#rip dvd side

[xipe-slayground]

The DVD rental side of Netflix is shutting down. One of the first things I rented was the TV show Profit.

I still remember the entire summer I kept Daybreakers and watched it almost every day. I eventually broke down and bought myself a copy.

[badnewswhatsleft]

my heart will always be the b-side to my tongue dvd - download here

release the bats dvd - download here

i included rips of individual chapters of the main titles where applicable as well as the normal uncut versions for viewing convenience soo. have at it

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Korn - A.D.I.D.A.S

[baddingtonbitch]

i don't think even the ebay seller understood why someone in australia would buy their season 3 box set of The Commish in 2023 and they'd understand even less if they knew i bought it just to have the first two episodes in slightly better quality. that being said it's been a pretty good week for the ribisi archives 🤓

[felinoidrose]

ive fallen into a physical media rabbithole so deep i ended up in hell this time..

[nubelo]

Yu-Gi-Oh about to catch an STD with how it keeps bouncing from streaming service to streaming service.

[eightstarr]

at the count of three — ellie williams.

summary: how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with them? ellie has an answer! just be cool and wait for the right moment— and the next. and maybe another one, just to be sure. if you get impatient, you can always take a deep breath and count to three! (years, that is)

warnings: slow burn (childhood friends to lovers <3), little bit suggestive but no smut!

notes: born from a piece of dialogue i wrote like, a year ago and completely forgot about but somehow a week later it's 4k words? idk you're welcome or i'm sorry!!! also yes they do spend almost every scene sitting together on a couch but that's what lesbianism is all about...

don't support the last of us franchise.

daily click. learn about palestine. donate and share!

・。.・゜✧・. ────

ONE!

A movie plays on the TV, a slightly tarnished DVD of an 80’s action flick starring some oily guy and the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen— Ellie doesn't remember much other than an obnoxiously epic soundtrack and lingering shots that made the plot twist too obvious about 20 minutes in. 

She's freshly eighteen; you’re ahead only by a couple months. It's a warm Friday night, Joel and your dad in the kitchen putting scraps together for a mildly healthy dinner, Ellie sitting on the very opposite side of the couch from where you are. It’s hot, she'd said, looking away from your comically insulted face that grew with every scooch she made from your side, a lame excuse to save her from the newly found (and fucking torturous) fluttering that sparks in her stomach whenever she sits too close to you.

From the kitchen comes the sound of a can hitting the floor, followed by Joel’s 'shit!' and then quickly, 'sorry, girls'. You chuckle, turning to Ellie and catching her staring at you. A wrinkle forms between your eyebrows at the same time a pink warmth floods her cheeks. “Dude, you’re not even paying attention.”

“I am,” a scoff, her eyes now strictly committed to the screen. “The noise distracted me,” she adds, knowing it didn't even make her flinch from the careful study of your side profile.

“Scaredy cat— ow!” a pillow crashes against your cheek, sudden enough to shock you, too soft to do any real damage. “What the fuck?”

Ellie raises her eyebrows and looks at you from the corner of her eyes, a smirk half hidden by her hand. “Don’t be rude, you're missing the best scene.”

You throw the pillow back and scoff when she catches it, your lips slightly pursed, the signature sign to tell you’re annoyed. It's almost identical to the replica of that gesture that sits at the end of her last journal entry, an overly dedicated sketch born from a wandering thought. She could make it more accurate, she thinks now, soften the line of your jaw, take the scar on your cheek a little more to the left.

The sound of water splashing from the TV catches her attention and Ellie snaps her head forward (lest she get caught staring again), just as the blonde haired love interest is walking out of a fancy looking swimming pool.

“She’s hot,” you say, fingers pulling absentmindedly at loose threads on the rip of your jeans. When Ellie doesn't say anything, you turn to look at her, “You don't think so?”

Her voice comes out a higher pitch than she’d like. “What—” she clears her throat before continuing to mumble, “I don't know, I guess.”

You laugh. “You guess?” 

“Yeah, I— I don't know, dude, I wasn't thinking about that.”

You watch the nervousness on her face, the gulp that passes her throat, the red under her freckles. Fondness tugs at your chest and your voice softens just slightly, a smile playing on your lips. “Oh my God. Ellie, it’s okay,” green eyes find your face and she sees you hesitate for a second before you shrug. “Who cares? It's just me.”

You make it sound easy. It's the most distinct thing Ellie remembers about this moment, how suddenly safety felt like the most obvious thing. TV light on your face, your arm over the back of the couch, the same eyes she's been looking at since she was fourteen. Of course it's okay. Everything else with you is easy, why wouldn't this be the same?

Ellie shifts on the couch, the distance between you turning quickly ridiculous— offensive, even. She’s embarrassed to have let her flusteredness get in the way, but the urge to be closer doesn't feel right either. Everything she does feels like too much, everything she says too intense. “How long have you known?” she asks.

You tilt your head, less of a question and more of a guidance, “Known that you…”

Ellie parts her lips, unsure of whether or not she’s gonna say it or how, trying to will the words to come out. And they do, she remembers it well, because it was the first and maybe the only time she was this direct about it. “That I like girls.”

The smile on your face is teeth-rotting sweet, but she only gets to bask in it for a second before you widen your eyes and lower your voice to a scandalized whisper. “You what?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, cheeks burning, “Oh, fuck you.”

Your laugh fills up the room and the fluttering in her stomach feels absurd at this point, like she would actually be able to feel those annoying little butterflies flying around if she were to press her hand against her abdomen. “Sorry, sorry,” you say, and for a terrifying second Ellie thinks maybe they're loud too, and you’re able to hear them. But then she looks at you and forgets about it, easy easy easy. “It’s really okay. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. For once, there's not a glimpse of doubt about it to be found.

You watch another ten minutes of the movie in silence before your dad's head peeks out from the kitchen to call you both to the table for dinner.

Ellie has a habit of eating like it's her last day on earth. When you were both new residents of Jackson, hungry and scared and not at all used to the idea of a full plate of food twice a day, she couldn't help it. And you were the same, hence why your dad thought it would be good for you and Ellie to spend time together, which quickly turned to being around each other basically every minute of every day. But as the weeks passed, you seemed to be learning to adapt faster. A younger Ellie found this frustrating— especially after that time Joel complimented your table manners.

You’re just… nicer, she remembers saying, a stressed frown on her still childlike face, fiddling with a box of marbles she’d found under her new bed. She remembers how you pulled one out, your fingers brushing against her own for the first time ever, and held the clear crystal with green stripes next to her eyes, a satisfied smile at a practically perfect match. You’re nice too, Els, you’d said, shrugging your shoulders, the marble shoved inside your pocket, I think I just lie better.

Until that moment, Ellie had never thought about it that way; the fact that you could be pretending to feel more confident and comfortable than you really are to make yourself safer, to get people to like you. But when she asked, you swore you had never lied to Ellie. She used to drive herself mad thinking about that, a strange, confusing worry gnawing at her chest— she likes that you don't feel the need to lie, but what does it say about how you see her? Is it that you don't care if she likes you? Or worse, is it that you know that she already does?

You sit in front of her today at the same dinner table, four years later, and watch her practically inhale her bowl of pasta like no time has passed at all. You let out a snort and Ellie wonders if you can see it even now, if her constant thoughts of you are obvious even when she looks this busy.

"What?" she asks, an immediate frown on her face, though she's done you the honor of swallowing her mouthful before speaking.

"You're so gross," you say, chin resting on your palm, tilting your head like you're looking at some thought provoking art piece. Ellie thinks you'll leave it at that, but then you reach over and swipe your thumb over the red spot of sauce next to the corner of her lips, so soft she barely feels it. You watch her frown soften for a second before it becomes even deeper.

