#eliot euphoria

[psychobootyshorts]

If they ever make a Moriarty the Patriot live action adaptation (godforbid honestly), I would like to present my fancast for Sherlock: Hale Appleman.

You cannot tell me he wouldn't look SO GOOD as Sherly, just look at Eliot Waugh from the Magicians with longish hair.

[noh07]

list of mixed name ideas (october 29, 2024)

i sorted them into three categories: androgynous, feminine and masculine.

in this list, there's any type of names (mostly for english-speaking people though): typical first names, noun names, mythology names, etc.

if you have more ideas of names for trans folks, writers, etc, just lemme know! (Can also be not-so-cool names for the writers, we need them for the asshole side characters :3)

i will update the list every time I have a lot of new name suggestions. this is not the newest version, but you can find it under the tag #updated name list on my profile.

(alphabetical list with 553 mixed names under the cut)

--- androgynous ---

Addie/Eddie

Aki

Alex

Alexis

Alli/Allie/Ally

Ares

Ari

Artemis

Aster

Azure

Bennie/Benny

Beverly

Billie

Blair

Charlie

Chrissy

Crimson

Edie

Eli

Ellori/Ellory

Emerson

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Evie

Finn

Forest/Forrest

Frances/Francis

Gray/Grey

Hayden

Hunter

Jackie/Jacky

Jamie

Jess

Jessie

Jupiter

Lark

Lenny

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Lou

Louie

Mag

Maggot

Mars

Max

Mercury

Mika

Miko

Mizu

Neptune

Noah

Paris

Ollie

Quinn

Rafa

Reg

Robin

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Saturn

Shilo/Shiloh

Skye

Val

Venus

Vin

Vinny/Vinnie

Wilson

--- feminine ---

Abby

Abigail

Adelaide

Adeline

Aileen/Eileen

Aimee/Amy

Alana

Alena

Alessia

Alexa

Alexia

Alexandra

Alice

Alissa

Alli/Allie/Ally

Alura

Amalia

Amber

Amelia

Amelie

Amity

Angie

Anna

Ann/Anne

Annie

Anastasia

Andrea/Andreea

Antheia

Arabella

Astra

Atlanta

Audrey

Aurora

Azura

Bailey

Becky

Bella

Belle

Bettie/Betty

Beverly

Billie

Brenda

Brie

Candace/Candice

Carla/Karla

Carolina

Caroline

Catherine

Celina/Selena/Selina

Celine/Selene

Charlotte

Christina/Kristina

Christine/Kristine

Claire

Clara/Klara

Chloe/Cloe

Cora/Corah

Daniela/Daniella

Danielle

Dalia/Daliah

Debbie

Debora/Deborah

Delilah

Diana

Dianne

Dora/Dorah

Eburia

Eda

Elena

Eleanor/Elenor

Elisa/Eliza

Elizabeth

Ella

Ember

Emerson

Emery

Emi/Emmie/Emmy

Emilia

Emilie/Emily

Emma

Euphemia

Euphoria

Esme

Esmeralda

Eva

Evie

Evelyn

Felicia

Fenya

Finya

Fia

Fiona

Francisca/Franziska

Freya

Gaia

Georgia

Gina

Ginny/Jeanie

Hanna/Hannah

Harmony

Heather

Hecate

Hera

Hestia

Hope

Iana

Irena

Irene

Iris

Isa

Isabel/Isabelle

Isabela/Isabella

Ivonne/Yvonne

Ivory

Ivy

Izzy

Janice

Jasmin/Jasmine

Jenna

Jenny

Jolene

Julia

Julianne

Julie

Juliet/Juliette

Katarina/Katharina

Kathy/Katy

Lana

Lara/Larah

Laura

Lauren

Laurel

Lena

Leia/Leya

Levina

Levinia

Lia

Liara

Lili/Lilli/Lilly/Lily

Lilian/Lilien

Lilith

Lisa

Livia

Liz

Lizzie/Lizzy

Loanne

Lola

Lorelei

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louisa/Luisa

Louise/Luise

Luce/Luz

Lucy

Luna

Maggie/Meggie

Meg

Madeline

Maira/Myra

Margaret

Marge

Marla

Marlene

Maria/Mariah

Marie/Mary

Melanie

Melissa

Mellie/Melly

Mia

Michelle

Milly

Mina

Minerva

Minnie

Miriam

Mona

Naira/Nyra

Natalia

Natalie

Natasha

Nellie/Nelly

Nessie

Nina

Nora/Norah

Nori

Oliv/Olive

Olivia

Ollie

Paris

Pascale

Patricia

Paula

Peggy

Penelope/Pinelopy

Penny

Petunia

Philippa

Pia

Polly

Poppy

Ramona

Rebecka

Regina

Robin

Rose

Roxanne

Sara/Sarah

Sofia/Sophia

Sofie/Sophie

Stella

Stephanie/Stephany

Tara/Tarah

Tatiana/Tatyana

Tess

Tessa

Tia

Tiana

Tina

Valerie/Valery

Vanessa

Venus

Veronica

Victoria

Vivian

Viviana

Willow

Yana

Yasmin/Yasmine

Zoe/Zoé/Zoey

--- masculine ---

Aion

Alex

Alexander

Amon

Anthony

Anton

Arcturus

Ares

Ben

Benjamin

Bennie/Benny

Benson

Bill

Billie/Billy

Bob

Bobby

Brendan/Brendon

Brian

Bruno

Calvin

Carl/Karl

Chad

Chase

Chris

Chrissy

Christopher

Conan

Damian

Dan

Daniel

Dave

David

Davon/Devon

Dionysos

Don

Donald

Dorian

Dylan

Elia/Elijah

Elio

Eliot/Elliot/Elliott

Emerson

Emilio

Erion

Evan

Felix

Fred

Freddie/Freddy

George

Gian/Jan

Hannibal

Harald/Harold/Herald/Herold

Ian

Icarus

Jack

Jackie/Jacky

James

Jamie

Jimmy

John

Johnny

Jona/Jonah

Jonas

Jones

Julian/Julien

Julius

Jupiter

Justin

Kevin

Larry

Laurence/Lawrence

Lenny

Leo

Linus

Lori/Lorie/Lory

Louis/Luis

Louie

Lucc/Luke

Lucas/Lukas

Luigi

Marc

Marco

Mario

Mars

Max

Mercury

Michael

Mickey

Mike

Milo

Nathan

Neptune

Nick

Nico/Niko/Nikko

Noah

Oliver

Ollie

Orion

Paris

Pascal

Patrick

Paul

Pete

Peter

Philip/Philipp/Phillip

Raymond

Reg

Reginald

Regulus

Remus

Rob

Robbie/Robby

Robin

Ron

Ronald

Ronni/Ronnie/Ronny

Saturn

Sean/Shawn/Shaun

Sebastian

Sirius

Steve

Steven

Theodore

Tim

Toby

Tom

Tommy

Tony

Valentine

Victor

Wilson

Yan

Zach/Zack

Zeus

If you want me to add meanings, origins, etc., just tell me! ^^

[isabelle-spray]

Euphoria S3 theory/fan fic

Rue - attending community college, working at the diner in the evenings, living with Mom, sponsoring a kid at NA

Gia - just graduated high school with excellent grades and has a place to study psychology at a good school in the city. She is suffering with severe anxiety and PTSD from the events of s1&2. Her relationship with Rue has become strained.

Leslie - is a couple of years into a new relationship with a guy that both girls like. She announces that once Gia heads off to college he will be moving in, and suggests that Rue may want to get her own place.

This makes Rue feel rejected and angry and pushes her towards a relapse. She starts hanging out more with the kid from NA - but eventually avoids relapse after she encounters a crack-addicted Eliot living in a trap house, and is reminded of her experiences with Laurie. She visits Fez-co and Ashtray’s graves and promises him she will not let herself or him down again.

She also visits the grave of her father and tells him that she is doing ok and how proud she is of Gia, even though Gia kind of hates her now.

Lexi - fresh out of her masters in screenwriting at NYU, Lexi is in LA working as a runner on a TV show. After the artistic triumph of her play we all expect her to be flourishing - but she is now grappling with the realities of life in the film and TV industry. Feeling frustrated creatively at having to work at a movie theatre to make ends meet - not the glamorous life she had in mind.

Cassie - the Howard’s mom has liver cancer. After dropping out of college (which she never wanted to go to anyway) she began working as a host at a gentleman’s club, but has now moved on to working as a high end escort - which pays for her mom’s treatment much better, but she is maintaining the facade of her job at the club. She has also become an alcoholic.

Lexi hardly ever comes home because she does not want to face her mom’s illness. Cassie is mad at Lexi for not helping care for their mom or financially contributing, but her mom assures Lexi that she wants her to follow her dream, so she plays up her role on the TV show. Cassie and Lexi both eventually find out about each other’s lies.

Rue supports Lexi in facing the reality of her mom’s illness.

Jules - living in a loft in Chicago and working on her art and gaining a biggish following on her instagram. She caught the attention of a LGBTQ art foundation with her college artwork and is now interning with them. Jules has a new group of artsy friends but after a traumatic experience of transphobic harrassment she finds that they are more interested in coat tailing her than caring for her. This makes her reminisce about her friendship/relationship with Rue - because Rue’s love - whilst toxic in some ways - was authentic.

By the end of the series they have reconnected and will never be as close as they were but have forgiven one another.

Lexi and Jules connect over their frustrations of the creative industries, but Lexi is envious of Jules’ success.

Maddy - married to a 35 yr old realtor she met through her babysitting work, Maddy is seemingly living the dream. Stay at home mom, twins, sitting by the pool drinking rose. But she finds out that he has been cheating, and so she goes into a tailspin of affairs.

Whilst leaving a hotel where she has met a guy, she finds Cassie waiting for a cab. One of her clients has brutally beaten her and she is visibly hurt. Maddy’s memories of her assault by Nate make her soften towards Cassie. She takes her to the emergency room. The two begin spending time together and Cassie finds healing in getting to know the twins. Maddy offers her a job as a nanny.

Nate - Nate attended North Western on a football scholarship - however he is suspended as he is embroiled in a legal case of sexual assault against a female student. He visits his Dad in prison but Cal has not forgiven him for turning him in. He does however, tell him to get help and explains that he has accessed therapy and can see how his treatment of Nate has affected him. Nate does not listen and is further aggravated by this.

Nate asks to meet with Maddy on the pretence of apologising for his actions in the past. She turns him down. Instead he turns to Cassie and offers her cash to sleep with him in order to make Maddy jealous. He is the client who beat her. Maddy finds out and decides to expose Cassie’s escort work to humiliate her.

