#what the fuck are all these tags idk what im doing anymore
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do you believe me now? | 4
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.
part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three
18+ (smut)
warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!)
a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses
(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!
“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”
You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.
“That one is complicated.”
You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.
“You don’t know.”
“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”
“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”
“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”
“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”
Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.
You look at it.
And then you set your phone down.
“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.
Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.
“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”
Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.
“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”
“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”
“Yes, I have.”
It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.
“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”
You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.
He looks good. Almost too good.
“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.
“Something… naked?”
His grin widens and he shakes his head.
“Me naked or you naked?”
Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.
“Mm… why not both?”
“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”
The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.
“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”
He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.
“You sound sure of yourself.”
“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”
He grabs your wrist carefully.
“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”
“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”
He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”
Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.
“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”
“So business as usual?”
He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.
“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”
A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.
Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.
You cover his hand with your own.
“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”
Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.
“What? No!”
“Are you going to cheat on me?”
“Absolutely not, I—”
“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”
“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”
“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”
It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.
“Every time?”
“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.
“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”
You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.
“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”
“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”
You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.
“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”
Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.
“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”
You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.
“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”
He kisses your palm.
“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”
“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”
Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.
“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”
He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.
“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.
“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”
“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”
Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.
“You want to know what I’d do to you?”
“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.
“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”
As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.
“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”
You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.
“What are you gonna do after that?”
“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”
Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.
“Yes, please.”
He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.
“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”
“Why careful? I don’t want that.”
He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.
“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”
The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.
“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”
It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.
Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—
And then his phone rings.
You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.
He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.
“I’m sorry.”
Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.
“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.
If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.
“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.
“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.
You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.
“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”
He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.
“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”
You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.
“Sure. Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.
Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.
“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”
“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”
You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.
But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.
Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.
In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.
“Spencer?”
“Hm?”
It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.
“I…”
Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.
He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.
“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.
“I forget.”
FUUUUUUCK.
Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.
He knows.
He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.
Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.
“Well, let me know if you remember.”
It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.
Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.
You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.
But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?
Maybe you have it all wrong.
Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.
You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.
24 hours go by.
24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.
Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.
Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)
Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.
You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.
“Hello?”
Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.
“Shit, did I wake you?”
“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.
“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”
“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”
“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.
“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”
A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.
“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.
“Oh. Is everything okay?”
“As much as it can be.”
“Right.”
More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.
“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”
“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”
“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.
“What? Why?”
“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”
Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.
“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks.
“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”
Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”
“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.
“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”
When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.
“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”
“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”
You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.
“Guess whose bed.”
Silence.
“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”
“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”
“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”
“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”
Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.
“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”
“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.
“No, not you. You are always the exception.”
“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”
Spencer groans.
“You’re killing me.”
“What? What did I do!”
“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”
“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”
But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.
“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”
“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”
“Okay.”
“Okay what?” you frown.
“Tell me what this is.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean.”
Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.
“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”
Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.
“I don’t know. I miss you.”
He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.
“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”
“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”
“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”
Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…
“I’m not taking anything out on you.”
“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”
Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.
“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.
“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”
“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.
“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”
“I—”
“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”
The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.
“What… what thoughts?”
“None that you need to concern yourself with.”
“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.
“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.
“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”
“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”
“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”
“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.
Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—
“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”
“Take a wild guess.”
“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”
You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.
“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”
He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.
“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”
“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”
“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”
You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.
“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”
It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.
“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.
“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”
“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”
You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.
“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”
The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.
“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”
“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”
“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”
“Do we have to?”
The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.
“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”
“But you’re… you’re good, right?”
Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.
“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”
“And I’m good. So...”
“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”
You groan in frustration.
“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”
“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”
“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”
The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.
“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”
“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”
“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”
You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.
“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.
“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”
“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”
He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.
“You want me to come inside you?”
“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.
—
On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.
“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”
“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.
“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”
You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—
“’M not.”
Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.
“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”
You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.
“Where are you touching?”
“Um—over my clothes.”
Cute.
“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”
It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”
He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.
“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”
Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.
“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.
“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”
“I am ready��” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”
“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”
He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.
“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”
“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”
The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.
“Did you find it?”
“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”
“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”
“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”
He gets the general sentiment.
“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”
“Mhm!”
“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”
“Yes,” you cry.
“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”
“Spencer!”
He knows.
“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”
The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.