Ellie feels like her whole body is exploding with warmth, too hot under the hoodie she's wearing, too pink across her face. It's so obvious, she thinks, it's so— fuck, pull it together. Her gaze follows your finger as you bring it to your lips and lick off the sauce. “You’re disgusting,” she retorts lamely, her hand rough when she brushes it over her mouth, lest you notice another stain and she has to watch you do that again.

You are familiarly not deterred by her meanness. Or her attempt at it. "And you eat like a five year old,” you shrug. “I guess we both have our issues."

Ellie catches herself staring at your hands for the rest of the meal, certain that she's never noticed them in the same way before. How much time has she been wasting? You both have your issues, you'd said, but Ellie thinks she has you beat. Yours can't possibly be anywhere near this dangerous.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

TWO!

Someone's knocking on her door. Ellie sniffles and lets out a groan as she gets up from the couch, sore throat, her limbs heavy and tired. She knows it's you because it's always the same three knocks; the first two firm and loud, a pause, and then one tiny one that sounds almost like 'sorry'. You’re impatient but still painfully afraid to be rude— if she loved you a little less, Ellie thinks she would make fun of it a lot more. But alas, she's cursed to smile at it every time.

She opens the door and the breeze that slips in makes her fall immediately into an embarrassing coughing fit. “It’s fine,” she mutters, at the same time you’re saying jesus christ, Ellie. “Shit. I’m okay,” she clears her throat and finally gets a moment to look at you, all pretty and put together in your best shirt and a freshly showered scent, the sun setting behind you like a perfect frame. Ellie prays her lungs don't betray her again and tries to make the brush of her hand over her messy hair look casual instead of desperate.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to the party with me for just a few minutes, but… I’m not sure you should be out of bed,” your worried frown is pretty, too. What a cruel fate. “Is Joel home? I can stay—”

“No, no, you’re good,” Ellie shakes her head, arms crossed over her chest like maybe it’ll cover up enough and you won't notice she was wearing the same long sleeve the last time you saw her. “He’ll be here in like, five minutes. I’ll be fine, ’m not a baby.”

You’re both nineteen by this time, Ellie remembers because you wore the same pretty blue shirt that you're wearing now for her birthday, and it was the day she realized her crush was no longer deniable. It's easier to act like nothing’s happening when she feels like she's alone in it, like there's no universe where you could love her like she loves you so she might as well let the fantasy die— but then you put on your shirt that's reserved for special occasions just to come over and bring her the cupcake you made, and suddenly Ellie can picture herself with her hands on each side of your waist, pulling you close, saying thank you with her lips brushing against yours before she kisses you. She can see it so clearly that it startles her, changes everything. Her birthday comes with a punch to the gut and a hunger she wants to tell you and only you about.

“You’re not gonna be bored? I really don't mind staying until he gets home.”

Ellie thinks (dramatically, extremely nineteen—) that if she lets you take care of her, she might actually die. It felt like she almost did last time you visited, your face serious with concentration as you pressed the back of your hand against her forehead. ‘You're warm’, you said, ‘do you feel sweaty?’ Ellie stared up at you, eyes glossy and heavy from sleep. ‘Not really’, her fingers sneaked out from under the blanket to wrap themselves around your forearm, a moment of bravery or delusion, ‘your hand feels nice’. You chuckled, ‘okay, keep it’.

She’s less feverish today, but not yet recovered from the greedy voice in her head that begs her to keep you close. If you don't go to the party now, she thinks (knows) that she’ll let herself casually talk you into staying the rest of the night. “Nah, don't miss your party,” she says. “I’ll be okay, Joel’s gonna teach me how to play that old card game.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So you're gonna argue all night.”

“No— what?” Ellie scoffs. “It’ll be good, I learn fast.”

“Yeah, because you make up your own rules.”

“I have questions about the rules, that's not the same thing.”

“It is if you cheat—”

“I’m not a cheater!”

You hum, a curious tilt of your head, and Ellie rolls her eyes before the words are even out of your mouth. “No, I guess you’d have to have a girlfriend for that.”

You watch her run her tongue over her teeth, her shoulder against the door frame. “You know I could say the same to you, right?”

“Too bad I said it first,” you shrug, pretty smile stretching your lips. “I guess I'll go, then. I’ll come over when it's done so you don't miss me too much.”

Ellie tries to maintain her composure. You know, she thinks, do you know? You must know. You can't know— “Right. Also so you can steal my food and crash in my bed, I’m guessing.”

“When you’re all vulnerable and weak? What do you think of me, Ellie?” you frown sadly, a hand over your heart.

“I think I know you,” she says, the corner of her lips lifting just a little, inescapably.

You walk to the gate and turn around as you close the lock, your hands on either side of your mouth as if she’s miles and miles away. “I’ll take the couch!”

“Yeah, sure!” Ellie yells back, her voice pretty even when it's hoarse, knowing she’ll hold on for just about ten minutes before she insists you take the bed instead.

Joel stays awake with her until around 10pm, when his yawns become too many to hide and he’s already let Ellie win three games, his smile genuine and wide while she chuckles and pretends she doesn’t notice. He leaves her with a tupperware of soup for tomorrow’s lunch and a deck of cards. To teach your friends or— I don't know, keep on the coffee table, he’d said, make you look cool. Ellie’s not sure you would find a box of cards ‘cool’, but she’s not above trying.

Ever since she moved out to the garage, she’s discovered a new type of stress at the notion of having you over. At Joel’s house, all she ever did to prepare for guests was pick up the dirty clothes from her bedroom floor and put her books in a (wobbly) single pile. Now things are different. The garage is small, but it's all hers— her floor, her living room, her kitchen. She can't have you thinking that she can't take care of things on her own.

She spends the next hour moving things around until finally, two loud knocks. A second passes; Ellie looks at the cards and considers shoving them inside one of the drawers on her desk. By the time the one quiet knock comes, she shrugs and decides to leave them on the coffee table, lest Joel was right and she misses a chance to have you start thinking she's cool and mysterious. “It's open,” she says from the couch, tiredness soon catching up with her after all that time rearranging things.

The door opens and you come in, quickly closing it behind you, a relieved sigh at the loss of that crisp, cold breeze outside. “Did Joel forget those?” you ask, bent at the waist as you take your shoes off, your chin pointing at the deck, the only thing on the coffee table. Maybe she should've been more subtle with it.

“Uh, no,” Ellie scratches the back of her neck, her legs stretched across the couch. “They’re a gift.”

She's not sure you hear her over the groan you make as you stretch your arms above your head, her legs moved to the side automatically to make space for you to sit. You fall down with a sigh and both forget about the cards— you, distracted by the warm tingly feeling of a couple drinks, and Ellie by the new jacket you’re wearing.

She lets a million different scenarios spin around her head for a couple seconds before she blurts out the question. “Whose is that?”

“What?” you turn your head away from the movie playing on the TV.

“The jacket.”

“Oh,” you look down at yourself as if you’ve just remembered it’s there. “Maya was leaving too, so she walked here with me. It’s hers.”

Ellie hums, her back sliding a little further down the couch, legs spread. “Stinks like it’s hers.”

You chuckle before you can help it, her animosity ridiculous and charming— Ellie’s better with actions than she is with words. “I don't even know what you're talking about,” you shake your head, not quite slurring, but not too far from it either. "She smells like strawberries."

Fuck Maya and her strawberry shampoo. Ellie could get some if she wanted to, maybe if she traded— what the fuck is she thinking about? She rolls her shoulders back and pushes the thoughts away, gluing her eyes to the screen. “Sure,” she says, less because she agrees and more because she doesn't wanna hear what else you like about Maya. “You had fun, then?”

