#and now nothing on the entire computer will open

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Doctor’s Orders

“Miss, please follow me into the exam room.”

I look up to see a sweet nurse smile at me and wave me over. I smile back at her and stand up from the waiting room chair, following her through the doors of the clinic. She leads me into a standard exam room and after giving me quick instructions to take off my clothes and get comfortable, she leaves me, promising the doctor will be here to see me shortly.

I look around the sterile room, taking in framed stock images tastefully arranged along the walls and the stack of various medical pamphlets about STDs and safe sex. I take a deep breath and start to undress. I’ve waited so long to come see this doctor and I’m not going to let my nerves get the best of me now. The doctor I’m here to see is a specialist in anorgasmia, the inability to orgasm.

I’ve never been able to achieve orgasm, no matter what I’ve tried. Numerous partners have tried, I’ve purchased countless toys and lubricants, even going as far as trying hypnosis. Nothing has worked and I had almost given up hope when I’d stumbled across this doctor and his specialty.

It took months for me to get an appointment, and the screening process was incredibly intensive. Apparently, he’s extremely selective in the patients he chooses to see so when I got the call that he was willing to fit me into his schedule, I was ecstatic. Maybe I can finally say goodbye to my inability to orgasm.

A soft knock at the door startles me and I watch as the doctor opens the door and steps into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He’s younger than I thought he’d be. I’d been picturing a middle-aged man, maybe with some greying hair and glasses. Instead, he’s handsome, fit, and I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he greets me cheerfully.

“Good afternoon! I’m sorry for the wait but I hope you’re comfortable! It is lovely to meet you.” His voice is smooth, comforting, and when I extend my hand out to shake his outstretched one, his touch is gentle but strong.

I smile back at him, feeling some of my previous anxiety fade away. “No worries at all, I’m happy to be here.”

I watch as he opens grabs a chair and sits in front of the computer, logging in to pull up my medical chart. “Now, let’s see here, you’re here for anorgasmia I see.” I feel my cheeks flush at the clinical way he’d said it and he catches my blush as he glances up from the computer screen.

He gives me a comforting smile, “Don’t be embarrassed. A lot more women experience anorgasmia than people think, and it’s something that we can fix. I promise, there is nothing to be embarrassed about here.”

I give him a small smile back, the sincerity in his words soothing me.

“Now, I know you filled out a very long questionnaire already and I’ve already reviewed that so we’re going to get right to a physical exam to start.” He pushes away from the computer and stands up, walking over to where I’m sitting on the exam table.

“Can you take off your bra and underwear for me, please?” I nod, steeling my nerves before following his instructions. My nipples immediately harden into peaks at the cold air of the exam room and I feel so exposed with my entire body naked in front of him.

He unhooks stirrups from the bottom of the exam table and clicks them into place. “Prop your feet into there for me and spread your legs,” his voice is purely professional and I do what he asks. Placing my feet into the stirrups leaves me completely exposed and a small shiver goes through me as cold air brushes against my core.

“Now lean back and look up at the ceiling for me. We’re going to start with just a simple physical exam to make sure everything is normal anatomically. Then, we’ll move on to a few other tests for sensation and sensitivity. If at any point you have questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to tell me, okay?” He looks at me with care and I nod back, feeling comforted by his words and clear attentiveness.

He rolls his chair to between my propped-up legs and takes a seat, facing me. “My hands are a little cold but don’t worry, we’ll warm up in no time.” I let out a gasp when his indeed cold hands come to rest on my thighs. His fingers are gentle as he brushes against my center, his movements confident as he pokes and prods around.

I stay still as I feel him gently pull me apart, letting cold air rush against my core and clit. I bite back a gasp at the sensation. I feel him press against my clit, maneuvering my clit hood out of the way to reveal the bud. A swipe of his finger against my exposed bundle of nerves makes me jolt and I let out a sharp gasp this time.

“Sorry! How did that feel?” He asks, his voice apologetic.

I take a second to gather myself before answering. “It felt intense. Good but almost a little overwhelming.”

“Hm, that’s good,” he says, “That means you have a fair amount of clitoral sensitivity. We’ll do a more in-depth examination later but it’s a good sign.”

I hear the scrape of his chair against the floor and glance up to see his standing. “I’m going to grab some lubricant and we’ll do an internal exam next.” I nod and watch as he squirts a dollop of lube onto his fingers.

He settles himself back in between my legs and I shiver at the cold feeling of the lube. He’s purely professional as he spreads the lube over me and slowly works a single finger into me. I bite my lip to tamp down any sounds I want to make.

“I’m going to test your g-spot next,” he says and I feel his finger crook upwards inside of me, brushing against the spongy clump of nerves inside of me. The sensation shoots through me and I led out a slow breath.

“That’s it, you’re doing really well. Tell me if anything hurts, okay?” His fingers scissor inside of me and I let out a soft whimper. “Does that feel good?” His voice comes out in a lower register than before. “Come on, use your words. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me how it feels.”

I whimper again, “Mm yes, it feels good.”

“Good, so you have no problems with vaginal arousal and lubrication,” he says, his voice almost a purr now. “Don’t hold back, we want to make sure you’re giving your full reaction to everything that’s happening to help me understand what’s happening here.”

At his words, I let out another whimper, feeling the slow drag of his fingers against the sensitive walls of my pussy. He presses his fingers against my g-spot again and my back arches as pleasure shoots through me.

“Tell me, is this level of sensitivity and sensation reflective of how you normally feel during intercourse?” I take a second to catch my breath and think before I answer him.

“I think so, I’m usually pretty sensitive to sensation, it just never seems to culminate into an orgasm. A lot of times, I get too overstimulated to continue and I can’t cum.”

“Hm, I see,” his voice takes on a more contemplative tone. He pulls his fingers out of me, and I almost want to whimper at the loss.

“Well, I have a few theories but I’m going to do a more hands-on test to get a clearer answer of what we’re dealing with here. Lie back for me and relax.”

I lean my head back, staring up at the ceiling of the room and I feel him walk away for a second. He reappears at my side for a moment, and suddenly, I feel something encircle my wrist and hear a click. I jerk in surprise, glancing down to see that he’d cuffed me down to the table. My eyes meet his and smiles at me.

“Don’t worry, this is just to keep you still during the examination. The less movement there is from you, the easier it is for me to do my job. If at any point, you feel uncomfortable, tell me and we’ll stop, okay?” His words soothe the panic that rose up in my chest at the idea of being restrained and I give my consent. He smiles at me and makes quick work of clicking my other wrist into a cuff. Next, my ankles are strapped down to the stirrups and my thighs held apart by more cuffs. There’s even one that goes around my waist to keep my torso still.

“Good, how do you feel? Are any of the restraints hurting you?”

I shake my head in response, “No, I’m okay.”

He smiles at me again and I watch him open a drawer from across the exam room. “We’re going to introduce some equipment to help me get a better gauge of what we’re dealing with here.” My eyes widen as I watch him pull out several industrial looking sex toys.

“Let’s start with clitoral stimulation,” he says, setting down the toys except for one. He shows me the toy, it looks almost like an electric toothbrush with a wider body and a very thin head. “This is a very precise vibrator. Most commercial vibrators people tend to purchase have a much larger surface area, which can be very good for folks who are highly sensitive in all areas, but it doesn’t offer much precision in targeting specific parts of the clitoris. This one doesn’t have that problem since it has a much smaller head. Now this one is also pre-set to have 10 very well-calibrated intensity settings. Depending on your reaction to each setting, I can make better conclusions about your clitoral sensitivity. We’re going to go through the settings from low to high and I want you to continue to be vocal and tell me what you’re feeling, okay?”

I nod, “Okay, but what if I get too overstimulated?”

He gives me a comforting smile, “Just tell me and we’ll stop and re-evaluate if it happens.”

I nod again and he sits back down between my legs to get started.

I hear the toy click on, presumably at the first level based on the low, quiet buzzing sound its emitting. I gasp when I feel his fingers gently pull my pussy apart to reveal my clit, already erect and throbbing from his earlier treatment.

A moan escapes from my throat when I feel the toy make first contact. It feels so much more intense than any other toy I’ve ever had. The precision of the toy and the ease in which he handles it means that the vibrations are pressed right against my exposed clit, forcing the collection of raw nerves to submit to the sensations.

“How’s that?” He asks, his voice making me scramble to get ahold of myself to give a coherent response. “It feels so intense but in a good way.”

“Good, that’s good. Just relax and let yourself feel.” He murmurs, keeping the vibrator pressed tightly against me.

My eyes drift shut as I feel the sensation overtake me. The pleasure is forming a haze around my mind, every thought getting chased away by the feeling between my legs.

I hear his voice again, “I’m going to increase to the second setting. Just stay relaxed for me.”

I let out a whimper in response as the toy clicks up a level. The pleasure intensifies but there’s also a building sensation of raw overstimulation that is starting to arise. We’re nearing the point where I would normally stop and take a break but I don’t want to tell him that yet. I want to let him keep going, because maybe today is the day I finally get to cum.

I bite back a whine and clench my fists at my sides.

“Increasing to level 3 now.” He says, resting a hand on my thigh as his other one holds the toy firmly against me. The increase this time makes a cry rip out of me and my eyes fly open to meet his.

“Ah- it’s so much, I’m getting overstimulated.” I whimper out, my hands clenching and unclenching in an effort to control myself. He nods but doesn’t make any move to pull the toy away or decrease the setting.

“Try and tough it out for me for a bit more, I want to see if we can overcome the overstimulation.” He gives me a comforting smile and gently pats my thigh.

I take a deep breath and nod, letting my eyes drift shut.

“Increasing to level 4 now,” he says and the vibrator switches to a higher intensity before I can protest.

“Wait! Wait, please, just give me a moment, please!” I gasp out as the sensations shoot through me entire body. He shakes his head, “You’re doing great, just relax and let it happen.”

I whine as tears are gathering in my eyes. I’m walking the very thin line of pain and pleasure as the vibrator forces breathtaking feeling onto me while riding my nerves to the sharp edges of overstimulation. I hear his voice again and my heart drops when I register his words. “Increasing to level 5.”

A scream bursts out of me as all of the sensations compound and increase. It’s too much, I can’t do this. I can’t tell if I’m close to cumming, I just know that I’ve been absolutely thrown over my threshold for sensation and I can’t take anymore. I sob out my begs to my doctor.

“Please! No more, please stop! STOP! It’s too much! I can’t take it!” My body is shaking and I’m fighting with everything I have against the restraints but nothing gives. His hand on my thigh has turned into an iron grip, holding me down so I can’t even shift my hips to escape the relentlessly accurate vibrations.

“PLEASE! STOP!” I sob. There’s nothing to save me. He doesn’t listen, he might’ve said something to me but I’m too far gone to hear. All I know is the torturous pleasure dominating every single nerve of my body.

Beneath the horrible overstimulation, I feel a warm thread of something else. Something pulsing through my body, filling me with pure pleasure. I whimper as the feeling starts to build, my every muscle seeming to tighten in response to it.

There’s a knot building in my stomach, spreading throughout my body. Coupled with the overstimulation, I feel ravaged and decimated, every nerve pulled bare and shocked by the live wire of sensation that’s forced upon me. Before I can even begin to articulate it, I feel the vibrator kick up another setting and I scream as it shatters me.

I cum. For the first time in my life, I cum. My scream seems to shake the very foundation of the building we’re in as the pleasure, pain, and sensation flood my body, every cell of my body bursting with it. I can’t do anything except ride the relentless wave of pleasure, my entire body a slave to the whims of that horrible, terrible, delicious, mind-altering pleasure.

I slowly come down from the high of my first orgasm, gasps shaking my body as my mind struggles to reengage with reality. I blink tears out of my eyes, and I look up to see my doctor standing over me, holding the toy that he’s mercifully removed from my clit.

“Good job, sweet girl,” he purrs, running his hand up my thigh to cup my pussy gently. The soft motion is enough to make me whimper. “How did that feel, darling?” The terms of endearment make me pause but I’m too hazy to really digest it all.

I clear my throat and swallow, my voice raw from the screaming and begging. “I- It felt really good but it was so much,” I whisper, “I don’t know if I can do that again.”

He smirks and suddenly, I’m hit with a wave of uncertainty. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there previously and it makes me nervous. Something about the way he is looking at me is so different now than earlier, with his cool professionalism and niceties. Now, I feel like a specimen under a microscope and he, the scientist who plans on dissecting me.

