#people are weird and do weird things and live weird lives

[reiderwriter]

🫂 Transference 🫂

Pairing: Spencer Reid x virgin!Fem Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: He saves your life, and he keeps saving it every day, but Spencer won't let you love him until you finally beg him to. Is transference really that much of an issue?

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Mentions of Case details - reader is the unsub victim, mentions of rape and attempted rape, gunshot, death, kidnapping, imprisonment, parental neglect, abandonment, loss of virginity (positive), semi-public sex, bathroom sex, fingering, penetrative sex (p in v), missionary, praise kink (good girl), moaning kink (?), safe sex, slight cum play/ oral, aftercare.

A/N: I wrote a virgin reader fic for kinktober that people loved a lot (thank you all!), and I had a lot of requests for something similar, so please - enjoy!

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You'd met him at the library, as if the world wanted you to forever associate the comfort you found in between the pages of a worn book with the man that tried to end your life. At first, you'd thought it a coincidence, then he'd flashed a smile at you, and you'd believed it to be fate, drawn in by the charm he wore as a disguise. 

Your first date was sweet, flowers and dinner. Your second date was sweeter, and they kept on that way. Sugar dropped into your ears until you were floating on cloud nine, right as he turned his charm off. 

“Really?” He started one day, his tone accusing from the get-go. 

“What?” 

“You're really going to eye fuck that man in front of me?” His voice was loud enough to catch notice in the small café you'd joined him in for the morning, and all the life drained out of your face. 

“I'm not- what?”

“No, forget it,” he chuffed, taking another sip of his drink and turning away from you. 

You noticed it more and more from then on, how he would accuse you of small things like looking at other men, like you had the choice to ignore them when they were shop clerks, bus drivers and just fucking people living their lives. 

Your friends were even weirded out when you joked with them about it, telling them all about your silly boyfriend who ripped a poster off your wall because it had some actor or singer or something on it. It wasn't even that important to you, but as you laughed, you were greeted with silence, with sideways glances and concerning questions. 

It was all starting to crumble, and there was nothing you could do to stop it but cling on. 

The next thing was his pushiness. You'd been up front with him at the beginning of the relationship that you were a virgin, something that he was more than happy about. 

He'd said it was because he was a man of God, and he understood your commitment, which confused you as you weren't a virgin for religious reasons. But you brushed it off as everything else about him was so… gentlemanly? 

Until he started pushing his hands up your thighs when he kissed you. He tried multiple times to push his fingers into your underwear as you tried to pull back, each time apologizing immediately when you displayed more panicked displeasure. 

“I'm sorry, something must have… The devil got to me for a second there, Y/N, but I won't let him win.” He kissed the top of your head, and he walked you to your door before giving you another chaste kiss and leaving. 

They found the first body the next morning.

She was young, maybe 16 or 17. Beaten, raped, mutilated, and asphyxiated. They said he'd kept raping her body long after she'd taken her last breath. It took them two weeks to notify her parents because of the way he'd left her. 

You'd watched the news report the same week with your boyfriend, shocked and horrified at the news and cuddling closer to him for comfort. 

Each step you came closer to him, each time you allowed him to touch you, he took it as a sign of his ownership, his claim on you. Not a single other person could get in between him and his prize. Each time you rejected him, he killed another girl. 

By body five, they'd called in the BAU. 

“Did you hear they're bringing in the FBI to solve that Cathy Renaud case? It's all over the news. Apparently, the team is super special.” 

You'd brought up the words while cooking him breakfast. He didn't live with you, but any good girlfriend would feed their man, so he woke you up every day on his way to work to let you prepare him something. 

His whole attention was on his phone, though, as he nodded through your conversation, grunting and moaning at each word. 

It was only when you brought him his plate of pancakes that you realized that he was just as interested in the subject as you were. Because he was staring at the photos of the girl he mutilated the night before. 

You didn't want to think about everything that happened after that. After the plate fell to the floor and cracked, splintering into your foot and causing you your first injury in a long line. 

You didn't want to think about the things he showed you, the way he touched you, or at least tried to. You heaved and wretched and emptied your stomach every single time you thought about the restraints on your wrists, how he'd tried to rape you but couldn't bring himself to do it because you weren't young enough anymore. You weren't dead enough.  

Instead, every time you thought back to that week, you found yourself back at the end. You replayed the bullet lodging into his brain as a comfort, which told you more than you needed to know about your mental state. It was Spencer Reid who'd shot him. He'd been quick enough to realize that the man would never have been talked down, and he'd fired the shot as a mercy to you. He may have killed your boyfriend, putting him down like he was a sick animal, but you were the one put out of your misery. 

He didn't stop to watch the body hit the floor before falling to your side, the other agents clearing the room and checking the corpse. He'd helped you to your feet, drawn an arm around your waist and pushed your head into his chest so you didn't have to see the carnage on the way out, didn't have to deal with the camera flashes as the press scrambled for pictures of the monster's willing victim. 

“One step at a time, this isn't your fault. Just stick with me,” he said, moving you from the house to a waiting van as you clasped his vest desperately, needing the lifeline he'd thrown you. 

“Ma'am, ma'am. I'm a paramedic, I won't hurt you, I just need to take your vitals, make sure you're okay.” 

The voice was vague and in the distance, and you were so sure it wasn't directed at you that you simply let yourself wrap around the man who'd saved you when you got to the ambulance. Nothing else was around but his chest, his hand on your back, your legs wrapped around him as they finally gave out. 

“Ma'am… Please, you're injured-” 

“Y/N,” he spoke finally, and you grabbed him tighter, nails digging into the skin at his neck. 

“You're Y/N, right? We've been looking for you for a long time. I'm not going anywhere, I won't let anyone hurt you.” 

The words were enough to reassure you, pulling back slightly as the paramedics began working on you, but not enough for you to embrace their touch. You clambered away from the paramedic the moment you saw he was a man, close in build and coloring to the corpse in the building behind you. 

You screamed, you cried, you pounded at the doors as Spencer held to you him, letting the paramedics sedate you, rocking you to sleep on the step of the emergency vehicle.

He was by your bedside every time you woke up, too. It was funny seeing him there when you still didn't know his name. Your parents hadn't visited, too ashamed to be associated with the entire thing to even check in on you. 

He had himself assigned your emergency contact after six days of your parents not showing up. In all that time, he'd sat patiently by your side as you wailed and raged and went numb, and the cycle repeated itself in perpetuity. 

He was there, too, with a bag of clothes and a fresh start waiting for you when you were ready to be discharged. 

His team had since moved on to another criminal of the week, putting the lives lost behind them as they traipsed through more cases and corpses and killers. He was still there, though. Somehow. 

You were old enough to be able to discharge yourself from a hospital, old enough to not need a guardian to take care of you. Spencer stayed anyway, and you didn't bother asking why. 

“I don't want to leave the hospital,” you said, climbing back into the bed you'd forced yourself into for the last week. The same bed where the nurse had ran your rape kit even after you'd told her he'd never touched you like that, after you'd explained and denied and shouted to high hell that no-one had touched you like that and she sure as hell wasn't going to be the first. 

Spencer had put a stop to the traumatic experience when he'd returned with your coffee, always picking up something for you when he went out. 

The nurse had gripped and moaned and murmured an apology, and you knew you'd not been an easy patient, but you couldn't bring yourself to feel bad about it. 

That didn't mean you wanted to leave yet, though. 

“I can't leave, I have nowhere to live.”

“Y/N, you can't stay here forever.”

“Spencer, I can't go home. My apartment is a crime scene, I almost died there, and there are reporters posted there 247 waiting for me to come back. They think I'm evil, they-” 

“They think you're a victim,” he said calmly but firmly, cutting you off before you could spiral again. “Which you are. And you'll be a victim forever if you don't get out of that hospital bed and start moving on.” 

He dumped a bag on your bed, a bag you recognised as one of your own overnight bags from your apartment. He looked at you again, the question in his silence. 

Are you going to keep being his victim?

You huffed as you got out of your bed, throwing off the covers and standing in front of him. He didn't budge. 

“Well?” You asked, looking at him as he stood still, not moving even an inch. 

“Well, what?” He replied, eyebrows knitting. 

Instead of replying, you rolled your eyes and reached behind you to the ties in your hospital gown, opening it until you could pull it off your body before pulling out the clothes he'd left in the bag. 

You didn't glance at him again until you were fully naked, readying your underwear so you could pull it on. When you turned back to him, his gaze knocked the wind out of you. 

You'd stopped feeling like a woman the minute he'd carried out of that room. You were a child, a fragile doll, a specimen to be studied. For some of the nurses, you were an infection they could catch. 

Spencer Reid, against his better judgment, was looking at you like you were a woman. Like you were the object of his every desire. 

“S-Spencer…” you said suddenly feeling the shame and embarrassment of being naked suddenly in front of another person. You pulled the sweatshirt he'd packed you over your torso, covering all of your intimate areas as you stammered out your apology. 

“I- shit, I'm sorry-”

“I'll wait - I’ll wait outside. If you need anything you can… you can do whatever.” He said, dragging his eyes off of your body and letting them fall anywhere that you weren't. His eyes darted from the floor to the wall, to the air next to your head and finally to the door where he took himself out. 

You dressed in a hurry and followed him. 

“Spencer? Spencer, I'm ready,” you said, running down the hall to him and grabbing his arm, holding it for support and comfort, but mostly just to be close. 

Since waking up from that first sedation of many in those first few days, you hadn't been more than a few hours without having him hold you. 

His team had sent many warning looks watching you wrapped around him like a scared child, hiding behind him like a small, shaking dog. You hadn't seen a problem in it, truly clinging to him like a lifeline. 

After whatever the hell had just happened in your hospital room, though? Now you felt each solid ridge of him. You hadn't felt like a woman, sure  but you equally hadn't acknowledged Spencer as a man until then. A very attractive man. 

The stubble on his jaw only made it sharper. His gentle, curving eyes, cut at the corners by the start of laugh lines, his mouth straight and… and kissable. For the first time in months, definitely for the first time since you'd met your monster, maybe even for the first time ever, desire heated the depths of your stomach. 

Your breath hitched, and you held him tighter as he led you out of the ward and ushered you into your new life. 

“We're not going to your apartment. Your landlord released you from the lease for…obvious reasons after some persuading. Your parents-” 

“My parents?” You asked in disgusting, halting in the hall. For the first time since you'd left the room, he had to turn and look you in the eyes. He'd done his best to dampen the desire, but some part of you still recognised it, even as your logical brain fought to be heard. 

“Your parents agreed to fund three months in a new apartment. After which time, you will have a job and some stability, so you'll be able to pay for it yourself.”

You tried to argue and tried to talk back, but your tongue was thick. 

A new apartment. Living alone, being alone, for any amount of time, felt daunting. 

But Spencer took one more step towards the door and then another, and you had no choice but to walk with him, hand slipping down and grasping his like it was your lifeline. 

The drive to whatever new apartment your parents had leased for you was silent, and the storms in your head grew until they'd taken up so much space they erupted forth, darkening the actual skies. A crash of thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance just as he pulled into the building. Luckily for you, there was underground parking, so you didn't even need to contemplate letting the lightning hit you. 

There was one space left, and Spencer pulled his car in, flipping the engine off and getting out without another word. 

He led you up the stairs, then he led you to your floor, then he led you to your door and handed you the keys. 

You felt cold as you opened the doors, knowing you were about to confront items of boxes that had watched you be burned, cut, slapped, beaten.

There were no boxes behind the door. Everything had, to your shock, been unboxed and staged already. 

You recognised magnets on the fridge, stuffed animals on the bed when you made your way to your bedroom. Your toiletries were neatly tidied into your medicine cabinet, hell, even your bookshelves had your own dog-eared copies of books well past their prime. 

You had every comfort and joy without having to push yourself through the pain of thinking about where these items had last been kept. 

There were new things too. The couch was definitely second-hand, but it wasn't the one you'd brought at Goodwill the week after your college graduation. That one was stained red, no doubt, somewhere in a tip. There was bedding and sheets and blankets and plates and forks and knives - a whole household of items that someone had chosen. 

You turned back to Spencer and cried. You buried your face in his chest and wrapped yourself around him again as he held you. 

And then, realizing he'd been the one to orchestrate this, if not the one who had arranged everything himself, you pushed up on the balls of your feet, and you kissed him. 

For the few seconds it lasted, it was brilliance. The pressure on your lips after a second had your heart singing as he kissed you back, your hands balling into his shirt as you stepped closer and closer, needing to be wrapped around him, buried in safety and warmth. 

He pulled back and stepped out of your reach too quickly, the back of his hand reaching up to his mouth as if checking that it was still there, that he'd actually just been kissing you back. 

“Y/N, you don't…we can't do that.” 

“Do what?” You said, creeping forward, needing to feel him beside you again. 

“You're not… you don't feel about me the way you think you feel about me,” he said, pushing your hair behind your ear as you wrapped your arms around his waist again. 

“How do I feel?” 

“Grateful. Y/N, this is gratitude. I saved you, and so you think you are in love with me. It's called transference, and you will deeply, deeply regret this one day.” 

The urgency in his tone had you flinching, even if he was trying to talk to you as softly as possible. For a moment, you'd done as he'd asked and forgotten you were a victim. It was apparently something he himself would not forget anytime soon.

You stood around awkwardly for another minute or two. 