“It was alright. You didn't miss out on too much,” the end of your sentence stretched out by a yawn, you cover your mouth lazily and rest back fully against the couch. “Jesse was drunk. They had to stop him from getting up on a table.”

Ellie chuckles. “I don't know, maybe he had something to say. I think I would’ve let him.”

“That's what I said,” you smile and let your head fall to the side, your cheek against the cushion. She feels you staring, enables it for a while by acting oblivious, falsely over-invested in some movie she can't remember the title of. She hears you move closer before she feels it— the shuffle of your clothes, the stupid jacket rubbing against her couch, so easily forgettable by the time your temple falls on her shoulder.

Ellie's about to fall asleep when she hears the little noise you make, something like a sniffle. For a worrying second she thinks she might’ve given you her cold, but then she feels the tip of your nose brush against her shoulder and she realizes you’re trying to breathe her in. 

“You always smell nice,” you whisper, half asleep.

Ellie swallows and prays to keep her body completely still, scared she’ll make the wrong move and have you pull away, scared you’ll lean closer and be able to hear the fast beating on her chest. She sounds breathy, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Like fresh rain.”

Slow like the roll of credits playing on the TV, Ellie feels how every muscle in her body settles down, relaxed, content— fucking cocky. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and hopes the scent will rub off on the jacket and remind Maya of a cloudy autumn night, rain over her garden.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

THREE!

"Do you think we would've liked each other?" you ask, your legs resting on her lap while she fidgets mindlessly with the ruffled cuff of your socks. Every patrol lately ends the exact same way, a quiet walk home and a joint on Ellie’s couch. "Back when the world was normal?”

Ellie turns to look at you, blinking lazily, a reddish hue over her green. You’re not sure if she's more tired or high, but either way you're not doing much better— everything you’ve said during the past hour is the kind of thought you have when you're alone at night and your brain wanders, moments away from falling asleep. It's a meaningless question, but Ellie lets out a soft hum and thinks about it like it's worth considering. You're not sure if anyone you’ve met in your whole twenty years of life is as willing to indulge you as she is.

"Yeah," she says decidedly, in the same tone with which one would say duh. "We—" a yawn cuts her off, slender hand rubbing one of her eyes. "We would be friends, like, in college."

"I wouldn't be in college.”

Ellie frowns, takes one last inhale and discards the joint to the ashtray on her coffee table. "Why not?"

"'Cause I'm not smart like you," you shrug.

The fold between her eyebrows deepens. "You're smart," she argues, with enough conviction that you almost believe her, insisting, "You are."

"In other ways, sure—” Ellie opens her mouth to interrupt but you get ahead of her, “I’m not trying to talk badly about myself, I just don't think college would be for me.”

You’ve never been the most disciplined. It’s hard to imagine yourself staying up late to study, taking diligent notes in class. It feels ridiculous.

“I’d be working somewhere, I think. Making coffee for people or something.”

Ellie pauses before she nods, adjusting her daydream to what you’re saying, strangely committed. "Then we would meet there,” she makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world, a natural equation. “I'd go get coffee from you."

You chuckle. "You don't even like coffee that much."

Ellie shrugs, soft pink lips curved in a smirk that tells you she's sleepy and serves to warn you of the horror that's about to come out of her mouth.

You groan. “Don't—”

"Maybe I like the pretty girl that's making it."

“Awful,” you push her shoulder away, barely any force behind it, her giggles swimming comfortably around your head. “Never speak again.”

"Not my best work?" she asks, her fingers wrapping lazily around your shin. Too much, her brain warns, but then she remembers the pad of your finger over the back of her hand last night, the cursive lines with no purpose other than to be touching her— and it feels right, or like it's not enough. Too much soon turns to coward.

"Possibly your worst.”

She might be going crazy, but lately Ellie feels like you’re looking at her differently. In your eyes there's something gentle, awaiting, a tracing of your eyes over her face that says please. She chews on her lip, her eagerness painful. “We would like each other,” she doesn't think there's a world where you wouldn't, and if there was… "I'd make you like me."

You raise your eyebrows, teasing, "Oh, so like now?"

Her lips part with genuine surprise, more amused than offended. “...I made you, huh?” 

You regret the joke as soon as it comes out of your mouth, immediately brought back to your fourteen year old self, lonely and admittedly captivated by the auburn haired girl from next door. Flashes of you rushing to catch up with her, untied laces on your too tight sneakers, Ellie, do you wanna be friends? The sound of pages shuffling and her voice reading in whispers in the dead of night because you asked, can you talk to me until I fall asleep? Infatuated from the beginning, obsessed. Even now, on her couch, after spending a whole day together— do you like me? Would you like me, always?

A pillow crashes against the side of her face, her laugh almost louder than the embarrassed pounding of your heart. You pull your legs from her lap and lie back, fold your arms over your face. “You're so annoying.”

A lie so obvious it makes Ellie smile. She shifts to crawl closer, one knee on either side of you. “C’mon, I was joking,” she leans forward and you feel her knuckles tap your arm like she’s knocking on a door. The power to make you shy is still foreign to her, makes her feel drunk, thrilled. She doesn't remember having it before, but of course it was there. In little ways, in daily, simple things. Your eyes always looking for her first in any room, lighting up even after an especially bad pun, tracing her arms when the day becomes too hot to keep her jacket on. You like her, of course. How much time has she been wasting? The breath she lets out feels like it's been waiting to be let go, years spent stuck in her lungs. Ellie wraps her fingers around one of your wrists, her voice sweet, achingly soft. “Want me to tell you why I know I’d like you?”

You lower your arms just slightly, eyes peering up at her.

“Yeah?” she tilts her head.

You nod, arms coming down, unusually quiet.

Ellie grins, victorious. “Okay, but fair warning— it's worse than the coffee thing.”

You chuckle. “Is it?”

“Very.”

“Hm,” you hum, pretending to think about it, distracted by the vision of her practically sitting on top of you. Freckled face framed by the hair that's escaped her usual bun, softly lit by the warmth of the lamp on her desk. “Alright,” you say finally.

It takes Ellie a second to respond, momentarily dazed by the thought of being pretty enough for you to ogle like this. She clears her throat. “You ready?”

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and away from her eyes. “Sure.”

Ellie waits for the nerves to come, but even as she parts her lips to speak, they never do. What a kind fate. “I know I’d like you because nothing’s ever made more sense to me— I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. I like you enough for a million lifetimes.”

You look at each other, bask in a moment of understanding. Your eyes on her lips, a hand on her waist that pulls her closer. “That was worse,” you agree.

Ellie moves to rest on her forearms, cages you in, her nose brushing against yours. “I told you.”

She waits, feels herself count once again, a final time, one, two—

A hand against the back of her neck brings her in and the quiet noise of her surprise vibrates against your lips, makes her smile into the kiss for just a second before the hunger takes over. Her hips readjusting over yours, knees pressing against your sides, Ellie kisses like it's a need rather than a whim. She takes and takes and swallows every sigh you make like it's a gift, four, five, six seconds of a messy trail of kisses down your neck to say thank you before she resurfaces again.

“Love you,” she breathes out, because suddenly all that talk about ‘like’ feels stupid— immature, incomparable to what she actually feels for you. “Need you.”

You moan against her lips and it's her favorite sound in the whole world, immediately, as quick as realizing she would fall in love with you the day she met you. “Love you, Ellie.”

A kiss to your clavicle, your hands pulling at her shirt and her thigh between yours. She makes you say it three more times.