“I think, I think I need a break. Can we finish this appointment another time?” I murmur, pulling slightly at my restraints and looking at him.

He lets out a low laugh that makes my skin pebble with nerves. “Oh no, now that I know what the problem is, I can’t let you leave until we fix it. What kind of doctor would I be if I let my patients leave without being cured?”

I shake my head, “I don’t understand,” I whisper. “You made me cum, doesn’t that mean I’m cured?”

He smirks at me and he slides a finger into my pussy, making me gasp. “Not at all, we’ve proven that you indeed can orgasm, but there is still much to be examined in terms of the extent of your orgasms. Plus, we have several more levels of this vibrator to get through and we haven’t even begun to work on your pussy and g-spot yet.”

My eyes widen at his words and the curling feeling of fear truly takes root inside of me. “Wait no, please, I don’t want to continue with any of that anymore. Please, just let me go!”

The look on his face is one of glee as he sees my terror become apparent. “Now now, you don’t want to leave against my medical advice, do you? Plus, darling, you consented to following through with my professional recommendations when you signed up to be a patient. There’s no backing out of this now. And especially when I know how sensitive of a whore you are, darling.” He chuckles.

I whimper, “Please, no, I don’t want this.”

He bends down to lean in close to me. “Well, I don’t give a shit about what you want. You are the most unique case of sensitivity I’ve ever seen, and I plan to take full advantage of that while I have you here. So be a good girl for me and enjoy this.” He presses his lips to the side of my neck and the feeling makes me tremble.

He ignores the rest of my protests and goes back to sitting between my legs. I watch in fear as he holds up the vibrator and clicks it on. “We stopped at level 6 last time, that’s where we’ll resume. And scream all you want, sweet girl, these walls are soundproof and won’t let a speck of sound through.”

I do indeed scream when he presses the vibrator against me again.

This time, there’s no build up of pleasure or stimulation. It all slams into me all at once and I writhe against my restraints as everything overwhelms me. I vaguely hear a low laugh permeate the space around me but I can’t focus enough to pick out any other noise amidst my own sobs.

My doctor stops giving me any verbal cues, not that I’m coherent enough to even understand at this point. All I know is the punishing vibrator held against my clit, ravaging my body and turning me inside out. The claws of pleasure are embedded deep into my psyche and my body is at its complete whim.

I have no idea how much time has passed or whether I even stayed conscious for the entire duration of the torture but eventually, I realize that he’s stopped. The vibrator is off but my body was still shaking from phantom sensations, every inhale of air a sharp stab, and every sob a reminder of how broken I am.

Slowly, I register the sound of his low laugh. I whimper as I blink away my tears to look at him. “You, my sweet girl, are truly remarkable. I don’t think you realize since you were so out of it, but we were at the highest setting for the past ten minutes and you didn’t even cum once. I’ve never come across someone so fucking sensitive and yet so resistant to orgasm. It’s incredible because you don’t seem to become desensitized either.”

I whimper and my voice cracks when I speak. “Please, please, just let me go. I can’t handle any more. I won’t tell anyone about this, please just stop doing this.”

He smiles at me and for a brief moment, I see the professional, nice, kind, good doctor from earlier. But all my hope is washed away when I feel his fingers press against my core again.

“I can’t do that, darling. We still have your precious pussy left to work on,” his voice is filled with excitement and it makes me want to cry because I know what is coming next and I’m not sure I will survive.

I watch him exchange the vibrator for a huge dildo. He smirks and presses a button on the underside of it and the entire thing begins to vibrate. “I think we can go ahead and skip to the higher settings here.”

Tears fill my eyes and I shake my head at him as pleas fall from my lips. He ignores me as he lines the dildo up with my core. I tremble as the vibrations make me shudder without the toy even breaching me yet.

He catches my eye and I watch as he gives me a wink and proceeds to slam the dildo home inside of me. I arch my back and let out a devastated cry. The toy fills me to the brim, the vibrations ravaging my sensitive walls and my g-spot in a way that makes my eyes roll back.

I’m sobbing and shaking as he drives the dildo in and out of my pussy. Every movement against my overstimulated walls tortures me. The pleasure digs its claws into me and drags me back into its embrace. My entire being submits and I feel my mind’s grasp on my sanity loosen as every single facet of my existence narrows to pleasure.

Each thrust seems to make my sensitivity grow, every single muscle in my body aching and begging for relief. I feel his hand clamp down on my thigh as the other continues to work the dildo inside of me. I want to rip myself out of my body to make this torture end but there’s nothing I can do. Every push and pull shoves my body higher and higher to a peak that I can never seem to reach. There’s no culminating release of pleasure to make this all better, no soft wash of an orgasm to soothe every jagged nerve. There’s only him and the torturous pleasure he imparts onto my very soul.

An unfathomable amount of time later, I feel him finally turn off the toy and pull it out of me. I barely register the lewd sound of my cunt clenching around the toy, my pussy still weeping with arousal even after the devastation he brought upon me.

“Please,” I whimper. “Please, are we done? Please, I can’t take anymore, please let me go.”

He brushes my hair off my forehead and he smirks at me. “Oh, sweet girl, I can’t let you go now. I’m going to be keeping you as my perfect little toy. There are still so many other things I want to try on you. I’m going to push every single limit you have until you break for me.” A soft whine escapes from me and I know there is nothing I can do to convince him otherwise. My head lolls from exhaustion and I feel my grasp on consciousness start to loosen.

The last thing I hear is his voice. “Sleep, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[taylovelinus]

no offense but there is almost nothing in the world more shameful to me than letting your child be an ipad baby. I'm not saying parents don't have it hard, but I personally could not live with myself if I purposefully let my child get addicted to the technological equivalent of black tar heroin just because I'm too fucking tired to parent. literacy rates are at a record low right now -- partially because schools removed phonics from their curricula, yes, but also because fewer and fewer parents read to their children or encourage them to pick up a fucking book. you are allowing your child to emotionally and intellectually stunt themselves, and for what? I'm not saying kids shouldn't have any access to television or computers (they should, although particularly for computers I'd encourage one stationary PC in a computer room like we had in the 90's and 2000's), but no, your child should not have unsupervised, unlimited, unadulterated access to everything the web has to offer at the tender age of 6. or give them some age appropriate video games for god's sake. mario or spyro or SOMETHING. something other than tiktok and youtube. call me crazy for thinking that that's shit parenting. not to mention that by only giving them access to ipads and iphones that they don't know how to work actual computers anymore (go on, ask your 12 year old to open and save a file folder on your desktop, I dare you). a generation of shitty parents who have raised emotionally stunted low-attention-span illiterate incurious apathetic children who will very soon become an entire generation of illiterate incurious apathetic voters and consumers. that's another thing, too -- your children are constantly being advertised to and are being groomed to be relentless and uncritical consumers. your children are being preyed upon on multiple levels and you don't fucking care!! easier to call people giving you warnings "prudes" and "boomers" than actually think critically about your child and their future.

look I know parenting is hard. Unfortunately for you, your child didn't ask to be born, and it is nonetheless YOUR responsibility to raise them well and give them every fucking opportunity you can. and I am watching millions and millions of parents who could not give less of a fuck that they are actually materially disadvantaging their own children. im sick to my stomach for real.

[lucyrose191]

CALM IN THE STORM| H.SPECTER

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Wife!reader

Summary: The entire firm knew how temperamental Harvey Specter was and whenever he was in one of those moods, they knew it was going to be a painful day, until they found the only thing that could calm him down.

Warnings: none.

Suits Master List

Harvey Specter could be described as many things; arrogant, rude, uptight, stone-faced and most certainly hot headed. It wasn’t hard to piss him off but it was certainly difficult to calm him down and once his mood was ruined the entire day was doomed.

It was quite frankly anyone’s worst day whenever Harvey wasn’t in a good mood because they always took the brunt of it and there was no way to fix it.

Or so they thought.

If there was one thing anyone would say about Donna Paulsen, it was that she knew everything, which meant she knew exactly what would calm Harvey Specter down.

His wife.

Y/N Specter wasn’t a lawyer, she was an aerospace engineer which was just as, if not more impressive than being a lawyer and Harvey Specter worshipped the ground she walked on.

After watching Mike Ross leave Harvey’s office with near tears streaming down his face, Donna had enough and picked up the phone.

Y/N’s attention was momentarily drawn away from her computer at the sound of her office phone ringing but continued looking through data as she answered "Y/N Specter speaking."

A sigh of relief was heard through the line before Donna’s voice filtered through. "Y/N! Thank god! I don’t know what the hell is up Harvey’s arse today but he’s nearly made Mike cry three times and it’s only 10 o’clock, can you please come and save us," her husband’s secretary practically begged.

Y/N smiled, leaning back in her chair, work forgotten. This wasn’t the first time she had received a phone call like this and she found it hilarious just how much fear her husband built within people, he was a real softy around her.

Luckily for her, she had a lot of freedom in her role, she had proven herself for many years before that she was now able to come and go from work as she pleased, being fully trusted that no matter how often she was here her work was always done.

"I won’t be long," she said before hanging up, not wasting time in grabbing her things to make her way to her husband’s workplace.

As she walked towards her husbands office, Y/N bit down her laughter as she saw the obvious signs of relief on everyone’s faces as she walked by.

"Y/N you have no idea how happy I am to see you," Donna greeted her as she approached her desk, "He’s miserable in there."

Y/N looked through the glass into her husbands office and found that the redhead was telling the truth, the heavy frustration on her husband’s face was hard to miss.

She gave Donna a smile before making her way into Harvey’s office.

The man sighed heavily hearing his office door open, not looking up from the case file open in front of him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

Y/N smiled, “and does that include me?”

Harvey’s head snapped up at the sweet, smooth tone of his wife’s voice, feeling the tension in his shoulders deflate just from her presence. "Y/N?”

“Hey handsome." She smirked slightly, walking around his desk, he turned in his chair just as she stood in front of him.

He looked up at her in the same way he always did, there was nothing but pure love in those eyes, “What are you doing here?"

Y/N smiled lovingly at him, stepping forward to stand between his legs, wrapping her arms around the back of his head. “You’re scaring your colleagues.”

Harvey rolled his eyes, sitting up to rest his hands on her waist. “They’re ridiculous.”

Y/N hummed, “maybe, but how could I deny the chance to come and see you?”

“Fair point, I can understand the struggle of not seeing my handsome face for a couple hours,” Harvey replied, dead serious, smiling as his wife rolled her eyes and gave him a gentle slap to the shoulder.

“What’s got you all worked up, darling?” She asked.

Harvey released a deep breath, sparing a glance to the case sitting open on his desk. “I didn’t even want to represent the guy but Jessica knows him, I know him to be a complete prick."

Y/N thought for a moment before inviting herself further into his space, forcing her way into his lap, not that he was complaining, he just tightened his grip around her, leaning back into his chair. “Well, how about I treat you to lunch?” She proposed.

Harvey smiled tiredly. “I’d love that, baby." He replied, earning a bright smile from his wife who leaned forward to press a loving kiss to his lips before standing back up, pulling him up with her,

“Come on then, we’ve kept Ray waiting long enough.”

The smile on Harvey’s face was a stark contrast to the frustration he had been hounding earlier and it was all down the angel in front of him who wouldn’t even allow him to grab his coat, too persistent in dragging him through his office door.

As they made their way out of the building, they paid no attention to the uncomfortable weight that seemed to lift from everyone’s shoulders.

One thing for sure is that the entire firm were relieved for the existence of Y/N Specter.

[mushroom-words]

Pest Control || Poly!WolfStar

Fandom: Harry Potter (Marauders)

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader x Sirius Black

Words: 1085

Notes: So I’m not too sure how I feel about this. It’s my first time actually writing this pairing, and I really wanna explore it more, but it’s been difficult for me to come up with any ideas. I just kind of wrote whatever came to me as I went. And I know the formatting is off, I’ll fix it when I get on my computer.

Warnings: Dom/Sub elements. Pet names. Nothing explicit or adult.

Summary: Giving Sirius a flea bath is always interesting.

“SIRIUS, FOR THE love of Merlin—”

An aggravated sigh pushed past your lips as you kicked the door shut with your foot. You reached behind you to twist the lock into place, never taking your narrowed eyes from the large black dog raising his hackles at you. Pathetic grumbles flew towards you as he stood his ground.