“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”
“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”
He’s barely kidding.
“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.
“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”
You laugh. He blushes even more.
“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”
“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”
“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”
“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”
The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.
“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”
“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.
Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.
For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.
—
A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.
You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?
“Spencer?” you murmur.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.
“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”
Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.
“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”
“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”
“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”
Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.
“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”
Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.
“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”
“But…?”
Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.
“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”
The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.
“You regret your first time?”
Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.
“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”
Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.
Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.
What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.
You want to scream bloody murder.
But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”
Maybe that’s worse.
Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.
“I didn’t realize you…”
I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.
I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.
I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.
If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.
“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.
More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.
“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”
Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?
What does one even wear to a breakup date?
“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.
Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.
“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”
“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.
“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.
So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.
“Goodnight.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic
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okay.
#periwinkleartski#marble hornets#brian thomas#tim wright#brim#mh brim#hoody marble hornets#hoody#masky#tim masky#what the fuck are all these tags idk what im doing anymore#hoodmask#what evar#fanart#sketch
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[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]
saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.
#jrwi fanart#jrwi show#jrwi riptide#gillion tidestrider#GONNA START FORMATTING MY COMICS BETTER. W THE PROPER 'PREV' 'NEXT' LINKS#REALLY DIDNT EXPECT TO CONTINUE THIS SERIES BUT AAAUUUHH MY BRRAAAIN MY BRAIN IS SO IDEASSS. I HAVE 3 OTHER PAGES SKETCHED OUT#NO PROMISES ILL FINISH EM ANY TIME SOON OR EVER. MY WHIMS ARE THEIR OWN BEAST AND I ONLY DRAW ON MY WHIMS#THAT BEING SAID IF U COMMISSIONED ME ILL GEEETT TO YOUUU IM SORRYYYY. ART IS AN EMOTIONAL RELEASE FOR ME N BABY I HAVE EMOTIONS.#ESPECIALLY ABOUT GILLION TIDESTRIDER CHAMPION OF THE UNDERSEA HERO OF THE DEEP.for the desc here i put smth that i typed up in the tags of#another thing i made. i gotta make a proper Baby Gillion tag or smth. eventually.. eventually...I LOVE DRAWIN THIS LIL BABY GUY..#i also LOVE depicting the teachers as just being so fuckin mean. ofc theres variation in that. just like in all things.like the teacher her#idk if itll be mentioned but the octo lady is named Ms Octburn.an octopus pun based off the name of an actual councilor i had#when i was in elementary school i got bullied alot but teachers never did anything. i hated adults and didnt trust them.#but this councilor o mine was so genuinely sweet. i remember spending alot of time w her. she doesnt work there anymore.#but that one school adult that actually earns ur trust and is there for you when they can be.its SO important for a child i think#i hope she knows how much she helped me.youll see in the next page that ms octburn isnt perfect either.but she tries. they all try.somehow.#ALL these comics are gonna be inspired by somesorta experience o mine in the school system. school is so fucked up u ever thing abt that#AND GILLIOOOOONNN IN THE MOST FUCKED UP LITTLE SCHOOL OF ALL. MAINTAINED BY A CULT. CENTERED AROUND HIM. OUR CHOSEN ONE#I IMAGINE ALOT BANKS ON HIS SUCCESS. THIS IS THE WORLD. THE WHOLE WORLD. THE PROPHECY IS GOING TO COME TRUE N UR TELLIN ME#THAT ITS THIS LITTLE IDIOT THATS GONNA BE SAVING US? WHAT IF HE FAILS. IF HE CANT GET THIS RIGHT THEN HE WILL FAIL AND WE WILL DIE#WE NEED TO TRAIN HIM. WE NEED HIM TO LEARN. AND TO SUCCEED. OR ELSE WE'RE DEAD. WE'RE ALL FUCKING DEAD. I IMAGINE THAT MUST BE STRESSFUL#in other news i hope ppl actually giggle when they read these. they ARE intended to be comical. dark humor or whatever. like its also sad#this is intended to be a sad comic series. but a funny one too. does that make sense? god i hope so.saw some1 say they had flashbacks-#-reading this. like YES!! THE INTENDED EFFECT!! YOU GET ME!! i love seeing ppl get upset on this lil baby boys behalf. i LOVE seeing ppl-#-wail n weep n cry in the comments. i LOOOVE seeing ppl RELATE to baby gillion. and i love letting u all know that this wont be a happycomi#gillion gets his happiness arc in the actual show. this series is one of unfortunate events. teehehehe. do u guys remember that show#i keep listening to the lil songs from A Series of Unfortunate Events for inspiration. GOOD STUFF!!#anyway uuhh uhh thats all i got in my brain. for now. feed me ur comments give me ur input i NNEEEEEDD THHEEEMMMM