[dstryvampres]

this idea for a one shot came to my mind, so, neil is the type of guy who would invite a reader to show her his collection of anything and wouldn't see any subtext in it "hey why are you naked???" (he finally gives in and she fucks him hard lol)

Drain You

THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY PROMPT !!!! honestly, you’re right he’s just the man to do that.

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex, neil is stupid, very brief nipple play, Neil bites you like once

Word Count: 1.9k

For weeks you had been trying to hint to Neil Lewis that you were into him, like really into him, and each time he would miss it completely. It seemed to him your weeks of walking into Gumshoe wearing the shortest skirts you owned and bending down in front of him so he could get a glimpse of the panties you picked out that morning, or wearing shirts that show an unnecessary amount of cleavage and then pressing your breasts into Neil meant nothing to him. You thought he would finally get the hint when you went over to his house and picked out a DVD from his porno collection, but he immediately redirected you to some stupid noir film. Neil makes you want to rip your hair out, how can a man miss an opportunity that has essentially been served to him on a silver platter. The most this man has given you has been a makeout session in the back of Gumshoe that stopped before you could even start feeling him up.

So now here you are, standing in front of the mirror applying a final coat of mascara to both of your eyes before Neil shows up in a last ditch effort for him to finally understand that you just want to fuck him. Tonight you plan to make absolutely none of your gestures able to be interpreted as anything other than the burning need for you to be dicked down by the loser who owns the indie DVD rental place.

The doorbell rings.

You rush over to the door to your apartment from your room, almost tripping on the hardwood due to a mix of your speed and socks lack of grip. Patting down the pink, almost see-through, and overly short dress you decided to slip on tonight, before opening the door.

“Hello,” Neil greets, a bottle of red in his hands.

He seemed to not pick-up on the fact that you thought this was a date just by his clothes alone. A Neil classic outfit of a wife pleaser underneath a short sleeve green button-up and jeans, in stark contrast to your own outfit curated to make yourself irresistible. It was nothing offensive, but it wasn’t like he was going out of his way to look his best tonight either, coming in the clothes he likely wore to work today. 

“Come in,” you say, moving over to the side and prying the door open a little more.

Neil takes your invite, slipping off his shoes before looking around. Taking in your apartment like he hasn’t been here before.

“I’m always amazed by how you keep your place so clean,” Neil jokes, following you into your living room.

“Thank you,” you purr, taking the bottle of red from him and placing it on the coffee table, extending yourself a little more than needed in order to expose the bottom of your ass to him.

You want to pounce on Neil as you catch him, out of the corner of your eye, staring at your ass as he drops himself onto your couch. Instead you settle on sitting right beside him, pressing yourself up against his side.

“Do you still have that new wave film I brought here last time?” Neil asks.

Fuck, he just can’t get a hint.

“I think so.” You do not want to watch that stupid fucking new wave film.

“Perfect!” Neil cheers, “Can you go get it? I’ll pour us some wine.”

You turn your head and frown before getting up and going through your DVD collection. Honestly at this rate you’re not even sure if Neil has a sex drive, all he ever wants to do is watch movies and talk about them. If this was any other man you would’ve already had your panties around your ankles. There it is. You insert it into the DVD player and walk back over to the couch, situating yourself a tiny bit further from Neil than before. He doesn’t seem to care, wine glass in his hand, taking a small sip before setting it down.

“This film is really amazing, it details a young criminal waiting out in Paris for fate to catch up with him,” Neil starts as the opening sequence starts up. You barely listen to the rest of his rambling, too focused on the way his lips form the words than the actual words. 

Eventually Neil shuts up, just smiling at you for a couple seconds before turning his attention towards the film. You do the same, not like you care at all for anything being said. The whole things in French and you’re way too hot and bothered by the build up of wanting to be fucked for weeks on end to read the captions. The movie is boring, and you don’t understand anything, resorting to entertaining yourself by drinking and ogling Neil. You have to fuck this man tonight, or you’re sure you’ll go crazy.

“Neil,” you whine out halfway through the film, only earning a hum in response. “I want to show you something in my room, I was going to do it later but…”

“Yeah? We can do that. Like now or after the movie is done?” Neil asks, turning his attention to you.

“Now.”

You get up, grabbing Neil’s hand and leading him over to your bedroom. You let go of his hand as soon as you step into your bedroom, already feeling your wetness on your thighs.

“What did you want to show me?” Neil asks, smiling a little bit. He’s so stupid.

“Look at the bookshelf behind you,” you suggest.

He actually turns around, looking at the trinkets, books, and CDs you have accumulating on your shelves. Maybe he comments on the vast amount of objects you have gathered in your room, you don’t really care all that much as you slip your dress and bra off.

“What in particular did you want to show-” Neil turns around, cutting himself off as he finds you bare beside your lacy pink panties and socks. “Why are you naked?”

Neil’s eyes rake over your body with hesitation, taking everything in slowly. By the time his eyes reach your panties he audibly gulps. You can't help but smile, slowly walking over to him and placing his hand over your clothed cunt.

“Neil, I want you to fuck me,” you state, looking into his eyes. His pupils, already wide from both how dimly lit the room is and also from your previous actions, grow once again.

He stands there, dumbfounded, before diving in to kiss you. Lips pressing onto yours, as he pushes you back into your bed. He slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands find your breasts, massaging them gently. He moans into your mouth, hips rutting into yours. You feel his hard-on straining inside of his jeans. You rake your nails on his clothed back, causing him to hiss out slightly.

You reach down to take off Neil’s wife pleaser, having to break away from the kiss to fully get both the button-up and wife pleaser off. Reaching your hands out over his chest to finally feel his bare skin, then bringing him down into a kiss to press his bare chest into yours. The sensation making you moan out. Neil takes the small break from your lips to trail kisses down your neck towards your breasts. Leaving feather light kisses in between your breasts before, trailing over to one of your nipples. He laps his tongue over the bud before slipping it into his mouth and sucking on it. You sigh out, lacing your fingers into his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I’ve waited so long, please, just touch me,” you sigh out, bucking your hips up into Neil’s.

Neil detaches his lips from your nipple, the remaining spit heightening the chill of the air causing you to whine out. He kisses down from your breasts to just above your panties, hooking his finger into the lining and dragging it down your hips. He hums at the sight of your cunt, slick and warm, just for him. Kissing your clit before stepping away and taking off his pants and boxers. His cock springs out, slapping his stomach. It's not the biggest cock you’ve had, but it’s still above average and, if you might add, quite cute. You don’t get much time to admire his dick before he’s climbing on top of you and leading you back into another heated, sloppy kiss.

Neil gathers your wetness up on the tip of his cock, slipping his tip up and down your folds teasingly. It’s not like he knows just how long you’ve been waiting for him to finally fuck you(3 weeks and 2 days to be exact), but he could spare the teasing just for a second. You whine out, moving so the tip of his cock catches on the sopping wet opening to your cunt. Just that alone is enough for you to moan out and clench around nothing, digging your nails into his biceps.

Neil breaks away from the kiss, lining up his cock with your cunt, and watches himself push into you. You could cum just from the initial intrusion alone, having to squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip to stop yourself from doing so.

“You take me so well baby,” Neil whispers, coming back to leave sloppy open mouthed kisses on your neck.

Neil pulls out before pushing in again. Fuck, is loser cock good. It was worth listening to all that useless, benign movie knowledge for three weeks for this. His cock stretches you out, wide. Everytime he pulls out of you so he can push back in, you can feel your insides pulse with desire. When he pushes into you, his cock rubs along the sweet spot in your cunt, making you whine out with each thrust. 

Neil’s hands come back to your nipples, taking turns tweaking and pinching them as he fucks into you. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he starts to speed up.