“What…what now?” You asked, avoiding the kiss and whatever lay in that direction.

“I'll walk you through the emergency contact numbers. The apartment building is pretty old, so there's a wall phone in the kitchen, but there are some modern amenities, too. The laundry room is on the first floor, next to the porters office. I'm in apartment 23 on the second floor, and-” 

“What?” Your entire body buzzed, hearing him speak, and you almost forgot to breathe, rushing to stand straight again.

“I… I live on the floor below,” he said, almost cautiously now that you'd thrown yourself at him. “I thought you might enjoy the company.”

He gave you a weak smile and you wanted to kiss him all over again, to press your lips again and again into the soft flesh of his skin, his lips, his nose, his cheeks, his neck, his chest. 

You wanted him to hold you. You stood by the sofa and let your grip on a cushion tighten to stop from throwing yourself at him again. One rejection was enough for the day. 

Not that you stopped in the weeks to come. 

Spencer had himself relegated to office work for the first month as you rode out the waves of your grief, sticking by his side for comfort.

Your friends came and went, but they wore the stench of ‘I told you so’ and ‘I saw that coming,’ and you suffocated on it after so long. 

Every day after he returned home, you arrived at him door and threw yourself into his open arms, sitting with him for hours. Most days, you read together, ignoring that the man flipped pages three times as fast as you did. Some nights, you watched shows or movies, making your way through three companions worth of “New Who” in a week.

Each time you came, he took care of your food, ordering or cooking simple pasta dishes for you. 

He told you about the time his coworker had taught him how to make the perfect pasta, berating him for putting oil in his pasta water, and damn near drawing his weapon while he made sure he salted it. 

You laughed together and ate together, and you forgot together. 

Your life was back to normal when you got your first job interview. It's nothing spectacular, but it was enough that it would pay the bills to the apartment whose lease is a ticking bomb counting down to 0. It was a normal office, where you would be doing normal work that you had absolutely done before. 

The interview was normal, the female employee that meets you first reassuring you that the company is safe, their employees vetted and supported. 

And the company makes feminine hygiene products anyway, so they don't attract too many men, or at least none like the monster you'd known. 

All in all, the interview went well. 

It went well all the way until you reached the bus stop. You felt eyes on you, watching your movements, but you couldn't see anyone else focusing on you particularly.

You felt the stares on the bus, and the stares when you got off the bus two stops early. You felt the stares walking around the block three times to throw whatever was following you around off your track. You felt the stares as you sat outside Spencer's apartment until 6:45pm, when he came home and found you there. Your interview had been at 1pm.

“Y/N, what's wrong?” He said, immediately holding you and guiding you into the apartment. 

Your anxiety and fear had settled into self-loathing and disappointment. You let him hold you quietly, rejecting food and conversation. 

You sat quietly with him on his sofa as he held a book in one hand, stroking your hair with another as you laid on his chest. 

The emotions of the day were overwhelming, consuming the part of your brain that had started being happy again for the first time. You grew angry at the sadness for seeping back in, and in an act of rebellion, you pushed back up and kissed Spencer once more. 

His brain was slower to react this time, even if his body wasn't. 

You straddled his hips as your lips joined his, melting together in a hot embrace. He dropped his book quickly, hand resting on your hip as the one that had been stroking your hair angled your jaw up so he could set the pace. 

All your emotions were swept away in a wave of desire as you slowly rubbed against him, butt shifting as you clumsily followed your arousal past your worldly knowledge. 

You couldn't even think about what was next because your tongue was clashing with Spencer's, and your brain was short circuiting. 

The second you let out your first whimper of pleasure, he pushed you away and stood up, crossing the room to put distance between you, just as he had a month beforr. 

“Y/N, you had a bad day, but this isn't… This isn't how you should make yourself feel better.” 

“Spencer-” 

“I told you about transference before, Y/N, you need to listen to me. I'm not… I'm not the one for you.” His voice shook as he ran his hands through his hair in stress, body tense in a way that informed you he was holding himself back. 

“Transference. Transference…” You sat upright on his couch and let all the logic rush back into your brain at once. 

“Y/N?” He asked, voice shaking as he watched you zone out of the conversation, almost afraid that he'd damaged you again. 

“Is there… Is there something wrong with transference?” You asked, voice impossibly calm as you still stared straight forward. 

He moved towards you again and knelt at the floor in front of you, clutching your hands in his. 

“Y/N, you don't really want me like that, you don't, you can't-”

“Love you?” You asked, your voice finally breaking, eyes finally meeting his.

It was as if you knocked the wind out of him. He sat there completely dumbstruck. 

“It might not be love, okay, I'll admit that. But you're… you're strong and smart, and you take care of me. And you're attractive, and you make me happy, which is something I didn't think I'd ever be again-” 

“Y/N, something happened to you today, and you threw yourself at me. You threw yourself at me when you moved into your apartment. You felt stressed, and you reacted, Y/N. You don't love me.”

You sat calmly listening to his words again, your body still aching for his touch, your heart still pounding in your chest. 

“Okay. Okay. So if I do…this when I'm not feeling vulnerable, then what? Then you'll believe me?” 

“Y/N…” he sighed in defeat, hand again raking through his hair. 

You grabbed your things and stood up off the couch, bending to press another kiss to his lips before you parted. 

He was shocked silent, but that didn't stop him from chasing your lips as you rose, rising to his knees and then his feet as you walked away from him.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer. Get some sleep,” you said, letting yourself out or the apartment and carrying yourself, heavy and dejected, upstairs. 

If Spencer was anticipating seeing you again the next morning, he wasn't anticipating seeing you in his office.

“Spencer,” you called out as you walked into the bullpen, clipping your visitors badge into place again, making sure it wasn't crooked.

Immediately, he stood from his desk and rose to meet you, ignoring the looks from his coworkers as his hands landed on your arms, immediately checking on you. 

“Y/N, what are you doing here?” He whispered, checking for tears, or injuries, or something to show him your motive for seeking him out. 

You just smiled at him, brushing a hair behind your ear when you saw him hesitate making that same gesture. 

“I was summoned. They need my statement to corroborate your weapon discharge paperwork, and Agent Hotchner called earlier.” 

His hands dropped as he breathed a steady sigh of relief, trying to make his reaction smaller than he knew it was. He was afraid something had happened to you again, and he was so caught up in his relief, that he didn't notice you moving closer until your lips were on his cheek and you were waving him off as you ascended the stairs to Hotch's office with your escort. 

“Spencer,” Morgan's voice called from behind him, and he turned hesitantly. 

“What was that?” 

He felt the eyes on him, and he pushed all thoughts of you to the side in place of total rationality. 

“I explained transference to her but… she doesn't seem to - she doesn't care.” 

“Spencer the last time I saw that girl, she was practically the walking dead. She just smiled.” Morgan said, shaking his head. But Spencer was watching you, and not his friend, and really, he wasn't even listening.

“Spencer? Spencer?” Morgan said again, rising to get in the man's face some more until he finally looked at him again. 

“She thinks she's in love with me.” 

“How do you know she isn't?” 

You kept working on him, little by little, day by day, until Spencer's field work started again. 

A little part of you was sad that he wouldn't always be around every day anymore. But you'd got that job and got over yourself as you started going out more. You made friends at your office, and you went out and laughed and joked with old college roommates. You felt like a human being again, and to no one's surprise, you still wanted Spencer Reid. 

He left every Monday on a case, and by the time Wednesday rolled around, you missed him. Going out to drinks with some coworkers after clocking off certainly didn't sate your appetite for him. 

“Spencer,” you said, breathily into the phone when he picked up, throwing yourself onto your bed. 

“Y/N, what happened? Is everything alright? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, Spencer, I just-” you hiccupped and giggled before continuing. “I just missed you so much.” 

The silence on the line was suddenly so funny to you, and you giggled again. Feeling hot, you stripped down to your underwear and started talking again. 

“I miss cuddling up to you and crawling all over you. You're really soft, you know?” You sighed, hands trailing up and down your stomach lightly. 

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone. 

“I miss your face. I'm switching to video call,” you announced and fumbled with your phone. 

“No, Y/N, wait-” he said, but pulling the phone away from his ears, he realized his protests were too late to matter as he took in your half-naked form. 

Though your face took up the majority of the view on the camera, he could see the soft trim of your lace bra poking into the camera, and the generous push of cleavage your angle facilitated to boot. 

Checking around him for people looking, he tucked himself into a corner and scowled back at you. 

“Y/N, this isn't a game. Turn the call off and go to bed.” 

“But I miss you,” you whined. 

“Y/N,” he hissed, eyes falling to your hands where you'd begun massaging your heavy breasts. 

“When are you coming home?” You asked, whining again like a petulant child as the alcohol flushed through your system, bringing all of your desires to the forefront. 

“Soon,” he said, not trusting himself to say more than a word. 

“Good. Because I miss you. Spencer, I- I think I want to have sex with you.” 

His eyes shut as he tried to remain calm even as your words rang in his ears from 1000 miles away.

“We'll talk soon, Y/N. Good night,” he closed, finally hanging up and covering his face in his hands. He made his way quickly to his motel room, threw his phone down on his bed, and ignored as best he could his throbbing cock in his pants and the three pictures you'd sent him since he hung up. 

He didn't resist for long. 

Three nights later, you found yourself at a bar, living life to the fullest. You'd taken back to society like a swan to water, and you weren't letting the stern words of Spencer Reid keep you down. Knocking back another shot, you smiled and cheered with your friends until you felt the eyes on you again. It was different this time, though, hotter, and closer. You turned to look at the door and saw Spencer Reid and the other people who'd saved your life walking to a booth. It was Spencer's eyes on you. 

You definitely did not believe in a higher power - how could you, after all - but you did believe that this was fate. 

You blew him a kiss as he watched you walk back to your table with another cocktail in hand, letting a man who'd been trying to flirt with you earlier follow you to your friends. 

When you went for your next drink, you found him at your side in a heartbeat. 

“I'm not checking up on you,” he said, even though he was. “I'm ordering a drink.” 

“Two drinks,” you said, shooting him a flirty smile as you pressed yourself against him again, chest to chest. 

“You're ordering two drinks, Spencer,” you whispered into his ears as his head dropped down to within an inch of your own. The air felt changed, but you refused to move to close the gap. You'd put in the work the last few times. You needed Spencer to be the one to take the chance this time. 

He ordered your drinks, and still you didn't move apart, huddled together as if you were whispering conspiracies to one another. 

When your drink was firmly in your hand, he grabbed your wrist and led you to a dark corner of the bar. You sipped your drink quickly, managing two swigs before he took it and placed both drinks down - right beside Penelope Garcia - and dragged you out into the hall. 

The bathrooms were empty when he pushed you inside, and your heart throbbed as his hands pushed you into a stall, lifted your legs to wrap around him, and then his lips finally crashed into yours. 

Transference or whatever else it was supposed to be, you didn't give one shit in that moment as his tongue coaxed your lips apart.

His hands didn't stay in place for long as he dragged them up and down your body, exploring every part he'd memorized from the pictures. Every curve or inch he'd previously held tenderly, gently, he now raked over with the hunger of arousal, pushing your short skirt up until it was past your hips and his fingers could sink into you instead. 

You were soaked before he even had one digit inside you, his thumb rubbing roughly against your clit as you turned to jelly in his hands. 

You'd masturbated before, sure, you were a grown woman. But the feeling of someone else's hands, someone else's hest, the knowledge that someone else desired you so badly that they'd drag you into a bar bathroom just to sate their lust? That was new, and it was exciting. 

His lips covered yours as your legs shook, silencing every moan, every whimper with his tongue. It was wild, messy, your tongues clashing wildly and messily as your hips rocked violently, trying to reach that high, but also trying to make this last past his fingers. 

It wasn't to be though as you shuddered around his three digits, your orgasm ripping through you silently, leaving you wide-eyed and wide mouthed. 

“We're done,” he said, gently kissing your cheek as be stood you up, letting you stretch out the soreness in your muscles. 

“For now?” 

“Forever, Y/N. This was a mistake.”

Your heart hit the ground, and he stomped on it, but the anger filling your gut pushed up and out before he could completely bow out. 

“No,” you ground out through gritted teeth. 

“Y/N, you aren't in love with me. You feel grateful that I saved you, you feel attracted to me because I'm older and you think I can protect you, and a little part of it is that you've always been attracted to men who are dangerous. You're not in love with me, so-” 

“You sound like him.”

Shocked, he paused, and his grip on your hips tightened until his nails were biting into your skin. 

“What?” 

“You're telling me how to feel, you're telling me what to do. You sound like him.” 

“Y/N, that is unfair-” 

“Unfair is denying that I'd know how I'm fucking feeling to let you wallow in self sacrifice, Spencer. Unfair is playing the martyr when we can both see that you want this as fucking badly as I do.” 

You didn't give him a second longer to react, but grabbed him by the wrist and, making sure your skirt was once again in place, pulled him back out of the bathroom and into the club. 

Stopping by Penelope, you put his drink in his hand and grabbed yours, downing it quickly. He followed your actions, taking a sip until you were done and slamming your drink back on the table. 

Then you kept him moving, pushing doors open, hailing a cab, and climbing in with him hot on your heels.

You kept your grip on him tight until you'd marched him to his apartment. Releasing him, you flattened your back against his door, letting him slowly unlock the door as you spoke to him again finally.

