#does this go under my writing tag?

[everybodyshusband]

this is technically a request fill for a couple of anons but turned into what's basically a vent fic, so i didn't feel comfortable wasting your requests on it. to those anons, your requests will be filled properly at some point, i promise.

cw for self-hatred, and desires of self-harm and suicidal thoughts while regressed. please also be aware that there is one line where rain considers killing an animal because he's so angry. this work is not suitable for regressed kiddos or littles.

but ! without further ado, 2.2k words of rain trying to hide his regression from dew and having a breakdown about it under the cut.

“Rain?”

The water ghoul looks up from his bass at the sound of Dewdrop’s voice, carefully schooling his expression into something typical of how he acts when he isn’t regressed; when he’s normal, his brain unhelpfully supplies. He clears his throat, giving himself a little more time to prepare himself for the conversation ahead. “Hey, sundew. What’s up?”

The words come out easier than he expected them to, but it still feels so wrong. He’s not supposed to talk like that, he’s not supposed to direct the conversation. He’s supposed to crawl into Dewdrop’s arms and let himself be held and loved, but he can’t. Can’t, because he has so much to do today. Has so many assigned duties on top of everything else he’s wanted to get done all week. He can’t focus on any of it if he’s regressed, so if he pretends to be fine—to be normal—then maybe he’ll be able to do what he needs to.

He’s jolted out of his head by Dewdrop’s voice. “Want a practice partner? I– I’m kinda struggling with some of the solos…”

The hesitation in the fire ghoul’s tone immediately sets Rain on edge. Dewdrop needs comforting, he thinks, but that’s not something the water ghoul is able to do when he’s regressed; not well, at least. Still, Rain tries. He smiles what he hopes is a regular, reassuring smile and reaches an arm out, ushering Dewdrop to sit down next to him. The gestures come to him easily. It’s a relief, but he can’t help the small voice in the back of his mind telling him the reason he’s able to pretend to be normal is because he pretends to be regressed.

(Which isn’t true. He knows it’s not. It’s proven by night curled up in Swiss’ arms, unable to murmur even a single word because he’s just too small to do anything else. By all the times he hasn’t been able to function without someone holding his hand, guiding him through the day. Alas, it’s never been something he can stop thinking. That he’s a fraud; so desperate for the attention of his packmates that he’s resorted to lying, deceiving them, in order to gain a shred of affection, a kind word here and there.)

The fire ghoul grins happily and sets himself up quickly, eyeing the music on Rain’s stand to gauge where he should flip to in his own music. “Rats, eh?”

“Mhmm, wa– Rats.” He turns away from Dewdrop, cheeks burning as he clears his throat and attempts to brush the slip off as something catching in his throat. “Good bassline. Hard when you haven’t played it in months, though.”

Dewdrop hums in agreement. “Mmm, I can imagine.” He fidgets with the tuning pegs, tilting his head in Rain’s direction, silently asking for a note to match. Rain obliges. “D’you wanna start from the start, or…?”

“Start’s fine,” Rain smiles. He knows the start best, he’ll be able to do it, he’s sure. He can ignore the brain fog. He can pretend. For Dewdrop, he can pretend. The fire ghoul seemed insecure and burdened enough when he asked to run through the solos. He doesn’t need Rain’s regressed headspace making anything more difficult for him. “Uhm…” he begins, unsure; failing already. “B– Backing track?” He stutters on the B and the K is over pronounced in compensation of his difficulty with the letter, but Dewdrop understands—and more importantly, he doesn’t seem to notice.

“I think we’ll be fine, right, Rainy?” He turns to smile at the water ghoul, eyes so soft and gentle, but there’s something underneath his tone that makes Rain fumble his bass.

“W– Why are you calling me ‘Rainy’ like that? You only say it like that when I’m… small.”

Dewdrop’s smile falters slightly, but his eyes remain warm. Kind. “Well, you can tell me if I’m wrong, but I thought you might’ve been feeling a bit small, love. Am I right?”

Rain readjusts his bass on his hip, refusing to meet Dewdrop’s eyes. “N– No… I– I feel fine,” he lies. “Normal. ‘M good. Promise.” He knows Dewdrop doesn’t believe him, but he can’t help but hope that maybe he’s convinced the fire ghoul. After all, Dewdrop has things to do today as well. He can’t blow off a whole day just to help Rain. Rain can’t ask him to do that.

“Are you sure, puddle? You’re not just telling me that because you feel bad about being small?”

“...Oh. Uhm… N– No?” Rain does his best to sound convincing but he knows there’s no persuading Dewdrop now, not when he already knows.

Dewdrop fixes him with a look, still adoring, but stern. “It’s not nice to lie, my love.”

And just like that, Rain’s facade crumbles.

His eyes fill with tears as he curls in on himself, hugging his bass tightly to his body. “I– I’m sorry, Dewy,” he cries. “I– I didn’ mean to! I’m sorry sorry, I’m really, very sorry. I didn’ mean to lie, ‘m sorry!”

He rocks back and forth, doing his best to self-soothe but it’s not working. He doesn’t know how to calm down. Doesn’t really know why his reaction to Dewdrop’s gentle chiding is a breakdown. He knows the fire ghoul was only trying to nudge him out of his pretences but he can’t help but listen to the voice in his head that whispers softly, cruelly.

He hates you for lying to him. He’s never going to talk to you again.

You got too comfortable with him. Shared too much. He doesn’t want to take care of you. He only does it to have an excuse to tell you what you’re doing wrong.

Such a burden to him. To the pack. Why can’t you just stop regressing? Just stop it. Stop being so small. Stop being so fucking weak.

He lets out a panicked yelp when Dewdrop reaches out to comfort him. “Nuh uh! Don’t touch me. I– I don’ deserve it.”

“Wh–” Dewdrop flounders.

That means it’s true; Rain doesn’t deserve it. He curls in on himself even further; he shouldn’t have said anything. Should have kept it to himself. Should have left the room the second Dewdrop entered it. Should have thought about someone other than himself and his own pathetic, useless needs for once.

“What makes you think that, Rainy?”

“Liar get punish,” he parrots as accurately as he can manage. “Only good boy get to be touch.”

“Oh, love…” Dewdrop sounds so disappointed. Rain braces himself for the inevitable. “That’s our rule for when you’re big and we, uhh…” He trails off, clearly unsure of how to phrase what he needs to say. Rain wishes he could rid the fog from his head enough to be able to reassure Dewdrop that he’s okay; it was just a slip of his mouth that made him say that, it’s not what he really thinks. But if he says that, it’s only fuelling the fire, and he’ll be punished more for lying; he’ll punish himself for lying. “Look, Rainy, love,” the fire ghoul tries again. “My point is that those rules don’t apply to you right now. They’re only there for when you’re big and we have our… Our special playtimes, yeah?” Dewdrop cringes at the words special playtimes and Rain knows exactly why; the phrase sounds so forced. He hates that Dewdrop feels the need to mince his words around Rain when he’s like this, as if the water ghoul doesn’t retain his understanding of the world and his own life when he regresses.

“You– You don’ like special playtime?” Rain’s goading Dewdrop into giving him an answer that he’ll hate, that will make him feel worse, he knows he is. But as long as the fire ghoul doesn’t notice, Rain doesn’t care. He deserves to feel bad, he knows that much. But he doesn’t feel bad enough, and it’s going to be hard to sink himself down to the level of bad that he deserves with Dewdrop watching his every move.

“No, no, Rainy,” he disagrees quickly. Too quickly, Rain thinks. “I love our special playtimes. I love them a lot, I promise. But… I don’t think this is something we should be talking about when you’re little, okay? We can talk about it when you’re big again if you want to, though.”

“O– Okay…” Rain’s heart sinks. It’s always like this. The very nature of their ghoul pack results in him being left out of most things when he’s little. Sometimes he doesn’t mind, and he’s more than content to sit with one of his packmates and fill some colouring sheets with bright pencil markings or curl up in their arms and drift off to sleep. But other times? His pack’s refusal to include him in certain activities or conversations feels less like protection and more like a poor disguise of their hatred of him, of their unwillingness to involve him in pack affairs. He understands, really, he does. He knows that when he’s regressed, there are things he shouldn’t be exposed to. Knows that when his pack are frustrated with him, he’s rarely the one at fault, just the one unlucky enough to bear the brunt of their frustration, no matter how much they try to hide it for his sake. But he also knows that the pack’s exclusion of him is because they don’t like him. Don’t enjoy his presence in any of the forms it takes. Don’t care about him enough to hide their annoyance, despite knowing their frustration directed at him can cause him to spiral so intensely that he barely remembers the rest of the day. He knows all of this, but nothing makes it hurt any less.

If he were in a better state of mind, he might reach out to Dewdrop and ask to be held for a while. Might sob and scream and cry until there aren’t any tears left but it would be okay, because he’d be safe in the fire ghoul’s arms. As it is, he can’t. He tells himself he doesn’t want to, which is true, in part. There’s a part of him desperately fighting to run away from Dewdrop, to refuse to ask for comfort, to never be a burden, never show weakness because otherwise he won’t love you anymore and you’ll be all alone all over again. The other part longs for comfort, regardless of the negative impact he knows it will have on his relationship with Dewdrop. He wants to be held, wants to be reassured that it’s okay to cry, that it’s okay because Dewdrop’s got him and he’s never letting go, never leaving. And so, he finds himself at an impasse and so angry at himself that he wants to punch something. Scream. Break his arm. Kill one of Copia’s rats. Kill himself.

The only benefit to being regressed that he can think of right now is that if he screams, no one bats an eye; all too accustomed to toddlers throwing tantrums that they don’t seem to care. And so when Dewdrop tentatively reaches an arm out, testing the waters to see whether Rain is ready for touch, the water ghoul screams. And he does it properly.

He doesn’t know how long he screams for before stopping, but once he stops, his throat is raw and aching in the silence of the room. He’s curled in on himself on the floor—bass discarded somewhere off to the side, hopefully in one piece—surrounded by pleasant warmth and pressure. Slowly, he realises that he’s wrapped up in Dewdrop’s embrace, and he begins to panic all over again, throat refusing to make another sound dispute his frantic attempts.

A warm hand cards through his hair, soft voice shushing him gently. “If you really want me to let go, Rainy, I will,” Dewdrop reassures him. “But I don’t want to let go, love. I want to help you, and I don’t want to leave you alone like this, okay?”

Rain turns his head and buries himself against Dewdrop’s chest, sobbing quietly. His emotional regulation for the day has been used up, and he knows that any and all emotions he feels for the rest of the day—or week, probably—will be on full display for everyone to see, no matter how much he wants to hide them. He finds himself nodding along to the fire ghoul’s words without his own brain’s permission. It’s impossible to deny for any longer that he wants comfort—he needs it so desperately it may as well be oxygen at this point—but he can’t bring himself to ask for it. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, and he knows that he’ll only feel worse later as a result of talking to Dewdrop and receiving his love and affections, but for now, that’s a problem for future Rain. Right now, all he really cares about is curling up in Dewdrop’s arms and soaking in the gentle comfort that the fire ghoul seems to be so good at providing him when he’s like this.

He doesn’t feel better about it, and he knows he’s not going to. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to try to feel better about it. But now that he’s here, he’ll accept the comfort of gentle caresses and chaste forehead kisses that Dewdrop seems intent on gifting to him. He’ll work on not feeling even worse about the fire ghoul’s affections another time.

[krikeymate]

I'm actually in love with the Billy kidnapps baby Sam and Tara AU.

How would Sam and Tara's personality change by growing up with Billy? Is he still ghostfacing? Is he still obsess over Sydney? Is Stu or Mrs Loomis still alive?!

I think things mostly go pretty much the same as canon (1-4), only that Billy never got shot in the head, he managed to escape.

Mrs Loomis wants revenge on Sidney not for killing her boy, but for ruining his life and his reputation because now he's on the run. Maybe Sidney spent all that time thinking maybe he had just died in a ditch somewhere, forgotten and unfound, but now she's got confirmation that Billy's alive, and that's what forces her into the isolation we see in 3. Maybe Roman even knows, maybe he gives Sidney a snide Billy sends his regards. Maybe when the Ghostface attacks happen in 4, she's convinced it's Billy.

Billy takes a long time to heal, alone in some abandoned shack on the outskirts of Woodsboro, hidden in the trees on long-abandoned land. He reaches out to his mother, he reaches out to his father, he reaches out to Roman. Only one of them responds, only one of them helps him. He's been abandoned by his family, but Roman was abandoned by his too, he understands him, he helps Billy get back on his feet. He even becomes like a brother to him. It just gives Roman more fuel to his hatred of Sidney Prescott.

Billy meanwhile, he's kind of tired. His body heals, but his mind stays tired, especially after Roman's death. He didn't feel better for killing Maureen, his family still stayed broken. He didn't feel better for any of those he killed, just angrier and angrier. Stu, his mother, the lunatic she hired, now Roman... it's very sexy of her, he thinks, but he's not going after Sidney Prescott again. He's no desire to get himself killed, and he's not an idiot, the odds are stacked against him. She's got a death count as high as his.

Roman names Samuel Carpenter, the man who is like a brother to me, in his will. With cropped hair dyed black and a beard, he's unrecognisable. He begins life again. One day he's bored and goes looking through the abandoned contents of what remains of Roman's effects. He finds a box of files, Roman's research. He skims through it all, feeling something like nostalgia. Inside, he finds a birth certificate for one Samantha Carpenter born May 1997 to Christina Carpenter. It feels like fate.

Billy's hardly some upstanding moral man now, he has no problem with killing, and enjoys it. But he's not going out of his way to do it. He's worked too hard to forge a new identity, he's not going to put himself at risk. Not now there's no one left to help him pick himself back up.