“I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you,” Neil whines out, his breath tickling the juncture of your neck.

You’re telling me.

Neil’s hands trace down from your breasts to your hips, stabling himself out with his grip there before increasing the speed of his thrusts. He’s going to cum soon if the erratic pace of his thrusts is anything to go off of. He leads one of his hands down to your clit, tracing circles into the nerve with his thumb. 

“Where can I cum?” Neil asks, breath hitching briefly.

“Inside,” you moan out, wrapping your arms around him to claw at his back.

Neil mumbles a quick fuck under his breath, before biting down on your neck.

In mere seconds you're cumming around his cock. Letting out a loud moan, clawing into Neil’s back so hard you’re surprised he doesn’t start bleeding. He follows shortly after, burying himself balls deep into you before spurting his hot cum inside of you. You squeeze his cock with your velvety walls, milking his cock, before you’re both finally coming down from your highs.

Neil pulls out of your cunt, and drops down on the bed beside you. His cum dribbles out of your cunt, but it seems you are both too spent to care. Neil lightly brushes some hair out of your face before pulling you into him.

“I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me for over a month,” you say, closing your eyes and burying yourself into Neil’s chest.

“Really!? I thought you were just being friendly with me, and cared about the movies I showed you,” Neil says, genuine shock in his voice.

You start to laugh, because you never thought a man could be so oblivious. Neil eventually starts laughing too. Both of you are now laughing at just how clueless Neil is.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @luluartpop

[milla984]

It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions. 

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.” 

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. 

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back. 

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant. 

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack. 

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome. 

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words. 

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume. 

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble. 

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment. 

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you. 

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper. 

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task. 

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. 

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it. 

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close. 

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom. 

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin. 

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive. 

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before. 

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication. 

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots. 

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him. 

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off. 

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”  

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement. 

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!” 

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…” 

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded. 

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected. 

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor. 

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls. 

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

[double--blind]

(SPOILERS) Ashley, self-esteem, and starvation

So, I adore Ashley. She's this intensely toxic, vicious, cruel, manipulative girl, and her psychology gives me hella brainworms. Andrew's not the only one whose head I wanna crack open and root around lol. She's thrown away the world just to keep her brother by her side, and she'll continue to do worse and worse for the same reason. She's pretty awful! I've been thinking about why, though. How did things get so bad? How did her soul get so dark?

We don't know everything (I'm waiting for those new eps patiently aND CLAWING AT THE WALLS AND FROTHING AT THE MOUTH but whatevs y'know whatevs I'm normal. I'm fine), yet what information we have been given is bumping around my brain like a DVD screensaver on hyperdrive

It's clear from the start that the roots of Ashley's issues lie in her horrible, neglectful upbringing, but it's hinted that even those outside of her family felt the same abt her. I'm lowkey even betting we'll learn later on that she was ostracized by her peers somehow. However, what's most disconcerting, I believe, is how little she was when the results of this alienation are first made apparent to us (bc kids aren't dumb; they notice this stuff oftentimes instinctively, impossibly young, before they even know what it means to be hated), and how devastating the consequences were.

(There's something decidedly childish abt her dream sequence in the "questionable" route—filled with crayon scribbles and rabbit plushies, the metaphors simplistic yet profound—which really hammers in how these sentiments are things that have made a home in her since childhood. Formative subconscious truths.)

Growing up unloved and noticeably unwanted by virtually everyone around her likely left her with a gaping hole in her heart that she'd spend the rest of her life trying to fill. She'd make friends, but she'd always worry that they'd leave her, that they'd betray her, nothing tangible or weighted enough in their connection to trust in its persistence. Why should she expect otherwise? Not even being bound by familial ties ensures affection if her parents are any indication.

Every lesson she'd ever learned had always taught her this: you are easy to abandon. You cannot love and be loved by virtue of your own worth.

You have to rip their affection from their clenched hands if you want it so bad.

This understanding carries with it an undercurrent of degradation, instilling within Ashley a constant, biting inferiority complex which will never fail to be a source of insecurity. She will always be put last. She was difficult to raise, so her parents gave up on raising her. She was difficult to get along with, so her friends gave up on getting along with her.

It's an odd cycle. She's difficult bc she needs to be to get attention, but bc she's difficult, she can't keep it. Not without having whatever fondness she's managed to cultivate within someone fray at the seams, volatile and prone to collapse, bleeding toxicity.

Hence, her relationship w/Andrew.

By being the only reliable constant in her life, caring for her and keeping her company, Andrew essentially became her only source of happiness, and she's since learned not to bother with anyone else. Still, it's dangerous to keep all your eggs in one basket; since he is all she has, she must protect her place in his life with even greater ferocity, which becomes a torturous ordeal when coupled with her damaged self-esteem.

It's apparent in her quarrels with Andrew that she needs constant reassurance that she is wanted in some capacity or perceived in some positive light (getting pouty when Andrew says he's "stuck with her", needing to hear that she's pretty, needing him to "choose her", wanting him to say he loves her back, etc. etc.), yet her insecurity remains, bc unlike her, he's got options. She doesn't think he needs her like she needs him. He's got a gf, their parents love him, her friends love him. Why would he settle for her? What if someone better comes along? Someone she can't scare away?

Wouldn't he just leave her like everyone else?

Even before getting locked in the coffin of their apartment, starvation's been a constant theme in Ashley's life. She's constantly aching for love, and Andrew's the only one who can feed her. When you're forced to fight for a bite to eat or suffer every moment you hunger, you become ravenous—covetous—when faced with food; you don't want the hunger to return, so you lock down the source of your sustenance, wary of its retreat. Ashley's in a permanent state of intense insecurity, always anxious that the love that gives her life will leave her.

Andrew knows Ashley better than anyone else in the world, and it's obvs to everyone and him how desperate Ashley is for him, but I don’t think Andrew has truly, consciously processed the depth of that desperation. It's there buried in his head somewhere no doubt, but rn, he doesn't operate w/the direct awareness that he is everything. He is brother, mother, friend, and soulmate. He is life and love, air and water, everything that is good in the world—everything that there is to justify existence.

It's heartbreaking, in a way, that it's so difficult for Andrew to convince her of his loyalty. This goes further than his tendency to hide his true feelings, bc when push comes to shove, he's at her beck and call. Objectively, he's hers. She doesn't see that bc all she sees is all the ways she can lose him.

So, she gets bratty. She gets pushy, possessive, territorial. Manipulative. Gets under his skin, guilts him to exhaustion, bc she can't see him staying any other way, bc he doesn't get it, bc it works. He bends to her will, for her sake. For now. It's always "for now", bc he'll start slipping away again, and then it'll get worse. She does worse.

Becomes worse.

[rafeysbafey]

⭒𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐬⭒

⭒𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲. 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞

⭒𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐰𝐛𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

⭒𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 𝟖𝟒𝟔

you curled your legs into your chest and laid on your side, wishing nothing more but for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

your period decided to grace its presence a week early this morning, red staining your new comforter and sharp pains carving your insides into shreds.

your phone pinged from beside you, followed by another.

groaning, you reached for the device before unlocking it.

message from: rafe

'want 2 cum over?'

you cringed at his wording that, any other day, would have made you laugh and make your way over. but all you wanted to do was, well, vomit.

message from: rafe

'u alive?'

how charming.

you tossed your phone across your bed and smushed your face into the pillow, screaming into the plush material as your stomach doubled into knots.

"yo."

your eyes fluttered open to the sound of a man's voice, rafe's voice.

there he was. standing in your room.

"r-rafe?" you mumbled, forcing yourself to sit up as you wiped the sleep from your eyes.