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i dont think i will ever be over nandor tying guillermos cape with such care and focus. that moment its possibly my favourite from the finale NANDOR ACTS OF SERVICE GUY MAKES ME WANNA CLIMB A WALL and the way hes putting guillermo on equal ground now makes my heart grow 3 sizes
and to be honest i dont think they can go back to where they were before. for anyone whos worried. like yeah he told him “now clean up the body” after he reverted back to human but to me that was more like nandors brain going like. “i cooked now you clean”. he went through such a tremendous amount of work to help guillermo. he had the empathy to recognise the problem. he thought it through concocted a plan. he got the robes and the candles and he painted and hung those banners. he held a fakeass ceremony with all their friends and elders so it looked official. he then also comforted guillermo when he couldnt do it and staked derek himself without a second thought. so maybe its was more of a. i pulled you out of a very hairy situation. can you take care of the body now? (also it IS gonna be hard to let go of certain habits so maybe some comments like this are gonna slip out next season, but that is just because they are useless and in guillermos absence the house fucking imploded in one year lmao… maybe guillermo is gonna teach them how to take care of it themselves next season so they can split the workload and cute shenanigans will ensue)
i just dont think it was mean spirited on nandors part tbh. LAZLO even offered to help. i dont think that was just to have him in the next scene i dont think an unusual detail like that could be just for convenience. i do FULLY believe they are gonna all be on equal grounds next season. and thats gonna be so fucking delicious to me specifically
#to see a nandor and guillermo dynamic where nandor has freed himself from the inibitions of a master familiar dynamic? sign me up#he was so fucking warm and caring after he forgave him and idk if i can handle it GOD I LOVE IT#nandermo#what we do in the shadows#wwdits#wwdits spoilers#comment#im making a post out of some of my tags in one of my queued posts bc i#want to put this thought out in the world#i saw a lot of people going now that guillermos human everythings back to the status quo!!! and im like#no the fuck i hope not!! their relationship has consistently moved in a new direction each season#familiar. bodyguard. best man. best friend. now they went through allllll the trouble of showing them having an equals relationship#they made nandor utter the words he will be living in this house as an equal from now on#and next season everythings gonna revert back?? i surely hope not#there is also to be considered from nandors standpoint that now guillermo truly has no more reason to stay. he really isnt a#familiar anymore because he presumably doesnt want to be a vampire anymore (?) so he has to consider#if he wants guillermo to stick around. its gonna have to be out of the love he has for them. and nandor needs to give him an incentive#which would be equal grounds with the vampires even though he isnt one#and guillermo is probably gonna be in such an existential crisis mode that hes not even gonna notice all the cute things nandor is doing#for him now for a WHILE. until he does and thats gonna be delicious#anyway. why do i keep making excellent points in the tags this could have been a post
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being evaluated for adhd by having one of those full psych evals that last like two hours. scared frightened etc.... last time i took it i lied extensively bc i was 13 and thought they might tell my mommy if i said i had suicidal thoughts. and i still have a habit of lying to therapists bc i'm embarrassed......... AGH idk. what if i take it and they tell me that the reason im Like This is bc im genuinely just weird and shitty and not bc im mentally ill at all. SCARED
#which is dumb bc i have been formally diagnosed with multiple mental illnesses i dont think they can just take it back right?????#this is so stupid and cliche but what if i have been faking it........ all along........ Argh.#when i was in res i was put on adderall (bc the house psych just kind of experimented w meds LMFAO) and i had to go off them after like#two weeks bc it was affecting my appetite in a way i couldnt afford at the time lmao. but i do genuinely feel like it helped during that#time.... which is why i want to go on it again!!!! but im scared theyll just be like nah and i wont be able to take any of my meds anymore#is that crazy. am i being crazy rn. idk i truly do think most of my experiences w school and like. life could be explained by adhd and#when i was a kid they thought i had it but the two meds they tried didnt work for me so they just. kind of gave up#and i was really extremely unable to do school and graduated hs w an insanely low gpa and then dropped out of community college. LMAO. not#that people w adhd cant be good in school i just couldnt make myself do homework and couldnt listen in class bc i was too busy focusing on#listening. if that makes sense#IDK. idk. i know it's become like. a trend to have adhd is the issue and everything is being attributed to having it so im worried that ive#like. accidentally fallen in w that? even though ive thought i had it for forever and everyone has been like girl do you have this. IDK!!!!#idk. idkkkk im just like. genuinely scared. it's not the end of the world if im not diagnosed obviously but that means that#im just like this for no reason at all. and there's no way of helping it bc it's just the way i am. and i actually am just shitty n lazy.#epic. which incidentally is the proper name for how fucking long these tags are my bad. if you read this far sorry for being insane 👍
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When I think of Boomers I think of how Rebel Without A Cause was their Big movie and how the main character's rebellion & reason for being angry stemmed from an overbearing mom and a "pussy" of a dad who let the mom tell him what to do.
