

Her hair is frizzy from where he’s pulled it, her cheeks damp, her mouth parted as she gasps through the absence of him.

Harry grips her hip harshly, not giving her choice as he helps flip her over until she's on her back.

And it's the first time in all of this that she's been able to really see him.

It was nice to see that he was affected too with huffing breaths, nostrils flaring, and sweat on his temple from the heat of the room.

And then he’s peeling his shirt off, tugging it over his head in a way that looks effortless.

His body is all sharp lines and defined muscle, the kind she sees every day in the gym but never gets to touch.

Her legs automatically close, a futile attempt to shield herself, to protect her most vulnerable spot.

 But Harry frowns at that, smacking her thigh sharply, silently telling her to open back up.

He tuts, shaking his head as he looks down at her, “Puppy, if you were this desperate for cock, you could have just asked me. You’re cute enough. I’d fuck you in front of everyone—bend you over a weight bench, let those little biker shorts trap your thigh and watch your squirms.”

YN can tell he’s about to put his mouth on her—but she can’t. 

She can’t take any more teasing.

Her hands shake as she reaches up, fingers pressing to the side of his neck, thumb pressing beneath his jaw. 

She’s sniffling, trying to speak through her sobs of frustration.

“I can’t—I need you to fuck me. Please, H, please.”

The hour of foreplay was more than enough.

Harry blinks, his gaze locking onto hers, searching. 

And then….

He moves up the table, his hand cradling her jaw as he kisses her, slow and deep, melting away her desperation for just a moment.

“You want me to fuck you?” he murmurs, the rasp was thick in his tone, “You’re ready?”

She nods frantically, clinging to him. “Yes. I’m sorry, I can’t—”

Harry kisses her quiet before pulling back just enough to push his shorts and briefs off. 

She doesn’t get a chance to look at him before he’s guiding himself to her core, pressing in, inch by thick inch, until their pubic bones meet.

He lets out this euphoric, beautiful low moan when he pushing in until their pubic bones meet, and he's big - really fucking big and she's so fucking full that it's insane.

Don’t need to wait,” she breathes, voice trembling with urgency, her fingers digging into the thick muscle of his shoulders. 

Her legs wind around his narrow hips instinctively, locking him in, heels pressing into the firm curve of his bum as if to keep him right where he belongs,“Please move.”

And Harry fucks like he weightlifts.

Hard. Determined. Precise.

Every powerful thrust sends electric pleasure sparking through her veins, his strokes deliberate and deep, like he’s got something to prove—like he won’t stop until he’s got her unraveling completely beneath him. 

His pace is relentless, the force of his movements pushing her up the table in tiny, helpless jolts before he’s tugging her back down onto his cock without missing a beat. 

The friction is dizzying, intoxicating, and YN feels herself slipping closer and closer to the edge with every merciless snap of his hips.

“I’m gonna—if you rub my-” she pants, but she doesn’t even need to finish.

Harry already knows.

With a low grunt, he shifts, his weight shifting back slightly as his hand snakes between them.

 His fingers find her clit with ease, with skill, and he presses down, rubbing tight, fast circles with a very specific intent in mind.

 His voice is rough and coaxing as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, yeah. C’mon, baby. I deserve it, don’t I? Soak me.”

And that’s all it takes.

A sharp, wrecked cry tears from her throat as her body gives in completely, pleasure overtaking her in a crashing, uncontrollable wave. 

YN’s limbs go boneless, loose like a marionette with its strings cut, as her orgasm seizes her, dragging her under with white-hot intensity. 

The overwhelming sensation floods her lower half, a gush of wetness spilling out between them, coating both of them in the aftermath. 

The slick, obscene sounds of him fucking her through it echo in the room, each thrust impossibly louder, wetter, filthier.

“Holy shit,” Harry growls, his voice thick with awe and arousal, “That’s the hottest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

His breath hitches, his control slipping,“You just squirted on me—look at you, all swollen and puffy for me.”

His gaze is locked on where they’re connected, utterly mesmerized, before something shifts in his expression—something primal.

 He grips her hips tighter, holding her open as he starts pounding into her even harder, chasing his own release with ruthless determination.

The force of it knocks the breath from her lungs, and before she can even process the sheer intensity of it all, he’s surging forward, crushing his mouth against hers in a desperate, bruising kiss.

 It’s messy—more teeth and tongue than finesse—but it’s everything. 

A claiming, a surrender, a moment of pure, unfiltered need.

He pulses inside her with a deep, guttural groan, spilling into her with a final, shuddering thrust, his body going rigid before finally melting against her. 

He stays there, buried deep, chest rising and falling against hers as he slowly comes back down from his high.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room is their mingled, heavy breathing. 

Then, Harry huffs out a breathless chuckle, forehead pressed to hers, body warm and weighty on top of her.

“Told you,” he murmurs smugly, voice thick with satisfaction, “Told you you wouldn’t be patient enough for foreplay.”

YN scoffs, though there’s no real heat behind it.

 Her fingers find their way into his damp curls, scratching lightly at his scalp as her lips twitch into a lazy smile. 

“The whole massage was foreplay,” she argues, pressing a kiss to his temple, “I think I did okay.” 

A playful smirk tugs at her mouth as she adds, “I don’t have the patience you do.”

“You never have,” Harry murmurs, his thumb brushing her slick hair off her forehead with a tenderness that makes her stomach flip. 

He presses a slow, lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth, voice laced with affection as he murmurs against her lips, “You’re an impatient little thing for orgasms.”

His tone is teasing, but the warmth in his gaze, the soft adoration in his touch - it’s so much love and fondness interwoven between them.

“Don’t like this one bit,” Harry grumped after a moment, pulling her hand up and giving a pointed gaze towards her bare ring finger, “Made me almost break character.”

YN giggles as she allows Harry to pull her up to sit, he slips off the table, “I didn’t want to get massage oil on it. It makes the diamond all foggy and I have to take it to the jeweler to get it cleaned then.”

“Hey,” Harry grips her chin, buttoning their lips together for a long moment, “Happy anniversary. I love you and I hope this met your expectations of the scene you were fantasizing about. I’m just glad your fantasies are with me.”

“I’m in love with you, have been for ages and never plan not to be. It was absolutely perfect but now I’m worried I’ll get greedy for more,” YN laughs as she spreads her loegs once again, letting Harry start to wipe her off with a warm towel he takes from the towel warmer that’s conveniently in the room.

“You’re always greedy,” Harry argues gently, blinking up at her, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to walk into this room again without getting a hard-on.”

YN shakes her head with another bout of laughter, “You’re going to be fucked. I have a lot of fantasys about fucking a gym owner.” “Mm,” Harry rumbles as he tosses the towel, his touches getting more full of intent once again, “Lucky you’re married to one, hm?”

+

whew. i hope you enjoyed!

now if you are confused about anything the synoposis - harry and yn are a married couple, they own a gym, and yn wants to roleplay masseuse/client for their anniversary. there is no cheating!

now i recommend going back and reading it and finding all the little hints that they were married couple the whole time.

i would super love to know your feedback on it

[pixieimp]

Okey, so adding more information to one of my other posts! This one

Kurt backstory in my now headcanon and why he was not an X-Men in Deadpool and Wolverine:

• We know Kurt backstory as Szardos, he was raised by a Romani family back in Germany which was part of a traveling circus where he performed as the Amazing Nightcrawler, their trapeze artist. (That's canon, the rest is not and it's just my mind) I think for that universe, Kurt would have a similar childhood but this time he and his siblings all have a good relationship. Stephan didn’t hate Kurt and they actually were best friends so no jealousy fight and death of Stephan making Kurt run away and to be found by Charles.

• When there is a change in the circus direction and Kurt is taken from trapeze artist to main star as the freak from the show, he is also chained and caged and often mistreated without Margali or any or his siblings being able to do much more than to sneak some food at that moment.

• After a particularly nasty overdose of sedatives and a brutal beating from the new Ring Master which almost kills Kurt, Margali makes a pack with a demon to magnify her own magical abilities and to be able to free Kurt. The Szardos family took Kurt to holy ground in a near by abbey where they left him to "clean the mess" at the circus. (The Szardos family starts then with both Margali and Jimaine witchcraft some sort of mob business)

• Kurt keeps in touch with the abbey as he works the grounds to help repay the kindly help from the brothers. At the same time people starts to look at him and to point in his direction as the result of "diabolical Romani magic". Little by little people starts to fear him and to hate him as Stephan starts to use Kurt image to scare people off.

• After Margali ends up doing connections with the Hellfire Club she takes her 3 children to America where they can have a better life out of little minded folk. The mob business goes smoothly well in their new home and they have a comfortable life where Kurt goes back to feel caged and like the freak when it’s clear that his presence it’s only important to keep up the image of demonic magic her mother and sister have adopted. After quite a big argument Kurt leaves his family in order to do good honest work.

• Due to his looks it's not so easy so once more he goes back to seek god's help, he never had a problem in the abbey even when many brothers were wary from him. So he ends up finding a small church where they give him a place to stay and live in exchange for a bit of handy work and help with some of the groups for "special people" (aka mutants)

• As the people from the church gets to feel more comfortable with Kurt around, the priest starts to let Kurt help with other groups of people and that's how Kurt and Al end up meeting (Kurt at that time was in his mid 20s when they met for the first time)

Logan’s first impression:

Kurt was immediately attracted to Logan, there was something in there that sang to his own soul. Even if the man was short in his responses (he didn't know that Logan was actually shocked to see someone who in his own universe loved so much) and more than once completely rude to Kurt himself and to others. Kurt still laughed it off and actually invited Logan to join one of the veterans’ group therapy seasons.