"how the hell did you get in here?"

"the window," he said in a 'matter of fact tone.'

rafe had snuck through your window multiple times in order to avoid your parents, but what he didn't know was that they were out of town for a couple days.

"why weren't you responding to my texts?" he asked, breaking the silence as you noticed him staring at your phone discarded to the side.

"rafe, i'm really not in the mood for your dick in me right now- so if you could so kindly leave-"

"since when did you not want to fuck?" he laughed, eyes squinting in disbelief as you groaned loudly, another cramp hitting your stomach like a truck.

"since blood decided to gush out of my lady parts this morning," you snapped.

rafe was always an ass, but you were not in the mood for bantering.

his eyes widened for a second before dropping, his pupils softening at now realizing your uncomfortable state.

"at least you aren't pregnant," he chuckled, nose scrunching as he shrugged his shoulders.

oh you could sock him right in the face.

"fuck off, rafe," you spat, throwing your pillow at his body but unfortunately he dogged it.

you gave him the finger before rolling over and yanking the covers over your body.

you heard him mumble something under his breath before leaving your room, this time through the door.

you would have cried from his reaction, hormones speaking, but your body was exhausted.

"wake up."

was that rafe, again?

"rafe, what did i say?" you groaned, rolling over dramatically and pulling the blanket down, "i don't want to have sex-"

now wasn't that a sight.

rafe cameron standing in your room with a grocery bag and heating pad.

"calm down, i come in peace," he says, placing the bag next to you before kicking off his shoes and moving to sit in front of you.

"is that chocolate?" you asked, taking out a bar before grabbing another. and another.

"i didn't know which one, so i got options," he raised his hands in defense, "didn't need you ripping my head off."

you couldn't help but laugh quietly, a smile forming on your lips as you mumbled a thank you.

"rom-com?" you asked, eyebrows raised as you inspected the DVD case you pulled from the bag.

he cleared his throat before scratching the back of his neck.

"you're the weirdo who enjoys them."

"hey!" you gasped, smacking him with the case before tossing it to the side.

"well this weirdo is about to watch this movie, so don't think you need to stay here hostage," you said, watching his eyes soften as he bit the inside of his mouth.

"i'll go heat up the heating pad."

you don’t know how you got into this situation.

cuddling with your fuck buddy—his arm wrapped around your waist and legs tangled together, your hands in a bowl of popcorn mixed with m&ms.

the corny rom-con played across the tv, rafe not paying much attention as he kept stealing glances at you.

“feeling better?” he asked, voice soft as he squeezed your waist.

you turned to look at him, a small smile on his face as he raised an eyebrow.

“not really,” you sighed, giving him a teasing smile as he hummed.

“really?” he asked, face only inches away from yours as his minty breath fanned over your lips.

before you could answer, rafe closed the gap to connect his soft lips with yours.

you’ve kissed rafe multiple times, granted it’s been during more intimate moments—but this time felt different.

he was slow, and caring. he was gentle with you.

his hand caressing the side of your face as if you were made of glass, the complete opposite of how he would in bed.

he pulled away for a second, blue eyes locking with yours—the only noise being the movie in the background.

“what about now?”

you bit your bottom lip, eyes closing for a second as you hummed…thinking.

“let’s try again.”

[kisscara]

pity party [scaramouche x gn!reader] ⎯⎯ modern au, minor angst, fluff

scaramouche claimed he's never come to care about his birthday. anymore, at least. since kindergarten and every other grade after that, not a single person cared to show up when they were invited. he clearly remembers sitting at the dinner table, party hat atop his head seemingly drooping in the sad setting of the room.

but there was another thing. he always invited the whole class, except for one person. there were a lot of rumors about you and scaramouche wanted to stay as far away from you as possible so that his classmates wouldn't mistaken him for being your friend. it'd completely ruin his image.

however, on scaramouche's eighteenth birthday, he wondered what would happen should he invite you. of course, he'll slide invitations in the lockers of the rest of his peers, but just like before, they probably wouldn't care to come. it didn't even matter if they didn't have a gift, just their presence alone would put scaramouche over the moon.

and so, he waited in the living room. every now and then, he'd play video games on his phone, hoping to wait out the arrival of his peers much more quicker but in reality, he was trying to get his birthday over with.

suddenly, the sound of the doorbell going off caused him to sit up from his slouching position. could it be? scaramouche tossed his phone aside and practically ran to the front door. he swung it open and his heart began doing somersaults in his chest.

you awkwardly stood there, waiting for him to speak up. when he didn't say anything, you took it upon yourself to engage the conversation. "happy birthday, scaramouche." you presented your wrapped gift for him with a smile. he idly stood, frozen as you placed the gift in his hands.

you welcomed yourself inside of his home, and that's when he finally snapped out of his trance. "that took me a lot of time to wrap, so i'd appreciate it if you viciously ripped it apart when i leave," you playfully commented. scaramouche carefully put your gift on the table in the dining room and a grin tugged at the corner of his lips.

"this is a big occasion, isn't it? after all, you're finally an adult." you sat on the couch and scaramouche joined you. "um, yeah. listen, we haven't properly met before, right?" he asked. you murmured, "mhm, i figured you were avoiding me like everyone else." at that, scaramouche tensed up.

you burst into a fit of laughter, "c'mon, i'm just kidding! what's with the serious look?" scaramouche relaxed his shoulders in relief. his first party guest and he nearly screwed it over. you grinned, "i'm (name). they don't really like me just because... you know what, i don't know either but hey,"

you took a party hat from the table and placed it on your head. "i didn't know eighteen year olds still held birthday parties like this," you giggle, to which scaramouche replied in a flustered frenzy, "my mom put those out!" you laugh, "i get it. by the way, do you like horror movies?" scaramouche looked to the side.

"my mom still has me on a netflix kids account and she gets notified whenever i try making a purchase using my credit card..." scaramouche covered his face in embarrassment. you leaned against the couch, "you too, huh?" scaramouche looked up from his hands to glance at you.

has celestia sent down an angel for him?

you waved around a few dvd cases that came from your bag, "i used my friend's money to get these. i obviously paid them back." you stood up and crouched down in front of the dvd player on the tv set. "you ever watch a nightmare on elm street, poltergeist, scream, halloween... any of the classics at all?"

scaramouche shook his head and you flashed him a smile, "great, me neither!"

that evening, scaramouche lost track of time marathoning horror movies with you. the two of you ate the snacks from his dining room and hid under a big blanket, all of the lights turned off to set the right mood. he was grateful that you didn't question where the rest of the guests were, not once.

you tightened the grip on your popcorn bowl and scaramouche intently watched the screen. "i can't look," you squealed, covering your eyes. scaramouche couldn't help but let out a chuckle. he had a feeling that if he were watching horror movies alone, he'd be looking away as well. but he wouldn't miss this for the world.

suddenly, the front door slammed open and you and him shouted in unison. you fell off of the couch and scaramouche looked over. "oh, it's much too dark in here, it's bad for your eyes," ei tutted, turning on the light. she tilted her head, "kuni, who's that, dear?"

scaramouche gritted his teeth, "i'm busy, mom-" ei gasped, "is this a party guest?" she started giggling, "i expected this birthday to be like the rest but i'm glad you found a worthy friend, kuni! i'll be in my room, okay? don't stay up too late, you two!" you sat back down on the couch and exclaimed, "thank you, miss!"

the second scaramouche heard ei's bedroom door close, he turned the lights back off. "sorry about her," scaramouche muttered. the movie served as pure background noise as you remarked, "she seems sweet. where was she the whole time, work?" scaramouche mumbled, "yeah, runs a business."

your pupils dilated, "really? that's so cool, no wonder you have a ton of friends." scaramouche froze up from where he was sitting next to you. friends. in class, they'll act like his friends, but it's like they're strangers the second they step outside of the school grounds. i mean, they don't even go to his birthday parties.