You huffed and pushed your hair from your face. “Must we go through this every bloody time?” you complained, popping your hands onto your hips as you leveled him with a stern gaze, all traces of amusement wiped from your expression. “Maybe if you stopped tracking in fleas, we wouldn’t have to do this, would we?”

Sirius gave you a reproachful look as he grunted unhappily.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to discover a flea or two in your home. Between Sirius running around in his Animagus form and Remus shifting every full moon, you expected there to be a couple of the pests every now and then. You proactively treated the entire house once a month just to keep an infestation at bay. Remus was mindful to clean himself thoroughly whenever one was found just in case it had come from him. Sirius would much rather suffer with the incessant biting and itching in silence before submitting to a bath.

You never understood why he hated the flea baths so much or why he wouldn’t just take the appropriate measures to avoid needing one in the first place.

“You wanna wait for Rem to come home and take care of you himself?” You raised a brow, challenging the Animagus.

He whined, lowering himself onto his haunches.

“That’s what I thought. Now please get in the sodding bath, you mutt.”

Sirius grumbled at you but reluctantly jumped into the warm water. You rolled your eyes and kneeled beside the tub, deftly wetting his fur and lathering him in the flea shampoo. He continued to huff and whine even as you made sure to rub him down with a gentle massage, working the shampoo into his fur and picking out the parasites that emerged.

“I don’t know why you always have to make this so bloody difficult,” you muttered.

He whimpered at your words and turned to drag his wet tongue across your face. You jerked away from the touch with a breathless chuckle, shaking your head fondly at the apology in the movement.

“Okay, okay. Just stay still and let me finish, yeah?”

Sirius sat obediently as you rinsed off the shampoo, chuffing when you finally turned off the faucet and announced you were done. You reached over for the towel to help him get dry when he jumped to his feet and shook himself off. Water sprayed everywhere.

“Sirius!” You shielded your face from the droplets, not able to help your small giggle when he barked happily, his tail wagging. “Okay, fine. Dry yourself off then. Come out when you’re done,” you said.

Leaving the towel for him to use, you left the bathroom, knowing he would walk out on two legs in just a couple of moments. You picked at your wet clothes a bit unhappily but couldn’t find it in you to be too annoyed now that it was finally done.

The front door clicked open and shut from down the hall. A relieved sigh pushed past your lips as you moved to the foyer to greet your other boyfriend.

Remus smiled when he saw you and pulled you in for a sweet kiss that had you melting into him. He raised a brow as he looked over your wet clothes and mussed hair. “What’ve you been up to, dovey?”

“Siri had fleas.”

“Again?”

You hummed, closing your eyes to savor the feeling of his arms coming around you. His hand flattened against your spine to hold you to him, thumb caressing your skin over the back of your shirt.

Always one to know when to make an entrance, your boyfriend sauntered down the hall with the towel hanging around his hips. His hair was damp as it slung around his face. He smirked.

“Telling on me already, sweetheart?” he teased, pausing briefly to give Remus a chaste kiss above your head.

Remus hummed softly. “Did you give our sweet girl a hard time, Pads?”

“No more than usual,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You rolled your eyes at him but let him tug you closer to him. “Drew quite the attitude from her though.”

“Is that so?” Remus lifted a brow as he looked at you.

Heat immediately rushed to your face. “That doesn’t count!” you whined. “You were being mean!”

“Called me a mutt and everything,” Sirius continued, squeezing your side lightly.

“Wha— c’mon, that’s not fair! You were being ridiculous!” You turned your gaze to Remus, pleading with him silently.

His warm gaze studied you for a second, taking in your flushed expression and rounded eyes. He then flicked his eyes back up to Sirius. The two of them seemed to communicate with only their eyes. You shifted on your feet, fighting the urge to bring your thumbnail to your mouth.

Finally Remus smiled. “We’ll discuss it later,” he decided. “Let’s have some dinner first, yeah?”

“But—”

Your protest was cut off when Sirius grabbed your cheeks, fingers gently squeezing them together to pucker your lips. “Ah ah. You heard him, bunny,” he teased. “After dinner.”

A strangled whine crept up your throat. “Not fair,” you huffed, words slurred due to your cheeks still being pinched together. “Didn’t even do anything… Mean.”

Remus leveled you with a look that had your heart fluttering inside your chest. “Stop whining, dove. We’ll talk about it after we eat, okay?”

You deflated, body sagging against Sirius, whose chest vibrated lowly with his soft chuckle. “‘Kay,” you agreed quietly, knowing arguing right now wouldn’t turn out in your favor.

“Good. I love you.” He kissed your forehead tenderly.

“Love you.” He brushed past you after exchanging the same sentiment with your other boyfriend and wandered further into the hall, more than likely headed to dress into more comfortable clothes.

Sirius finally released you, turning you to face him. His thumb immediately found your bottom lip. “Poor bunny,” he mocked playfully.

You huffed at him. “Mean,” you repeated, lip pushing against his thumb in a pout.

He slanted his mouth over yours for a soft kiss. “Keep it up, sweetheart,” he said, eyes glimmering in entertainment, “and we’ll show you mean.”

[whereserpentswalk]

Reblog to receive your transformation, look under the cut to find out what it feels like to transform.

Vampire: You can feel it, slowly changing you since you were first bitten by that creature. You felt stronger at first, not needing to eat, not needing to sleep. It was like the burdens of a human form were lifted from you. The only thing you needed was to drink blood, which isn't that hard to come by. Then the physical transformations began, your body becoming slenderer and more androgynous, until soon you barely are recognizable. One day you wake up and your eyes are pure black, slowly your mouth grows sharp teeth, and special joints and seams in your flesh that allow you to open it into a massive mess of fangs and teeth but close it back up into something humanoid if you want it to. As the last of your humanity goes away, your sex characteristics and body hair entirely disappears, leaving you feeling wonderfully smooth. Perhaps in the past this body would be disturbing to you, you barely look like yourself, but now, looking at yourself and feeling so much more confident, this just feels like you, like what you are meant to be.

Incorporeal: You've lost yourself. You can't feel anything. No skin, no blood, no organs. You can only really sense the vague nature of the room your spirit is inhabiting. If you want to move you just think of yourself as going to that location, and if you want to pick something up you just think of yourself as lifting it. Even your appearance is no more than a sort of hologram, able to be changed at but a thought. You feel strangely comfortable this way. Nothing can hurt you now. It takes a bit of time, you have to focus on how you look a bit to look in a way that feels really you, but it eventually feels way more like you then anything in your old body did. It's weird, your old form just felt like a vessel that you needed, but in leaving it you feel entirely free, like you just don't need that type of body anymore. You look at your old body, lying dead upon the floor, and you can't help but know that that just isn't you anymore.

Lycanthrope: It was slow harnessing the changes. The werewolf who bit you didn't tell you much when she passed on her curse. It's something you can work will, you slowly figured out how to harness small changes, modular yet more modular as time passes on. You can just give yourself the eyes, or ears, or teeth, or feet, if you need to by now. Decide exactly what is wolf and what is human. It's more normal not that you realize how fluid your body is, that every part is just a single state that part can be in and not it's permanent fate. You can choose how much of a wolf you are at any time and that's fine and normal now. And sometimes you like fully being a wolf, like how it feels to run on all fours, how it feels to taste meat freshly on your teeth, how it feels to howl at the moon. You also like being a full human at other times, especially now that that doesn't constrain you anymore. Most of the time you're just something else though. Most of the time you're just you, not wolf or human but something your own.

Cyborg: You can feel parts of your body being cut away. You don't know why but it doesn't bother you as much as you thought it would. Your legs being painlessly sliced off, those legs that hurt when you walked on them. You can feel your torso having it's organs slowly drained out of it, no more stomach pain as you have no more stomach, no more shortness of breath as your lungs become medical waste. Your fat and muscles and bone are cut from your body, leaving your body type null. A mask of sorts is closed over your skull as the skin of your face, a face you were once stuck with for your entire life, is finally taken away. And in your discarded body parts place new mechanical parts are added, and these parts are finally your own, you picked out the designs, you control exactly how they look, the art style that your new body will be drawn in, the form your form will be able to take. And if there's anything you dislike, it can always be replaced, you can't be trapped in your body anymore, and you can't be hurt by it now.

Melted: You can feel your new form, slowly writhing like the slimes you felt before did. You have no distinct parts, no bones, no limbs, no organs. All you have is the form. It feels weird, you see and feel so much differently now it can barely feel like seeing or feeling at all. It's like playing with goo in your hands, but you don't have hands anymore. Slowly but surely, you sculpt yourself a new appearance, allowing your body to be something to thrive in instead of just something to survive within. You can't control your color but everything else is up to you. It's like sculpting, even limbs and heads and eyes are all metaphors when it comes to this new universal substance that is your form. You're not sure how others will see you when you're something so strange, but you like what this means for yourself, at least for now.

Flight: Your arms have slowly been stretched out, each of your fingers longer than your entire arm once was on both hands, and this strange tight skin between them. Your body is strong in some places, but weirdly skinny in others, it all feels so different, so new. Your feet have been changed to work more like hands, now that your arms can't be used to grasp, and walking is no longer as much of a requirement for you. You feel weird, like everything is there, but it's hard to see how it all fits together. Still, now that you do get to fly it's wonderful, seeing the ground below you, seeing the sky above you, feeling so free while you're completely in the air, seeing how impressed everyone is looking at you doing that. Maybe it was worth it. Despite how much it takes getting used to you don't dislike how any of it feels, and despite what some people might think of it, it feels so nice to be able to just go through the air like that without anything restraining you anymore. You wouldn't go back at the very least.

Mind upload: You can't feel anything. But you can see, the image of what you'd expect a computer monitor to display take up the totality of your vision. You can't feel a mouse or keyboard or anything, but you can move the cursor as much as you once could move limbs. If you hadn't asked for this it would seem like the worst of punishments, but this was your desire. You can look at any website you want, and no longer do you have to worry about time, about food, about sleep. You can contact anyone online just as you once did, without any breaks. The mortal world is no longer your worry.

Limbs become longer: You know you won't be like the other giants; you'll be somewhat in-between, you're not sure if you are thankful of that fact or not. It's a lot to deal with either way. You can feel you skin and bone stretching oddly, your arms and legs doubling then tripling in their length. It hurts but you can think of all the ways you won't be human anymore. You won't fit into most spaces; you'll need certain accommodations. But you still want this despite everything that it implies. It feels strange when your torso changes, with your limbs it's just bone that's moving, but with this you can feel your organs extending and changing. Too late to change things now. You wonder how people will see you? Will they be scared? Maybe that's what you want from them now?

Pyromancy: You can feel the burning inside you now. Even when you don't focus on it in any way it's in you, your warmth, your blood always hot, the feeling with every breath that you could shoot out fire. Other people with powers need to learn how to extend them to be actually useful, not you, you had to learn how to keep yours under control. It just feels right, to be able to use fire, to feel the fire as part of your body whenever you pass by any. You find yourself fidgeting with it easily, letting the fire move alongside you, because it's just so natural. You'll light up a bit in your hands, or around your face, in the middle of conversation. It doesn't burn you anymore, it feels good, it feels better than almost anything else you've felt in your life to feel fire on your body now. A few people are afraid, but you try to keep yourself calm. Even so, it feels so good to let it burst out of you, to shoot balls of fire into the air, or breath it from your mouth, it's hard to go a long time without doing something like that. It's not just something you have but it's part of you, it's part of you that was always meant to be there perhaps.

Frog: You slowly feel yourself shrink down. It dawns on you that you're going to change a lot. But you've said your last goodbyes to your humanity either way. You can feel your hair and teeth falling out, your bones reshaping and getting smaller and more delicate. Your biology completely changing. It's a lot to get used to and it all happens within a few seconds. For a moment you're worried you'll lose your human mind, but it just doesn't happen, mentally, emotionally, you're entirely the same as you always were. But you don't have to worry about human things anymore. Frogs don't have to work jobs, or pay taxes, or pay rent, you're allowed to finally just be. When you choose to go naked, and walk on all fours, you don't even have to let on that you're human at all anymore. You can exist in peace as long as you exist and forgo the responsibility of human things unless you choose to want them.