However before she can do this, Cassie’s mom passes away. The funeral sees all the characters reunite and temporarily set aside their differences to support Lexi and Cassie. Maddy and Cassie later reflect in the way that Nate manipulated them both. Maddy encourages Cassie to go to the police with the evidence of her assault and press charges against Nate, but Cassie is too afraid.

As Nate’s trial for the allegations of sexual assault at college draws near and attracts media attention, Lexi discovers what he did to her sister. She, Jules and Rue hatch a plan to stage a protest against violence against women, including an art installation made by Jules, outside the courthouse which Jules uses her instagram to promote. Cassie is too afraid to attend the protest but gives Lexi her blessing.

The final episode:

The protest is at first a roaring success but then is mobbed by TERFs claiming Jules cannot organise for women since they don’t believe she is a woman. Lexi throws a heavy book at them and is arrested. Rue and Jules later go to collect her after she is released and ask Lexi when she got so badass.

Nate is acquitted of his charges due to a technicality and due to his lawyer being expensive. This prompts Cassie to go to the police. She meets the other 3 who are on their way out. They joke that no one ever thought Lexi would be the one getting arrested and not Cassie. In the end Lexi and Cassie have not fully resolved their differences but have been brought closer by the events.

After all this is done, Rue goes back to the crack house to check on Eliott and finds the kid she is sponsoring there has overdosed. She calls the ambulance and watches her own life flash before her eyes in a coup d’etat, full circle moment as they try unsuccessfully to resuscitate him. She realises that she was lucky to get out when she did and the full extent of Gia’s trauma. She goes back to her Mom and does not tell her what happened, but they hold one another and Leslie tells her she loves her.

[alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody]

kinktober #9

Massively Milky 🥛 / Euphoria 💖

“Oh,” says Eliot, stopping short in the doorway of his bedroom. Q, hot on his heels and less than sober, crashes into him. 

“Hey, what gives?” he complains, but Eliot just holds up a hand. Q hops up and down, trying to see over Eliot’s shoulder, but he lands unsteadily and braces himself against Eliot’s hips, making him stumble farther into the room.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Margo yells from where she’s splayed on top of Josh in Eliot’s bed. “Get the hell out!”

“Bambi,” says Eliot, playfully aghast. “In my bed? The chutzpah!”

“Out!” shrieks Margo, and Q ducks as a stiletto comes flying over Eliot’s shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing Eliot’s hand and tugging him down the hall to his own room. “I put a charm on my door earlier, there shouldn’t be anyone in there.”

“Put a charm on your door to what?” asks Eliot, letting himself be tugged.

“To lock it, duh. Have you met me?” A little clumsily, Q disarms the spell and lets them in. “Not exactly the party type.”

“And yet,” says Eliot, turning in a slow circle as if taking in his surroundings, “here you are. Partying.”

“Yeah, well, someone dragged me downstairs.” Eliot’s been in his room before, at least in passing, but for a moment he stops and sees it as Eliot must: the plain pale blue sheets and navy duvet, the pile of rumpled half-clean laundry threatening collapse in the corner, the total lack of decor. Eliot’s room at least has, like, plants and stuff. And framed art. All of the art Quentin came to school with is Fillory fan art Julia gave him or he’d bought himself at the one con he went to back in high school, and it now resides deep in the suitcase stuffed in the back of his closet. 

Eliot does a theatrical little bow. “You’re welcome. Feel free to thank me for the many handcrafted cocktails as well. That was kraken rum in that hurricane. Not like the brand Kraken, but, like, actual kraken. And I made the orgeat syrup from scratch.”

Q furrows his eyebrows. “There’s no actual kraken.”

“Oh, yes, there is.”

“Nuh-uh,” says Q, shaking his head and flopping onto his bed. The last shot of rum is starting to hit him, his thoughts going blurry, everything suddenly moving a little slower. 

Eliot throws himself down beside him, somehow still managing to look graceful and put together despite the many, many hurricanes Q watched him drink. Helped him drink. Whatever. “There is, and they’re sentient.”

Quentin is suddenly very, very aware of how close to him Eliot is. He can smell his woody cologne, the alcohol and sugar on his breath, the sweat from dancing downstairs in a pit of other people blowing off steam about midterms. He can’t remember if he put on more deodorant before the party. Or what he ate for lunch or what his breath might be doing. Did he even brush his teeth this morning?

“I know,” says Eliot softly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“What?” says Q, too fast, and Eliot laughs.

“The kraken. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Q laughs too, nervously. “Um, did you need something from your room?”

Eliot shrugs, letting himself collapse back onto the mattress. “I was going to do some E, but it’s not worth the trauma of potentially seeing Josh’s dick.”

“I thought you liked dicks,” says Q, and immediately regrets it.

“I do,” says Eliot, as if that’s obvious, because it is and Q is just drunk and dumb, “but I’ll take a pass on Josh. Margo gets territorial.”

Quentin tries to laugh. He is definitely not thinking about Eliot’s dick.

Instead, he tips backward so that he and Eliot are lying parallel. From this angle, he can see the mound of his belly rising up like fresh dough waiting to be punched down. He’s been doing a bad job of eating things that are nutritionally complex recently, not to mention all the stress eating he’s been doing as midterms approach, and upping the dosage on his meds hasn’t helped. When was the last time he ate a vegetable?

“I’ve never done E,” he says to the ceiling.

Eliot snorts. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Hey!” With only a little difficulty, Q rolls onto his side to face Eliot. Booze sloshes in his gut. “Don’t act like I’m some kind of square! I’ve smoked weed with you!”

“Using the word square isn’t helping your case, Q.” Eliot levers himself over as well, and suddenly they’re staring at each other, noses six inches apart. Quentin cannot remember the last time he washed his sheets.

Eliot blinks at him. Q stills. 

“I left my drink downstairs,” says Eliot, as somberly as if he were announcing the death of a beloved relative.

“I’ll get it,” says Quentin instantly, standing up too fast. He sways and steadies himself on his bookshelf, the room tilting around him. “I think.”

Eliot hits him with a winning smile, and then it’s not a question anymore. Q wobbles downstairs, realizes he forgot to ask Eliot where he’d left his glass, and decides no way is he going back up and down the stairs a second time, so he googles how to make the cocktail and cobbles one together to the best of his ability. Luckily, most of Eliot’s liqueurs and syrups are clearly labeled, even the ones in otherwise unremarkable glass bottles, which probably has something to with the mason jar he spies in the fridge with a masking-tape-and-Sharpie label that says IMPOTENCE TONIC DO NOT DRINK in Margo’s loopy handwriting. 

Satisfied with his work, he takes a shot of rum for confidence, scoops up a stray pizza box from the kitchen counter, and carefully makes his way back upstairs, leaving only a few drops of hurricane on the steps for his trouble. Outside his room, he stops to catch his breath and get his bearings. Eliot is in his bed. He’s about to be in bed with Eliot. And granted, it’s not the first time that’s happened. Not even the first time he’ll have slept with Eliot. But it’s the first time he’ll do any of it lucid, and he doesn’t want to fuck it up. If something else is going to happen between them, he wants to remember it. 

He bumps open the door with his hip and exhales in relief when Eliot is draped right across the bed where Q left him. His dark curls fall foppishly over his forehead. Q has the unbelievably stupid thought that he looks like Sleeping Beauty.

“Hey,” he says, nudging the door closed again with one foot. “Your hurricane cometh.”

Eliot barely raises his head off the mattress. “Too late. I’m not getting up.”

“Okay, well, I’m gonna drink it then,” says Q, climbing back onto the bed. “Your loss.” 

“Nooooo,” whines Eliot, and Quentin dangles it over his face. 

“Last chance.”

Eliot flails aimlessly with one long arm, and Q loses his balance trying to dodge and topples onto the floor. Only about half of the hurricane lands in the glass, and the rest catches Eliot’s thighs on its way down.

“Oh,” says Eliot lightly. “I’ve been shot.”

He slumps off the bed and onto the floor beside Q, who sets the glass out of harm’s way and pulls the pizza box down with them. There’s still a few slices of pepperoni left, which is better than he could have hoped for a Physical Kids party. Half the time you open a pizza box around here and it’s got some kind of psychedelic on it. Or else it’s vegan, which is worse.

“Do you want some?” he asks, taking a giant bite. Part of him is aware that it probably isn’t cute to be stuffing grease-sheened pizza into his mouth when he can see his stomach pushing against the fabric of his t-shirt, but it’s that or some word salad about how good Eliot smells, so he takes his chances on the pizza. 

“Mm, thanks,” says Eliot, balancing the box on his thighs. “Cold pizza.”

“Room-temperature pizza,” amends Q through a mouthful.

“Oh, I stand corrected.” He closes the box and places it back in Q’s lap, then gives it a tender pat. “You have it.”

“I’m not going to eat half a pizza in front of you.”

“Why not?” asks Eliot, and there’s something brighter in his dark eyes than there was a moment ago.

“Uh, because I don’t need it? Obviously?” Quentin’s blushing, but he grabs at his stomach anyway. “Hello?”

“Oh, but I like this,” says Eliot, his voice going soft. So slowly, he drags a gentle hand down Q’s middle, just fingertips, barely enough to press, but it still makes everything in Q stand up and take notice.

He chokes a little on the bite of pizza in his mouth. “Don’t be weird.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “My taste isn’t weird, it’s superb and discerning.”

“Your taste in what? Losers?”

Eliot frowns. “Let me try again. Oh,” he repeats with more emphasis. His hand is back on Q’s belly, pressing a little harder now. “But I like this.”

Quentin’s face burns hotter. “Stop,” he says, pushing the pizza box away. “I get it. You don’t have to rub it in.”

The furrow between Eliot’s eyebrows doesn’t smooth. Q’s heard Margo yell at him about getting lines there by doing exactly this. “What am I not making clear?”

Q blinks at him. “What?”

Eliot reaches out and cups Quentin’s cheek in one big hand. “I’m not making fun of you, Q, Jesus. I’m just — saying.”

Something warm and prickly is suffusing Quentin all over, halfway between thrill and panic. He can feel his pulse thudding where his skin touches Eliot’s. He can’t hear anything else. He can’t look away.

“Saying what?” he asks quietly. The music from downstairs pounds through the floor, and he feels himself unconsciously begin to tap his fingers on his knee in time.

“Oh my fucking god,” says Eliot, “am I speaking Armenian? I’m not just sitting here because I want to be in a quiet, depressing room when I could be at a party. I am saying that I like you. Do you need me to repeat it in any other language?”

“Hey, in my defense, my Armenian is not good,” says Q, though he’s halfway to laughing now. “Is this real? Am I dreaming?”