"mhm." he rested his chin in his palm, "after this, are you going to pretend we don't know each other in class, just like before?" you perk up in surprise. "why would i? i have a new friend now ⎯ ah wait, i don't even know if it's mutual," you nervously corrected yourself with a sheepish smile.

scaramouche's porcelain complexion flushed red. "you... want to be my friend?" he asked in a small voice. "definitely! you're funner than i took you for, scaramouche!" you happily comment before tossing another popcorn into your mouth.

"okay. let's be friends, (name)." scaramouche gave you a smile and you smiled back. he looked at the television set. "by the way, funner isn't a word," he said. you complained, "is too!" scaramouche laughed. for the first time ever, he genuinely laughed with a friend.

a half hour later, you checked your phone's notifications. "oh, i got to go, my mom's car is outside." you quickly gathered your things and put on your shoes. scaramouche solemnly watched as you reached for the doorknob. "hey," at your call, he looked up from the floor.

"you can keep the dvds, i'll come back another time to get them. you can watch the rest without me or wait 'til i'm free. got it?" you winked at him and scaramouche lightly chuckled, "yeah, i'll wait for you." you waved, "thanks for the great night, scara! i'll see you at school tomorrow!"

and the front door shut with a click.

scaramouche's gaze caught your gift on the table. he made his way over and began to delicately unwrap it. he read the sticky note on the box, word for word. 'happy 18th birthday, scaramouche!! i don't know you too well, but i sewed this up myself. i hope you like it ♡'

scaramouche removed the top of the box and his eyes lit up. a felt doll that looked just like him. with caution, he took it out of the box, feeling as if he'd ruin this precious treasure so easily if he wasn't careful. he held it to his chest and sighed in content.

from that point on, he looks forward to his birthday, all because of one person.

© kisscara

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Korn - Freak On A Leash

[cynicalruins]

So a while ago I got this mysterious Kohei Murakami DVD from 2004 second hand for cheap, couldn't find any info on it but I think it's a specific genre of DVD? Not very knowledgeable on the ikemen market.... Bought it anyways bc I like mr Murakami very much and I just had to find out wtf he was gonna be doing for 50 mins

it came with a small photo booklet, and since I'm obsessed with scanning everything i own for posterity, here it is below

and here's the other side of the cover, which i have to admit jumpscared me a bit since I wasn't expecting to open the case and find him staring right at me

As for the contents of the DVD itself? It was essentially segments of him doing fuckall (sexily) for about 2 mins, interrupted by brief intermissions where he does a comedy duo sketch with himself in a different outfit, and a few angsty music videos sprinkled in (unfortunately, they did not let him sing)

Highlights include:

him holding a showerhead like a phone (epic faiz reference)

FORZA MILAN

and him holding a toy raygun to his head

in conclusion: it was fun and bizarre, felt both 100% genuine and like a parody of itself, I now understand even more why he's best friends with Toshiki Inoue

and uhh I guess if anyone really wants to see the video itself and can't find a copy i can try ripping it? Feel free to send me a message or smth

[siremasterlawrence]

Toxic Love: Based On A True Story

“Oh Master!” Colton walks in to frame of the camera in excitement he waved at me as he stands tall.

“Hi Master! My Love” he takes a deep varied breath as he blows it out.

“I wanted to record video for you.”

“I wanted you to know I love you “

“I am not letting you go

“My physique is at its peak”

“Nothing will change that “

“I mean you can bounce a quarter on this ass.”

“It’s tight”

“Mmmmm…fuck”

“Do you love me?”

“I am rambling “

“I mean I am tough”

“But!”

“I guess you are wondering why I am so nervous “

“I need you to like me”

“I would die if you hated me “

“It’s not a jest”

“Check out these pecs”

“My nipples are big”

“My body ripped”

“My head is spinning “

“My tongue is wagging “

“Oh my god”

“I can’t stop thinking “

“About you “

“I love you “

“Please call me”

“This body is flexible “

“Sharp and sexy”

Fuck! He spent so much time away from me the last year and a half he thinks he can just sped out time up to make up for everything by this display and I hate getting the useless dvd he sent. I place it in my PlayStation playing it as I am unnervingly pissing off as he comes on to the screen in the middle of some what I can only assume is a gym shower and posing for me like some gym rat. I roll my eyes, shaking my head as his lips begin to pour and his lips are pursing them before he kisses the camera and returns to a smile I get its all a set up really and I on some level am getting so hot. He smirks at me licking his lips with utter love in his eyes as he remembers me as his one true and only love to win me over once again as he lifts up the soap in hand as he suds up. He suds up soaping up his body in a fiery like state covering his body up in a sudsy power wiping up and flipping the switch on to the shower head and it reigns down on him.The soap suds washing off of his body as they flow with the current of water his eyes roll back, going to the upward back his head the eye sockets and he began to swoon his hands swing.

I hate to admit it but James is looking so fine that I can’t keep my faith in him years ago my dear because he knows I am own him for the longterm or not even though he is at my mercy I shake my head disgust of it all.I walk through the restaurant that he invites me to meet him at my side as I parked my car for the time being even if I am shook to my core and I know I will be I cannot give in to him because he will disappoint me like he always does.He looks good comb hair slick back as it should be none of those stupid hats he is always wearing like a idiot on a stupid all night bender, his breath the most amazing smelling thing I have ever had the pleasure to enjoy and I can no longer deny I still have feelings for him because I do on some fool hardy level I do bringing out my inner demon to serve me and I fall madly in love with my slave once again and I gave in of it snapping my finger.

“What will you do?”

“Whatever! You wish “

“Sleep”

“Deep deep deep”

“Deeper deeper deeper “

“Deepest deepest deepest “

“Sink sink “

“Sinker sinker “

“Sinking sinking”

“I am in at your center “

“The core”

“The sole control center “

“I am in the driver seat”

“Relinquish control “

“Give me the wheel”

“Spinning you away “

“Forgetting who you are “

“What you are”

The end

[ghoulishtomato]

NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM KNOCKOFF MOVIE???

Under the "keep reading" tab, you will see a bullet list of my reaction to a movie I found at Half-Priced Books called Night at the Magic Museum. It'll be me pointing out things about the movie and what I enjoy and whatnot. I do my best to describe what happens in the movie but, again, it's mostly reactions, so not a reliable play by play of the movie's events.

First, the basic plot synopsis of the movie that they have in the back of the DVD case (which is completely true and accurate to the events of the film):

⚡ During a fierce electrical storm, lightning hits a museum creating a magical passageway between our world and the world within the museum's paintings. Ben and Kim (brother and sister) find themselves transported to a 17th century village under siege by Falco, an evil sorcerer learned in the ways of black magic. The kids learn that the evil Falco is in search of the village's most prizes possession: The Jewel of Polaris. With the Jewel, Falco will be unstoppable. Ben and Kim must save the village and return to our world before it's too late.⚡

Now, onto my actual (a little bit disjointed) commentary:

before the actual movie, there was a trailer that had some lovely 90s Fantasy Whimsy, and the scenes/compositions scratched my brain just right that now my hopes for NAT(M)M are probably way too high now. Also, the trailer was for something called The Tiny Kingdom, so ofc my NATM brain thought of Jed and Oct

LOVE the orchestra music that plays over a black screen as they list the credits. If they really wanted to rip off NATM tho, they coulda shown us B Roll of the magic museum. But it serves it's purpose and I love orchestra music so I'm not bothered.