[mountkennedie]

Slide 'Neath the Waves

King Caspian x mermaid!reader

Summary: On the Dawn Treader, you lure Caspian into the sea

Warnings: none

A.N. She/her pronouns and reader has breasts. Can you tell how much I love mermaid!reader yet????

The Dawn Treader was slicing through the water, and the setting sun was illuminating the wounds. Caspian had been watching the waves crash and collide from the window in his room. The sight always calmed him when his duties became overwhelming. He found peace in feeling the ship rock from side to side. What he did not expect was to see a woman among those waves. Seeming to be one with the current around her.

He couldn't believe his eyes. He rushed up on deck, taking a lantern with him. Upon reaching the main rail, he looked out over the water for any sign of the beautiful woman he had just set sights on. After no luck, he turned to leave. Caspian then heard the most alluring voice begin to vocalize over the water.

It sucked the air out of his chest. Without a second thought, he found himself heading straight in the direction of the voice. And there he saw her. There he saw you.

The dying sun had long laid to rest. And in its place, the fair moon rose, illuminating your skin. You looked out of a dream to the captain. Many stories he had heard from crewmates and others about the folk that could live beneath the waves. And the power they can have on those above. But now, all those stories were nothing but fiction. How could something, someone, that is so beautiful be such a danger?

~

You approached the boat. You kept your scales hidden for the time being. Some pieces of wood along the side of the ship stuck out, giving you just enough to grip and pull yourself upward. You didn't go too far, just enough to show some scales that peppered your waist. You kept your eyesight on him, wanting to keep the handsome man locked on you.

You raised a hand upwards to him. In hopes that you built up a need in him to see more of you. Having seen your sister lure men, you know what attracts them best. You arched your back smoothly, making sure your breasts were highlighted by the moonlight streaming in.

~

Caspian's eyes widened. Never had he ever seen a more beautiful woman, especially one so exposed. He did not stare, remembering some manners. However, his gaze instead lingered on her compelling eyes. His hand reached to meet the maiden, but he could not close the gap between them.

Growing frustrated by the delay of your skin on his, he looked for something to pull you closer to him. A rope lay at his feet, and he grabbed it. He threw it over the edge, and it landed right next to you.

~

You blinked at him. Then, he grabbed the rope and allowed him to pull you up. When the edge was in reach, you grabbed on and propelled yourself up. You sat on the rail and looked at him. He didn't speak a word. You took a chance and reached toward him.

He really was very beautiful. You had a choice to make. Feast upon him, or simply take him with you? You were leaning on plainly taking him, but sparing his life. You gently took a strand of hair that had fallen in his face and placed it behind his ear.

"Are you my jolly sailor bold?" You asked.

~

Your voice was pure silk to the captain. He held your hand in place, on his face. Not wanting you to be far from him at all. Caspian knew it was rude to not verbally respond to your question. But he could not even muster the word 'yes'.

He only furrowed his eyebrows in defeat and nodded yes.

~

Your hand that remained on his face brought him close. You had made your decision, and you would spare the life of this man. So you brought him upon your lips, in a kiss that would bless him to breathe below the waves.

He melted on you, as to be expected. And when you pulled back, he looked as though you were his only priority. Like you were his only reason for living.

~

Caspian found himself, climbing onto the railing with the fair creature. Her kiss flooded his senses completely. All duties and responsibilities died on land, for he was now part of the sea.

Together, they slid from the Dawn Treader and into the endless oblivion of the ocean for eternity.

[it-happened-one-fic]

Hours in the Moonlight: Guileful Nightfall - 2. An Oddity

Summary: Warm, welcoming, and friendly. They certainly weren’t words that came to mind when you imagined a vampire clan, but they did fit your initial interactions with the Scarabia clan. That didn’t make it any less odd though, and it left you wondering what you should expect from your time evaluating them.

Series Type: Gender-neutral reader/ Vampire AU/ series/ romantic/ angst/ angst with comfort/ fluff/ sfw/ platonic interactions too!

Trigger Warning: Vampire

Word Count: 1503

Hours in the Moonlight Master-List

Sam waltzed up to the main doorway, two glass double doors etched with an intricate water lotus design, without a care in the world before politely knocking and waiting. 

I shifted awkwardly as I waited next to him until a young man appeared at the door and let us in.

He smiled warmly as he tilted his head full of fluffy, purple locks, his gaze resting heavily on me even as he spoke to Sam, “Ah, Mr. Sam, please come in! Who’s your guest?” 

Sam smiled at the boy, ever-charming as he slipped through the door and gestured to me with one hand, “This is Y/n. They’re working with me. Is Kalim in? We need to speak with him.”

The young man nodded, seemingly unconcerned with the fact that two people from the head-vampire were here as he gestured up a staircase that led out of the lavishly decorated lobby that looked like something out of a movie set for a Bollywood movie, “Of course! He’s with Jamil right now, but he can go ahead and see you.”

We trailed along behind him, and I glanced awkwardly over at Sam, who didn’t seem to be finding anything odd despite how out of my depth I felt.

I’d been expecting a more cold reception like what we’d received at the Savanaclaw clan. But instead, everyone here seemed happy and utterly welcoming.

They regarded us with friendly curiosity, though I couldn’t deny that a few of the stares lingered on me a little bit too long for my taste.

I could hear cheery laughter echoing down the hallway in the direction that the young man led us, and Sam leaned over towards me, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Brace yourself, Little Imp.”

Startled, I looked over his way only for him to lean away as our guide came to a halt in front of a door, “Clan Leader?” 

The young man called into the room, and the laughter trailed off only to be followed by a joyful call of the name I assumed belonged to the young man in front of us, “Bakkar! I told you, just call me Kalim.”

It was a joyful tone that had me looking towards Sam yet again with steadily growing confusion as the young man in front of us laughed good-naturedly, “Of course. You have some visitors, though. Mr. Sam has come.”

The moment the young man stepped to the side, another, white-haired fellow with bright red eyes appeared. A brilliant smile on his tanned face as he looked between the two of us, “Sam! Come in, what do you need?”

I blinked at the young man, startled by how purely cheerful he was as I followed Sam into the room, waving awkwardly at ‘Bakkar’ as he walked off with a polite smile and nod of his head. 

I hurriedly turned my attention to the people remaining in the room as Sam began to speak, gesturing to me with a smile, “This is Y/n L/n. You may remember them from the ball?”

I could now see a secondary man as well. One with an impressively attractive face and long hair who gazed at me with a pointed expression before nodding and speaking in an impressively even-sounding voice, “The new Hunter. Yes.”

Sam nodded as the first one smilingly looked my way. As if the news that I was a vampire hunter was no more distressing than the idea of me being a baker. 

Definitely different from the reactions that my identity as the Hunter had gotten up until now.

Sam continued though, casually introducing me to the two men as he gestured first to the cheerful white-haired one and then to the taller, dark haired one, “This is Kalim and Jamil. They’re the founders of this clan.”

I nodded, smiling awkwardly at the first young man, whose grin only seemed to spread more when I smiled at him as Sam continued, “Y/n works under Crowley, and they’re going to be coming by every day so they can evaluate the Scarabia clan.”

At odds with the personification of sunshine that was eagerly nodding along to Sam’s words, the longer haired one, Jamil, frowned, “Why are we being evaluated? Is something going on?”

His gaze darted warily between me and Sam, and I glanced over only to see Sam looking at me with a smile. Apparently leaving it up to me to handle the rest of the explanation.

I stepped forward, doing my best to sum up the situation in a way that was as untroubling as possible: “Crowley is concerned about the recent surge in insane vampires, so he’s having me evaluate all of the clans. It’s no real cause for concern. I’m just going to look for any clues as to what might be going on.”

The one frowned, obviously ready to say something only for the happier one, Kalim, to spring forward, “Of course! If it’ll make your job any easier, you can even stay here while you check everything out! We’re having a feast tonight after all!”

I blinked in silent surprise at his words and Sam laughed, patting me on the shoulder, “Well, you three get it all sorted out. I’ve got to go, so it's in your hands Y/n.”

I turned, barely keeping myself from gaping like a fish out of water as Sam walked out of the room with a relaxed wave tossed over his shoulder as he abandoned me to one impressively extroverted persona and his wary companion.

I felt a hand tap my shoulder, and I twisted to see Kalim smiling at me, “Don’t worry, Y/n. You’ll like it here! Jamil’s a great cook, and everyone here is nice.”

He beamed at me like a tiny sun as his companion gave a sigh of long-suffering, “Kalim, they haven’t agreed to stay here yet.”

I watched as Kalim blinked slightly before letting out a carefree laugh that had me smiling slightly despite myself, “That’s right. You really ought to stay for supper though. It’s bound to be delicious with Jamil handling everything.”

I faltered slightly at his second mention of a feast. What would a vampire feast even be? The very idea of one called to mind the image of a gothic atmosphere with candles and goblets filled with blood, but somehow, even though I’d only just met him, I couldn’t picture Kalim in such a place.

Jamil shook his head with a sigh before looking my way as he crossed his arms, “Since you’re going to be evaluating us, I’ll show you around the clan. You can decide what you want to do about staying during the tour. Kalim-”

I watched the shorter man perk up almost immediately at the sound of his name, reminding me distinctly of a puppy in the way he looked towards the other man with sparkling eyes.

“Stay here,” Despite the blunt tone Jamil delivered his orders in, Kalim seemed unbothered. Chuckling slightly before nodding. Saying he’d be waiting for us to get back as if nothing could ever dampen his spirit.