And now I'm thinking about the rage white american men have about their lives being so easy.
Like how much rage do you need inside of you to sit around imagining scenarios where it's justifiable to kill someone else? And how easy and boring was life for you that you'd imagine killing someone would make you the family hero and not just deeply traumatizing you and your family?
They all "I have a right to defend my property/my family hurr" but lbr, they don't give a shit what's being stolen or who else is at risk. It's not about the stealing. Or about the threat. They're just as happy to fire at you over a stolen tissue as they are to fire at you for assaulting a family member.
Because it's about the justification of being able to kill someone. It's about fulfilling their rage fantasy. Not about family or property.
Rage at what?
Idk. Maybe that they grew up thinking they'd be John Wayne and James Dean or Bruce Wayne defending white damsels and instead grew up to be just like their dads. Raising kids they hate with a wife they hate while working a job they hate for a life that doesn't give them any sense of purpose at all. Maybe it's that nobody ever needed them to be John Wayne. Maybe it's that now John Wayne is seen as just another racist white guy and there was never anything special about him (or the people who idolized him). Maybe it was the realization they were Never going to be James Dean, that daddy didn't give them enough attention and they'll Never get to make up for it by playing hero either. And maybe it's that they have no real reason to be so full of rage in the first place, they lived an average, safe life (never even been robbed, ha).
And yet.... The rage. The rage that has them taking that safety and boredom for granted... Wishing that something would happen, that someone would finally need to be saved so This White Man can save them. So he can prove that he is special and daddy was wrong about him and how he's Better than dad cuz he'd kill someone if he had to. His dad's a pussy. Everyone was wrong about him, he is special. He is.
You just gotta wait til he's robbed or something, then you'll all see how special and useful and threatening to the system he is.... It's too bad he's had super safe life, y'all have no idea the kind of lion this man Really is inside.
And those BIPOC are wrong too, nobody had it harder than him, they just need thicker skin. When he was little he had to walk 3 blocks in the snow just to reach his bus stop and he didn't complain about it being unfair. That's right, he's dealt with the world being unfair, too. People these days just don't know struggle. And why wouldn't dad just drive him anyway? It wasn't that big of a deal, it wasn't even that far out of the way, he shouldn't have been walking in the snow when daddy could drive him instead >:(
#now that its all typed out im just sitting here like These Guys Are Fucking Pathetic actually lMao#idek what this post is about anymore#my pathetic little meow meow is probably a libertarian LMAO#conservatives#republicans#the gop#right wing#yes i do want all the smoke actually#making the pathetic meow meows read this#idk what tags they follow tho#leftists#libertarian#anarchy#idk#2A#2a rights
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THIS SUCKS!!!!