So, anyway, this AU has two paths. There's 'Uncle Sam' path, or there's Billy takes the girls' path. I'm leaning towards Uncle Sam path being the better one, but let's take a look at the other one.

Billy tells Christina to sit down. It's authoritative. He leans back and makes himself comfortable on the couch as Christina perches herself on the armchair, Sam, frowning, hovering beside her, glancing between her mother, her sister, and the intruder. He observes them, watches as Christina slaps away Samantha's hand as she tries to take the fussing baby back. He laughs and tells the woman to give the girl the baby. It wasn't a suggestion, and the deer-in-headlights look she shoots him reveals she knows it. She hands it over. The baby stops fussing, and his daughter softens. He pats the couch beside him, telling Samantha to come here. She sends a nervous look to her mother, and she gives a stilted nod. He pulls the girl into his side, wrapping an arm around her, and tells Christina to tell their daughter the truth. She shakes her head, and begs him no, but he tuts at her, unamused. Tell her the truth, or I will… and you won’t like the way I will. So, Christina reveals the truth, that her father isn’t her father. Billy makes Sam go upstairs, tells her to pack a bag for herself… and her sister. Christina leaps up at that, gets angry, tells him that he can’t just take her. He asks her what kind of loving mother leaves a baby home alone. He sees the way Sam curls herself further around the baby as he speaks the words. Samantha is my daughter, she continues, and oh, it hits him, she wasn’t even talking about the baby. If he hadn’t have already made up his mind, he would have made it then. He tells Sam to go upstairs once again, and this time she does, leaving her mother to argue with the man who calls himself her father. She’s scared and confused and crawls into her bed with her sister, taking comfort in the way she doesn’t understand anything that’s going on around her, just happy to be with Sam. Billy comes upstairs a little while later, smiling. He smells kind of funny now, and there’s red on his t-shirt, was it red before? Together they pack. He puts it all on the backseat of her mother’s car, and has her sit in the front with her sister on her lap. He drives them away.

Wildly enough, this is actually one of the most well-adjusted timelines that Sam & Tara can have, as I've decided Billy isn't just going around Ghostfacing up the place. Sam will still have a bit of a breakdown at the realisation of who her father is- was at some point (the news surrounding the 2011 attacks), but she's had years with this man, seen who he is with her own eyes, seen how he is with her sister. She struggles to merge the two men in her head. Tara gets a well-adjusted and stable childhood where she's cared for.

Billy's definitely a no judgement kinda parent, who encourages anger and retaliation and smart thinking. He's not the type to encourage them to hurt others, but he will certainly provide advice and help, and he doesn't not encourage it either. Just reminds his girls not to draw attention to themselves. Sam still ends up mostly raising her sister because Billy knows shit all about kids, but he does patiently listen and take instruction from Sam on how to do things, so it's not like a total lost cause.

Tara never knows any parent other than her father (as Sam), and knows nothing of the mother than abandoned them. She doesn't know about Billy, until...

One day, Tara is home alone when someone in a Ghostface mask breaks in and nearly kills her. Someone knows the truth about Billy.

[hella1975]

I love your work - twice as many stars! I was just wondering if you're planning to continue it :0 No negative intentions! Im just really invested!

hi omg thank you that's so lovely to hear!

i have 3 updating fics atm and ive given myself a schedule with them that has the first of them (taob) being updated in the next few days, and then tams will come after. rn im saying i want tams to update by the end of april :)

[lousylemonseminar]

Gawwshhhh darrnit I had this post about

IM NEVER GONNA COOK LIKE THAT AGAIN it like left my mind as soon as I had it written down And it’s not loading in But I had this post about how

Wild comparison but how suckenings Edward and Jimmy mouthwasher fuck are both these derrangged egoists

How they both thinnk theyre so untouchable And Individual in this. Corrupt mind boggling way

I NEED IT TO LOAD IN CAUSE I FONT THINK I CAN PHRASE IT AS GOOD AS I DID

Like how did you get that perception of yourself Do you care if that’s the reality? If anyone outside of your delusions think You’re A Hero or Your

I don’t even actually really know what Edward’s deal is Handsome???? (He’s kind of just a man baby but they both are I think it’d be easier to understand how Jimmy would inadvertently perceive himself Despite that being what he’s trying to prove throughout the entirety of mouthwashing)

And if so Then Why are you going so desperately to prove it by harming and violating literally everyone else?

It’s so

Fascinating to study villains I guess in these instances And to understand how they get to making irl fortnite like WHAT ARE YOU DOING (documenting its process)

They’re trying so hard to prove these grandiose versions of themselves, never realizing that they are The Only People they’ll ever prove that to

How both of them started at such a bottom feeder level Taking shortcuts to get someone anyone to think theyre more than they actually are But they’ll never be more Because theyre focusing on the wrong thing!!

They’re trying to get people to see them as this omnipotent god when all they’ll ever be is people!!!

The control they try fastening into anyone they have this Deluded sense of power over or “is the weakest” is like….. So abjectly incomprehensible and pathetically cruel

I NEED to understand how they get the notion they can do whatever they want and crash the space ship to avoid consequences…….

[ian-galagher]

HORROR MOVIE WRITING CHALLENGE

Thank you for tagging me! 🥰🧡 Nosho @creepkinginc Julia @juliakayyy Evie @energievie and Auds @auds-and-evens

Not tagging anyone cause I'm super late and I don't know if people like horror or not, but if you see this and want to do it, please do! It's super fun!

@michellemisfit 😁you might like this 😁

Rules: use this quiz to find out what role you'd play in a traditional horror movie group, then write a drabble about a character of your choice in that role!

I got.... 😁

the comic relief you're the jokester, the prankster, the funny little guy who has the meta quips to ease some of that delicious tension the narrative's been building. you're there to lure the audience into a false sense of security so they don't see the next gruesome kill coming. you're probably pathetic and weird but your friends love you. unfortunately, you probably die in the end or you fake everyone out only to die for real in the sequel.

That's me! 😂

~

He was in real trouble now.

Ian couldn't possibly sink further into the wall but even if he could, would it have done anything to stop the vampire currently leaning over him?

He'd close his eyes to avoid having to watch his own demise but damn it if this wasn't the sexiest vampire he'd ever seen.

Just his luck, getting a boner as he was about to get killed.

Blue Eyes got frustrated when Ian didn't seem as scared as he clearly expected him to be.

"The fuck's the matter with you?" he barked, his fangs shimmering in the moonlight.

"Nothing, please proceed," Ian said, craning his neck to give Blue Eyes better access.

The pressure increased when the vampire leaned in closer but nothing happened.

What was he waiting for?

"Do you need me in another position?" Ian asked, though he was unable to move with the vampire keeping him pinned to the wall. "I can turn around if you prefer to take me from behind."

"No thanks," Blue Eyes said, quirking an eyebrow. "You gonna offer me some napkins next?"

"Would you like some?" Ian asked, thinking of the diner he'd past by earlier. It looked like they did good burgers in that place.

"You carry napkins on you?"

"No, but I do have some condoms on me, actually."

"Oh, so that what's in your pockets," the vampire said, his eyes moving down. "I was wondering what that bulge was. Seemed too big to just be your cock."

"The condoms are in my back pocket."

"Oh." The vampire seemed to rethink his decision to have Ian as a starter tonight. "How about you invite me back to yours and you show me everything you've got hidden away in those pockets, huh?"

"Deal," Ian said, happy to fuck his way out of a sticky situation. "And maybe I can be the vampire and you be my victim?"

"Only if when you bite me, you do it from behind, fire crotch."

"I wouldn't want it any other way."

[transmiqote]

it’s been over a year & a half since endwalker but the in from the cold quest is still living in my mind rent free

[seventh-district]

wow!!! nothing better than watching your AO3 subscribers stat go down every time you post a new chapter of your current fic!!!

[highlifeboat]

No thoughts only under appreciated OC Elizabeta

[boomingsmile]

who gave sharp the audacity to be so kind, loving, sweetest person. D:< no amount of words i can put up will ever be able to contain the vibe he has; i desperately need a drink with him and i dont even drink and he doesn't even exist!

[catlokis-blog]

When Bubby accepted the position of "The GMan's Boyfriend", he had honestly expected it to be... Different.

The GMan seemed like and worked hard for his appearance to be closed off and withdrawn. Bubby was prepared for the distance, the averseness to touch the government man seemed to have, and the silence.

Though, he got neither of those things. The opposite, if you could believe it.

Here Bubby was, dangerously close to missing an important meeting Black Mesa had warned him about, and GMan was going to be the reason for it. He almost couldn't believe how ridiculous the situation was getting to be. Bubby huffed as the GMan held his wrists in his grasp, the man bending over ever so slightly to peer down at his partner, curious grin lacing his face. "Why the... Rush?" The GMan hummed, as if seriously pondering said question.

He got an unhappy eye roll in return. "Really, GMan?" Bubby scoffed. "I have a meeting. I know you're feeling extra handsy today, but can't it wait? Or better yet -- use that freaky time stop ability of yours!" Bubby tried yanking his hands out of GMans grasp to no avail. "Mmmm... I would, but, you see- They would... know if I was to use it, too often." A wicked smile replaced his previous grin. "And I know you enjoy this, just as much as I do."

Bubby gulped audibly.

"Oh, you rat bastard." He growled, and GMan chuckled almost breathlessly as he pressed a kiss to Bubby's temple. "Although, if I am bothering you... That much... I can take my leave, then." Bubby almost thanked the Lord as GMan backed off, letting go of his wrists in the process. Instead, GMan caressed Bubby's face with one hand, drawing his thumb across the underside of Bubby's glasses, and Bubby had to fight to stop himself from leaning into the touch. "Enjoy your meeting, hm?"

And just like that, GMan was gone.

Bubby set to work on adjusting his tie, glancing at the clock to see he only had a couple minutes to race down to the other sector, but couldn't start his journey as he felt a cold gust of wind from behind, instinctively shivering. He felt the impression of lips ghosting kisses over his neck, the feeling all too familiar. There was a whisper right in his ear, as if the man was leaning over him again as Bubby cursed GMan's name (that rat fuck), cursed Black Mesa, cursed whatever could come to mind --

"This is not over. Find me, after your shift."

[trashbaget]

temptation tuesday ✨

indirectly tagged by somebody out there for sure :D

i’ve been trying to get back into fanboy, and hopefully start up a more consistent writing/posting groove (definitely planning to finish up ch3 AND write ch4 before i post ch3 tho!!) but here are some other projects that have been Looking At Me

(some) 911 wips (of many) that have me by the throat:

driving west at sunset — a sweet little one shot where eddie and buck are on a drive back to california after helping abuela move back to the texas. partly inspired by the now ancient buddie bingo 2022 bingo prompt “overheard love confession” the two hear all manner of declarations on the road, prompting them to reminisce about the times they too have told someone they were in love

the elasticity of denim — another one shot partly inspired from a bb22 prompt, this one is enclosed space BUT with a twist because they are stuck on top of a rollercoaster in the middle of an accidental date wherein somebody admits to to their attraction just before the coaster is supposed to go down—but doesn’t. also the theme park’s probably cowboy themed

the universe does not scream — an idea a long time coming, the universe herself plays matchmaker and keeps a diary of all the times those two foolfighters firefighters keep ignoring her calls. (this one requires an extensive rewatch in which i take active notes of every relatable quote and moment, which the recent group rewatch has been actively reminding me of)

non-911 wips that have been staring me in the face:

south side (stupid) musical — this playlist is nearing 6 hours long already and i have yet to write more than one episodic intro and one dickensian opening line BUT i cannot stop thinking about it because it is ridiculous and campy and i love it. set between s10&s11 (i think), the gallaghers and company stumble upon a cursed karaoke machine which forces them to burst into song at random moments…….also some weirdos are putting on bootleg high school musical show at a local theatre that they get swept up in.

charlie dalton’s rules for a successful hookup — i recently uncovered the notebook i spent an entire week in december 2020 furiously plotting this and fell in love with it all over again so i would LOVE to get to this at some point. a university au—bc there is no more perfect au for dead poets society imho—wherein charlie writes a list of rules for himself so he can hookup in college without getting his heart broken (again)

i am so far out of every loop that idk who i interact with that makes things anymore lmao so let me know and i’ll tag you in any future ones i do lol also @enbyeddiediaz hi lizard emojis

[late-stage-lesbian]

Sorry if this is overstepping or anything but I saw your question in the tags of a post(the one about white people and reblogging poc posts) and I wanted to give my 2 cents ok it if that's ok(sorry again if it's rude)

So while it is appreciated that you do agree with OP and are adding something to the conversation, most times serious posts about racism are meant to serve as a beacon for poc, to bring attention to issues that were facing or that white people may be causing. By adding a white voice in there, even if it's agreeing it does take away some focus from the poc perspective on the issue in favor of a white person's perspective. It's unfortunate, and sometimes you can bring up a good point or raise awareness, but usually it's a good idea to do so on a separate post, or a post designated for both poc and white perspectives rather than a post made for poc experiences.

Sorry a final time, I hope this made sense? Either way ur question is valid and I hope this was at least kinda helpful!

This makes sense, and I really appreciate your taking the time to explain your perspective. Please don’t apologize for engaging in a productive discussion with me, I’m really just surprised that anyone read the tags at all 😂

I guess my question really should have been more focused on whether or not this still holds true if the commentary is in the tags of the post, because I always perceive the tags of a post as separate to the post itself. Like I treat tags like I might treat annotating a text - I’m drawing connections or notating where my personal experiences line up with what’s in the post. It’s almost like I’m talking to myself, and people can read them if they want but they also aren’t meant to be for anyone as much as they are meant for me to kind of process what I was reading and sometimes to signal to the OP that I was listening. And I put that in the tags specifically so that it doesn’t have to travel with the post if it ever gets reblogged from me.