But even then I found myself growing still more confused. So far, the Scarabia clan was wildly different from what I’d seen of the other clans. 

They were welcoming, warm, and beyond friendly, and, despite being the supposed leader of the clan, Kalim did not seem to be in charge. Rather, Jamil seemed to be the one making decisions and issuing orders.

I followed Jamil out of the room though, waving back at Kalim when he waved at me cheerfully, beaming all the while and making me wish ever so slightly that he were my guide rather than Jamil, who, at the very least, seemed like a better fit for what I’d expected since he seemed at least slightly wary.

I truly didn’t know what to make of Kalim, who hadn’t been phased by the fact I was the local Hunter, though. 

While it was a nice change of pace for him to have been so unbothered by it, it was also very strange. After all, while I didn’t necessarily like it, it did make more sense to avoid and be wary of someone who essentially amounted to being an executioner.

Especially when said executioner had been sent in to evaluate your clan.

It was fairly obvious that Crowley meant this as some sort of warning to the clans. Like he was telling them that if they were discovered to be the root of the insanity issue, they should know what to expect.

But at least now I sort of knew what Sam had meant when he told me to brace myself. It wasn’t what I’d expected by any means. In fact, rather than a warning about aggression or something like that, it had been a heads-up to brace myself for what might be the most confusing clan I dealt with.

Because while this was really only the third clan I’d interacted with, something told me that this sort of welcome was an oddity.

If you would like to read more:

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[cheshireliam]

Akihito Main Story: Chapter 1

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection; expect mistakes, grammatical errors, and some creative liberties. All original content and media used belongs to Cybird. Please support the game by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Read this before interacting┊Genjiden Glossary

(Gather demonic powers and break the deal with Tamamo... then I'll definitely open my own clinic!)

Keeping my dreams of leading an ordinary, blissful life close to my heart, I gathered my resolve and looked forward to the days ahead.

Yuno: I leave myself in your care, everyone! 

Yoritomo: Do as you please. Just don’t go picking up any more ayakashi, yeah?

Yuno: I-I don’t just pick them up like they’re stray dogs or cats…

Shigehira: … If you were going to pick one up, you should've chosen something cuter than an audacious Fox Demon. 

Tamamo: Is there any being in this world cuter than I am? Exactly, there isn't. 

Kagetoki: That was a quick yet self-indulgent response. Wouldn't it be better if you had given it more thought?

Morinaga: Oh come on. Yuno does have the kind of aura that attracts trouble. 

(Huh?)

Even though I was struggling to keep up with the rapid flow of the conversation, I could tell it was heading in a strange direction. 

Yuno: Do I really have that kind of aura…?

Tamamo: Morinaga. Did you just call me “trouble” while wearing that pleasant grin?

Kagetoki: It’s true Yuno has the face of someone who gets caught in all kinds of unfortunate situations.

Yuno: And what kind of face is THAT!? 

Tamamo: Be cautious of new encounters, Yuno. 

Tamamo whispered bewitchingly, sounding as though he were making an inauspicious prophecy. 

Tamamo: — So that the purity of yours that I adore so much won’t be tainted by any lawless beasts. 

…

(— Is what he said.)

(Nothing’s happened since then, which means I can finally clear my name of this reputation for “attracting trouble”.) 

Some time had passed since I came to the palace… 

I was weaving my way through the crowd in town, taking a look around the bustling streets of Kamakura. 

Townsfolk 1: Oi, what’s that? Is there a fight?

Townsfolk 2: Looks like people are picking a fight with someone. 

(What?)

I turned my gaze in the direction the townsfolk were looking — about five unruly-looking men were surrounding someone. 

Man 1: You’re—...aren't ya? Give it up already.

Man 2: Yeah. We were ordered by—... 

(I can’t quite hear what they’re saying, but it definitely doesn't seem like a positive situation…)

Feeling concerned about the person being ambushed, I stood on my toes and tried to get a better look… 

Man 3: Just come with us obediently and—

Man 3: … Ggh…! 

Yuno: Huh?

— Thud.

Suddenly, one of the men collapsed without a sound like a bulky object. 

Yuno: What just happened…?

The five men were sprawled motionless on the ground.

At the centre of the bizarre scene was — a person wearing a bamboo hat that covered their face. 

(I can’t see his face clearly, but is that a man?) 

(Whatever, I need to check on those people!) 

Yuno: Pardon me! Please let me through, I’m an apothecary. 

Pushing my way through the crowd of onlookers, I rushed over to the unconscious men; only to sense an intense stare from underneath the bamboo hat.

Bamboo Hat Man: …

(...! Did he just smile?)

The man in the bamboo hat took a step back to give me space, his hair shining under the sunlight. 

(I’m curious about this person, but now isn't the time for that.)

I checked the pulse and breathing of the men. 

Yuno: Are you okay!? Can you hear me? 

(They have a pulse, but they’re unconscious. It’s like they’re in deep sleep…) 

(It can’t be due to some sort of disease if they all collapsed at the same time. Maybe a sleeping drug or poisoned needle?) 

(If that's the case, then the biggest suspect is—) 

Yuno: What exactly happened here?

I turned around and questioned the mysterious man. 

Bamboo Hat Man: Who knows? I was in a fix because they were trying to steal my money, but I was surprised when they collapsed all of a sudden. 

Yuno: All of a sudden, you say?

This time, I heard a slight chuckle from underneath the hat.

Bamboo Hat Man: What do you think, kindhearted and noble apothecary-san? 

Bamboo Hat Man: Do you think divine punishment really exists? And that it falls upon those who hurt others? 

Bamboo Hat Man: Are people like them even worth saving?

The words he spoke in a refined tone contained no hint of malice or hostility.

(That makes him all the more suspicious…)

Yuno: … As an apothecary, I can’t choose to only treat the good and leave the bad for dead. 

Yuno: So if this is so-called divine punishment, it would make things tricky then. I won’t be able to find the cause.

Bamboo Hat Man: … 

After a brief pause that felt like he was evaluating me, the man spoke again. 

Bamboo Hat Man: A wonderful answer. It seems that your kindness is extended to all in equal amounts.

Bamboo Hat Man: Shall we move them somewhere else for now? It's not ideal to leave them lying here in the middle of the street. 

Yuno: Y-you’re right. But where should we… 

The man glanced around the area and spoke to a merchant peeking out from a nearby fabric shop. 

Bamboo Hat Man: How about lending them a room temporarily?

Merchant: Eeeh!? At my place? 

Bamboo Hat Man: Having a pile of men lying in front of your shop doesn't look good on you, does it? You can call the authorities if they don't wake up after a while. 

Bamboo Hat Man: You won't have to go through the trouble of getting help from an apothecary either. 

His smooth voice carried a strange persuasiveness that felt like it could make anyone agree with him unconditionally. 

Merchant: T-that’s true… I understand.

Bamboo Hat Man: Who's going to carry them inside?

Merchant: I’ll call the younger fellas to do it! 

Bamboo Hat Man: Oh really? Good. 

(This man… he’s most likely not an ordinary townsfolk. He seems accustomed to giving orders and having others obey him.)

…

After the men were carried into the back of the fabric shop… 

(In the end, I still can't figure out the cause.)

Even after examining the unconscious men again, I found nothing conclusive.

Bamboo Hat Man: Looks like there's nothing else to do here. I suppose I shall take my leave.

(I don't know who he is, but I can’t shake off the gut feeling that he might’ve done something to those men.)

Yuno: Wait!

I hesitatingly reached out and grabbed the man’s arm as he stood up to leave. 

The bamboo hat he had on fell off…

(Ah.) 

???: …

His otherworldly beauty made me gasp. 

However,—

Yuno: Huh?

(Was his hair always this colour?) 

The hair I caught a glimpse of earlier in the sunlight was vividly golden. 

(Of course, it was a tense situation, I’m not too sure about what I saw.)

(Maybe I was mistaken.) 

???: What's the matter?

Yuno: Um, would you mind if I examined you?

???: May I know the reason? 

The man tilted his head as he asked. His tone sounded more amused, rather than suspicious. 

(How should I answer…)

Yuno: … Since I can’t figure out what caused them to collapse, I need to consider all other possibilities.

Yuno: For example, it would make sense to check on your condition if the cause was a venomous insect or snake. 

Although my real intention was to investigate and stall him, he genuinely believed my reasoning.

???: … I see.

???: Thank you, I accept your kindness. 

(Thank goodness!) 

I bowed my head, still feeling nervous from the unfamiliar exchange. 

Yuno: Thank you for your cooperation! 

Yuno: You can call me Yuno. It’s a pleasure to meet you, umm…

Akihito: My name is Akihito. I’d love it if we could get along… Yuno. 

The moment I heard him say his name in that velvety smooth voice… Tamamo’s teasing warning flashed through my mind for some reason. 

[ Flashback ]

Tamamo: Be cautious of new encounters, Yuno. 

Tamamo: — So that the purity of yours that I adore so much won’t be tainted by any lawless beasts. 

[ Flashback End ]

(... No, no, no. That’s way too dramatic.)

Akihito: Sure, go ahead. Boil me, roast me, examine me however you like. 

Yuno: I-it doesn't seem like you can be boiled or roasted. Just a hunch. 

Akihito: You’re surprisingly blunt. I like that. 

The conversation continued as I checked Akihito-san’s legs exposed from the bottom of his clothes. 

Yuno: Akihito-san, do you live in Kamakura?

Akihito: Nope. I’m only here for work. 

Yuno: What kind of work do you do?

Akihito: A justice-seeking hero who helps the weak.

Yuno: Pardon? 