Demon: You feel the last of your human blood get replaced with the blood of that creature. It hurts for a moment, but then you stop feeling such pain, you feel a tyle of prowess you haven't felt before. Your eyes glow, you can just feel that they glow now. Your human form begins to change, perfectly growing into your ideal body type and look, and everything feels so right. And then things go beyond just that human form. Horns grow from your head, and your teeth grow sharp, you can always feel them, even when you aren't paying attention, and it makes you feel so very cool. Your reproductive organs are replaced with a neck and head of a serpent, completely genderless, but more able to feel pleasure somehow. Wings grow on your back, and you flex them, feeling the strangeness and wonder of having new limbs and joints. You grow a scorpion like tail from the base of your spine, that equally feels so strange and wonderful and new to move. You can shapeshift back into any human form when you need to, you can even effect what people do and don't recognize as your old self, but this form, your truly demonic form, that's what truly feels like it's you.

Murder: you can kill now. No description needed.

[aealzx]

_______________________

Prologue Next

_______________________

“We’ve secured the suspected meta.”

“Copy that. Red Hood, do you have eyes on the last of them?”

“Not yet, but I’m pretty sure she’s in this apartment.”

Several months ago a group of unpredictable rogues had popped up in Gotham. Nothing unusual for the city, other than they appeared to be a group of teenagers who were both criminals and heroes. Stolen goods of various types ranging from common camping supplies, food, and clothing, to an odd assortment of medical supplies and technology. Assaulted police, other heroes and vigilantes given the slip. And yet there were also many criminals dealt with that hero teams couldn’t account for who was responsible. The main lead they had gotten was the suspected meta human. A girl with white hair that could fly, phase through walls, and various other super human feats. She had been the first lead they could latch onto, and from there they had built profiles on the other three. The oldest girl appeared to be in her late teens, another girl just a few years younger, a boy the same age as the second girl, and then the metahuman, younger than all of them. They had been more of a curiosity than a serious threat. Until they had stolen something from the wrong people and painted a target on their heads. Now they were in a cross between a rescue and capture mission as the team only known as The Phantoms were being raided by pissed off crooks.

The three youngest had already been caught by the rest of the team sent by Batman, it was only the eldest girl that remained. And unless Tim could pull off a miracle Jason only had ten minutes to find her before the planted bomb destroyed the building they’d been hiding in.

With Barbara’s help he and a few of the others had searched the entire apartment building, checking each room for the remaining Phantom and placing eyes where they’d been to make sure she didn’t give them the slip and run to somewhere they’d already been. Jason had just slammed through the front door of one more apartment when he’d answered Barbara’s question, a scattering of food wrappers in a trash pile, a small cook top, sleeping areas, and other items for basic needs betraying recent habitation. It was a good hint that this was where the Phantoms had stationed, especially with the scrabbled together computer workstation setup off to one side.

There were only three other doors in the apartment, and Jason moved to the first one quickly. A closet near the front door. Empty. A bathroom across from the front room. Also empty. Which meant the last room, the bedroom, had to be where she was, if she was there.

Jason flung the door open and promptly caught the crowbar that was swung at his face, accompanied by a near frantic screech from the girl he’d been looking for

“Got her,” Jason announced to the comms, deftly yanking the crowbar out of the girl’s hands and tossing it to the side. “Begin evacuation, I’ll be out in - ….. Shit.”

As Jason spoke to Barbara and the rest of the team he decidedly ignored the girl’s demands for him to get out, having to block a fist thrown his way. He’d noticed she was obviously distressed, tears marking her dirty cheeks and a fierce glare directed his way. It wasn’t unexpected considering she was the last of her team they didn’t have in custody; she must have felt any myriad of emotions ranging from despair at failing to fear that they would hurt her. Yet Jason quickly noticed something that made him cuss mid report, and realize the girl's actions weren’t out of defiance, but protectiveness.

“There’s five of them,” Jason reported, finger pressing to his comm and eyes locked onto the new figure that hadn’t been part of any of their intel. And for a good reason. The lad was unconscious on a cot, one of the stolen items in the team’s list, and he didn’t look good. If it weren’t for the shallow, shuddering breaths from him Jason would have thought he were already dead, his skin ghastly pale other than fever flushed cheeks. “There’s another boy, heavily injured. I’m bringing them both out, have someone standing by.”

“DON’T TOUCH HIM!”

Of course the girl heard his report, and renewed her efforts to fight Jason, blocking him from reaching the fifth member. They didn’t have time to converse gently though, and so Jason grabbed her arm and yanked her forward. “Listen! I’m not going to hurt you, I’m trying to rescue you. There’s a bomb! We have to get out of the building, and get him to a hospital.”

The girl was smart. Or at least not dumb enough to ignore Jason’s words completely, for she froze the moment he mentioned the bomb. “...What?” she asked, wide eyes locking onto him, daring him to trick her.

“Look, you guys trying to steal Lazarus water pissed off the wrong people. They planted a bomb, and my team and I are here to rescue you. We can talk about your crime runs later, alright?” Jason explained a little more, really not wanting to have to knock the girl out too just to get the two to a safe area if he could help it.

The way the girl’s eyes opened, a horrified gasp escaping her, told Jason she wasn’t a bad person. Or at least reinforced what their actions aside from theft had suggested. That was the reaction of someone who realized they’d made a mistake, and felt the weight bearing down from the mess that had been caused because of it. She stopped trying to fight Jason now, pulling away and rushing to the 5th member’s side, grabbing his limp arm and hooking it around her own shoulders to try and lift him up.

“Is he safe to move?” Jason asked, stepping forward to help. Even though the lad looked fairly small, he was still too heavy for the girl judging by how she was struggling to even get him upright. “His spine isn’t hurt? No broken bones?” he asked to clarify when the girl looked at him with a question half voiced.

“No. Nothing broken, just the-” she confirmed, cutting off when Jason reached forward and effortlessly scooped the frail teen up.

“Hold onto my back. We’re going that way,” Jason directed, ignoring the way she tensed, holding herself back from demanding he not touch her friend, and nodding towards the window.

“WhAT?” the girl sputtered, hands jerking as she internally wrestled with being obedient to him or her own sense of self preservation.

“We’re out of time. Just grab on,” Jason half snapped, roughly kicking the window to shatter the glass, twisting his frame to shield the lad in his arms as well, just in case. “One minute,” he added, repeating what Barbara announced in his comms to reinforce his directions.

It was enough. Pursing her lips and giving a soft whimper the girl rushed forward to throw her arms around his shoulders from behind, clinging to him with a death grip. Jason wished he had a better way to carry both of them, but he hadn’t been expecting there to be two of them in the first place. So he could only hope the girl’s grip was strong enough to hang on as he shot a zip line towards where the others were gathered. After getting the other end secured to the building they were in, Jason latched the clip on the rope and swung over the fire escape, curling his legs up to make sure the lad he was carrying had plenty of support. He could hear a muffled, drawn out squeak from the girl on his back, but didn’t comment.

“Wh- Ja- DANNY! LET HIM GO YOU-” the mid teenage girl caught sight of them first, snarling and trashing against her restraints when she saw who Jason had. Cass refused to let her go though, pulling her back to kneeling and considering pushing her down further if necessary. She didn’t get to finish her protests though.

“HEADS DOWN!” Dick shouted after Barbara announced a second to detonation, and those who had capes were throwing them over their targets and each other, hunching over to bodily protect them from the cascades of blasts ripping through the apartment building the Phantoms had been stationed in. They were far enough away that they shouldn’t get hurt from the collapsing rubble, but there was still the possibility of smaller debris getting thrown at them. So they remained huddled on the ground a safe distance away until the rubble settled, and only when it stopped shifting did they stand again.

“Oracle, status on the inbound units?” Dick was the first to speak, the others giving sighs of relief and partially relaxing.

The two middle teenage children had quieted significantly after the explosion, the boy looking at the rubble in shock as he realized they would have been caught in it if it weren't for the group of vigilantes that had captured them. And the girl held a similar period of stunned silence before she started kicking at Cass again. “Get off me! Get your filthy hands off Danny!”

“Sam, it’s okay.” The eldest girl spoke with a shaking voice, slipping off Jason’s back and leaning her head against him in a moment of despair. Cass’s hand froze where it had been about to knock out chop her feisty captive, blinking and looking up instead. So the middle teen’s name was Sam? And the unconscious lad was Danny?

“The meta is waking up. Should I dose her again?” That was Damian, keeping an eye on the youngest Phantom. She was starting to stir, but the eldest Phantom spoke up before the others could.

“Don’t. Please. They’ve been through enough. Just please bring her over here, I’ll manage her,” the eldest girl directed. Her voice was still shaking, but it had steadied somewhat after Jason had turned slightly while remaining crouched to allow her to sit next to their 5th member, her hand resting on his cheek as she was gathering the breaking pieces of her determination.

Stephanie and Cass only exchanged looks with each other, and also Dick and Tim, before Jason spoke up. “Just bring her over. She might be more docile when she’s near this one.”

They didn’t seem completely convinced, but Stephanie at least complied, moving to crouch on one knee with the youngest girl while Damian hovered nearby with another dose of sedatives.

“You’re doing the right thing kid. When the cops get here with the paramedics they’ll get Danny taken care of. You don’t have to worry,” Jason encouraged the eldest girl, grateful that she was getting her team to behave.

“They can’t take him,” she rejected, catching the rest off guard.

“What? Look if it’s about money don’t worry, it’ll be taken care of,” Jason insisted, hoping it wasn’t because of a different possibility he was quickly starting to consider. He’d thought it was just his imagination, but Danny was unusually cold to the touch. Almost like ice. There was another common reason he knew people avoided hospitals despite being this injured.

The eldest girl shook her head again. “It’s not that it’s….” she paused, seeming both reluctant to tell them but also not sure how to tell them what was going on. She wasn’t even sure what was wrong. But when the youngest teen groaned and started to shift the eldest looked at her and found her answer. “Danny is like Danielle. Doctors can’t help them. They’re too different.”

That’s what Jason thought, but it didn’t mean he wanted to hear it, and it earned an understanding but frustrated groan from him and some of the others. “Shit. Alright,“ Dick took charge of the situation, hissing slightly and reaching to his own comms. “Oracle, where’s the nearest safe house? The 5th member is another potential meta, unconscious, and heavy bandaging over the whole torso. Can you contact home and have Penny-one or The Doctor on standby?”

As Dick took care of directing the team, Jason took care of keeping their tentative ally willing to listen to them. “We might have some contacts that can help. We have friends that also need more attention that the regular doctor can give them. Do you kids have names we can use?”

It was more of a lead than they’d had since they’d gotten stranded there, so the eldest teen seemed hesitant but hopeful to grab onto it. After a moment of thinking, her other hand reaching out to Danielle as she started to blink her eyes open, she responded. “My name is Jazz. This is my little brother Danny, my little sister Dani with an I, and our friends Sam and Tucker.”

“... Your parents gave your little siblings the same name?” Jason couldn’t help asking after hearing the relationships. That also explained a lot about why Jazz had been so frantically protective of Danny, aside from her being the oldest of the group.

“It’s… a long story,” Jazz admitted, grimacing a little. “Danielle… was unexpected.”

Looked like Jazz didn’t quite trust them enough. That was fine, they didn’t need a whole backstory right off. Oracle could probably figure it out easily now that she had names and relations. “Fair enough,” Jason dismissed with a grunt, ending his conversation as Dick approached them.

“Hey. There’s a whole mess of stuff going on, I know, but right now we’re going to focus on making sure everyone is taken care of, and then we can figure out the rest of the mess later, okay?” Dick started, leaning low with his hands on his knees and speaking gently. “The police and paramedics can take care of the criminals that were hunting you, but since he’s a special case we’re going to move to a different location where we’ll give everyone a check up. Sound good?”

Jazz didn’t jump at the offer, but they could see she saw promise in it, and hesitantly nodded. “My friends and I stay together at all times. Got it?” she demanded.

“Sure,” Dick agreed, not seeing any issue with that. “But we’ll keep the restraints on if necessary, alright? You all still have charges of assault after all.”

It was easy to see Jazz’s expression fall significantly at the reminder, as though her soul had been slightly crushed. “Yeah… okay,” she agreed, swallowing some nausea that had churned her stomach at being reminded they were criminals. Then, before Danielle could fuss too much, Jazz turned to rest a hand on the small girl’s arm. “Dani, these guys have agreed to help us. So behave and don’t pick any fights unless I say otherwise, alright?”

The fist that Danielle had prepared to punch her holder didn’t move, and after a moment Danielle groaned in reluctant relent. “Guhhhh can I at least punch the guy who drugged me? I feel awful.”

