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slowburningechoes · 1 year

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remediation

Summary: When your first forensic interview isn't up to program standards, you are forced to meet with your obnoxiously intelligent teacher's assistant to brush up on your knowledge and skills... but he ends up being much different than you imagined.

Pairing: TA!Spencer Reid x Graduate Student Fem!Reader

Content Warning: 18+ Content (NSFW/NSFM) | Slow burn with eventual smut, angst, fluff, pining, sexual tension, office encounters, oral (f)

Word Count: 7.4k

This had to be the most mortifying experience of your life. You had never failed at anything before. Aside from negative lab results from the hospital, your record of passing tests and proving your competency in various areas has never been a problem. Academic accomplishment was your strong suit.

And now, you found yourself here.

In your professor's (who also happens to be the director of the entire program) office, along with his teaching assistant, who happened to be the most obnoxious man you'd ever encountered.

Even though he was only a teaching assistant, Professor Walters always made sure that we called him Doctor Reid since he already had two PhDs and was on his way to a third. He wasn't even a psychology student, he just picked up being the PSY745: Advanced Forensic Psychology TA for fun. Who does that? How was he even allowed to do that?

Those factors alone were enough to vex you, but the reasons just continued to pile up. His hair always being tucked behind his ears, the loose professional clothes swallowing his lanky body, the thick black framed glasses he would wear sporadically... but the absolute worst of all were the tangents.

Somehow, Dr. Reid always knew something about everything - and everything about that something. He would ramble on past the point of relevance, stating the most arbitrary statistics in the most interminable manner. You swear he rambled on last week for nearly an hour about the specific neurochemical indictors associated with criminal deviance. That was the only one you could recall the specifics of since it was slightly interesting and mildly related to the topic of the lecture... but still exasperating, nonetheless.

Now, you found yourself in a predicament stuck in the same room with him for an indeterminate amount of time. You hoped that Dr. Walters would take the lead on this very critical (and frankly, mortifying) conversation... but unsurprisingly, Dr. Reid opened his mouth first.

"Well, miss y/l/n," he started, propping his right ankle upon the opposite knee. "I assume you know why you're here?"

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and maintain professional, responding blankly, "Yes. I do. I made a C on my clinical interview at the men's correctional facility."

Dr. Walters chimed in, "Correct. I believe that you may benefit from some additional guidance before your next session. Until then, pending the results of that interview, you will be placed on remediation."

He was right. You had entered the interview room of the prison, something you had looked forward to accomplishing throughout your entire adult life, and completely froze. You couldn't figure out for the life of you why, whether it was realizing the heinous crimes of the man across from you or knowing that both the men who sat across from you now were standing behind the two-way mirror analyzing your every move. When you finally formed words, they were careless and disorganized, allowing the subject to completely take over the interview. It was humiliating... but this sit-down may be even worse.

"I think that would be very beneficial. Thank you, Dr. Walters," you say, swallowing your pride.

"Perfect. Up until your next interview, you will meet at least twice weekly with Dr. Reid," he states matter-of-factly.

There was no inquiry in his tone, no inflection requiring a response from you. It was set in stone. Dr. Reid was your new tutor for the next two and a half weeks. That meant 4 meets at the very least. But you had to agree as a compliance to your remediation. Your academic success was on the line, and that was a bigger disruption to your life than having to put up with Mr. Know-It-All a couple times a week.

"How does tomorrow at 8:30 work for you?" Dr. Reid asks, opening his leather bound planner.

"In the morning?" You raise your eyebrows, to which he responds with a nod. "On a Saturday?" Another nod.

Alright, you were convinced this man was truly insane. The delay in your speech caused him to tilt his head, signally for an answer. You had already planned a school work-free night of copious wine consumption with your roommate, but you decided you had nothing to lose in agreeing to meet sooner rather than later.

"I have a feeling you'll need some caffeine. Do you want to meet at The Roast?" he offered generously.

You hadn't expected him to care about how conscious you would be, since he had already suggested an early morning meeting on the weekend.

"I'll see you there," you agree, leading his pencil to jot down the information under tomorrow's date. "Thank you, again, Dr. Walters... Dr. Reid."

Your eyes meet for a moment longer then expected before you quickly gather your belongings and head out of the office.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The progressively louder beeps from your alarm woke you up with a jolt from your wine-induced slumber at 7:15 am. The first thing you noticed was the splitting headache spreading across your forehead and deep behind your temples. Probably not your best idea, but you weren't going to sacrifice plans you had already set in stone just for a good night's sleep before meeting with some overly intellectual teaching assistant.

You pop a few Tylenol and take a quick scalding hot shower, and the hangover begins to wear off. As you brush your teeth, you contemplate just showing up as you are - sweatpants and wild hair barely held back by your scrunchy, but you figure that may reflect just as poorly on your professionalism than failing your interview assignment. Plus, you know Dr. Reid will inevitably be dressed to the nines. He probably even expected you to show up looking slovenly. You decide to prove him wrong.

You sort through your closet in an attempt to find the most obnoxiously academic outfit you own. The typical black suit-white blouse combination that most forensics students donned was certainly not enough to prove your point. As you reach the end of your professional clothes, you see the perfect outfit: a pencil dark chocolate brown tartan skirt with a long sleeve cream mock-neck shirt. To finish the outfit off, you grab the matching blazer for the skirt, dark tights, and black chunky loafers.

You pulled your hair back so most of it was off of your neck and face, but a few wispy parts fell to the front before glancing down to check the time on your phone.

8:05 am. You can't believe you spent so much time searching for an outfit for your mandatory tutoring session - how embarrassing. You had to pick up your pace, the coffee shop was at least a fifteen minute walk and you sure as hell weren't going to be late. You were certain that Dr. Reid had already ordered some piping hot bitter black coffee and overanalyzed the room to choose the most ideal seating for optimal heat flow or something completely ridiculous like that.

You manage to throw together some light coverage makeup, swiping gel through your brows and managing to get one coat of mascara on before your stumbling out the door with your backpack swung over one shoulder.

The walk is chillier than you expect and for a moment you regret being bare legged in the middle of fall in New England, but the impact of the outfit would make up for bracing the frigid air.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

By the time you enter the coffee shop, your nose and cheeks are bright pink from cold and the heat inside was so warm it stung your skin. You pull out your phone to check the time just as your body fully passes through the doorway.

8:25 am. The cold had slowed you down a bit, but you were still technically early.

You scan the room and lock eyes with Dr. Reid in the corner booth diagonal from the doorway. His usually straight and studying stare was strangely one that seemed to be of concern, with furrowed brows and widened eyes. As you stride towards him, he suddenly stands up.

"This side is warmer, sit here," he says, gesturing to wear he had just been seated.

You give him a confused look. "No, Dr. Reid. That's alright, really."

"No, no, you look like you're freezing," he motions to the bench and places his hand on your back. "I insist."

You didn't feel like arguing, especially since all you could think about was getting off your feet - those loafers definitely weren't broken in all the way. Why did you care to impress him so much anyways?

You sit down and hand his briefcase off to him from across the table. He was right, though, this side was pretty cozy already.

"You haven't even ordered anything yet. What would you like?" Dr. Reid asks, moving his own cup across the table.

You catch a glimpse at the abbreviations on the side that translated to: 20 oz latte with two extra shots of espresso and - 6 packets of sugar? This man definitely wasn't the straight black coffee man you pinned him to be. He certainly needed the caffeine boost, but he needed enough sugar to kill a small animal in order to down it.

You glance up at him and his head is perched to the side, waiting for an answer to his inquiry.

"Uh - don't worry, I'll go grab something real quick!" You urge, fiddling through your backpack for your wallet.

"It's alright, let me get it. Something to make having to sit with me a little less miserable," he states, spitting the first self-deprecating and non-savant joke you'd heard him say. "What will it be?"

You manage to half-grin through your frozen cheeks, agreeing to his offer. "A hot dirty chai with oat milk would be perfect."

You swear you caught a smirk flash across his face before he turned and headed for the counter. You had never thought of Dr. Reid as being anything less than some kind of humanoid robot, but he was managing to quickly tear down that perspective. When he arrived back with your drink, he continued to deconstruct that idea entirely by a simple phrase.

"You can call me Spencer, by the way."

Spencer. You, of course, knew his first name couldn't possibly be "doctor" but there was never an inkling that he would be okay with you calling him anything but that title.

"Then you can call me y/n, not miss y/l/n," you respond teasingly, slipping the warm drink from his hand.

An embarrassed grin spreads across his lips. "Yeah, I'm sorry about all that. It's an old school formality that Dr. Walters insists upon. But here, I'm Spencer and you're y/n."

Something about the way he said your name made all of your cheeks radiate with heat, thankfully the wind-burn rash covered up the fact that you were blushing. That was even more embarrassing than spending a ridiculous amount of time on your outfit, especially since it seems to have had no influence on him whatsoever compared to the fact you looked frozen. Now he was making you blush, what the hell?

"So, what do you say we get to it?" Spencer inquires, opening up his briefcase to remove multiple books and a file with your name on it. "What has been giving you the most trouble?"

You down another sip of your tea before reaching into your backpack to remove your laptop. "Honestly, reviewing general interview skills would probably be beneficial."

He opened the black folder with your name on the front and shuffled through the stack of papers in its right pocket. Spencer pulls out numerous papers from various points in the stack and laid them out between the two of you. They were some of your verbatim transcriptions from your practice interviews from throughout your previous semester and current forensic psychology classes. Each had a red circled "A" on the top right-hand corner with various positive comments along the side.

"You know the content, y/n. You have the skills and you demonstrated them well when practicing with your peers. We can go over them again if you like, but I don't want to repeat things you already excel at," Spencer said matter-of-factly, pointing to the multiple successes spread in front of you.

You were silent for a moment, stunned that he had said you "excelled" and generally unsure of how to proceed. You couldn't admit to him that you had just become paralyzed as you entered the room. That you felt incapable and that your heart was beating a thousand times per second as soon as the door slammed shut behind you. The doubt permeated and transformed into anxiety, which completely ruined not only your confidence but now your competency level. You wanted, still, to prove yourself as capable and qualified in your pursuits.

Spencer eventually broke the silence, sensing your discomfort. He proceeded to go back over the basic intervention skills with you and pose a variety of practice questions for the next few hours until it was close to lunch time. He was right, it did feel repetitive and quite pointless, but if it helped you overcome the remediation period that's all that mattered.

As you wrapped up your first session together and headed for the door of the cafe, Spencer noticed how your face winced as the cold air hit your body.

"Let me drive you home, y/n," he insisted, adjusting the long strap that held his briefcase on his arm. "You were practically frozen when you came in this morning."

"The sun is out now, so it won't be as cold," you responded quickly.

He gave you a smug and perplexed look. "Don't be ridiculous. My car is right around the corner."

You gave in and walked beside him down the sidewalk, bundling your coat around you for warmth. Spencer eventually halted beside an old fashioned cream colored car and placed his keys in the passenger side door. Once unlocked, he opened the door and motioned for you to take a seat.

When you sat down you noticed the cool touch of the dark leather against the back of your thighs and a faint scent of bergamot and vanilla surrounded you. Soon, Spencer sat down beside you. The make of the car was so antique there was no console to separate your knees from accidentally bumping his.

"Where am I headed?" he asked, wrapping his long arm around the back of your seat to turn and look out the rearview window. That scent of warm bergamot and vanilla completely engulfed you as the space between the two of you was closed more than ever.

It takes you a moment to gather yourself and respond, "Uh - about 8 blocks that way. I live at the apartments off third."

He nods with understanding as he shifts gears and then proceeds to turn on the radio. The soft classical music made the silence of the short drive bearable.

As the car rolled to stop in front of your apartment building, you didn't expect Spencer to get out and open the door for you once again - but he did.

Almost simultaneously, you both reach towards the floor of the car to grab your backpack. You accidentally bump heads and find yourself nose to nose with your now not-so-annoying and kind-of-handsome teacher's assistant. For a moment, neither of you move or say a word. In fact, you try your best not to breathe too sharply. You lock eyes with Spencer and notice a fervor in his gaze that made your heartbeat begin to beat so hard that you swore that both of you could hear it.

Suddenly, he pulls away and stands parallel to the opened door. As you come out of the car and stand in front of him, he quickly states, "I'll email you... to set up our next session."

You can't ignore the tension and manage to crack a half smile in a failed attempt to break it.

"That sounds great. Thank you, again," you respond, swinging your backpack over your shoulder and stepping further onto the sidewalk.

Spencer's posture was like a stone wall and his sweet demeanor from earlier in your interactions suddenly formed back into that of a strict professional.

"You're welcome," was all he managed to spit out before abruptly closing the passenger side door and entering back into the car.

His sudden attitude shift was nerve-racking and even as he drove away, it left you dumbfounded standing beside your building's entryway. Was there something about being close to you that was truly that off putting? Self consciousness filled your mind as you considered the fact that maybe it was your breath or that you forgot to put on deodorant... but nothing seemed to make sense.

You tried your best to let it go as you walked the steps up to your apartment, but you found yourself growing more nervous for your next session than you were for your first - not because of academic stress, but because of the unpredictability and complexity of Dr. Spencer Reid.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That Tuesday in class, Dr. Reid - Spencer - or whatever he wanted to be called at this point, avoided eye contact with you throughout the entire lecture. Even when he passed out a case vignette, he managed to dodge your gaze. It had been two days and obviously whatever it was that happened was still on his mind. He hadn't even emailed you about your next session yet and it was 10:00 am on the second day of the week - he's usually a Monday at 8:00 am kind of instructor. Shockingly, though, the remediation session concern was secondary in your mind to the fact that he seemed to actively attempt to evade you. Even after class, you went to speak with him at the lectern, but he seemed to rush out of the classroom with unorganized stacks of papers in his hand.

Fine, you thought. Office hours it is.

You didn't even bother to knock on his door before opening it swiftly. There he was behind a vintage wooden desk with a collection of papers skewed in front of him. He was studying them so intently it was almost as if he hadn't heard you enter at all, so you cleared your throat to get his attention.

When Spencer looked up and saw you, his eyes widened with surprise and what seemed to be a touch of anxiety. "Oh - y/n, hello. Wh-what can I do for you?" He shuffled the papers in front of him into a drawer quickly.

"Setting up our next session would be nice," you state matter-of-factly. He goes to open up his agenda as you continue. "And maybe an explanation to why you've been acting so strange with me."

His eyes dart up quickly and he adamantly protests, "I have no idea what you mean."

You place the heel of your palms on the edge of his desk and lean over closer towards him. "Well, you haven't emailed me -"

"I forgot."

"Forgot? Aren't you known for having an eidetic memory or something?" you respond in disbelief.

He has no rebuttal to that.

"You wouldn't look at me or even walk by me during lecture. And I had to chase you all the way to your office in order to speak to you at all," you say before flopping down onto the brown barrel chair across from his desk.

"I'm sorry," Spencer says, his head hanging low. "I've just had a lot on my mind... well, more than usual. Personal stuff. I should've been more accessible to you, I know that the remediation period is stressful enough already."

The apology and explanation seemed reasonable enough, so you dropped the subject and moved on to schedule your next meeting. Together, you agreed upon the meeting back in his office following day after your final lecture was over at 5:00 pm.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

5:00 pm rolled around and you found yourself alone in Spencer's office. He was always punctual without fail, but you didn't worry too much since he said he had a lot going on. You took the extra time to walk around the small area and look at all the little trinkets and decor he had set up. There were fossils, stacks of unfinished crosswords, and numerous books about a vast variety of subjects among so many other things.

You tried not to look at his desk, since you were certain there was confidential information about your peers, but your interest was piqued whenever you saw your name at the top of a piece of paper sticking out of the top left drawer. You quietly pulled it open a few more inches and fingered through the stack of paper. Each and every one read "y/l/n, y/n" somewhere on them. Your academic transcripts, your curriculum vitae, your personal statement, and multiple research papers were among the stack. You realized that the papers he had been studying so diligently yesterday were all of your documents. You were stunned and felt stuck in place, you didn't find it creepy but you did find it baffling.

Suddenly, the office door creaked and you practically jumped to sit down across from the desk. Spencer entered with a deep breath and walked past you to get to his seat, but his leg bumped into the still-open drawer on the way. You had to hold back from gasping and tried your best to regain your composure, acting as if you had seen nothing.

Spencer swiftly closed the drawer and walked back around towards you to sit on the edge of his desk. "I can explain," he said softly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you claim.

"Y/n, I know you saw them," Spencer sighed, crossing one of his ankles on top of the opposite thigh.

You didn't know how to respond or if you even could with the growing knot in your throat. His eyes surprisingly looked upon you gently, not the sharp angry gaze you expected to see.

"I - I didn't mean to pry," you managed to blurt out, shame causing your body to radiate with heat. "I'm sorry."

A scoff left his lips, "I'm the one that should be sorry. I didn't mean to pry either, I just - had to know more."

"About me?" you inquired, looking up at him with furrowed brows.

Spencer threw his head back and inhaled deeply before responding, "Yes. I guess I thought that going this avenue would keep it more professional than... personal."