But it occurred to me while reading the original post that I might be treating tags very differently than other people, and I wasn’t sure how that matched up with the post. And I don’t know how much of that is just my Autism manifesting in a way where I have misinterpreted the way this tool is meant to be used, or how much of this is my AuDHD having to process all of my thoughts to other people in order for me to understand them, or how much of this is just internalized white supremacy culture making me think I’m entitled to a part of the discussion.

TLDR; Do other people consider tags to be a part of the conversation? Or do other people consider tags to be independent of the conversation unless otherwise stated (like with ‘prev tags’ descriptors)? Or is there some other third thing?

[tinystarbites]

accidents pt. II | Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Summary: during a long case away, Spencer accidentally sees Reader's nudes on her phone and can't cope because he is a MESS for reader whoops pt.II The Reckoning /j, this is basically just 10k words of porn with feelings yikes

Warnings: SMUT MDNI, 18+ only, fem!reader, fluff, some angst (still Spencer feeling he isn't good enough 😔), EMOTIONSSS, Spencer STILL loves you so much, he gets a hug, and so much more!, talk about sex, detailed asking for CONSENT (be safe people), sex (piv), some frottage, uhhh what else, dirty talk, some dom/sub understones (sub!Spencer ofc), little bit allusion to subspace, Spencer discovers so many kinks in this awww we're so proud of you bby (mentioned kinks: praise kink, squint of liking being embarrassed, tiiny bit of a voyeristic thing), also I made him a virgin whoops so virgin!Spencer, proofread but prolly not perfect lol. Tell me if I'm missing any tags I am so tired

(also, Spencer will be bisexual in all of my Spencer fics because I am not a coward like the writers were and I will honour Spencer the way he was intended to)

HERE you can read pt. I, I do recommend it to have context and all but do whatever you want lmao I'm not your mother anyway have fun being completely wrecked like I was while writing this!! also thanks so so MUCH for 400 followers and almost 2k likes on the first part, you guys are the best and I hope you enjoy this fic as a thanks!!<333

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Spencer’s never sprung from his bed faster in his life before.

His heart is a jackhammer in his chest, chipping away at his ribs one bone splitter at a time because-

It’s you. In front of his door. And Spencer is so hard it hurts but- he can’t just-

“Spencer?”

He sucks in a haggard breath, hands reaching up and messing up his hair even more. His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere at once and he just needs to- needs just a moment to-

“Uh, yeah, just a second!”, he calls back, voice scratchy and used from the- the moaning Jesus Christ because he was about to come with your mental image and he somehow, magically, managed to apparently conjure you up in front of his door with his pathetic pining and oh god-

He has to- ugh- has to wash his hands and make it go away and –

“Okay, I’ll just…chill with that weird plant here.”

An overwhelmed whimper slips past his lips and he just, stands there for at least another five seconds before something in his mind snaps back into place and he rushes to the small, adjacent bathroom of his room.

After he thoroughly washed his hands, his erection has flagged off enough so that it’s not the first thing greeting you when he opens the door and thank god for that.

And oh- seeing you after doing that actually knocks the wind out of his lungs because you are just so goddamn lovely it makes Spencer want to do stupid, stupid things like cry or kiss you or spontaneously combust into a million pieces.

For once, he does something okay-ishly sensible though.

“Hi.”

You look at him, one eyebrow raised in amusement or scepticism, he doesn’t know for sure. Your eyes hold mirthful sparkles in them when he finally manages to meet your gaze, so he settles for the former of the two options.

You’re not wearing your work clothes anymore. Rather, you went for a cozy looking, oversized sweater and funkily patterned leggings. Your fashion sense outside of work always reminded Spencer of Penelope’s.

“Hi to yourself”, you chuckle, “Can I come in or are you too busy reading ten books at once?”

Spencer feels himself flush under your gentle teasing.

“Only seven books. But, yes, of course you can come in.”

He turns out of the way, creating room for you to pass him into his room. As soon as you are inside, you don’t hesitate to jump onto his bed and flop on your back with your arms spread wide.

Spencer’s breath hitches and he has to do some very extensive mental gymnastics to supress all the inappropriate thoughts from escaping the box he banished them into. Controlling his body’s response to seeing you in the same bed he was just jacking off in is… a different story. He pulls down the hem of his shirt as discreetly as possible, as he takes a seat next to you. Making sure that there is not too much distance between you two as to raise any suspicion and make it obvious he’s trying to get some distance between you, but also enough space so that he isn’t enticed to do anything unwise. Like, reach out and feel your warmth underneath his fingers. Or the softness of your skin. Or anything else really.

The more seconds tick by in which neither of you say anything, the more nervous Spencer becomes. He starts fiddling around with his fingers, aborting more than one move to steal a glance at your face to see what you’re thinking.

“Spencer”, you then finally say, voice kind of pout-y and if that didn’t make Spencer whip his head around to face you, the next thing you say for sure does. “Do you hate me?”

“Wha-“, he sputters your name, “No- no! Of course, I don’t- whe- why would you think that?”

You let out an exasperated groan, moving around until you are lying on your side, head propped up on your arm and frowning up at him. “Because you’ve been acting hella weird these last few days and you won’t tell me whyyyy”, you drag out the last syllable, pout on your lips and Spencer has to look up at the ceiling or else he’s just going to confess everything without second thought and that will definitely not happen.

“I haven’t been acting weird, really, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You remain silent again and Spencer feels the judging glare you send his way without having to look at you. Yes, he has been acting weird, he knows that, but you can never ever know the reason why tha-

“Is it because you saw my nudes?”

Spencer almost breaks his neck with how fast he whips his head down to look at you again. A strangled noise escapes him without permission and what. What.

“Because, that would actually explain so much, especially the way you’ve been acting and really, that’s probably on me because I’ve always been telling myself to put them behind a password block but I somehow always manage to forget that because apparently I have only one braincell left that’s stuck spinning on the deep-fried version of Funky Town and well, I guess I’m glad it was you that found them and not someone else and-“

“What? No, no, I didn’t- What- that’s not- what-“, Spencer cuts off your rambling with a horrified, screeched version of a protest because how- how could you have guessed what’s going on with just one try? Is Spencer so- so absolutely besotted with you that he’s so obvious? Spencer is so very confused and overwhelmed with whatever the hell is going on, he kind of misses the slight twitching of your mouth.

“Come on, Spencer. I said it’s fine and basically my own fault. Uh- well, actually… sorry. Because, well, that’s probably not very work-appropriate… I will pay for your therapy session, just send me the bill.”

Spencer thought he’d reached the limits of confusion seconds ago but apparently, he hadn’t. What. What are you even saying?

“Therapy sessions?”

You just- ignore him.

“Oh, also, please don’t tell Hotch? He’ll be pissed, despite me literally just doing hot-girl shit, y’know-“

Oh, Spencer cannot take it anymore.

He says your name and, “Stop, please, please, just-“

You snap your mouth shut, pulling your lips between your teeth and Spencer definitely doesn’t miss the way you have to force your mouth to stay still this time.

“Are you- is this a joke?”, Spencer asks, frazzled and desperate and so confused he just wants to bury his head under the duvet and never come out again. Because if you don’t actually know but- are just joking around, oh Spencer is overwhelmed, alright.

Your expression changes into something panicked then. “No, no, Spencer, sorry. I’m- sorry. Of course I’m not joking, I’m so sorry. It’s just a little bit too easy to tease you. Sorry.” You actually look apologetic now, lips downturned and frowning slightly.

“Not joking- so… so, you know?”, there’s something big and anxious pressing inside of Spencer’s chest. The urge to hide away and never face daylight again intensifies tenfold. He’s flushing before he realizes, hands trembling and breathing a bit too fast to be considered normal. Oh god, you know, you actually know, you’re going to- you’re never going to speak with him again you are probably here to tell him how weird and- and-

You must’ve noticed the frenzy he is thinking himself into, because you reach out with one hand and gently nudge his thigh with one knuckle. “Spencer”, you say, voice serious and steady and not the slightest bit disgusted or harsh and it snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“I knew the second I walked back into that room after you basically fled the precinct. I am, really, genuinely, sorry for making you uncomfortable. Like, it wasn’t actually my intention for you to see them. And then, after I realized what… I just wanted to wait and see what you’d do, if you came to talk to me or, well…”

You sigh, the hand that nudged him ruffling through your hair.

“I didn’t handle this situation very well. I’m really sorry. So… “, you trail off, scrunching your nose in that adorable way of yours that makes Spencer want to kiss it until it scrunches even further because you’d laugh and try to fight him off.

“We can just- forget about this. Forget that it ever happened, or-“, you hesitate again.

Spencer feels suddenly breathless. Like he stands in front of a cliff face, seconds before taking the step to send himself careening towards something immeasurably great or devastatingly fatal.

“Or…?”, he breathes, voice small and unsure.

You meet his eyes again after what feels like hours. There’s something intense in them, burning, and it’s like an electric shock to Spencer’s system. He’d give anything for you to keep looking at him like that forever.

“Or”, your hand returns to his thigh, but this time you let your fingers travel along the shape of it and Spencer whimpers. The burning in your eyes intensifies and Spencer feels hot, suddenly, so hot he’s burning with it. “Or we can do something else.”

“Something else?”, Spencer basically croaks because his throat is so dry and it’s difficult for his body to function properly when you are touching him like that.

You hum in agreement. “Whatever you want. You can tell m-“

“You.”

You look a bit startled when he cuts you off with that one, desperate syllable. Startled but also endlessly amused and Spencer just- his mind is apparently turned off, what the-

You laugh quietly, and your eyes soften, and it does something to Spencer that leaves an ach-y feeling in his chest. Oh, he loves you so much he can’t take it.

“Sure. You can have me”, you say simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world for you to admit, “Tell me what exactly you want, because I’d give you the world if you asked.”

And suddenly there’s hot pressure behind Spencer’s eyes, at the back of his throat. You’re just- just- amazing and so lovely and so kind to him, no one has ever said something like that to him, he doesn’t know how to handle it.

Spencer blinks up to the ceiling, desperately willing these stupid unwelcome tears away because crying about you treating him kindly is so on the bottom of the list of acting casual about this, so he rather feels than sees you sitting up next to him. Your hand slips from his legs and he feels the loss of your touch as if someone sucked the marrow from his bones. Before he can say something embarrassing like ‘please touch me again’ he feels your hand covering his. It fills him with a heady kind of courage.

“I want…”, Spencer starts, feeling entirely too uncomfortable with having to state his deepest and darkest desires. There’s the old familiar urge to start picking at his nails nagging at him, but you just interlace your fingers with his and start tracing random patterns into the skin there with your thumb. Spencer melts against you and tenses up at the same time because it’s just so- so nice. It feels so nice and Spencer never thought he’d ever get to have things like that with you but you’re here. You’re here, with him, and basically offering Spencer the entire world on a silver platter but it’s still so so unfathomably difficult just saying what he so badly wants.

“You want…?”, you hum slightly, voice soft and so tender as you continue painting patterns on his skin and Spencer would literally die for you. And that’s the entire problem. Spencer doesn’t know if you’d do the same. Well. Maybe not die die for him but. He can’t just sleep with you, and it not meaning anything to you. It would kill him. It would kill him, if after you give him tenderness and pleasure and acceptance in a way he’s never dreamed of receiving, you would go back to normal. Always politely distanced, close, but never close enough and it already twists his chest just thinking of that possibility.

“I just-“, he tries again, but when the words are stuck in his throat, sticky molten sugar that tastes like bile and fear, he pulls out of your grip and buries his face in his hands. He’s so bad at this. He’s the worst. No wonder he’s never had- had something like Morgan has, one night stand after one night stand (not that he particularly wants that, god no, but just-) because Spencer is just so bad at spilling all of the things that plague his gut and keep his thoughts in overdrive at night. No wonder he’s never even had a girlfriend or boyfriend before.

“Hey, hey, Spencer”, he feels your hands cupping his own, still over his face. Not taking them away, but just – there. “It’s alright, penguin, we can always come back to this another time. I’ll wait.”

Spencer’s face crumples and his breath hitches a little because- penguin. That’s the frankly ridiculous nickname you’ve been using for him ever since he apparently once looked like one, with that white scarf and knee-length black coat he wore during one of your cases where a blizzard surprised not only the team, but also the unsub. Spencer, like most of you, wasn’t prepared and thus, had to make do with what the helpful officers provided them with. And well, Spencer drew the penguin stick it seemed.

It’s ridiculous but sweet and it always makes him feel so loved, loved by you, because it’s adorable and theirs and he just loves it irrationally much, okay? And also, penguins are just really fascinating because-

“Did you know that most penguins live monogamously? The Emperor penguin is actually one of the only ones that mate seasonally, they only have one mate per breeding season. But most others have a mate for life, like, like swans and bald eagles.”

Before Spencer even opened his mouth, he was aware of the fact he was going to ramble on about some unimportant stuff. It’s always like this, it always feels like a breath he’s been holding in for too long, like an itch somewhere in his weird brain that only stops when he opens his mouth and infodumps and he cannot stop it. No matter how consciously he is telling himself to cut it out or screaming at himself to shut the fuck up you weirdo, it’s unavoidable. As soon as his brain latches onto a statistic or a fact it is reminded of, it’s an unstoppable force.

Like now. He is kicking himself. Why, oh why can’t he ever be normal? He feels himself flushing bright red from embarrassment and shame and frustration. He can’t believe he is rambling about birds while- while whatever the hell you two are doing right now. While in the middle of a conversation that started out with you confronting him about him seeing your nudes, jesus christ.