“Do it, Spencer. Be my first.” 

It was like he was a different man walking over that threshold. His hand were on your face, his tongue again fighting yours as you stumbled back into the apartment, crashing into the wall, then the coffee table, and then the couch. 

You cursed in anger hitting his closed bedroom door and pushed him away to open it yourself, but his arms wrapped around you from the back and he sucked bruises against your neck as his hands grabbed your breasts and squeezed them.

His cock was rigid in his pants, and your body ached for the unknown, the soon to come pleasure that he was to deliver. 

He pushed you down onto the bed quickly, and you rolled yourself over, pulling your own dress off as quickly as possible. 

“That's my job,” he moaned, meeting your lips again as his hands fell to your underwear once again. 

“You have a long to-do list, Spencer, I'm just helping,” you smirked as he kissed you again, your hands shakily working down each button of his shirt as you acted to tear it off of him. 

“We have all night,” he replied, fingers once again rubbing at your bundle of nerves, hips pushing up and into his hands. 

“No, Spencer. No, we don't. I need you now.” 

His mouth covered yours again as you finally, finally got his shirt off, letting him throw it to the floor as you started working on his belt. Your legs spread as he inched closer, sitting between your thighs comfortably as he waited with bated breath for you to finally touch his cock.  

You knew what dicks looked like, you knew what they were supposed to feel like, but you never realised you'd want to touch one so fucking badly until his sprung from his pants. 

He took your hand and spit in it before you wrapped your fingers around him and felt the heat of his cock pulsing against you. 

He was big, long more than girthy, and you wondered how thousands of years of women had managed to survive coupling if this was the weapon meant to numb them into horny submission. 

One stroke, and you were a mess, his fingers hooking into you as you flicked your wrist up and down. 

You watched his precum rise and swiped it up in one finger, tasting it as he groaned and started thrusting up, fucking your hand as he scissored his fingers inside of you. 

He stretched you out, readying you for his thick cock, and you gladly sat there, letting him use you and ready you all at once. 

When you were ready, he wrapped his arms around you again, lifting you onto the bed properly and laying you down softly in the sheets. Kneeling to roll on the condom he'd grabbed from his bedside table, you watched in curiosity as you tried to memorize every movement, every second of him sinking into you. 

The tears in your eyes were emotion just as much as pain, your heart hammering in your ears as he whispered praise into your ear, dropping confessions like bombs. 

“You're taking me so well, Y/N, that's good…” he moaned, pushing in one inch. 

“That's it, Y/N, just a little more. I love you, you can do it,” he said, sinking in two more. 

“You feel so good, Y/N, made just for me,” he said as he finally hit your limit. 

You knew the stretch wasn't the end, and he rested there for a second, letting you get used to him before you lost patience with him. 

“Spencer just, just push through,” you grit out, and he did, snapping his hips up just that.inch or two more and sending that spark of pain through you. 

In an instant, his lips were on yours, his fingers on your clit, flooding your nerves with pleasure as all you could think of was the pain. 

But when the pain faded, there was still him, and his cock neatly sheathed inside of you. 

His hips moved languidly at first, his entire body weight pushing down on you, lazily twisting and writhing as of this were just one of your cuddles on the couch. 

You whimpered, and he moved faster, and you learnt quickly that your noises and sighs to him were what his praise was to you - motivation.

You moaned, and he picked up his pace, moving faster as you whimpered a lustful ‘yes’ into his ear. 

“Good girl, good girl, Y/N, that's it. Good girl,” he repeated, unable to say more as you whimpered and cried under him, speech lost as he split you in half with his dick.

You grew louder, and his cock buried itself deeper, your moans dragged on longer and he picked up speed. 

He whispered that you were his perfect little slut, and you jolted in his arms, cumming on his cock and screaming his name. 

He kept pumping into you, careful to make sure the condom stayed in place as he finally bottomed out and let pleasure roll through him again.

Coming down from his high, your tongue pushed into his mouth, and you rolled him over, sitting yp on his dick as he watched. 

You rose off his cock, letting him stare in wonder as your own arousal dripped off of your skin, his cock coated in arousal, and spit from his fingers and, yes, a little bit of blood. 

You crawled back and peeled off the condom, tying It quickly and discarding it before you tasted his cum quickly. 

It was just a soft lick, but it had him declaring his love for you again, and you decided that there were very few things you wouldn't do to hear those words. 

As delightful as your lips felt, though, he quickly bundled you up and forced you to the bathroom, turning on the taps in the bath and placing you on the toilet before leaving. 

Even now, after everything, he was still taking care of you. Maybe especially now. 

You finished, and he came back. More stolen kisses and moans and a bath that turned into more later, and you found yourself bundled into his spare clothes and wrapped in his arms on his couch again. 

He clicked play on another episode of Doctor Who (you'd finally reached Donna, and he was excitedly introducing you to the new character), and you finally looked up at him again.

“I love you,” you said again, loudly this time, with no fear. 

Though his training told him the response he should give, Spencer just looked down at you again and gave in to his heart. 

“I love you, too.” 

You fell asleep quickly after that, head resting over his heart, the sound of the steady beats lulling you to sleep. 

#cmkinkbingo2024 #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reiderslibrary #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fandom #cm writing challenge #spencer reid cm #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #dr spencer reid

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if i talked to the school councelor because i suspect one of my friends is autistic? 👁️

(note: asshole is probably a strong word - what i’m mostly asking is if it would be a good idea)

I (17) have a friend (17) we’ll call Alex. I’ve been friends with Alex since we were in first grade, because our parents knew eachother. We kind of grew up together. Our entire lives, they’ve always been “weird,” they’ve never picked up on social cues well, they’re obsessed with chickens and know an absurd amount about them, they describe themself as a “creature of habit,” they struggle to understand when people are joking vs serious, and they are really bad at spelling, just to name off the top of my head. Now, any of these thing in a vacuum wouldn’t warrant anything necessarily, but all together i’m pretty certain they have undiagnosed autism.

Some added context, im not autistic myself, but i do have ADHD and i have an interest in psychology and how the brain works. In doing my own research to see if i was autistic, i noticed a lot of similarities between what i was reading and how i’ve known Alex as a friend my whole life. I’ve had the idea of them maybe being autistic rolling in the back of my head for like, two years now? But haven’t ever said anything about it, because i was afraid I was wrong or overthinking.

Now, here’s why i’m worried about bringing it up to anyone. Their parents are very… “nuclear family” ish. they’re very catholic, and have six kids with a seventh on the way (we live in the suburbs) and a part of me feels they don’t believe in mental health/illnesses/disorders or anything like that. They’re also transphobic, but you didn’t hear that from me. I just fear that telling a counselor would spread the info to parents who either wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t care, or would try and “cure” it. Alex already isn’t doing well mentally (they’ve talked about feeling textbook dysphoria and are in denial about it - i think they’re a transmasc egg) and i really don’t want to bring it up if it will cause problems.

BUT. I talked to my mom about all of this (we’re very close and i knew she wouldn’t make a big deal out of it) and she recommended talking to the school counselor, and im just wondering if it’s a good idea. In the best case scenario, the counselor would work to get them a diagnosis and HOPEFULLY a therapist (oh my god do they need a therapist), but in the worst case? in the awful world for autistic people we live in? i just don’t know if it’s wise. So here i am turning to tumblr, the most neurodivergent site around. WIBTA if i talked to the counselor about my friend who i heavily suspect is autistic?

#aita #am i the asshole

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Twelve

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: Ducky and Jake tiptoe around each other; Bob attends Ducky's 20 week scan

WC: 1.3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The apartment was empty when you returned. Just a note on the counter. 

Staying at Bradshaw’s for the night

– J

You sighed and put your purse down. It was what you had wanted. So why didn’t it feel good to win? 

***

Jake spent half of the night pacing Bradley’s house, a small bungalow near the beach. At around three in the morning, Bradley emerged in a pair of boxers and no shirt, rubbing his eyes. “Hangman?” 

Jake turned, bags starting to form under his eyes. 

“You OK man?” Bradley asked, standing in the doorway to the living room. 

Jake shook his head. “Yeah, sorry, didn’t realize I was being loud.” 

Bradley sagged against the wood frame. “It’s Y/N isn’t it?” 

He nodded. “Always.” 

“When are you gonna admit you’re into her?” 

Jake stopped dead in his tracks. “What?” 

“We all talk about it all the time,” Bradley said, crossing his arms. “You like her. She liked you enough to sleep with you. And now here you are kissing random girls in the bar and she’s running off crying.” 

“She cried?” 

“No, she peed on the sand, but same thing.” 

Jake frowned. “What? How is that the same?” 

“It just is, OK.” Bradley shook his head. 

Jake squinted. “You guys don’t actually talk about us, do you?” 

“Come on,” Bradley said. “I know you’re more self absorbed than that.” 

“She doesn’t want me,” he said quietly. “She told me to go out and see other people.” Jake paused. “She said she would, too, if it didn’t look so weird, with the baby and all.” 

Bradley rolled his eyes and turned to go. “You two are so fucking stupid, I swear.” 

***

Bob picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” 

“Bobby,” you said into the phone. “Will you come to my appointment with me today?” 

“I, uh, what time is it at?” 

“Four.” 

“OK, yeah, I can do that. Pick you up at 3:30 from work?” 

“Yes, please.” 

There was a moment of silence where you both knew what the other was thinking. He wanted to know why you had asked him. You didn’t want him to tell Jake. 

“See you soon, Duck,” he said, hanging up the phone and you let out a sigh of relief. 

That afternoon, you sat in a paper gown on the medical table as Bob sat in the chair near the door, bouncing his leg in his green flight suit. “You smell like gasoline,” you complained. “It’s making me want to throw up.” 

“I didn’t have time to change,” he replied, leg still bouncing. 

“Stop jiggling, you’re making me nauseous.” 

“Will you stop complaining when the baby comes?” 

“No, it’ll just be a new set of complaints.” 

“Lucky me.” 

There was a knock and then the door opened. “Y/N? How are you?” 

“Doing OK,” you replied, shifting your weight from one hip. “This is my brother, Bob.” 

“Ma’am,” he said, standing up and holding out a hand. She took it and smiled. 

“Dr. Whitman. Nice to meet you.” She walked over to the sink and washed her hands before pulling on a pair of gloves. “So, twenty weeks. Halfway there.” 

“Thank God,” you muttered. 

The doctor laughed. “Any trouble sleeping or heartburn or indigestion.” 

“Whatever you name, I’ve got it.” 

She smiled. “Well, I can give you a prescription for some heartburn medication. If you want to just pull your shirt up, we can take a look to see how baby is doing.” 

You inched the edge of your paper dress up, the roundness of your stomach shocking every time you caught a glimpse. The jelly was cold, as always, and you found yourself holding your breath as she moved the wand around until you heard it. 

The steady beat of your baby’s heart. 

“Strong heartbeat,” the doctor said. “Baby is about seven inches.” She turned to you. “Do you want to know the gender?” 

You looked over at Bob, who had climbed out of his seat and was standing next to the table, one of his hands on your shoulder. “Bobby?” 

“I’m here.” 

You sucked in a deep breath. “Yes, I’d like to know.” 

“It’s a girl.” 

You closed your eyes. It was overwhelming. You couldn’t put into words how you felt. 

And then you felt a tear fall on your shoulder. But it wasn’t yours. When you opened your eyes, Bob was crying. 

He pressed his lips to your temple, arms wrapped around your shoulders. “A girl,” he whispered, tears and laughter caught in his throat all at once. 

You placed your hands on either side of your belly button and closed your eyes. 

***

When you got home, you taped the sonogram to the fridge. Jake had returned from Bradley’s, but the two of you had been frosty. A simple hello or excuse me as you passed each other in the living room. It was like living with a complete stranger. 

You didn’t want to freeze him out. But whenever you went to talk to him, the image of him with the girl in the bar came to mind and you felt bile rising in your throat. There was a part of you, somewhere buried, that wanted Jake Seresin for yourself. 

For your daughter. 

At twenty weeks, you already had trouble sleeping. After an hour of tossing and turning, you got up and eased open the door, rubbing your eyes as you headed for the kitchen in a skimpy nightgown. 

As you rounded the corner into the kitchen, Jake stood facing the fridge, completely still. He barely moved when you entered, stopping short the minute you saw him. 

“Oh.” It fell out of your mouth before you could even stop it. 

Jake turned, slowly. There were bags beneath his eyes. His normally golden skin looked sallow. His hair, always so perfectly tousled, had lost some of its luster. “When was the appointment?” he asked. 

“Yesterday.” 

“You didn’t want me there.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. There was pain laced in every word. 

“I didn’t think you’d want to be there.” 

Jake’s face hardened. You watched in real time. The way his green eyes went dark and the hands at his sides flexed into fists. “Don’t you understand, Y/N, that it my child you’re carrying. Mine. Of course I wanted to be there. But you wouldn’t let me. Because you’re punishing me.” 

“I’m not punishing you.” 

“Yes you are!” It came out as a roar. You stepped back, one hand over your stomach. Jake’s eyes dropped to your hand. “I’m sorry.” It was a plea. Soft and gravely and depressed. “I fucked up, OK. This is so fucked up.” 

“My next appointment is in a month,” you replied softly. “Do you want to come with?” 

Jake lifted his eyes to yours. “Yes.” 