Akihito: I’m kidding. That was a childhood dream of mine. 

(I was hoping I could find out more about him… is he dodging the question on purpose?)

After inspecting both legs and his right arm, I found no signs of insect or animal bites. 

Yuno: … Lastly, can you roll up your left sleeve?

Akihito: Of course. 

His pale wrist came into view, revealing a bracelet.

(...? That's a little unexpected.) 

The bracelet’s flashy design looked out of place with Akihito-san’s elegance. 

Akihito: Is this the only place you want to check?

(Ah.)

Before I realised it, my hand paused.

Naturally, I couldn't find any abnormalities in that arm either. 

Akihito: What you’re really trying to check isn't my body, but my belongings. Correct? 

(He’s sharp!) 

Yuno: That’s… 

Akihito: I mean, it’s only natural to suspect the person who was the closest to those men. 

(I can't make excuses anymore.) 

Yuno: — I sincerely apologise if my actions were disrespectful.

I bowed my head deeply before continuing while carefully selecting my words.

Yuno: If you caused them to fall unconscious, then I’d want to know anything that could help me to save them. 

Yuno: … Even if you were to be innocent, my suspicions could then help to prove your innocence.

Yuno: And, of course, I’ll testify on your behalf if the authorities launch an investigation after this.

Akihito: …

Akihito: So you’re doing this for my sake too?

Akihito-san stared at me in silence and let out a slight sigh.

Akihito: You’re a kindhearted apothecary who would save a fallen villain without expecting anything in return. And yet, it seems to me that I’d be wrong to dismiss that as pure naivety. 

Yuno: Huh?

Akihito: You neither trusted nor distrusted an unfamiliar person like me right off the bat. Instead, you assessed the situation and made your own judgment. 

Akihito: You’re straightforward, yet perceptive. These are honestly very rare qualities in a person. 

(... It feels like Akihito-san’s impression of me has changed.) 

Yuno: Thank you. 

His words and gaze stirred something in my heart, leaving me feeling unsettled. 

Akihito: Well then, feel free to examine me until you’re satisfied. 

Akihito-san took out a hand towel and some coins from his pocket and placed them on the floor. 

Akihito: Ah, should I remove my clothes too? 

Yuno: T-that… won’t be necessary. Can I lightly pat you down over your clothes, just to be thorough? 

Akihito: Of course. 

Akihito-san spread his arms wide with a soft smile. 

Yuno: Pardon my discourtesy. 

I pat my hands on his sleeves and chest, confirming there were no hidden items. 

(... This is nothing unnatural to do, but we’re standing so close.) 

Akihito: Being the one to do the touching is one thing, but having someone touch you one-sidedly can be a little nerve wracking, don't you think? 

He spoke as though he had seen right through me and noticed me subconsciously holding my breath.

Yuno: …! I don't have any indecent intentions! 

Akihito: Then shall I tempt you, so that you will have those indecent intentions? 

Yuno: … Are you teasing me? You were most definitely lying about being nervous, weren’t you?

Akihito: Do you need proof of that too? 

(...!) 

Akihito-san caught my hand again and guided it to his chest.

Akihito: Here. Can you hear my heartbeat?

(What…) 

Yuno: I can, but… it’s not even beating that fast! 

(I knew it, he’s teasing me!) 

Yuno: Could it be… you’re actually a mean person, Akihito-san? 

Akihito: What if I said this is just payback for suspecting me? 

(Urk.)

Yuno: … Then I suppose I just have to accept it. 

Akihito: That’s good to hear. Looks like I could take a little more advantage of your guilt. 

Yuno: You can’t! 

With an increasingly amused grin, Akihito-san narrowed his eyes in satisfaction. 

It was clear that he was a few steps ahead of me in this game. 

…

Afterwards,—

Yuno: Thank you for cooperating with me, Akihito-san. 

Akihito: Don’t mention it. 

Akihito-san casuallg waved as we left the shop together. 

(I no longer have any reason to suspect him.)

(If it were something like a poisoned needle, it’d be easy to hide it in his clothing.) 

(But even so, knocking out multiple people instantly with such a small object would be nearly impossible.) 

Akihito: Your face tells me you’re still not convinced.

Yuno: P-pardon me. That wasn’t my intention. 

Akihito: Don’t say that. It wouldn’t make sense to trust someone you just met today, now would it? 

He pressed a hand to his lips, looking somewhat troubled.

Akihito: Coming to Kamakura after a long journey, only to be harassed by a gang of ruffians… 

Akihito: … Then I was suspected for a crime I didn’t commit. I must admit it does feel rather disheartening, but I guess it can’t be helped.

(Ugh, I feel so bad for this.) 

Akihito: But none of it is your fault, not one bit. So don’t let it bother you, Yuno. 

Yuno: Um… is there anything I can do to make it up to you?

Unable to bear the guilt any longer, I made an offer…

Akihito: Will you really?

(Huh? Don’t tell me… I’ve been fooled?)

Yuno: A-as long as it’s within reason. 

Akihito: I wonder what I should ask for.

(What on earth is he going to make me do!?) 

Akihito: In that case, will you show me around town?

Yuno: Is that all you want?

I couldn't contain my smile of relief after bracing myself for something more difficult to do.

Yuno: I’d be happy to! 

Akihito: Thanks. 

Akihito: You can stay close and keep an eye on me. You never know when I might slip up and expose myself. 

Yuno: … So you are the culprit, after all?

Akihito: That’s for you to find out. 

Akihito-san took my hand. 

His elegant, beautiful, and almost otherworldly face drew close… 

Yuno: Wha… 

My hand instantly turned hot as he kissed the back of my hand. 

Akihito: You've been acting so honest since earlier on, and I find that rather charming.  

Akihito: Perhaps I’m feeling dizzy with joy because I managed to invite the person I’m interested in out for a date.. 

(W-why is he saying those things?)

His voice, a mix of sincerity and seduction, easily shook my heart… 

Yuno: Wouldn’t it be easy for you to go on many dates if you wanted, Akihito-san? 

Akihito: That’s not true. 

Yuno: Huh?

I widened my eyes upon hearing his unexpected response. 

Akihito: When I desired it, I couldn't have it. And yet, when it finally landed in my hands, it’s too much to handle. That’s how freedom has always been for me. 

Akihito: That’s why, spending time with someone lively like you under the bright sun makes me feel like a different person, and that doesn’t feel so bad.

(What does he mean?)

Akihito-san intertwined his fingers with my hand he was holding and extended his invitation, 

Akihito: Shall we go, Yuno?

[bengiyo]

So I’ve got some thoughts wracking around my brain and I’d love to hear your thoughts. Apologies ahead of time because this is long.

Some background: I’ve been watching BL for about 2 years, consuming content from BL fandom on Tumblr for about a year, and listened to you & Nini’s pod since it came out. So I know a big trend and exciting push is workplace BL and more adult BL characters and relationships. I think it’s really interesting that so many in the fandom favor this trend because I struggle with the presence of the typical BL tropes in stories with queer adults because I see many of the tropes as inherently childish I guess? I mean I think as we all watch BL we have to hold a suspension of disbelief watching two adolescent or fully grown men live out these silly tropes (e.g white towel bath, tripping and falling, etc. (we all know’em by now)). I think that’s why I typically lean toward high school and even college settings because it’s easier to imagine characters in that age range engaging with these types of tropes.

I think the same goes for certain genres too. For example: I had a hard time enjoying KinnPorsche because tonally it was hard to reconcile one scene of rampant violence/death and the next scene Kinn & Porsche walking in the park engaging in all the silly tropes. The romance orientation of BL (to me) does not mix well with Mafia or horror genres because the presence of these tropes create such a weird tonal shift throughout the narrative.

I think I primarily have this trouble with Thai BLs (maybe also Taiwan they just don’t produce nearly as many shows so less to compare) because 1) the specific campy thai style of acting and 2) the fact that Thai BLs pack so many of the same tropes in their shows.

Now all that being said: I’m loving Law of Attraction and I’ve been thinking a lot about why it works for me. So far I don’t think there have been nearly as many tropes as some shows but I also think the melodrama of it all helps too. I mean both Charn and Tinn are very archetypal and Charn is almost a caricature of the archetype. It’s ridiculous and highly entertaining and still works as a BL for me.

Ok all that being said (I’m sorry this is so long) specifically with workplace/adult Thai BL: I see it going one of two main ways to continue to work (for me at least) while they also try to explore different settings, genres, and stories. Either 1) LoA route where it’s very dramatic and the characters are more caricatures and it’s not to be taken too seriously (but it’s still fun and entertaining and has some good themes) or 2) they phase out a lot of the tropes and depict more realistic queer characters in adult relationships. If they go route #2 wouldn’t that just lead to inherently more queer shows? From what I understand many define BL by the inclusion of these tropes and centering the romance in the narrative but I just can’t see how these aspects can continue to exist in more adult oriented stories? Do you think new tropes will emerge in these “office BLs” that will make it continue to “feel” BL without it feeling queer? Don’t get me wrong I’m queer and I love that it seems to be going in that direction but I’m also interested in the history/origins of the Thai BL industry and how they will likely try to continue to please their original base (cis het women) with more mature stories and settings without losing the essence of BL and moving more toward queer shows. Would love to hear any and all your thoughts. I’m thinking so much more about these topics hearing you and Nini on the pod so thank you for fostering these conversations!!

There's a lot going on here, so I'm going to try to pull out some specific things to interrogate.