Spencer is about to suffocate himself with a pillow when you let out a graceless snort.

It confuses Spencer so much he lowers his hands to look at you and- oh.

Your eyes are shining with something that looks so close to what he would call affection, and it makes him want to bawl his eyes out and at the same time, smile so hard there’ll be laugh lines on his cheeks for the rest of the week.

“Well, that fits perfectly then”, you say, and Spencer doesn’t understand.

“What do you mean?”

You smile just a little wider, a little more teasingly but in a nice way, in a kind way and it leaves Spencer’s chest blooming with warmth.

“If you’re my penguin, I’ll be your penguin.”

Youryouryouryouryour-

Spencer feels entirely braindead. Only the fact that you called him yours registers. Because yes. Yes. Spencer is so yours he’d gladly let you make every decision for him from now on in his life and yes. That’s not exactly a very normal thing to think. Or to want. Spencer doesn’t care. He’s never felt normal about you for a day in his life and he definitely won’t start now.

“You- you mean- like, as, as mates?”

You scrunch your nose in disgust. “If you want to call us that, I think I’ll take back my offer.”

It punches a giggle out of Spencer, sudden and kind of light-headed. He watches your face break into a wide grin.

“But you- you’d like that?” You’d like me?

You pull a face, sniffing in a nonchalant way, direct your face to your nails in fake disinterest.

“Sure. Whatever.”

And Spencer can’t help himself. He sobs out a laugh- laughs out a sob or, whatever that weird noise he makes is, because you’re so ridiculous and he loves you more than anything in the world.

You roll your eyes, fondly, shake your head slightly.

“Of course, Spencer. I’d like that very much because I like you a very unnormal amount. Literally. On my knees, crying, screaming etcetera”, you say just like that, smiling just like that.

Spencer feels like he’s dreaming. He must be. There’s no other explanation for it. He just can’t wrap his head around the fact that you could like him. You. You’re so, so lovely and amazing and you deserve everything good in this world and Spencer is just. Spencer.

“You- you like me? Me?”, Spencer can’t hide the incredulous tone that seeps into his questions because you like him?

There’s no traces of humour in your eyes anymore. Your eyes look painfully honest, face suddenly serious, and it steals Spencer’s breath away.

You lean closer to him again, grabbing his hands with yours. Your gaze bores itself into his, intense and steady and he can’t look away. “Spencer. I know it’s- I know life has been hard on you for way too long. And that leaves its marks on you. That’s fine. It’s human. But. You do not deserve any less love because of that, do you understand me? Of course I like you, what isn’t there to like? You’re kind and funny and sweet and just so- Spencer. You’re so lovable and it kills me to know that you don’t see how you are so worthy of being loved.”

Oh.

Oh.

You can’t just- can’t just say things like that and expect him to not cry a little. Can’t expect him to act completely nonchalant and cool about all of this when you say things like that to him. Are you trying to kill him? Because it sure does feel like that.

Spencer is so completely at a loss. He doesn’t know what to say to that- not to mention what to do. How do you always do this? How can you see straight to the hidden, bruised core of him, littered with all these ugly and bad things and. Just. Figure out what to say to strike him exactly there.

It should scare him, being known so deeply. It should, but it doesn’t because it’s you. You are warmth and acceptance like his favourite place in front of a fireplace, book in hand and rain gently knocking against windows. You are quiet mornings at work, you are soft rays of sunlight in his hair, you are gentle hands helping you up when you fall and bruise your knees. You are –

A touch to his cheek startles him. He opens his eyes – when did he close them? – to your fingers brushing some stray tears away, so softly as if he’s something precious, something to be held delicately. That thought sends new tears spilling down his cheek. He can’t believe this is affecting him so much, so completely he simultaneously feels like he is going to shatter and be stitched back together again.

He never knew he needed this so much.

“Sorry for making you cry, penguin. I didn’t think this discussion about my lack of nude etiquette would get this emotionally damaging”, you say, voice hushed in the big silence of the room, a small smile on your lips and eyes so kind.

Spencer snorts, despite himself. This has really been a very bizarre evening. He feels almost drunk on the weirdness of it all, on the rollercoaster that his emotions have ridden all evening. That’s probably why he does what he does next.  

“Neither did I, especially after you interrupted me while I wa-“

Spencer shuts his mouth so fast he clicks his teeth together, eyes wide and suddenly horrified. He- what-

Why?

Why can’t Spencer ever keep his big mouth shut? Is he completely and utterly insane?

There’re alarm bells going off somewhere in Spencer’s head and a concerning warmth settling deep in his stomach when your grin takes on a slightly devilish edge, one he knows all too well and. And. Oh. He’s in trouble. So much trouble. Why did he have to say that?

“After I interrupted you while?”, you prompt him, eyes electric and hot and oh god-

Spencer is so dumb. An idiot. Of the highest order. High IQ, where?

“Nothing”, he says, voice high-pitched and rushed and he curses himself and his ability to act everything else but nonchalant. He’d be the worst actor of all time.

“Spencer.”

The tone of your voice rearranges something in his neurons. He can feel himself sit up just that little bit straighter, can feel his mind buzz at the edges. He’s never felt like this before.

He loves it.

“Hmm?”, is all he gets out. Trouble, so much trouble.

Suddenly you’re standing up, away from him and Spencer wants to whine because you should stay there next to him, forever fixed to his side. He doesn’t have to despair long, because you take one of your knees and gently nudge his legs apart with it and okay. Okay. That definitely didn’t just send Spencer’s mind reeling. That wasn’t just totally the hottest thing that ever happened to him.

You slot yourself between his legs as if you own that space and. In his humble opinion, you do. You so do. Spencer is willing to give you a map of his entire body and a marker and tell you to please demarcate every part of him you want. He’d give it to you, no questions asked.

He is looking up at you, at your burning eyes that still hold something so soft in them that makes the lump in his throat bigger again. And by god, Spencer just needs to hear you say it again-

“You like me?”

You move closer to him, lifting one hand and placing it underneath his chin. Your thumb traces along his jaw and Spencer feels like he is going to burst into a million embarrassed pieces.

“Yes”, you say simply, but the way you say it. Spencer can’t help but shiver and exhale shakily. He feels so warm, everywhere. His skin burns where your fingers are touching him. He never wants this to stop.

“You- You want me?”

Your hand grips his face a little stronger, your other fingers splaying over and down his throat and there’s a high noise coming from somewhere and there’s goosebumps on his body everywhere and oh, wait- it’s him. The noise. Well, how embarrassing but. He doesn’t care. Nope. Not at all.

…Okay maybe a little. His face feels warm, suddenly, warmer than the rest of him and yes. He’s blushing, okay?

“Spencer”, the way you say his name it- god, “I want you. I said it before, but. I will give you anything. Tell me what you want, Spencer, and you will get it from me.”

Your eyes are so dark and your voice so low and Spencer actually whines and. He’s hard again, so hard, because he didn’t come before and now, he’s even more pent-up and his thoughts are a mess, but you haven’t even touched him more than this and he’s already so worked up from you just saying these things to him-

“I want you”, Spencer pants, currently finding no other English words in the dictionary of his mind. And well. Emily was right about him. IQ slashed to zero when pretty person do thing.

He watches you take a deep breath, as if to steady yourself, as if this whole thing is affecting you as much as it affects him but that’s- ridiculous. Impossible. Because. Have you seen yourself?

“I know that, Spencer. But what do you want from me? Do you want me to kiss you?”, you ask, face suddenly so close to his Spencer feels your breath fan over his skin, and he whimpers because yes he wants that wants that- “Do you want me to touch you more?”, your other hand grabs his side, gentle but just a little bit roughly and Spencer is suddenly vividly reminded of the fact how strong you are and he feels kind of lightheaded-

“Do you want me to fuck you, Spencer?”

Spencer is going to pass out. And die. And moan and say, “Please yes yes yes”. Maybe not in that particular order.

“Okay, angel, anything you want”, you say, smiling softly at him as if he’s the best thing in the world and angel. Angel. Angel.

Before he’s even started to process you calling him angel, he sees a glint in your eyes, that edge in your smile again and before he knows what’s happening, you’re kissing him.

You’re kissing him and it’s- everything.

Your mouth is soft against his, and Spencer’s insides twist and flutter and his brain is kind of lagging behind, but he wants to be closerclosercloser-

It’s so good Spencer completely blanks on everything. There’s nothing in his mind except the feel of your lips moving against his. There’s no insecurity, no embarrassment tainting this moment even though this is literally like, only the sixth kiss or so of Spencer’s life and he has no idea what he is doing. But it’s so good.

A noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper escapes him when you lick into his mouth and Spencer’s soul almost leaves his body. He feels you shudder where you are pressed together, chest to chest.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe against his lips, in between wet, hot, kisses. You rub your nose against his, eyes closed.

“Hmm?”, he hums, his voice somewhere in Canada or wherever. His mouth is too busy smiling so wide it hurts, anyways. No time for articulating anything.

“You’re amazing, Spencer, amazing.”

And he wants to shake his head, no, because the only one amazing here is you. But it’s impossible to disagree with you when your mouth has returned to his in a way that is probably ruining him for anyone else. (He’s okay with that.)

You peck him on the lips once, twice more, before you press your lips against his jaw, exactly where you had your fingers before. Your hands are basically the only thing holding Spencer up in a sitting position, because he feels like molten chocolate in your hands. Muscles apparently forgetting to do their job and well. Who can blame them? Spencer has stopped thinking in proper sentences the moment you had walked into his life, so. Only a matter of time until you broke the rest of him as well.

You kiss his neck and Spencer gasps. It’s really been a hot minute - three years, one hundred, twenty-one days and twenty hours to be exact – the last time he made out with someone. Everything feels heightened on his heated skin, especially you opening your mouth against him and licking him oh god-

It almost feels like a reward when you gently bite at his skin next. Spencer almost screams.

“So good, so so good for me”, he hears you whisper into the skin of his neck and this time, Spencer does make a noise. Because yes. He wants that. Be good for you. That’s the only thing in his fuzzy mind that feels clear, that feels graspable.

He can see your pupils dilate. Can see the wicked lilt to your lips. “You like being good for me, don’t you, angel?”

ANGEL. Spencer is nodding his head before he knows he does so. “Yes, yes.”

“Fuck”, he hears you breathe against him and it’s strange, seeing the effect he has on you. Did really he do that? “I can’t believe how incredible you are, sweetheart.”

And you need to stop. If you keep calling Spencer these things- he’s pretty sure he won’t survive this. The team would need to find another genius to solve cases with. His cactus Greg would dry out and wilt and die. You and Penelope would need to find another victim to send confusing memes to.

“Did you like my pictures, Spencer?”, you then ask and that’s so not fair. You can’t just ask him that while he’s so utterly in your hands that he’s sure he’d tell you about every little fantasy he’s had about you ever if you asked.

Because Spencer wants to be good, feels that need so deeply in his bones, he nods frantically. “Yes, I- I liked them.”

At the same time the words leave his mouth, something feels wrong. There’s an ugly thing twisting in his stomach, so unpleasant it momentarily occludes the high-octane bliss-fuzz fogging up his mind.

You notice the shift in mood almost immediately. “What’s wrong, angel?”

And well. It’s just- that guilt. Of not saying anything to you about Spencer seeing your nudes, of just ogling you like that without your permission. That wasn’t very good of him. Actually, the opposite. He’s been bad and he hates that. Hates that so severely that there’s suddenly tears on his cheeks and oh no. That’s mortifying. Who cries before sex? Jesus Christ he’s such a virgin it is genuinely embarrassing.

“I’m- I’m sorry”, he stutters, a little bit hysterical, creating distance between you, arms slung around himself, “I should’ve, should’ve said something, I’m so so sorry, I’m the worst friend and now I’m- I’m crying, oh god, I’m so sorry-“

“Hey, hey hey whoa. Spencer, darling. Penguin. Look at me, please?”

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t deserve to look at you again. What was he even thinking? He was- so creepy and now- now-

Two warm hands grab his face and then Spencer is looking into your eyes again. He squeezes his own shut, but all that it does is send more tears spilling over his cheeks and he’s so fucking stupid-

“Baby, please.”

Spencer sobs.

Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. That’s the best thing he has ever heard but he doesn’t deserve these things.

“Of course you deserve it, silly goose”, you say and oh. He’s said that out loud.

Your thumbs brush over his cheeks and Spencer can’t not lean into your touch, despite everything. Because that’s just the way it always is. He’s drawn to your warmth and tenderness like a moon revolves around its planet.

“I thought we’d established that it was an accident? And if it was someone’s fault, then mine, because no password, remember?”

Spencer opens his eyes. The deep affection swimming in yours makes him sob again. He’s a mess. A crying, horny mess and Spencer definitely fucked this up. Why does Spencer always ruin the few good things in his life?

“Spencer, Spencer. Hey. It’s okay, I promise you. We wouldn’t be doing this, if it wasn’t, okay?”, you kiss his nose. “Do you want to lay down, maybe?”

He nods, not really thinking clearly. He moves up the bed, under the covers and curls up on his side. He waits for you to get up from the bed, for you to walk over to the door and leave. To say that this was a mistake, he was a mistake. To say that you take back everything you said to him in the last half hour.

He’s not just a little surprised to feel your weight dip the mattress, to feel even more sudden warmth engulf him when you spoon him from behind. You start tracing swirly patterns over the skin of his arm and he feels goosebumps spread all over his body.

Some minutes tick by, you still holding him, when his tears have finally dried up. He doesn’t remember crying so much in one day. Spencer feels miserable.