“OK,” you replied. “Can I?” You motioned to the fridge and Jake nodded, stepping aside as you grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the door filter. 

“Goodnight,” Jake said, backing out of the kitchen as you closed the fridge door, the slice of light growing thinner and thinner until it disappeared and the two of you were bathed in darkness, just the diagonal strip of moonlight shining from the window above the sink. 

“Jake?” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “It’s a girl.” 

Please follow my library page @ereardonlibrary as that will largely serve as my tag list. Anyone I previous promised to tag is here:

@blue-aconite @withahappyrefrain @wkndwlff @mamachasesmayhem @djs8891 @clancycucumber230 @gigisimsonmars @xomrsalliej4787xo @myfaveficrecs @mycobrakai1972 @sio-ina-bottle @joaquinwhorres @justanothermagicalsara @je-suis-prest-rachel @shanimallina87

@rosiahills22 @buckysteveloki-me  @kmc1989 @eloquentdreamer @mjisbby @seresinslady @seresinhangmanjake @blackwidownat2814 @bbyvanessaa  @mrsjobarnes @midnightmagpiemama @ingoaliesitrust @rockbottomphilosophies-blog @iangiemae @boiolay @sometimesanalice @na-ta-sh-aa @bobfloydsbabe @kmc1989 @rosiahills22 @palepeanutponyshoe @onceupona-happilyeverafter-love @mel119g @daggerspare-standingby @grxcisxhy-wp @mrsjobarnes @csmt-m @rockbottompunk-blog @joaquinwhorres @xoxabs88xox @spinning-away

#jake hangman fic #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin #top gun imagine #bob floyd fanfiction #jake hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #jake hangman imagine #bob floyd x female reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x y/n #bob floyd x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #pregnancy #pregnancy fic #unexpected pregnancy #sister reader #natasha phoenix trace #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #glen powell #jake seresin angst #hangman angst #lewis pullman

[queensunshinee]

Time Of Our Lives || Part 9

warnings: SMUT! 18+!, dirty talk, p in v sex, oral sex, fingering, praise.

Part 9

"What did I miss?" Liana asked as she sat down, seeing the boys exchange looks. Sometimes they spoke without words. She always envied that connection. She didn’t have anyone who could understand her with just a nod or a blink or, in this case, a stare.

"Hello, Earth to Art and Patrick?" she tried to join in, but something about the current situation didn’t feel right. "It's my turn to go inside. I need to drink some water. You two catch up, it's been a while since you’ve seen each other," Art said without looking at her, causing Liana to frown as he walked away. "That was weird, right?" she asked Patrick, who responded with a half-smile. "When is Art not weird?" he said. "How are you?" he asked, turning his gaze back to her and seeing her give the widest smile she could offer anyone. "Do you forgive me?" she asked, moving to sit next to him, placing her head on his shoulder. "What do I have to forgive you for, Amanda?" he chuckled, tracing shapes on her shoulder while taking another sip of champagne. "I was terrible. The exams made me crazy," she tried to justify her behavior over the past month. "Do you know if you're leaving yet?" he asked. "I’ll know when we get back from vacation. I’m terrified," she murmured. On one hand, Liana desperately wanted that year in Oxford. She wanted to see Europe. The architecture. The atmosphere. The culture. She wanted to see something other than the American suburb she had lived in her whole life, with the same people and the same opinions and the same tennis. On the other hand, she didn’t want to break her parents’ hearts. Her parents who had always talked about Stanford and how she’d join the family business after she finished school, and her parents who were the best people she knew but whose dreams for her flew past them as if they were never there. And now there was Art too. Art, who in the past two days had made her feel things she had never felt before. Art, who in the months at Stanford had become an inseparable part of her life. Art, who made her stomach ache at the thought of not seeing him for a year. Art, who still didn’t know she was considering leaving. "You’ll pass that test, we both know you will," Patrick said calmly. "And then you'll conquer Europe, building by building." He chuckled, but his voice faded with each word. "And we'll stay here, missing you," he said, and she straightened up, looking at him. "I’m not going to die, you know," Liana rolled her eyes, trying to lighten the conversation. "No, you're just going to meet people much better than us, and I'm enough of a bastard to be worried about that," he said honestly. "I don’t think there are many people in the world better than you, Patrick," she concluded. The next day Art left. He texted her that a spot opened up in some tennis group he could join, and he didn’t want to miss the opportunity. That he’d see her at Stanford. When Liana tried to call, he didn’t answer. So they kept missing each other throughout the vacation, she trying to call just as he was going into practice or the shower or falling asleep, and him sending messages that he was okay, just busy. On the last day of the vacation, she received a message that her exam results had come in. She had been accepted. Liana cried. Which wasn’t anything special because objectively Liana cried a lot, but this time she cried out of excitement. All the effort she put in had paid off, and now she could prepare for the student exchange. She could make her dream come true, start being a real person in the world. The conversation with her parents was horrible. There were shouts and accusations, and her mother said they wouldn’t pay for this, which Liana had suspected might happen. Her father seemed more conciliatory but didn’t say much. "Do you think Mom will be mad at me for long?" she asked him on the way to the airport. If there was one thing Liana hated, it was that it was always obvious she had been crying. Her pale face would turn red, and her eyes would swell, sometimes for days. This was one of those cases. It could be said with confidence that Liana looked like she had been run over by a bus yesterday.

"I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re proud of you. Mom will come around, don’t worry," her father hugged her as they got out of the car. "I want this so much, Dad," she sighed.

"I know, honey," he said, kissing the top of her head. He hated seeing the emotional turmoil his daughter was in. His daughter, who above all feared disappointing people. "I’ll come back to Stanford after that," she mumbled, feeling the lump in her throat take over again. "I don’t want her to hate me," she looked at him with teary eyes.

"She doesn’t hate you. Li, look at me." Her father tried to wipe her tears. "Your mother is a stubborn woman, and you’ll see that a month after you’re there, she’ll come visit you." He smiled, and she nodded, not sure she believed what he said. "Besides, you have another semester at Stanford. Make the most of it, maybe you’ll love the place as much as we did." He shrugged, seeing her take a deep breath, trying to calm down. "I love you, Dad," she hugged him again and started to walk away, hoping everything would calm down and her mother would eventually look at her like she did before she told her she was planning to leave. Art opened the door after five knocks, looking at her with a puzzled expression. "Did we have plans?" he asked. "Hey Arthur, I missed you too," she rolled her eyes and gave him a small kiss on the lips, seeing him close his eyes and deepen the kiss within seconds as he closed the door. "Hey," he smiled at her and moved her hair out of her face. "Have you been crying?" he asked after examining her. Art couldn’t stop himself from asking. It was like an instinct; seeing what he could do to make her feel better. But he was so mad at her that he didn’t really want to talk to her or know how she felt right now; after all, she didn’t care how he felt. He did want to fuck her. He wanted to feel like she was his. He was afraid he was a little addicted to the feeling of looking at her and feeling like she was entirely his. He was afraid that if she left, he wouldn’t feel that way again. He was afraid of losing.

"Did you know?" his mother asked on the phone. Her voice worried. "What?" he returned the question, panting after practice. "That Liana is planning to leave for Oxford? Did you know that?" she demanded the truth. And the truth was that he knew she was leaving. But he didn’t know where or when and he didn’t know it was official. His heart pounded faster. "Yes, I knew," he mumbled, not wanting to reveal how far he felt from Liana in reality. Not wanting to reveal how stupid he felt that of all people, Patrick knew before him. "How could you not say anything, Art, she's our Liana. How will she manage in England alone? She barely manages to find her way in the supermarket without getting lost," his mother sighed. And she was right. He knew she was right. And she wasn’t even their Liana; she was his Liana. And she was his Liana for exactly two days. What an idiot he is. "She’s a big girl. She can navigate the supermarket in England without getting lost. I have to go," he mumbled, angry at himself for still feeling the need to protect her. "Just tired from the flight," she smiled at him a tired smile and felt his lips leaving small kisses on her neck, causing her to close her eyes. "Can I help?" his voice was teasing as he took off her shirt without much resistance. Examining her for a second, as if trying to remember how she looked. "You're already helping," she smiled a genuine smile, and his lips were on her again, hungrier than she had felt him so far. "I want you so much, Li," he groaned into her mouth. His tongue intertwining with hers as if he had wandered for years in the desert and she was his source of water. "Do you want this?" he asked, as they moved to his bed and she nodded. In complete haze, at this point, she decided that Art Donaldson could do whatever he wanted with her. And it was a liberating decision. Knowing she was safe in his hands and he decided how good she could feel now. "Words, Liana," he demanded as he started taking off her jeans. She didn’t even notice she was already half-naked in front of him. "You're wearing too many clothes," she mumbled incoherently as his hand brushed over her panties. "You're already wet, Li?" his voice was amused as he took off his shirt. "Already ready for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he whispered in her ear and heard her moan, which caused him to release a groan of his own. "Do you want this?" he asked again. This time his hand applied more pressure over her panties. "Art." Her voice was desperate. "Please," she whispered, and he bit his lip. Stopping himself from all the things he wanted to do with her. "Please, what?" he asked, his mouth close to hers, teasing, barely touching. He kissed her right cheek and then her left

"Touch me. Please," she almost cried out of frustration and desperation, exactly the way he wanted her. His. His again. And he felt desperate too, so her panties came off in a flash and he gave her exactly what she wanted. He heard her moan beneath him as his fingers moved inside her rhythmically. He felt how tight she was. He tried not to imagine his dick inside her, thinking he might not last. She was a virgin. He knew that. She had told him. He was going to be the first inside her. "So good for me, Li," he murmured and smiled, never taking his eyes off her. He didn't think anyone could look better than Liana did now, beneath him, eyes closed, desperate sounds escaping her, moaning his name. He was sure the student in the room next door was jerking off to the sound of her. He was sure no one in the world could resist Liana Levy when she looked like that beneath him. He was no different from anyone else. Almost captivated. Almost helpless. Just wanting to deliver. Just wanting her to always be like that for him. His lips roamed over her body until they reached her clit, while his hand sped up.

"You take me so well, Li," he said as the room filled with the sound of her fluids and moans.

"I'm going to-" she mumbled, her voice breaking, making him look up at her. He had to see her come. He had to remember this moment.

"Come for me, Li, come on. I want to see you," he demanded in the most authoritative voice he could muster, even though he felt himself melting under her influence.

"Art," she moaned again.

And he was right, her face in that moment was truly the most beautiful thing he'd seen in his 20 years of existence. Her half-open mouth, her eyes closed, slightly teary, her hand on her breast. It was a magnificent sight and he knew only he had seen her like this.

Her body shook and he gave one last kiss on her sensitive clit, then stood before her.

"Open your eyes, Li," he said, and she did exactly as he commanded. "Kiss me. Taste yourself." Another half-command with a smile and scheming eyes. Within seconds, her lips were on his, her tongue mingling with his intensely, just wanting more.

"I want to be inside you," he murmured, and she nodded. "Can I?" he asked. He had to ask. He knew she could say no and he would have to accept it, and if he were less greedy, he might even be satisfied with that anyway.

But he was so angry with her. He wanted her to know. He wanted her to know that just as he was hers, she was his. That she couldn't just ignore him like that. Dismiss him as if he didn't matter.

"Yes," she murmured into his mouth, feeling him smile against her.

"Yes, what?" he asked, teasing.

"Fuck me," she whispered, and it came out vulgar and blunt, uncharacteristic of the girl in front of him. She was even surprised by the words that left her mouth, her eyes widening for a moment before remembering it was Art and relaxing. She was safe with Art. He wouldn't use her words against her. It was okay for her to need him.

"I didn't hear you," he murmured, removing the rest of his clothes and moving to his desk to grab a condom. "I'm on this side of the room, Liana. You need to speak louder." He leaned against the wall as he put the condom on, taking a breath. He had to steady his breathing if he wanted to last inside her for more than three seconds.

"Please, Art. I want to feel you inside me," she said louder, more confidently, more desperately. He moved toward her. "Please fuck me," she looked him in the eyes and bit her lip, feeling almost small but also kind of powerful. He looked almost as desperate as she did as his hand traced her face and then her chest, stopping at her sensitive nipple, making her moan.

"That much, huh?" he asked, positioning the tip of his dick at her entrance and hearing her sigh in response. "Don't worry, I've got you. Are you going to be good for me, Li?" he asked, watching her nod in response. "Are you going to take me like you were made for me?" he asked again.

"Yes, please. Art." She was almost crying with frustration. Liana didn't know what to do to make him enter her already. To feel him. For him to fill her with himself. For him to be close to her. Part of her. She didn't know when she started feeling all these emotions for Art Donaldson, but now was not the time to figure it out. He began to slide into her.

"Oh, Art," she bit his shoulder, making him groan.

"Fuck, Liana. So tight. Fuck. Hang in there, baby, are you okay?" he asked, studying her.

"More," she mumbled. The pain didn't matter. She just wanted him. She wanted all of him. He did move more. A bit more each time. Another moan and another sigh each time until he was fully inside her. Their lips merged in their most sloppy kiss yet. They were one for a moment.

"You can move," she managed to say after a few seconds.

"Are you sure?" he asked, seeing her nod. "Fuck, Li. I won't last long like this," he murmured, his movements gentle. He was careful with her.

When he felt he was close and knew she wouldn't come from the first time someone inside her, he added a finger to play with her clit.