The comment earned a weak chuckle from Jazz, and she patted Danielle’s arm. “I’ll think about it. Just rest for now. We’re moving to a safe place.” She hoped she wasn’t lying to Danielle, and that these people would actually, finally give them the help they needed.

________________

I guess I go here now =v=;;;

Partially inspired by this post. But not including everything because there's a lot of stuff I don't understand. |D This just got stuck in my head so hard I couldn't work on anything else.

[kdh-tally]

Baby x Rumi!YoungerSisterReader [pt 2]

Prompt : It's officially day 1 of you being stuck with the Saja boys. Its not thaaaat bad.....

Author's Note : I love them. If anyone seems a bit out of character lemme know lol. Also Baby and Mystery would definitely share a huge room ykyk

Read Part 1 -> Hereeeeeeeeeee

It was day one of five of being left in the boys dorm. Y/n wanted to go home. 

The girl had gotten up early, she normally slept in but being in an unfamiliar place had set of her nerves. She walked to the kitchen, trying to be a good house guest, and began to clean. She planned on doing the dishes but they were already clean, must have been one of the boys. 

So she turned to the stove. “What do demons even eat?...” she mumbled, rummaging through their cabinets.

“You can make pancakes,” a voice spoke from behind her. 

She jumped, summoning her weapon, a bright set of throwing stars, and facing the person. It was a man with pink hair, not the one she’d met yesterday. Was this guy an intruder?

He held his hand up in surrender, though he was obviously very groggy, he must’ve just woken up. “Relax doll, I'm not gonna kill you.” 

“Who are you,” she mumbled, a sharp star still in hand.

“Romance,” he introduced, slipping onto one of the high chairs next to the kitchen counter. Seeing as he wasn’t going to hurt her, Y/n allowed her weapon to disperse. “Sorry I wasn’t able to welcome you yesterday. I was sleeping”

Y/n eyes widened slightly. This was their fifth band member. Mira’s other boyfriend. “Sorry about that,” she apologised but he waved her off with a tired smile. 

“You can make pancakes for them,” he motioned to one of the higher cupboards. “The stuff you need is in there.”

She thanked him with a small smile before getting to work. The two didn’t speak much, to be fair Romance looked like he was about to fall asleep at any moment, but it allowed Y/n to get through the cooking much faster.

By the time the rest of the boys had come down, she’d already made a huge stack of pancakes, and a cup of hot chocolate for herself. She was about to flee back to her guest room but Jinu noticed her. 

“You’re up already y/nie?” He asked, voice a bit heavy with sleep. She said nothing but nodded, gesturing to the plates filled with food on the table. “You made that for us?” 

“I didn’t wanna be a lousy house guest,” she mumbled lowly, not liking the amount of eyes on her. Especially the boy with the blue hair. 

“You don’t need to do anything around here, you’re our guest.” Abby spoke, biting into one of the pancakes before freezing on the spot. “Holy– how did you make these taste so good?” The man had stars in his eyes as he practically inhaled each pancake.

Y/n fought the urge to laugh before shrugging her shoulders. The other boys begin to eat after seeing Abby’s eager expression. Even Romance who had watched the entire cooking process was quick to devour his plate. 

Baby however, seemed to be savouring every single bite of the food. “She cooks better than you Romance,” he praised, voice deeper than usual as he’d just woken up. 

Y/n swore under her breath before making her way out of the room. No one should have a voice that deep.

–

Y/n was in her room messing with her phone. She’d been trying to load up a supposedly terrifying horror game on roblox but her usual computer didn't have enough storage to run it. Unfortunately for her, she hadn’t brought her gaming computer along with her when packing. 

So now she lay spread out on her bed,  when a loud knock ran through her room. She turned to face the door, taking in a deep breath before moving off her bed to open it. She peeked through the door and saw Mystery. 

He had a plate of food in hand, scrambled eggs, toast and a cup of orange juice. “Romace said you didn’t eat,” he mumbled, holding the food out to her.

She said nothing, taking the plates from him and placing them on her desk before returning to the door. “Thanks for bringing it,” she smiled politely. He nodded, about to leave when he noticed the game she was trying to run on her devices. Though he stood far from the device, he had a really good sight. 

“Wanna play on my set up?” he offered.

Y/n blinked in surprise before turning back to her phone, she didn’t wanna leave the room but she’d be bored all day. “If it’s alright…”

Mystery nodded and she followed him through the hallways, she needed to get herself more comfortable with the house's layout soon. He led her to a room at the end of the hall and opened the door to let her in.

The room was dark but quite clean. Glowy LED lights were stung across the roof and a huge pc setup was on one corner of the room. Beside it was a mini lounge area with a wide couch and television. Two beds were pressed on the other side of the room too. 

“Nice room,” she complimented.

Mystery said nothing but sent her a small smile in appreciation. He was quick to set up his computer, letting her log into her account and begin playing. She got comfortable in the chair, putting on the headphones she’d found laying on the desk.

Soon enough, the room was quiet except for the whirring fans of the PC and the eerie background music of the horror game Y/N had chosen. She sat stiffly in his gaming chair, eyes glued to the screen, fingers tight on the mouse.

She looked away from the screen, running a hand through her hair before mumbling“...I don’t think I can go in there alone.” Her voice was small but not helpless. More like deeply annoyed that she was scared.

Mystery, who was sitting cross-legged on his bed with a second controller in hand and half a bag of chips in his lap, raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“I swear something’s gonna jump out. I’m not prepared for this.”

“Then don’t open the door?”

“It says ‘find the key behind the door.’ I have to open it.” She looked at the boy. She’d known from Zoey that he was actually quite talkative when comfortable and was hoping this would be one of those times so she wouldn’t have a heart attack playing the game alone.

A beat of silence.

Mystery set the chips down and stood up, tying his hair up into a small ponytail.

“Move,” he muttered, dragging a chair over beside hers and booting up his own side of the setup. “You cover the left. I’ll cover the right. If we both die, I’m blaming you.”

Y/N grinned. “Fair.”

They didn’t talk much after that, not in full sentences, anyway.

“Go left!” He told her. “Not that left!”

“Why is it breathing like that???” Y/n whined as the monster in the game stood over them.

“MYSTERY RUN IT’S RIGHT THERE—” she cried loudly as she rapidly pressed the keyboard. “WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS GAME???”

“Yours!” he seethed as the creature got closer. 

The moment it really kicked off was when the creature suddenly burst through the wall with a screech. Mystery yelped, not expecting the sudden jumpscare, he visibly flinched and fell halfway off his chair.

It was quiet for just a second before Y/N burst out laughing. Like, full-on wheezing. The kind that shook her shoulders and stopped her from being able to speak.

Just then, the door creaked open behind them.

“Yo—” Baby’s voice started, then immediately cut off.

Y/N didn’t notice him enter.

She was still wheezing. “Your face– Oh my gosh Mystery, your face!”

“Shut up,” Mystery groaned, a pout on his face as he dragged himself back upright.

Baby stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes were transfixed.

She was laughing out loud. He hadn’t seen her so free before. (Well to be fair he’d only met her a few hours ago but still). She looked so content, soft, and beautiful… In his chair, her hoodie sleeves still covering her hands, eyes bright under the glow of the monitors.

He blinked slowly. Once. Twice. He couldn't look away.

Mystery looked over and had to force his smirk away. “Baby,” he called.

The blue-haired boy snapped out of it. “Umm yea hey.”

He stepped in, flopping onto his bed as he fought the urge to look at the pretty girl in his gaming chair, wearing his headphones.

Y/N finally looked over, blinking at him. “Oh. Hi.” Her voice got quiet, shy. She hadn’t even noticed he had entered and probably seemed like a crazy person laughing the way she was.

Baby gave a small nod. “Hey.”

He tried to sound cool. Nonchalant. Like his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest. Like he hadn’t been replaying her laugh in his mind on loop for ten seconds straight.

She tilted her head slightly. “You stay here too?”

“It was my room first,” he replied with a half-smile. “Mystery just stays here because we don’t want him to sleep on the streets.”

Y/N chuckled quietly, surprised by the joke. “Cool setup. Mystery let me borrow it.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, moving closer to the set up and leaning on the back of her chair, arms crossed lazily over the top of it. “You break anything, you buy it.”

“She already broke my pride,” Mystery muttered, reaching for his chips again. “That thing wasn’t human.”

“What are you guys playing anyways?” he asked, leaning closer to the screen, and closer to Y/n. The girl had gone silent, trying to regulate her breathing as he leaned over her.

“Dead Silence? I thought you didn’t like horror games Mystery,” Baby said with a smirk.

Mystery just rolled his eyes.

Y/N looked between them, still a little unsure, but smiling anyway. “Do you… wanna play too?” She turned to look up at him.

Baby blinked, eyes stuck on her hopeful ones. She was inviting him to play? His heart stopped, he hadn’t even realized he had gotten so close.

He played it cool, shrugged as he took a step back. “If you’re ready to lose.”

“Someone’s confident,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Delusional,” Mystery corrected under his breath.

But Baby was already focused, grabbing a spare controller. He didn’t sit too close, but close enough. His leg barely brushed hers when he dropped onto the second chair and for once, he was very aware of how much the girl set him off.

Still, he smirked anyway.

“Alright, Princess,” he said. “Let’s see if you’re even more of a scaredy cat than Mystery.”

Mystery, who had given up on playing, threw a chip at him.

Y/N smiled. Maybe this 5 day stay-cation wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Tag List (If I Forgot Anyone Let Me Know!) :

@frootloopscos @bunnytea10 @tenaciouskittenpuff @calmmell @arieslucy @tikitsune @crystalashyah @kpopmultistans @dragongirlie56 @matsugumisou @tsukimoon-chan @nubyeol @mirigold-mayflowers @thecoolestastrophile @tree-nuts-stuff @gail31220 @matsugumisou @foxykatniss123 @sloanswifefrfr @rubyninja1

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[ms-demeanor]

any thoughts on the new post that staff went scorched earth on which is now making the rounds abt tumblr live? it basically screenshots all the tos and claims if you've ever opened the app (or in some rbs, unsnoozed live) tumblr has gotten your data. on the one hand i feel like this is fearmongering, but on the other its true that MOST sites have your data as is so its pretty standard. you seem pretty knowledgeable abt data gathering so i was wondering abt your take

This is going to be pretty unkind but watching tumblr users interact with staff and live is a great primer on how conspiracy theories happen.

Nobody on this fucking website knows how to read a ToS, nobody on this website knows how anything fucking works (sorry, this is not a dig at you but how would tumblr "get" your data from you clicking or unclicking live; the only data that tumblr has on you is the data that you have put on tumblr what data do people think that clicking the "new" button is scooping up that is anything beyond interactions or posts or IP addresses which are the things that tumblr already has information about like you do not introduce new information into the tumblr ecosystem by clicking a button you haven't installed anything you haven't changed permissions on your browser if everyone is so goddamned scared about live stealing their data i strongly recommend they stop using anything but public internet through an anonymizer and making sure location data is shut off on all of their devices and anyone who is flipping their shit about the type of data that live is collecting but who is using chrome on any device needs to chill the fuck out about live and flip the fuck out about google)

this is like that post about twitter's content policy that circulated the other day or that post about deviantart's content policy that circulated ten fucking years ago nobody knows how to read legal documents and nobody knows how to read technical documentation and this comes together into unholy matrimony on the no reading comprehension at all moral panic website

live never violated the GDPR it was just rolled out in the US first but the entire userbase decided that because it hadn't been rolled out simultaneously in the EU and the US that it was SO UNSPEAKABLY PRIVACY VIOLATEY THAT THE EU HAD BANNED IT FOR ITS CRIMES with, like, nothing whatsoever backing that up because, again, even at its most intrusive Live collects about as much data as Twitter or Yelp, both of which are *capable* of meeting GDPR standards with that level of data collection (even if musk sometimes makes decisions that violate GDPR).

Live is significantly less intrusive than any facebook product, than Amazon, and than any Google product. If you use youtube logged in, don't worry about live, the horse is out of the barn and tumblr is the least of your worries *regardless* of live. If you regularly use Google as a search engine please god learn how to evaluate and compare risks across platforms because Live is like a coughing baby compared to about a dozen things that most highly online people interact with every single day.