#SORRY I HAD TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM#she's not gone yet but. very soon.#if i had to guess i would say sometime during the night or tomorrow. very very soon.#ive already said all my goodbyes and we sang around her bedside one last time and i think im as ready for it as ill ever be#but that being said. how the fuck do u get ready for your mom to die.#but it's not all bad.#my aunt was sitting by me while we sat at my mom's bedside and just shared stories between singing#and she wiped the tears off my face and traced my veins and held my hand while we both cuddled my dog#and idk. im the black sheep of the family but that doesn't mean i'm not part of it. even when shit sucks.#and these last couple months have been rough because first i lost my friend suddenly and now the thing we've been waiting for#for 3 years is finally happening#and idk. in a way i'm glad it's happening because i won't have to watch her suffer anymore. and in a way i won't suffer either.#just kinda ripping the bandaid off yk.#anyway i am contemplative and mostly at peace this fine night. we'll see what the morning brings.#winter speaks#personal#grief tag
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HOLD ON WAIT UP HOLD THE PHONE
I KNOW I WAS GONE FOR A FEW MONTHS THERE BUT HAS BLUE LIKE DON'T FORGET ABOUT ME ALWAYS BEEN A PART OF A SERIES OR IS THAT A NEW DEVELOPMENT???
I FEEL LIKE ITS CHRISTMAS ALL OVER AGAIN FUCK Y E A H
Okay so
I...
have been cooking
by which I mean illusions of grandeur and
schemes
And I have not been forthcoming lol Everyone kind of disappeared all at the same time so I kind of stopped talking about what I'm doing but I have been biding my time, quietly putting mechanisms into motion and plotting and occasionally cackling over my cauldron.
I finished the first draft of Blue like don't forget about me and didn't like it so I cut out all the sci-fi fantasy stuff (bye bye aliens farewell superpowers) and in November wrote a new first draft that's all contemporary romance babeee and I'm so in love with it I'm turning it into a little 3-part (possibly 4 if I can't control myself) series.
The original childhood years have been split off into a prequel novella called Red like my bleeding heart in your hand. Then Blue like don't forget about me will take place 20 years later. Nash works at Cherished Hope Nursing Home
“And what is it you do? At the nursing home, I mean.”
I wipe shit off of old people.
And Teddy’s a hockey player. What’s Luke, an underwear model?
He shouldn’t have come.
Teddy comes back to town for a funeral and
Teddy looks at him for the first time in twenty years and every ounce of warmth leaves his expression.
Message received. He should not have come.
OKAY SO AND THEN the next book will be Jo's POV and is called Violet like these delights. and MAYBE there will be a 4th from Luke's POV bc he gets to live this time by the grace of god (me) but it'll depend on how Violet goes (its current state is mostly vibes and a single overarching theme so, stand by).
Red needs a clean-up round of edits to snip out the few little threads that connected it to OG blue. And rewritten blue is basically done. I've done the major revisions and am about to start line edits and after those are done I'm sending it out to beta readers (lmk if you're interested).
There are concise actual summaries in my pinned post btw lol
WHICH REMINDS ME
The series title is Wildflowers of Deliverance. Which I'm extremely proud of. Did you notice did you notice how each title incorporates a wildflower did you did you? and the town they grew up in where Nash and Teddy first met is called Deliverance!!! It's okay I know I'm a genius.
And this brings us to the meal okay? because like I said I've been Cooking™ quietly but steadily for a few months now. ANd what have I been cooking? PLOTS and PLANS
I've decided on a pen name: Sarah B. Elisa
I've created a(nother) side blog for it that will be exclusively centered on my og writing and geared more toward readers rather than writers like this blog is: @sarahbe-writing
I'm going to create a website (as soon as I convince myself to spend money)
and a newsletter (as soon as I convince myself to spend money and do work)
I'm still waffling between trad publishing and DIY. I really like all my hats and it would be a shame to have to share them but oh my god I don't want to do all the marketing but trad pub seems hit or miss on how well they market you so I might get half of my hats taken away and still have to do the marketing bullshit UGH
anyway
OH YEAH and the OG draft I wrote for Blue? I'm going to spin it back to its OG OG roots [parkner, naturally--Return of The childhood friends to estranged almost lovers to super-powered rivals to reluctant allies to friends to lovers finally wip!!! AKA: We Were Gods (we were kids)] and that will fix all the things that went wrong and I didn't like 😌 so it's basically like double Christmas I think