"Fuck, Art," she moaned his name for the umpteenth time.

"I know. You're doing such a good job, Li, taking care of me so well," he said, feeling her tighten around him, bringing him to the edge almost with her.

After a few seconds, he gently pulled out of her, seeing her panting and feeling just as spent. He took off the condom and walked it to the trash, finding his boxers on the way and putting them on. He saw the girl in front of him, completely naked. Completely his.

"When were you planning to tell me?" he asked, looking at her from a distance.

Liana was still in euphoria, her eyes half-closed, confused by the question. "What are you talking about?" she sounded amused, looking at him with a smile as he put on a shirt. For a moment, she felt fragile, not understanding how she was still completely naked while he was fully dressed in front of her.

"About leaving Stanford. About Oxford? I don't know. Maybe there are more things you'd like to tell me." His gaze was cold, making Liana freeze too. She felt her nakedness now. She understood why he was dressed and she wasn't. She was vulnerable right now.

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly, swallowing and searching for her clothes.

"My mom asked me about it yesterday," he said, never taking his eyes off her. "Do you know how stupid I felt when I lied and told her I knew?" he asked. His voice didn't rise, but the frustration was clear.

"Art, I found out two days ago," her eyes glistened and she breathed quickly, feeling everything slipping away from her. He was slipping away from her.

"You're lying," he stated with an eye roll, sitting down on the bed.

"Art," she knelt in front of him, studying his face. He showed no emotion, only coldness.

"It's okay, Liana. We both know what this is," he said, instinctively moving her hair out of her face.

"What is it?" she swallowed. She knew Art. She knew he was about to say something he'd regret, and yet she still pushed him to say it.

"It's me passing time until Tashi realizes she wants me," he said, seeing her expression change to one he'd never seen on her before. She moved his hand from her face quickly and scooted back on the floor as fast as he didn't know she was capable of, as if afraid of his touch.

"Wow." She swallowed, looking at him, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," she tried to salvage the situation, and he chuckled.

"Come on, Liana." He rolled his eyes and lay down on the bed, no longer looking at her.

"You just fucked me, Art." She felt sick. It was the first time she had slept with someone. He knew that. She felt so humiliated.

"I know. I was there, and if I remember correctly, you asked for it. More precisely, you begged-"

"Shut up. Just shut up." She cut him off and stood up. She couldn't hide her tears anymore.

"Why did you do it? We could have just continued meeting at family dinners. Seeing each other in the hallway and occasionally saying hello. Why did you do it?" It came as a sob. She had never felt so humiliated. It was like a truck had run over her.

"I was bored, and you were cute, and let's be honest, a little desperate," her hand found its way to his cheek with a force neither of them knew she possessed. She wanted to apologize automatically because she wasn't violent, but it didn't come out.

"I hate you so much. I will never forgive you. You are the worst person I know." She mumbled and moved toward the door.

"At least I beat Patrick to it," he found himself saying. He had to have the last word in every argument.

"No, Art. You lost to Patrick. Even in twenty years, you won't have half the character and heart that Patrick has already. You're a complete loser compared to him, and I hope you never forget that." She said without stuttering while he didn't take his eyes off her, swallowing hard, finally hearing the door slam.

The moment Liana reached her room, after passing a considerable number of people who looked at her with worried expressions, some even trying to ask if she was okay, she collapsed on the floor and let out the loudest cry that had probably ever escaped her. She felt dirty. Almost used. She had trusted the wrong person.

She picked up the phone to call the only person she thought could understand her.

"Liana, are you okay?" Patrick sounded concerned and confused, probably because of the late hour.

"He really hurt me and I didn't know who else to call," she managed to say through her tears, hearing Patrick sigh, as if silently saying he knew. He knew this would happen.

Writing this part kinda broke me. I know Art was being cruel, but well, he was acting out without thinking about the consequences. Got your requests and maybe on the weekend we'll give Liana/Patrick/Art some more layers. Keep sending me questions and such. I LOVE it. Hope you're still enjoying and again, if you wanna join the taglist, say the word ❤️

taglist: @swetearss @ganana @yoitsme-04 @igotmajordaddyissues @jackierose902109 @imbabycowboy @do-it-for-kicks @izzywags478 @4deline08 @serenadingtigers

#art donaldson x reader #patrick zweig x reader #art donaldson #patrick zweig #challengers fic #challengers #tashi duncan #art donaldson smut

[penelopepitstopp]

Ed Gamble does a table reading of a Taskmaster fanfiction from AO3 where he plays himself and his friends play Greg Davies and Alex Horne... (Part 1)

Part 2

Okay, but how many people would actually be willing to do a live table reading of a fanfiction where they play the part of themselves in a dom/sub relationship where the other two characters are your good friends, all while your wife is watching in the audience?

Also for anyone worried about watching this clip I will say that although they find it weird (entirely understandable) they know how to make it funny without coming across as mean or being condescending to the author (they actually mention several times how good it is lol), the audience are clearly very drunk having a great time, and Ed is such an incredibly good sport about the whole thing.

ALSO THIS IS PART 1. I'VE EDITED IT DOWN FROM OVER HALF AN HOUR BUT IT IS STILL TOO LONG FOR ONE CLIP.

Timestamps below for the lolz:

0:00 - A bit of a preamble with Gamble

0:33 - The reading begins.

01:54 - "Hello, Alex..."

02:45 - Ed makes his grand entrance

02:58 - The author is very generous

03:14 - Ed's first line

04:35 - This is basically 'The Archers'.

04:44 - Hello Charlie!

05:08 - Ed defends his character

05:40 - "HOW AM I THE FUCKING BITCH?!"

05:47 - Ed explains british comedy fanfiction to Ed.

06:25 - Ed is baffled by his character

06:40 - Sunil is a great narrator

06:58 - The MOST OFFENSIVE part of this fic

08:28 - Ed is like a new car

#taskmaster #ed gamble #greg davies #alex horne #huge davies #ed night #sunil patel #ao3 #fanfiction #britcom

[amourtoken]

so I literally cannot stop thinking abt this here u go

god kink Noah and softie Christian reader

I already know I'm going to hell so no need to remind me ik this is filth but that's what's fun abt it also basing the looks of the building off of this big ass church I used to go to and it's very weird and industrial so apologies if it's confusing

*NSFW below the cut, MDNI*

cw: sacrilege lmao, degradation, raw sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, Noah kinda thinks he's better than everyone else, maybe bc he thinks he's God idk, corruption, loss of virginity, experienced Noah, dirty talk, slightly public, belly bulge, dacryphilia

♡ Noah's only at church cause he has to be, otherwise why the fuck would he waste his morning here. He sits through the awful music and wonders how all of these people live such a lie, its pathetic to him. The only thing that makes it bearable is the pretty little thing in the little white sundress that never fails to show up every Sunday.

♡ he thinks you're so cute. Brainwashed, but cute. All he ever thinks abt is how he could desecrate you and how you'd look so much prettier worshipping him.

♡ Noah is damn near your exact opposite, covered in tattoos, always wearing dark colors. He never really talks to anyone either, keeping to himself. You'd say he was miserable if you didn't see his face soften a little every time you catch his eye. You try to make a point and interact with him every chance you get, maybe he's lonely? You can't let that happen. He's the worship leader's son, you'd think he'd be having a better time but who knows what's going through his head.

♡ Noah almost feels bad that he can't keep his thoughts in order when you walk up to him, pretty smile plastered on your face. You're chattering about today's service and he's picturing his hands on your hips, fingers digging into the soft skin while he bucks up into you and gets to hear those pretty little noises he's sure you'd make. All he'd have to do is pull your dress up too, it'd be easy. He's nodding along with your conversation and trying to seem interested but it's getting harder and harder to pretend he's listening.

♡ his eyes drifting to the neckline of your dress which is pretty modest but God he'd be able to pull it down so easy, tease your nipples while you grind yourself on his thigh and whine for him to fill you up. His eyes snap back to your face which is etched with concern.

"Noah, are you feeling alright? You seem out of it."

♡ he could lie, but what's the point. Isn't lying a sin?

"I'm fine. Just thinking about how pretty you'd look split on my cock."

♡ did he really say that??? You weren't sure how to even respond. Or if you should at all. You were flushed down to your chest and Noah admired the pretty pink tinge to your skin. He was almost nervous he'd fucked up but he knew what to say to have you following him like a little sheep. If you can sit through service every week and genuinely believe the shit his father is saying, you'll do anything if it's said in the right tone.

"Bet you've never even fucked before, have you? Saving yourself for marriage and all that bullshit. You know I could make you feel good, you should let me show you."

♡ you're still stunned, standing like a little deer in some headlights. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find Noah attractive but you felt like he wasn't in the cards for you. He's everything you're not, but maybe that's what's so enticing about him. How he talked about your beliefs stung a little but you couldn't help the way your thighs pressed together at the thought of him and his suggestion. He'd never hurt you, right? You can trust him, why would he wrong you?

♡ Noah nodded toward one of the exit doors, turning to leave and hoping you'd follow. You nearly tripped over your own feet trying to catch up with him. Your brain felt fuzzy and you knew whatever he was gonna put you through was horrifically sinful but you can be forgiven for being curious, right? Noah locked the door behind you, leaving you both in an empty stairwell. Hopefully no one tried to interrupt the two of you, because Noah was immediately to work. He walked you backwards until your back was pressed to the concrete wall and he tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling until you whimpered and keened against his hand for some relief.

"The only fucking God in this building is me. I expect you to treat me like such."

"You answer to me, and you follow my fucking directions, yeah? Gonna be a good girl and do what I say?"

♡ you felt your heart race terribly in your chest from how close he was, you felt like a prey animal being stalked by a predator. You really didn't know what to expect, you've never done this before. You shouldn't be doing this at all...what have you gotten yourself into...

♡ Noah surprisingly sinks to his knees in front of you, hands brushing at your knees and sliding up your thighs, hiking up your dress as he goes. His long fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties to tug them down and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, without warning burying his face in your pussy making you yelp and tangle your fingers in his hair for some balance.

(Something like this yk)

♡ you pulled his hair tightly between your fingers, whining while he lapped at your pussy and groaned against you when you pulled a little too hard. You felt pricks of pins and needles all over your body, it felt like a swarm of butterflies populated your lower stomach. Oh god...one of his hands steadied itself on your thigh but the other slid up to glide between your folds, gathering the slick mess before prodding at your entrance making you squirm. He was right, you hadn't done this before. He wanted you to enjoy yourself though, that's why he was taking the time to stretch you out and make you cum, so you could actually take his cock afterwards.

♡ the fingers at your entrance slid in slowly, stretching you out and scissoring slightly to spread you further. Your legs were shaking and the swarm in your belly felt 100x worse. You were worried you couldn't hold yourself up much longer...Noah pressed his fingers as deep as he could fit them, brushing your cervix and curving up to press right into the most sensitive spot he could. He laughed against your pussy when he felt you clench around his fingers, teeth brushing your clit and making you whimper pathetically above him. He was the one on his knees and you were unraveling. Pitiful.

"You gonna cum for me? Can't let you take this cock till you cum, won't fit."

♡ when he nudges a 3rd finger in you completely come undone, tugging his face closer to you and nearly crying while you grind into him through your orgasm. He speeds his fingers up inside of you until you're squirming and begging him to stop. He withdraws and stands back up, reminding you he towers over you at his full height and he licks your slick off of his fingers right in front of you. You're still panting and your legs feel shaky, this isn't helping.

♡ Noah thinks you look adorable so shaken up, he can't help but admire how your chest is rising so quickly and your face is flushed. He did that to you. He's gonna do so much more too. He backs you into the wall again and runs his hands down your thighs, picking you up and pressing your back into the wall for extra support while your legs wrapped around his waist. You threw your arms around his neck to steady yourself but he wasn't gonna drop you, he could hold you up for hours if he needed to. Again though, he thinks you're adorable and lets you think he could drop you just to get your heart racing again.

♡ he holds you up with one arm while freeing his achingly hard cock with the other. You didn't even really get a chance to see it, but when he drug the tip through the slick mess between your legs you could describe the feeling as dread. He felt huge. Noah leaned his head against your neck, pressing soft kisses up to your ear and nipping at the soft skin.

"Gotta relax for me, promise I'll make you feel so good...trust me"

"Can't wait to feel how tight this pussy is, can't believe I'm your first. Bet I'll be the last too."

"Gonna fucking ruin you for everyone else, gonna be mine forever, yeah?"

"So much for staying pure, hm? All it took was one little comment and here you are letting me fuck you raw in a stairwell. Wonder how your god feels about that."

♡ he'd planned on taking it slow but after sinking in just a few inches he couldn't help himself. He trusted up into you, hilting himself in one move and sank his teeth deep into your shoulder to try and muffle the groan that escaped his chest. He slapped a hand over your mouth as he sank in and thank God he did because the sound you made was nothing short of a scream. Big tears welled in your eyes even after all the work he did to prep you, the stretch of taking his cock felt almost too much. Noah was loving every moment, watching you fall apart for him. He pressed a large hand to your stomach as he started fucking himself into you just to feel how deep he fit in your poor body.

"O-oh god-"

"The only fucking god you should be praying to is me."