“Do you still like me?”, he asks, and yes, it’s pathetic and stupid but. He doesn’t care if you never have sex or if you’re not going to be more than his friend now. Because the thought of you not being in his life in any capacity anymore- just no.

He can feel you freeze and take in a sharp breath. “Wha- Spencer. Of course, I still like you. I don’t care what we do, I just want to be with you. In any way you’ll have me.”

You sound so understanding and sincere and actually confused about his fear as if you’d never even think of not liking him anymore and and and-

And something in him just- snaps. He wants you, needs you so much he’s going to die if he doesn’t-

He shuffles and turns in your arms until he’s face to face with you. You look at him, eyebrow raised in question but so beautiful and lovely and you still like him-

“I want you so bad”, he says and then he presses his lips against yours again.

You respond immediately, low moan escaping you and Spencer is greedy, he wants to hear more, feel more, feel everything with you.

He’s kissing you as if he’s going to die if he ever stopped, which, yes, he absolutely would, and you kiss him back as if you can’t live without him. It makes everything become hazy again, like before, and every bad feeling suddenly feels eons away. Like he’s underwater, floaty and relaxed. Safe, he feels safe in the way you kiss him and hold him. Like you always do.

You move your kisses to his neck, sucking and biting and Spencer is moaning and moaning and can’t stop and then suddenly, you’re gone, what –

“Spencer, Spencer, wait”, you pant, out of breath and flushed and he wants to cry again, “Sorry, sorry I just-“

You frame his face in your hands, a little bit roughly. “I’m so sorry for making this so hard, you’re being so good for me, but Spencer. Have you done this before?”

Somewhere in the fog that is his minds, Spencer finds his voice. It’s high and airy but he doesn’t care. “No, no, I haven’t.”

He watches you take a deep breath, feels your fingers digging into his skin a little bit more.

“Tell me. Do you want this, Spencer?”, your voice is shaking as if you need to keep yourself in check and Spencer can’t believe he’s getting to see you like this.

“Yes”, he says because he can’t ever want anything else, and, “Please make me feel good.”

You inhale sharply, your grip on his face bordering on painful. “Spencer, you’re incredible, amazing, the best- I’ll make you feel good, okay? I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.”

“Yes”, Spencer is not ashamed of how whiny he sounds. No. He’s owning it now. This is his thing now, okay? He’ll gladly be your pathetic wet cat, or whatever the term was that you sometimes use to describe him with. Whatever it even means.

“Good”, you grin, and then you push on his shoulder hard and he’s on his back. And you. Sitting on top of him, thighs on either side of him. Straddling him exactly where he wants you most and he exhales a needy ‘ah’. His hypothesis of liking being manhandled is… yet to be disproven. He’s discovering so many things about himself today.

Pleasure radiates in waves from where you’re passively giving pressure to his hard cock and yeah okay. This is good. Amazing. He’s never felt better. But-

“Please.”

“Please what, angel?”

“More?”

“More what?”

Your fingers trailing along his throat and jaw, down his chest and teasing ghost-like over his nipples are not really helpful in finding the right words to what he wants. You take pity on him.

“More touch?”

Spencer nods his head, so fast he almost gets dizzy because he’s at that point again where everything feels liquid, hazy, a little bit unreal. So, speaking is already quite the task.

You smile at him as if he just solved the most difficult equation. “Doing so good, Spencer. Incredible.”

He moans. Okay. Another hypothesis to add to his ever-growing list of scientific discoveries today.

“Where do you want touch, Spencer? Here?”, there’s hands in his hair. He shakes his head.

“Hmm… Here?”, fingers drawing circles on his chest and yes, that feels nice, so nice but he wants-

“Here?”, you ground your hips down and jesus-

“Yes!”, Spencer almost chokes on the sound. Pleasure shoots up his spine and he whimpers. “Please.”

You exhale shakily, looking flush. “Okay. Because you ask so nicely.” There’re two little taps on his lower stomach through his shirt. “Do you want to take this off first? Or no?”

The way you give him the chance to say no- the way you respect his autonomy so deeply-

It’s basic human decency, yes, but it’s also the hottest thing and Spencer feels so valued and understood and safe that he’s not even hesitating when he mutters a quiet yes.

You help him sit up because he’s currently not really heir over his body like he usually is. Help his head out of the shirt and thread his arms out. And then, he’s half naked in front of you and suddenly, the doubt and insecurity that’ve been so quiet so far are back with a vengeance.

The urge to cover himself is so big it’s impossible to stop his arms from wrapping around himself.

Spencer knows he’s not ugly. He’s not that bad looking actually. Can’t be too bad if Morgan keeps insisting on calling him pretty boy, even though Spencer sometimes still has the sneaking suspicion that he’s teasing him. But his friend wouldn’t be so cruel.

But other people like to be. Pipe-cleaner, leek, straw, big-eyes. He’s heard it all before. He has matured enough and grown into himself so that these things don’t bother him like they used to. But still. Still. These things are arduous to scrub from under his skin.

Your gaze on him though- he’s never felt so, cleaned from all of these mean words before. You look- you look reverent while mapping his skin and maybe that’s the reason why he lowers his arms again.

“Spencer. You’re a dream”, you say, almost in trance. Almost as if you’re hypnotized by him, and he’s flushing. But. Being watched so intently, being admired like that. He feels his dick give an indigent twitch against your clothed core. Another thing for the list.

“So impatient”, you tut and Spencer flushes more. He thinks he’s waited long enough for this. But he doesn’t say that. If you stopped now- he would definitely combust spontaneously.

You lean down, over him. Hands trailing along his sides like you did earlier, but without any clothes between your skin and his. It’s almost too much. And not enough. He feels electrified, where you touch him. His heart is hammering against his ribs so hard you must be able to feel it. His stomach is in knots, fluttery. He’s never felt more alive.

You connect your lips to his throat, placing kiss after kiss along the arched length of it. Follow the same path with your tongue and Spencer whines, curves up against you a little. Everything feels so good Spencer is floating in it.

You shift your attention to his collarbones next, kissing but then gently biting and Spencer feels the indents of your teeth all the way through to his back and he hopes, wants, you to sink them into him so deep they’ll leave marks. So that he carries the evidence of this with him for the rest of this case, so that there’s absolutely no more doubt to who he belongs to. That thought alone makes him whimper, makes him feel that tiny little bit more lost in you.

You start kissing along his chest, down his stomach. Open mouthed, wet kisses and Spencer shivers when the places you put them feel cold after because of your spit. The lower you get, the noisier he becomes and at one point, Spencer would’ve been embarrassed. Well, he kind of is, but he’s also so turned on that the embarrassment doesn’t feel as stifling like usual. Rather, in a weird way, it makes everything hotter, and he does not own enough brain capacity right now to decipher that. But he does add it to the list.

When your face is dangerously close to the waistband of his pyjama, Spencer tenses, holds his breath. Being shirtless is one thing, but… well.

“It’s okay, Spencer. We only do as much as you feel comfortable with”, you murmur, giving a small peck to the left of his belly button. You calmingly follow his sides with your hands, smiling at him with so much affection in your eyes that Spencer feels speechless, breathless, until the tension releases his muscles again and he melts into the sheets.

“’m just…”, he tries, he really tries so hard to tell you that he wants this more than anything he’s ever wanted but that he just feels… insecure.

You kiss his stomach again. “How about we only take off the pyjama? For now? If you want to take off your underwear too later, we can still do that.”

That… that’s actually a good idea. So, he nods.

“Words, angel.”

“Yes, yes. That’s- good.”

You look so proud of him. “You’re so good, Spencer. Perfect.”

He moans embarrassingly loud. He really should be more concerned about this. About how you are basically pulling him apart, thread by thread and he just lets you, willingly. How you know which threads to pull to reduce him to a sweaty mess in what felt like 0.2 seconds.

There’s a finger dipping beneath the waistband, moving back and forth along the newly exposed skin. Your eyes watch him intently, almost predator-like. A question is in there somewhere as well and Spencer nods again.

You help him lift his hips, help him pull down the pants. Spencer is kind of busy kicking his legs a little to shake them off completely but when he looks back and down himself to where you are hyper-focused on the outline of his cock through the thin fabric he blushes.

Even more when he notices the big, dark blue splotch in front of his underwear. That’s definitely never happened before. How embarrassing.

When you look up at him again, you’re also flushed. Eyes dark, wide, voice kind of unsteady. “Spencer, Spencer, can I?”

“Please”, and then you palm him with your hand, and it feels so good it takes all of his concentration to not come on the spot. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive this until you arrive to the main thing.

It’s not the first time someone has touched him like that, but it is the first time you are doing it, and it already feels better than anything he’s ever felt before. You’re either a wizard or Spencer is just biased because he thinks everything you do is ten times better than the same thing done by someone else.

Probably the first reason.

He has his head angled back, one of his arms thrown over his eyes. If he looked at you now, he’s pretty sure, he’d come. Visual stimulation on top of physical would probably be the end of him. It’s already too much, just feeling your hand move up and down his dick in various pressures. Almost as if you are testing what he likes best, and Spencer is definitely here for it. Definitely. He’s happy to just let you experiment with him until you know all the different ways to drive him mad with pleasure with just a few moves.

Which, you apparently already figured out, judging by the way Spencer can’t form a single coherent thought anymore. It’s already, so good, so freaking good holy shit, and you’re still not touching him. Still a layer of fabric between your hand and him and he kind of- just-

“Take it off?”

You still your hand, looking up at him. You look kind of crazed, almost a little pained. It takes two deep breaths for you to process what he just asked, eyes a little unfocused before they fix Spencer to the bed with an intensity that makes him feel unfocused. “You sure, angel?”

Spencer literally can’t do anything but nod. You stay in your position for some moments longer, before you sigh out a long breath, mumbling something that suspiciously resembles you’re gonna be the death of me. Spencer misses your warmth on top of him the second you hoist yourself up. It’s kind of crazy and destitute of him. You are literally right there but he’s waited for this for so long it feels like he’s suffocating without your weight pressing him down. Which is ironic and also, insane.

Your fingers are gentle, when they move under the stretchy fabric of his underwear. Even gentler when they pull down and down and down until Spencer is entirely naked in front of you.

Oh, he feels so exposed. While he has been the recipient of a mediocre hand job before, it’s been in his trousers. This is kind of the first time someone sees him naked like that, because school locker rooms and his mother don’t count.

He doesn’t dare look at you. If there’s anything akin to disappointment, not to mention disgust on your face- Spencer probably would have to jump out the window, stat. His gaze is frozen on his cock, steadily leaking precum on his stomach (which, embarrassing). He’s abashedly trying to insert himself into your point of view, tries to imagine what you think about seeing him like this. What you might think about his dick, if it’s too short or too thin or if it looks weird, if he should’ve shaved. If his legs look strange and too gangly now, or if his stomach connects to his pubic area wrong or-

“Holy shit”, you say, and Spencer is too curious for his own damn good sometimes, because he can’t force his gaze to stay away from you.

You look at him- like before. Reverent but more, so much more. He almost feels like a deity, the way you look at him. Someone to be awed by, someone that should be worshipped. Spencer feels his already in overdrive heartbeat quicken even more, blood flushing his cheeks so much it leaks down his throat, to his chest.

Spencer would literally kill to have you look at him like this for the rest of his life.

“Holy shit, Spencer”, you repeat, eyes now meeting his, “You’re like- a literal fucking dream. I cannot believe- you’re so beautiful, how are you so beautiful everywhere?”

Spencer whimpers and he needs you to touch him kiss him fuck him anything please now or he will absolutely die from heart palpitations.

Some of his despairing thoughts must’ve come through to you, because the next thing you do is moan, which is the best thing he���s ever heard. Then, you take off your sweater. Second to go is your cropped tank top and you aren’t wearing a bra and good heavens.

Pictures could never compare. Not even Botticelli could’ve adequately committed you to canvas.

Spencer must’ve taken some brain damage from seeing you half naked. He doesn’t remember you taking off the remainder of your clothes, nor does he remember you straddling him again. But, fuck.

Spencer kind of doesn’t use the f-word that often but-

fuckfuckfuckufuckfkcufuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckcufkc-

You’re warm against him, and wet, so freaking wet, and it feels so mind-blowingly good- it’s a miracle he’s still holding on. But-

“Won’t last long”, he gets out, breathy and whiny and just so goddamn fuzzy from pleasure. The world could literally perish right now, and he wouldn’t care. He can’t care, because this is the best thing that ever happened to him and he won’t ever care about anything else ever again other than feeling you, you you you you, against him.

“Spencer, Spencer”, you breathe, gasp, and fuck, the way you keep using his name. “Are you okay? Do you still want this?”

It’s ridiculous you even ask. But the warmth in his chest, the feeling of comfort and safety and ease – because everything with you is so easy, so natural - he feels with the way you look after him-

He feels your thumbs caressing his wet cheeks. You put small, sweet kisses all over his face. Take the time to brush away some of his sweat-sticky hair from his forehead. Place kisses there too. You end with a drawn out, gentle kiss to his lips.

“What do you say, sweetheart?”

There’s really only one way for him to answer that. He trusts you. Plain and simple. There’s no one else he could ever do this with.

“Yes, I want. Please.”

You kiss him again. “So good Spencer, you’re so fucking good to me. I can’t believe you are trusting me with this. You are incredible, angel.”

Spencer doesn’t know how it’s anatomically possible, but he blushes even harder. Also, feels his cock twitch against you because he apparently likes to be called good almost as much as he likes being good. For you. Only you. Jesus Christ.

“Do you have a condom?”, you ask and ah. Well.