"Personal?" you spouted another question since your brain could hardly compute the situation.

"I really enjoyed meeting with you the other day and...I guess I just wanted to learn more about you outside of academics," Spencer mumbled.

"Like as a friend?" you asked, attempting to clarify his motivations.

His tone suddenly jumped with alarming certainty as he responded, "Yes, yes! Like friendship."

The tension that was previously between the two of you had shifted to an uncertain resolve, but it was settled enough to feel less on edge and continue the session. Despite feeling less tense, you had to admit you were slightly disappointed that he didn't seem to have felt the same shock to the system that you did when you were so close just a few days earlier. As you studied techniques, common personality types of offenders, and assessed your interview transcript, you attempted to forget that feeling you had experienced and accept Spencer's offer of friendship - but he kept getting in the way.

He would use his long fingers to scan down sentence by sentence and would frequently bite down softly on his bottom lip when considering how to word certain critiques. Strands of Spencer's hair would fall in front of his glasses and you were so tempted to tuck it back behind his ears like he always had it. About halfway through the session, he rolled up the sleeves of his light blue horizontal striped shirt up to his elbows. You never thought that the mere exposure of someone's forearms could make you speechless, but his soft skin and slightly protruding veins did you in.

As you struggled to concentrate, you started to notice the silence. Spencer hadn't gone on any tangents, in fact he seemed not to say much more than what he had to... and surprisingly, you kind of missed it.

Before you could even think about the words leaving your lips, they fell out. "Could you - tell me more?"

"About predictors of criminal behavior?" Spencer perked up at the suggestion, continuing without a prompt. "Well, one of the most well known indicators of future criminal behavior is a diagnosis of a disruptive behavior disorder at a young age or antisocial personality disorder in young adulthood..." As he rambled on, he reached for a large academic book before leaning closer towards you as he flipped through the pages. Spencer continued to switch between verbatim recitation of text and numerous statistics. You couldn't help but stare at him, completely taken by his excess of knowledge and the way that the most elaborative words rolled of his tongue like they were the most common lay terms.

Spencer closed the book tight and locked eyes with your obvious gaze of adoration and he smirked. "Was that what you wanted?"

"Mhm - I mean, yes. Thank you," you said quietly, trying to ignore the heat radiating beneath your skin.

"I think this may be a good stopping point for this session," Spencer states, rising to stand in front of where you were still seated. "I'll see you in class on Monday, and how about another meeting afterwards?"

"Back here?" you ask, with hope he'll say yes.

He nods in agreement, with a tone slightly more suggestive than you expected. "Yes, back here. If that's alright with you."

"More than alright, that sounds perfect," you say as you gather your belongings before standing up to where the bodies were nearly touching. The tension was back again, but it wasn't that of uncertainty - rather of expectation.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Much unlike the week before, the following Monday's lecture was filled with your eyes meeting more often than they should. That may be attributed to the fact that you purposefully chose to wear another outfit that you hoped would grab his attention, making sure to provide plenty of layers so his concern about your body temperature didn’t get in the way. You opted to wear a heavier top than before, specially the most cozy, drop shoulder, cream sweater. You had an extra layer of warm on top with a bulky faux fur lined jacket and your bottom half covered with dark tights and an addition layer of a neutral brown thigh high stockings to accompany your loafers. The skirt you had selected was what you were beating real money on, though: a deep brown houndstooth print mini skirt. On top of it all, you decided to test out your rarely-worn-but-desperately-needed prescription glasses with a thin gold wire frame.

You weren’t able to pinpoint which part caught his attention most, but every time that Spencer would turn to speak to your side of the class and catch a glimpse of you, he began to uncharacteristically fumble over his words. When you bit the tip of your pencil to contain your laughter, it seemed to make his reaction even more unhinged.

As your cohort members shuffled out of the room to head to their inevitable hours of reading, Spencer followed, presumably to prepare himself better than your last encounter… or at least hide whatever sensitive information he had lying about.

When you arrived at his office, you suspicions were confirmed. Spencer had speed organized what he could within his office and certainly made sure to shut and lock all his desk drawers. He was sitting in his office chair with his lanky legs propped up on the corner of the desk, openly flipping through your file which was propped up in his lap.

“I thought you said you could just ask,” you teased, swinging your book bag into the spare chair.

Spencer shrugged and provided a sarcastic response, “But this is so much easier! Y/l/n, y/n: full ride scholarship for your undergraduate education, numerous scholarships and research grants, and absolutely glowing letters of recommendation from some of the leading members in the field of psychology. Impressive.”

“Yeah, none of that seems like something a friend would be interested in knowing unless they were some secret job interviewer,” you roll your eyes and snatch the file from his hand before dropping it on his desk. “What kind of information are you even trying to find? Because unless it’s academic, this file won’t get you anywhere.”

“That’s not exactly true, there is a section on your extracurricular activities,” Spencer responded adamantly.

You flash him an expression of exasperation before bending over to grab your materials from your backpack. When you did so, you heard a faint hitch in Spencer's breathing. As you turned back around, he still hadn't closed his mouth from gaping slightly and his eyes were still focused on your body.

You didn't know what to say, so you just asked, "Are you alright?"

That broke his trance and he came to the other side of his desk and suddenly put his hand on your waist, closing the space between you for the first time. You couldn't help but look up at him with wide and confused eyes.

"I want to know everything about you, y/n - what your favorite color is and what makes you tick, what makes this interview so hard for you, what you wear to sleep at night, how you feel... how you taste..." Spencer spoke lowly, his voice trailing off at the end.

The warmth of his body against yours and the words that he said left you dumbfounded, barely able to mutter, "T-that's a lot more than a friend would know."

"I know," he sighed, before leaning down to whisper in your ear. "I lied."

Chills went down your neck and you felt a simultaneous sense of relief and need permeate your entire body. You were afraid he hadn't noticed you the way that you had him, but apparently you had been very wrong. "Why - why didn't you just say that?"

"I privilege myself on being controlled... professional, but I just can't stand it anymore - not while you look so good in that skirt and you keep staring at me during class... biting that pencil, god."

"You stared first," you insist, but you are cut off by his massive hand on the side of your face pulling you to a passionate kiss.

"Shut up," Spencer says, pulling away breathlessly.

You tug him back down to your level by his tie and press your lips against his with even more force. Spencer's lips are incredibly soft and as they eventually part to involve his tongue in your kiss, a small moan falls from them. That sound was like music to your ears, motivating skillful and calculated movements from both of you. You ran your fingers through his luscious brown waves and latched on firmly, tugging to emit another faint groan. With that, his hand moved from your waist and down to your ass, gripping it firmly and massaging it in his hands.

"I think we'll have to reschedule your study session," he mumbled breathlessly before hoisting you up onto the clear edge of the desk and planting wet kisses along your neck. "We'll be a little preoccupied today."

You whimpered softly at the intoxicating feeling of Spencer gently sucking on the most tender parts of you neck. "I-I agree, Dr. Reid."

He hums against your neck and it reverberates down your spine, making your entire body more sensitive and a well of warmth grow in between your legs.

"The first time you came into lecture, you were wearing a skirt almost as short as this w-with your hair pulled back and these perfect pink lips. I wanted to j-jump you right then," he said pulling away from you for a moment, causing you to groan in disappointment at the lack of his touch. "Then you came into the cafe and I could've looked at you for ages if you hadn't been shivering. God, then you opened your mouth and the more you talked the less I could concentrate..."

You had a feeling he'd continue to go on and on if you didn't stop him, so you cut him off. "So, that's why you were acting so odd when you dropped me off."

"I was afraid I'd kiss you when we both reached for your bag, and then I knew I had to drive away quickly or else I'd try to convince you to let me come upstairs."

"Maybe I would've let you," you purred in his ear before lightly bringing his earlobe between your teeth. "And what would we have done?"

"I - I...," for the first time since you've known him, he could barely form words. "I would have touched you."

"How?" you inquire, smirking against his skin as you loosened his tie.

Spencer slowly untucked your sweater from your skirt and ran his cool hands up along your torso and up to cup your tender breasts. As he felt them full in the palm of his hand, Spencer couldn't help but mutter a few curse words under his breath. "L-like this."

You continued to work his tie off and unbutton his shirt as he shut his eyes in pleasure. "And where would I have touched you?" you ask, running your hands down to open his shirt, revealing soft skin and slightly defined abs.

Spencer took his free hand to guide one of yours down to the bulge that his black dress pants were concealing.

"Here," a moan huffed from his mouth, followed by a desperate "yes".

Spencer's IQ of 187 had reverted back to a brain filled with nothing but desire and his body full of the same aching need as yours, which became apparent as he rushed to lock his office door before stripping your sweater off. All he could do was stare down at your chest, now scattered with goosebumps and barely contained by your bra. Spencer was able to unclasp it in a less than a second and as you slouched it off the sudden temperature shift caused your nipples to become hard. He looked between your face and your breasts for a few moments, mouth gaping in disbelief before he enveloped one with his hand and the other with his mouth. Spencer swirled his tongue around your sensitive bud and twirled the other between his thumb and index finger, looking up at you with contentment in his golden brown eyes. The wetness between your thighs grew and the throbbing of want became excruciating.

Before you could consciously gather the words, they escaped you, “I need you, Spencer.”

“God, say my name again. Please,” he begged, kissing your rib cage.

You worked down your skirt and tights, kicking off your shoes as you went, leaving you standing before him in nothing but a pair of cheeky black panties. “Please, Spencer. Touch me here.”

He brought you in for a forceful kiss before dropping to his knees and bringing two fingers to press against the outside of your underwear. When he brought them back away, they were glistening lightly.

“I’m going to do more than touch you,” he growls, hooking his fingers on either side of your panties and pulling them down in one stride. “I’m going to taste you.”

Pushing you back onto his desk, Spencer pried open your legs to reveal the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Your pussy was already slick with wetness and your clit was swollen with need. He had the perfect view of it, your tits, and every facial expression you would make. Throwing your legs around his shoulders, he licked a stripe up your slit causing your toes to curl. He lapped at it skillfully and placed kisses along the lips before wrapping them around your throbbing clit and sucking softly. You couldn’t help but grab onto the desk edge and wrap your other hand through his hair in an attempt to contain your cries. Spencer soon brought two of his fingers to join, pumping in and out of you as he put his focus on your bundle of nerves.

“S-Spencer, if you keep going like this I’ll cum,” you whimper desperately.

He shook his head while still putting in the work. “No, no, y/n. The only place you’ll be coming tonight is on my cock.”

That nearly sent you over the edge, but he pulled away just before you hit your peak. You whined at the loss of contact, but quickly sat up to help him undo his belt and strip him of his black slacks. His heather gray boxer briefs were tented in the middle, barely containing his erection. You caught yourself licking your lips as you reached to stroke it gently before tugging down his underwear. When he sprung up in all his fullness, an audible gasp slipped from your mouth. You had considered what he looked like shirtless and maybe the fleeting thought of him naked, but you had never thought about how big he might be. Despite this, you had to admit that you were pleasantly surprised. Spencer's cock was long and hit just above his navel and he was girthy enough you were nervous that he may not fit, but you sure wanted to give it a try.

"How do you want me, Dr. Reid?" you query, looking up at him with suggestive eyes.

A low rumble came from Spencer's throat and he wrapped his arm around you to flip you over his wooden desk. A large hand squeezed your ass before parting to expose your core.

"Mmm, so wet for me," he grinned, rubbing the tip in between your folds.

The feeling was euphoric already and he hadn't even entered you yet. There wasn't anything on your mind except the overwhelming need for him and the fact that every touch felt like electricity.

"Please, more," you cry softly, looking back at him desperately and spreading your legs wider.

"Fuck - of course, angel. Anything you want," Spencer said fervently, slipping a new nickname for you just as smoothly as he entered you.

Inch by inch your walls stretched for him in a painful bliss that had your hands intertwined with his and hushed moans of passion filling the air surrounding you. By the time he bottomed out, your eyes were tearful and he had reached the crest of your cervix. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, like someone was formed to fit into you perfectly and you never wanted him to leave. You both sat still for a moment, adjusting to the pressure, but Spencer gave the first stroke and you both crumbled.

The first few pumps were cautious, but they quickly devolved into uncontrolled sloppy thrusts. He threaded his lengthy fingers through your hair and lifted you up by it just enough that your head was off the desk. The rhythm he had taken on was perfect and the sensation of his thighs slapping against yours made it vibrate through your body. Uncharacteristic cuss words drabbled from his mouth and primal whimpers for more flowed from yours. He was hitting every spot just right, not slamming into your cervix but tapping it just enough that you felt it in your stomach.

"Rub your clit, angel," Spencer demanded. "I-I don't have enough hands, please. I want you to feel good."

"I feel more than good already, but -," you reached down between your legs and began to rub your clit in figure eights, causing your words to trail off into meaningless mumbles.

His pace became steady as he found a spot that he realized made your toes curl. The combination of the hair pulling, perfect placement, and clitoral stimulation you found yourself quickly back on the edge of a climax. Pressure built in your abdomen and your leg muscles began to tense up. Apparently, he felt it, too, as your walls contracted around him causing him to moan your name breathlessly.

"Spence, I - I'm going to cum," you whimper, your finger movements becoming more rapid.

"Y/n, I'm begging - please cum on my cock," Spencer cried, the sense of desperation in his voice real and adamant. "Please please please,"

His begs motivated your climax to roll through you, causing your fingertips to become soaked and your cum to coat his cock along with your wetness. "S-Spence, baby - I want your cum inside me."

He thrusted into you deeply and a guttural groan escaped him. "Fuck, angel. Are you sure?"

With what little strength you had left you nodded vehemently, "I-I'm on the pill, I never miss a day. Please, sir."

You believe the "sir" is what did him in, slamming into you only four more times before coming undone. The feeling of his cock twitching inside of you and his cum filling you completely was one that admittedly made you feel feral and powerful. The noises that escaped him were irrepressible and the grip he had on your ass was as well. Even after he was finished, he held on tightly for a few seconds before slowly pulling out... but you still felt so full of him.

"You know," Spencer said. "I'm not really the make love and leave kind of guy."

"So is that what we did - make love?" you approach him and press a small teasing peck on his lips.

He smirks down at you, "You know that wasn't just some regular fuck."

"Mmm," you hummed. "Now, that is very true. So, what are you suggesting?"

"Would you want to come back to my place and... spend the night?" he suggests, a tone of shyness in his voice.

You don't even consider the alternative before agreeing and wrapping your arms around his neck for a long kiss.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"You know," Spencer starts, handing you a mug full of chamomile tea. "It's a real shame I won't get to grade your papers anymore. I always enjoyed reading your perspectives."

You sip on the cup and prop yourself up on a pillow. "Well, maybe if you're lucky I'll let you proofread them."

Spencer crawls in bed beside you, wrapping his arm around your upper body to pull you closer to him. "I think I might have figured out what was making you so nervous during your interview," he said.

"And what is that?" you inquire.

"Well, self-doubt for one. Even though, like I said before, you know the content like the back of your hand. But I think the main part was the fact that you were being observed."

"You think I'm afraid of Dr. Walters and you," you scoff, sitting the tea on the bedside table.

"Afraid isn't quite the word, intimidated maybe? I mean we don't appear to be the most approachable pair. Walters never shows emotion and is known for being a tough professor, and I'm -," he says before you cut him off.

"Obnoxiously intelligent with nearly three doctorate degrees?"

"Obnoxious?" He scoffs with a sarcastic tone. "Thanks for letting me know how you really feel."

You roll your eyes, "Yes, obnoxious. If you hadn't been so approachable during our first session I would have continued to think that you were a strict academic who didn't know how to let loose and have some fun."

"Ouch!" Spencer clutched at his heart. "Well, I sure proved you wrong today."

"That you did, Spence," you kiss his cheek. "And fine, maybe you're right - most of my nerves were probably tied to the fact that I was intimidated by your very serious demeanors."

"I like it when you call me that." You were surprised he had seemed to ignore the other half of your statement.

"What? Spence?" you ask, cuddling close to his chest.

"Yes," he responds, and you hear his heart skip a beat. "I don't think anyone's ever called me that before."

"No one has ever called me angel before either," you say, drawing a line down the valley of his chest.

"Well, I think you'll do wonderfully on your remediation interview, angel," Spencer states, bringing your hand up to place a kiss upon it.

You snuggle closer, engulfed in his warmth and the scent of spiced vanilla. "I think so, too. I'm way more comfortable with the content... and my assessors."

please feel free to request! (or let me know what you think!)

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third-arch · 2 months

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So, I got Law's perfume.

I did one spray on my drawing pad glove and thought I'd say everything that comes to mind.

I also go nose blind really easily, so I'm posting this so I'll never forget :))!!

I chose to not use the image below and just go with it.

Here's what I was supposed to smell.

My disorganized rambling interpretation of what I smelled.

Overall, Law just smells really nice. He just smells like a guy haha. There's no better way of putting it. It smells like a fresh wooded area with eucalyptus and subtle hints of rosemary. The lemon gives it a more natural and sunshine and morning dew feeling to it. It gives it this slight edge and almost tanginess.