I know a big trend and exciting push is workplace BL and more adult BL characters and relationships. I think it’s really interesting that so many in the fandom favor this trend because I struggle with the presence of the typical BL tropes in stories with queer adults because I see many of the tropes as inherently childish I guess? I mean I think as we all watch BL we have to hold a suspension of disbelief watching two adolescent or fully grown men live out these silly tropes (e.g white towel bath, tripping and falling, etc. (we all know’em by now)). I think that’s why I typically lean toward high school and even college settings because it’s easier to imagine characters in that age range engaging with these types of tropes.

I'm entering my mid-30s. I'm a bit burnt out on the high school and college stuff. I also work in an office tower as part of a large bureacracy. You'd be surprised how much petty office drama looks like the same shit you dealt with in schools. I also like the notion that even adults can enjoy some of the silly first moments. I dont' like the idea that either we settle down with the first boy we met in high school or college or we just don't exist.

Also, there are lots of tropes entering BL from the genre-blending that I think some viewers just don't recognize. Part of why Korean BL is so important is because quite a few viewers are versed in the narrative structures and story beats of a typical kdrama, and their commentary has been interesting as we get more Korean offerings. I often find that people miss out on the cues in Japanese shows because they didn't grow up on Japanese media like I did.

For example, I was commenting to NiNi last night when we were recording for Tokyo in April is... that one of the things I like so much about second chance romance in BL is the different built-in presumptions compared to straight people. When straight people have a second chance, it's usually because one of them broke up with the other. The relationship ended because of their internal problems. In gay second chance, the relationship was often taken from them by homophobia. In Our Dating Sim, internalized homophobia made Wan run away. Same in Individual Circumstances or The Promise. In Tokyo in April is... the boys are separated by their parents. Their relationship ended against their own wills, so the reunion and second chance is different because of their queer context.

Re: KinnPorsche: The romance orientation of BL (to me) does not mix well with Mafia or horror genres because the presence of these tropes create such a weird tonal shift throughout the narrative.

I don't know. History3: Trapped exists. Tropes are storytelling tools built upon familiar beats that audiences recognize. The pinky touch doesn't belong to BL. It grew out of queer media as a way for boys to privately have a moment of intimacy. Tropes are not inherently good or bad. What matters is how they're used. Do they support the narrative and themes, or do they get in the way?

A lot of folks do not like the Blushing Maiden trope. I am variable. It matters how it's used. I think it makes sense for Pharm in Until We Meet Again. I think it makes some sense for Minato in Minato's Laundromat. I don't really like it in Heartstopper 2. Elle gets a Heel Pop in Heartstopper 2, and it's what she deserves!

As for a mafia story, putting a romance story in a crime drama often is used to ramp up the sense of tragedy because the romance can't succeed inside the rules of the crime world.

specifically with workplace/adult Thai BL: I see it going one of two main ways to continue to work (for me at least) while they also try to explore different settings, genres, and stories. Either 1) LoA route where it’s very dramatic and the characters are more caricatures and it’s not to be taken too seriously (but it’s still fun and entertaining and has some good themes) or 2) they phase out a lot of the tropes and depict more realistic queer characters in adult relationships.

I don't like binaries like this. If you had asked me at 15 when I started watching Degrassi and then sneaking around to watch other gay shit if we'd have what we call BL now, I would not have believed you.

As for Laws of Attraction, I don't know that calling the characters caricatures is accurate either. They're behaving under the surreal rules of a lakorn, a telenovela, or a soap opera. There are exaggerations in the characters, but they all make sense and are obeying the rules of their world.

As for the question about BL getting more gay, @absolutebl has covered this already. Audiences do not care about gay people. Some of the conventions of surreal BL or the bubble are why they signed up. People did not watch POSE, they do not watch stuff like For the Boys, I haven't seen anyone on Tumblr talk about Sort Of, we didn't get an explosion of new gay shit after Moonlight or Call Me By Your Name. All I wanna say is that they don't really care about us.

I think there is room for BL to genre blend and play with broader romance or dramatic themes, à la La Pluie or Moonlight Chicken. However, I'll remind you that folks don't always like that (see I Promised You The Moon).

I think the biggest thing to recognize is that, while BL does have some of its own tropes from origin yaoi or modern Thai BL, BL shares a lot of DNA with romance as a whole. Don't get lost in the sauce of the classification war. Watching BL to check off boxes about what's recognized or not as the primary goal feels like a distraction.

Besides, if you're enjoying Laws of Attraction, that show has done nothing new. It's literally just using familiar lakorn and romance beats. Humans have been telling stories for at least 20,000 years. It doesn't have to be new to be good. It just needs to be done well.

[triviareads]

ARC Review of A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel by KJ Charles

Summary:

Rufus, Earl of Oxney, has dealt with multiple attempts by his uncle to take his title away from him. Now, his uncle is claiming that not only is Rufus illegitimate, but he has proof by way of Lucas Doomsday, a secretary who hails from a notorious family of local smugglers. Rufus hires Lucas to help him search through family archives for proof of his legitimacy, and Lucas agrees, in part because he has his own reasons for being at the estate...

My review:

This is the first book I've read by KJ Charles and I only wish I'd read her works sooner because this was a fabulous read. I adored both of the main characters: Rufus is an ex-soldier, honorable with a bit of a temper. But you can't blame the poor guy; he's trying his best to improve the estate after years of neglect while being constantly challenged by his terrible family. Luke is a secretary who comes from a smuggler clan, so he has a raffish edge to an otherwise (mostly) proper façade. He's a schemer who uses his powers for good when it comes to helping Rufus... and other times not so much.

I loved Rufus and Luke's relationship: it's one that comes from a place of mutual understanding and respect which initially makes them friends and allies, and that actually seems to fuel their emotional and sexual attraction. Rufus did read as demisexual to me just based on what he says (thinks) about not seeing the point of having sex with someone you don't care for. And he finds that with Luke fairly early on, even if Luke has to make the first move ("either fuck me or fire me"... he's a brat can you tell).

Both men have a good deal of familial demons, past and present, and the narrative does a great job of having the characters examine them, reconcile where they can, but otherwise creating their own found family they can be happy around. In a way, it's in direct contract to the villains of the story, mostly Rufus's own family, who are miserable with one another, and yet prize their (Norman... you'll see the word "Norman" many times) blood above all.

The mystery aspect (two mysteries, really, and then another mystery no one expected to find the answer to but stumbled across anyway) was mostly tight and well done. I do think the second half became a little too mystery-heavy at the cost of the romance, but it all tied up neatly at the end. At times I wish I'd read The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen just so I knew Luke's background, especially relating to Sir Gareth and Joss Doomsday, but KJ did a pretty good job of filling in those blanks for the reader.

The sex:

Raw. Intimate. Sexy. I can't write this review without including the droit du seigneur aspect, which starts as a joke between Rufus and Luke, but very much ends up as a kink of sort for them in that Luke wants to be taken in the manner of a feudal lord in the olden days sleeping with a vessel's wife first on their wedding night (possessive, a bit rough), which I thought was very hot, and very well done. Luke is a bit of a brat and wants to make Rufus work for it, but Rufus is absolutely willing to rise to the challenge (both Luke and Rufus seem to have a competence kink too). A relentless man, if you will.

Because of how the plot progresses, there's actually a lot more sex scenes in the first half of the book than in the second, but honestly the wait pays off because by the time they're reunited, the emotions are just that much heightened by the fact that they love one another now. I was actually near tears when Luke admits that when he first asked Rufus to "fuck him like he owns him", he really wished that he was his. It was so so romantic.

Overall:

I'd recommend this book to anyone, but specifically readers looking for a romance intertwined with a mystery or adventure, and anyone looking for a queer historical romance. I loved this book so much, and I'm looking forward to reading more KJ Charles.

Thank you to Sourcebooks Casablanca and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my review.

[nouearth]

i feel like the main problem with CMBYN comes from the people that romanticize it and don't realize that the people that critique it are sorta... right?

but not as in "oh that movie is wrong" but as in the story has this flawed element that builds its character. it's a coming of age about first love and sexuality that mingles onto the territory of attraction and gr**ming, it's not a love story, it's more of a love history.

(second vent in a row, srry, film student here)

💌 : speak on it!

honestly, my main problem with A LOT of 'critical think pieces' for films these days (ahem, filmtwt) is that people aren't willing to have a conversation about a controversial movie like cmbyn or poor things without resorting to personal attacks on the person holding the opposite opinion of them, and that instantly negates any will to share insights.

there is a spectrum to how we enjoy art, and that makes the conversation surrounding art so great because of the complexity of it. we all perceive it completely different, depending on our experience, age, culture, etc.

it's really strange and frustrating how we're seeing opinions become more black and white. though, that doesn't mean you can't just not like a film simply because you dislike it. that's fine. but don't go projecting it onto others who do!

and another problem?! a lot of people really want their films to be morally correct? like we, as human beings and as a society, shouldn't be watching films like poor things because it's uncomfortable? or we shouldn't watch it because it's not directly telling us that this person is bad?!

y'all... the frustration i had festering in me when i read that someone hated poor things because bella baxter is mentally a child and it was messed up that men were chasing after her. like... that's the fucking point. 😭 you can absolutely dislike, the movie is very uncomfortable in its subject matter, but it's not convoluted at all? it's just blatant misinterpretation because people aren't willing to form their own opinions and prefer piggy-backing off of others, meaning they didn't even spare the film a full watch! because if they did! they'd know the commentary in the movie was really direct!!

(sorry, i'm venting too, as an avid film fanatic)

[wanderlust-in-my-soul]

My weekly roundup CW 17

I try to write down my thoughts after watching stuff to create a little weekly ranking in relation to the previous week on my, most of the times, quiet sundays (and because I love lists!). These are just my personal opinions and preferences.