♡ your whimpers and moans were nonstop but thankfully muffled against his palm, he didn't want anyone interrupting you. You gripped his cock just fucking right and he doubted he could really last long but he needed to have you unravel on his dick before he could finish. Noah reached up and tugged the front of your dress down, leaning to absolutely cover your chest in hickeys and lick at your overly sensitive nipples, your whines pitched up when his teeth got a little too rough but he couldn't help but admire his work. Your pretty soft skin marred with teeth marks and bruises. There's no way you could walk back out there and have no one notice, everyone would know exactly what you did, and who you did it with. Perfect.

"bet you've been thinking about this just as much as I have, huh bunny? Needed to get fucked, needed to get filled up by some fat cock, yeah? Tell me."

"Your little god was keeping you from this, does he really feel better than me? Wanna hear you say it."

"Gonna cum again for me, bunny? Need to feel you squeeze this cock, you can do it. I got you."

♡ your head fell back against the hard wall as he fucked into you, the coil in your stomach tightened unbearably. Every thrust sank as deep as he could possibly get and made your legs shake in his hold. Noah was chasing your pleasure as much as his own, he loved seeing your pretty little pathetic expressions. He slid a hand between your bodies and barely even had a chance to brush your clit as you came. His arm around you tightened to keep you still as he fucked you through it, tears spilling from your eyes and ruining your pretty makeup.

"S-shit- that's it- good girl, feels good yeah? So good for me-"

"That's it, tell me who's making you feel this good baby say my fuckin' name- n-need to hear it"

♡ his thrusts picked up in intensity, fingers sinking into your hips hard enough to leave Bruises and he sank in impossibly deep as he shuddered through his own end, you whined at the feeling of his hot cum filling you up and the extra dripping out of you making a mess on the floor under you. It took a second for Noah to set you back down on shaky legs, he helped you straighten your dress back out before pulling you in for an uncharacteristically gentle kiss. He felt like he was a little harsh on you but he was happy you actually would do something like this with him finally.

"So pretty...we should do this again sometime, yeah?"

#Nowah #HNgg #noah sebastian smut

[whereserpentswalk]

You're so lucky to have been brought back from the dead. Most necromancers would have given up on you entirely, most people are put in the grave with a lot more material left on them than you are. None of your body was still usable, but your soul was miraculously hanging on after your injuries. They were able to keep your ethereal self bound to this world, and make you a new body to possess.

Your new body is made of leather, and cloth, and rubber, and plastic and steel. It looks almost like a puppet of sorts. It's most human shaped, and with your soul inside of it it moves just like a human would. But all it has for a face is a gas mask, and hood to make it look a bit less bald. Where your eyes should be, those little glass fixtures, glow a deep red, perhaps as a reminder of something.

Everyone in your family is trying to be very casual. They don't expect any of it to phase you. Mabye they want to be seen as accepting but you don't know what they mean by that. They expect you to still go to all your college classes, expect you to still try and find work, to do all the things you're still technically able to do. They don't want you to spend time recovering, apparently it makes your family sad to see you "feeling sorry for yourself". And your father will always be the first to remind you that he's the one who payed to have you revived, he's the one who found one of the only necromancers in the city good enough to bring you back. It's like you owe them the child they once had. They didn't bring you back to watch you mourn. And your school and work understands less, you don't feel tired or in pain anymore, you have less on an excuse then ever.

You remember your death so well. It still feels so real, and so scary, it's supposed to have been nothing, supposed to have not mattered, but you can still feel it. And everything is so diffrent in this new body, your entire body feels diffrent, just the sensation of feeling metal bones, and the feeling of having cloth where you once had skin, of feeling hard plastic where your used to your face being. You miss sleep, miss food, miss sex, you even miss pain. It hurts to see people doing all these things that you can't, they took your bed out of your room, they said you needed more space now, and you can't sleep anyway. It was so casual. You should be appreciating this, you're alive after all? Everyone expects you to be so happy all the time, to constantly be in a good mood, to constantly be ok, and you're not, all they ever play in your living room is pop music, and that's not what you want to hear right now, it's not what you listen to alone. You can't smile more, you don't have a mouth.

There's a freind you made in a faerie studies course at college, who let you talk about this with him, he only knew you for a few weeks before you got your new body. It's weird, you're able to talk to even distant freinds about feeling sad or scared more than you can your family. He hugged you, it doesn't feel the same as it did in your old body but it meant something. You told you he's happy your alive, that it doesn't matter what you do, that it's a miracle that you're alive. He told you he wants you to be alive and to be happy. So few people tell you that, nobody in your family ever did. You're expected so much to appreciate the life other people gave you, but so few people want to appreciate that you're alive.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my writing #my worldbuilding #fantasy #urban fantasy #necromancy #undead #ghosts #ghost #ghost in the machine #gas mask #original fiction #short story #flash fiction #short fiction #living doll #death tw #body horror #body horror tw #science fantasy #sci fi and fantasy #fantasy worldbuilding #fantasy world #dark fantasy #fantasy writing #transformation #horror

[midnightanxietytm]

Don't think about the dream! (NSFW)

A/n: this one is for @melle-d, so not my lamb, I had a lot of fun with this one, didn't even review it, just wrote. Also, can anyone send me a dollar for totally not related reasons? BRL don't really cover it.../j

Summary: But, since turning immortal, since getting their marvelous ring, Ewen, now known as just The Lamb, has looked forward to death, if only because they wish to see their beloved. Three nights ago though, things changed.

MINORS DNI - nsfw under cut

The Lamb is dreading their death.

Weird thing to feel, most people dread their death all their lives, it shouldn't be a new thing at all for them. But, since turning immortal, since getting their marvelous ring, Ewen, now known as just The Lamb, has looked forward to death, if only because they wish to see their beloved.

Three nights ago though, things changed and they had an… Interesting dream, one that involved their legs spread open and their god pounding them ruthlessly, and they’ve been thinking about it ever since, which was the root of their problem. If they died and ended up in his realm, Narinder would surely read their mind and see everything. Sure, it could be an opportunity to tease a bit, nothing they hadn’t done before, but that dream had been especially intimate and it had evoked a more visceral reaction than even their actual experiences.

Now, standing on the doorway to Anura, all ready for a crusade, for the first time, they hesitate. 

They step in anyways, promising themselves that this time it would be a no-death run.

It was not a no-death run.

There wasn’t much time to think about sex dreams when you’re getting swarmed by fireballs and jumped on by giant frogs, but as soon as they appeared on the summoning circle in front of their god and looked up at Narinder, the dream flashed tough their mind all over, a shiver going up their spine.

They don’t remember how it started, but they do remember the heated kisses, his clawed hands ripping their clothes, as Narinder revealed his own eldritch form; arms and abdomen pure bone, so much taller than them, pushing them into the ground and willing the crown into a barbed-

There’s half a second of regret before Narinder speaks, his tone amused; “It matters not how many times you are struck down, as I’ve told you, but are you really that eager to see me, little vessel?”

That all crossed the Lamb’s head before they had the sense to stop it. Oh sacred death they shouldn’t have thought about the dream.

Something about the way his voice rang through the infinite space brought another shiver to them and all they could think was; Don’t think about the dream, over and over, so no answer left their mouth as they looked to the side with an awkward chuckle.

“Oh, believe me, my lord, they are.” They say, but almost regret as their tone gives away all the sinful things running through their mind. Narinder seems to find the memory of their dream just then, and Ewen catches a brief second of surprise in his features.

Which seemed to be a mistake, because then came Narinder’s voice again; “What dream, Lamb?” Another shiver,now as they feel their god prod shamelessly into their mind, like cold tentacles prodding into their thoughts and- Oh lord, wrong train of thought! “It’s pointless to try and hide your mind from me, vessel, I own all of you, every thought of yours should be devoted to me.”

But then he laughs “Oh poor little vessel.” He says. “You wouldn’t be able to take me on this form.” He leans down and uses a giant hand to pull them closer. “Little Lamb, your desire is also devotion that fuels me, even if I can't personally satisfy them…”

The Lamb’s breath hitches at the implications. “I haven’t… I wouldn't dare disrespect your image, my lord.” They say, looking up through their lashes with big doe eyes and raising a hand to the bell on their neck. It was a pretended innocence, they both knew. The lamb had been not-so-subtly provoking Narinder since they first met.

  “Lamb, you are my vessel, you belong to me, every act of yours, every desire, is devotion to me.” The Lamb exhales shakily, the ring around their neck almost burns. “Go on, show me how devoted you are.”

Ewen raises their other hand and undoes the clasp of their fleece, letting it fall to their feet, then they move to remove their bell, but Narinder stops them. “Leave the bell, little lamb.” They do, and start to unbutton their clothes, all while looking up at their god. His hand was still resting on the ground behind them, and they lay down, leaning against it.

Narinder’s eyes are fixated on them as they spread open their legs, already painfully horny. They started to run their hands over their body, as they had done dozens of times before, but now, with their god watching them so intently, it felt so much better.

They don’t waste too much time, soon they’ve shoved two fingers inside themselves and moved them with reckless abandon, breathing shakily and letting out an occasional small bleat of pleasure. Narinder doesn’t say anything, but he watches them with a grin; three red eyes focused on them.

They decide then that if their god wanted to see their dream, they could show how it went, at least partially.

The crown, eager for sin, moves and transforms mid-air, assuming the phallic shape, with the barbs, just like they had imagined. Lamb slides further down, spreading their legs and raising their hips for their god's better view, and the crown shoves itself into them without hesitation.

  And the god watches; the Lamb’s pathetic bleats and moans fill the silence of death's realm with pleasure, with the hot dripping feeling that is desire. The crown moves slowly at first, but it only takes Narinder a bit of will to order it to move faster. 

The little Lamb rolls their eyes, calls his given name in between a moan and with a dumb satisfied smile on their face. Narinder can feel their devotion, their obsession, dripping like the wetness between their legs. “My lord!” They plead, eyes barely focusing on him. “I'm yours all yours!” They say it like a mantra, a prayer to belong to him and him only. 

They say Death is merciless, but Narinder feels quite merciful as he moves his hand to better support his darling vessel before willing the crown to go faster.

Ewen's mind feels melted; their god, Narinder, was looking at them with the repressed hunger only an immortal could have, the crown inside them was hitting all the right places, and their climax approached fast, so fast, almost there.

They cum with a desperate bleat, the crown finally slows down. Narinder takes in the sight of their perfect vessel lost in bliss; in another time, he would have adorned the little lamb in jewels and have them sit on the arm of his throne during every banquet, then take them to his chambers and fuck him over and over just to see them so beautifully blissed out.

But his chained form doesn’t allow him such things, so instead he allows the crown to return to the Lamb’s head — clean and back to its regular shape —  and nudges the lamb to stand on their shaky legs.

“Return to your duties, little vessel, but remember I'm always watching you.”

  The Lamb gets dressed, still a bit shaky, and is sent back to the cult, knowing that their god would have much to watch during the next few nights.

A/n: A little messy, but I had fun trying to write another Lamb, hope i did it justice.

Where are aym and baal during this scene? Out on a walk or smt idk. Whats the Lamb's genitalia like? Bruh whatever is convenient idc im not good at describing those things lol

#midnight writes #cult of the lamb #narilamb #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #fanfic writing #asks open #taking requests #cw smut #minors dni #narilamb smut #yipee

[strangelittlestories]

Here in the end times, it feels like everyone got a little weird.

That'll happen, you know? In a city of bondage rooftop pirates, predatory psychic business suits, and tacticool kindness cults; in a world where the sun's gone all high contrast, low brightness; in a time where isolation is a synonym for safety ... let's just say the 'Overton Window of Normality' has shifted.

Yep, when the light broke, we all got a bit strange.

All except for Simon, that is.

Simon is perfectly normal. Simon is swell. Simon still stops by Nero's for a coffee in the mornings and the Coffee Mafia *serve him* (I think just out of confusion).

Simon goes into his co-working space three days a week. Sometimes he works on his screenplay. Other times he goes through long-dead databases and de-duplicates records. If you ask him why, he'll just say that he gets tired of working from home all the time and needs a change of scenery.

Simon keeps a spreadsheet to track the good places for salvage in London-in-Darkness. He has different tabs for foodstuffs, fuel, clothes, makeshift weaponry, and a dozen other useful categories. He sorts them according to quality, abundance, known predators, level of contrast corruption, and convenience for his commute. Ask him to show you his v-lookups sometime.

If you haunt the high buildings like I do, then you'll see him sometimes, scuttling about in his scruffy converse, jeans and hoodie. If he sees you see him, he'll wave.

It's not that the various predators, gangs and high-contrast memetic hazards avoid him, exactly. They continue their usual routes; their patterns of search, destroy and throw-a-wobbly. But somehow they just ... miss him. He'll be overlooked or have a miraculous lucky escape. Occasionally, he'll get captured for a few days and spend the time working on his yoga routine, before the next localised burst of spectrum distortion gives him a chance to scarper.

You might be tempted, if you run across him, to join Simon.

You might hear him say things like: "Why don't we pool our resources" or "Let's catch up sometime" or "I've set up a mini golf course in the Tate Modern, if you fancy it" or "Do you want to listen to some Bruno Mars? I think I have one of the last unscratched CDs."

I urge you: do not listen to him.

He means you no ill will. Simon is *normal* and *nice*.

But nice is not kind. Normal is not benevolent. And sometimes, people overlook that the world will hurt those less lucky than them without really thinking about it. And it is *normal* to protect yourself in that way. It is *nice* to gloss over difficult things.