#i have been#a tad reluctant to use the tag list#since because I scrapped the whole plot and genre and started over#feels like a teensie bit of a betrayal?#so idk i think i need to make a post (way fucking shorter than this one) and tag everyone and see who still wants to be tagged in stuff?#or maybe im close enough to the finish line i shouldn't do tag list stuff anymore? I'm kind of wary of oversharing bc#i totally did before#and the word count is smaller now#and there aren't like Plot Twists#it's a romance we all know how this is gonna end#so idk that's mostly why i've been quiet like haha what should i say and to who?#But anyway this weekend I'm going to get my shit together and put up some posts and get the ball rolling again#share some excerpts#get people excited#put out a call for beta and sensitivity readers#you know. work lol#also i missed you and i'm glad you're back <3333#my notes were sooooo quiet lol#and i don't just mean on my writing stuff i love seeing all of your tags in my activity like Yay that's my friend!! And they're yellin!!!#we love to see it <3#anyway#:)
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👇🏽👇🏽👇🏽some of my skipy lore in the tags i was supposed to bridge it with something else but i forgot what i wanted to say 😭
#i feel like i always show skip as like. a loser.....which he is#and a cheater. hes that too.#and a shit person in general. i dont show that one but he is#he tries to do right by other ppl but he'll always put his feelings first. self centered mf#he got married before he turned 20 he was NOT ready for that shit 😭#literally got married to brandi out of guilt bc he fucked up her life n shit too kinda. even tho she wanted a family she lost a lot of#other shit too#skip experiences a slight hurdle in his life and hes like ''i have to have an affair/fuck/fun away''#man that had high hopes for himself and his future gets frustrated by the consequences of his impulsive actions. more at 11#he thought he'd have a slightly better life than the rest of his family. but then his parents died and he got a girl he'd been dating for#less than a year pregnant and he was like. fuckkk it#started doing some foul ass shit to the ppl around him when he realized there was no getting back up to where he wanted to be#everything culminating into him running away from his family and responsibilities and changing his name#idk i never talk abt my skip broke is alive headcanon anymore 😭 mostly bc i'm not writing my story anyways so it's stagnant yk#hes stuck in limbo while i decide his fate based on what i want to post 😭#IDK WHY I WROTE ALL THIS IN THE TAGS IM PISSED. oh well#hidden skip lore if u read this u get one pass to leave ur wife and kids go fuck sexy bitches in belladonna cove
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(Sorry in advance for censoring my text, Tumblr is weird about banned words and I'm mad my last post has been invisible. Sorry if you've seen my last post before it went invisible.)
So, I guess the Tumblr purity hammer unalived the post I made last week about having a
FREE BRO STRIDER COSPLAY BL0W/. JOB GIF SET
on my Only Fans.
It's FREE, but I'm gonna put a price tag on it in a few days. So. This is the last chance to view it while it's free! Adult people only please/you just need a free OF account to see it.
Only Fans dott c0m slash xoxoCori (I'll put the actual post link in the replies).
Not e%plicit preview under the cut:
Kn1ves aren't allowed on OF so this is the outtake. The rest is e%plicit POV of a Br0-./job. There's no kn1ves or weird sh1t in the actual content.
#i fucking hate tumblr i didnt even know my last post got sniped like it doesnt tell u or let you look at it#u just suddenly cant find it on ur blog anymore and u gotta go to the mass post editor bc it doent show up anywhere else#homesmut#homesmut cosplay#bro strider cosplay#bro cosplay#bro#striders#bro strider#god im SO embarrassed about posting this again i was just gonna rb the last one and be like 'last call' but now that i know its invisible#like what if no one saw it at all and has no idea i do this kinda content? thats sad#so whatever sorry for posting my face again and about my ... content#im not tagging this one bc idk what sniped the last post#tumblr so funcki gn arbitrary i hate censorsh1T#me#selfie#gif warning#piercings#snakebites#septum#i think all those tags are safe i was able to search them on mobile hmmm#what tripped the hammer hmmmm maybe the OF link? so ill put it in the comments
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i’ve been stricken with so many problems.
