Practically Invisible
- 2 years ago
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Girl, Invisible free porn video
Girl, Invisible
Initially, she thought it was a dream.
Not that having Buffy in her room was a strange occurrence – no, Buffy wasn’t one to regard another’s privacy as a matter of any importance, and Dawn had caught her several times snooping through her diaries and stealing things from her closet – but for Buffy to walk in, at night, completely naked…
Well, that was exactly the bizarre sort of shit that dreams were made of, Slayer or no.
She wondered if she should say something, or perhaps pinch herself to make sure she was awake, but there was something in Buffy’s eyes that she’d never quite seen before. It was something so strange and intense that she was petrified to move or breathe or even think, and yet her whole body wouldn’t stop shaking, and she was gasping for air, and a million thoughts and none at all were circling around her brain.
Buffy was actually looking at her, grinning – albeit a little strangely – at her.
Not Willow.
Not Xander.
Not Angel, or Riley, or Mom.
But Her.
It had to be a dream.
So, when Buffy climbed under the blankets next to her she didn’t speak. When Slayer-strong hands tugged and pulled until her sleeepy kitten pyjama top was unbuttoned and her panties had joined the bottoms on the floor at the foot of the bed, she didn’t move. When that blonde head slipped below the covers, she twisted her fingers in the sheets, clenched her jaw, and forbid herself to think. And when Buffy emerged – grinning and calling her ‘little s!s’ – and crawled up her body, knees pinning her hair against the mattress, Slayer-strong thighs against her cheeks, Dawn didn’t hesitate.
Buffy didn’t return to her bed.
* * *
She’d have wondered about it, but two days later she’d overheard Buffy bitching about Faith hijacking her body and sleeeping with her boyfriend.
It made sense, she supposed.
She’d always liked Faith, how the brunette Slayer always spoke to her, punching her in the shoulder or pulling her pigtails before slipping her one of the cookies from Buffy’s secret stash that Dawn wasn’t supposed to know was hidden between the limbs of the tree outside Buffy’s window.
Even though she’d missed the other girl, she found she really couldn’t blame Faith for picking the other side – she didn’t have to put up with Her Bitchiness, for one thing – but she figured even Faith had to admit that the snake thing was a little gross.
It was kinda ironic, she supposed: Faith had spent more time seeing her in less than 48 hours than Buffy had in the last two years. Granted, it was in a most… unexpected and truly bizarre manner, but still…
* * *
Naturally, she’d freaked.
That’s what one’s supposed to do when they discover they’re really only six-months old, even though they have 13 and a half years of memories, and that they’re really some mystical key thingy that unlocks the gate between dimensions and that some brassed-off god is planning to kill them in order to destroy the world.
Honestly.
But after the wigging and the requisite blood-letting, she’d hoped that things could be different. That since she was special now, she might actually fit in. That just for once, Buffy would look at her and she’d feel like she belonged. Turned out that membership to the Scoobies was open to Slayers, witches, vampires, ex-demons, and carpenters, but NOT to million-year-old mystical keys. So, she’d been dragged along on the outskirts of the Scooby machinery – the key protected, the girl ignored.
And then when Mom got sick and then when she… well…
It was all about Buffy: how sad for Buffy; poor Buffy; we wish there was something we could do, Buffy;
Buffy
Buffy
BUFFY…
And so she faded into the background. Not that they’d let her more than a foot away from one of them (as if it would do any good for them to be there with her when a freaking GOD decided it was time to go home and came and whisked her away, swatting at Buffy like a blonde mosquito… or would that be mosquito Slayer?). Either way, it wasn’t as if the Scoobies were going to make a damn bit of difference anyhow and, if they’d let her out of their sight, at least she could pretend she was alone by choice.
But then, on the tower, when she was ready for it all to end, when she’d decided that maybe she shouldn’t have ever existed, that it might be better for everyone involved if the key did its job and slipped into a memory, a vague impression of a girl that once existed… Then, Buffy looked at her.
And moments later… she was gone.