Eliot purses his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t get around to doing E because this would be even less coherent.”

Q feels around behind him for the half-empty glass of hurricane and swallows half of it in one go. “Wait, so you’re saying that —

“Oh, come on, Q,” says Eliot, knocking back the other half of the cocktail and rolling away from him. “What do you want me to say, that I have feelings for you? I’m begging you, don’t make me.” He pouts. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Okay,” says Q, and it must be the kraken rum because he doesn't think he’d be this bold otherwise. “Then show me.”

Without a word, Eliot hauls him back up on the bed, extra pounds be damned, and Q, breathless, stares at him wide-eyed. 

“You’re strong!”

“I grew up on a farm, remember? I’m more butch than I look.” Firmly, gently — if you had asked Quentin five minutes ago, he’d have said a touch couldn’t be both at once, but Eliot manages it — he flips Q onto his back and crawls on top of him. 

“Look,” he murmurs into the curve of Quentin’s neck. “I know body stuff is hard to believe. But I need you to trust that I wouldn’t lie about this. I’m a bitch, but not like that.”

Q nods, brain not fully online due to the sandpaper scrape of Eliot’s stubble against his skin. “Okay.”

“Okay,” says Eliot, and then he says something in Armenian into Quentin’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” gasps Quentin.

“Gladly,” says Eliot, and he kisses him.

Q kisses back hungrily, desperately, pressing Eliot close like he can’t get enough. He buries his hands in his curls, mouths urgently at his neck, his jaw, his collarbone. Eliot’s less frenetic, his kisses long and deep and steady. He pulls the elastic from Q’s hair and runs his hands through it, cups his face in his hands and kisses until Q needs to come up for air.

“Okay,” Q pants, eyes blown wide. “I believe you. I believe you.”

“Good,” says Eliot. He’s stretched out beside him, so long that his feet hang off the bed, and he feels like the buffer between Q and the rest of the world. The party thuds on downstairs, but it’s muffled through the haze of alcohol and body heat and endorphins.

Q leans in, unwilling to put much space between them, and Eliot kisses him slowly, reels him back in. He braces a hand on Q’s paunch, and Q manually overrides the urge to pull away again. This is good. This is okay.

“Soft,” Eliot mumbles into his neck, and Q laughs.

“Yeah. Pretty soft.”

“’S nice,” says Eliot, garbled. He sucks at the soft skin below Q’s soft jaw. It’s all soft. Q starts to wonder just how much secondhand weed he’s inhaled. 

“You should eat the pizza,” says Eliot. “You’ll be less hungover tomorrow.”

Q squints at him. “Is that true?”

“Okay, maybe I just want to feed you cold pizza. Let a man have his strange desires.”

“I thought they were disturb and su — superb and discerning,” he pronounces carefully, and the crinkle of Eliot’s smile around his eyes is everything. 

“You’re drunk,” he says gently. “Eat some pizza.”

“You’re drunk,” says Quentin as Eliot drops a hand over the edge of the bed and fishes for the box. “You eat some pizza.”

Eliot obliges, taking a bite from the slice Q had started earlier. He pulls Q up to sit against the headboard and holds the pizza to his lips.

Q has not been fed before. He’s arguably not even that good at feeding himself, if recent events are anything to go by. But Eliot is slow and gentle, and he keeps looking at Q with sweet, fond eyes. With each slice, Q feels heavier, less like he’s floating. It’s good. He feels like he’s fully here. He feels full.

Eliot kisses him. Q burps. 

“Okay?” asks Eliot, and Quentin nods. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” 

“Good,” breathes Eliot, laying his palm across the crest of Quentin’s stomach. “Do you want to keep going, or do you want to stop?”

It’s not even a question. “Keep going,” he says, and Eliot moves on top of him again, careful not to put too much pressure on his midsection. 

If it was hungry before, then this, now, is satisfaction, languid and warm. They get each other off, and as Eliot cleans himself up, Q lies still, curled in something close to the fetal position in just his boxers, room unsteady and next move uncertain. This is the part where Eliot goes back to his own bed and they don’t talk about this in the morning, right? 

“Scoot over,” says Eliot, lighting on the edge of the bed. He’s shirtless and wearing a tiny pair of royal purple underwear that are probably silk or something, and Q reaches out in tipsy, muted wonder and touches the swell of belly pushing over his waistband.

“Oh,” he says softly. “I see what you mean.”

Because Eliot’s little belly is perfect. It’s feathered in dark hair, his skin pale in contrast, and there are impressions pressed into him from the waistband of his pants, his belt. Q runs his fingers over them, tries to smooth them out. Minor mending, indeed.

“Mm-hmm,” says Eliot. “Not so hard to believe now, is it?”

“Do you have this all the time?” asks Q, rolling over for a better angle. “Do you have it, like, spelled or something?”

Eliot nods. “The waistcoats,” he says after a long moment. “They serve a purpose. Don’t you dare tell anyone.”

Quentin pets at the little mound of flesh. “I won’t. It’s so nice.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” says Eliot again, drawing it out. Slowly, he turns and scoops himself around Quentin so that they’re spooning, his chin propped on Q’s shoulder, his arm hooked over his middle, tracing idle patterns on Q’s own full belly through his t-shirt.

Eliot kisses his neck. Eliot holds him skin against skin. Eliot plays with his hair. Eliot falls asleep halfway through muttering something about the music choice downstairs and then wakes up again and finishes the sentence a moment later. Quentin is so verklempt by it that he has to turn over and give Eliot a turn to be held. He’s not entirely sure that what was on the pizza wasn’t psychedelic. For all he knows, he got caught in the crossfire of someone’s drunken casting downstairs. Or maybe this is just what it’s supposed to feel like to feel content with someone. To feel held and feel wanted. 

“Room’s spinning,” says Eliot softly from beside him. Quentin smoothes the hair out of his face and squeezes the pressure point that’s supposed to help prevent nausea, or something like that. It’s been a long time since health class.

“Oh, no,” he says, exaggerated. “You’ll have to stay here. And there’s only one bed.”

Eliot huffs out a sleepy laugh. “Whatever will we do,” he mumbles.

Quentin wakes up with Eliot’s hair in his mouth, his hand asleep under Eliot’s ribcage, his own morning wood prodding uncomfortably against Eliot’s hip, and a spectacular hangover. But he remembers every moment of the night before.

Carefully, he tries to maneuver Eliot so that they can both lie facing away from the piercing autumn sun, but Eliot stirs, rolling one shoulder into Quentin’s jaw. “‘S it morning?” he asks blearily, and Q shakes his head, helping him roll over.

“Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

In the early morning silence, he pads downstairs and fills two honest-to-god steins with water for a few hours from now, when they’ll inevitably need them. Then he slips back into bed behind Eliot and gathers him into his arms. One language isn’t enough for how good it feels.

[maculategiraffe]

tagged by @dsudis to share the story behind my url! (dira yours is awesome btw)

heh. well. mine was lowkey supposed to be a throwaway? like I wanted to post my weird kinky dead dove id fic somewhere and I certainly wasn't going to do it on the livejournal where people knew me irl. and I didn't know if anybody was even going to read it and I definitely didn't expect people to still be recognizing me by this name seventeen years later or I might have stressed out more about what to name my secret kinky lj

but anyways it's from a t.s. eliot line that I was taken with because of course "maculate" isn't a word we usually use. we use "immaculate" to mean "spotless" but we don't use "maculate" to mean "spotted." and I especially liked using it to describe a giraffe because a giraffe isn't the opposite of immaculate in a bad way. it's not dirty, or stained. it's dappled. and glory be to god for dappled things

so I just liked the phrase and then people did like my story and I found a community and people started calling me mac for short and I got some kind of unexpected name euphoria about it and so it turned out this was my url forever and ever amen

would honestly love to hear anyone's url backstory. love self-chosen name stories. consider yourself tagged?

[skullcandy11111198]

Leveragetober23 Day 12: pride

Parker is singing again. It's kinda creepy, but the group isn't willing to call them out on it.

Bigots can try, but they will fry.

Over and over and over again.

The taser sparks. Everyone shuffles back, just a little bit. No one makes eye contact.

Eliot goes back to hauling away the still twitching body while Hardison goes through the man's phone. Ostensibly, it's to see what he knew about them and what his mission was. Really, it's just so he can leave Parker to it. He loves his partner, really, but sometimes his person is whoo boy, as Nana would say. He leaves Parker to it. They grin and start the chorus over again, stroking the handheld lightning stick.

Really, it's not like the group was doing any crimes right now, anyway! Anyone with any sense could see that! Unless there is an apocalyptic level job that just absolutely needs to be taken care of, the founders of Leverage International never seem to work in June. So why all of these people have come out of the woodwork to try to arrest them, or capture them, or whatever it is they are trying to do, right now?? They're not having it. And of course, everyone is decked out in their colors, with all the pins and patches and paint to match, so people have made some stupid comments. But they learned.

Really, just try and stop Parker. Oh, that's right, you can't. Because they have a taser and a goal.

Originally, it was just Sophie's vacation. Every June, she would take the month off and go swanning off somewhere that no one else knew about. Nate tried to follow her a few times, but when Sophie doesn't want to be found, she was not. After a while, though, she opened up, and it turns out the big secret is that she charts out all of the major pride parades across the world and just spends the month country hopping, joining in on every celebration of pride she can.

Once the group found out, it sort of became a family outing. Everyone learned a lot about each other that they didn't know before, all they were all closer for it.

Sophie is a raging pansexual. That woman has got it on with every gender out there at least once, and she loved it. Truly, she just loves the human body in every shape and form it comes in. People routinely get gender euphoria just from being in her presence. She honestly might be a goddess, no one is sure, and they also aren't sure they want to know.

Parker isn't so much a girl as just girl-shaped in the eyes of society. They'll answer to she, but really they'll answer to anything and people just assume she. They like they/them the most, though. And pretzels. They really like pretzels, and think Alec and Eliot would too.

Alec vaguely knows he isn't entirely straight. He loves Parker, in all their Parker-ness. But he also has feelings about their resident hitter that he is not entirely clear on. He never really crushed on people all that much when he was younger, too. He really had to know them before he ever thought of them in that way. Either way, Nana always said he had a big heart. That was usually followed by some version of "now put the money back, please, we'll donate our own time to the homeless shelter, not someone else's resources," but suffice to say, he goes all out in his love.