And yes, this may contain spoilers!

→ 1. The Eighth Sense (9+10/10 Final)

Phew. How should I sum up my feelings about it? Korea has a knack for good stories, for me, anyway. And this story is definitely one of my favorites and one of the best I've seen so far. And you can tell it's leaning more towards western television. You can notice the Skam notation and also a bit of the Young Royals setting. But what about the last episodes? I knew there was going to be a happy ending because I was spoilered thanks to MDL, since the movie has already aired in Korea. Nonetheless, for me the journey is the destination, I also like to spoil myself on purpose sometimes. Because while I knew it would end well, I didn't know what the journey would be like. And the way was so beautiful! JaeWon is slowly realizing that his life belongs to him and he won't be better off if he excludes JiHyun from it. He worries so much about not hurting others, about what he thinks is good for others, without looking at what the others might want. He hurts JiHyun much more by avoiding him and excluding him from his life, and he's starting to realize that. And yes, in the end they meet again and this reunion climaxes in such an unbelievably great kiss and a night where both of them can hardly sleep because they can't stop looking at each other and finally enjoying each other's closeness. And JaeWon is completely absorbed in the role of "it's now or never, you only live once and screw everyone else". He's with JiHyun and he doesn't give a shit who knows it all then. And the message of it all: they don't know if they'll make it and stay together, but that doesn't stop them from trying anyway, giving themselves a chance and believing in something positive. It's worth allowing some happiness and love in your life. I am thrilled by this series. The only thing that bothered me a bit was the "reconciliation" with EunJi and TaeHyung.

↑ 2. My Story (3/10)

I was so looking forward to the next episode. Not necessarily because of the good acting of the main couple or their chemistry, but because of Zeke and Fifth! I got a really bad second-couple-syndrome! They're just so cute together, even though I really didn't need the close-ups of their feet! But Fifth was jealous! Ahhhh! And makes no bones about finding men attractive. What's going on with the main couple? I don't know. They briefly didn't interest me after the kissing-after-puking moment…that wasn't romantic that was gross!

Yes, I might be lowkey obsessed with them...

☼ 3. Happy Merry Ending (1+2/8)

Korea is coming up big this year with plots that deal with social anxiety and depression. I'm curious to see how this will be implemented here. In the first episode, we definitely learned that SeungJun has trauma and is medicated in that regard. It seems to be an important, central theme. Especially as a wedding singer who only dares to perform wearing sunglasses because he's afraid of the looks of the audience. And in return, we have JaeHyun who can fit in well with groups and new environments. I love JaeHyun already! He's so obviously hit hard with SeungJun and I love it! He is so direct and wants to spend time with him. Oh love at first sight! Love it!

☼ 4. La Pluie (1/12)

La Pluie surprised me. I didn't think the story would pick me up like that in the first episode. Yes, the concept of going deaf when it rains and only being able to hear your soulmate's voice (even if he's not present but telepathic) takes some getting used to, but I honestly found it quite cute. And yes, love at first sight is also a little favorite of mine. So Tai goes deaf but can hear his soulmate's voice in his head when it rains. However, he has mostly refused to answer him so far because he doesn't believe in soulmates or love. After all, his parents, who were also supposed to be soulmates, divorced each other. That changed his view of love. But his first encounter with the person behind the voice in his head perhaps showed him, what he might miss, if he doesn't reach out already. And as a second couple, we have an enemies-to-lovers story! I am excited!

↓ 5. Our Dining Table (4/10)

Yutaka's brother is just an asshole. But he couldn't help it as a child/teenager, but the parents could have said something. It's so easy to say you're part of the family now and then just ignore when the son bullies the adopted son like that. I want to box him and the parents. And Minoru wants to know so much more about Yutaka. He's so on his way to totally falling in love with Yutaka and his sensitive nature. And he's so sweet and insecure about it. I'm happy if Yutaka can open up to him a little bit.

↓ 6. A Boss And A Babe (9/12)

Yeah, what can I say. Gun is an idiot if he really thinks Cher betrayed him like that. And then he doesn't talk to him right away but gives him the cold shoulder first. Uncool, boss! And the friends realize that Cher was apparently a bit more serious with the boss after all. Even though they're there for him, I'm still pissed about last week. The sleepover was really nice though. Even friendships are not without drama. But it all works out in the end. Gun breaks Cher's Gameboy, but repairs it right away because of his bad conscience. But that's it for the drama, at least between Cher and Gun, right?

↑ 7. The Promise (7/10)

Party, my man! He has really thought, if you can not, Phu, then I'll show you how it's done right! Well, the result was rather so devastating, but I love how Nan reacted! As a person who has witnessed both sides, I think Nan gave the best reaction possible. He showed Party and told him that he is important to him and is and will be his best friend. And Party can now so slowly detach himself from the feeling. It is indeed easier to do such a thing when it is spoken out. Well and Phu…I even understand him. He just has zero hopes, so why jeopardize the friendship? Even though Nan took every opportunity to touch Phu's face in the morning…You can apply sunscreen several times, come on I'll show you. Yeah, right! The two of them have to finally talk to each other. And of course Phu isn't Nan's best friend anymore, because Nan doesn't consider him a friend anyway, he just doesn't quite understand yet what Phu actually is to him. Good episode.

↓ 8. Naked Dining (3/10)

Ohhhh, Futa is jealous! You can tell already very much that the two like each other a bit much. And finally the naked dining was back! And also with the homemade food he made together with Mahori. Yes, this is a rather quiet series as well. I don't know how much drama we can expect, but so far it's a gentle sprinkling. And I'm permanently hungry by the time I'm done with the episodes…

↓ 9. Step By Step (2/12)

Hm. I don't know. I don't like Jeng? And all the colleagues just suck! And then Pat is supposed to leave the only one who is nice to him and who is on the same page with him alone, because there might be gossip? That's bullshit! So I found the second episode not quite as convincing. The friends, on the other hand, except for the slip of his friend, who met professionally with his ex, I still find great!

↓ 10. Our Skyy 2 (3+4/16)

I really wanted to like it. But shit, was it boring! It's a fireworks display of cheesy dialogue…And what kind of ring is that? Am I just too anti-romantic to find that beautiful? I mean, yes, cute, sunflower and star together, but that's too much for a ring…And I have an idea for a new drinking game: A shot every time one of the two says I love you! And finally the cringiest quotes...

"Dao, you're trusting the right person, because I no longe know how to love anyone else. You're the only one I love." "Will you eat breakfast first or eat me first?" "I am all yours, Kluen. Yours and yours only, Kluen." "Once our home is done, our parents will discuss our wedding plans." (Even though Kluen didn't ask and Dao couldn't say yes…)

→ 11. Tin Tem Jai

I took notes: Why did a series like Tin Tem Jai have to include a drug storyline? There was no resolution to the story whatsoever, except that Kana would hit Pao if he took drugs again. Problem solved…Wow! Screw Pao's problems, they'll take care of themselves! Next, I noted: Why does Tin continue to be portrayed as this little boy. That just feels wrong to me. And again, I ask myself the question, how old is Tin supposed to be? And further, you guys can just kiss like that. You don't have to wait until your birthday. The whole kissing contact just doesn't feel good. There's just too much riding on the fact that Park is so much older and more experienced than Tin. I am constantly confused and not feeling good. Luckily next epsiode will be the last one! Finally!

[transamorousnetwork]

Trans Women Wanted A Movie About Trans-Attracted Men: They Got One

A big complaint about trans-attracted men has been that they’re too chicken shit to come out and own their trans-attraction. Some celebrities have come out acknowledging their attraction to trans women, or have been outed by others. And, at least several trans-attracted men I know are out loud about their orientation. One wrote a book about his attraction. Another has a book in the works.

Still, the trans community generally has expressed dismay that trans-attracted men remain scared to out themselves. Trans women say if more did, society would accept transgender women more. Some trans women even express interest in someone making a movie about the subject.

Years ago, The Crying Game was that movie. It was pretty good as far as it went.

But Richard Gadd’s Baby Reindeer, which debuted on Netflix last month, took the genre to a whole freaking other level. Trans women got their wish, again.

Let’s take a look at what I think is a tour de force in LGBTQ cinema for many, many, many reasons. Over the next few posts, I’m going to weigh in on this magnificent limited series from multiple angles.

Spoil alerts!

Talking about the show without giving away spoilers would be really tough. In this post, I’ll do my best to avoid spoiling the really good parts. I can’t promise I’ll do so in the next posts. You should go watch it, therefore.

Baby Reindeer features a main character named Donny. He’s a bartender and aspiring comedian. One day a woman comes into the bar. But this is no joke. Donny immediately perceives she’s having a hard time. That woman turns out to be a major stalker who ends up stalking Donny for years. Donny’s relationship with this woman seems like the main plot.

But another one overwhelms the stalker story in my opinion. That one, we discover, is Donny’s trans attraction, how he discovered it and what happens as he tries to overcome his MASSIVE, INTENSE and world-shaping shame and self-loathing.

^^Baby Reindeer: Number one on Netflix. From Actress Nava Mau’s Instagram profile (Photo from Instagram). 

It’s a true story

What’s really good about this is Baby Reindeer is a true story. It’s also HIGHLY fictionalized. Still, Gadd, the creator, did a great job fleshing out all the characters, making them believable, nuanced and many-layered. No villains exist here, which is good because villains and victims both are fictions. Everyone creates their reality.

The reason I love that Baby Reindeer is true is that it offers deep insight into the lives of trans-attracted men. Now, not all men who are attracted to trans women are like the guy depicted in the series. Still, of the dozens of men I’ve spoken to or worked with, some things do ring true, things portrayed in the main character’s personality.