Clean, professional, doctor/'s office, fresh, plants, morning dew, rosemary, some mint.

It doesn't irritate my nose. It makes me feel calm. Just relaxed and happy. There's nothing in particular that makes it pop or makes me feel like waaa >////<, it's just relaxing, soothing, mature. There's a gentleness that follows, too. Like if someone was smiling softly at you or gazing softly, or like a small gentle breeze. Or even patting your head.

No sweetness nor bitterness, just gentleness and softness.

It's nice, like a slight intensity of these mature ingredients and a gentle after feeling.

The best way I'd describe it is like if someone just came out of the shower and was getting ready for the day.

Incense, like a really nice and natural incense. Even like a cologne or something.

There's no sweetness or sugary scent to it. He just smells very natural.

The first thing that I thought of is just Law's back. Like he's wearing nice clothes.

Not like the smell of fresh clothes, but just like nature and plants, specifically eucalyptus. Followed by a soft rain or drizzle. The ground still dark and slightly damp.

Sort of but not really, like if someone had spent the day working with plants at their desk, with a mortar and pestle or just working with plants indoors, and collecting them outdoors.

I think of sunshine peeking through the canopies of trees,

If I had to give it a song, it would be a Hozier song or Daylight by David Kushner. The after smell is Lavender Haze by Taylor Swift, or a more acoustic version of the song and Unidentified Flavourful Object by Mili.

This song, too,

Vivaldi Variation (Arr. for Piano from Concerto for Strings in G Minor, RV 156)

Or maybe like a piano playlist, like something by oliviaalee. Sort of but not really dark academia. (Lemon what are you talking about)

It even smells a tad like very subtly like the ocean. Just like a fresh watery, natural breeze.

I can now smell the lavender and the lemon a bit better.

A bit like fresh lavender.

I feel relaxed when smelling it. It's very mature, attractive, professional, and clean.

A quiet morning. Going on a nice evening date with your boyfriend/partner, who dressed up nice. Like a nice, black suit.

Here are some visuals of what I imagined when smelling it. Literally Daylight-David Kushner MV.

(Insert photo of law shirtless getting out of the shower/bed or wearing a suit or the back of his neck.)

Here’s a transcript of my live reaction to smelling the perfume!!

Overall, just reading this all again makes the smell familiar again :))

In the end, Law just smells like a guy, just fresh and natural.

I hope this helps some writers out there!!

#one piece #op #trafalgar law #trafalgar one piece #trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece art #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #op imagines #law one piece #law #my trafalgar law hc's!!#no surprises a trafalgar law x reader fan fiction

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sentientsky · 5 months

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Crowley + Attachment Style

I was talking to @actual-changeling the other day about attachment styles, and they confirmed my idea that Crowley is, contrary to popular belief, not someone with an anxious attachment style. Rather, like Aziraphale, he exhibits signs of a fearful-avoidant/disorganized attachment style (just in a slightly different and less obvious way). I’ve had this draft kicking around since September (??? October?? time is an illusion), so enjoy my silly (not-so-little) ramblings. TW // discussion of child abuse (not explicit) Okay, I've seen a couple of discussions surrounding this (cue me doing a frantic, sleep-deprived Tumblr Literature Review approx. five minutes ago), so this is just me tossing two pennies into a fountain, shrugging, and walking away. I totally see how Crowley could be interpreted as having an anxious attachment style. At the same time, as someone with a fearful-avoidant/disorganized attachment style (thanks, dad! <3), I believe there's space to explore that as a possibility.

My credentials, you ask?? Decades of trauma and an intimate knowledge of what it's like to have a disorganized attachment style (I'm WORKING ON IT, okay?? lol). Also a fuckton of research. All sources will be linked because I am a professional (<- LYING). Okay, so let's do a quick crash course on attachment theory as a concept itself, and then shift into manifestations of disorganized attachment style (I'm going to call it "DAS" for short bc I'm tired). I'm doing this as a formality, because let's be honest. Would you be in this fandom without having had experienced at least some measure of childhood trauma? What is Attachment Theory? (source) "Attachment theory, in developmental psychology, [is] the theory that humans are born with a need to form a close emotional bond with a caregiver and that such a bond will develop during the first six months of a child’s life if the caregiver is appropriately responsive." There are a variety of attachment styles, each of which differently predicts how an individual will react in interpersonal situations according to how they were raised. While there are, obviously, further nuances to this, a core group of four feature most prominently:

Let's go deeper. What does it mean to have a DAS? In short, a DAS (also known as "fearful-avoidant attachment style") often comes about as a result of childhood abuse. The child relies upon the caregiver to ensure their (the child's) survival. However, when the parent is abusive (physically, emotionally, verbally, etc.), this obviously poses a threat to the wellbeing of the child. So they develop this deep-rooted sense of distrust and fear. It helps me to think of it as a flame: you want to be warmed by the heat of the fire, but if you get too close, you'll get burnt. Consequently, you're trapped in this wavering "too close", "too far" situation. One of the best explanations I've read with regards to DAS is from this source:

Separation and abandonment (though most likely to produce an organized form of attachment, such as anxious or avoidant) can lead to the establishment of a DAS:

(source) After experiencing abuse and abandonment in Heaven, and again as a Fallen angel, Crowley has, like Aziraphale, been exposed to conditions that would create this particular attachment style (for a further explanation of Aziraphale's DAS, see this post). However, as I mentioned in the above linked post,

In contrast, Crowley has a more nuanced, consequentialist view of morality. Having Fallen, having intimately known the depths of what both Heaven and Hell are capable of (e.g., his time in Hell post-1827), he isn't living with this unpredictable "parent"--he solidly understands that the existing system is fundamentally wrong.

At times, he does experience what appears to be ambivalence (or, more likely, a sense of deep-rooted loss and abandonment):

However, the Final Fifteen emphasizes that this lingering mindset is overridden by the acknowledgment of an innately harmful structure:

Having established this, what does Crowley's DAS look like + how does it differ from Aziraphale's? Well, in my research, I would posit "compulsive caregiving" plays a role. Compulsive Caregiving What is "compulsive caregiving"? It's a form of DAS that emerges as a result of specific developmental conditions. Having their needs (or QUESTIONS) ignored or else punished by a caregiver, a child may learn to "never ask for anything", and instead care for others, often sacrificing their own wellbeing/needs for the sake of the other party (see further explanations below).

(Sources: 1, 2, 3, 4)

Here, we can see how Crowley might fall into the category of "compulsive care-giving". Both he and Azi try to protect each other to a severe degree, but Crowley's compulsivity might be a bit more apparent in this regard. He's learned not to ask for the things he wants (avoidant manifestation), but he also feels a desperate need to prove himself and protect Aziraphale through compulsive caregiving (anxious manifestation). It's only with his back pressed against the figurative wall in the Final Fifteen (or on the brink of Armageddon in season 1) that he is able to say it plainly. The Push-And-Pull of DAS As has been discussed so many times previously, this idea of ambivalence also features prominently in the relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale themselves. There's a constant push-and-pull in their dynamic, as evidenced below: Aziraphale refers to him as a friend, he compliments him, exists in close quarters with him, etc...

But he also pushes Crowley away and consistently reiterates the categorical black-and-white thinking of Heaven/Hell.

[Disclaimer: I acknowledge that this wavering attitude, while infuriating and unfair to Crowley, is also largely as a result of religious trauma; Aziraphale needs some serious therapy. As we see exhibited throughout the Final Fifteen, Aziraphale still believes that Heaven is, fundamentally, good (or at least holds the capacity to become good). This doesn't negate the fact that he loves Crowley, but it does impact the way he views the two of them and their relationship, causing a significant strain and eventual break in their bond].

So we have the root, we have the manifestations within the other party, but how does this DAS figure within Crowley's character itself? Manifestations of DAS in Adulthood

Speaking from personal experience, DAS can manifest in adult life in several ways. In the present day, I tend to (But not always! I'm getting better, lol) attach myself to people who are touch-and-go; who variously show me affection and disinterest (*cough cough* my ex-bsf). Often, when I felt like the other person was pulling away/withdrawing, I would also pull away. Because my caregivers flipped between rage and calm, venom-spitting hatred and comforting affection very, very quickly and very, very easily, I had to constantly be on edge, anticipating my next move and ready to go into resolution/fawning mode ("compulsive caretaking") at the drop of a hat. And that notion of push-and-pull, "never really knowing where you stand" is what I grew up thinking of as love. This pulling away in the face of perceived rejection can also point to issues with self-esteem...

SIDEBAR: CROWLEY AND SELF-ESTEEM The way Crowley is written with regards to his trauma responses is so interesting and also so real to me. We have this entity who has spent the better part of six thousand years (likely more, because we don't have a definitive timeline for the Fall) believing he is so thoroughly and utterly unwanted as to be pushed to the underbelly of the Universe, hidden away amongst sulphur and agony and absence.

Speaking as someone with ah...childhood...uh. issues (sure, let's call it that. why not?), after being told that you are disgusting, horrible, unworthy, etc. so many times, you begin to believe it. And because, as children, we're forced to rely on primary caregivers, often the only way to maintain that connection lies in the internalization of that unworthiness, to the point where it's difficult to separate you from these ideas of worthlessness. And because you've experienced it so consistently throughout your life, you also come to anticipate rejection; you look for it everywhere, feeling as though it's right around the corner. Therefore, to kind of pre-emptively avoid emotional harm (or because you feel unworthy of asking for more or for reassurance), you cauterize the figurative wound and pull away. We'll come back to this idea in a couple moments! Returning to the main point, let's look at these markers of a DAS more broadly:

(source)

Let's go through each of these, step-by-step. Again, remember, not all of these symptoms have to be present all of the time. These are the ones I see most prominently in Crowley (of course, please, please, please feel free to correct me or build on this! i'm in NO way an expert).

"You find it difficult to open up to others" + "You tend to keep conversations on the surface level because it's uncomfortable to be vulnerable"

"You have a negative self-view of both yourself and others" (mostly himself, in this case!)

"You often dissociate from your emotions" + "You withdraw when you feel vulnerable or emotional" For this one, I'm just going to invite you to read Alex's post here. They phrase it better than I ever could, lol.

SIDEBAR #2: Withdrawal + Good Omens Lockdown @yowlthinks also made an excellent point regarding something i said here. In the Good Omens Lockdown audio clip, we notice Crowley pushing the boundary line, forthrightly offering to come over to the bookshop and stay for a while at the height of the pandemic (see below):

When Aziraphale outright rejects him, Crowley recoils and quickly says goodbye, intending to set his alarm for July. Here, we see the way in which disorganized attachment operates as a fusion of both anxious and avoidant behaviours; despite wanting to be close, he pulls back immediately and (presumably) resolves not to discuss the fact that he lost his flat and is now sleeping in his Bentley. (As my former philosophy professors have tried to impress upon me so many times,) It's important we consider alternative explanations. It could be possible that this is just him respecting Aziraphale's boundaries and returning to practices that seek to remedy the whole "you go too fast for me" issue. However, this kind of behaviour occurs time and time again, establishing a pattern that goes beyond simply protecting Azi's boundaries, and may index a desire to keep himself safe through emotional avoidance. "You have a hard time self-soothing your emotions" [insert lightning scene here]. He's trying, you guys. He's trying so hard, but it's difficult (and i'd genuinely like to get a scene in s3 where he's allowed to be well and truly angry. no, i'm totally not projecting, why do you ask? what are u, a cop???)! It seems that he turns to repression in the absence of actual emotional processing or soothing (until it comes out all at once, in the case of the lightning). This makes sense, as well, considering there have been very few instances in which he's been truly comforted or soothed by others. Not having comfort modelled to him, combined with his pre-existing low self-esteem helps to illuminate why he turns to repression opposed to taking time to care for himself, etc. Broader Implications + S3 Speculation Alright, we're almost done, I promise! So we've established (or at the very least, put forth an argument for) disorganized attachment in Anthony Janthony Crowley. What does this mean in the context of where we left things off at the end of S2? From my perspective, it means that what happened was completely in-character for both of them. Aziraphale's DAS manifests in more of the traditional, hot-and-cold fearful-avoidance. For Crowley, his caretaking compulsivity finally snapped in the Final Fifteen; Heaven is one place he cannot follow, and exhausted, he walks away (only to stand out on the street, further pointing to the anxious/avoidant duality). I would argue that there was no trick, nothing in the coffee, no coded messages, etc. Rather, like humans, they are both shaped by their trauma and responded in accordance with this. (@actual-changeling has some excellent metas where they further expand on the idea that there was no trick involved in the final fifteen: x. this meta too!: x. massive credit to them, as always hehe)

What about in S3? Speaking from personal experience (because the surrounding literature wasn't super helpful haha), a disorganized attachment style must be unlearned, with a few key factors at play: Since DAS is grounded in formative experiences of volatility, the survival of the individual has to be decoupled from the preservation of connection (with family members, partners, friends, etc.); more specifically, your worth and ability to persist is not dependent on maintaining connection with another. This is incredibly difficult to unlearn when you've experienced it for a couple decades, let alone so many thousands of years. t h e r a p y (pls neil, i need an episode where it’s just Crowley going to see a psychiatrist and he breaks down crying and it’s like “oh yeah. that was really fucked up what happened to me”. again. totally not projecting! <- as always, don’t actually send stuff like this to Neil). Okay, finally. We're at the end. I apologize for the sheer length of this analysis. I had to cut it off here, because the original was going to be wayyyyy longer with more discussion/analysis/etc. However. I am TIRED. So here you go! ✨TaH DaH! ✨ (please don't yell at me ajsdlasjkd. i love azi and crowley both so much and this is just my own interpretation/opinion as someone with a disorganized attachment style lol)

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sumeruin · 1 year

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♫♪: idée fixe

♫♪: warnings: written by a minor, modern au, yandere, dubcon but both people are into it, sorta blackmail? not explicitly but it’s kinda there, slight dacryphilia, i think that’s it but if i missed anything let me know <3

♫♪: pairing: yandere! heizou x yandere! reader

♫♪: a/n: this idea has been bouncing around in my brain for weeks i needed to get it out of there. not proofread because it’s 6am <3 might write a part two to this later but right now this is all you guys get!!!

♫♪: minor writing smut, dni if uncomfortable!!!

heizou knows what you’ve been doing. he knows that you like to follow him around whenever he does anything, knows that you have a habit of taking his things without asking, knows that sometimes, when you’re sure he’s not home, you go into his room and lay down on his bed while cuddling into his blankets. he thinks it’s adorable, really, though if you were anyone else he might not take as kindly to it, he always feels slightly giddy whenever he looks over the security camera footage in his home and sees that you’ve come over and taken another small, easily replaceable thing from his desk, or another piece of dirty silverware from his meals. he just loves all your sweet little tendencies.

he knows that you have some secrets he hasn’t yet too, and he’s determined to find them out, which is why he’s picking your lock and quietly letting himself into your bedroom in the middle of the night. he knows it’s risky, that even stepping on a single creaky floorboard could be enough to wake you up and blow his cover as the nice, charming detective that would never commit any crime, but he just can’t resist. he’s getting curious about that little notebook you always seem to be writing in, and he needs to find out what’s in it that you’re so protective of.

he’s careful not to walk too loudly as he makes his way over to your desk, his eyes lighting up when he sees that you already have the notebook he’s looking for set out on the surface.

you just make it so easy, don’t you?

he slowly reaches for it and gently paws through the pages, his eyes widening at the hastily scribbled, almost maniacal words that covered every page. he noticed they started out like how a schoolgirl would write about her innocent little crushes, but the longer time went on the more obsessive the entries looked. the first one stood out to him in particular, he could remember it as the day he finally gathered the courage to talk to you and become friends.

“february 2nd, 2020.

valentine’s day is coming up! i can’t wait to give out treats to everyone. someone new talked to me too! i think his name was heizou? whatever his name is, he’s super cute. i think i’ll try to get to know him better later.”

heizou kept flipping through the notebook entries, coming across one with a picture of him taped in it. he took note of how much more disorganized and frenzied the handwriting seemed.

“september 20th, 2020.

today i saw heizou eating in the park, he looked at me and waved and i almost fainted, he actually looked at me! he likes me enough to recognize me! i’m sure he feels the same way as i do.”

he felt a smile creep on his face. why would you want to hide this from him? he thinks it’s so cute how much you love him. unable to resist, heizou keeps flipping through the pages, around the halfway mark he notices that they go from slightly crazed, but still mostly innocent, ramblings to much more explicit, detailed wishes. he also notices that you stopped dating them at some point. he makes a mental note to ask you about later.

“heizou went to a new coffee shop this morning. he got a different order than what he usually gets, i wish i had managed to hear what it was, but the barista was being too loud. she didn’t deserve to talk to him. she took his presence for granted. if i had the chance to make heizou a drink i’d be much more grateful than she was. i hate her.”

he laughed to himself. you’re just so cute. his smile was replaced by a look of shock at the contents of the next entry.