If you don't want to use live don't use live. Clicking the button doesn't magically transfer your secret FBI file to tumblr and even agreeing to the ToS doesn't share anything that tumblr doesn't already have if you don't continue to interact - if you don't interact with live after agreeing to the ToS it's not collecting any data except your non-interaction.

For everyone who is losing it over Live just turn off your goddamned location on your fucking cellphone and turn off your location on your goddamned computers and that's it, you're good, you're fine, relax. If your response to "turn off your location" is "but I need it for _____" then don't worry about Live, whatever "_____" is was already collecting and selling your data.

Do you use an activity tracker? Congrats, you have much, much bigger privacy issues to worry about than tumblr live.

Okay but also I yelled about that post and the very many ways in which it was incorrect in January.

And I happened to take an archive of the page at that time because I'm a paranoid motherfucker.

And if you want my guess as to why staff went "scorched earth" on that post it's probably because if you scroll down to the bottom of the page on the archive, OP calls on everyone looking at the post to send a kind fuck you to the CEO then tagged his tumblr.

If you look at the other posts that went scorched earth in relation to tumblr staff they were also posts that very pointedly directed a lot of ire at a single staff member.

I don't think that any individual tumblr staff members are above criticism and I don't think that staff as a whole is above criticism but part of learning to read a ToS is understanding that someone can be shitty and vague and use TERF talking points and skirt the line and be technically okay under the ToS while someone can have a legitimate gripe about another user being horrible and manage to violate the ToS by accidentally spinning up a harassment campaign or suicide baiting someone.

Shitty people like nazis and terfs thrive on being edge cases. They are very good at finding a boundary and standing juuuuuuuuust on this side of it and going "la la la I'm not violating the ToS, you can't stop me!" and that blows and it leads to a lot of people encountering a lot of shitty stuff on a lot of websites but personally I'm pretty glad that there's a lot of gray area because when you cut out gray area that's when you see things like It's Going Down getting banned as extremist content alongside white supremacists. Please continue to report nazis and terfs, and when possible go deep into their pages to report because a pattern of behavior is more likely to get recognized as hate speech than a single post that gets reported a hundred times. Please block as many people who it's harmful for you to interact with as possible because it's clear that staff is not going to do the kind of work protecting users that users would like staff to do.

However I just can't get angry on behalf of a blogger who got nuked for saying "Hey everyone who hates this feature that we all hate please go tell the CEO to fuck himself at this URL specifically" - that is an extremely clear violation of the ToS because it is absolutely targeted harassment.

So now tumblr-the-userbase is going off on its merry conspiracy way skipping through fields and lacking reading comprehension and saying "users are getting banned for reporting the crimes of tumblr live and its gdpr violations" and ignoring the fact that the post was nuked because the last line was saying "hey everyone, let's all individually tell the CEO to fuck off in messages sent directly to him that are certainly not going to include any threats, exaggerations, gore, etc. etc. etc."

If I were to make a post that had 50k notes and the last line was "and while you're at it, please send tumblr-user-ms-demeanor a personalized message telling them why they're a terrible person so they know what we think of them" it would absolutely be reasonable to say that was harassing that user. And that post did it with the CEO. Who is not above criticism (and I have my criticisms! I don't think he really gets tumblr and that's a problem!), but jesus fucking christ don't tag the goddamned CEO or any other staff member in a call to action asking users to send them messages saying "fuck off" this is literally the stupidest thing I've ever seen a tumblr conspiracy theory coalesce around.

Anyway thank you for giving me a place to vent i've been getting more and more pissed about this for three days. Everyone feel free to kindly tell tumblr user ms demeanor to fuck off.

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

[healedlover]

CLICKBAITED!

summary: in which your co worker ends up inside you... in front of the camera. pairing: nanami kento x fem!reader cw: camboy!nanami, p in v, dirty talk, Masturbation, Sex toys, one night stand, perv nanami, cumming inside a/n: not proof read and finally wrote camboy nanami

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

“Today is going to be a quick stream, alright?”

The chat sent sad faces and other messages showing their disappointment and Nanami just chuckled as he unbuckled his pants.

“My first day of work is tomorrow, I…ngh…won’t have time to get ready.”

His fingers continued the slow movements on his cock as he watched the chat donate and send a bunch of messages. Nanami adjusted his mask before changing the video on his second monitor, so he could cum quicker.

But nothing was working, he let out a small whine as he continued clicking to the next page, quicker and quicker so he could find an appealing video.

"Keep the donations...going"

guest1 donated $500: strip plz!!!

"Yeah? You want me to take off my shirt, hm?" Nanami teased, his free hand roamed on his tight collared shirt and he plucked each button off, one by one.

"Is this what you wanted?"

guest127: yesss

guest2: faster! yes!

"Oh? the last button is stuck." Nanami frowned, glancing at the chat before ripping his entire shirt off, revealing his bare chest. The chat exploded with excitement. Nanami grinned as the praises and compliments started to roll in.

His fingers tightened around his cock as he movements grew quicker, more intense, and now, finally, he was close to release.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He moaned.

with one final stroke a streak of cum spurted all over his stomach. He left out a few breathless pants as he slumped down on his chair. The stream continued to donate and chat amongst themselves as he watched Nanami's tired state in the chair.

"Thats it for today. Tomorrow, I'll be trying something different, okay? Goodnight."

stream over.

Nanami cleaned himself up and shut off his computer for the night.

The next morning rolled along and it was his first day of an actual job–outside of fucking himself in front of a camera–and he was nervous.

After a stressful ten minute drive, Nanami walked in the building and headed to the correct room. He fixed the tie on his suit before walking in.

-

The door clinked open and you glanced up from your desk and noticed an unfamiliar face walk in, and god, he was gorgeous. You peered at the man longer than you intended to, until your eyes met.

You flinch and avert your gaze away from him.

"Yo, Nanami Kento, right?" The boss's voice interrupted the silence filling the room, the so called man–Nanami, nodded and glanced at you one more time before turning his body to the boss.

He was led to a place to an office desk and of course, he was two seats away from you. You sigh and sit back on your chair before getting back to your work.

-

Nanami felt like his cock was going to burst, he didn't expect to see someone so...good looking on his first day of work. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, imagining your outfit again.

The way your breasts fit perfectly in your tight shirt, showing a good amount of cleavage, and how your beautiful eyes stared right at him...Oh, Nanami needed you as soon as possible.

He opened his eyes and looked around the room before getting up and making his way to the bathroom. He walked past your desk and took another glance at you before stumbling into the bathroom.

"Fuck.. I feel like 'm gonna explode" Nanami muttered to himself. He brought his trembling fingers to his belt and quickly unbuckled it, soon pulling his pants down, revealing his throbbing, hard cock.

"Damn y-you!" He whispered as his fingers curled around his creamy mushroom head, he deliberately continued to loudly stroke himself while thinking about you and he felt like he was going to cum in seconds.

“Shit, shit shiiiittt” Nanami sighed and removed his fingers from his dripping heat, he stared at the huge mess coated on his fingers and let out a quiet groan before grabbing some tissues and cleaning himself up.

After an excruciating five minutes of trying to get himself—and the stall—cleaned up he finally finished and walked out the bathroom, praying nobody heard him.

Nanami headed back to his office desk, walking the same direction from before and took another quick glance at you… how was he going to talk you into getting in bed with him?

When the work day ended Nanami packed up his things and was so close to talking to you…but you seemed to have already start leaving so instead Nanami just headed home.

He had another stream planned tonight and decided he was going to use sex toys for it, the problem was, he had none. So after he put his stuff away at home Nanami was planning to buy some at a store nearby.

Some time passed and Nanami was leaving the house, half dressed, to go pick up some sex toys.

He walked to the store and was met with a variety of different types of toys. Nanami scanned around the room before picking a couple of his interest and left.

When he got home he placed his things on his desk and put his mask on before logging into the site and started the stream momentarily.

stream started

Nanami sat back on his seat and watched as people started to roll in the stream. The chat was already blaring with a bunch of messages, asking him what he’s gonna do and such.

“Calm down, today I bought some toys..and im not sure which one to use so I need your help okay?”

guest127: ohh yes, show us!!

Nanami nodded and flipped the bag over the table, letting all the toys he bought scatter on the small space.

“Highest donor will choose which one I use, how is that?”

The chat agreed and he nodded, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched the donors start donating.

“Ten seconds…”

The money started getting larger and larger and finally at the last second a random person donated a good three thousand dollars.

Nanami let out a whistle and lowered the camera showing the toys on display.

“Choose any.”

guest127: pocket pussy?

“Mmh… I’ll try.”

Nanami shoved the other toys off his desk and stood up from his chair and slowly pulled his pants down, aligning himself with the toy.

He slowly shoved his dripping tip in the silicone pussy and let out a groggy moan. He continued thrusting himself deep inside it and immediately his mind wandered to you again.

Dazed at the pleasure he was feeling he also imagined this stupid toy was you. Nanami tried imagining how your tits would bounce at his immense thrusts he’s giving you.

Or how his cock would fit perfectly in your tight cunt,

Well fuck. He needed you, bad.

guest2: fuck this is hot

Nanami was close to release and he tried to hold it in, he really did, but after one final thrust a wave of shock jolted through him.

Out of instinct, a moan of your name slipped out of his lips and silently scolded himself before pulling himself out of the toy, watching all his cum spill out of it.

Nanami plopped on the chair, absolutely drained from the embarrassingly good sex he had with his toy and stared at the screen which was filling up with donations and such.

He told the stream he'd see them tomorrow and ended it off for the night.

The next morning at work, he swore he was going to talk to you and someway drag you into his bed, or stream, whatever it was he was going to do it.

The thought of your cunt wrapping around his throbbing cock as he pounded into you, turned Nanami on before he even walked into the workplace.

when he stepped in he noticed you were sitting at your desk, and glanced at the other two cubicles next to yours and noticed nobody was sitting next to you, yet.

So he hesitantly walked up to the front of your desk and stared at you for a few moments before you lifted your head away from your phone and looked up at him, with the exact same eyes from yesterday.

Nanami twitched at the sight and cleared his throat before greeting you.

And so the conversation went exactly how nanami expected it to.

It went perfectly.

-

"Alright, I'll see you tonight then?" you ask one more time. Nanami nodded and said his goodbyes before heading back to his cubicle.

You ponder in your seat for a moment, he was awfully good at flirting and the way his smooth voice talked you into meeting up with him tonight was something you couldn't resist.

Though you both barely know each other it was difficult to deny a pretty face like that, and yet again just one night wouldn't be bad. I mean like he said, it was only going to be a one time thing.

You let out a nervous sigh and stare at the paper where his address was written, dreading for the time to come.

Hours passed and work was already over. you were sitting down in your kitchen, already ready with the outfit you were planning to wear to Nanami's house.

After a ten minute walk you finally get to Nanami's place, which was surprisingly a decent looking place. You knock on the door and a few seconds pass and the door flung open revealing Nanami who had no shirt, but a mask on.

"Hi Kento"

"Hey, come in." Nanami dragged you inside his place and led you to his room. The second you walked in you were met with a huge desk with a couple monitors lying on it. the screens showed a reflection of the two of you in the room.

"you're okay with this, right?" he asked, pointing his fingers towards the set up of his live streaming stuff.

you nod and he smiled in response. Nanami then grabbed onto you and pressed you against the desk. His large figure loomed behind you as he rocks his hips back and forth against your ass.

"wai–mmph we're already starting?"

"sorry, I've been waiting for this moment since I laid eyes on you...fuck. c'mere." In a quick second Nanami flipped you over and grinded himself on you again.

moans and whines filled the room as he increased the pace. eventually his fingers ended up under the waistband of your pants and he slipped them down, revealing your bare legs in your laced panties.

Nanami almost came at the sight, he was trying to hold himself back from taking things too quick but you were making it ten times more difficult.

Nanami glanced at the screen behind you and chuckled, "look at that, the donations are going crazy."

You then felt your panties being removed and Nanami brought his fingers to your soaking cunt, which was already dripping from the situation happening right now.

"Shit." Nanami muttered, slipping his fingers out of you and removed his pants, aligning his cock with your soaking entrance, slowly thrusting himself inside you.

The chat was going crazy, and Nanami wasn't even focused on anything except you. He grabs onto you and pulls you closer as he quickens the pace inside you.

Nanami leaned over you and he pushed his full length inside you, leaving you to arch your back in pleasure. A scoff escaped his lips and he was already going insane.

This was way better than the fake one.