At least 60 percent of the men I’ve spoken to or worked with have divergent sexual experiences. Not all of them were “abused”. But many experimented with avant-garde sexual practices. This includes experimenting with male siblings at a young age (which is more common than I thought), fantasizing about sexual acts with their mothers, or even being curious about acts with animals.

At least two of my trans-attracted clients experienced suicidal ideation borne of extreme self-loathing. At a key moment in the series, Donny says he goes through everything he experiences because of his intense self hatred. I’ll revisit the power of self-directed hatred later. It’s important.

The point here isn’t that trans-attracted men are weird or sick. It’s that they came here with a curiosity around a subject most people find so taboo, their beliefs on the subject are intense and likely to trigger harsh judgements. They also cause extreme conservatism towards sex, even though some of those same people who harbor taboo perspectives on these curiosities act out the curiosities themselves. I know this because they often get caught.

Self-loathing common among many

There’s a lot of harsh judgement in Baby Reindeer. Donny does the worst of it, which causes his life trajectory to careen into darkness.

Avid readers of this blog who watch the show will notice that Donny acknowledges as the cause of all the shit that goes down, his extremely intense self-hatred. Again, in one revealing and powerful scene, he admits loving his self-hatred more than anything else, including other people, including himself.

That’s a powerful acknowledgment.

Many trans-attracted men share this powerful hatred. It may not be as intense as it is portrayed in Donny’s life. After all, the story is highly fictionalized. But it’s still there in many trans-attracted men and still intense. That intense emotion always attracts circumstances matching the vibration underneath hatred. And many people have self hatred going on in them. Especially transgender women.

So when watching the show it should be no surprise to anyone that Donny experiences all that he does: failure in his relationship with a cis woman; failure in his dreams to become a comedian; rape at the hands of a male predator; a crazy stalker, and, generally, a fucked up life. It’s all fascinating to watch, painful at times, but so spot on about how the Universe works.

Self-loathing is what makes people “victims”. Remember, there aren’t any victims because people draw to them through their beliefs experiences they live through. “Victims” are vibrational matches to “perpetrators”. Together, they perform a dance, a dance that can destroy and even end in death.

Lives created through self-loathing

Such experiences attempt to alert the person to what’s going on in them. No one can create an experience outside their persistent beliefs. That’s why we encourage clients to clean up their beliefs. Doing so can dramatically improve one’s life experience. Especially in love.

But if a person holds beliefs like Donny does, that person’s experience will look much like the character’s life. The experiences will start as much less intense. Ignored though, and they will increase in intensity. The person will then feel unsatisfied or “unlucky”. In that dissatisfaction, they’ll complain about their life. They’ll see only the worst happening. And in that focus, they’ll invite even more unfortunate experiences.

This often plays out in comments to this blog. I’ll offer absolutely overwhelming evidence the majority of people support trans people, for example, and nearly every commenter will double down on their focus. A focus on things proving their beliefs that the world is against them is “true”. Even though ample evidence shows it’s not.

What those people don’t understand is, that focus is exactly why they experience these experiences. And no one need experience them! Except those who are matches to those experiences.

Getting what they wanted

Baby Reindeer is an amazing movie about trans attraction. And I haven’t even mentioned the spectacular performance delivered by the beautiful transgender actress Nava Mau. I recommend every trans woman watch Baby Reindeer. Every trans-attracted man should too. Maybe those men will see themselves in the Donny character and do something that will help them change their own life experiences.

There’s so much more I can write about this spectacular series. And I’m going to do so in the next post. In the meantime, go watch it. It’s on Netflix.

If you have seen it, share your perspective. What did you think? One client who watched it, watched all seven episodes in one night. Afterwards he could only text me one word: Fascinating.

Transgender women have been asking for a movie like this for a long time. Well, they got one.

[zalrb]

this isn't directed at you more so at the anons here but: this isn't the place for questions about shows directed at queer audiences. you may think you understand a lot but clearly camp as a concept escapes you or you wouldn't be so harsh about sam reid's performance as lestat. i'm pretty sure you even referred to yourself as straight in an answer to an ask at some point and you don't seem to have interest in queer characters or ships that aren't het so why should your opinion matter?

you're out there comfortably boasting your take on a lesbian character (willow rosenberg) and her superior chemistry with a male character and i'm bi, i'll be the first to say that given her past attraction to men they could have gone down the route of making her bisexual and it's only the context of the times and queer rep in general being what it was that stopped it but as it is willow is a lesbian whether you like it or not willow canonically is a lesbian and i find it just baffling that you would not even be able to find one moment of chemistry that matches up or exceeds the chemistry oz/willow had with the chemistry of her love interest of four fucking seasons. if the only point of comparison was kennedy/willow than fine despite the fact that in the show's canon oz/willow only happened because of willow's comp het the chemistry between her and kennedy was still lacking but tara?? and it's not like there aren't other exemples you're out here using xena/ares as an exemple for an ask about chemistries and xena is one of the most queer coded shows of all time. but let's not talk about that let's focus on ares/xena i guess even though xena's main love interest is gabrielle and the only thing stopping the subtext from being fully text is again the times. you managed to watch spartacus and somehow again in four seasons no queer ships got your attention. the self proclaimed fucking authority on chemistry only found grace in het ships when agron/nasir was right here and gaia/lucrezia or lucrezia/ilithyia but even if we forget ships you don't talk about queer characters on their own either. and the one that genuinely angers me the most: black sails. this show is too fucking good for you. not only have you managed to again ignore all the queer characters and queer ships (miranda/thomas/flint, thomas/flint, flint/silver, maxanor, maxanne. and these are just the canon ones) but you've also paid dust to the black characters. except for madi and i like madi, i like silvermadi too so it sure is ironic i literally went to see your black sails tag just to see if i'm being too harsh but no it's just as horrendous hot takes from a straight girl as i remembered it. literally first post you wish you could find silvermadi content without flint and it exists. if you type silvermadi you'll find some. silver/madi/flint content is usually tagged differently and some people also see parallels between silver/madi/flint to other trios in the show it's not that complicated but you sound so fucking entitled whining about how you don't find content for your straight ship from a show AIMED AT QUEER AUDIENCES like girl shut up. have some sense. i've never seen the eleanor/rodgers shippers (yes they exist) whine about their ship having less content than maxanor or eleanor/vane because they know what show they're watching but clearly you don't"

i'm pretty sure you even referred to yourself as straight in an answer to an ask at some point

Yes, because I used to talk about whether or not I thought something was queer baiting but now, I'm like, what I have to say about the subject doesn't matter because I'm straight, my opinion on what is and what isn't queer baiting doesn't matter. It wasn't like I was asked what do you think of this ship and went omg no I'm straight, I can't talk about wlw or mlm relationships. Come on.

you're out there comfortably boasting

You mean, stating an opinion.

wouldn't be so harsh about sam reid's performance as lestat

I didn't think I was harsh at all, I just said I didn't think he was charismatic as he was supposed to be or as menacing as he was supposed to be.

you're out here using xena/ares as an exemple for an ask about chemistries and xena is one of the most queer coded shows of all time. but let's not talk about that let's focus on ares/xena i guess even though xena's main love interest is gabrielle and the only thing stopping the subtext from being fully text is again the times.

I used Xena/Ares as an example for the ask because I was making a point about a specific kind of chemistry, which was a simmering, anger-to-passion type of chemistry and Gabrielle/Xena wouldn't have fit the context of the post,

the self proclaimed fucking authority on chemistry

So clearly you don't understand sarcasm because the only time I've said I Am The Authority On Chemistry is as a facetious response to anons like you who keep saying that I call myself an authority on chemistry when that has literally never happened.

I am so fucking tired of this.

only found grace in het ships when agron/nasir was right here and gaia/lucrezia or lucrezia/ilithyia

Pretty much every time I mention Spartacus, I also mentioned Agron and Nasir because I loved watching them together? I also speak about Pietros and Barca

but even if we forget ships you don't talk about queer characters on their own either.

So I don't talk about Annanlise. Or Tegan. Or Connor. Never spoke about Burt and Irv. Never spoke about Lafayette. Never spoke about Mickey or Ian or Gallavich. Never spoke about Chiron, never spoke about Kevin. Never spoke about Isaac. Never spoke about Damon, never spoke about Ricky, never spoke about Pray Tell, never spoke about Even, never spoke about Isak, never spoke about Mateo etc.

literally first post you wish you could find silvermadi content without flint and it exists.

OK so let's not act as if it isn't common for tumblr to ignore a canon ship involving Black women in favour of non-canon ships between white men -- in fact I was accused of upholding the same type of preference because I ship Merthur over Arwen despite the multiple breakdowns that I have as to why and the fact that I go hard for Gwencelot -- that's why I was annoyed looking through the tag that everything I had seen about Silvermadi also included Flint. I have dismissed Silverflint in the past, shouldn't have done that.

Madi and Silver are the ship I care about on the show, a lot of the times there is that One Ship I focus on with a show, for Severance it was all about Burt and Irv, I barely spoke about anything else unless asked, for Living Single, it's all about Max and Kyle, I never mention Overton and Synclaire, for Charmed it's Piper Leo etc. etc. because Black Sails isn't a show that I love, I don't talk about any of the characters much -- including Madi -- unless asked. The fact that you're acting like there is a wealth of complex, nuanced, well-written Black characters on the show is kind of astounding to me because there are four and they're not all written equally. When asked, I spoke about what I liked about Max, what I liked about Madi, what I liked about Mr. Scott and what I liked about the Maroon Queen

but the actress made homophobic statements

I didn't know that.