#1) the fucking yearning. go away. i don’t need romantic love. it SUCKS and it’s BAD. disgusting.#2) a sudden repulsion for skirts???? WHAT THE HELL. I LOVE SKIRTS. BUT I CANT BRING MYSELF TO WEAR THEM RN. it’s so fucking weird.#3) i have to actually decide what to do with my life. like. big things. like getting a damn apartment.#4) the crippling fear of growing up has resurfaced. i just turned 20. i don’t want to do this shit anymore.#anyway i’m fine 👍#i suppose this is a vent post??? but in the tags.#haven’t vented on tumblr dot com in a hot hot hot minute#not since my irl friend started following me (hopefully they’re not reading this but if they are: hi)#ranting in the tags feels SO much safer. like. no one’s coming in here#OH ANOTHER THING.#5) a fucking midterm is here and it takes EFFORT.#it’s whatever im just feeling feelings and that’s all right#at least i have a fun little thing to look forward to this weekend#im going to see a ballet !!!#but damn……::::that makes me think about how i’ll never actually do anything with my life.#like we can’t all be on the stage but hell#like??? the knowledge that it only gets worse from here???????????? what the actual hell#and sometimes i think about how i’ll always have to be in the closet.#which sometimes im completely fine with and other times it hurts me a lot#idk. IDK.#anyway. im 20 and i don’t know what im doing with my life and ive never had a lover and i don’t have many friends#and i don’t have any passions or dreams or goals and we’re all only here to one day die.#damn i guess this is why people journal#maybe i should pick up journaling#i think it’d help tbh#anyway im rlly truly actually done now#edit: I HAVE ANOTHER PROBLEM#6) MY PERIOD IS MAKING ME UPSET. everything hurts and im gonna be so nauseous and gross tomorrow help me. pain & agony#7) i cant fall asleep!!!!!!!!!!! but im so tired!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#8) im gonna have to sit thru a transphobic + misogynistic + toxic ass chapel teaching tomorrow.
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i know i need to shut up abt it esp bc i don’t know for sure if i actually got exposed to covid but like. it’s just so fucking frustrating and terrifying. not just in the case of covid but with other things too like driving. you can take every precaution to keep yourself and the people around you safe but all it takes is one selfish careless asshole who can negate that in a heartbeat and ruin your life or maybe even end it in some circumstances. lol
#purrs#ask to tag#complete and utter despair about it all. i feel like such a freak for telling everyone to be safe and be careful all the time but this world#is so fucking scary and we are so fucking helpless. how can i not cast out this desperate fucking plea. this prayer. that harm will not#befall you even if it’s something as small as a drive to the store or a trip to a new place. i just live in fear of the people i love#getting hurt all the time and of myself getting hurt. and covid is fucking scary because we still don’t fuckng know how bad it is really or#what it can do to you in the long term and there’s no way to know if you have it until you find out you have it bc this fucking nightmare#country gutted all the covid infrastructure so it’s like. it’s just really bad. im so scared. ive been so proud of myself lately bc i feel l#like even though im still not doing great ive been less miserable and anxious like a couple months ago i was having breakdowns almost daily#and i feel like ive been getting better and this just has thrown me so bad. there are other things going on too ofc so i know im reacting#really strong but like. throwback to all the asks i just answered where anons were like idk how you even function witb the amount of anxiety#you carry with you all the time and i was reading that like but not anymore! and it turns out… no it’s still there. it just was summer and#i interacted with fewer people and went almost nowhere. and now the semester is starting again and everything is changing and it’s just. bad#also addendum to the first part of my tags: i wish i was brave enough to ask ppl to like. text me when they get to their destination safe or#whatever. i almost never think of it bc it just seems like such a forward boundary crossing thing to do + it was a bad habit from when my#separation anxiety was MUCH worse as a kid. but like… i want o do it and sometimes i need to but i repress it so hard. lawl#also to say i love you sometimes. some ppl it’s really easy and we do it all the time. others i can’t bc it crosses boundaries and it#physically hurts not to. lolll
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kindof losing my mind bc uhhhh. how am i supposed to like. afford to live.