Eliot, likewise, isn't a heterosexual cis man, but he's known that since the beginning. He knows he got lucky, having the parents and the support system he did, and he is thankful every day. His family accepted him from the beginning, and was able to contact a close friend who was able to help them out with getting prescriptions for testosterone early enough that he never really had to go through a lot of the pains and dysphoria a lot of people in his shoes go through every day. He is aware of his privilege, and he is grateful to everyone that helped make his belief into reality. (He also hasn't realized that Parker is basically courting him and Hardison is trailing after with a smile on his face and his heart in his eyes, but he'll realize it soon enough.)

Nate, though you would never know it when first meeting him, totally had bi-wife energy. Nate met Maggie through Sterling at I.Y.S., but she was on her way out the door to go clubbing with some friends and dragged him along when she saw how miserable he looked at the office party. Soon enough they were dancing the night away, and that was that. Maggie is also one of the least problematic people you will ever meet, so of course she was still close friends with all of her exes, which meant Nate was close with them too. Let's just say some of their dinner parties could get a little…raucous.

But coming back to now.

For some reason, all the grumps and grunts have decided June is the month this year to just get in their way, and Parker is having none of it. There are plans! Charts! Parties to attend, celebrations to have, riots to honor! And No One is going to stop them.

Bigots can try, but they will fry. Tzzzt!

[taleswritten]

Under the cut is a list of muses I have for those who can’t open the google doc. Note: the google doc has detailed information about them so if you can, please open it up.

Bold is primary, italic is secondary, regular is by request.

TVD/TO/LEGACIES:

ELENA GILBERT

KATHERINE PEIRCE

DAMON SALVATORE

ALARIC SALTZMAN

LIZZIE SALTZMAN

josie saltzman

caroline forbes

bonnie bennett

Klaus Mikaelson

FINAL FANTASY:

CLOUD STRIFE (ff7r)

aeirth (ff7 remake)

tifa (ff7 remake)

Jill Warrick (ff16)

Clive Rosfield (ff16)

snow villiers

THIRTEEN REASON’S WHY:

Justin Foley

Bryce Walker

Jessica Davis

Clay Jenson

911/911 LONE STAR:

ATHENA GRANT

MADDIE BUCKLEY

OWEN STRAND

TK STRAND

GRACE RYDER

AHS:

Brooke Thompson

Montanna Duke

donovan

BBC SHERLOCK:

SHERLOCK HOLMES

BRIDGERTON:

Simon Bassett

Daphne Bridgerton

kate sharma/bridgerton

Penelope Featherington

BTVS/ATS

Buffy Summers

CORDELIA CHASE

CAOS:

SABRINA SPELLMAN

ONE CHICAGO:

natalie manning

JAY HALSTEAD

ADAM RUZEK

KIM BURGESS

Hank Voight

CRIMINAL MINDS:

Spencer Reid

Emily Prentiss

DAREDEVIL:

MATT MURDOCK

DEXTER:

DEXTER MORGAN

DCTV:

SARA LANCE

JOHN CONSTANTINE

SPOONER

EUPHORIA:

JULES VAUGHN

RUE BENNETT

FROM DUSK TIL DAWN:

Seth Gecko

Kate Fuller

GOOD GIRLS:

BETH BOLAND

Greys’ Anatomy:

meredith grey

JO WILSON

CARINA DELUCA

Ameila Shepard

GAME OF THRONES:

DANY

Jon Snow

Sansa Stark

NCB HANNIBAL:

WILL GRAHAM

HAUNTING OF BLY MANNER:

DANI CLAYTON

PETER QUINT

HEMLOCK GROVE

PETER RUMANCEK

HTGAWM:

CONNOR WALSH

LAW AND ORDER SVU:

OLIVIA BENSON

Elliot Stabler

kathleen stabler

alex cabot

casey novak

LOST GIRL:

BO DENNIS

LUCIFER:

CHLOE DECKER

lucifer morningstar

mazikeen

MINDHUNTER:

Holden Ford

POSE:

ANGEL EVANGALISTA

BLANCA EVANGALISTA

PRODIGAL SON:

MALCOLM BRIGHT

RIVERDALE:

ARCHIE ANDREWS

BETTY COOPER

TONI TOPAZ

CHERYL BLOSSOM

FP Jones

JUGHEAD JONES

ROSWELL NEW MEXICO:

MAX EVANS

LIZ ORTECHO

STRANGER THINGS:

NANCY WHEELER

BILLY HARGROVE (BILLY’S TATTOOS POST SEASON THREE HERE )

STATION 19:

Vic Hughes

SUPERNATURAL:

Dean Winchester

THE MAGICIANS:

ELIOT WAUGH

MARGO HANSON

THE WITCHER (GAME, TV SHOW, AND BOOK MIXED MEDIA):

GERALT (please note, geralt has cat-eyes. not the eyes we see in the show. if you need a visual, think game geralt)

CIRI

TRUE BLOOD:

SOOKIE STACKHOUSE

TARA THORTON

jessica hamby

JASON STACKHOUSE

SAM MERLOTTE

WYNONNA EARP:

WYNONNA EARP

WAVERLY EARP

NICOLE HAUGHT

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY:

KLAUS HARGREEVES

ALLISON HARGREEVES

VAN HELSING:

Vanessa Van Helsing

YOU:

BECK

JOE GOLDBERG

LOVE QUINN

THEO

FORTY QUINN

DCU:

WONDER WOMAN/DIANA PRINCE

HARLEY QUINN (au verse 1 here)

DESCENDANTS:

HARRY HOOK

MAL BERTHA

EVIE GRIMHILDE

MCU:

DEADPOOL/WADE WILSON

EDDIE BROCK/VENOM

STEVE ROGERS/CAPTAIN AMERICA

WANDA MAXIMOFF

BUCKY BARNES

NATASHA ROMANOFF

YELENA BELOVA

THOR

LOKI

MICHAEL MORBIUS

Peter Parker (the amazing spiderman)

POTC:

CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW

ASSASSIN’S CREED SERIES:

JACOB FRYE

EVIE FRYE

EIVOR

KASSANDRA

DETRIOT BECOME HUMAN:

Connor

DRAGON AGE:

MORRIGAN

FENRIS

GARRETT HAWKE

MARIAN HAWKE

CYBERPUNK:

V (both male and v, both streetkid and corpo)

JOHNNY SILVERHAND

JUDY ALVAREZ

LAST OF US:

joel miller

ELLIE

LEGEND OF ZELDA:

LINK

RESIDENT EVIL:

ADA WONG

LEON KENNEDY (previously traumamade)

ETHAN WINTERS

LADY DIMITRESCU

Claire Redfield

dimitrescu daughters

TOMB RAIDER:

LARA CROFT

UNCHARTED:

NATHAN DRAKE

BLEACH:

ichigo kurosaki

GRIMMJOW JAEGERJAQUEZ

VAMPYR:

JOHNATHAN REID

BLACK BUTLER:

SEBASTIAN MICHAELIS

BLUE EXORCIST

RIN OKAMARU

HELLSING:

SERAS VICTORIA

INTEGRA HELLSING

NARUTO:

NARUTO UZUMAKI

TSUNADE

SEVEN DEADLY SINS:

BAN

VAMPIRE KNIGHT:

yuuki cross/kuran

ZERO KIYRUU

OUAT:

Regina Mills

Emma Swan

SOA:

JAX TELLER

VENUS

GEMMA TELLER

WHITE COLLAR:

Neal Caffrey

FAR CRY:

FAITH SEED

NEW AMSTERDAM:

MAX GOODWIN

CRUELLA:

CRUELLA DE VILLE

MASS EFFECT:

JOHN SHEPARD

JANE SHEPARD

KAIDAN

SAMARA

KASUMI

MIRANDA

DOCTOR WHO:

rose tyler

GOSSIP GIRL REBOOT:

ZOYA LOTT

MAX WOLFE

DOOM PATROL:

JANE

LARRY TRAINOR

A WAY OUT:

LEO CARUSO

CASTLE:

RICHARD CASTLE

BITTEN:

ELENA MICHAELS

TEEN WOLF:

CHRIS ARGENT

ALLISON ARGENT

SCOTT MCCALL

LYDIA MARTIN

STILES STILINSKI

THE FLASH:

BARRY ALLEN

NORA WEST ALLEN

BART WEST ALLEN

IRIS WEST

CAITLYN SNOW

KILLER FROST

SUCKERPUNCH

BABY DOLL

SHADOW HUNTERS

ISABELLE

ALEC

HOUSE OF ASHES

JASON

THE MEDIUM

MARIANNE

THE LAST KINGDOM

UHTRED RAGNARSON

Iseult

MOON KNIGHT

STEVEN GRANT/MARC

FIRST KILL

Calliope Burns

Juliette Fairmont.

THE QUARRY

Kaityln Ka

Dylan Lenivy

Laura Kearny

THE SANDMAN

Dream/Morpheus

INTEVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE

Louis De Pointe

Claudia

HORIZON SERIES

Aloy

THE VAMPIRE ACADEMY (TV SERIES)

Rose Hathaway

NETFLIX’S WEDNESDAY

Wednesday Addams

Morticia Addams

Enid Sincliar

DAYS GONE

Deacon St. John

QUEEN CHARLOTTE - A BRIDGERTON STORY

Queen Charlotte

MAYFAIR WITCHES

Rowan Fielding

Critical Role (currently caught up to episode 97 and both seasons of the animated show)

Vax

Vex

Keylith

THE EVIL WITHIN

Sebastian 

Baldur's Gate 3:

Astarion

Karlach

Orin

Hazbin Hotel:

Angel Dust

Charlie Morningstar

Niffty

Alastor

Outlander:

Claire Fraser

A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES SERIES:

Feyre (started and currently reading book 2)

[coppersunshine]

I have to accept the fact that I will never get the lithe androgynous elfin prince gender euphoria I wanted but with the way I'm bulking up from aerial I'm starting to experience Eliot Spencer style short and stocky and ready to whoop your ass gender euphoria instead and i'll TAKE IT

[identity-library]

Mental Health (TV Shows)

A:

Alladin (1994)

Mechanicles (Low Vision)

B:

Big City Greens (2018)

Alice Green (Phobia - Snakes)

C:

Chicago Med (2015)

Jason Wheeler (Addiction - Alcohol/Drugs, Suicidal Ideation)

D:

Dead End: Paranormal Park (2022)

Barney Guttman (Abuse)

Norma Khan (Anxiety)

Dirty God (2019)

Jade (Abuse)

Doom Patrol (2019)

Kay Challis/Crazy Jane (Abuse, DID)

E:

Empire (2015)

Andre Lyon (Bipolar Disorder)

ER (1994)

John Carter (Addiction - Drugs)

Euphoria (2019)

Jules Vaughn (Depression)

F:

G:

Get Ed (2005)

Loogie (Dissociative Identity Disorder)

Glee (2009)