"'m gonna c-cum!" you moan as you grab onto his arms, he nodded and his mask started slipping off slowly but he didn't care. Instead, he took his mask off and placed it on your face.

guest127: ohh shit hes hot

"You look so good with my–mask–mghh...on.. 'm gonna cum! fuckk.."

A wave of shock sparked through you when white beads spurted out of Nanami and he pulled out, watching as his and your mixture coat his cock perfectly.

He sighed and plopped on top of you, breathing heavily. He lifted up the mask on your face and leaned in closer giving you a small kiss before pulling away and glancing up at the stream.

"thank you for the donations... see you guys next stream, yeah?"

stream over

— 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ —

[malfoysanctuary]

Teach Me Softness

Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Summary: He thought every touch had a cost, every kiss an expectation.

Mattheo Riddle had always been fire. Not the warm kind that crackled under hearthstone, but the kind that razed forests, left nothing but ash.

So when Y/n touched him the first time—just a brush of her hand against his as they walked from Potions—he flinched like he’d been burned.

She didn’t say anything.

She never did.

The first few weeks of dating him were… hard. Not the usual “he forgets your favorite drink” kind of hard, but the kind that lives in your chest and makes you ache for someone who never learned what softness felt like.

Mattheo was beautiful, dangerous, impossibly intelligent—and terrified.

Not of her, exactly.

But of what her love meant. Of what it asked of him.

Because to Mattheo, love came with strings. Expectations. Rules written in scars and moans and skin pressed too hard against his.

So when Y/n kissed him on the couch in the Slytherin common room—just kissed him, nothing else—he tried to tug her shirt up before he even pulled away.

“Mattheo,” she whispered, breathless but not giving in, her hands gently pushing his away. “That’s not what I’m asking for.”

He froze.

His eyes clouded, confused. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not tonight. Not now.”

He blinked like the words didn’t compute. Like he’d misread the entire language of touch.

And maybe he had.

Because for the first month they were together, he couldn’t even hold her hand without his fingers tightening, sliding up her wrist, trailing toward skin he wasn’t sure he had permission to crave.

It wasn’t about lust.

It was about instinct.

Mattheo had learned early that touch came with a price. That kisses turned into currency. That warmth always spiraled into heat until someone got burned.

Three months in, Y/n finally understood what it meant to love someone who didn’t know what safe felt like.

And he started to understand, for the first time, that maybe her touch wasn’t a spark begging to ignite him— Maybe it was a balm.

The moment it all changed wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t even a kiss.

It was a quiet Tuesday. Cold. Wind rattling the windowpanes of the castle.

Mattheo had just come back from detention—his jaw tense, knuckles red, eyes darker than usual. He walked straight past her in the common room, didn’t even meet her eyes, and disappeared into his dorm without a word.

Y/n waited ten minutes. Then fifteen. Then thirty.

When she finally climbed the stairs and pushed open the door to his dorm, she found him sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, shaking.

“Mattheo.”

He didn’t look at her.

“I—” He swallowed. “I said something to Professor Snape. I don’t even remember what. He asked why I was always angry and I—I couldn’t even answer him.”

She came closer. Slowly. Sat beside him, far enough that he didn’t feel caged.

“I think I’m broken,” he whispered.

“No,” she said simply. “You’re just bleeding.”

His throat bobbed.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed. “Be… held. Be soft. I’ve never known a touch that didn’t want something from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” she murmured. “Just you.”

She held out her hand—not reaching for him. Just offering.

It took him three full minutes before he took it.

When he did, his grip was so light it barely counted. Like he was afraid he’d crush something delicate.

And then he didn’t let go.

Not even when they lay back on his bed, side by side, fully clothed, eyes fixed on the canopy above them.

He didn’t touch her the way he usually did.

His hand just stayed in hers. Still. Quiet.

And that was when he realized—maybe her touch didn’t mean fire.

Maybe it meant home.

Time didn’t heal him. She did. Slowly. With patience that most people didn’t understand.

The first time he let her cup his face without turning it into something more, he cried.

Not a lot. Not loud.

Just two tears that slipped down his cheeks as her thumb brushed over his jaw.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

“What for?”

“For only knowing how to take.”

“You didn’t take anything from me,” she said gently. “You gave me something. You gave me you.”

He shook his head. “I gave you ruins.”

She leaned in, kissed his forehead.

“Then I’ll build a home from them.”

It wasn’t all easy.

Some nights he still woke up with bruises under his eyes, heart pounding from nightmares he never talked about.

Some mornings he avoided her touch, afraid he’d forget again—that he’d grab her waist, pull her close, kiss her neck before asking if she wanted him to.

And she never punished him for it.

She just kept showing up.

Holding his hand for eleven minutes instead of ten. Laying beside him in the dark and reminding him that love didn’t come with conditions.

That she wasn’t a test he had to pass.

That he could love her with trembling fingers and still be enough.

The turning point came during Christmas break.

They were alone in the Slytherin common room, curled up on the sofa beneath a green wool blanket.

She was reading. He was sketching something in the corner of a torn-up Arithmancy book.

Y/n reached over, absently tucked a piece of hair behind his ear.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tense.

Didn’t reach for her hips or slip his hand up her thigh.

He just… smiled.

And then, very quietly, leaned in and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For teaching me how to want you… without needing to take from you.”

Y/n turned to him, heart aching, eyes wet.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said.

And gods, that broke him.

Because no one had ever said that before.

Not once.

He didn’t even realize he was crying until her hand was on his face again, thumbs brushing under his eyes.

“I love you, Mattheo,” she whispered. “In all the ways no one ever taught you you deserved.”

He rested his forehead against hers.

And for the first time in his life, he didn’t think of touch as foreplay.

He thought of it as safety.

As proof.

As love.

[lxvsiick]

KISS ME RIGHT | MYUNG JAEHYUN

PAIRING: down bad! frat boy! myung jaehyun x library worker! fem! reader 

SUMMARY: Jaehyung goes to the library everyday to see Y/n even though he's never touched a book in his life.

GENRE: fluff, imagine, frat boy

WORDCOUNT: 2k

WARNING: kissing scene towards the end!

A/N: Inspired by KISS ME RIGHT by Keshi -- the song is finally out! i've been waiting ever since his last tour ,, this song reminds of jaehyun’s flirty personality so ENJOY!

The double doors of the library swung open with an exaggerated flair, and every head inside turned like it was a reflex. There he was again—Jaehyun, in all his glory. Hair tousled like he'd just come from the gym, a hoodie slung over his shoulder, and that ridiculous smile that could charm the paint off the walls. He strutted into the library like it was the hottest club on campus, and not the quietest place within a ten-mile radius.

Whispers buzzed through the aisles.

"Is that Jaehyun again?"

"Does he even know what a book is?"

"Bro, he’s here every day now. Do you think he lost a bet?"

But Jaehyun didn’t care. He barely noticed the stares anymore. All he cared about was making his way to the front desk, where Y/n sat. She looked calm, focused, her fingers flying over the keyboard, the glow from her computer screen highlighting her face. She didn’t even look up as he approached.

Jaehyun cleared his throat a little too loudly, startling a student reading in the corner.

"Yo, uh... hey," he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t spent the last twenty minutes rehearsing those two words in his head.

She finally glanced up, her brow furrowed in mild confusion. It was like she was wondering why this human embodiment of a golden retriever was trying to infiltrate her serene library world.

"You’re here again?" she asked, her voice neutral but with a hint of amusement.

Jaehyun rubbed the back of his neck, his usual swagger deflating slightly under her gaze. But he quickly recovered, flashing that winning smile that got him into any party, out of any trouble, and, hopefully, into her good graces.

"Yeah, you know... studying and stuff."

She raised an eyebrow, glancing at the completely empty table he had staked out for himself behind her. No books. No laptop. Not even a notebook. Just him, spinning a pen between his fingers like he was preparing for the next big test in... nothing.

"Studying?" she echoed, clearly unconvinced.

"Yeah, you know... brushing up on... the Dewey Decimal System." He threw in a dramatic wink, like it was the cleverest thing anyone had ever said about libraries.

She didn’t laugh, but there was a tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of her lips. Success.

"Right. Well, let me know if you need help finding a book... or learning how to read." Her voice was dry, and Jaehyun's grin widened.

"Ouch, brutal," he chuckled, his face lighting up like she had just complimented him.

She turned back to her screen, though he could tell she wasn’t entirely brushing him off. That was all the encouragement he needed. Without another word, he made his way to his usual table—smack in the middle of her line of sight. He didn’t sit like a regular person. He flopped down with a dramatic sigh, then spread out across the chair like he was getting ready for a nap, not a study session.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

From her seat, Y/n could feel his presence, like a beam of sunshine she wasn’t sure she needed right now. Every time she glanced up, there he was, pretending to flip through the pages of some random book he’d grabbed. Every few minutes, he'd peek over the top of the pages to check if she was looking.

At one point, Taesan and Leehan walked by and nearly stopped in their tracks when they saw Jaehyun actually holding a book. Leehan nudged Taesan, eyes wide in disbelief.

"Dude, I think he’s... reading?"

Taesan snorted. "Nah, he's definitely planning something. Probably trying to get out of doing chores at the frat house."

Jaehyun pretended not to hear them, but he couldn’t help shooting a quick grin their way. Let them talk. He was on a mission—a mission that involved far more staring at Y/n than reading anything resembling words.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As the library’s closing time approached, the once-crowded space thinned out. Y/n was busy packing up her things behind the desk, when she noticed Jaehyun still lounging in his seat, scrolling through his phone. Everyone else had left, but he lingered like he had all the time in the world.

She walked over, standing at his table, crossing her arms with a bemused expression. "You know we’re closing, right?"

He glanced up, his puppy-like enthusiasm returning as if she’d just thrown him a bone. "Oh, yeah, totally. Just waiting for the right moment to—" He glanced down at the book in front of him and then looked back up, suddenly sheepish. "—check this out. For... studying. You know, tomorrow."

She shook her head, but this time, the smile she’d been holding back all day finally broke through.

"You’re hopeless."

He stood up, grinning ear-to-ear. "Nah, just... committed."

She raised an eyebrow, a challenge in her eyes. "To studying?"

He stepped closer, playful but serious. "To you."

For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the quiet, empty library around them. Then she laughed—soft, real. And in that moment, he knew every second of pretending to study had been worth it.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

The bass from the speakers thumped through the walls of the frat house as Jaehyun stood near the kitchen, laughing with his friends. Red Solo cups in hand, they exchanged stories from the week, loud banter filling the air. Jaehyun was mid-sentence when something—or rather, someone—caught his eye.

Out of the corner of his vision, Y/n stepped through the front door, her figure silhouetted against the dim lights of the hallway. She was wearing a sleek black dress that hugged her frame just right, her hair falling in waves over her shoulders. The noise of the party seemed to dull in his ears. He froze, his eyes locked onto her as if the world had slowed down just for a moment.

His friends continued chatting around him, oblivious to his trance.

"Yo, bro... hello?" Sungho waved a hand in front of his face. Jaehyun blinked but didn’t move.

"Earth to Jaehyun! What are you staring at, man?" Sohee nudged him, noticing where his eyes were glued.

His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still trying to process how she—Y/n—was here, in this chaos of beer pong and blaring music. She didn’t belong here, but she looked so effortlessly out of place, it was almost unfair.

"Bro, you good?" Hanbin laughed, realizing why he was distracted. "Dude’s done for, he’s totally smitten."

Jaehyun shook his head, snapping out of it. He chuckled awkwardly, trying to act nonchalant. "Yeah, uh, I’ll catch you guys later." He set his cup down on the counter and started weaving his way through the crowd toward her, his pulse quickening with every step.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

As he neared her, she looked around the room, clearly unfamiliar with the party vibe. Her eyes landed on him, and she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. He stopped a few feet away, his voice unsteady.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, more confused than anything. "Who invited you?"

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, folding her arms over her chest. "Jake invited me. I thought it might be fun." Her voice was cool, as if his question wasn’t welcome.

A flare of jealousy twisted in his gut, and he frowned, glancing around the room, wondering why Jake had to ask her. "You should’ve said no to him. This isn't your scene." His voice came out sharper than he intended, his frustration laced in every word.

Y/n scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Excuse me? You don’t get to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do." She took a step closer, her gaze hardening. "I didn’t come here for Jake. I came because I wanted to see you. But if this is how you're gonna act, maybe it was a mistake." Her voice cut through the noise, her disappointment evident.