“….i would give anything to be with heizou. i belong to him, everything that i am is entirely his. i wish i could tell him that, but i don’t want him to think i’m just a creepy stalker. what i’m doing isn’t stalking, i’m just making sure he’s safe! i’m sure he wouldn’t mind if i told him.”

heizou had finally found the incriminating evidence he needed. while it wasn’t the point of this trip, he couldn’t deny that he felt himself getting worked up at the thought of finally having you to himself. and judging by your journal entries, you’ve been waiting just as long for him.

he quickly walked over to your bed, notebook still held tightly on his hands, and gently shook you awake.

“what- heizou? what are you doing?” you looked up at him in dazed confusion, your voice slightly groggy with sleep.

“would you like to explain what you wrote in this little notebook? stalking is a crime you know, i could have you arrested.” heizou reached over to cup your cheek as he spoke, laughing at the shocked expression on your face.

“i- i just really like you a lot and i didn’t wanna tell you cause i was scared y-you wouldn’t like me too and so i started following you so i could find out more about you and th-then it got kinda out of hand but i didn’t wanna stop cause i like you so much and i’m so sorry please don’t hate me!” you squinted your eyes shut, waiting for him to reject you while trying your hardest to ignore the burning feeling on your face.

heizou hummed as he examined your features, the tears threatening to spill past your waterline, the way you leaned into his hand on your cheek, practically cuddling it, the embarrassment he could almost see radiating off you in waves. “do you wanna make it up to me?”

your eyes snapped open. “yes! i’d do anything to make it up to you, please let me!” he cooed softly at how eagerly you begged him, unable to deny how much he liked being in this position of control over you.

“if you wanna make it up to me you have to do everything i say without asking questions, ok?” heizou moved his hand from your cheek to firmly grasp your jaw, smirking to himself when he felt you try to nod against his tight grip. “good. get on your knees on the floor.”

as you were moving positions he sat down on your bed, spreading his legs to make room for you in between them. he reached for the waistband of his pants and released his aching cock from the tight confines. “now, you’re going to suck my cock, and if you do a good enough job, i’ll forgive you. got it?”

you vigorously nodded, already leaning in to press a light kiss against the head. you opened your mouth and slowly started to take him into it, making sure to use your hands on the parts you couldn’t quite get to with your mouth yet. you felt his hands come down on your head, harshly pushing you to take him even deeper and making you gag and choke around him, tears starting to bubble up in your eyes.

“c’mon, i’m sure you can do better than that. you do want me to forgive you, don’t you?” heizou knew he was being a little mean, but he couldn’t help it. you just looked so cute below him, so eager to please that you’re choking on his cock and refusing to come back up for air. he knew you’d do it, but he didn’t think you’d be this enthusiastic about it.

you made yourself suck more of him in at the empty threat in his words, his tip hitting the back of your throat and your nose finally hitting the hard muscle of his abdomen as you tried to remember to breathe. the soft, breathy moans heizou let out when you managed it made it all worth it though, and you started bobbing your head with a newfound determination.

heizou couldn’t wait to fuck that determined little look off your face.

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yestrday · 2 months

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FALL VICTIM TO MY BRAINROT...

corin doodles

my brain idea where thoma feeds corin sometimes, and he's just like, "thoma i am literally in love with you" (it was really good food)

unrelated to the academy au but giggling at that one post about childe coming home with blood on him and what if corin was his husband.

Corin looking him up and down.

"...Listen, I don't care WHAT you do outside of this house. But I swear, if you track that blood in here, you BETTER clean it up." resuming whatever he was doing. "Bring an extra change of clothes next time."

ALSO ALSO.... i kinda made a new character with corin in this academy au

yeah they're nana... they don't actually have any lore, but it's just funny if the harem just absolutely hates them and they're like "what did I even do???"

it'd be funny if they unintentionally interrupted the harem's time with Corin... rip though </3 (they can probably fight, cute characters that can fight are fun to me)

You get slightly more Corin lore btw because I'm. disorganized.

Corin isn't oblivious to the harem's antics and their obsession with him. He just... kind of lets it be. He's too stoned to care rn. It DEFINITELY comes back to haunt him in the end, but shhh, he's just silly!

Also Corin beats up Albert (I actually fucking hate Albert so much like,,,, leave my girl Barbara alone!!!!!) because I simply see that he is protective over his friends (yes. Barbara is his friend. you can't do anything about it.)

I did give him a sexuality btw,,,, he's asexual and demiromantic (also gay... that man loves men after a deep emotional bond is formed.. good for him..)

I'M SORRY FOR MY RAMBLING HERE'S MORE!!!!!

Corin's relationship with Diluc isn't necessarily romantic nor platonic but a secret third option. Definitely fucked up because yandere but it's a secret third option!

NO NANA... LITERALLY GASPED THEYRE LIKE THE MAIN CHARACTER IN A MAHWA WHERE THEY GET ISEKAIED INTO THE BODY OF AN UNSUSPECTING SIDE CHARACTER... I FEEL SO BAD THEY MIGHT DIE...

also corin is based for thoma 😔 that man is a walking green flag (stained with blood but we dont talk about that). also albert 😭 i dont hate the guy i feel like hes an overzealous stan at most but omg dont break him too bad corin

corin just letting things happen with the harem.... valid. if i had 10 tons of weed in my system i wouldnt give a shit either. also. i dont wanna die.

#yandere genshin impact #yandere x reader #yester.fanart #yester.au — academy 📓#junobells

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mass-convergence · 3 months

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A collarary to the advice of "they'll read it if they want to and they won't if they don't" is - they need to find it. People not reading your work is not a mark against its' quality, it's simply evidence that people haven't found it. As a published author myself I get it, it sucks when noone reads your work. It feels that you have put something out into the world and that it is being ignored. But it is not being actively ignored, it is not being judged as poor quality. It simply hasn't been found. Courage and patience. Don't be scared to send links to reviewers or people in other circles.

Sincerely - thank you.

Long, somewhat disorganized, ramble

It is frustrating, and part of this is my (admittedly ADHD related, though trying to blame it solely on that isn’t really getting the full picture) need for instant gratification and complete lack of patience in anything. And the general insecurity that if it doesn’t get some kind of recognition, positive or otherwise, that I’m just showing my whole ass to the world and people are being too polite to mention it. I also have issues with emotional regulation so it literally feels like someone’s squeezing my heart whenever I get into this state.

And I’ll be honest: I’m frustrated with people who have said they’ll read it or check it out and then never do. And I don’t feel like keeping on poking them and asking them if they are. Because I’ve gotten the “I’m sorry I’ve just been so busy” explanation about a hundred times now (only slightly exaggerating).

And I don’t want to call them liars because I’m an adult with a day job and a mountain of responsibilities that I’m only somewhat keeping up with. There’s plenty of stuff I want to watch or consume that I don’t have mental bandwidth to handle. I’ve read the first paragraph of Gideon the Ninth and I want to read more I just haven’t gotten a chance. Which also is lending to mental health issues but we do not have the time to unpack that rn.

This is something I’m passionate about and pouring my heart into and not even getting the bare minimum of support from people who purportedly said they’re interested is not really a fun spot to be in. (And I know one or two of my friends have been reading and I love you guys). My mom said she was gonna read it which is slightly terrifying because she’s not into queer fantasy but she’s also like unabashedly supportive and has been trying to get me to publish my writing and sell my art for goddamn ages. I’m not on the level of Tolkien or Pratchett or Gaiman (Martin you stay the fuck out of this) and I’m not trying to be them either. But I think I’m like decent.

And I guess I took some of the advice when I was writing fanfic that “well people who aren’t interested won’t read it so don’t worry about posting cringe” and extrapolated it to original fic. Which isn’t a 1:1 - people legitimately do not give a shit about other’s OCs unless they’re given a reason to care.

Side note: Partially the reason that while I could advertise this (and probably should) as a story lead by queer protags, two of whom are POCs, that doesn’t really tell you anything about them. Aside from representation. Admittedly: I’m not too great at self promo because I feel like I’m hyping me and my story telling ability way too much. Which is a self fulfilling prophecy when I inevitably don’t get any bites.

It’s a rough situation all around and frankly demotivating. Part of the reason I just didn’t post on Thursday because I was just so damn tired of posting and having to deal with the pain over and over again. I have a huge buffer of words and chapters and I’m frankly having a hard time deciding if I should keep posting them. I mean my last chapter didn’t get any notes except for the one reblog … which was my own fucking reblog onto this blog.

And I think I’ve come a long way from like not disparaging my own shit. I love my writing. I love my art. I just hate sharing it and not getting the same level of excitement I feel to tell a story I want to tell.

#writing #writing problems #I really should start tagging my writing though that’s like the bare minimum #I just don’t want to clog up the tags (even though this isn’t like clogging fandom tags with hate on a ship or something)

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fictionfixations · 9 months

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Awake and Unafraid | TMA Fic (Fic Rec)

Martin's new job at the Institute isn't what he was expecting. Along with Tim and Sasha, he's struggling with a disorganized Archive, no direction from their slightly-devious boss, and the growing feeling that they're in danger. Which is not helped by the cryptic warnings from a far too-knowing voice on an ancient tape recorder calling themselves the Archivist.

its. so fucking. cool. AND IT MAKES SENSE, like genuinely. with an actual plot, and i really enjoyed it. There was no part where I felt like 'I have to stop reading' because it's too much? It was perfect. Well not perfect perfect obviously, but I had a really enjoyable experience binging it lmfao. If you don't know what TMA stands for, its The Magnus Archives, its basically like a horror podcast. This is where I admit most of my knowledge comes from other fanfics because I'm still on like season one? And I do this thing where I tune out background noise accidentally, but I wouldn't be able to fully focus on it because I'm a multi-task person, so I've been slowly doing the task of reading the transcripts for every episode out loud instead, which helps but I get a headache cause MAN they're long.

anyway this is Martin/Jon, which I'm still figuring out ships but I'm assuming that's the big whole OTP that nearly everyone ships in the fandom, but if that's not your cup of tea (cause that's understandable, I think Bakudeku is like an OTP but some people find it uncomfortable due to the previously kinda toxic relationship?) here's your warning. Uh. also. as the tags say. "The Usual TMA Warnings Apply". Which. uhh. if you're squeamish at just the mention of stuff maybe. don't. Or maybe if you don't like horror?? I've never actually been affected by horror books unless they're super gross or go extremely in depth about depictions of like, say, gore, so I can't actually say if the fic is scary at all, but I found myself very invested. Also uhh, Martin POV. If you've been looking at my bookmarks recently (why are you?) then you'd find it's kind of like a mix of TMA and HP x Twilight rn. Opposite sides of the spectrum kinda where ones are either romance-typical with Twilight which I've never seen, or character bashing. And then TMA's here like 'there are things more powerful and blah blah blah--' But to be fair..

At the very left is Twilight x HP. And the very right is TMA. Although a few tabs are out of sight because I have too many open. lmfao. Anyway I've been rambling. Um. Um. UH. JUst. give it a shot??? You kinda get the gist of what's going on after you read a few multi-chapter fics because it develops a timeline and they generally tend to be close to the 'start' (which I don't know when. but. worm usually.) and then you can kinda notice based on similarities between fics what's usually canon. imma shut up now (anyway martins a def fav that you might see around if i have more fics to share)

#tma spoilers #tma fanfic #tma fanfiction #fic rec #fanfic rec #fanfic recommendation #fic recommendation #tma au #read on ao3 #thoughts

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lockejhaven · 2 years

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Happy STS Locke!

I've just gotta know, what made you start your Arthurian retelling? Like, why Arthurian myth specifically? (please ramble to me about why it's your fav, I love that shit)

(- from @andromedatalksaboutstuff)

Happy STS!! I will absolutely ramble!

I first discovered the Arthurian tales through The Magic Treehouse series as a kid, and then later, I found it again through the BBC show Merlin.

This show in particular was one of my biggest inspirations, despite its cheesy nature. I find it absolutely inspiring that with the budget they had, they did incredibly well. The actors and writing genuinely carry the show, so much so that I don't even care that the CGI isn't excellent!

I loved the smart-ass personality of Merlin, the humor of the show, and the intricacies of the story; from Arthur's father, to Morgana, to Mordred. Not to mention, I've always adored dragons and magic.

Throughout my life, I've come across so many versions of twisted fairytales. So much so that it inspired me to write my own! The first is actually a WIP based on Alice in Wonderland. My Arthurian retelling came after.

Another big point of inspiration for my retelling is Nanatsu no Taizai, or The Seven Deadly Sins. It was the first time I'd seen Merlin as something other than an old white man with a long gray beard, and I immediately wanted to create my own, entirely unique story.

Other sources of inspiration include the tv show Cursed, the movie King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, and The Green Knight with Dev Patel. Doctor Who has also played a part in my works, thanks to the sci-fi twist of many themed episodes.

Merlin is regarded as an integral part of Arthurian legend. I would even argue he is more well-known than Arthur himself. You'll likely find him referenced in any media with witches and wizards, magic and sorcerers. This led to my idea of Merlin being the main character; the 'most important.'

BBCs Merlin went with a similar approach, seeing as he was to help Arthur to his destiny. I liked the idea of him working 'behind the scenes' but I wanted him to have a bigger role. To be much more complicated.

So, Myhren was born.

A non-binary, AFAB, half-dead, dark sorcerer, trapped in a time loop where everything is at least slightly different than what we know. Having a character with a traditionally 'dark' or 'evil' power is one of my favorite tropes to twist around. After all, why not play into the 'magic is evil' idea a little bit more, when it comes to banning magic in Camelot?

I also took inspiration from BBC Merlin with their 'dragon lord' idea. Because, c'mon. Who doesn't love dragons?

This ramble is definitely more disorganized than I'd like, but, at least it's an honest and accurate portrayal of my chaotic thought process!

locket's tags: @365runesofwriting @enchanted-lightning-aes @thepixiediaries @midnights-melodiverse @perasperaadastrawriting @fearofahumanplanet @andromedatalksaboutstuff

#arthurian retelling #wip: fable #wip: stdk #oc: myhren #key: andromedaexists #locket answers

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seokmatthewz · 2 years

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i am now going to write the longest most rambling account of my day but i’m gonna put it under a read more FKDSKLDF

ok so i also got to see yoon jisung today too bc he was there?? and i thought i wouldn’t get to go to his part of the fansign but i got to like watch it happen? which was nice because he’s pretty FDKLSSDLK but then they like ushered us all out and they did the photos and i walked into the room to put my bag down to take my picture and just b were looking at the people coming in and i think i looked so like Absolutely Shocked and In Awe that byeonghee made eye contact with me, whispered something 2 limji, and then they both waved at me and i immediately panicked so hard before waving back and then i like collapsed when i realized that had happened KFLLSK and then we were like walking up and i walked up for my photo and i said hi to all of them and they were all so so so insanely pretty i think i am taller than the short members which. was fantastic KFLSDKL so i sat down and they didn’t warn me that they were taking the photo so all 4 of my pics look identical FLDSLDF and then i didnt know if they’d let us talk long to them for the fansigning so i looked at lim jimin and went “you’re my favourite idol of all time, i love you so much” and he grinned really big at me and said thank you and i almost collapsed and then the staff ushered me off and i went to get water and my hands were shaking so much that the water was spilling out of the cup they gave me KFLKDLS my friend had to hold me still fksklf and then we had to line up. again? for the fansign which took forever because the company was crazy disorganized but we were waiting in line and then one of the staff opened a door and the door handle HIT ME IN THE ASS and it HURT !!!!! but like whatever the adrenaline kept me going i was having a panic attack literally as soon as i caught a glimpse of them KFSKL so the order for the fansign was doyum chuji byeonghee limji geonu sangwoo and i forgot everything i was gonna say to them so i repeated myself a lot but KFSKL doyum i went up to and said he was my favourite member of 1the9 and i’d been a fan since under nineteen and he went “oh, really??” and i said yeah and i told him i really like his grrrr cover and that i think hes so talented and he thanked me and then i said i loved his outfit and he laughed and went “you’re so cute” and then i almost passed away and i had to move on to chuji. chuji i said hi and how are you to and he said he was good and that he was nervous and i said i was super excited to see them perform on monday and he said he was excited too and i told him our dogs have the same name and he went “oh ruki??” and i went “yeah!!” and he smiled and went “i’ll remember that!!” which was. so cute guys hes SO cute hes so so cute. anyways next was byeonghee and allow me to just say byeonghee is INSANELY pretty irl. like its so crazy. i was so distracted by him that the first thing i said to him was “you look so pretty today” and he smiled and thanked me and said i looked pretty too and again i almost passed out and i told him i also liked him on under nineteen and he looked surprised and then i got to tell him i absolutely loved his drivers license cover and he looked rlly happy about it and then. it is . Him. i remember staring and just. speaking so quickly and stuttering so much and lim jimin was smiling so big at me because i think he remembered me from like 20 minutes earlier when i slightly held up the line to confess my undying love for him FLKSKDL and he was so so sweet i said he looked so handsome and he was making like the most intense eye contact with me he is SO PRETTY like hes INSANELY PRETTY i am INLOVE WITH HIM hes the prettiest man of all time i wish i could remember our interaction more but i told him id been a fan of him since before his solo debut and he went “really?? thank you!” and smiled and i almost PASSED AWAY and then i was saying something but i had to move on because the staff were starting to rush us so i moved to talk to geonu and i said hi and asked how he was and he said he was good and i asked him how he was liking canada so far and he said he’s really been enjoying it and he likes the weather and then i told him his outfit was cute and he thanked me and then the staff tapped me again so i had to move on to sangwoo and i also asked him how he was and i told him i love him sm and that he’s gotten so much more cool and charismatic since debut and he thanked me and then i said “you’re such an amazing dancer” and he GIGGLED and his little smile was so CUTE he was so endearing and then i started to say something again but the staff was like “u gotta go” so i thanked him for coming and got my items and i had to go and then i sat on the floor and just. existed for a little while it was so sos so sos ososososoooooooo surreal i cannot believe i met my favouritest some guys...................anyways if u got this far i apologize i have completely and fully lost my mind KFLDSKLFD

#icb two of them complimented me .............. they were so cute #long post tw #i apologize in advance if u click that read more. i sound insane i am just. reeling like icb that happened.......#iri.txt

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spenciegoob · 3 years

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Dethroned (Requested)

A/N: I know the request said the relationship between Reader and Luke is platonic, but I kinda dropped subtle hints that Luke is slightly pining for Reader... oop.