Simon lives a live that is orthogonal to the rest of us. His plane of existence is ever so slightly out of sync.

Yours isn't.

He is a last unchanging remnant of a world that was.

You aren't.

If you meet him, you will want to follow him. His is a world of order and predictability, of self-care days and flexi-time, of secret film screenings and hidden menus in bougie coffee shops. You will be enchanted by the way he talks about getting plenty of natural light, the way he complains about his commute, and how he still tips twelve percent.

But I beg you: do not heed his Simon song. For it is the song of Bruno Mars and you will be dashed on the funk rocks.

Don't go with him, the world that keeps him safe does not exist anymore.

And when I see Simon scuttling through the streets with a new friend, I am sometimes glad that it is gone.

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #third eye for the end times #pun #feghoot

[mishietishie]

Sukuna dating headcanons

Tw: slight angst? Ooc Sukuna probs, HeianEra!Sukuna, for the first part, fluff ofc <3, Shibuya mention

A/N: I'll write Choso headcanons after this silly willy <3

You used to be his concubine in the Heian Era.

In the beginning, Sukuna never really paid mind to you. You were just one of the many others in his harem.

But then, one night, he came back from slaughtering villages, his body covered in blood (which wasn't his, obviously).

While Uraume was running a bath for him, he was walking towards his chambers until you bumped into him.

Sukuna got annoyed at your recklessness and wanted to end your measly life then and there. But then he could see a glimmer of worry in your eyes at the sight of his bloodied state. You were brave enough to stand up and touch his bicep, asking if he was okay and if you should call Uraume.

He quickly dismissed you after that, but ever since, he felt a weird feeling in his stomach when he thought about or saw you.

Soon enough, he started to spend more time with you, spoiling your more than his other concubines. He made you sleep with him, sit on his lap while he was sitting on his throne, listening to some measly sorcerers who tried offering him all kinds of things so he would spare their lives.

Sukuna genuinely enjoyed your presence, not seeing you as just a concubine anymore. He liked hearing you talk about your day when he was gone.

Sometimes, he brought you the heads of people he killed as gifts, but he soon stopped after you made it clear you didn't want heads in your room. (Oh well, more food for him!)

One night, when he was lying with you in his bed, watching over your sleeping form, he promised himself that he would make you his Queen one day and that he'd conquer all with you by his side.

But that dream didn't become a reality as he was sealed away the day he wanted to declare you as his queen.

Or so he thought.

When he killed Jogo in Shibuya, he suddenly felt the presence of your soul nearby. Turning around, he sees Uraume kneeling behind him together with someone else. It was you. His concubine, his supposed to be Queen. You looked exactly the same as he remembered, and he could swear he felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you.

(Anyways, time for the actual headcanons)

He likes holding you close at all times. Sleeping? He's big spooning you with his face buried in your hair, smelling your fragrance. Sitting? You're sitting on his lap, no discussion. Taking a walk? He'd secretly love to carry you bridal style, but since you're a human being with some decency, you don't allow him to. Which means Sukuna has to settle for wrapping an arm around your waist

If you cook for him, he'd first complain saying how he already has a chef, but he'll eat it nonetheless

Makes fun of you and calls you names from time to time, but you know he doesn't mean anything bad behind it. It's just his love language! (Also, if someone else makes fun of you, then you can bet you'll find their head on your porch <3)

Sukuna Ryomen isn't only the King of Curses but also the King of Jealousy. If you have any guy friends, you bet Sukuna's gonna get all up in your business whenever they're involved. You're his, so why should you spend time with other men while you have him?!

If you have plushies, he'll throw them away or destroy them because he finds it stupid that you're cuddling with them and not with him.

When he found out how to use a smartphone, you kept getting spam notifications of texts and missed calls from him <3

For someone as big as he is, his footsteps are very silent. He uses that to his advantage when he's sneaking up behind you to give you a good scare. But he also likes "spying" on you at home when you're doing simple domestic tasks like cooking or cleaning. He likes seeing you sway your hips while dusting the ceiling or the way you hum and even softly sing while stirring in the pot of soup. Sometimes, you catch him staring, though, and when you do, he will never head the end of it.

#mishietishie #jjk #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

hey do you guys remember how I said that I was going to use patreon to write up content that would be WILDLY too long for tumblr? yeah. this is uuuuuh a little less than 6000 words about a bad Animal Planet series from 2008 that no one watched but me and my sister.

and here's part of the introduction under the cut for freebies, in case you want a little sample:

If you weren’t a painfully introverted animal fact kid in the early 2000s it’s almost impossible to explain the degree of sway that Animal Planet and its shows held over me as a child. Meerkat Manor, Animal Cops, The Most Extreme, The Little Zoo That Could, Prehistoric Planet, River Monsters, all of Steve Irwin’s work, and truly any and all non-serialized programming about any animal imaginable. I ate it all up, even the terribly boring half-hour programs like Backyard Habitat and Petfinder that they only played in the weird wee hours of the morning. 

Crucially, this programming is mostly of a nonfiction bent. Prehistoric Planet uses a framing device involving the use of time travel to bring extinct animals into the present to live in a zoo, but ultimately they’re trying to teach you some facts about some beasts, and while Meerkat Manor was definitely anthropomorphizing and editorializing the drama those meerkats experienced, it was at least rooted in the very real Kalahari Meerkat Project, which has been intensively documenting the behavior of meerkat mobs for many meerkat generations.

But then we get into the oddballs. In 2004 Animal Planet aired Dragons: A Fantasy Made Real, a British “docufiction” produced for Channel Four that sought to contextualize the nearly-global mythology of dragons in real history and biology, complete with CGI recreations of dragons in their “natural habitats.” That’s all fine and good; there’s nothing wrong with using a fake thing to teach people about real animals’ evolution and anatomy. The Loch Ness Monster episode of River Monsters is excellent for this, as you can tell that host Jeremy Wade (angler, freshwater detective, and criminally fuckable old man) doesn’t expect to find a monster literally at all and is just taking the opportunity to introduce his audience to animals they might not otherwise know about, including the noble Greenland shark. He pulls the same trick again in a later episode where he’s sent to discover the “truth” behind sea serpents and winds up diving in search of the elusive oarfish.

Dragons is… not doing that. Instead it offers up a framing device following a completely fictional paleontologists who “suggests the theory that a carbonized Tyrannosaurus rex skeleton on display was killed by a prehistoric dragon” (thanks, Wikipedia) and then has to go on a quest to save his career by proving that dragons totally existed and he’s not crazy. And he’s not! The piece ends with him discovering straight up for-real dragon bones in the Carpathian Mountains. If you were, say, an impressionably soft-brained 8 year old watching this, well holy shit. Congrats! It turns out dragons are real and nobody knows but you. 

Why did Animal Planet air this? God only knows, but it wouldn’t be the last time they dabbled in this shit. 2012 saw another piece by the same creator, Charlie Foley, called Mermaids: The Body Found which posited that various governments are holding merpeople captive and also relied on the infamously eugenicist aquatic ape theory to justify how merpeople could exist. The CGI on that one creeped me the fuck out, although I was at least old enough by then to recognize it wasn’t real.

Between those two docufictional farces, Animal Planet got a little freaky and rolled out some fake factual content of their own: three season of the TV show Lost Tapes (2008-2010, RIP), which purportedly showed “found footage” from incidents of humans having terrifying encounters with cryptids and fighting to escape with their lives. Interspersed with the fully fictional stories were segments of experts talking about folkloric history and speculating as to how creatures like Sasquatch and sea serpents could be real, which was an admirable effort to make it educational but often fell pretty short. There’s a werewolf episode where their expert weakly offers up that there are tons of transformations in nature, like caterpillars turning into butterflies. Notably that has absolutely nothing in common with a human turning rapidly into a wolfbeast and then shifting back, but they tried! They stopped trying as hard by season three, by which point they were throwing any and every beastie they could think of at the wall: there are episodes dedicated to zombies, a poltergeist, two different types of vampires, and the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl. 

Also straining belief was the dedication that some POV characters had to keeping their cameras rolling. I don’t blame the writers for that; it’s hard coming up with a fresh gimmick for “found footage” in every episode. Some of them, like characters wearing body cameras, are pretty smart; others, like a teenage girl continuing to film on her phone while being hunted by the Jersey devil, are not. They’re very much running on horror movie rules; the characters are as dumb as they need to be to make the plot go. To the show’s credit the dumdums are frequently punished, and it’s not uncommon for every single named character to end up dead at the hands (or claws, fangs, whatever) of the monster of the week. 

Needless to say, as a 12 year old I thought this was extremely edgy and cool. I was old enough to recognize that the so-called found footage was fake and that the acting was mostly very bad, but I liked cryptids and some of the show’s better episodes could still creep me right out. I think geeky 12 year olds who like to get a little freaked out on purpose are probably the ideal target demographic for this show, followed by nostalgic 20-somethings who have seen every episode several times.

(Hi, editor’s note: having completed this list it turns out there are WAY more episodes than I thought and I fully Do Not Recall some of them, so egg on my face.)

#girlbossing (exhausted)

[solarwynd]

I haven't listened to JK's new song yet but I did read his weverse post (because you know I still have that app in the eternal hope that Jimin will post someday) and I think I just realised why I found JK off-putting this past year (apart from the whole collaboration with human scum 🛴 and reaping the benefits of that)

I understand if you make like a huge mistake and want to address it or if you're just providing an explanation for why things are the way they are but I don't like this thing where you as a pro are continuously apologizing over things. You don't like your singing in the concert, you didn't feel your performance was as good as it should be, you remark on it on weverse posts and during your lives, you wanted to do a dance but you didn't get time. Maybe it's my personality - I don't like people who are constantly looking for sympathy over their failings when I can't see them doing anything different or working on getting better.

I think every performer has moments of fallibility and I'm not saying it's something they should never share with their audience but come on. This weird emotional manipulation JK does where he wants people to pat him on the head and say good job after he does a mediocre job all the time is getting old. And yeah emotional manipulation is a severe word but after his whole marketing schtik with the "accidental" tiktok account reveal, the "accidental" pap shot of him smoking and his weird y/n baitey lives, I really don't love it when he keeps trying the "woe is me" technique all the time. This fandom keeps babying him and he keeps baiting them into babying him as if he's not a 26 year old adult who's been in this industry for 10+ years.

By itself his post is fine truly but cumulatively with all his previous remarks, I just find myself bone tired of him.

I’ve made similar posts to this in the past so I know what you’re getting at and I agree. I’m not saying he’s some evil mastermind, but again JK knows how to work people.

[newtthetranswriter]

Could I request Spencer Reid x male reader where the reader is a baker at a bakery that Spencer goes to every morning and they dance around each other before the reader musters the courage and kisses him spender is all nervous and the reader thinks he fucked up but Spencer kisses his worries away?

Word Count: 1723

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Male! Baker! Reader

Warning: canon typical violence, takes place when Spencer is shot in the leg

A/n: Hello and once again thank you for the requests, I have enjoyed writing all of them. I hope this lives up to expectations, after all i did make you wait forever for it to be finished. Anyways, as always enjoy and remember to hydrate or diedrate.

   Spencer had started going to this little bakery on the way to work every morning for the last couple of months. If anyone had asked him why he would definitely not say it was because of the handsome baker who helps him every day and makes him feel welcome. It’s definitely not because said baker checks on him everytime he comes back from a case and gives him a free pastry because ‘they had extra’. No it was not because he got butterflies every time the baker returned his random facts with his own about baked goods. No Spencer just liked supporting small local businesses. Denial aside, Spencer really did enjoy his daily visits to the bakery. It was a good little constant in his hectic routine. 

   Y/n also enjoyed Spencer’s daily visits. Having worked at the bakery for quite some time it was only natural for him to have picked out a favorite regular, his just happened to be the brown haired doctor who works for the FBI. It was a bright part of his day when the tall man came to the shop and gave random facts about coffee or baked goods, while Y/n prepared the order.

   The friendship between baker and regular customer is normally just that. A baker who likes to make their customers feel welcome and a regular who enjoys said baker’s small talk. But for these two it quickly became something a little more. Small talk about where Spencer had gone on his latest case and how Y/n decided running a bakery was his dream, turned to slightly longer conversations about other aspects of their lives. Spencer voicing his worries for his mother and Y/n talking about some stupid thing a family member had gotten mad about.

   As their friendship grew, so did the longing in both of their hearts. Neither man was sure what the other felt about him, so it was left to glances and subtle flirting. Well subtle flirting from Y/n’s side of things, Spencer wasn’t great with flirting. Either way they both fell into a routine of dancing around their true feelings, not wanting to ruin the calm mornings they spent together when Spencer wasn’t away on cases.

   This dance of theirs went on for a few months, Y/n trying to get Spencer to realize he was interested by giving him free pastries and Spencer being clueless. Spencer may not have realized what Y/n was doing but he also was trying to show interest in his own way. His random daily facts had gone from the usual comments about how or why people make certain treats, to details that pertain more to the romantic side of things. Y/n just thought Spencer had run out of his usual facts and that the ones he was using now, were just what he had left. Both men were clueless and to anyone who saw from an outside point of view they both looked hopeless.

    Everything finally changed one day. There wasn’t anything particularly different about the day, at first. What was different was instead of the normal lanky doctor walking through the doors right as the bakery opened, a blonde woman with funky glasses walked in instead. This wouldn’t have been weird had she not looked like there was something wrong and walked up to the counter looking around frantically.