Emma Pillsbury (OCD)

Grey's Anatomy (2005)

Amelia Shepherd (Addiction - Drugs)

Andrew DeLuca (Bipolar Disorder)

Charlotte King (Addiction - Drugs)

Jo Wilson (Depression, PTSD)

Miranda Bailey (OCD)

Owen Hunt (PTSD)

Richard Webber (Addiction - Alcohol)

H:

Hazbin Hotel (2024)

Angel Dust (Addiction - Drugs)

House (2004)

Gregory House (Addiction - Drugs)

I:

Inside Job (2021)

Andre Lee (Addiction, Anxiety, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder)

Reagan Ridley (Trauma)

J:

Jessica Jones (2015)

Jessica Jones (Addiction - Alcohol, PTSD)

K:

L:

Lilo & Stitch: The Series (2003)

Clyde (Kleptomania)

M:

M*A*S*H (1972)

Benjamin-Frankling "Hawkeye" Pierce (Claustrophobia)

Mom (2013)

Bonnie Plunkett (Addiction - Alcohol/Drugs)

Christy Plunkett (Addiction - Alcohol/Gambling)

Marjorie Armstrong (Addiction - Alcohol)

Ray Stabler (Addiction - Drugs)

Regina Tompkins (Addiction - Drugs)

Moon Knight (2022)

Marc Spector/Moon Knight (Autistic, Dissociative Identity Disorder)

N:

NCIS: Los Angeles (2009)

Alex Kilbride (Addiction - Substances, Depression)

NCIS: New Orleans (2014)

Patton Plame (Addiction - Gambling)

New Amsterdam (2018)

Lauren Bloom (Addiction - Drugs)

New Girl (2011)

Ernie "Coach" Tagliaboo (Phobia - Boats)

Jessica Day (Claustrophobia, Phobia - Tight Spaces)

Winston Bishop (Panic Attacks)

O:

P:

Person of Interest (2011)

Harold Finch (Anxiety, PTSD)

Private Practice (2007)

Violet Turner (PTSD)

Q:

R:

Roswell, New Mexico (2019)

Alex Manes (Abuse, PTSD)

S:

Station 19 (2018)

Jack Gibson (PTSD)

Robert Sullivan (Addiction - Drugs)

Sean Beckett (Addiction - Alcohol)

Stumptown (2019)

Dex Parios (PTSD)

T:

The Healing Powers of Dude (2020)

Noah Ferris (Anxiety Disorder)

The Infinity Train (2019)

Simon Laurent (Abuse, NPD, PTSD)

The Lion Guard (2016)

Ono (Phobia - Bats)

The Magicians (2015)

Eliot Waugh (Abuse, Addiction - Alcohol)

The Prodigal Son (2019)

Malcolm Bright (Night Terrors, PTSD)

The Second Best Hospital in the Galaxy (2024)

Dr. Klak (Anxiety)

The Simpsons (1989)

Abe Simpson || (Dementia, PTSD)

Artie Ziff (Narcissism)

Bart Simpson (PTSD)

Carl Carlson (Schizophrenia)

Clancy Bouvier (PTSD)

Gary Chalmers (Aerophobia, Anxiety, Borderline Personality Disorder, Intermittent Explosive Disorder)

Gloria Prince (Kleptomania)

Homer Simpson (Kleptomania, PTSD)

Lisa Simpson (Anxiety, Depression, OCD, PTSD)

Marge Simpson (OCD)

Ned Flanders (OCD)

Nigel (Anxiety)

Richard "Rich" Texan (OCD)

Seymour Skinner (PTSD)

Shauna Chalmers (Intermittent Explosive Disorder, ODD)

Snake Jailbird (Kleptomania)

Willie (Intermittent Explosive Disorder)

Total Drama (Franchise)

David "Dave" (Anxiety

Jay (Anxiety, Phobias)

Mickey (Anxiety, Phobias)

Mike (Dissociative Identity Disorder)

Sam (Addiction)

Shawn (Anxiety)

U:

V:

W:

X:

Y:

Z:

#:

9-1-1 (2018)

Robert "Bobby" Nash (Addiction - Alcohol)

Edmundo "Eddie" Diaz (Anxiety, PTSD)

Evan "Buck" Buckley (PTSD)

Christopher "Chris" Diaz (PTSD)

Maddie Buckley (Postpartum Depression, PTSD)

9-1-1: Lone Star (2020)

Judson "Judd" Ryder (Grief, PTSD)

Tyler Kennedy "TK" Strand (Addiction - Alcohol)

[stormruff]

I FEEL THE EUPHORIA

Crossover: Marvel Cinematic Universe and Euphoria.

Warnings: drugs, curse, overdose, daddy issues, and if I forgive other sorry.

Bruce would be Professor Hulk/Smart hulk.

Rue is MJ's sister.

How did this all happen? Niether you know. as a child your father abandoned you when you were five. Despite being created by a billionaire genius, you still had problems. Everything piled up, the hatred you had for your father, the Bullying you suffered from Flash Thompson and Liz Allan for not being like them. As much as Peter and Mj picked their fights, it wasn't enough.

But your life change when you met Rue, she understand you,she introduced you to drugs, she gave you a direction.

You lived two lives. From a side the sweet Y/n Banner, with a bright future ahead of her, an Avenger. On a other side, Y/n Banner, a druggie, nerd, popular.

With the return of his father things only get worse he is not very present, but when he is, he gets to be "invasive". And finding out about his adventures with Rue would put everything in jeopardy.

— Hey druggies! — you arrive in the alley near the school with a backpack.

— the dirty talking about the badly washed — Fezco says lighting a cigarette.

— I'm still not — you sit down —Rue — you hug the girl who hands her the heroin.

— not cocaine? — Rue says

— I haven't touched this beauty in over two weeks — you inhale the substance

— And where are you been? — Ash indaged

— she has to keep the good girl profile — says Eliot — next news: the avenger Y/n Banner is a junkie — he laughs.

— First: It would not be y/n banner — you say — It would be the daughter of scientist Bruce banner has toxicology problems. Go to hell. — you arch your head back — Rue, the pin — you were referring to the cocaine that is delivered to her.

— Is it weird that we only know who you really are? no shadows. - Fezco says looking at you.

— They know a sweet girl, who puts up with anything. — you look up — Everyone hides something. Everybody lies.

— I lie to Mj that I like her boyfriend — rue says with a laugh.

You loved those moments together, they turned into nights.

— y/n how can you hide all this from your father? —Fezco breaks the laughter

— he has his life, he doesn't care. As he never cared, he abandoned me, forgot my fucking existence, and now he comes back wanting to be my father.

— I wanted my dad to come back…— Rue says

A noise was heard. You stop what you were doing.

— did you hear that? says Ash the most sober of them.

— you don't have to be sober to listen. - Eliot stands up.

The noises intensified, the steps started to be heavy, soon you were on your feet.

— What the fuck is going on? - Fezco says looking at you who shook Rue's hand while trying to pull the gun that was kept in the backpack.

— we'd better run away... what if it's the police? - Ash said nervously. Everyone agrees Fezco and Ash are the first to leave. Soon Eliot runs off.

— Rue go. — you say but she squeezes your hand even tighter — you go first — you point the way for her to follow when you see a shadow getting bigger — Rue! - you scream she tries to run but she stumbles.

— Well, Well, Well who I find here... —says the figure as Rue backtracked — Y/n Banner... What are you doing here? — your chest rose and fell.

— abomination... — you were apparently calm but your voice was cracking — what do you want?

— may your father pay for what he did...

— I only take it up my ass because of him! — you discreetly move your hand to the backpack — but if you want to kill me, let her go.

— and where is the fun in that? — he laughs

You manage to reach at least one explosive and throw it in Emil's face. You help rue to his feet, draw the pistol and throw the backpack on the floor. Rue climbs on top of a trash can near the wall and jumps over it. So you do the same.

You run down the alley until you reach the sidewalk. You stopped for five seconds until you heard the sound of Blonsky breaking through the wall and running after you.

— I know a place. — says Rue and you follow her down the sidewalk until you're in the middle of the street. — he's catching up with us. — you look back and see the Abomination coming closer. you shoot the hydrant next to Blonsky which slows him down then you shoot the power wire that falls on top of it.

You arrive at an alley that Rue guided you to. She goes up the fire escapes quickly followed by you.

— where are we going, Rue? — you said

— hide. — Rue says running upstairs — owes me two pins — you look back and see Blonsky crashing down the stairs causing the stairs to bend

— run! — You run to the roof of the building. — Perfect Rue! We are going to die!

— look! —Rue Points to a space below the pipes, it was small but you would fit. Rue crawls under the pipes and you follow.

Rue would squeeze your hand as you heard the monster's footsteps approaching, you tried to look calm but you were terrified, but deep down deep inside you wanted him to find you, the only reason you didn't get sober was because you thought only in suicide.

— We're going to get out of here and we're going to get high together Rue, I promise… — You bring your face close to hers when they hear the roar of the Abomination. He passed by all sides while you were very silent.

He got close to where you were, fear took over you. He was getting closer to the point where his footsteps were winding in her face.

He got close and it looked like he was going to burst the pipes, until something pulled Blonsky out of there. Rue tries to scream but you cover her mouth, making her scream muffled. The noises and punches ceased and again steps turned towards you still a bit of heroin in your pocket you reached and placed it in your hand. If you were going to die, you would die stoned. You inhale the powder together and a smile comes to your lips and a kiss would ensue.

— Y/n? — a familiar voice called you, making you mumble.

— Shit! I fucked up.— you whisper looking at Rue who comes out of hiding first. You follow her. — Dad.

— Are you god? — your dad asks and you nod -- Y/n, What you doing in Queens? 

-- I came to study with Peter, MJ and her sister in this case here. — You point at Rue. Your voice was a little cracked from the drug.

— Miss Jones — Bruce greets Rue who nods. — Well, I think better, you came out your home. He will wake up faster.

— I kind of live in this building. So I'm coming down, see you tomorrow and pay me huh? — rue  opens a door that leads directly to the apartments.

You and your father walked down from the terrace, where you were trying to look sober, when clearly the last thing you were...

— since when do you met Peter's sister-in-law?

— And does it matter? — you said harshly, your life didn't matter to him. And the drugs made you too sincere.

 — matters a lot. - Bruce says stopping immediately and you didn't stop. You weren't having the discernment for that. — Y/n, tell me the truth now. I know you're lying, because Peter is in the tower with MJ -- your heart was about to burst out of your chest when you felt Bruce coming after you, you ran as fast as you could as he was about to reaching you realized the alley you were in before the confusion and remembered that before everything Ash sold you several substances... it was today that you died of an overdose. So a shot at the lamppost delayed his father

When jumping over the wreckage of the wall you saw your backpack and took it and hid behind a car and began to inhale the heroin bag by bag until he lost his sense of reality. Your life was over, what moral would the avengers give to a drug addict now? You'd spend days in a fucking toxicology clinic and then die of an overdose.