“Suitcase”, and wow. First word with more than one syllable since you straddled him the first time. He’s being so brave right now. He deserves a medal. Proof of Being Able to Speak Polysyllabic Words While Getting Fucked (Almost).

There’s humour glistening in your eyes, when you hide a fake gasp behind your hand and say, “Oh my god, Spencer you dog. Can’t believe you planned this entire thing.”

Spencer almost chokes on his own spit. “N-no! I just- uh, like being prepared.”

You grind down a snort, drive your teeth into your lower lip. “In case you accidentally saw your coworker’s nudes and them being down to fuck you about it?"

Oh my god, you’re the most ridiculous person he’s ever met. He can’t stop himself from grinning because seeing you trying to keep your laughter at bay-

“Yes. That.”

“But what if- what if it was Rossi instead of you seeing them? How would’ve your plan worked out then, huh?”, you wheeze, shaking from literal suppressed laughter and Spencer makes a sound like a dying horse.

“Rossi? Rossi?”

“Oh my god, imagine it would’ve been Hotch. He would’ve probably fired me so hard and then called me a week later to disappointed-dad-talk me to come back but to please, refrain from bringing personal files to work in the future.”

Spencer laughs. He’s still rock-hard underneath you, but he’s laughing because that’s what you always do. Being so absurd and silly that he’s shocked to laughter.

He adores you with every fibre of his being.

“What the fuck?”, you ask, incredulous but laughing yourself, “Is my misery amusing to you?”

And Spencer feels like being a little bit of a brat. “Very.”

You flick his nose. Grumble something like I’ll show you misery and then you move your hips against his and Spencer sees stars. Let’s out an embarrassingly high whine.

Ah well. It was still worth it.

“Don’t move”, you order, when you climb down from him to retrieve a condom. Spencer watches you, lets himself look at you. All the times he’s wondered how it would be, how it would feel like, being in this kind of situation with you. He’s never in a million years thought it would feel so familiar. Like you’ve done this before, so many times that it’s just become something normal between you two. He’s actually relaxed. So turned on it feels like he’s going to burst any second, but he’s calm. He feels comfortable, so much so that it doesn’t even matter that it’s the first time he’s doing this and he’s so clueless about all of this.

But he knows, if it’s with you, he never ever has to worry about anything.

“Do you have lube as well?”, you ask, rifling through his suitcase and distracting him from his sappy thoughts.

“Hmm. No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, angel”, you say while returning to Spencer, and the nickname kind of switches something off again in his brain. Perfect. He’s never going to be able to be normal again about that word.

“We’ll have to get some, for next time. Always feels better with it.”

Spencer hasn’t really registered more than next time next time next time-

He’s pulled out of his daze of knowing your intentions of this not only being a one-off thing, when you straddle him again, a bit lower on his legs. Spencer moans, loud and high, when you grab him by the base and god, fuck, his skin is tingling with anticipation.

With your other hand, you grab the condom and then use your teeth to open the packet, and his cock jumps in your hand. How are you so hot. How does everything you do turn him on so much, what.

He watches you take out the plastic ring as if he’s watching from above, out of his body. He watches as you position the condom over his tip and then pull it down, down and Spencer’s brain must be lagging because he feels everything with at least a two second delay and shit, god, son of a-

“You ready, baby?”

He makes a noise between a sob and a whine. He’s losing his mind. “Please please please-“

“Fuck, Spencer”, you whine, lift yourself up a bit with your legs and then you are sinking down on him, inch by agonizing inch.

It’s so good, it’s so good, you are so warm, so hot, and Spencer can’t stop making noises until your hips are flush to his and he’s inside you.

You let out a loud, drawn-out moan above him. “Fuck, fuck, Spencer. You feel so fucking good, holy shit.”

He feels like he’s one move away from coming. God, oh god, it feels so incredible.

“Can I move? Spencer, please?”, your voice is wrecked, you’re flushed down to your navel, and you’re the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Please please please please”, it’s the only word he remembers how to pronounce.

“Fuck”, you almost sob, lifting yourself almost completely off him. You lower yourself back down again, one swift move, and you both moan.

You pick up the pace a little, fucking him with still languid but purposeful thrusts. Every time his cock sinks back into you, Spencer feels bits and pieces of his sanity crumbling away. He can’t think, can’t speak, his mind so fogged up and fuzzy he’s having troubles remembering who he is. He’s so completely at your mercy he’d let you do anything to him.

That turns him on a worryingly huge amount. List, something about a list somewhere.

“Oh, god, look at you. Spencer, baby, angel. You feel so good inside of me, so good.”

He keens, grabs at your strong thighs bracketing his slim hips. Arches up into you, closerclosercloser-

“You like being good for me, right angel?”, you ask, hips slowing down to a gentle grinding that absolutely drives Spencer insane and he’s too far gone to even nod, “It suits you. Being so wrecked for me, moaning and shaking. God, fuck, you’re divine, Spencer, fuck.”

The pressure behind his cock, low in his stomach, that’s been building all evening, all week, holy shit, it’s too much. Spencer feels delirious, feels your hotness around him, feels your hands pressing his chest down into the bed. He’s going to die it feels so good.

“You going to come for me, Spencer? You gonna be good for me and come inside of me?”

Please please please please- it’s all he can think, all he can feel, because because-

You give a particularly hard thrust and-

Spencer’s coming, moaning and moaning, shaking everywhere. He’s coming and it feels so good, so fucking good. He’s never come so hard in his life before.

He might have blacked out a little. The next time he’s aware of something, it’s you cleaning him with a wet washcloth. Slow, and gentle and Jesus.

“What?”, is the first thing he manages to say, and you snicker beside him. You caress his face, hand running through his hair, down his chest. Peck his lips. You’re both still naked.

“Feeling good?”, you ask and what kind of question even is that. You just fucked the soul from his body, and you ask him-

“I almost died”, he says, tagging your name at the end with an incredulous tint to it.

You snort, setting the washcloth on the nightstand behind you. You lie down close to him, cuddling into his side. “That was the plan.”

“Killing me with sex?”

“Yep. That’s for ogling my nudes without my permission, you creep.”

He says your name again, exasperated but so fucking fond it’s a miracle you’ve never noticed his pining before. You shrug, pull a ‘what can you do face’. Spencer rolls his eyes and then, unceremoniously, flops on top of you.

“Uffff”, you press out. “You’re smothering me, penguin.”

Spencer shrugs and copies the expression you just did. You bark out a laugh.

“Ha! Didn’t know post-sex Spencer is such a cheeky little shit. I’ve created a monster.”

He can’t entirely control his face, some parts of a smile slipping into his features. He does manage to poke out his tongue at you though, before he buries his face in your neck.

Some minutes tick by, you both enjoying the other’s presence and warmth and idleness, before something in his brain-

“Wait-“, Spencer splutters, pushing himself away from you so that he can look at you. “Did you- did you even finish?”

He’s kind of horrified. He was so focused on his pleasure- he- how did he forget? He doesn’t remember you coming and oh no, he’s such an asshole, who doesn’t make sure the other person has come as well and-

“Spencer, Spencer”, you shush him, fingers trailing along his back, and he shivers, eyes rolling back.

“I made myself come right after, don’t worry. You were kind of busy in your post-orgasm, pussy-drunk coma.”

Spencer flushes. “But I wanted to…”

You laugh softly. “You can do whatever to me, next time, sweets. This was about you. We’ll go on a date as soon as we’re back home. Fucking Florida is driving me nuts.”

Oh, he suddenly feels shy. A date? You want to go on a date with him?

“Really?”, he asks, and he hates how insecure he sounds.

You send him an unbelieving look. “Uh, what about the last hour makes you think otherwise? Seriously, Spencer, we need to work on your confidence.”

“Okay”, he mutters, a little bit pout-y and you scoff, pulling him down on top of your chest again.

There, with your hands painting patterns on his back and him completely lost in your warmth and familiarity, Spencer thinks that maybe, Florida isn’t that bad.

--

Bonus

“So, then. Made any scientific discoveries last night, pretty boy?”

Spencer chokes on his coffee.

“What?”

“Nothing”, his ‘friend’ says, smirking and leaning against his table, “You just seem to have figured out that little problem that’s been keeping that pretty head of yours all messed up.”

Spencer feels himself flush. Stupid body and stupid involuntary, physiological reactions. Morgan picks up on it, of course.

“Ohhhhh, want to share with the class what those discoveries were?”

Briefly, so very briefly, Spencer thinks of his self-compiled list but- no no no no.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

tags: @sebastiansstanswhore @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @wasitforrevenge @wannabewolf @tommorecommendedfics @winterhi09 @theoraekenslover @chaewondrful @okeyhoezayy @busy-buzzing @laurakirsten0502 @redros3y @trashxqueen @kitty-kei @so-long-daisymay @hayleythecannibal @jsnsnsnszjzj @reeidsluv @kayane28 @moonysreid @desperately-seeking-serotonin @munsonslunchbox @tul1p-mimi @anuttellaa @pinkgomie @elizabethmidnight2017 @evrmorets @cyanidebitsg @bangchansdog @pinterestwhore145 @some-one-yiu-dont-kno @emma-e-a

i hope these work lmao, also let me know if you wanna be on my eternal tag list for any future Spencer fic ;)

[seth-whumps]

I MADE A WHUMP EVENT: get ready for July folks

welcome to the Whumperless Whump Event of July! for your sickfic, situational, and completely apersonal whump needs--comfort included, of course. follow @whumperless-whump-event for more information and details!

Image transcripts, tagging rules, and guidelines under the cut!

RULES

Any and all art types allowed (GIFs, drawings, music, writing, etc.)

No AI generated content allowed

OCs and Fandom works alike are welcome :)

Trigger and content tags required, even if the prompt explicitly requires the content (eg. Vomiting still needs the emetophobia tag)

NSFT and NSFW are allowed, if tagged appropriately. This blog will not reblog them, as minors do follow it. However, you're still free to write as you please :)

If enough interest is shown, I will make an Ao3 collection (edit: ao3 collection is made and can be found here)

Side note: please let me know if there's anything I can do to make this post or event more accessible. Should I put the image transcripts on the ID too? Is the formatting causing issues? What can I do?

This is not a contest, just an event. The only awards will be announcements for people who completed the whole darn thing. My entries will not receive any announcements or awards, because I'm hosting

TAGGING

Tag with, per example: #whumperless whump event day 1; #whumperless whump event; and (optional) #whumperless whump event day 1: alcohol as a sanitizer

Tag @whumperless-whump-event please! If not, I may not see it or be able to reblog it!

If desired, tag the medium you used

Trigger tag and content warn (including nsfw/nsft)

If posting early, tag with #wwe early entry. If posting late, tag with #wwe late entry. If posting just for fun, no need to tag these!

IMPORTANT:

There are NO OTHER RULES. Do one prompt! Do seven! Do 'em all! Repeat the same prompt six days in a row! Switch them around and do them all out of order! Post them eight months after the event is over! Finish the prompt list early! Write one long-ass story that deals with every prompt or do a one-sentence drabble for each one! Recommend your favorite scenes regarding the prompt! Write, draw, sing, play music, make playlists, do fic recs or show recs or episode recs or book recs, fucking crochet or something! FOLLOW THE VIBE. DO WHAT'S FUN.

Prompts (text):

Emergency First Aid: Self-done stitches / Alcohol as sanitizer / “It's just a scratch, I've had worse.”

Does your insurance cover this?: Car accident / Bystander caretaker / “Eyes open, ambulance is almost here.”

Like a record, baby: Vertigo / Struggling to stand / “Is the room spinning, or is it just me?”

It's every day bro: Chronic pain / Massage / “I'm used to it.”

Stealing my breath (give it back): Wheezing / Light-headed / “I'll count, you just breathe.”

Summer is a curse: Heat Stroke / Panting / “Why don't we… find some shade, quick?”

Accidental Cryotherapy: Falling through a frozen lake / Hypothermia / “Hey, c'mon, you gotta stay awake.”

Put your head on my shoulder: Migraine / Light & Sound Sensitivity / “I can close the curtains…”

White and red handkerchief: Coughing up blood / Can't speak / “You just can't shake that cough, can you?”

Your work is never finished: Forced to work while ill / Workplace emergency / “...sit down, I'm calling HR.”

A minor annoyance: Stuffy nose / Hate to be sick / “I'm fine, I can work.”

It's going down (I'm yelling timber): Building collapse / Trapped under rubble / “I can't move my legs.”

It's just a pebble: Avalanche / Stuck in the mountains / “Well, this wasn't how I thought the hiking trip would go.”

Lay down your sword: Fighting back a cold / Cuddling / “Just let yourself be sick so you can get better.”

I'm going down (you're yelling timber): Passing out / Exhaustion / “I've got you, let's sit down, I've got you.”

Say goodbye to filters: Half-conscious / Delirious / “You would never say that in your right mind…”

In hot water: Dangerously high fever / Cool baths / “We have to get that number down somehow.”

I don't see it: Hallucinations / Fever dreams / “It's just a nightmare. You're safe.”

The whump morning after: Tending to injuries / Domestic hurt comfort / “Let's check the bandages, okay?”

It's not fun if you're panicking: Stuck in an elevator / Claustrophobia / “Get me out.”

Where's the exit: Lost / Stuck in the wilderness / “Surely someone will notice we're gone.”

Better out than in: Nervous Stomach / Vomiting / “I got your hair, it's fine.”

Well, that doesn't taste right: Accidentally poisoned / Allergic reaction / “My tongue feels like bees, is that normal?”

Be one with the fish: Drowning / Rescue Breaths / “Why did you think that was a good idea?!”

We didn't start the fire: Severe burns / Running into flames / “I know it hurts. Breathe.”