Request: smutty post-prison Reid being jealous. Like him just being absolutely in love with reader, like he had been since she joined the BAU but was too nervous to say anything so settled for being mega close best friends. Then when he returns from prison he finds out that her and Luke have become close friends whilst he’s been gone (its simply platonic though) and he ends up snapping and just absolutely annihilating the reader over her desk in the office after everyone else has left

Pairing: Post Prison!Spencer x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: jealous!spencer, exhibition, hair pulling, degradation/praise, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink

Masterlist

Word Count: 3.9K

______

It was a gradual realization on his part. Spencer was so overwhelmed with coming home, his mom and Cat to even really take notice in the shift of your attention from him to Luke Alvez.

It wasn’t like you completely ignored him since his return. You were Spencer’s best friend, the title he settled on all those years ago when you all but skipped into the BAU and into his life.

And it wasn’t like you didn’t have other male friends. Before his leave, Derek and you had gotten along pretty well right off the bat, and Spencer never thought about it twice. If anything, he was ecstatic that two people that were so important in his life were also important to each other.

But when Spencer was stuck behind physical bars that represented every feeling for you he’s tried to keep at bay, you found comfort in Luke. He couldn’t blame you for that either, especially when the first time you visited him all he could see was hurt in your eyes, and all he could do was stare back with the same expression.

The first time he noticed the shift was after everything had settled, and the groove of life, for the team at least, was back in motion. You all had decided to go out and grab a drink, and the second you agreed, Spencer was also on board. He would follow you just about anywhere if it meant the smile on your face when he said yes stayed forever.

Luke had whispered something in your ear, the music in the bar too loud for Spencer to catch what it was. It had to be hilarious by the way you threw your head back in laughter, Luke’s eyes immediately dropping to the newly exposed skin, before nudging his shoulder with yours.

Spencer couldn't keep his eyes off the conversation in front of him. He should have when the grip on his glass was so hard it could’ve shattered.

“You know, kid, if you talked to her, she’d know how you feel,” Rossi had told him that night.

“That’s exactly why I can’t,” Spencer thought in his head, but merely gave Rossi a whatever, and walked away to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror that night, hoping the disgust he felt for how angry he got whenever he saw you with Luke was enough to make it disappear.

It never did.

Like right now, Spencer sat at his desk, a rubber band ball being suffocated in his hand as he watched you perch yourself on top of Luke’s desk. It was an innocent act on you part, but the way Luke leaned back in his chair, opening himself up to you, and allowed his eyes to flicker to your bare legs that were swinging back and forth softly was definitely not innocent... not in Spencer’s book anyway.

It came as no surprise to Spencer that Luke would at the very least find you attractive. You were, in every aspect. Spencer could stare at your for hours, and sometimes, he did.

He would look at the way your skirt hugged your curves in the best possible way, or he would stare at your neck when you leaned back to stretch out. He would watch the way you crossed and uncrossed your legs, a nervous habit you’ve always had. Spencer would think about how soft they probably were, like silk rubbing against each other.

But now Luke was also looking at you like that while you talked about what you were going to do this weekend.

“If you’re not busy, you should totally come,” you told him, obviously excited with the idea of Luke tagging along to wherever you planned on going.

“Yeah, I think I can make that work,” he agreed, and when he did, you jumped up off his desk, enthusiasm practically dripping from you.

“Yes! It’ll be so much fun, I promise!” And then you did the one thing Spencer silently begged you would never. You kissed Luke on the cheek before scurrying back to your desk.

Of course you would kiss him on the cheek. To you, that was a seemingly innocent and friendly action, one that Spencer had been on the receiving end of for the past 10 years.

But now, Luke stole his crown and was flaunting it in front of Spencer’s face like an older brother who just got an XBOX for Christmas. Okay, maybe Spencer was a tad on the dramatic side, but how could he not be when Luke all but physically railed you over his desk when his eyes unashamedly did?

There were many things Spencer could take and get back up like nothing had happened. He’s been shot, punched, kicked, framed for murder and hell, he even stabbed himself, but none of that compared to the deep rooted anger that blossomed in his chest like a flame to gasoline when the thought of Luke touching you swarmed his brain.

Enough was enough.

“Alright, you’ve all worked enough today. Please, go home and get some rest,” Emily’s voice traveled from outside her office door to the agents that still inhabited the bullpen like a second home. Most, including Emily in its rarity, gathered their stuff to finally call it a night.

“So, you’ll text me the information?” Luke asked you as he was putting his jacket on. You had yet to move from your slouched position over whatever paperwork you insisted on finishing before leaving.

“Yeah, definitely!” You beamed up at him before returning back to your case file immediately. Luke walked away with a little more pep in his step than usual per Spencer’s analysis.

“Hey, Spence. Do you think you can hang back a second and look over this for me?” You asked him, catching the attention of the stumbling genius as he tried to get back to his apartment as fast as possible and deal with his... issues with you and SSA Luke Alvez.

He was going to say no, really he tried, but when he looked up to your puppy dog eyes and slight pout, how could he? Spencer knew you were giving him that face on purpose, he had told you in the past that if you were to ever give him your best puppy dog eyes, he could never refuse.

Now it was coming back to bite him in the...

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Spencer made his way over to your desk that was piled high in paperwork more than anyone else’s.

“I took a bunch of work home, and I accidentally dropped all my files and they scattered every where. So now, all the paperwork is mixed up and Emily needs these by tonight. Basically I’m screwed, but I just wanted to make sure the arsonist in Kentu-”

“I’ll help you,” Spencer interrupted your rambling once he got a grip on himself after adjusting to being so close to you. The smell of your perfume wafted into Spencer’s nose and got him drunk faster than any alcohol could ever.

“Oh no, Spence. Don’t worry I can handle this,” you immediately shut him down, but Spencer was not easy to convince, and once his mind is set to something, there’s no changing it.

“I want to, trust me.” Spencer had started to roll his desk chair over to you. You sat there momentarily stunned for two reasons:

1. He had dropped everything to help you.

2. He wasn’t affected by the close proximity of you two the same way you were, or at least knew how to hide it really well.

The buzzing of your phone on your desk pulled you from your trance as Spencer settled next to you and went to pull a new file from your overgrowing pile.

You picked it up to find a text from Luke, opening your phone to a picture of Roxy enjoying the toy you got her last week.

Spencer turned to you to find you smiling and letting out a breathy laugh at your phone.

“What?” He asked, more sarcasm dripping from his tone than expected. If you noticed, you didn’t say anything.

“Just Luke and Roxy. I love that dog so much,” you said while putting your phone on silent and setting it face down. You didn’t look up at Spencer, but if you did you’d find him beet red with anger, and holding the armrests of his chair a little tighter than necessary.

“Hm,” was all he mumbled in response. This, you didn’t ignore.

“Is something wrong? You really don't have to do this with me,” you fumbled over your words, worried that your clumsiness and disorganization was what was annoying Spencer.

“No no, it’s not this. I like paperwork, actually.” You finally looked over at Spencer to find him already staring at you. His gaze bore into you like a blade to the gut, his intensity something you had never been on the receiving end of. It would be a lie if you were to say it wasn’t making you nervous.

“Then what is it.” Your words were not meant to come out as a whisper, but with Spencer’s intimidation and the way it made your stomach flip, you were overwhelmed already.

“Nothing, just, uh,” his confident persona was gone just as quickly as it came. “You and Luke, huh?”

Now it makes sense. You couldn’t help the small smile that etched across your features at his unknowing admission. Spencer Reid was jealous, actually jealous.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend.” Your emphasis on the word friend did not go unnoticed by Spencer, but he couldn’t stop himself from letting the words crawling up his throat out.

“I’m sure he thinks the same about you. The profile in this case fi-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Two can play at this game, and if it was going to end the way the two of you were unknowingly both hoping, you would have to succumb to the rules.

“Hm? Oh! So you’re oblivious to the way he looks at you?” Spencer spat back, jealous intimidation turning to full anger now.

“Jesus, Spencer. Of course I’m not oblivious, but that doesn’t mean I look at him like that.” At this point, you stood up from your chair, Spencer’s approach throwing you off and getting you more worked up than you cared to admit.

“Besides, I have eyes for someone else,” you mumbled quietly under your breath, but Spencer caught it. “I’m calling the night. I suggest you do the same.”

You picked up as many files you could, not wanting to reach over Spencer before turning around to make you descent home.

Before you could get far, though, Spencer grabbed your elbow and spun you back to crash into his hard chest. You gasped, not making eye contact and instead opting for staring at his lips.

“Who?” Spencer asked, also not looking up from your lips. Both of your minds swarmed with the desperation to feel each other’s against your own.

“You.” And that was all he needed to finally succumb to his mind’s wishes. Your lips moved together like a violin bow to a string, creating a perfectly conducted symphony of files falling from your arms and deep inhales of each other.

Spencer reached out behind you, never taking his lips off yours and pushed anything that was on your desk with a deafening crash. Pens, papers and tape now littered the bullpen floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when all you could feel were Spencer’s hands gripping your waist as he hoisted you up to sit you on your now clear desk.

His lips finally detached from yours, the need for oxygen getting in the way of a kiss you wish could last for eternity. They didn’t go very far, Spencer attacking your neck with little nips, surely to leave incriminating bruises. Your hips started to involuntarily roll forward, searching for friction from his hardening member still constrained by his work slacks.

“Spencer, please,” you begged, needing to feel him, all of him at this moment. His lips abandoned your neck to slowly pull back and scan your body like a predator indulging in his final prey one last time before he answered.

“Please what, Princess,” Spencer whispered, his hands moving down to grip your thighs that were attempting to squeeze together at your new pet name.

“Please, fuck me,” you whimpered back. His deep chuckle resonated through you as he leaned closer until he was directly next to your ear, his hot breath fanning down your neck causing you to arch your back slightly.

“Right here on your desk like a little whore,” he whispered against you, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. Spencer shook his head slightly as he pulled back to grab your chin lightly with two fingers, forcing your head back.

He leaned in as close as possible to whisper against your lips one last time. “Only for you.”

Time stopped as hands sped up in a frenzy to rip each other’s clothes off, lips molding together like a lock and key never wanting to separate, and hips involuntarily grinding against each other in search for some friction in an overwhelming search for release.

Only when Spencer gave up on your shirt buttons and ripped the fabric apart, adding drums in the form of buttons hitting the desk and floor to the song you two collectively decided to dance to tonight, did he allow his lips to leave yours. Slowly, he nipped his way back down your neck, pushing you back softly until your body fully rolled down on the cool wood underneath you.

Spencer’s eyes found yours again as his hands inched behind you, silently asking for permission to break down yet another barrier between your two bodies. After a pleading whimper from you, he unclasped your bra and slowly pulled it down your arms.

Spencer maintained eye contact as he wrapped his mouth around your nipple, swirling his tongue around the peak before sinking his teeth in teasingly. Your back arched into him, a strangled whimper leaving your body as the heat between your thighs increased significantly.

“Spencer please hurry. I need you,” you whimpered softly, pulling his hair back from the top of his head in hopes of getting him in an area far more dire in need of attention.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Spencer mumbles in between kisses inching back up your body. His hands make their way under your skirt as he continues. “I want to take my time with you, but given our circumstances,” he paused to take a look at the deserted bullpen. “I’ll give you what you want, and fuck you like a whore.”

There was no other way to explain the way Spencer ripped your panties off so hard the lace snapped under his force than animalistic. He wasted no time stuffing them into his back pocket, and fully separating from you to stand straight and unbuckle his belt. Spencer’s eyes stared down at you, taking in every part of your body to file away in his brain in case he ever needs it. His once honey brown orbs were now absorbed with black, his pupils full and his eyes displaying a kind of fire only lust can fuel.

Once his belt was fully off, he smirked and folded it in his hands. Staring at the new object of his desire, he tantalizingly shook it back and forth slowly, watching the way it bounced with his movements.

“Should I gag you with this so you don't alert the whole goddamn building of how desperate you are?” Spencer looked back at you to find your cheeks a deep shade of red, partially at his degrading tone, but mostly at the idea of being gagged.

“No, sir. I wanna feel you.” The title slipped past your lips with no control or hesitation. Your cheeks burned further as Spencer’s movements stopped, his eyes widening slightly.

“Fuck it,” he whispered before throwing the belt on the floor and unzipping his pants with more speed than you've ever seen him move.

Spencer gave you zero time to even register his size before he was stepping in between your legs, lining himself up and slamming into you to the hilt with one hand, the other grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling back hard, all while never taking his eyes off you.

You couldn’t stop the loud gasp leaving your body as Spencer groaned at the feeling of you around him.

“God, you’re so fucking tight, Princess,” he grounded out, the soft growl in his tone causing you to whimper and clench around him.

When he felt you start to squirm underneath him after adjusting to his size, Spencer started to move, setting a brutal pace immediately. Your entire body felt like it became engulfed in flames, the feeling of Spencer repeatedly hitting the sweetest spot inside you over and over with a force unmatched was too much to handle.

Tears started to well in your eyes as the soft whimpers and pleads left your lips. Spencer pulled himself from his position tucked neatly into your neck to stare down at you, never relenting on his pace.

“What’s wrong, Princess,” he teased, a smirk growing across his features at your tears. “Is it too much for your little cunt? What happened to the girl that begged to be fucked like a whore?”

Spencer let go of his grip on your hair to wipe the tears blackened with mascara that were running down your face.

“So good, sir. Please don’t stop,” you mumbled, only half coherent. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of Spencer filling you completely. His dark eyes flickered down from your face only for a second, but when he looked back up at you, excitement joined the lust in them, a swirl of emotions destined to destroy you in the end.

Spencer grabbed one of your hands that was gripping his shoulder, nails digging into the skin and leaving marks he wished would last forever. He placed in on your stomach, and confusion filled your mind for a moment until you felt the tip of his cock hit your hand.

“You feel that, Princess? You feel how deep I am? I’m gonna fill you up.” Your back arched, and you finally released a loud, wanton moan at his words. Spencer didn’t miss the way you clenched around him tighter at the thought. “God, I’m gonna fill you up with my cum, make you - fuck- carry my child. Make sure everyone knows who you belong to.”

You felt the knot in your stomach growing tighter with each word, and when Spencer lifted one of your legs into the crook of his elbow, hitting you impossibly deeper, you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

“Oh G-god, Spence. I- I’m gonna....”

“It’s okay, Princess. I’ve got you,” he groaned back, lifting two fingers to your lips before forcing them into your mouth. Instinctively, you hollowed out your cheeks and sucked on his digits. “Let go, Princess.”

All you needed was his permission before letting your orgasm rock through you, the muscles in your body seemingly losing and gaining all the tension in the world at once, your vision going white, and your mind blank except for one thought; Spencer.

Your loud moans were blocked by his fingers pushing deeper down your throat, catching them before any unwanted guests could hear.

Your moans started to turn to whimpers around his fingers as the overstimulation kicked in. Spencer could sense it by the way you still clung to him as tightly as possible.

“Fuck that’s it. You’re doing so well, Princess, taking all of me,” he growled out, his hips losing their rhythm, signaling his own impending orgasm. Spencer leaned down further, pushing your leg farther up in the process, and again, hitting you deeper than imaginable.

Two more sloppy thrusts in that position, and Spencer was coming deep in you with your name and different praises being groaned in your ear. He bottomed out once more, coming to a stop buried deep, both of you trying your hardest to catch your breath.

When he started to pull out, you whimpered immediately at the feeling.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m almost done,” Spencer whispered, caressing your cheek as he fully unsheathed himself. The abandoned weight of him on top of you, and the loss of his cock filling you up left you cold as he went to rummage through your drawers for tissues, but all you could do was stare up at the lights hanging from the ceiling, your body still slightly twitching.

When Spencer returned to you, he sat you up and kissed your forehead before reaching in between your legs to clean you up. The second the tissue hit your sensitive cunt, you winced.