We are now in 1632. A Sharp tongued British man named Falco is sneering at his subordinates (?) and my Red Dwarf brainrot has immediately projected Arnold Rimmer onto him.

Falco is kind of cunty actually. And also sounds EXACTLY like Rimmer.

Very obvious ADR for this one side character, but otherwise, not the worst production! I enjoy this!

This would fuck as an old anime, that's what the dialogue feels like.

It's probably impertinent that I tell y'all right now that I fuck with older shit and actively enjoy what people nowadays would likely call major flaws and "ruining the immersion".

hAHA ISTG THERE IS JUST SOME DUDE WHO ACCIDENTALLY FELL INTO THE SHOT WHEN HE DIDN'T MEAN TO, I LOVE LIVE THEATRE 💀

Some... Editing discrepancies... They say it is raining outside... No it's not 💀 And not enough for there to be flashes of blue lightning visible from inside. But luckily I possess a strong will for suspension of disbelief. And the blue lightning is just sort of a running motif through the movie as a reminder of the real world while they're in the painting.

Ben and Kim are mentioned in the plot synopsis, but they leave out the fact they have a little sister named Casey, who I argue is pretty important to the movie. Kim works at the museum and she has to bring Ben and Casey along with her.

Omg, Armour in a museum. Like Lancelot.

Okay VERY obvious ADR line that was supposed to be said by young teen Ben, but the ADR'd voice sounds like a grown ass man 💀? Quite a few noticable ADR moments that don't quite match up with what's on screen throughout the movie actually.

Alright, paintings can come to life because of lightning. No Egyptian magic here.

God, Ben is such a 90s teen boy.

Very clearly the draw of this movie is not the museum- like at all. It's this ONE painting functioning as a portal and the legit world it leads to. Not in any art style a la the black and white painting in Smithsonian, or the Escher painting in Secret of the Tomb. Just a straight up other world. Painting just sucks Ben and Kim in after lightning strike and spits them out into a hay pile in fantasy land.

There's a menacing guy who fell out of a painting and is now up and about in the museum (not important).

Older sister Kim is coming to ridiculous conclusions to blame Ben for the situation they're in (a la annoying big sister stereotype) but Ben's responses are so calm, candid, and reasonable that it's not annoying to me HAHA

Ben's so fucking funny actually HAHA. Everyone has had at least one surprisingly funny line actually

This Fantasy world low-key reminds me of The Legend of Zelda and I fuck with it. Just a little bit. (But everyone is basically human here; no fish people, or even fairies or hell, not even elves).

Falco is such a cunty asshole. Excellent villain so far oh my gAWD. He's so evil.

People keep mocking each other in this movie it's so funny.

HAHA, OKAY SO- They gave us a magician guy (M) who indirectly is responsible for Lincoln's assassination. This movie is so delightful. M is my new favorite.

M is there, btw, because Casey likes to draw, and he's basic her OC that they manage to get into the painting (in order to help Ben and Kim get home and whatnot) by sticking here drawing to the painting they're in. Yeah, Casey's just hanging in the museum with a security guard named Monty (who also play the magician M. The actor actually has some nice range in this movie!).

If you're like crazy about world building, I hate to tell you that s o m e of the stuff about this isn't real clear to me (like, it's implied the fantasy characters also existed in the real world or something but like??? That doesn't make sense here) so like 💀💀

Fun and creative puzzle moment near the climax :D Just one though. Also, Ben likes to roller skate, and that's helpful for this cave he's in to find some magic jewel to help him and Kim get home (and that he's gotta find before Falco).

Also there was a cave in this movie that Istg I saw in a dream...

There's this voiceover narration for some "Tests of bravery and intelligence" Ben has to do, and the narrator sounds like Crispin Freeman to me, heehee (it's def not him tho).

Btw, sister Kim has been delegated to prisoner waiting to be rescued but this is a late 90s fantasy movie so like... what do I expect.

The acting is kind of 1 Note, all on the same level for the most part. It's not bad by any means, of course, they've all been funny at least.

...... This movie had an extremely lackluster and borderline disappointing climax with all the fantasy land magic jewel shit... 💀 Falco deserved something more grand...

Btw, remember how I said there was a guy from a painting wondering around? Well he seemed to be after Casey for unknown reasons. But he was hardly in the movie 💀 He seemed to pose a threat near the end, but dispatching him was "super easy. Barely an inconvenience!" (A sword shot out of fantasy land painting for some reason and killed him before meeting him back into his painting).

So that's it. Literally NOTHING like Night at the Museum save for magic painting portal. Again, as mentioned in my previous post about the movie (and based on how the movie just looks and functions) it was made in like '99.

So what the fuck is the deal with the EXTREMELY NOTICEABLE Night at the Museum coattail riding???

Well, the company that released the movie (from what I can tell) is Moonbeam films, which wasn't founded until 2012- bUT it's parent company is Full Moon features, which was founded in 1988. So if I were to guess, perhaps Full Moon features made the movie, but Moonbeam released it on DVD.

NOW, THE ORIGINAL TITLE FOR THIS FILM WAS ACTUALLY Search for the Jewel of Polaris: Mysterious Museum. But when it was released on DVD in August of 2012, it was renamed to Night at the Magic Museum (it looks like it had a few other different names it could've been called as well, including just The Magic Museum or Mysterious Museum).

Both these production companies or whatever don't make like... The best films, I guess. Or at the very least, very tongue-in-cheek goofy ass movies that aren't trying to be cinema or anything (which is so valid of them). In fact, Full Moon features is known for shit like Evil Bong, Gingerdead Man, and Gingerdead Man vs. Evil Bong.

The point is- they're not particularly high quality or serious about their movies and productions if I were to take a lucky guess (cause I'm not gonna search THAT deep into this; I'm not a YouTuber who can get paid for it 💀).

SO- I THINK...

Moonbeam Films changed the movie title AND specifically designed the DVD case to match Night at the Museum as close as they possibly could (from the composition down to the font) YEARS after the movie was originally made/released, and a few years after Night at the Museum released it's sequel, Battle of the Smithsonian. Hell, the kid on the DVD cover doesn't even look like the movie's MC, Ben (left) 💀 They just grabbed some random white boy to pose SPECIFICALLY for this.

NATM had proven itself to be- like- EXTREMELY fucking popular among kids, families, and a bunch of gay people who want to see that tiny cowboy and Roman kiss. Like we see with lots of bootlegs, they were likely banking on riding the coattails of NATM's success in order to make money on their low budget crummy movie...

Except like.... Search for the Jewel of Polaris isn't bad? It's nowhere near the level Night at the Museum is production wise, of course. But it's got a homey feel to it. It's got an actual story it's telling, and the actor's do quite a good job! (Especially in the beginning of the movie). It is it's own, quaint little movie that I would like to watch a second time.

To ride on the coattails of another movie kind of shows insecurity about the movie's actual contents I think. I mean, that dinosaur, knight, pirate ship, and weird alien thing we see on the cover?? Not in the damn movie 💀 This attempt to be dishonest about what the movie has to offer while also maybe hoping people confuse it with another, successful movie in order to milk money out of it just looks bad on Moonbeam Films' behalf.

In conclusion: Search for the Jewel of Polaris is NOT a Night at the Museum ripoff, and could never have been, what with being made 6-7 years before the first NATM actually came out. It was rebranded in 2012 as Night at the Magic Museum for DVD releases by Moonbeam Films. It's a cute, simple little movie with it's own charming characters and concept, and you can feel the human touch/heart all throughout it 💛💛

Thank You for reading. ☺️✨ Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be thinking about Falco for forever til eternity.