That's no barn spider: Venomous bite / Arachnophobia / “You'll be okay, we can help.”

What's your name again?: Concussion / Temporary Amnesia / “I don't remember what happened to me.”

Nothing behind the eyes: Fully unconscious / Force feeding / “It's just me, go back to sleep.”

Wrong place, wrong time: Robbery / One of many hostages / “Stay behind me, I can take a hit.”

I don't mean to get emotional: Fear / Breaking point / “I can't stop crying, I'm sorry--”

Only way out is through: Tunnel collapse / Accidental Journey / “We can't just sit here and wait.”

ALTERNATES:

Seizure

Choking

Withdrawal

Mugged

Wild animal attack

Hangover

Strain/sprain

Broken bone

Bloody nose

Panic attack

[puppetmaster13u]

Guys look at this absolute amazingness (also tags like usual lol)

Wayne doll house: demon children.

Idea: each of the batkids is theorised to have a different origin.

Thing is, there's so many of them. The oldest is actually the youngest in body. It seems to be able to share memories with those who follow. It changes design right before a new bat appears.

The hero in the town over is definitely one of them, but what's it doing over there?? Asking just gets non-answers.

What happened to the ones that the Joker tried to destroy? One - the oldest and smallest - came back, but different, whereas the other - the purple and orange one - came back for a while and then vanished again for good.

None of them seem to age??

The first, smallest, oldest, it seemed to be some sort of circus performer? It gave its acrobatics to the blue one when it arrived, grew clever and defensive. It gave that to the skull headed red one, focused on technology and detective work after the Incident. Then again, and again, and one time even the bat changed along with it, but though the bat returned to normal the little Robin didn't, and now it's just as stabby and creative as it is small and creepy.

It's a good sort of creepy now, after over a decade of beating up bad guys and comforting victims, Gotham has gotten used to it, but outsiders don't much like it.

The justice league have a different opinion.

They know, or at least can observe, that the... Souls? Brains? Programs? Switch around, that it's not memories but persons that bring the new bats to life.

They just don't know where batman gets them. The new one, especially, is very circumspect.

For all this talk of the blood son, all the bats calling it demon child with varying levels of fondness, the way batman doesn't deny the claims...

Thing is the bat doesn't have blood. Everyone's well aware of this by now. Whatever sulpheric black tar he and the bats leak probably-certainly isn't blood, or at least... Not anything with dna.

So... What blood?? If not the bat's, why does it tie the newest mind of Robin to him?

Captain marvel is the first to think of an idea.

A blood child of a demon for a blood ritual for a demon.

Constantine and Zatanna second the notion - it's perfectly possible. Reasonable, even. The bat admitted himself he had no way to procreate the way humans did, nor any interest in doing so. Wanting a legacy was perfectly normal.

Except he already had, what, seven, eight, nine kids? He loved all of them, it was clear, and he'd always seemed happy with them. He'd even sighed over how many he had, had rebuffed the teasing about getting more. The new Robin mind had been a surprise to everyone, and the old one in a new body had been a little salty about it.

So the new theory was that batman hadn't decided to get a new Robin. Maybe the old mind had been ejected unwillingly! It had happened at roughly the same time batman had gotten a new personality - maybe the incidents were related?

But if batman hadn't done the ritual... Who had?

Who would do something like that???

Cultists. Cultists would do something like that. But giving the bat a son unwillingly seemed... A very odd goal, even for that type.

So... Had they messed up? Had they tried to summon the bat with a blood sacrifice ritual, and summoned a demon instead? Had it partially worked? Was the bat susceptible to demon summonings?? Did the summoning damage his own mind/consciousness/soul in some way, and that led to the creation of the new demon child while the bat changed until he'd healed????

How kind of batman to take it in!

Tldr; the league thinks Robin V is a demon born/created through a failed summoning ritual involving blood sacrifice that made batman like puns until he healed. The truth is the canon events of Damian arriving at the manor only for b to get tossed into the time stream, becoming the Robin to nightwing-batman while Tim, who is much less annoyed about it than canon, focuses on getting him back. Lmao.

[simpjaes]

666 ― S.JY

When does an interest in the supernatural become unnatural? You’d say right around the time a spirit told you to write his name with your own….body fluids

minors dni! | reblog to summon a hot demon

WORDCOUNT― 4.8k

PAIRING― demon!Jake x reader (ft. boyfriend Sunghoon)

CONTENT― Jake the jealous demon and is also a massive cocky asshole, reader the instigator. made up sex magic, Jake is A VERY horny demon. sunghoon also wants demon jake. peep the smut tags lol

WARNINGS ― infidelity but like ur cheating with a sex demon so, some instances could be mistaken for manipulation

NOTE― this is a halloween fic that i forgot about that i wrote for haechan on my other blog ncteez. if you’re one of the few who actually read this before, just know that I am the same person!!!!!!!!!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!!

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― cock mimicking (demon fucks you with your boyfriend’s cock), forked tongue play, finger fucking, ghostly foreplay, HUGE MASSIVE COCK PENETRATION, mind reading, horns react to touch the same way a cock does ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You've always been into halloween, Sunghoon just thought it was a cute little quirk of yours. Until he started dating you and realized that...it's not just halloween that you're into. It's just a general list of things that would be considered disturbing on any other month that isn't october.

Deities, spirits, ghouls, demons, bones, death, blood.

He's supportive, of course. October is one of the months you're allowed to openly enjoy these things, because everyone pretends to like them too at this time of year. Temporary stores open up to sell the congealed fake blood, ouija boards are moved to the outside aisles of retail stores, and of course, everything is on sale.

This is great for Sunghoon because, as your boyfriend, he knows you celebrate the month of halloween more than you celebrate your own birthday, and the gifts can be plentiful.

Lately, you've been more interested in spirit work too, so when he's on his way home from work to see you, stopping by one of those chaotic halloween stores to grab a fancy, way too expensive if not on sale ouija board? It was a given.

Anything to see that cute smile on your face.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well. The ouija board miiiiiight have been a mistake on his part.

Knowing next to nothing on spirit work, he wasn't expecting a board game sold in children's stores to actually pick anything up for you. Yet, night after night when he comes home, you approach him with a tight hug, an excited smile, and stories of which spirit gave you their name this time.

You, on the other hand, claim to know more about spirit work than you actually do. You did not expect to get any type of response either, especially in this pristine apartment that you assume no one has died in yet.

You learned fast though. Research, research, research.

"Today I learned that spirits aren't actually trapped in one space like all the ghost movies try to say. They might be connected but they can freely come and go." You smile against Sunghoon as he settles himself on the couch, freshly showered after work.

"You really like playing with that thing, huh?" He smiles back, still believing in the shallowness of it all, when it comes to corporate companies selling boards for people to "connect with loved ones".

Nodding to him, you stand up and look at him expectantly.

"Do you wanna try?"

He's reluctant at first. As much as he supports you and your interests, they aren't his.

He's great at humoring you though. Amazing, even.

"Yeah, why not?" He smiles, standing to his tired feet and following you into the bedroom.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Two fingers on both hands," You quietly guide him on how to use it. "If you're not comfortable asking questions, I can do it."

Sunghoon nods casually, still not quite believing in the gimmick but loving the way you're so passionate.

"I don't mind asking, can I try?"

You frown, knowing exactly what will happen when he does.

"Yeah, of course!" You turn your frown into something unreadable, hoping that the same spirit you've been talking to is off at some middle school party switching the lights to get a kick out of it.

Then, there's silence. The candle's flame that you had previously lit bounces in the still air, indicating that tonight is already primed for the various spirits you've willingly accepted into your space.

"Uh," Sunghoon suddenly feels awkward, speaking out to nothing in the room when you're right in front of him, watching him. "Hello?"

You snicker at his awkwardness, knowing that you felt it too.

"Is there anything–anyone– here tonight? We'd like to talk."

Here's the thing. From the moment you started fucking with this oujia board, you never watched your words. You assumed that using proper grammar when speaking wouldn't matter much, considering they're dead and all. You keep it respectful, of course, but...

Anything being in your apartment is a huge difference compared to anyone.

The anythings tend to make a run for it, and the anyones are forced to stay away from the dangerous energy you're unintentionally inviting.

Speaking of the anythings, there's a regular. If your frown from moments ago is anything to go by. A vulgar spirit which you know as nothing more than "Jae".

Jae, the spirit, claims to be in his twenties, slides the planchette with just your fingers on it to numbers and letters with ease, and also is very fond of sarcasm, apparently.

The last time you spoke with this specific spirit, it ended it you asking him if he left any loved ones behind when he died. The board said yes, Jae said yes.

He claimed to be male, he claimed to have died ten years ago, and claims to have been in love.

And when you tried to relate, speaking of your boyfriend, saying your boyfriend's name, the spirit stopped responding. In fact, the board flew straight across your room as you spoke of Sunghoon.

Arguably, you were thrown off and only a little bit afraid. You definitely weren't the one who swiped the board off your bed, letting it hit your wall.

Which is why, while inviting Sunghoon to try the board, you hope that said spirit is off doing other things.

Which he's not.

Sunghoon's eyes nearly roll when he feels the planchette pull, dragging to the word of "yes" after you spoke out after his awkward greeting.

"You're pulling it, right?"

You ignore him, already locked in and staring at the board.

"Can you give me your name?" You whisper, now glancing up to Sunghoon and waiting for the planchette to move again.

It does, straight to the "J", and as it continues, you lift your hands out of discomfort, unintentionally proving to your boyfriend that you're not moving it.

"A" Sunghoon whispers as he stares in disbelief, feeling his hands move against the ghostly board. "E."

And when the planchette stops, he looks at you.

"Why'd you let go?" He says, glancing between both you and the board. "This is insane!" A smile.

You can see the same excitement you had the first time it moved for you, but the fact that the same spirit is back, after rudely throwing your board across the room at the mere mention of Sunghoon is a bit worrisome.

"Jae?" Sunghoon calls out, now feeling the adrenaline in his blood push past the anxiety of talking to nothing. "How did you die?"

"Sunghoon! You can't just ask him that!"

"Him?" Sunghoon side eyes you. "What makes you think it's a guy?"

You avoid eye contact.

"Well," You tick your tongue. "He's kind of told me like, two weeks ago. Plus, that’s a dude’s name."

Sunghoon laughs, making jokes. This is harmless. This is fun.

"Oh?" Sunghoon tilts his head, lifting his fingers to encourage you to place yours back against the planchette too. "Jae, have you been flirting with my girlfriend?"

It was a joke of a question, and quite disrespectful in your mind for him to ask such a thing, but the way the planchette moves to "yes" has you sweating, and kind of, smiling.

A spirit, jealous of Sunghoon? Not something you had on your bingo card for the year.

"So you think I'm pretty?" You smile, avoiding your boyfriend's eye and watching the planchette move over to "no".

Your smile falls, and the planchette moves again.

"H."

"O."

"T."

You actually cannot explain the warmth inside of you. Flirting with a ghost, while your boyfriend participates? Hilarious scenario, surely Sunghoon isn't taking this seriously.

"You're moving it now, there's no way some dead guy is coming after my girl." Sunghoon chuckles, shaking his head.

The planchette responds, moving to "no."

"Alright, stop fucking around." Sunghoon narrows his eyes at you. "A spirit wouldn't take the energy to contact us just to call you hot."

The planchette responds again, moving to the letter "B."

"Take your hands off again, there's no way." He seems more concerned this time.

"I."

"T."

"C."

"H."

Sunghoon's mouth falls open.

"Who are you calling a bitch? Me, or my very hot girlfriend that you can't have?"

"Y."

"O."

And as the planchette makes it way over to the "u" Sunghoon lifts his hands and glares at every empty space around the room.

"He just called me a bitch." Sunghoon rolls his eyes. "There is a spirit in this room, who thinks i'm a bitch."

You laugh uncomfortably, and he laughs more casually.

"Well, that was fun, I guess." Sunghoon continues, standing to his feet as you cross your fingers that the board wont go flying into his head. "I'm gonna go take a shower then."

He kisses you gently on the forehead and leaves you alone in the room where, obviously, you're still not alone.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Days pass and Halloween draws closer as you are both drawn to and forcing yourself away from the ouija board.

Something calls you to it. Whispers of your name when Sunghoon isn't home, feather light touches that raise your skin, nightmares, but your gut tells you to stay away.

Can you though? Can you really resist such a strange happening?

Of course not.

Spirit work is fun, but you can't help but wonder if this entity is a spirit at all. Out of all the research, people rarely get more than one to two answers during a session of Ouija. This Jae thing seems to hold a lot of energy, an entire personality, and the ability to haunt you in a way that makes you feel weirdly.......safe?

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"Jae, are you here?" You call out in the early morning, the oujia board tucked safely under your bed as you lay there.

Your curtains move as if the window is open.

"The dream I had last night, was that you?" You continue to speak into the void, allowing it to speak back.

Except it doesn't speak back, it touches. You feel your ankle being tugged, as you scoot down the bed.

Most people would scream. Most people would call a priest. Most people wouldn't want to be alone with it. Then again, you're not most people.

You laugh, scooting yourself back up on the bed.

"I wish I could see what you really look like. In my dreams, you're just a shadow."

Another tug, and then the oujia board goes sliding out from under your bed, indicating that he wants to communicate better with you.

You take the bait, lying the board out with your sleepy eyes and drowsily smiling at the empty space in front of you.

Before you can even place your hands on the planchette, it's moving.

"S"

"U"

"M"

"M"

"O"

"N"

You should probably be running for the hills after that, but you don't. You sit, still drowsy.

"How would I manage to do that?"