Spencer looked back up at you but before he could say anything, you cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” you reassured him, smiling softly as you reached up to caress his cheek. Upon your approval, he went back to cleaning you up. “Actually, I’m more than okay. That was.. That was-”

“Yeah,” he said, chuckling slightly and shaking his head. “I know, right?”

“Maybe we should thank Luke,” you teased him. Immediately, his smile faded and he looked up at you with an expression that can only read “Seriously?”

You let out a full laugh now, obviously still entertained with the idea that the Dr. Spencer Reid was jealous of Luke Alvez.

“I’m joking,” you said, your smile turning from one of hilarity to adoration as Spencer straightened back up to stand between your legs and wrap his arms around your waist. “And Spence, it’s always been you. Not Luke, not anyone else. You.” You emphasized your point by jabbing a finger into his chest.

“Good, because that would make this really awkward,” he said back. You tilted your head in confusion to which he laughed at before continuing. “Do you want to go grab dinner?”

Your cheeks blushed profusely as he asked you out as if you didn’t just let him take you over your own desk at work.

“I would love to say yes, but I still have to finis-” When you turned around to look at the pile of paperwork you had yet to complete, it was no longer on your desk, but scattered around it. During the rush of trying to feel each other completely, the two of you failed to notice the stack of files that started this whole thing had fallen all over the bullpen floor.

“Emily is going to kill me,” you said, turning back to Spencer who was still staring at the now empty spot on your desk.

“Actually, she has two reasons to kill us now.” You threw you head back in laughter, Spencer joining you at the thought of Emily finding out about the last 30 minutes. “But seriously, you go deal with the security footage, and I’ll deal with the paperwork.”

“Hmmmm...” You pretended to ponder the thought of not having to do all of that paperwork by yourself anymore. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Spencer repeated back, smiling softly before kissing you one more time.

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cu-sidhe13 · 2 years

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Hey everyone, as promised here are my extremely disorganized thoughts on 911 lone star 3x01. Hope you all enjoy these and get a kick out of my rollercoaster of emotions like I did.

Spoliers ahead so if you haven't watched this episode already, do that befire reading this.

-Absolutely love the black eye on Billys stupid face.

-Yes Owen, love to see you fighting for the 126, and do not appologise for hitting Billy the snake deserved it.

-Have to say Tommy, Nancy and TK look great in their new uniforms.

-Are you kidding me I've been waiting for half a year for the new season and you BREAK UP Tarlos, I swear to god if I didnt know they were obviously gon a get back together I would just stop watching.

-Yes Nancy, be Switzerland. But seriously why the hell did they break up, and where is Carlos living now because I assume TK is staying with Owen. Is Carlos staying with his parents?

-Love that Grace and Judd ars having a baby girl and the nursery wall looks so cute. At least they haven't broken them up too.

-Love that Marjan is fighting for the 126, I really hope we get to see more development for her this season. Why is she the only one fighting though?

-My man Carlos is in the HOUSE. Love his and Marjans friendship and the callback to season 1 by him calling her Chica. Why is he so sad, I don't like to see him sad those Carlos cow eyes really coming into play here.

-What the hell Owen?! Just when I was starting to think I was gonna like you more this season, so much for fighting for the 126.

-Go away Billy, you snake.

-love how much Carlos screen time we're getting. Finally getting see Carlos being a cop for more than 2 minutes.

-Yes Marjan, you tell Owen. Our QUEEN!!

-Love Carlos going all soft with the guy freaking out and trying to calm him down. Though the fricking roof caving in on Carlos and the shelter was awesome, so well done Carlos looked like an absolute badass.

-We don't even know why they broke up? The rest of the 126 don't even know? Why are they doing this to us? TK doesn't look angry just sad so it can't have been that bad, I hope to myself.

-Okay TK looks slightly bitter when looking at Carlos, maybe it is a bit more serious, is this trying to imply that Carlos broke up with TK?

-Carlos stuttering is adorable, I would never have thought Carlos would get like this, him shaking his head to clear his thoughts was great.

-Carlos realising that something was wrong, then figuring out the redhead was missing was perfect, love to see us getting to see more of Carlos being a cop like we did in 2x08. Also love TK's concerned face when Nancy asks Carlos if he's okay. You do still care TK, I can see it!!

-Next episode looks packed, Paul seems to be in danger which is great as I would love to see more of him, Marjan is in a car wreck and TK has fallen in a lake. God TK you can't get a break can you? Have to be honest though I am getting tired of seeing TK getting hurt, it's like when the writers have no clue what to write they just decide to hurt TK. I think I would have much prefered Carlos injured as it would show us TK being worried and let us see the 126 and his family being scared for him. Although we will get to see Rafa's amazing acting next week, which is always a bonus.

That's it for me folks, hope it makes some kind of sense and I haven't rambled too much. Please let me know what you thought of the episode as I'd love to see what others think!!

Until next time!!

#tarlos #911 lone star 3x01 #911 ls #911 lone star #911 ls spoilers

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definitely-not-a-wasp · 3 years

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I'm okay with a bunch of disorganized rambling honestly 😂. But if I had to narrow it down then I guess I want to know about main and side characters and how they compare to the original?

I know that tumblr is the Prime Site for disorganized rambling, but I have perfectionism issues. But that is a great question, nonnie, and I will be happy to ramble is a slightly less disorganized fashion.

When reading Maximum Ride as a somewhat-formed adult who discovered they enjoy English classes about 3.5 years ago, I noticed that JP, when writing, doesn't understand consistency. At all. Which means, in many ways, I have a free sandbox to work with.

Spoilers for my rewrite WIP, because I strongly believe that if a story would no longer be good if one had spoilers, then it wasn’t a good story in the first place.

I'm trying to keep the backstories the same, plus or minus the scientific method and a few characters (RIP my OCs. I want to bring you back so bad but it wouldn't fit with the thematic narrative). I've mostly kept their (starting) abilities the same, too. Without further ado, I'm going to introduce some WorldBuilding. (If I'm good at nothing else, I'm good at world building)

First off. Logically.

How are they getting Cable?

How are they getting internet?

How are they getting money to eat and stuff?

JP's answer: handwave it off. Sometimes you need to ignore logistics for the sake of plot. This is an answer I'd accept from an author that I like, such as Julie Kagawa, that makes amazing worlds, characters, and narratives that I will happily handwave a few things that wouldn't work in the real world. James Patterson, on the other hand, did not make any of that; he made a cool concept, some good rough-draft characters, and nothing else, and therefore this is an unforgivable sin.

Wasp's answer: They are not getting any of that.

Introducing Cottagecore.

The house is off the grid. Solar Panels and a wind turbine create electricity. They have their own well. They grow their own food, raise livestock for eggs, milk, and wool, and trap fish for meat. They get money through dumpster diving and pawning. They still have to steal half of the necessities they can’t make themselves. They do have a TV, but it can access about three channels on a clear day. Internet is only a thing when they go to the public library.

Giving the flock a background that’s heavy in farming and livestock rearing shores up the plot holes mentioned above, but in my opinion, ties the flock more tightly to the environment, thus giving them something tangible to lose when they have to leave the E-shaped house. Because they’re not just leaving a house and a safety net— they’re leaving their entire way of life with no promise of getting it back. It also gives them a tangible connection to the earth in case I want to actually pursue the global warming themes.

Main Characters

Maximum “Max” Ride (Birthname: nonexistent)

First off, I'm letting her be Latina, James Patterson.

In the original, Max was very much the headstrong, independent, action girl. Leaning into Strong Female Character (TM), but overall she had a strong, solid foundation and enough character consistency through the first three books for me to not have to just make an entire new character. However, I felt that she was, in some ways, a bit too Action-Girl and Strong and Capable. Yes, Max is incredible and competent, but she’s also fourteen. She’s a child.

In the rewrite, Max’s character is still headstrong, independent, capable, and sometimes not the best at listening to others. All of that’s the same. But she’s that way not because of girlboss energy, but because there’s no one else to do it. She doesn’t want to lead, necessarily. She wants to get some rest and let someone else handle the problems life keeps throwing at her. But she knows if she did that, the responsibility of leader would fall to Fang and Iggy, and she can’t ask that of them. She doesn’t want to place that burden on anyone else (Look, there’s a reason I chose Ayano’s Theory of Happiness as one of her signifier songs, okay?). Her narrative is very much centered around burden, and also around loss. She lost her cultural heritage when she was taken away from her birth family, she lost her childhood to being a leader, she lost a good deal of her friends to the school (RIP my OCs), she lost Jeb, and then she lost her stability. And she’s going to lose a lot more before the end of the story. So a lot of her character arc deals with learning that there are some things she can’t fix, some things that can’t be recovered. She can’t get the E-shaped house back. She can’t get her Little Baby Angel back, even after they rescue her. She can’t get her friends back from the school. And instead of working so hard to recover those or find something to replace them, she has to learn to live with that sense of loss and move on with her life without feeling guilty for leaving things behind. And she has to learn that asking for help and sharing her burden is selfish or weak.

Other changes I made that don’t necessarily fit into her narrative arc, but you asked for rambling so rambling you shall get:

Max hallucinates, because mental illness is also a prominent theme in the rewrite. She doesn’t have a psychotic disorder, but her C-PTSD causes visual/audio hallucinations, especially when she’s stressed or sleep deprived.

Max ends up having a Gender Discovery throughout the story and goes by He/She pronouns eventually. I don’t know when, but it will happen.

As far as genetic modifications/special quirks go, she can fly faster than the rest of the flock, but not 300 miles per hour. She averages about sixty mph with diving speeds of 240. She cannot breathe underwater or shut down her organs on command. She also has the Super Special Power to predict the weather, but that’s not because of genetics, it’s because she has chronic pain in her right arm that gets worse when weather fronts change.

Her favored weapon is her trusty rebar that she picked up from a condemned building. I think she’s going to name it eventually but I don’t know what yet.

Fang (Birth name: Gabriel Xue)

In canon, Fang is characterized in early books by being the “dark, strong, silent type”. He’s probably the most reserved member of the flock, to the point of falling into the Brooding Mystery Man trope in parts of the book. They care a lot, but they’re not the best at conveying that, especially with the younger members of the flock, and at times their high empathy leads them to making mistakes. Despite the high empathy, he’s often compared to a robot due to his lack of expression and external emotions.

Well, first change is that they’re not a man, so jot that down—

If Max’s narrative is centered around burden and loss, I would probably say that Fang’s is centered around humanity and moving on. None of the flock was treated as human while in the school, but Fang was more often than not treated like a wild animal due to “behavioral issues”, and therefore had and continues to have a difficult time considering themselves real and alive, let alone human. This manifests through a several different ways— where in canon Fang definitely had a ‘fight’ reaction, in the re-write they have a ‘freeze’ or ‘shut down’ instinct. They’re selectively mute for multiple reasons (including derealization, jaw pain, the fact that they didn’t learn how to speak until they were 10, and genuinely forgetting it’s something they’re capable of), a period of Cotard’s syndrome, and a tendancy towards self-loathing and self-sacrifice. In short, Fang is still halfway stuck in the mindset that most of the flock grew out of when they escaped in the school, and doesn’t know how to move past it.

Much of their character arc revolves around not necessarily seeing themselves as human, but learning to treat themselves as human even when they don’t feel like one (or even feel real), and knowing that just because they don’t feel human all the time doesn’t mean anyone else can treat them the same. They never start easily expressing their emotions, and they’re always going to be selectively mute, but they learn to accept that those aspects of themself aren’t character flaws or signs that they’re sub-human.

Other additions to Fang’s character include:

They don’t get their hair cut in New York. It stays long through the entire series. They have the longest hair in the flock by the end of the series, and they can wear it in so many styles.

Fang uses they/it pronouns because themes of reclaiming the weapons used against it and, more importantly, Gender.

They’re actually really good at spelling compared to the rest of the flock, because they and Iggy communicate with Print-On-Palm when they’re nonverbal, and they’re nonverbal for some pretty long stretches of time.

They and Max have... zero romantic tension. At all. There is none. The number of times Max calls them her sibling/little sibling in the first arc alone is staggering, and that will not change.

Igneous “Iggy” (Birthname: Jamsetta “Jamie” Griffiths)

I’ve talked about Iggy before. Canon doesn’t give us much to go off of, but from what’s shown, he’s smart, sarcastic, has sharper edges than Fang and Max, and also has a sizable ruthless streak. So that’s what I have to go off of.

The big difference between Iggy and Fang&Max is that Iggy has a much better memory of the School. Most of the flock have areas (months or years) that they don’t remember, or people that they’ve blocked from their mind, but Iggy... doesn’t. So he’s the one that remembers all of the other AVIAN test subjects that were old enough to have names and identities but died due to complications. Max might have the burden of leadership, but he has the burden of memory. And that has lead to both a massive fucking guilt complex, because why did he survive when they didn’t, and, as mentioned above, a ruthless streak that he doesn’t shy away from.

Which is to say, by the end of the story, Iggy has the highest kill count.

I love, love writing Iggy next to Max and Fang. I love writing Iggy next to Gazzy and Nudge. Because, I say this with all of the love of the world, but Iggy is not a good person. He is loyalty and love incarnate, and the world can burn down if he and his siblings are safe. Max and Fang will always try to save as many people as they can. They will wonder what’s wrong with them the first time they kill and don’t have a mental breakdown about it. They are good in a way that Iggy is not. He’s okay with killing Erasers. He’s okay with killing humans. He’s okay with killing people who might not necessarily deserve it, if they show themselves as a threat or are simply in the blast radius. He knows perfectly well that most of those Erasers he’s murdering are four and five and he is okay with that, because a lot of the AVIANs were that age when they died. (Yeah, in the rewrite it’s not Fang who has an issue with Ari; it’s Iggy who wants the 7-year-old wolf-boy dead.)

And this is, of course, juxtaposed with Iggy being really, really good with Nudge and Gazzy (especially in the beginning). Because, again, he actually remembers being a child. He remembers a lot of kids that died and is therefore fiercely protective of the kids that didn’t, as well as fiercely protective of the innocence that he never got. So he’s the one that cooks their favorite foods when they’re having a bad day, always makes time when they want to talk about something, and convinces Max to let them go to that toy store in New York because, yeah, he Max and Fang aren’t kids. They never were. But Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel can be. (And if he has to be a murderer to preserve that, then he’s perfectly okay with that.)

He and Angel don’t get along very well, though. The telepath doesn’t like hanging out with the person with the most clear memories of the school.

Other additions:

Iggy is trans and says trans rights

He also has paranoid episodes, because C-PTSD. Sometimes they’re very helpful. Sometimes they are not.

I actually decided that he’s one of the flock that doesn’t meet their parents. I know in canon he did, but I always found that very clunky because it didn’t add to his character. He was one of the characters who, until it was convenient for the plot, seemed to care the least about his family. I’d much rather give that to a character whose arc would benefit from it.

Iggy! Gets! Older Sibling Rights! Seriously, he’s two months younger than Fang, he is just as capable.

Iggy does not know braille because Jeb decided it wasn’t necessary for him to know. Iggy is also the best speller in the flock, because Print-on-Palm was the only way to talk to Fang for a solid year. Yes he mocks everyone over this.

Iggy is the only member of the flock that enjoys swimming and can take into the air from water. Everyone else in the flock is incredibly jealous.

Nudge (Birthname: Monique Robinson)

If Iggy is defined by his memories, Nudge is his polar opposite. She was seven when she left the School, but she has next to no memories of it. She is missing a lot of time in the first year she escaped. And that causes... a lot of things. It makes her feel disconnected from her older siblings, it gives her the ability to function in society in a way the other’s can’t, it lets her feel less grief over the ones that didn’t make it and she doesn’t remember, it makes her feel guilty that she doesn’t remember what she’s old enough to know.

Basically, in order for me to keep the character of Nudge as I saw her (more extroverted, not afraid of the world, fascinated with humans like her siblings aren’t, desiring to fit in instead of isolate), I had to put a little bit of distance between her and the flock. Of course, she loves them— that will in no way change— but she’s old enough that she should remember the school (and her dead friends) unlike Gazzy and Angel, but she can’t, and she very much fears forgetting the flock if anything happens to them. So she’s trying desperately to keep the flock close and wants desperately to experience the world at the same time, and doesn’t know what to do when she can’t have both. That’s her biggest character conflict throughout the series, along with that in-between area where she’s not quite where her older siblings are but understands so much more than Gazzy and Angel, and where she stands in that.

So yeah. Nudge’s journey is that in looking for belonging in the world, in her family, and in herself.

This is why she’s one of the ones that gets to find her parent, James Patterson.

Other additions include:

She never straightens her hair. Never. Her resources at the E-shaped house aren’t perfect, but she still has learned how to take care of her hair and has a few styles she cycles through.

She becomes the default person Max sics on people when the flock is trying to befriend them. Also their de-facto diplomat around strangers.

As in canon, she does take some time away from the flock to expirience ‘normal life’. This does not last long due to the stress of being separated from her siblings/not being able to help them and [REDACTED]

Nudge is... not the only person in her head. I’m not focusing on it much because she doesn’t actually know and neither does the flock (I don’t know if they ever figure it out during the series, either), but she has dissociative identity disorder. She’s not aware of her alter(s?). Her alter isn’t super aware of her, either.