* * *
She’d tried Willow first; planned it carefully – chocolate ice cream, late night movie-thon, snuggled together on the sofa – and the red head snuggled back, overindulgent in that funny way she had, but when she’d tentatively reached for the older girl’s breast, the smile disappeared and she was placated and petted like a good little girl then left alone... wanting… needing…
With Tara, the opportunity came sooner than she’d hoped. Sitting on the back steps where… she’d always come to hide – because Slayers weren’t supposed to cry, naturally – she’d let the blonde hold her and kiss her hair and it felt so, so very nice, so she’d tipped her head up, trembling with emotion and offering her tear-soaked lips, but all she got was another hug and a mumbled apology, and someone else left her wanting…
Anya was… scary… besides, she was too busy wringing orgasms out of Xander to even notice Dawn existed. Xander… well, Xander would likely run screaming at the thought of his ‘little s!ster’ kissing him. Giles was just… old. And Spike… well, Spike would probably give in – if only to shut her up – but while she was sure he’d be a really good kisser, the thought of that thing in his pants made her shudder, and not in a good way.
She’d tried everything to be seen, but if anything, it was worse than before… There really was only one option…
* * *
It had taken some work, but she’d made it LA. Xander had driven her, with Anya of course, and they’d squabbled the entire time – about Xander’s choice in music, about that dump Xander lived in, about how the hot-plate wasn’t working again - Dawn could have turned into a show-tune singing Fyarl demon and they wouldn’t have noticed.
Some careful manoeuvring and some much-needed interference from Anya – who was eager to try elevator sex with her Xander-shaped dildo – and she slipped out of her dad’s apartment building and caught a bus.
Really, she’d thought of everything: calling ahead to get everything arranged, conning a fake ID out of Willow (who still felt guilty about the brush-off she’d given poor little Dawnie). She’d turned on the big blue puppy eyes and raved every day about the band that she’d just die to see and promised she wouldn’t drink or smoke or get into trouble, wouldn’t even think about it, stolen an outfit and makeup from Buffy’s room and called Dad at the last moment to say she’d be a little later than she’d expected… It was really all too easy.
The hard part came when she stepped through the door. To say Faith was surprised at the identity of her mystery conjugal would be an understatement, but it hadn’t taken the brunette long to overcome her shock and pounce.
She’d left feeling more at peace than she had in years; Faith had called her ‘bitch’ and pulled her hair, and she couldn’t remember anything feeling more wonderful.
To feel wanted…
To feel taken…
To feel had.
Initially, she thought it was a dream.
Not that having Buffy in her room was a strange occurrence – no, Buffy wasn’t one to regard another’s privacy as a matter of any importance, and Dawn had caught her several times snooping through her diaries and stealing things from her closet – but for Buffy to walk in, at night, completely naked…
Well, that was exactly the bizarre sort of shit that dreams were made of, Slayer or no.
She wondered if she should say something, or perhaps pinch herself to make sure she was awake, but there was something in Buffy’s eyes that she’d never quite seen before. It was something so strange and intense that she was petrified to move or breathe or even think, and yet her whole body wouldn’t stop shaking, and she was gasping for air, and a million thoughts and none at all were circling around her brain.
Buffy was actually looking at her, grinning – albeit a little strangely – at her.
Not Willow.
Not Xander.
Not Angel, or Riley, or Mom.
But Her.
It had to be a dream.
So, when Buffy climbed under the blankets next to her she didn’t speak. When Slayer-strong hands tugged and pulled until her sleeepy kitten pyjama top was unbuttoned and her panties had joined the bottoms on the floor at the foot of the bed, she didn’t move. When that blonde head slipped below the covers, she twisted her fingers in the sheets, clenched her jaw, and forbid herself to think. And when Buffy emerged – grinning and calling her ‘little s!s’ – and crawled up her body, knees pinning her hair against the mattress, Slayer-strong thighs against her cheeks, Dawn didn’t hesitate.
Buffy didn’t return to her bed.
* * *
She’d have wondered about it, but two days later she’d overheard Buffy bitching about Faith hijacking her body and sleeeping with her boyfriend.
It made sense, she supposed.
She’d always liked Faith, how the brunette Slayer always spoke to her, punching her in the shoulder or pulling her pigtails before slipping her one of the cookies from Buffy’s secret stash that Dawn wasn’t supposed to know was hidden between the limbs of the tree outside Buffy’s window.
Even though she’d missed the other girl, she found she really couldn’t blame Faith for picking the other side – she didn’t have to put up with Her Bitchiness, for one thing – but she figured even Faith had to admit that the snake thing was a little gross.