Before he could even respond, she turned on her heel, moving deeper into the house, disappearing into the crowd of bodies and flashing lights. He stood there, dumbfounded, replaying her words in his head. She came to see him.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

His heart sank. He felt like an idiot. Without wasting another second, he pushed his way through the throng of people, his mind racing. How could he have messed up so badly in just one conversation?

"Hey, have you seen—" he asked one person, cutting himself off as he realized they didn’t know who he was talking about. He scanned the dance floor, the kitchen, even outside by the keg, but she was nowhere in sight. His frustration grew with every passing second.

He was a guy who could read a room, crack a joke, keep the vibe light. But right now? He was frantic. His friends slapped him on the back as he passed, asking him what was up, but he brushed them off. He couldn’t let her leave thinking that was all he had to say—that she wasn’t welcome here, when in reality, she was the only person he wanted to be around.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was really just a few intense minutes, he spotted her standing near the back patio, her arms crossed as she talked with a couple of people. She looked frustrated, her foot tapping lightly against the ground.

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

Jaehyun took a deep breath, steeling himself, and made his way over to her, determined to make things right. 

As he approached, the people around her seemed to sense the tension, exchanging glances before slowly stepping back, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the patio. The noise around them faded into the background.

Jaehyun opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. Then the words just spilled out.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak out earlier. I was just... I don’t know, I saw you in that dress and... and then when you said you came to see me and not because of Jake, I just—" He paused, his hands gesturing wildly as he tried to find the right words. "I got jealous. It was dumb. I shouldn’t have said you shouldn’t be here, because I want you here. Like, I always want you here, not just at parties, but anywhere, and I—" He was rambling now, his thoughts tripping over each other in his rush to explain.

"—I just, I like you. A lot. And I don’t know how to deal with that sometimes. You’re... you’re like this amazing person, and I’m just the guy who’s pretending to study just so I can see you, and that probably sounds stupid, but—" He was talking faster, his words stumbling over each other. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he wasn’t even sure if he was making sense anymore.

Suddenly, Y/n stepped closer, cutting him off mid-sentence. Without saying a word, she stood on her tiptoes, leaning in.

Before he could process what was happening, her lips met his.

Time seemed to stop. His heart did a somersault, and his thoughts went blank. Her kiss was soft, brief, but it left him utterly frozen, like his brain couldn’t catch up with what just happened.

When she pulled back, Jaehyun stood there, completely stunned, his eyes wide and mouth slightly open as he tried to make sense of reality. For a moment, it was as though his whole world had paused.

Y/n looked at him and burst into laughter—an easy, melodic sound that broke through the tension. "You should see your face right now," she teased.

Her laughter snapped him out of his trance. His shocked expression melted into a grin, his heart racing for an entirely different reason now.

"Wait, you—" he started, his voice trailing off in disbelief.

She smiled, stepping closer again, her gaze soft but teasing. "Yeah, I like you too. Even if you pretend to read at the library every day." She gave him a playful nudge.

A flood of relief and pure happiness washed over him, and without thinking, he closed the gap between them, gently cupping her face and bringing his lips to hers once more. This time, the kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he wanted to savor every second of it. He could feel the smile on her lips, and it made him grin into the kiss.

୧ ‧₊˚ 🍵 ⋅

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[callsign-swan]

Alone Together

For the last few years, Tony's daughter has been living out in the tower basement. She doesn't realise when Valentina buys the tower, not until she's being choked out by Sentry (turns out Sentry is a really sweet guy called Bob, who knew?)

Warnings: Slight thunderbolts spoilers

The last few years had been... content.

Everybody thought she disappeared, off the grid once her dad died. Some people tried to look; Happy, Pepper, some guy she was sure she knew but couldn't remember.

They didn't find her, she made sure of that. Wiped her name from every record, lived off of the small fortune her father had left her.

She wasn't a great engineer like her father, didn't spend her time making useful stuff like he did. She still made stuff, it just wasn't useful.

Spare parts, the basement was full of them. Scraps her father disregarded, that he didn't need. She was desperately trying to turn the scraps into something useful, but it wasn’t that easy.

So far, she'd built a computer. Well, she more rebuilt an old computer and used scrap metal to hide the wires. It was one of her proudest accomplishments.

Nobody knew she was in the basement. But it didn’t matter, since the old Avengers Tower had been vacant. If someone bought, she would have known.

(No, she didn't know that the tower had been bought. She didn't know that Valentina was moving in).

All of her details were still in the tower system; it was easy enough to hack into the intercom. She didn't do much with it, isolated it to the basement to play her music while she worked.

It was hard, trying to live up to greatness. It was even harder knowing you'll never be able to achieve it.

Rarely did she travel to other floors. If she did, she would have known about Valentina. If she did, she would have been arrested on the spot.

No daddy to bail her out this time. And Pepper wouldn't bother, she thought.

Maybe if she knew, she would have stayed in the basement, gathered up her things and moved out. She wouldn't have gotten in the elevator to get parts out of the floor. Parts her dad used to make machines to take off the Iron Man suite the second he stepped into the building.

Stepping into the elevator with an empty box in her hand and a screwdriver in her pocket, she pressed the necessary button. The doors slid closed and she began travelling up.

So many floors, but it took no time at all. That was her dad's doing. This entire place was her dad's doing. (Maybe that's why she couldn't leave it behind).

The elevator doors should have slid open to reveal nothing. An empty floor, exactly how the Avengers had left it. The bar her dad left nearly fully stocked before they moved to the compound.

But that wasn't the sight that greeted her.

People in the tower. There shouldn't have been people in the tower. Oh, she had fucked up.

They were mid fight, that much was obvious. The blonde guy in the ridiculous suit held Bucky's fist in his hand like he wasn't fighting a super soldier with a vibranium arm.

But the fight had stopped as everybody in the room stared at her. Goldilocks, discount Steve Rogers, blonde bombshell, soviet santa, mystery person and Bucky.

"You've got to be kidding me."

It was Bucky that said it, pulling his fist out of Goldilock's grip. In the moment of confusion, Goldilocks let him go, his gaze on her.

She resisted the urge to step back into the elevator. "I..." But she couldn't find the words. "What're you doing in my house?"

"Your house?"

She hadn't noticed the woman until now. Dark hair, grey in the front so pretty that it looked silver. Definitely dyed, but it looked good.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I bought this property and you are trespassing."

Her eyes went wide, grip on her empty cardboard box growing tighter. "Oh," she said, the air in the room becoming uncomfortable. But then she furrowed her brows. "Really? Because I've been living here for a while."

The woman's mouth dropped open. "How long- You know what? I don't care." She snapped her fingers. "Sentry."

Suddenly, she was moving through the air. Not of her own volition, she had no sort of power. In less than seconds, she was in front of Goldilocks, his fingers wrapping around her neck.

In her struggle, she gripped his wrist, tried to get out of his grip. But he was impossibly, terrifyingly strong.

There was something in his blue gaze that was soft. Suddenly, he let go of her. Her feet hit the floor and he stepped away from her. "Sorry, I... you don't deserve this," he mumbled.

Her hand found her own neck. He didn't have her in a strong grip, but it still hurt so damn much.

But she couldn't stop staring at him. Sentry. She had no doubt he had the potential to look terrifying, but he didn't in that moment. Regret shined in his blue eyes.

A hand grabbed her, pulling her back. She, along with Bucky, Discount Steve Rogers, Mystery Person, Blonde Bombshell, and Soviet Santa, ran towards the elevator.

They squeezed in and travelled down.

"What the fuck?" Bucky called as he pulled her out of the building. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

She pulled her hand out of Bucky's grip. "I've been living here, Barnes," she called back, shoving her hands into her pockets. The screwdriver still sat there, the cardboard box back in the tower.

"Why aren't you with Pepper?"

A scoff left her lips, sounding more like a child than the adult she actually was. But that was one of the reasons she was in the tower in the first place, because she was sick of everyone treating her like a kid.

She released a breath and looked back towards the tower. "What the hell was that?" She asked, completely changing the subject.

Bucky let her. He didn't have it in himself to argue. But he wasn't going to answer her.

"That was Bob," came a new voice.

Her eyebrows went up. "Bob?"

"Bob."

She swallowed thickly. "What the hell is Bob?"

***

The New Avengers.

The name had her stomach rolling. The world didn't need the Avengers, did it? The only reason they'd needed the New Avengers was Valentina's own doing.

But here they were, in the Avengers - no - Watchtower. Bucky let her stay. He gave her conditions to her stay, but he didn't kick her out, didn't drag her kicking and screaming back to Pepper.

As long as she pulled her weight. As long as she worked, did the necessary repairs when they were needed. Sure, she was nothing like her father, but she had her own skills.

Bob was just Bob. Hair now brown, soft sweaters, books. No more blonde hair, no more shadow monster man (yes, she knew Sentry is more than that, but that was her way of referring to it. That was of referring to it sometimes pulled a smile from Bob).

No super soldier serum, no specialised training, no... whatever Ava was. Sure, he had incredibly strong powers, but they were safely tucked away and Bob was happy.

The two didn't immediately find themselves drawn to each other. She was curious, sure, but Bob didn't remember. He didn't have the answers for her.

But they found themselves left behind during missions. There was nothing wrong with that - how were they supposed to help the team?

The first few times, they kept to themselves. She didn't mind the isolation, that was how she lives when the tower was empty. But she watched Bob. Just what he was doing, how he entertained himself. His life had been full of tragedy, just like hers had been. Individual tragedies, but it made her curious about him.

On the teams third mission, their third time alone in the Watchtower together, she sat beside Bob.

"Whatcha reading?" She asked as she toed off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath her body.

Bob showed her the cover of his book, his finger slipped between the pages.

She patted her thighs, her fingers drumming against her skin. "Is it good?" She asked and Bob gave a nod.

Bob was a quiet guy. She'd learnt this through their limited interactions. But he wasn't usually this quiet. He at least had an answer for her.

So, she kept talking.

"You know, I lived here as a kid," she mumbled, laying back. Everything was different now it was the Watchtower. The bar her father so lovingly put in place was gone (but that was definitely a good thing).

Bob closed his book. "You're Tony Starks kid, right?" Her asked, one leg folded beneath the other, the other hanging off the edge of the sofa.

She gave a nod. "Yeah, grew up around the first round of Avengers," she mumbled.

Turning his head slightly, Bob let his hand rest in his wrist. He'd had a haircut since everything happened, him and Yelena in the bathroom with a pair of scissors. His hair was still a little bit wild, but it suited him.

"Why'd you live in the basement?"

Not the question she was expecting, but she didn't shy away from it. "Spent a lot of time in there as a kid," she answered. "Just felt right being in there."

It was more than that, clearly more than that, but Bob didn't pry.

He stood up. "Hungry?" He asked, watching as her eyebrows went up.

"You cook?" She couldn't help but ask.

Bob went to nod, but he stopped himself. "How hard can it be?" He tried, releasing a breath that suggested he didn't think it was going to be very easy at all.

She pushed herself up from the sofa. "I'll help," she said and went to follow him into the kitchen.

But Bob didn't move. "You cook?" He parroted.

A grin came across her face. "How hard can it be?"

Turns out, pretty fucking hard. Neither of them knew what they were cooking, and that was the first issue. The both of them were just pulling things out of the fridge and trying to decide what to do with it.

Chicken in a pan (plain and neither of them quite knew how to flavour it), spaghetti in boiling water (neither of them knew what to do for sauce), and a garlic bread pizza in the oven (the only promising part of the meal).

Bob pulled salt from the cupboard and seasoned the spaghetti.

"Fuck," she suddenly cried, fridge door open.

Bob raised his head, eyes wide as he looked at her. "What?" He asked, panicking slightly.

"This is John's boring chicken," she said, pushing the fridge door shut. Like she could hide the evidence if she just shut the fridge door.

"Shit," Bob replied as he turned it in the pan (one side finally looked cooked, but both of them knew not to trust it. Just a few more minutes and they'd check the inside).

"He's gonna kill us."

Bob nodded. "We're gonna die."

But then, they laughed. "If John really does try and kill us, you gotta protect me, okay?" She muttered, stirring the spaghetti in the boiling water. "All I got is this." She pulled the screwdriver from her pocket. She was never seen without it now.

"I'll protect you," he assured her, "I'll keep you safe."

Fear of John Walker was a great foundation for a friendship, as it turned out.

part one maybe?