"S"

"L"

"E"

"E"

"P"

And for some reason, you do. Instantly, you go back to sleep. Despite waking up without an alarm, the drowsy feeling stayed throughout your morning conversation with the spirit in your apartment. Dozing off came easy, with the oujia board still in front of you.

And there, you dream despite knowing that the sun is hitting your face as you sleep. You can feel the warmth of it in the dream as a creature, no, a man, approaches you in an empty expanse of fog.

In your dream, you cannot speak despite trying to. No voice comes out, but the man speaks smoothly, fuzzy and distorted face slowly untwisting itself into that of an actual man.

That's him. You can feel it through your heavy sleep, your hairs raising both in the astral realm and in your waking body.

"You want to summon me?" The man asks, smiling at you in a heavenly way. "You have to say my full name."

You can't speak back, but he continues.

"You have to be alone, though others can still join if the door is open. On both ends."

You stand, listening to his echoed voice through the fog.

"If you want me in the physical form, you have to do something physical for me." He continues, stepping closer and closer until his body is nearly going through you. "Say my name each time you're pleasured, and write my name against your skin with the mess of it."

You quirk a brow, and the form in front of you smiles.

"What? You thought I'd let you summon me for anything else? I've been here for thousands of years."

You thought he died ten years ago.

"Angel pussy only gets so tight, you know."

Vulgar. Yet, your physical body is tingling. Angel pussy? Is he an angel? From a religion you don't even believe in?

He notes the confusion on your dreaming face.

"You see me now, my face, if you want to feel me too, you'll do as I say." His dreamed up voice is something you know you've never heard before. His face, someone you've never seen.

You know it's not possible to dream of a physical person you've never seen, and he's so clear to you at this moment. Practically feeling his voice blow in your face.

His hair, messy, almost wet looking. His eyes are piercing, his lips, pretty.

You nod, and he smiles.

"And don't invite your boyfriend."

Then, you snap awake. Feeling as if you've just had the wettest of dreams.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Naturally, you listened to the figure in the dream, using every pleasurable mess your body makes to write his name on your skin. A name which came to you without him stating it at all in the dream.

Days go by, his name remains on your skin.

Halloween comes and, well, so does Sim Jaeyun. 

Finally.

October 30th, 11:59am is the last moment of your life where you'll be curious. October 31st, 12:00am is the first moment of your life where a ghostly touch became a real one.

You were awake, of course you were. And alone.

Sunghoon tends to spend the 30th with you, and the 31st with his parents, helping to tend to the haunted house his family likes to throw each year.

"You're alone?" You hear, whispered against your ear as you slouch against the couch.

The echoed voice is all to familiar, sending a shock through your body in an instant and you turn, only to see nothing.

"Jae?" You question into the air, glancing around the room.

A deep chuckle is heard in your other ear, and a cold feeling is felt against your cheek.

"Entirely alone?" The voice sounds out.

"I've done what you told me to do, and I still can't see you.”

"I know." The voice sounds further away now, and you follow it all too easily.

Straight into your room, you follow the whispers. You see the board get thrown again, and you tilt your head.

"You're upset?" You question to the emptiness, and you get no response at all until you feel it.

Ice cold pressure running from your ankles to the nape of your neck. Traveling up and down your body until you can barely stand the feeling of goosebumps refusing to go down.

Thunder. Lightening, and then the sound of raining rattling against your window.

You sigh at the new feeling, your legs moving on their own to your bed as you lay against it in a feeling of cold comfort.

"One more time." You feel the whisper before you truly hear it, a weight on your bed, a weight hovering over you. "Write my name."

The ice cold feeling strikes between your legs, instantly giving you the very material to do as he says. And you do, dipping your fingers between your legs in awe at the feeling of how fast you manage to get wet over this.

And there, you feel the weight against your hand, almost as if he's writing his name himself against your thigh.

And you wait.

and wait.

and wait, until....

"Close your eyes."

You do, not daring to open them until he says. You feel that ice cold energy leave, replaced with a searing hot feeling, something that makes you sweat, something that makes you shake.

You hear shuffling, you hear your bedroom door opening and closing, you hear mumbled whispers in a different language, and then you hear his voice in real space. Bouncing off your walls rather than being implied right up against your ear.

"Open your eyes."

You open them to your empty room sitting just as you left it, the air feeling neutral, the oujia board looking much less magical as it lays on the floor. Then you hear your door open. Instantly your eyes glance to the space there.

"It's you." You whisper out, looking him up and down, feeling overwhelmed, and quite frankly, astonished.

"Of course it's me, you summoned me." The figure smiles, looking nothing more than a man despite something being...off. Which is obvious, but still stirs your stomach uncomfortably.

"You're no spirit, are you?" You blurt, unsure of how rude it may seem to him.

"Oh no, clearly not." The figure looms over, taking visible strides towards you before holding his hand out to truly feel you for the first time. "I got you good though, didn't I?"

"What are you, then?" You question, ignoring that you've been writing his name on your skin day after day with the slick your orgasms produce.

"Does it matter? I'm only here physically for the night." He glares deeply at your questions. So willing to bring him here, but so unwilling to complete the other half of the deal that he, maybe, didn't expand on in previous communications.

You stare at him, still trying to process that the so-called spirit you were so excited to speak to before, is here, now, in flesh. With a voice, and a body that doesn't entirely appear to be breathing at all. He looks so human, so, so, human, yet so....not.

He doesn't falter at your reaction much longer though. It's been hundreds of years since he's managed to get a woman to call out for him in such a vulgar way. It was funny to him, really, looming in every corner watching you do as he instructed. Reading your mind when you're intimate with Sunghoon.

"Last night– you were thinking of me instead.." Jaeyun smiles warmly, uncaring of how strongly he comes off because opinions and thoughts are something he is well versed in.

He can read everything you're thinking, and you want it. He's gentle when he moves to you, claiming his spot hovering over you, staring down at your eyes. He never knew what it was like to look at someone, to cherish and love, even. He only knows how to look into and through a person.

"I did." You admit, unable to look away from him, unable to feel fear, or pretend that you want to squirm away from his weight loosely pinning you against the bed. "Were you always here? Watching?"

He nods with a smile.

"Quite pretty when you're writing my name," He comments, leaning down to lick against your bottom lip. "If only you knew what it all meant, in the grand scheme of things."

"Hm?" You try to question, feeling like you're in a trance by the way his tongue flicks out so quickly, satiating your entire body with just that single act.

"Six times." He breathes. "You did so well."

You sigh at the feeling of nothing, as he pulls his face back from yours. There's still a ghostly pressure against all of the right places, and he's very aware of it.

"I own you." He comments with a chuckle, moving his hand down your body to feel the wet he created with no effort at all. "You'll never be rid of me."

You find....great pleasure in that. He knows you do. Even if he couldn't read every thought behind your eyes, the way your body moves toward his hand is enough to go by.

Humans, so desperate. So obsessed with praise, so...selfish. Just like him. Time and time again, he will grow bored of the sex other realms offer. It doesn't matter how many forms of fog he can get his claws on. Becoming human, being with a human, it sears hotter for him.

Makes him hotter. Makes him feel like the god who damned him.

"I'm a demon, babe." He laughs, now effectively thrusting two fingers into you and enjoying the way you seethe out at the heat he can't help but emit.

Deep down, you knew. You accepted it. You brought him here, you kept him here. You simply don't care. Otherworldly beings are meant to give curiosity. Who cares if you gave in? You didn't know where your everlasting soul would end up anyway, at least now you know that it'll end up with this....humanly thing who works his fingers like magic.

Because it is magic. Hellish magic.

"Is this what you always look like?" You ask, "Is this what you always sound like?"

The demon chuckles against your throat, fingers making little effort in the way it quite literally feels like you're already having the best sex of your human life.

"Does it matter? You gave yourself to me, I can be whatever you want me to be." He whispers out, licking against your naked skin.

That's right. Somehow, you're undressed. You felt no fabric, and you could honestly care less if he snapped them into the void.

You moan at the feeling, comprehending only slightly how his tongue went from flat and humanly to...forked. Two tips of his tongue, wrapped around your nipple, moving smoothly, wetly, hotly against you in a way that feels as blasphemous as it looks.

And when you reach up, on your very earthly instinct to grip his hair, you're met with a pair of curled horns.

You moan again, and he chuckles, knowing that this is for your pleasure, not his own quite yet.

"You can touch them." He insists, sliding his fingers out of you and writing his name again against your thigh, essentially sealing the contract you already agreed to. "You'll have no choice but to hold on to them later."

You, for some reason, take that promise as if it is seared into your fate. Forever damned to take hold of a demon's horns, forever blessed to be fucked by him.

"I like that thought," the demon chuckles with a second voice, seemingly penetrating your thoughts more than the place between your legs right now. "Blessed." He smiles, tongue long as it remains against your nipple and yet, he still is able to lift up to make eye contact with you. "Cute."

You're so entranced by the happenings in this moment, that Sunghoon seems...lesser. He feels like the past to you, as you feel and experience a hellish hand, and a hellish tongue. Soon, possibly, to experience whatever kind of cock demons have.

"Lesser? Fitting." he comments straight into your thoughts with that second voice, soothing your ambitions of being anyone other than his. "and my cock..."

You listen so intently to that second voice, your body is burning up with pleasure. The way he continues to write his name on your skin somehow feels better than when his fingers were inside of you. All of it feels better than anything you've ever felt in your life.

"It can be more, can be less, can be bigger, smaller, doubled, tripled, and even..." His secondary voice pauses with a chuckle, "if you're into experimenting, i am and will be whatever body you're interested in being fucked by."

That...seems exciting.

And it is. Trading a human life for whatever the fuck this is seems like such a great idea. Entranced or not, you still have a mind of your own and it's one that wanted this. He knows it, you know it, and no one else needs to know it.

"That's right, work your little brain." He pulls back, leaving your nipples more than swollen while he uses his real voice. Raspy, vulgar, enticing. "You made this choice." He taunts, flattening his palm against your thigh and pressing your legs open, hooking one above his other leg and instantly sliding into you.

The moment he hears your thoughts, searing in the pain you summoned upon yourself, he smiles. He coos out, pitying the way you so willingly want this deal to be real. And oh, it's so real.

That pain you're feeling with the cock he perfected just for you. He knows what you want.

"Familiar?" He smiles wickedly against your neck, darting his tongue out to lick a searing heat against you.

You can barely think through the feeling of his cock practically morphing inside of you. The pain from before, with the large hardened length turning into that of something...not only familiar but, too familiar.

He's fucking you with Sunghoon's cock, and can't help but notice how much you fight against wanting anything other than that.

"Too familiar?" He repeats your thoughts, stretching you open more than you think you ever have been, as his cock becomes thicker, heavier, hotter. "So, mine will do then?"

You try to nod, but you're a bit busy trying to comprehend the fact that a demon cock is quite literally tearing you apart right now, on Halloween fucking night. How grossly cliche.

"We like gross though, don't we?" He smiles, pulling his length out only a bit, and feeling the way your pussy grips it as if you'd find a way to threaten him for not keeping you filled to the brim. "You like feeling like you're being split in half, don't you?"

You do nod this time, arms reaching up to his horns and squeezing tightly. He grunts at it, loving the feeling of someone touching on him while lying helpless beneath him. Such willpower you have, such willpower you don't want.

He feels what you feel, that pain? You love it. The warmth in his horns? Nearly pulsing against your palms at the pleasure of this act? You love that too.

"It's like you were made for the hells, babe." He comments snidely, pulling out, then pushing into you roughly. "Made just for me." He continues, claiming you, fucking you, all while knowing that you're already his. 

All while knowing that there's another person entering this apartment, and you're too far gone to pretend that this isn't temptation. It's willingful lust, and it's a deed you signed for.

"Weren't you?" His secondary voice demands that you respond with your voice rather than your thoughts, as he continuously stimulates your entire body through his own made up form.

"Weren't you?" He echoes again, real and secondary voice now filling your senses alongside the squeezing in your gut, your g-spot stimulated by a demon cock seemingly built for doing just this. A body built for pleasure, a demon created for it.

"Weren't you?" He echoes through a seethed whisper, tongue darting out and between your lips, forcing an answer from you.

You wail out in pleasure, sheer lack of humanity showing through the sound. He loves the way you sob a "yes!" through amazement. Humans aren't meant to comprehend what he's doing to you, or what he will do to you.

Humans aren't meant to accept seeing either, yet, here comes Sunghoon. Sprinting to the room where he's just heard his beloved girlfriend scream.

Only to find you gripping onto a pair of pulsing horns. Legs spread wider for this creature than they ever were for him. A forked tongue looking as if it's sucking the life straight from your throat.

But those screams aren't from pain, Sunghoon sees it plainly.

The sound of a cock too big for you, pleasuring you. The grip you have on this creature, and the grip that creature has on you.

Sunghoon can't find it in him to even ask what the fuck is going on. He just stands there frozen, knowing you don't notice him there. Who would?!

The creature, makes eye contact.

"I tried to fuck her with your cock," It echoes out to him in a, almost apologetic voice and it sends shivers down his spine. "She needed more."

Sunghoon is still standing in the doorway of your bedroom. Frozen solid, his heart is racing as he watches that he's not only being cheated on but like, goddamn, with a fucking....thing?! Not even a person?

Your ears are ringing, sure you've orgasms a dozen times by now, both feeling all of it and not feeling any of it at all because the demon just keeps going. Listening to your every thought, cooing at each orgasm and willing more, more, more. Until he can trace his name six hundred and sixty six times into your skin. "You could be mine too, Sunghoon." The demon calls out, forcing his voice into the man's head, reading every thought, half-assed prayer, and unbelievable idea of trying to intervene. "I know you want to."