   “Um excuse me, I’m looking for Y/n Y/l/n.” The woman asked.

   Having heard the woman speak, Y/n walked from the back where he was prepping some pastries for the oven. Wiping his hands on his apron, Y/n greeted the blonde with a gentle smile. “Hello, I’m Y/n. What can I help you with?” He asked hoping that it was something he could get sorted and not take too long on, after all he just assumed this was an unhappy customer coming to complain.

   “Um, Hi. I’m Penelope Garcia, I work with Spencer at the FBI.” The woman explained. Hearing that she was one of Spencer’s coworkers, Y/n had to fight down the rush of worries that clouded his mind.  “Before you freak out he’s okay, well he was shot but he’s okay. Anyway he just told me that you would be expecting him and that someone needed to let you know he was okay.” The blonde explained.

    Taking a moment to process the information, Y/n decided that he needed to see for himself that Spencer was in fact ok. “Could I go see him?” It was the only question Y/n could think of to get his point across. 

     Penelope smiled at him, before nodding. “Yeah of course I was going to go up and keep him company for a little bit, so if you want to, you can come with me.” She offered quickly. Penelope was one of the only people Spencer told about Y/n and his feelings for him, so she figured he would be fine with Y/n tagging along to check on him.

     “I would appreciate that, thank you.” Y/n answered, then he turned to one of his employees who was nearby. “Would you mind watching the shop for a bit? I should be back later.” He asked while taking off his apron. Receiving an affirmative answer, he proceeded to grab quickly finished making the cup of coffee he always had ready for Spencer every morning, along with one for Penelope and himself. On his way out he also managed to grab a few pastries Spencer would enjoy.

     The ride to the hospital was a mix of awkward silence and Penelope trying to get Y/n to relax a little bit. The tech wizard asked questions about the bakery and how Y/n enjoyed working there. Y/n answered all her questions but it didn’t take a profiler to know his mind was on the well being of one Dr. Reid.

     Once they finally arrived Y/n had to hold himself back from just rushing through the hospital in search of Spencer. Luckily Penelope was quick to have him follow her to the Dr.’s room. Knocking on the door, hearing a quiet ‘come in’ Penelope opened the door slowly. “Hey Boy wonder, how’s your leg doing?” She asked, holding back her smile at the fact she was hiding something from the man.

     “It’s fine, going to take some time until I’m able to walk again, but good with all things considered.” Spencer answered honestly. Finally looking up at his friend he noticed two things were off. One she was still standing near the door and two she was holding a very familiar to-go style coffee cup. Figuring the coffee was just from her stopping to inform Y/n about what happened, he chose to ask about the more obvious thing. “Why are you standing by the door like that?” He asked, head tilted to the side in confusion.

    Finally letting the smile she was holding back take over her face, she stepped aside. “Well, I made a stop at your favorite bakery and picked up something for you.” She explained enjoying watching the look of confusion deepen before morphing into a surprised look upon seeing Y/n standing there holding two coffees and a box of what he could only assume to be pastries.

   “Hey Spencer, I was worried when Penelope told me you had been shot. She said it was fine but I just needed to see for myself that you were really ok.” The baker rambled as he approached the side of the hospital bed. “ I asked if I could come see you and when she offered to bring me with her to see you I jumped at the chance. Oh and I also brought you a coffee just the way you like and some fresh pastries. I know how bad hospital food can be so I thought it may help to lift your spirits a bit.”

   Spencer couldn’t hide his smile as Y/n sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Thank you Y/n, you didn’t have to do that.” He gladly accepted the cup of coffee. “Anyway, are you sure it’s okay that you’re here and not at the bakery?” He was worried about the small business.

   Letting out a small chuckle, Y/n responded. “Yeah it’s fine, I left one of the more experienced bakers in charge. Plus if I had to I would have closed for the day, making sure you’re okay is worth more to me than a day of sales.” Y/n explained.

   Before either could continue speaking the third person in the room spoke up. “I think I’ll leave you two to talk. I should probably get back to the office to see if the team needs any tech help.” Penelope excused herself not leaving any room for either to protest.

   After Penelope left it was quiet for a few minutes. Neither being sure what to say, how strange two people who love talking to each other are rendered speechless when left alone in a private setting. Thinking of what to do next Y/n could only think of one thing. He was so happy that Spencer was in fact okay and after feeling such intense worry over his well being, Y/n began to realize just how much Spencer really meant to him. Deciding that their flirting wasn’t enough and not knowing exactly how to word his confession, Y/n decided the only way to get the clueless Doctor to understand would be to be as direct as possible. Which led the pair to this moment.

   Y/n had taken the moment of silence to settle his nerves before leaning closer to Spencer and before the genius could ask what was happening, the baker had placed a kiss to his lips. It was effective in leaving the man speechless. After pulling away the silence continued as both parties processed what just happened.

   When seconds turned to minutes Y/n’s doubts began to creep in, worrying that he ruined everything. “I’m so sorry, I was just so worried about you and then -” he was cut off mid ramble by Spencer leaning forward and returning the kiss. Both quickly relaxed into it, glad to finally be done with dancing around their feelings.

#x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x male reader #criminal minds x reader #Newt writes #Newt's 2024 Pride Event

[drdemonprince]

The craziest time I acted on my lust I got sucked into a cult and ran away to a whole different state in my teens because the cult leader talked *such* good game about BDSM shit and I was living in a conservative area surrounded by vanilla / monogamous people eating myself ALIVE (as you do when you're sixteen). The cult part went mediumly - he went to jail lmao - but to this day I'm furious because once I got there *he wasn't even good at any of it*. What is even the POINT of being a cult leader if you aren't going to be super weird and messed up about sex?? Anyways, I've gotten a lot of mileage out of 'I could have done it better / what if he had actually put his fucking money where his mouth was' fantasies since ;D

you're wild for this one anon. And this is very relevant to a conversation we've had on the streams about how sometimes an unrealized longing for a BDSM dynamic can land a person in an abusive relationship. I have a whole essay sitting around that i haven't published yet all about this -- i got my longing for domination met by dating really abusive guys for a whilllle. the sex is often so mid in these situations, too. you really don't have any incentive to learn how to be a pleasurable partner to be with if you're an abusive, coercive asshole who gets people trapped.

have you seen the movie Martha Marcy May Marlene? Elizabeth Olsen as a sex cult survivor who comes out of it having completely obliterated all her physical and sexual boundaries? It's frankly uhhhh very hot. there's rape, drugging, stalking, and incest-y scenes for anyone interested in that. or not. If you still find the fucked-up fantasy of that kind of thing enticing rather than triggering to revisit check it out

[em-harlsnow]

i was just watching a new trend that's going on rn that people tell their partners "i wasn't satisfied with your performance last night" and it reminded me of you it'd be so funny if mickey tell ian that lol

Okau so i looked for this one everywhere, but i couldn’t find a good example so i’ll have to make it up as i go!

So Mickey starts getting annoyed. ian’s just constantly having this little laugh to himself about these stupid toktik clock trends, and mickey’s sick of it.

he thinks for a while about how to get ian back, and decides that the best way would be to give him a taste of his own medicine.

by downloading toktik, which is apparently tiktok.

at first it’s very weird, and it takes a while for him to understand how the app works. when he does, he searches ‘couple prank’ into the search bar, remembering the point of this whole thing.

the second one he sees is interesting, so he resolves to try it.

they’re eating breakfast, ian absentmindedly typing on his phone. he’s probably looking for more ways to confuse mickey with those stupid trends.

he swallows the food in his mouth.

“you know last night?” mickey says.

“yeahh” ian responds, only looking up from his phone to smirk.

“yeah, i wasn’t really satisfied with your performance, man.” he tells him, then gets up and puts his plate in the sink.

it takes a moment to register, but when it does it’s exactly what mickey expected.

“what?” ian whips around.

mickey just shrugs.

“what do you mean you weren’t satisfied? i was great!” he rises from the table, waving his arms around.

mickey tries to contain his laughter. “i dunno about that. i think you’re losing your touch.”

ian gapes like a fish out of water. “losing my- no! no i’m fucking not!”

“uhuh, sure.”

“what the fuck, mickey! do you even remember last night?”

“‘course i do. which is why im saying this.”

ian presses closer, squinting at him to see if he’s lying. “last night was good.”

“sure it was tough guy.”

mickey can see ian’s brows furrow as he gets more and more annoyed. last night was good, which is probably why he’s so confused.

“well, what was wrong with it? i’m sure i can improve.” ian tells him, immediately switching to horny and annoyed instead of just annoyed.

“you didn’t last very long.”

“what?! were you even there last night?!” he rages, taking his hands off of mickey.

in response, mickey just laughs.

“please, i killed you in two seconds.”

“you- wait, what?” ian stutters, suddenly even more confused.

“i said i killed you in two seconds. you’re shitty at video games.”

ian blinks a few times, putting two and two together. “you weren’t satisfied with my performance last night in liam’s shitty fortnight game?” he says, outraged.

“yeah. what’d you think i was talking about?” he asks, playing dumb.

ian seems to catch on. “you’re such an ass.”

“dunno what you’re talking about.” mickey shrugs, barely containing his laughter.

when ian grabs him again and places him on the counter roughly, he’s not exactly surprised.

<3

hope it lived up to expectations!

—-> send me tiktok trends and i’ll write a fic!

#shameless #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #shameless fanfiction #tiktok #tiktok trends

[m00npill]

[Transcript] Fallen Angels

FALL OUT BOY'S ULTRA-AMBITIOUS NEW ALBUM WILL MAKE THEM ONE OF THE WORLD'S BIGGEST BANDS. SO HOW COME PETE WENTZ IS STILL SO DEPRESSED?

source: x the other page missing ;-;

2007 Kerrang! No.1142

PETE WENTZ is an hour late.

Because of this the first thing you learn about Fall Out Boy is that nothing happens without him. His three other bandmates - singer and guitarist Patrick Stump, guitarist Joe Trohman and drummer Andy Hurley - sit waiting. They're in a conference room on the first floor of the Marriott Hotel in Lowell, Massachusetts, a pretty, vanilla flavoured town 60 minutes north of Boston. The reason the group are here is because in three hours they're due to play four songs in front of 8,000 people gathered to watch the local radio station's Christmas concert. But first they're forced to wait. Because picturing Fall Out Boy without Pete Wentz is like imagining a motorway without traffic.

"See, that's not right," says Patrick Stump. Stump is wearing a small frown and an indulgent smile. It's been said that he has no ego. As you hear him now he's checking out his own entry page on Wikipedia. "No, see, they've got that wrong...

We don't have much time. Fall Out Boy landed at Roston's Logan airport at 4pm. This lunchtime they were in Chicago; by dawn they'll be in Manhattan. The band's ride pulled up in Lowell an hour ago. It's now 6:30. At 9:25, they're due onstage. Before that they need to pose for photographs and answer questions.

"Pete's in his room," someone says. Andy Hurley goes downstairs to the toilet, taking a security guard with him. Fall Out Boy have two security men: one for Pete Wentz, one for the others.

Wentz calculates that he spends 40 minutes out of every hour on the phone. He receives up to a 100 emails a day. He owns a film production company. He's a published author. He owns his own record label. He owns his own clothing line. He's modelled for Gap. He'd be modelling for us if he could be bothered to be here.

But Pete is in his room, laid low with depression. He's sat on the floor "calling random people from [his] home town [Wilmette, Illinois]", people whom he believes will "understand [him]". Problem is, when they pick up the phone he "can't think of a thing to say". All the while it's getting later and later. He feels self-conscious about how to time his entry, aware that he might be thought of as "the asshole American guy in a band". Even now, two and a half hours later, these feelings are still resident in his mind. "It's weird," he'll say. "Although I'm functioning, half of my head is in another place.

Do you see how people might look at you, see your wealth and your privilege and your opportunities, and think: you ungrateful son of a bitch?

"Of course," he says. "I think that all the time. But you asked me about depression and so I'm talking about it. It's the culture we live in."

You don't seem to mind talking about it. "The only problem I have with it is that I don't want people to read this article and go, 'lt'd be so amazing to be depressed! That'd be cool!'. I don't want to create an industry of misery."

These days, Pete Wentz has prescriptions for Xanax, Praxil, Prozac and Ativan. To compliment this, he's taking serotonin reuptake inhibitors (more anti-depressants). In the past, he's been administered anti psychotics. If Wentz were to die tomorrow his coffin would need to be fitted with a child-proof lid.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, entering the conference room, shaking hands. "I'll be your self-conscious rock star for the day." Paul Harries, Kerrang!'s photographer, tells the bassist that we don't have much time. Pointing the lens at his face he tells him it'll need to see his full repertoire of poses. The subject understands precisely what the photographer means, and as the flash lights zap before him he gives him just that. The camera loves Pete Wentz, even if at the moment Pete Wentz hates himself.

He's depressed. You'd never know.

"NOT TO beat up on the press," says Joe Trohman. "But they do tend to take one look at our band and and say, Pete Wentz is Fall Out Boy." Trohman is answering a question as to whether it grates on his nerves that the band's bass player is the one who garners most of the public attention. "Not at all, no. Pete is the public face of the band because we want him to be the public face of the band.

Would you be screwed without him?

#fall out boy #pete wentz