It was kinda ironic, she supposed: Faith had spent more time seeing her in less than 48 hours than Buffy had in the last two years. Granted, it was in a most… unexpected and truly bizarre manner, but still…
* * *
Naturally, she’d freaked.
That’s what one’s supposed to do when they discover they’re really only six-months old, even though they have 13 and a half years of memories, and that they’re really some mystical key thingy that unlocks the gate between dimensions and that some brassed-off god is planning to kill them in order to destroy the world.
Honestly.
But after the wigging and the requisite blood-letting, she’d hoped that things could be different. That since she was special now, she might actually fit in. That just for once, Buffy would look at her and she’d feel like she belonged. Turned out that membership to the Scoobies was open to Slayers, witches, vampires, ex-demons, and carpenters, but NOT to million-year-old mystical keys. So, she’d been dragged along on the outskirts of the Scooby machinery – the key protected, the girl ignored.
And then when Mom got sick and then when she… well…
It was all about Buffy: how sad for Buffy; poor Buffy; we wish there was something we could do, Buffy;
Buffy
Buffy
BUFFY…
And so she faded into the background. Not that they’d let her more than a foot away from one of them (as if it would do any good for them to be there with her when a freaking GOD decided it was time to go home and came and whisked her away, swatting at Buffy like a blonde mosquito… or would that be mosquito Slayer?). Either way, it wasn’t as if the Scoobies were going to make a damn bit of difference anyhow and, if they’d let her out of their sight, at least she could pretend she was alone by choice.
But then, on the tower, when she was ready for it all to end, when she’d decided that maybe she shouldn’t have ever existed, that it might be better for everyone involved if the key did its job and slipped into a memory, a vague impression of a girl that once existed… Then, Buffy looked at her.
And moments later… she was gone.
* * *
She’d tried Willow first; planned it carefully – chocolate ice cream, late night movie-thon, snuggled together on the sofa – and the red head snuggled back, overindulgent in that funny way she had, but when she’d tentatively reached for the older girl’s breast, the smile disappeared and she was placated and petted like a good little girl then left alone... wanting… needing…
With Tara, the opportunity came sooner than she’d hoped. Sitting on the back steps where… she’d always come to hide – because Slayers weren’t supposed to cry, naturally – she’d let the blonde hold her and kiss her hair and it felt so, so very nice, so she’d tipped her head up, trembling with emotion and offering her tear-soaked lips, but all she got was another hug and a mumbled apology, and someone else left her wanting…
Anya was… scary… besides, she was too busy wringing orgasms out of Xander to even notice Dawn existed. Xander… well, Xander would likely run screaming at the thought of his ‘little s!ster’ kissing him. Giles was just… old. And Spike… well, Spike would probably give in – if only to shut her up – but while she was sure he’d be a really good kisser, the thought of that thing in his pants made her shudder, and not in a good way.
She’d tried everything to be seen, but if anything, it was worse than before… There really was only one option…
* * *
It had taken some work, but she’d made it LA. Xander had driven her, with Anya of course, and they’d squabbled the entire time – about Xander’s choice in music, about that dump Xander lived in, about how the hot-plate wasn’t working again - Dawn could have turned into a show-tune singing Fyarl demon and they wouldn’t have noticed.
Some careful manoeuvring and some much-needed interference from Anya – who was eager to try elevator sex with her Xander-shaped dildo – and she slipped out of her dad’s apartment building and caught a bus.
Really, she’d thought of everything: calling ahead to get everything arranged, conning a fake ID out of Willow (who still felt guilty about the brush-off she’d given poor little Dawnie). She’d turned on the big blue puppy eyes and raved every day about the band that she’d just die to see and promised she wouldn’t drink or smoke or get into trouble, wouldn’t even think about it, stolen an outfit and makeup from Buffy’s room and called Dad at the last moment to say she’d be a little later than she’d expected… It was really all too easy.
The hard part came when she stepped through the door. To say Faith was surprised at the identity of her mystery conjugal would be an understatement, but it hadn’t taken the brunette long to overcome her shock and pounce.
She’d left feeling more at peace than she had in years; Faith had called her ‘bitch’ and pulled her hair, and she couldn’t remember anything feeling more wonderful.
To feel wanted…
To feel taken…
To feel had.
Hortense
- 08.07.2020
- 7
- 0