The alter that I’ve developed is named Oxy and is not super aware of the outside world. In her eyes, she’s still seven and they’re still at the School. She would not recognize the body as her own if she looked in a mirror.

Nudge actually leaves the flock for a while to pursue her dream of living a normal life. She deserves it. She learns how to make muffins and the basics of software development. These things are unrelated.

Gasman (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

Honestly, writing Gazzy is kind of hard for me. Partially because I’m not great at writing kids, and partially because I feel like he’s a pretty surface-level character in-series that... isn’t super compelling in canon. But even if that’s the case, I try to treat all of my characters with respect, so here we go. In my rewrite, he escaped when he was four, which was half a lifetime ago for him, so his memories are ill-defined. Therefore, he managed to circumvent a lot of the trauma that the rest of the kids have, and not in the way Nudge did, which is by creating an elaborate blockage in her memories.

Which means Gazzy... really doesn’t know how to deal with all of this traumatic stuff happening. So much of his development turns out to be a coming-of-age narrative. Learning how to deal with the horrors of what his siblings grew up with. Learning the fears that they had the entire time. Losing his innocence when everyone around him never had it in the first place, and being so terribly alone because of it. Because, really, how can you explain such a deep loss to people who never had what he had? How can they help in a way that matters?

Also, relationship-wise, I’m slowly deteriorating the relationship between him and Iggy. Slowly. Or, changing it, at least. Gazzy hero-worships Iggy in-series, and for good reason, because Iggy is super cool, especially in the eyes of an eight-year-old, and especially when Iggy has taken care to cultivate parts of his behaviors to be child-friendly. Part of growing up is seeing the flaws in your heroes, and Gazzy has to learn how to deal with it. End of the series Gazzy is much less closer to Iggy than beginning of the series Gazzy, and neither of them are really okay with that, but they learn to live with it, because that’s really all they can do.

Notes:

I’m keeping the mimickry! It plays a bit of a bigger role because that’s how Gazzy learned to talk. I’m debating whether or not he has his own voice or if he just borrows the flock’s as he sees fit. He also uses it to scream really loudly and occaisonally burst the eardrums of Erasers.

At one point he cosplays as Jessica Jones. No you don’t get any more context than this.

He has a horrible sense of fashion.

I’m changing his name eventually because it sucks. He’s either going to change it to Gannet, Garrison, or Ivy Mike temporarily, and permanently to Zephyr. (I never said I was going to make his name GOOD, because he’s eight, but it’s changing. You’re welcome.)

Angel (Birthname: No first name, surname “Falk”)

It’s just... a completely different character, at this point. I’ve changed so many things about her in an attempt to make her consistent and act like a six-year-old and work in the whole “telepath before she has a solid sense of identity”, so it’s a different character. Also, I’m tired of writing coherently or in paragraphs, so have some interesting facts.

She has epilepsy! Super severe epilepsy! I think she might also develop juvenile MS in the future because her brain has so many scars from being a fucking six-year-old telepath. There’s no way she could get out of that unscathed.

She has more memories of the school than Gazzy, but only because she keeps accidentally reading the minds of Max, Fang, and Iggy. On a related note, she interacts with Iggy as little as possible.

The mind reading means that she has a hard time developing as a normal child with a normal sense of identity or reality. She can’t tell how much people are individual people and how much they’re just extensions of her. Conversely, she can’t tell how much of herself is actually her instead of the thoughts/opinions/identities of someone else. It’s... kinda fucked? But also super not-her-fault.

She’s albino because white wings. Also, because I thought it was cool. This also means that her vision sucks, though. Also she has the biggest straw sunhat and the most stylish sunglasses a six-year-old can have.

She’s responsible for Max shaving her hair off.

She has the highest swear count because I think it’s funny. She’s the only person allowed to say the fuck word in writing. Everyone else can only say ‘hell’ and the occasionally ‘damn’ but she can say whatever she wants for dramatic and comedic value.

She is NOT THE FUCKING VOICE, J*MES P*TTERSON.

Honorable Mentions

Jeb

I’m skipping Jeb because of how little I care about him. He’s a little bitch, next character.

Ari

STILL HASN’T BEEN REVEALED AS AN ERASER. I’ve been writing for 50,000 words and he’s over here saying ‘nope nope not yet, not dramatic enough’. He’s had speaking lines but has refused to make himself known to Max. I am so frustrated with this seven-year-old wolf-child that I’ve already considered how I would kill him, if I decide I want to kill yet another child in my writing.

So, my main thoughts for Ari is that he... really just drew the short end of the stick in every possible way. While Jeb didn’t sign him up for Eraser expirimentation, he didn’t do anything to stop it, and pretty much cut his losses when he realized this expiriment made a wreck of his ‘perfect, unflawed’ son, because Jeb doesn’t consider children of any species to actually be humans. So, Ari really hates his dad, which makes things complicated, because he also really loves his dad and really wants his approval.

Which means that he also really hates Max, because she’s the child that always got Jeb’s time and attention, even when Ari was human. I think, on some level, he knows that trying to tear Max down to a less-favored level isn’t actually going to help his situation— infighting for the love of an abusive parent won’t make them any less abusive— but he’s also seven, and his development is already severely stunted due to becoming an Eraser, and he doesn’t see ‘leaving ITEX’ as an option like the Flock does. ITEX is his everything. It’s all he’s ever known, and they tell him he’s doing the right thing, and he wants them to love him. He wants his father to love him. He knows that if he ever questions ITEX, his father will never love him. So it must be his older sister that’s ruining his life and being a horrible child, and once Ari drags her back down to his level, Jeb will realize who the best child is and love him properly again.

Ari, on an even deeper level, does care for Max quite a bit, because she’s his older sister and he wants that to mean something in a way that ‘Jeb being his father’ obviously doesn’t. He wants what she made for herself, and he hates the Flock because she loves them and obviously doesn’t love him.

Ari, if anything, is the product of neglect, and both loves and hates everyone who shows a chance of caring about him. And he’s seven, so he can’t notice these patterns, let alone break them.

So. Notes!

He doesn’t look like an adult. I thought that was gross and unnecessary. He’s seven, but he looks closer to thirteen or fourteen. Still young enough that he looks like every Eraser’s little brother, and the Erasers high-key treat him like it.

On a related note, he’s the only Eraser who can talk. The others don’t have the mental capacity or vocal structure to replicate human speech, but they can understand language (at about the level of a two or three year old) and are very good at nonverbal communication. This is why Ari managed to climb the ranks despite only having three years of “service” and also looking like a tween.

He doesn’t have an expiration date because that is SUCH a stupid plot point.

I’m giving him a chainsaw! I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but he deserves to have a chainsaw and GODDAMN I will give it to him.

Emergency and Gene

The OCs that I love and also killed pre-series. They don’t have any scenes, because they’re dead, but their deaths greatly effected Max, Fang, and Iggy, and they are very commonly referenced. Their voices are probably Max’s most common hallucination, to the point where she sometimes pretends they’re ghosts that she can talk to. They’re not ghosts. They’re dead.

Dr. Valencia Martinez

I’m actually keeping her pretty close to canon— loving, supportive, the type of person to take in a gsw victim with minimal questions. The difference is that rather than kindness fueling her actions, it’s incredible guilt. She has three goals surrounding Max: Give her as much support in any way she can, teach her as much about chicane culture as possible, and never let Max know that she’s her birth parent.

(She’s probably going to fail at AT LEAST two of those, but it’s the thought that counts.)

Notes:

She has a pet fox named Robin Hood that she rescued from an exotic animal salesman that got arrested.

I think I’m going to kill her. I don’t know yet, but it’s on the table.

Anne Walker

Y’know, the fake FBI Agent. Who’s not actually a fake in my story because I hated that plot point. She’s genuinely an FBI agent who put the Flock into pseudo-witness-protection in order to build a case against the Institute of Higher Living, accidentally got attached to her prime witnesses, raised them for a few months, realized a [SPOILER] and promptly had to let them get the hell out dodge.

I really like the Anne Walker that lives in my head. She is a VITAL part of the Flock’s development, their mental/emotional recovery, and adding to their safety net to fall back on. She serves them as their first adult role model, and is the first adult to show them what parent/child are supposed to look like from a healthy perspective. Though she has several fuck ups, she becomes someone that the Flock genuinely trusts and loves, which makes it all the more difficult for them to leave when [REDACTED].

Notes:

She and Max do butt heads initially, because Max is paranoid and also afraid of becoming uneeded. This ends up being incredibly important because Max needs to learn how to live and find meaning in life without being the designated Leader/Parent/Big Sister

Anne, at one point, sits the entire flock down to teach them about consent, which was something no one ever talked about with them before. She goes in talking specifically about consent in a romantic/sexual sense (because they’re fourteen and that’s something they need to know), but quickly turns into a full-fledged no, people are NOT allowed to do that to you, what the FUCK.

She’s responsible for giving the flock a laptop. It’s because Angel is online schooled (bc telepathy makes actually learning difficult) and was therefore provided with a computer.

Anne is also allowed to swear, but only when it’s funny.

Michael “Grey” Rivers

Aka Grey from the Sewers Aka GR3Y H47 Aka Mike from the Bronx Aka Gifted Child Syndrome Incarnate Aka Would-be-in-MIT-if-his-parents-weren’t-horrible. He’s my son, your honour.

Basically, his backstory boils down to him being a genius, getting into MIT at 14, his (horrible) parents wanting a perfect child who could “make it out” of the Bronx and represent his family/neighborhood/borough to the world. When he inevitably failed their expectations due to stress, a schizophrenic-spectrum disorder that completely alienated him from the rest of his support network, and refusing to take his psych meds because the side effects were horrible and they made it harder to think (and therefore pass his classes), they kicked him out. He fully intends to go back to MIT when he turns 18 and has control of his finances/scholarships/medication/therapy.

So that’s how the flock meets him.

Mike ends up in a very prominent support role for the flock both in technological persuits (helping them track their parents, helping them get information from ITEX, trying to disable Max’s chip and failing multiple times until it becomes a matter of personal honour—), in helping the older members of the flock figure out how to deal with hallucinations/delusions (because he’s actually been to therapy, unlike them), and in being one of the only people who talks to them and helps them without any ulterior motive. He’s not trying to build a case against ITEX/The Institute of Higher Learning, he’s not double crossing them, he’s not plagued with guilt. He just genuinely wants to help them, and they genuinely want to help him, and that’s their first introduction to a healthy, non-codependent relationship.

My many disorganized notes on Michael Rivers:

He’s from specifically Morris Heights, Bronx, NYC.

He would say that his last name is actually Rivera, but his grandparents changed it to Rivers so it would sound more English, and his family has been in America for so long that he doesn’t know much about any Latino heritage he may or may not have. He identifies as African American, not Afro-Latino. He’s just bitter that his family felt the need to change their surname to have better opportunities in New York.

Nudge aggressively befriends him pretty much the moment she meets him, bullies him into teaching her how to code, and he very quickly adopts her as his pseudo-little-sister.

His delusions in the book seemed to involve government conspiracies, but as that’s the one delusion that is proved correct in the book, I’ve decided it would be best if his delusions and reality intersected a bit less if I don’t want to write him having a manic/paranoid episode in the second scene he has screen time. So his delusions are more based on “none of this is real”, “someone is recording everything I do and setting me up to fail” and “my ill-wishes on people can and will come true if I dwell on them too long.”. Government conspiracies are one of things he is skeptical about because he thinks most conspiracies are either “CIA admitted to this twenty years ago” or “antisemitism”.

He’s taking online free college classes that don’t actually give him any college credit, but they have good information and help him feel like he’s working towards something. He plans to double major in computer sciences and electrical engineering, minor in marine biology. He’s wanted to join NOAA since he was twelve and he is nothing if not stubborn.

There you go. These are my characters, now. I have custody.

#maximum ride on main #Maximum Ride rewrite

35 notes · View notes

midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

Esoteric.

Witch!Izuku Midoriya X Fem!Reader

Summary: What was a witch, exactly? Someone who casts spells? Dabbled in medicine? Fought in battles? You didn’t know. That was, until you met one.

WARNINGS!: Soft!Dom!Izuku, Face-sitting, Fingering, Potion-play

Category: Smut

Word Count: 7.3k (more than half is like.. pure smut..)

A/N: The final day of the Izumonth Collab!

P.S. I really love Witch!Izuku, idk if you can tell,,, Also, I made the witch!collage above! ‘Tis just to suck you into the mood. And sorry this was.. a bit late.. heheh,,,

Just To Clarify:

You’re both consenting adults

Witches, though actually fairly rare, are seen as common beings

Witches aren’t human

Fantasy-ish au!

Tag List:

@coupsieddori @desia2 @strwbrry-lia @my-bnha-things

Every castle has a witch.

It’s been that way for as long as you, or anyone else, could remember.

It was normal.

Mundane to some.

Just something you’d hear about time and time again.

They were workers, just like you.

But yet, that never stopped your sense of wonder.

They never were in plain sight, not for a peasant such as yourself, anyway.

It always brought up so many questions whenever you’d stop to think about it.

What did they look like?

Were they nice, or wicked?

How did their magic work?

What did they wear?

Depending on the kingdom, most witches were treated like royalty, especially those who worked in castles.

Of course, how could someone so powerful not have such a title?

It made you question if it was given out of fear, or respect.

It wasn’t until you met the witch of Thidel castle, the ever-so-generous Izuku Midoriya, that your questions were all willingly answered.

You truly weren’t anticipating meeting him during such a catastrophe of a day. Looking back, it was quite embarrassing.

You were the baker’s assistant, tasked with making the batter to elaborate sweets for the King’s ball that evening.

The flour was freshly ground from the mill, the vanilla was as pure as a white daisy, the sugar ever-so-sweet, eggs fetched that morning, everything was perfect.

In fact, everything was running all nice and smoothly, until the King decided to ask for triple the amount of baked goods he had originally requested.

Not only did that mean running to town and back in shoes already falling apart, but that also meant stirring and stirring and stirring until it felt as if your arms were on fire and about to melt off.

You were covered in ingredients and sweat, the other bakers and assistants were running around, spilling things on each other, and making large messes as they pulled their hair out to get everything done on time.

It was chaos.

And that’s when he showed up.

You forgot what he was originally there for, herbs, perhaps?

Batter smudged on your cheek, you were carrying a large sack of flour to the mixing station when the door opened.

You slipped comedically on an egg that had fallen on the floor, and of course, you had to slam into this sudden brick wall of a man.

White powder flew everywhere, and the clock stopped in your head as you watched in horror as the last bag of flour you had was just about to spill all over the dirty cobblestone.

That’s when you saw it for the first time.

Magic.

He had simply flicked his wrist and all of the flour was back in its bag, and such a high ranking individual was on his knees, sputtering apologies to you.

To you, of all people.

A lowly peasant.

It felt unreal.

But that was how you met him.

He looked up and the first image he had of you forever imprinted in his head was wild (H/C) hair coated in sweat and flour, cheeks smudged with chocolate and dried batter, eyes wide with panic, and cheeks a burning red.

He never let you live it down, the bastard.

That night at the ball, you met him again. He had the gall to note how you cleaned up fast, all while sheepishly smiling at you like you were the only girl in the room.

You wanted to punch him at the time. Or die of embarrassment. He was still the witch after all, and never before had someone so high class spoken to you before. You were filled with so many emotions that night, you were sure you were going to throw up.

Instead, you smiled, offered him a pastry, and walked away.

He just had to follow you, though.

His reason being, “I was looking for some entertainment at such a boring event.”

It had made you laugh, as IF you were any entertainment. From then on, though, after having spent an entire night chatting the time away, he was as hooked on you as you were with him.

Nowadays, you got to frequent his studies often.

A privilege not many had, as apparently- witches were quite stubborn with letting people into their sanctuary and touching their things.

Perhaps it was a possessive trait of theirs, one that kept them from misplacing important potions, books, and ingredients, but nevertheless you were absolutely honored to be allowed somewhere so.. otherworldly.

The King and his youngest son were the only ones besides yourself allowed in.

But stepping inside would always be a slap to the face, no matter how many times you actually did enter.

It wasn’t exactly clear to you how he did it, or how the witch before him did it, but the small study tucked away on the east wing of the castle wasn’t a small study at all.

The old, heavy brown door was signed with words of a language unknown to you and others, the hinges creaking ever so slightly as you pulled it open, only to be met with a two-story home inside.

Your nose was always immediately hit with the earthy scent of rain and plants, no doubt from the plethora of the heavenly greens hanging about the place, glowing orbs of light hovering near the ones doomed to never touch true sunlight.

The place was cluttered yet neat, parchments piling up in one corner, yet another where they laid organized.

It was almost like a different world crafted by steady and loving hands.

Old maps were tacked to one of the walls, scribbled writing and red circles pointing out certain areas of the land beyond the one you knew.

Witches apparently had their own realm, or at least, “a pocket of Earth hidden away from humans by magic”, as Izuku had thoughtfully explained one night as a thunderstorm raged on outside.

Old books smelling of age are scattered about, the large bookshelf barely able to contain them all.