So, like, I'm not really sure what you wanted to accomplish with this ask. I can't comment on IWTV or Sam Reid's performance as Lestat because I'm straight? Don't talk about wlw/mlm ships because I don't think Tara and Willow have chemistry? Don't say anything about Black Sails because Silvermadi is my OTP? No one ask me anything that has anything to do queer characters or ships because you don't like my opinions on certain ships and characters? Like what?

I'm also surprised that you're still lurking considering how much you detest my opinions??

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Gilda (Vidor, 1946)

This review contains spoilers.

I probably complain with some regularity that movies these days ain’t like they used to be and I’d hate to sound like a broken record, but one specific respect in which movies are definitely worse is that we’ve stopped making ones about characters who are Next Level Hot. Characters who are so distressingly attractive it becomes the driving force behind the decisions of everyone around them. Perhaps the subject has been on my mind since my recent viewing of The Swimming Pool, in which three of the principals are unbelievably attractive and the fourth one is played by Maurice Ronet, and the relative levels of attractiveness are used to direct audience sympathies, having us practically beg for the uggo to be removed from the screen by any means necessary. (Listen, I know there are thorny sexual politics at play, but I am all for opening the borders of Next Level Hotness beyond the confines of ideals of conventional attractiveness. It’s a vibe more than anything.)

Now if anyone comes up with modern examples that I’m not aware of, I don’t actually care, I just needed an in to start talking about this movie, which definitely falls in this category. In the parlance of a wise man, I’ve done the research, I’ve looked at the facts, I’ve analyzed the hard data and my conclusion is that there are few things sexier than the way Rita Hayworth throws her head back and lets her hair bounce for a moment. The movie is best known for a number of performances by Hayworth, most notably the (racy by the standards of the ‘40s) striptease to “Put the Blame on Mame”, which most overtly communicate her most magnetic qualities, but even outside these scenes her character throws the entire screen into a web of sexual tension anytime she appears or is even mentioned.

You have Glenn Ford hired by shady casino owning bigshot George Macready to look after his casino and also his wife Hayworth (introduced with that trademark hair bounce). Ford is trapped initially by the confines of his role and also the situations Hayworth forces him to cover up with her promiscuous behaviour, something Macready may or may not be aware of. So there’s an element of control exerted upon Ford, which reverses when Macready exits the situation by feigning his demise and Ford becomes the one exerting control on Hayworth, driven perhaps by past grievances. So there’s a palpable psychosexual charge to the proceedings from the kinked out dynamic both men have with Hayworth and each other. (Also of importance: the phallic weapon with which Macready kills his enemies. Never trust a man with a spring-loaded blade in his cane.) To paraphrase the words of a high school math teacher when I challenged him on the dimensions of an aesthetically pleasing rectangle, Freud would have a field day with this movie, although I must concede that faking your own death to act out your cuckold fetish seems a bit extreme.

This plays out against a backdrop of a post World War II Argentina milieu, where Macready seems mixed up with a bunch of sinister Germans with whom he forms a tungsten cartel. The movie doesn’t seem terribly interested in the particulars (something about patents and laundering money through the casino) and admits as much when we see Ford looking inattentive as he’s being questioned by a police inspector. I suppose this does give the movie a slight atmosphere of corruption (although the Old Hollywood production values keep this from feeling too seamy), but quite frankly I found the dynamic between the main characters engaging enough that I could do without it.

[sailor-arashi]

He never said it was just a story. In fact he said his own experiences heavily shaped the narrative, just not in allegorical ways.

What he said is that it wasn't about World War 2, which people at the time kept insisting is was, with things like Mordor is Nazi Germany and such, which annoyed him to no end. This is straight from his forward:

As for any inner meaning or ‘message’, it has in the intention of the author none. It is neither allegorical nor topical. As the story grew it put down roots (into the past) and threw out unexpected branches: but its main theme was settled from the outset by the inevitable choice of the Ring as the link between it and The Hobbit. The crucial chapter, ‘The Shadow of the Past’, is one of the oldest parts of the tale. It was written long before the foreshadow of 1939 had yet become a threat of inevitable disaster, and from that point the story would have developed along essentially the same lines, if that disaster had been averted. Its sources are things long before in mind, or in some cases already written, and little or nothing in it was modified by the war that began in 1939 or its sequels. The real war does not resemble the legendary war in its process or its conclusion. If it had inspired or directed the development of the legend, then certainly the Ring would have been seized and used against Sauron; he would not have been annihilated but enslaved, and Barad-dûr would not have been destroyed but occupied. Saruman, failing to get possession of the Ring, would in the confusion and treacheries of the time have found in Mordor the missing links in his own researches into Ring-lore, and before long he would have made a Great Ring of his own with which to challenge the self-styled Ruler of Middle-earth. In that conflict both sides would have held hobbits in hatred and contempt: they would not long have survived even as slaves. Other arrangements could be devised according to the tastes or views of those who like allegory or topical reference. But I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history, true or feigned, with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse ‘applicability’ with ‘allegory’; but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author. An author cannot of course remain wholly unaffected by his experience, but the ways in which a story-germ uses the soil of experience are extremely complex, and attempts to define the process are at best guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous. It is also false, though naturally attractive, when the lives of an author and critic have overlapped, to suppose that the movements of thought or the events of times common to both were necessarily the most powerful influences. One has indeed personally to come under the shadow of war to feel fully its oppression; but as the years go by it seems now often forgotten that to be caught in youth by 1914 was no less hideous an experience than to be involved in 1939 and the following years. By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead. Or to take a less grievous matter: it has been supposed by some that ‘The Scouring of the Shire’ reflects the situation in England at the time when I was finishing my tale. It does not. It is an essential part of the plot, foreseen from the outset, though in the event modified by the character of Saruman as developed in the story without, need I say, any allegorical significance or contemporary political reference whatsoever. It has indeed some basis in experience, though slender (for the economic situation was entirely different), and much further back. The country in which I lived in childhood was being shabbily destroyed before I was ten, in days when motor-cars were rare objects (I had never seen one) and men were still building suburban railways. Recently I saw in a paper a picture of the last decrepitude of the once thriving corn-mill beside its pool that long ago seemed to me so important. I never liked the looks of the Young miller, but his father, the Old miller, had a black beard, and he was not named Sandyman. Tolkien, J.R.R.. The Lord Of The Rings: One Volume . Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Kindle Edition.

J. R. R. Tolkien: no, my books aren't about the war I experienced. It's just a story

J. R. R. Tolkien's works: you cannot go home, war ends entire bloodlines, you are mourning the death of your brother alone, you dug into the earth and permanently scored the land, you cannot explain what you have been through, you cannot go home, "that wound will never fully heal. He will carry it the rest of his life", leaving the women behind does not save them, the young die first, you cannot go home, the parent will bury their child, you have lost the wives and you will never connect with them again, "how shall any tower withstand such numbers and such reckless hate?", you are not the same, you cannot go home, you can never go home, your father will only side with those he sees as worthy bloodlines and you cannot change his mind, it is more meaningful Not to kill, sometimes your sacrifice accomplishes nothing, you cannot go home

[blackoutfeverdream]

You ungrateful eaters have no conception of the amount of physical effort and cultivation involved in being sexually attractive on a consumer basis.

Fine, you're desirable in a bedroom full of sweat and sweet and subjectivity and one lover

but how beautiful really are you in front of a camera and ten people behind it who are responsible for lights, direction, and every facet of the set and production?

And can you stay that way despite takes, enervation, and a costar you potentially never have met and to whom you're really not very attracted, who doesn't kiss you right, doesn't touch you right, doesn't know you and doesn't care

who has his or her own problems which might include the same for you?

And can you convince with even the smallest suspension of disbelief much less the sincere voyeuristic fictions that attend porn?

Oh, you exercise

you're fit

you're healthy

for a mirror

for a partner

but for a paying audience who have an embarrassment of alternatives in a world that mints desperate miserable people who look good enough who are willing to do enough who are young enough to do it without much effort?

I love to play jailbait characters, love that I can do that. In the main it's the slutty submissive twentysomething

doctor lawyer librarian professor secretary housewife

who doesn't care much about dress codes and morals.

I haven't had surgery, much as I would love it.

I started my life in the wrong body.

This is effort so you can jerk it to something unique and pretty and pretend your lives have color you won't paint yourselves.

I hate porn as a concept and a construct.

Yeah, I'll do it without personal revulsion or dissonance because, well, I'm cracked to irreparable extremes. But there's a difference between the structural and the personal.

But if it is to be here at least there should be respect and education.

One of the surest most appalling drivers of male entitlement is the total alienation from reality, accountability, responsibility, and effort that attends pornography- a beautiful woman there by phosphor and laser light and electron

and you did nothing for it.

Every fifteen-minute scene is hours

every girl and every guy is on something and has had a shit life in some way to place them there

it's cumulative years of toil and exercise and the developed ability maybe not to act in a theatrical conception of the word but an emotional one

to express and convey and consume

and men don't think at all. Most women, either.

Porn and sex work are classist phenomena. They're literally society deciding that poor people don't deserve consent- that consent is something that can be overridden by economic exigency and contract.

You asswipes who repost porn here or anywhere else- do you not understand you're not only depriving the performers of their dignity and agency to dictate the terms on which they're seen doing profoundly intimate things but for the indies outright stealing from them?

There's a reason it's an instant block-report if I see live human porn on anyone's page unless it's their own sex work or endorsement for another person's with explicit links to their commercial platform.