You've thought about killing yourself every day, but you've never felt more like it than now. The drugs were burning your neurons more and more leaving you half dead. Bruce screamed his name louder and louder while you laughed or moaned softly.

Bruce saw your shadow and ran towards it.

-- Y/n you will... -- Bruce tries to scold you but he sees you in that situation -- Y/n you will... Oh my God. -- He tries to get you on his lap, but you push him away.

-- What?! -- you laugh -- are you caring with me? 

-- I will always care about you. -- you laugh again, but you look at your father with a look he's never seen before.

-- don't joke! -- you turn the eyes to the ground -- where are you been when I needed you? Where are you been in my worst moment? Who give me the hapiness? Was it you? No. Was Rue, Always been Rue. -- you stagger to your feet and Bruce put his arms around you. -- But do you want know the truth?! Do You want to know the fucking truth?! -- your body was shutting down, but you had to keep going, you had to say it. -- I felt the Euphoria. - Bruce noticed a greenish in his eyes. A greenish he knew. you laugh and fall into your father's arms.

-- Y/n?! -- Bruce looks down at his passed out body in his arms -- Y/n speak to me, please!

[yardsards]

so right im a trans guy who doesnt pass very well yet and i was sitting at a train station yesterday and someguy just came up to me like "you, boy... take this..." and handed me a werthers original. i felt very happy about being recognized as my gender and free candy and all that but my euphoria was preceeded by the instant, intense thought, "oh boy eliot yardsards would (might) love to hear about this". so here i am. o patron god of transmascs and old man candy

you were right, i DID love hearing about that

and i'm SO GLAD that's my reputation

may everyone reading this receive gender euphoria and old people candy in the coming days

[ravens-realm]

About Me (prt. I)

If someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read/watch/listen to?

-Read: Anne Rice novels; poetry by Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, Arthur Rimbaud, + T.S. Eliot; All things Edgar Allan Poe. -Watch: Moulin Rouge, The Dreamers, Thirteen, Center Stage, Ginger Snaps, Lolita ('97), The Mummy ('99), Hannibal (tv series), House, Skins (UK), Euphoria, The Borgias (US) -Listen: Damien Rice, Fiona Apple, Bright Eyes, Mazzy Star, Jacques Brel, Lana Del Rey, Deftones, A Perfect Circle, Marilyn Manson, Korn, Rob Zombie, Fleetwood Mac, Agnes Obel, Josh Groban

List 4-6 most influential books over your lifetime.

-12 Rules For Life by Jordan B. Peterson -Beyond Order by Jordan B. Peterson -Anxiously Attached by Jessica Baum -Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas by Hunter S. Thompson -To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee -Candy: A Novel of Love and Addiction by Luke Davies

Which Hogwarts house? What's your patronus?

-Slytherin house and my patronus is a Wolf.

Use 5 words to describe yourself.

-Creative -Resilient -Analytical -Resourceful -Open-minded

Describe your ideal day.

-My ideal weekday is a productive day at work where I have solved the problems that come up, created what was needed, and helped where I could. Then, traffic (my 1hr+ commute) would be easygoing and no more than an hour. In my car, I would jam to my music and/or listen to an audiobook, or speak w/ a friend. Once I get settled in at home, I take care of my dog + lizard, open up a beer or pour a whiskey, and then I get things done around the house or do some self-care, and really ideally just play a video game or have friends come over! -My ideal weekend day is getting dolled up to go out with my friends or bf.... or just hangin' around the house and grillin' + chillin'; listening to music or doing a project by myself or with loved ones...

[unvow]

Tag meme: getting to know eachother better!!

Tagged by @glowingsamulet and @sampilled 🤍

Last song: the style is death by forever grey

Currently watching: spn on and off, mad men also on and off (i've seen it multiple times already lol it's just kind of a comfort), i started watching euphoria recently just to talk about it with my coworkers 💀

Currently reading: stigmata by hélène cixous, middlemarch by george eliot (so well written but incredibly long), and finally i'm also working my way through a book of henry james' selected fiction (i got it for the beast in the jungle specifically)

Current obsession: having a lot of fun with spn right now! sam is my #1 boy but i'm also interested in psychoanalyzing dean and john when the mood strikes me lol

I tag @samrubygf @lilstvr and @samwinchestergf 🤍

[geocrumb]

I got stoned and used ai to help write the begining to a LITrpg

Eliot's gaze was locked on Jacob, their team leader, who was fervently outlining the final play. The intensity in Jacob's voice sliced through the air, mirroring the adrenaline coursing through Eliot's veins. "We'll run a stack offense to the right, focusing on dump and swing plays. Eliot, you'll be our ace on the left sideline. Quick cuts, swift swings, and then the long huck. It's all on this, team!"

Jacob, a tower of confidence, caught Eliot's eye. "You with me, Eliot?"

Panting, hands on knees, Eliot looked up. Despite the drain of the game, a spark of determination ignited within them. "Yeah, I'm ready," they replied, their voice a mix of exhaustion and resolve.

The game's rhythm slowed, stretching each second. Eliot sauntered to the left sideline, feigning weariness. Out of the corner of their eye, they spotted a strange flicker in the sky, like a glitch in a video game, but shook it off as a trick of the light. Jacob, in sync with their ruse, passed to Zander, their agile star receiver. The defense's attention shifted, following Zander's swift maneuvers.

Eliot's defender, fooled, edged away. Seizing the moment, Eliot burst into a sprint, adrenaline masking their fatigue. The defender scrambled, hopelessly behind.

At that critical moment, Zander executed a deceptive move, drawing double coverage. Doug, smoothly, flicked the disc back to Jacob. Eliot, tearing downfield, glanced back just in time to see Jacob launch the disc.

It soared, a spiraling symbol of hope and desperation. "Not like this," Eliot grunted, tapping into their deepest reserves. Each stride was a fierce battle, propelling them closer as the endzone neared and the disc descended perilously close to the ground.

In a moment of sheer will, Eliot leaped, their body stretched to its limits. Time seemed to freeze. Their fingers slid underneath the disc, securing it inches above the ground. The crowd erupted as Eliot slid into the endzone, disc triumphantly in hand. They had done it - the ultimate play at the ultimate moment.

________________________________________________________

Eliot dialed their mom's number, still buzzing from the game's adrenaline. "Mom! We won, thanks to the final play. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow at Team Taco. I'm craving their al pastor tacos!"

Their voice was vibrant, contrasting with the game's fatigue. "Heading home now, see you tomorrow. Love you, Mom."

Ending the call, Eliot pocketed their phone. The night air was cool, the city's hum a soft backdrop. As they replayed the game's highlights, their mind briefly wandered to the fantasy novels they loved, where heroes triumphed against all odds in magical worlds. If only life were so adventurous, they mused.

Approaching the road, lost in thought, Eliot stepped off the curb. They thought they'd checked both ways, but the world shifted violently.

Eliot's gaze drifted to the side, the world around them slowing to a near halt. A moment suspended in time, their eyes locked with the oncoming truck's glaring headlights, like the ravenous gaze of a predator. The truck's grille loomed like a gaping maw, hungry and unstoppable.

Then, in a merciless snap, time lurched forward. The impact was immediate and savage. Eliot's body, a mere plaything to the truck's brutal force, was hurled violently across the road. The pain erupted instantly, a searing, white-hot explosion of agony that consumed their entire being. It was an all-encompassing torment, a brutal orchestra of bone, metal, and asphalt.

In those fleeting, torturous seconds, Eliot's world was torn asunder. The vibrant thrum of victory that had pulsed in their veins was replaced by an excruciating silence, punctuated only by the sound of their own ragged breaths. The euphoria of the game, the cheers of the crowd, the triumphant catch - all were obliterated in an instant.

Lying crumpled on the asphalt, Eliot was acutely aware of every fractured bone, every abrasion, every jolt of pain that coursed through their shattered body. The darkness crept in at the edges of their vision, a merciful veil drawing close. And in those final moments of consciousness, as the world faded to black, Eliot's mind grasped for understanding, for reason, for anything but the enveloping void. ______________________________________________________________

Eliot's world shrank to a pinpoint of pain before fading into nothingness. In the void, they became vaguely aware of sitting. Confused, Eliot risked opening an eye, only to snap it shut again at the sight of a smiling, bald man with a robust mustache.

A tentative cough escaped Eliot's lips. "Are... are you God?" they ventured.

The sound of warm laughter answered them. Encouraged, Eliot opened both eyes this time, taking in the figure more fully. The man resembled a bald version of Santa Claus, complete with a handlebar mustache.

"Oh no, no," the man chuckled. "Consider me a liaison, an Adjudicator of the Divine Will. You can call me Emarius." He adjusted his small spectacles and rifled through papers in a folder on his desk. "It appears you've died, Eliot. But, there's good news." He rummaged further, then brightened. "A god has chosen you to become a hero. They've granted you a divine spark."

Emarius leaned over, opening a drawer, and produced what looked like a tiny ring box. "Here it is," he continued, "This will unlock a world of magical abilities, uniquely attuned to you. Go on, open it."

Eliot hesitantly reached for the box, turning it over in their hands. It was disappointingly ordinary. Inside, they found a contact lens. "Um, what?"

Emarius peered over. "Divine sparks vary in form. Yours is a contact lens – a concept I believe your world is familiar with."

Fumbling with the lens, Eliot mumbled an apology. "I’ve never been good with these."

"No matter," Emarius said, and with a swift magical gesture, he had the lens in Eliot's eye. The instant it touched, a searing pain shot through Eliot, eliciting a scream.

"Ah, I should have warned you," Emarius mused. "It can be quite painful initially. Now, let's see your stats."

Blinking through the pain, a display materialized before Eliot. A pleasant voice read aloud:

"Name: Eliot Hale. Race: Human. Rank: Emergent Tier – Seedling. Stats (Note: Base peak for Non-Magic Human in any Stat is 10). Strength: 4. Agility: 8. Vitality: 6. Intelligence: 6. Wisdom: 7. Charisma: 4. Mana: ??? Luck: ??? Endurance: 9. Focus: 6."

Eliot stared at the floating text, their mind reeling.

Emarius's expression shifted as he sifted through the papers, a frown creasing his forehead. "You see, Eliot, sometimes gods select individuals to become heroes in other realms. They train, grow in power, vanquish evil, and eventually serve as embodiments of their deity's will." He paused, a hint of discomfort in his eyes. "However, not all paths are so... straightforward."