#i am going to whisper in the tags bc i feel odd about YELLING my bs into the void#i do not have a job yet largely due to physical and mental disabilities#but when i DO start searching for one its like. 90% of online job listings out there are ghost listings#basically none of them hire disabled people and i have disabilities that REQUIRE accommodations#my job search is significantly narrower bc of my disabilities theres a ton of shit i just straight up cannot do#and they all pay about 1 ball of lint & two quarters.#i live in california which thankfully is (relatively) safe for me to transition#but its also. California. which is. Expensive. to live in.#and i have medications i NEED to be a functioning person monthly#on top of taking T at some point#so like ummmmm. chat am i fucked!!!!!!!!!#i could leave california but where do i even go thatd be safe for me AND affordable#its just so hard to get motivated to be independent right now when like. im 18 years old and i can barely walk anymore#im grieving my physical ability at 18 years old#i should be doing that at 70#and everything costs So Much theres no fucking shot i find anywhere in california i could afford IF i can even FIND a fucking JOB I CAN DO#unless i wanna live with my mom forever (who is constantly wearing on my mental health and i DESPERATELY need some distance from)#or live in a literal closet for $2000 a month#what if i have to sacrifice my meds to pay rent i literally am not a functioning human without them so i 100% could not work while off them#idk shit looks so fucking bleak for everyone right now but being disabled makes it a hell of a lot worse#i used to be excited about being independent now i just kindof dread it. or it seems more like a pipe dream#i dont wanna live with my mom til im 25 yall#and transitioning is expensive. and my mom is not going to cover my medical bills lmfaoooo#and idk whats going on with my physical ability so im probably going to have to pay for more doctors appointments#and tests and TESTS AND TESTS#for possibly years#til they figure out what the fuck's wrong#just not excited to live in poverty bc i am a young person in america and basically every young person in america is living in poverty atm#and also not excited to live in a world where i walk with a cane at 18#zep.txt
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.
#mannn i literally assumed he ghosted-- why on earth would he text me after so long????#i was fully like 'ok the last msg i sent literally makes me cringe a bit to read but its been months so ig im never opening the convo again#it was simpler before when there felt like there was nothing else to do and easier to move on. i even had a little crush on someone else !#now i have a whole wheel of decisions to choose from#and idek what i truly want from this guy anymore bc even just platonically he kinda fucked it up like. idk#or rather i want a lot of different things and idk what to choose#i want my friend back. i want to never see him again. i want him to know every truth of what ive felt and i want him to know none of it#i want him to miss me or maybe wonder about me sometimes down the line. i want him to not spare me another thought for the rest of his life#i want to reply only 'go fuck yourself' and i want to write him a letter and i want to ghost him better than he ghosted me#i want to tell him i love him and i want to tell him i hate him and i want to say nothing at all#i want the closure i was denied. i want to protect the closure i now have#<-going insane#anyway its soooo stupid like i already grieved for this shit bro. i accepted the end of this years long close friendship#anyway idk why im doing so much processing of this in a vent post nor do i know why i always feel compelled to post these when i do#good thing i keep a small presence on here lol. but yea uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh send post#ok wait i saved this as a draft and went to go look for what i had been tagging vent posts with#[couldnt find one i had been using consistently even tho the whole point is so ppl can blacklist it if they want whoops!!]#and i saw another vent from another time he just kinda disappeared on me#and while this time was a lot worse for a lot of reasons i think its important to say this--#that the last thing that i want is to go back to square one of this stupid awful cycle#vent
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#vent#gd been a while since I’ve used that tag LMAO#girls when the downward spiral ig ���#anyway uh. gritting my teeth. less than two weeks left until I’m 2 years sh free. 12 days#I can do that#idk what the fuck I’m gonna do after idk how long I can keep doing this shit it doesn’t fucking get any easier. But I can make it 12 days#idk I just fucken. All my old scars r so faded u can’t even rly see them anymore#Gotta make new ones just so it stops feeling like I made it up#idk. Im gonna go to bed early tonight ig
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fucj fuck fuckety fuck
#goddAMNIT why did i have to name myself after an estranged family member#i dont even know himmmbbbb but we have to attend a funeral and hes gonna b there#and idk if my moms gonna be a bitch and tell him i NAMED MYSELF AFTER HIM#i don't even like the name anymore but i havent told her im changing it again bc she didnt respect the first one so whats the point#but now im caught btwn a rock and a hard place either i ADMIT i naamed myself after him and theyre all awww#and then it makes it even harder to go no contact later bc they feel entitled to a presence in my life#or i tell him NO which hurts his feelings is incredibly awkward and turns down potentially the ONE TIME MY MOM DOESNT DEADNAME ME#AND i have to either ask to be deadnamed which id rather kms than do. or tell them my actual new name which my mom. doesnt know#most likely scenario she isnt gonna say anything and im just gonna be relentlessly deadnamed#i just. wont b able to do anything about it bc its HIS NAME#god what was i THINKING#plus its a fucking funeral so theyre gonna want me to wear a dress. and i dont. have decent formal menswear so i cant even say no#FUCK fucking hell#i love being trans i really do but this shit. this shit sucks#finnposting#tag vent#personal
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