He cleared his throat softly. "In your case, you have been chosen for a more... arduous journey." Emarius's voice lowered, tinged with a solemn gravity. "You are destined for the Crucible of Ascension."

Eliot's heart skipped a beat. "The Crucible of Ascension?" they echoed, the name sending a chill down their spine.

"Yes," Emarius continued, his gaze steady. "It is a realm unlike any other – a domain forged by the gods as a testing ground, a forge for heroes. But make no mistake; it is no ordinary challenge. The Crucible is a nexus of trials, a purgatorial arena where potential heroes are... refined. Here, greatness is not gently coaxed forth but rather extracted through hardship, conflict, and sometimes, moral quandaries."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "In the Crucible, you will face unimaginable trials. It is a place where gods mold their most formidable agents – be they champions, death dealers, spymasters, or even villains. Your journey there will define the kind of hero you will become... or if you'll emerge a hero at all."

Eliot felt a cold dread settling in their stomach. The Crucible of Ascension – it sounded less like a hero's journey and more like a descent into nightmare. But it was clear there was no turning back. They were about to be thrust into a crucible that would test the very limits of their being.

[denimbex1986]

'As a long-time admirer of Christopher Nolan’s cinematic world-building, I already expected Oppenheimer to be an intricate tapestry of technical and historical details about the scientist’s brilliant life and eventual downfall. I was excited to spot all the ways Nolan stitched esoteric nuclear facts into his screenplay as a way to embed the story in reality—particularly those points about Los Alamos, New Mexico and the Manhattan Project that only few would know, except maybe nuclear scholars, affected communities, and those who have read American Prometheus, the Pulitzer Prize-winning biography about J. Robert Oppenheimer on which the film is based.

While Nolan achieved this synthesis throughout the three hours of his film, I am most in awe of the creative precision displayed in the first 15 minutes. Within that time frame, Nolan does something playful and magical with scale. In a series of hard cuts, he introduces Oppenheimer, up close, his face young and then old, increasingly burdened by the consequences of his life’s work. The audience also encounters the other main character of the story for the first time: atoms, in a state of uncontrolled chain reaction, a sweeping, slow-motion nuclear explosion. Moments later, we see atoms again, up close, bright, swirling, vibrating. The atom looks sublime on the big screen. This introduction elegantly captured the atom’s duality: profound and terrifying. As a nuclear nonproliferation researcher, I was moved by the way Oppenheimer portrays this paradox.

The opening scenes of Oppenheimer, particularly his time studying at the University of Göttingen, are a crucial part of the film. Without Oppenheimer’s intellectual growth in Germany, he would not have the knowledge and experience that would eventually lead him to oversee the Manhattan Project. The Göttingen montage is composed of deftly edited scenes of a young, inspired, and neurotic Oppenheimer, furiously imagining quantum objects—as waves, as particles, as specs of stardust—to discover a “hidden universe.” The images are perfectly paired with violins that amplify the sense of euphoria and mania, and the beauty and darkness inherent to the subject matter Oppenheimer has chosen to study. (The film’s composer, Ludwig Göransson, said in an interview that the music for the swirling atoms was the most challenging to record for the film.) While watching this, I couldn’t help but wonder: “Is this the first time atoms are visualized in this way in cinema?” These scenes, while abstract, show something closer to reality than the static and simplified atomic model printed on every science textbook: atoms in constant movement, which is a phenomenon beyond what human vision and language can apprehend.

During a conversation with Werner Heisenberg in 1922, Niels Bohr apparently said: “We must be clear that when it comes to atoms, language can be used only as in poetry.” It seems that Nolan agrees with this, offering his audience a visual and poetic depiction of the atomic world. (Nolan acknowledges Oppenheimer’s love for poetry by including a split-second shot of Oppenheimer’s copy of The Waste Land by T.S. Eliot. Kai Bird and Martin Sherwin’s American Prometheus also notes that Oppenheimer published poetry while at Harvard University.) To me, this is one of the most impactful moments of the film, thanks to Nolan’s creative direction to present atoms and quantum physics as a sensory and emotional experience.

Paradoxically, the audience must feel Oppenheimer’s love for his work to feel his horror and remorse after the Trinity test. Once the “gadget” successfully exploded on New Mexico, Oppenheimer had effectively weaponized the very thing he found so wondrous at Göttingen. Oppenheimer’s curiosity, ego, and moral blindness that came with the exigencies of war transformed him from a theoretical physicist eagerly exploring the underpinnings of the universe to a bomb-maker entangled in political machinations largely out of his control.

The movie covers Oppenheimer’s eventual dedication to arms control after the Hiroshima and Nagasaki nuclear attacks, with most of the narrative focusing on his fears of an arms race between the United States and Russia and his firm opposition to the hydrogen bomb project. The movie omits to mention Oppenheimer’s other efforts to control the atom, specifically by advocating for a transparent, international body that would govern nuclear research and prevent further development of nuclear weapons. This position, put forward in the Acheson-Lilienthal report and the subsequent modified version called the Baruch plan, immediately failed, as the Soviet and American sides fundamentally disagreed on the terms of the proposals. In the wake of these diplomatic failures, Oppenheimer’s disillusionment and dejection began to impact his passion for the sciences. According to American Prometheus, Oppenheimer, at a particularly low point, is quoted as saying that physics seemed irrelevant and that “the charm went out teaching [it] after the great change in the war.”

The omission of these historical details does not take away from the power of the film since Nolan portrays it through other artistic means. In the second half of the movie, there is no longer a sense of joy in the science; Oppenheimer stops imagining atoms and instead begins to see concentric circles of nuclear detonations over a world map, a visual motif that also alludes to the ripple effects of his creation. Also, the two primary storylines—“fission,” which depicts Oppenheimer’s life in color, and “fusion,” filmed in black-and-white and representing then-US Senator Lewis Strauss’ perspective as he reveals his role in Oppenheimer’s downfall—become ever-more interwoven. While some audiences may have found Nolan’s non-linear storytelling confusing and frustrating, it struck me as ingenious and essential. At this point, the film is no longer just about physics or war, but about humans and hubris. The predominant visuals are no longer atoms in different states of beauty and terror, but the drab procedures of politics.

By the final hour of the film, the audience endures not only the humiliation of Oppenheimer, but also the oppressive air of bureaucracy, with scene after scene of bureaucrats flicking through their binders, speaking on podiums, or huddled together, devising their next political move. I found a subtle message in this visual shift: the terrifying realization that the most destructive weapons in the world are ultimately left in the hands of fallible men—the jealous, the petty, and the power hungry.

Beyond giving the audience an abbreviated history lesson, Nolan also displays an intricate tapestry that connects science with technology, with war, with power. There are many threads that Oppenheimer leaves for contemplation, but this one lingers with me most: In the process of harnessing science to build a weapon that he had naively hoped would “end all wars,” Oppenheimer had taken part in unconscionable violence and destruction that haunt us to this day.'

[star-mum]

Good Mythical Morning to all you degenerates <33

Enjoy this meme moodboard:

Anyways let's go <3

When I opened this I literally went "what the fuck" under my breath, DUDE ?????

"the limbs and jaw are missing" just the jaw ? (ik this isn't case centered BUT still)

"Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” SKSKSLSK

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours. I’m not doin’ it.” I feel like many a rock paper scissors battles have happened in the past over who has to touch the dead body

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” KSKSKSK the imagery I did not need

"Don't you mean flashlight?" oh boy 😋

SKSKKSS MORGAN JUST TRYING TO CARRY ON

OMG I COULD "UPDOG" REID !!! HE MAY BE A SUPER GENIUS BUT HE WAS A SENIOR AT 12, HE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT UPDOG

OR LIGMA !!! And they're such different words that I'm SURE he would fall for both <33

"what a ‘blumpkin’ was" ...... what's a blumpkin ...? do I wanna google it? I don't think I do.... I'm googling it

... i didn't even consider that a thing people did... alright KSKSKSK jesus

did I just get updogged ? But a even more terrible 18+ version of it

"You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler" THIS IS SUCH A COOL READER BACKSTORY/DETAIL

"L/N, please, don’t-” EVERYTIME I FORGET ABOUT THE EXTENSION AND EVERYTIME I SEE MY GOV NAME IM JUST FILLED WITH EUPHORIA (my legacy has to be getting as many ppl on the InteractiveFics Extension as possible)

"You haven’t washed your hands yet!”

“I wore a glove, Reid!”

JAIL !! JAIL FOR READER FOR A THOUSAND YEARS !!! I was legit thinking when she took the glove off like "that's not enough of a barrier" sksksks

"The two of you played Gin Rummy" new drinking game for all the cool kids out there, take a shot everytime I have to Google something today

"There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about" well maybe cause you're a fucking amateur, Spencer, ever consider that?

"The antithesis of a dildo" SKSKSSKS SO THEATRICAL AND DRAMATIC I LOVE THIS LINE

"Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes" I mean,,, would you really wanna suck a dick soaked in chlorine for any longer than that?

"PhD in chemistry" THAT'S WHAT HIS PHD IS ON ???

'slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels" the concept of a bucket list has never interested me much until now

"he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company" well I hope he has an extra 3m14s to spare cause I'm sucking his dic-

"The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot" you know what time it is ! everyone take a shot

"easy to clean" it comes with a comically oversized version of those metal straw brushes/cleaners

"What he did next nearly sent you into orbit" I HAD THAT EXACT SCENE IN MY HEAD !! I KNEW HE'D DO THAT !!

"When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy" sick and twisted

"And when the words fully penetrated your ears" hah nice

"Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 'Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right'" there's very little I wouldn't let him get away with

"You held back from telling him the true title you desired" 👀 which would be? 👀

“Come where?” I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS LINE!!!!

‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” OUTSOULD WITH THIS LINE OH MY GOD

“Will you let me?' Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly" I could never be a  strict Dom with him KSKSKS what he wants he gets, I'm sorry

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks” REAL

"clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you" he is so good tho, like actually such a good boy (I want him)

"you might as well slick him up beforehand" I mean sincE WE'RE HERE

"He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy" 🚨🚑🚨🚑

“I don’t? Is - is that bad?” I need him

"Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you" a natural state for me at this point

"a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way" this has forever changed me as a person

"That’ll be a lesson for next time" me, who Knows 😈

“Of course you can, baby.” I'd have SUCH a hard time NOT talking to him like this in public, he would not have a name anymore (honey, baby, angel -> those are his names now)

"Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress" SOBBING

GOODNIGHT MY SWEET PRINCE 😩💕✨

I don't think I have to say how much of a banger this was, but I will cause I want to

I just love the BANTER !! i mean obviously I'm also an avid pwp enjoyer but... there's just ✨ something ✨ about getting to see fun banter and multi characters interactions before getting absolutely destroyed

Sub Spencer is an angel and I love him and I must kiss him

OH YEAH ! We didn't kiss him ;-; like not once ;-; (on the lips I mean) he deserves to be kissed (I'm prepared to make that sacrificed)

Also goes without saying that I really love Reader's personality, like I think it's so much fun when R has a very clear like past and personality/mannerisms even if those completely differ from me (it doesn't really break my immersion)

BUT it just so happens we have a very similar sense of humor, so I feel right at home with most (if not all) of Sunny's readers

We SHALL TALK ABOUT THE EARTH SHATTERING SMUT IN THIS FANFIC !!! LIKE HELLO ????

I really wanna take all of Spencer's firsts and that's not something I just think about in general

Everyone say "Thank you Sunny for this delicious meal" and PAY YOUR FUCKING BILL ! (aka reblog and comment)

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson One: Slick Silicone

(aka the one with the pocket pussy)

Summary:

What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot. 

And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on. 

Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

Word Count: 17,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, go to my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on all notifications there.

Please read my pinned post before interacting.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn't understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer 'honey' (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn't keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.

This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning' about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent' (it's more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer's hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting' Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.

Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss'; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy', 'baby', 'pretty boy', 'dumb baby'; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it's controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer's hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that's it. There is descriptions of aftercare!

A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it's interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it's worth the pay-off imo. also remember, if you want me to continue this series, please give me some feedback on it! I would love to hear what you thought of this fic before I start writing another one! I highly resisted the urge to put Mommy kink in this, but I feel like it would be unrealistic for a shy Spencer to be comfortable calling his partner Mommy during a first time (he would have a Mommy kink but he would be way too uptight/uncomfortable to admit it).

...

Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day. 

Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer. 

You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t. 

Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with. 

“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain. 

“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.” 

“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was. 

“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.” 

For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found. 

Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing. 

You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside. 

“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” 

Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you. 

You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell. 

It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch. 

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”

You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in. 

“Ugh, fine.” You said. 

You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made. 

Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out. 

Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips. 

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound. 

Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag. 

“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?” 

You looked up at Reid with awe. 

For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you. 

But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about. 

Your insides tingled with glee at this realization. 

Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction. 

“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag. 

“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?” 

This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head. 

You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell. 

You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion. 

“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again. 

Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you. 

“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?” 

You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this. 

“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered. 

There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.

It was something you found entirely endearing. 

“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark. 

Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you. 

“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.” 

Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true. 

“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.” 

Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this. 

“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid. 

“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -” 

“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.” 

Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features. 

“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.” 

As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did. 

“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence. 

He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question. 

You held back a giggle. 

“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered. 

“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips. 

“It’s a sex toy.” You told him. 

His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed. 

“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?” 

Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features. 

“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood. 

“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over. 

“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!” 

“I wore a glove, Reid!” 

… 

Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed. 

The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies. 

Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved. 

On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if. 

You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it. 

You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day. 

… 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment. 

He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for. 

When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense. 

Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina. 

(“Or an anus, of course.”) 

Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about. 

It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men. 

(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.) 

For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form. 

A pocket pussy. 

You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory. 

Yes, he was a virgin. 

He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.) 

He had been touched by a woman before, but only once. 

After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.) 

Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none. 

But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself. 

He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one. 

Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation. 

His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.) 

And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult. 

One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you. 

The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him. 

He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind. 

… 

You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning. 

There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked. 

You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie. 

You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels. 

Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted. 

You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass. 

It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it. 

You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself. 

You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him. 

Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office. 

“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading. 

“Traffic was hell.” You fired back. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.” 

Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it. 

“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office. 

You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer. 

You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case. 

“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?” 

“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.” 

It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day. 

You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer. 

You denied it. 

Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad. 

By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face. 

“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you. 

“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?” 

You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind. 

“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said. 

You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for? 

“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked. 

“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands. 

“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled. 

Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy. 

“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact. 

Both of you knew what this meant. 

For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company. 

What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it. 

“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.” 

He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work. 

Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life. 

You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother. 

“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile. 

He smiled back at you fondly. 

“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.” 

“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?” 

You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else. 

“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files. 

… 

You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer. 

A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment. 

One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense. 

He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you. 

Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time. 

You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him. 

It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up. 

He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard. 

You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant. 

He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back. 

You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise. 

You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly. 

“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.” 

You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position? 

“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him. 

Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order. 

He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking. 

“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.” 

Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy. 

“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.” 

These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you. 

When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was. 

You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him. 

Oh, but you did. 

You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for. 

“Spencer,” You called out his name gently. 

This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you. 

He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there. 

“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-” 

He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it. 

“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him. 

You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat. 

He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps. 

“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced. 

He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious. 

You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin. 

You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect. 

“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.” 

Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about. 

But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body. 

So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy. 

Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was. 

Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts. 

“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.” 

It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand. 

“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.” 

You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize. 

You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off. 

You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more. 

There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it. 

That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need. 

What he did next nearly sent you into orbit. 

He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you. 

But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time. 

When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace. 

“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”

“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.” 

The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried. 

Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock. 

You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him. 

“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.” 

You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future? 

The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous. 

“Of course.” You nodded. 

You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you. 

“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?” 

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. 

“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet. 

Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him? 

You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that. 

Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going. 

“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.” 

The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him. 

The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction. 

“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you. 

Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different. 

He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you. 

“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was. 

You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things. 

“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”

The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you. 

It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off. 

Intense want flared up of you. 

The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did. 

“Spencer,” 

You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest. 

“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?” 

Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 

“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?” 

You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm. 

You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command. 

You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules. 

“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.” 

“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?” 

You decided to tackle his questions one at a time. 

“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this. 

You then continued your explanation. 

“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.” 

Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all. 

“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’...” You took the time to find the right words to explain it. 

Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this. 

“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words. 

“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.” 

For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled. 

You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic. 

He easily understood what you meant. 

“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.” 

“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him. 

Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant. 

These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh. 

“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.” 

“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?” 

You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him. 

Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer. 

“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.” 

You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’. 

“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on. 

His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this. 

“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.” 

Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you. 

“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?” 

“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him. 

If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word. 

You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk. 

“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?” 

“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.” 

Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority. 

He nodded. 

“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words. 

You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now. 

These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.” 

You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day. 

“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?” 

“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” 

This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved. 

“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule. 

“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet. 

Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it. 

You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him. 

“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” 

You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy. 

When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’. 

“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.  

He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact. 

“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask. 

“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first. 

“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.” 

“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness. 

“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.” 

You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles. 

You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement. 

“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?” 

Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this. 

“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.” 

Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration. 

Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions. 

When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table. 

It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home. 

You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage. 

You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this. 

He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off. 

He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. 

But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said. 

“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand. 

“My - my belt?” He asked. 

Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules. 

You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat. 

“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.” 

Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.

When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks. 

“Spencer,” 

You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction. 

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders. 

He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why. 

You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen. 

He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement. 

“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.” 

He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down. 

A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside. 

You had to marvel at it. 

You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day. 

Spencer caught you staring, of course. 

He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you. 

He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-

“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules. 

“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment. 

“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair. 

He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him. 

You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch. 

“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.” 

To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it. 

He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you. 

You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back. 

It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you. 

You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement. 

Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it. 

“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.” 

Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe. 

“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists. 

“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again. 

You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him. 

He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state. 

Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin. 

You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question. 

“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him. 

Instinctively for him, there was only one answer. 

“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.” 

The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him. 

“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight. 

Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing. 

You were excited to finally use it on Spencer. 

Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy. 

“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,” 

Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time. 

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him. 

You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand. 

You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside. 

“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock. 

It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs. 

“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand. 

The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close. 

You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears. 

You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.) 

“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word. 

You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute. 

“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say. 

“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.” 

Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him. 

“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly. 

“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable. 

“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.” 

You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used. 

Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands. 

You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him. 

“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully. 

Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization. 

He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy. 

There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently. 

It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak. 

“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic. 

He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments. 

“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight. 

“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?” 

He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him. 

It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders. 

You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon. 

“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.” 

Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move. 

You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture. 

With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort. 

“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.” 

“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again. 

“Please, Miss.” 

When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. 

You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation. 

Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock. 

His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life. 

“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!” 

You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head. 

You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear. 

“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!” 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink. 

“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.” 

“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness. 

“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate.  “I - I need it.” 

You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.

“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.” 

He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along. 

“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words. 

“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips. 

“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father. 

“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.” 

“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again. 

You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy. 

“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked. 

“Yes!” He easily replied. 

“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask. 

“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped. 

Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact. 

“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled. 

Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to. 

“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?” 

“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”

He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him. 

But that thought left your head completely with his next words. 

“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!” 

Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm. 

This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy. 

Everything was so wet. 

It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate. 

“God!” He choked out. “Please!” 

He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow. 

“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness. 

Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?” 

“Please!” He sobbed. 

Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it. 

“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.” 

“Anything!” He easily declared. 

“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him. 

It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying. 

And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words. 

“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.” 

“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.” 

You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak. 

You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time. 

“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!” 

“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?” 

Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response. 

You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done. 

“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.” 

He only inflated your ego with his next words. 

“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!” 

It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be. 

You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath. 

“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him. 

And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one. 

It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips. 

You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit. 

So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand. 

The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive. 

His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath. 

It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible. 

He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else. 

Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him. 

His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe. 

You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses. 

You loved those glasses even more now. 

You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something. 

“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.” 

“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down. 

You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later. 

You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long. 

“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was. 

After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you. 

“What - what about you?” He asked. 

Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time. 

“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?” 

He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words. 

“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly. 

“Of course you can, baby.” 

You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink. 

You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal. 

You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf. 

You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question. 

“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?” 

You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care. 

“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?” 

You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress. 

His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed. 

“I don’t mind.” He told you. 

You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing. 

“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it. 

Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.” 

You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead. 

You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side. 

If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you. 

You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”

...

If you would like to see a sequel to this fic, I would like to see 15 reblogs and 10 comments to know that a sequel is wanted!

(This includes anon messages - and I always have the anonymous option turned on.)

In order to make a second part, I need to have comments including feedback to know what people liked about the fic and why it is worth continuing. Even if the 15 reblogs are from the same person, showing their enthusiasm for this fic, then that counts for me. I just want to know that my work is appreciated before I post more of it!