Candles lit by a green flame surround a large wooden table, herbs such as chamomile, ginger, ginseng, valerian, lavender, and saffron are neatly placed by a bowl, wrapped in bundles. Clearly, he was going to try and make some more anti-depressant mixture for the prince again.

He was more of a naturalist when it came to the sick, unless worse came to worse.

He was essentially a glorified doctor who was far more knowledgeable on plants rather than bone structure and types of sickness.

He was a sweetheart who helped all he could.

Hell, he was even taken to some battles as a last defense.

Despite looking so innocent, with his baby fat still hugging his cheeks and freckles splattered all about, the definition of youth, he was quite powerful.

Scarily so.

You had heard hushed whispers from fellow servants about how he had taken down armies alone multiple times before, coming back with nothing but burns and a broken bone or two.

He was terrifying to those who didnt take a mere second to glance at him.

But those who did were greeted with nothing but a warm smile and the fleeting wave of a busy man.

It was a mystery how you had managed to capture his undivided attention, enough so that he had made you his, the plain-looking bracelet made from leather string holding an emerald sealed with magic signifying that.

You were untouchable.

Once gutted with fear, you walked the polished grounds of the castle freely.

After all, not even a King would so much as dare to harm witches beloved, lest he wanted to be burned alive by immortal flames and sent to the ninth level of hell.

A level solely made by strong users of the past, the ones who carved the road for witchery, having bent time itself to do so.

Truly terrifying how powerful they could be, but yet it was so mystifying.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent nights wide awake listening to him ramble about their history, about how they came to be and how they flourished.

They didn’t start off as human-like creatures, they started off as a ball of magical light in a land filled with nothing.

It was said that witches built the Earth from the ground up until greed overtook the lands and the humans overpopulated them.

And yet, they work harmoniously together.

Humans fearful of their power, and witches just naturally seeking to help people and continue their craft in harmony with all those who share the lands they grew from scratch.

It truly was a peaceful existence they led, you couldn’t help but admire it.

Just like you always have.

Pulling the door shut, it locked behind you as you stepped over some paper with doodles, knowing better than to mess with his disorganized things without him in the room to see it.

Speaking of, you were asked here this evening, something about wanting to try out a new potion he had made.

He was always making new things, an inventor of sorts, but never one to have you as a test subject.

Of course, it piqued your curiosity and had you quickly cleaning up the mess you had made in the kitchen when the day was officially over just to get here as fast as you could.

The large window covered in vines holding a small couch beneath it glistened with the light of a crescent moon, casting the room lit with an array of colors in a cool glow.

Smoke from the candles blurred the light, only to collide with the wooden floor above them.

Humming, you grabbed an orb sitting on a side table, holding it in the moonbeams so it would absorb its brightness. A candlestick of sorts made from magic. You weren’t going to risk going into complete darkness again.

He was obviously not in his work area, so he was probably upstairs.

And so, as quietly as you could, you crept up the old stairs, holding your breath and biting your lip whenever you came to a creaky step. You wanted to scare him, or at the very least surprise him

He was so easy to scare, and he always made the cutest of noises when you did it.

It was hard not to try everytime you were given the chance.

Once you made it to the top, fingers clasped tightly around the carved wooden railing, you looked around the darkened hallway, searching for the room he’s most likely to be in.

None of them had any lights on, which was eerily odd.

He never was much a fan of complete darkness.

It only raised questions as to if he wasn’t here yet, or if he was leaving you high and dry.

No, he would never do such a thing. Perhaps you’re early?

Chewing on your thumbnail, you stood dead at the top of the stairs, waiting for a sign that he was here.

“BOO!”

“ARGGHH!” you shrieked, jumping away from the noise only to have your back slammed against the wall.

Horrified, you snapped your head to the direction of the noise, only to find a giddy Izuku covering his mouth with a leather-gloved hand, holding away his giggles.

Huffing, you placed a hand on your heart, ignoring the laughs that seeped out of him.

“Geeze, you scared me!” You chided, glaring up into his playful green eyes.

“Oh, like you weren’t trying to do the same to me just now.”

Laughing still, he bent down in front of you, offering you a hand to help you up.

Ever the gentleman.

Placing your palm into his own, he easily pulled you up to your feet, holding you against his muscular chest in a welcoming hug, to which you eagerly returned, arms wrapping around his slender waist.

Though you didn’t know the common body type of a witch, you had to admit, he was certainly buff. Not that you minded.

He could easily throw you over his broad shoulder, and you loved it.

Completely defenseless and vulnerable.

Oh, how sweet it was to trust fully in someone.

His foreign clothes were soaked in his familiar thick scent, the smell of the forest after it had just rained, dewdrops in the early morning sun, a hint of pine, and his own natural musk that always had your head spinning. He tends to travel the forests in the kingdom often, collecting natural herbs and stones he found interesting.

He had jars and jars of rocks and stones, sometimes cracking them open to reveal crystals tucked away inside. He’d always make little trinkets out of them, giving them to people he deemed as friends as a sign of gratitude. You only had one, made from the rarest crystal he had ever found, taaffeite.

“So, why did you need me?” You mumbled against his chest, cheek rubbing against his familiar warmth.

“Firstly, I always need you.” The sap.

“Mhmm..” you hummed out, letting him pull away and grab your hand, taking the glowing orb and tossing it up and down as he led you down the corridor.

“Secondly,” he trailed off, leaving the orb to float in the air as he unlocked his bedroom door, pulling you inside.

“It’s a bit of a personal thing I can only trust you with testing.”

Smiling to yourself, you sat down on the edge of his large bed, running your fingers over the soft wool that made up his thick comforter.

Never one to use dead animal pelts.

“Is that so?” Your eyes naturally follow his being as he walks around the room, shuffling through different materials before snapping his fingers to light the stone fireplace off on the other side of the room, providing more light, as well as warmth, so he could see where he was going and not trip on the books scattered across the floor.

He didn’t like the windows in his bedroom open at night.

“Y-yes..” he stuttered, fumbling around with a few glass jars on his desk, muttering to himself as he examines the label on each one. Seemingly finding what he was looking for, he turned back to you, proudly showing that he had found it before making his way back to the bed.

“What is that for?” Curious, your fingers brushed against the cool glass containing the shimmering magenta liquid as he sat beside you on the bed, mattress dipping enough from his weight that your sides knocked together.

“A few weeks ago, Shōto had asked a familiar question, if I possessed the ability to make every potion out there. Of course I- I can’t exactly, but I’ve enough skill to make some rather.. exotic potions. He questioned if I ever tried something different than just potions to heal the sick or offer beauty, and I haven’t. I don’t know why, but realizing that upset me. As if my skill set was limited to just some average joe healer,”

“Izuku..”

“So for a while now, I’ve been branching out. Trying different types of potions and having him as the tester.”

“Is that why he’s been acting different these days?”

“Precisely. I’m just lucky I haven’t gotten in trouble for turning him into a frog yet..” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his head as you took the glass from him to ogle it.

“So what is this then?”

“Um..” Embarrassment was creeping up his neck and resting on his cheeks as he averted his shy eyes, “I have a hunch of what it might do. But.. secret?”

You pout at him, “Shouldn’t I know what this is?”

“You’ll know soon! I promise it won’t harm you, darling.” Leaning down, he pecks a kiss on your cheek, large arm wrapping around your waist to pull you into a side hug.

Taking the glass from your hands, he pulled the cork out, glittery, pink mist floating out like smoke from a blown-out candle.

“So, what do you say? Will you try it?” It was almost as if he was giving you no option other than yes with those big puppy eyes of his staring into your soul.

Licking your lips, an action his eyes followed, you gulped the nervousness away.

What had you to fear? This was Izuku after all. Had he ever done you harm? Absolutely not.

You had no reason not to trust the man who held your heart.

“Alright.”

Joy lit up his face, smiling so widely his eyes crinkled.

Huffing out a laugh, you took the bottle from him again, curiously sniffing its fragrance.

“Chocolate and.. maca?” The scent was certainly familiarly tasty, having worked with the foods before, being a baker. Judging how the liquid didn’t resemble them at all, it was off-putting. How had he managed to trap such a delicate smell inside?

“Mhm! That’s right! Apparently, when made, the potion takes on a heavenly smell. Most are usually bitter.”

“Ahh..” Trailing off you eyed it up one last time before finally bringing it to your lips, a shiver running down your spine at just how cold the glass still was, despite being in a warm room.

Tilting the glass up, the liquid glimmering in the light of the fire traveled down the shoot, pouring into your awaiting mouth, feeling as if you were swallowing a runny syrup.

It had the slightest hint of sugar and cinnamon to its flavor, but nothing else. How odd.

Gulping it all down just to get it over with, your eyes that unknowingly closed fluttered open as he pulled the glass away.

Feeling perfectly fine, you stared up at him with confusion, about to speak before his lips cut you off, tongue poking out to lick the renaming liquid from the corner of your mouth.

The clink of the bottle being set down echoed around the room before his gloved palm delicately cupped your cheek, tilting your head as to deepen the kiss.

His tongue eagerly explored the wet cavern of your mouth, as if he was drinking the little essence from his own creation left over.

Pulling away with a wet pop, his forehead rested against yours, mesmerizing green eyes staring softly into your own, waiting.

Waiting for what was what you didn’t know, perhaps for the potion to take effect.

You were eager to find out just what it was, but you had a semblance of a guess considering the position you found yourself in.

“How do you feel?” he whispered breathlessly against your parted lips.

Just as you were about to reply, your words got caught in your throat as your body began to heat up in a familiar way.

“I..” You pant, grip on his cotton shirt tightening as your gut suddenly twisted with a burning need for HIM.

Your (E/C) eyes glaze over with lust in front of his own, pupils dilating as your body began to shake, whimpers escaping your throat.

Thighs rubbing together to offer friction you didn’t know you desperately craved until now, you looked at him helplessly, so close to falling apart if it weren’t for his large hand on the small of your back holding you close to his steady figure.

“I-I feel hot.. Izuku..”

You whined, chewing at your lip as you wiggled beneath his excited stare.

“Good.”

Suddenly, his lips connected with yours once more, drawing a stuttered moan from your throat at the contact you unknowingly began to crave more and more as your lips connected again and again.

You clung to him like a koala, kissing him fervently like you would never be able to again, desperate to have his undivided attention.

Hands sliding to your hips, he pulled you onto his lap, legs hugging his own as hot breaths mingled together with the wet sound of kisses.

“Ah..!” You squeaked against him, your hips involuntarily grinding down onto his crotch, greedily searching for the pleasure your body desperately craved.

“M-mmm.. Izu.. I-” Your apology was cut off with a nip to your neck, “Don’t apologize,” he scolded. Grip still on your hips, he pulled you down rougher against his hardening dick, his hips thrusting up to meet your own, eliciting a sharp cry from your being as your head threw back at the sudden pressure where you craved it most.

He was quick to chase your lips, dragging you back into your heated makeout, swallowing every moan you let out as you both humped each other like horny dogs, the eagerness from him only adding to the pool of moisture leaking out of your body.

The button on his trousers was rubbing deliciously against your clothed clit, making your hips stutter every so often as you fought to maintain that hard surface.

Saliva began to drip down the side of your mouth from the intense kissing, but you hadn’t a care in the world.

No, your mind was too fogged to even think about it.

All you craved was him.

Him.

You yearned for him like he’d been gone a decade, and your body acted on it in a way you were typically shy about.

Biting your lip, he pulled away from the kiss, dragging a whine of protest from you before he hushes you by licking the outer shell of your ear, breath fanning across it only adding to the tingles of excitement shooting down your arched spine. “Hush,” he commanded, and as if you couldn’t disobey him, your words of protest died on your tongue, leaving only a parted mouth and heavy breaths.

Licking down the column of your neck, nose brushing against you, he searched for that familiar sweet spot on you, teeth grazing your flesh.

Still grinding on his hard cock covered by pants, a wet spot no doubt leaking past the underwear you wore beneath your hiked up skirt and onto him, you gasp once he found the place he was looking for.

Smirking, he nibble gently, holding you still as you began to wiggle once more.

Your head tilted to the side to give him more room as he sucked on your skin, teeth repeatedly nibbling at your sensitive flesh. Biting down harshly, you cried out with pain and pleasure, hips grinding down so hard onto him he groaned, the vibration making your heart jump in your throat.

“A-ahh… hnng.!” Moans poured salaciously past your thoroughly kissed lips, holding onto him for dear life as he controlled your being with every fiber of his own.

A button on your blouse popped open, and your foggy gaze traveled down just to see his fingers expertly undoing each one without looking, letting your bare breasts bounce out above your corset.

Not giving you a second to cover yourself out of embarrassment, his large hand cupped one of your tits, massaging it gently just to feel the soft flesh as your chin rested against his grounding shoulder, small moans now directly in his awaiting ear.

“You’re such a good girl, (Y/N).” He praised, eyes filled with nothing but love as he got to watch your unusually heated body search for the pleasure it craved.

You were usually so shy in bed, but with this potion pumping through your veins, he hoped it’d help give you the confidence boost you needed.

Though, that wasn’t the only thing it did.

He was filled with anticipation, if his throbbing member was anything to go by.

Thumb circling around your cute, perky nipple, he took the bud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling gently and rolling it between them, dragging high pitched whines from you.

You couldn’t help but pull away from him again, body constantly shifting from the delicious pleasure you were being given.

Fully pulling your blouse off, he left your chest completely bare, giving him the chance to dip his head down and latch onto the opposite nipple, lathering it in attention with his warm muscle, sucking softly and continuously rolling your other nipple with his hand.

It left you craving more, fingers threading through his messy green curls, pulling as to not lose yourself, only eliciting yet another deep groan that vibrated on your skin.

Feeling yourself slowly start to come undone, you desperately ground against him, pants becoming high pitched and moans being louder.

He could tell you were getting close, and from grinding alone no less, it made him feel so damn good to know he could get you to come purely from grinding.

But he didn’t want you to cum like this.

Certainly not.

And so, he fell back on his back dragging you with him as his lips found yours again.

Gripping at the hem of your skirt, he yanked it down, pulling it off your legs. Using a little handy magic, he effortlessly pulled your own shoes off, already working your underwear down your quivering thighs, eyes zeroed in on the drip of wetness attaching your core to them for a split second before they were across the other side of the room.

Corsets were always his worst nightmare.

He couldnt think too clearly to untie the knot in the back as your now bare crotch rubbed against his own, so without thinking, he ripped it off, the bare display of strength having you keening against him.

“Princess,” he whispered against your lips, dragging your hips upwards, “please, sit on my face.”

How vulgar of him to say, with a smile no less, but nonetheless it scent a throb of want to your stomach, and you found yourself, once again, unable to disobey him.

Your body burned red from embarrassment as you crawled up his own still fully clothed one, but you weren’t given the chance to dwell on it before he moved your hips directly over his face, tongue poking out to lap at your dripping folds.

“Gaah..!” You cried, fingers digging into the blanket beneath him as your hips once again helplessly sought the pleasure you craved, unafraid to press down against him.

Your juices tasted so sweet, he eagerly lapped at you like a dog deprived of water.

He had to hold you still against his face, drinking in the image of your breasts jiggling like jelly with every shuttered breath you took, head flung back and eyes shut tight as you focused purely on the way the flat of his tongue licked you up like a sugary treat.

He couldn’t help but occasionally press a kiss against your sobbing flesh, teasingly avoiding your clit begging for attention each time you moved against his mouth.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, only sending his mind into a state of hunger, wanting to drag every noise out of you he could, along with the loud licking that caused your essence to drip down his chin.

His aching cock was straining against the flimsy button of his pants, desperate to be released and buried deep inside your soul-sucking pussy again.

Tongue dipping inside you and lips pressing against your sensitive, pink labia, he ate you out with earnest, squeezing your hips tightly with his fingers as he fought to control himself from shoving you to the blankets and fucking you raw without finishing his dessert first.

A choked sob tore from your throat with his lips finally encased your puffy clit, the tip of his tongue tracing around the bundle of nerves before flattening his tongue against it.

Your hips bucked involuntarily against his face, pressing him harder against you just so you could cry out his name like a sinful prayer.

His heart was full of love for you as he observed your reaction did everything blissful he did.

You were in heaven, walking on clouds as wet squelches from your own body surrounded your ears.

“Z-Zuku..!” You cried as he sucked on your clit like candy, enjoying the rough treatment. The tip of his tongue traced his name possessively over your button, marking you as his forevermore, silently vowing to never let another man do the same.

“I-I’m close..!” You cried, tears of pleasure falling down your flushed cheeks, dripping onto the thighs squeezing his head like warm earmuffs.

He hummed against you, dragging his tongue across the expanse of your womanhood before enclosing around your clit again, lathering it in the attention you needed to be pulled over the edge.

Your thighs clenched around his head, his hair tickling you, body stilling as you screamed out in pleasure, back arching and giving him a lovely view of your demise.

You came on his tongue, the stimulation he gave you throughout your orgasm sending you higher and higher in that clouded head of yours.

When you finally came down and slumped forward, catching your breath, he licked up the mess you made, pulling away from your lower lips and running a tongue over his own to greedily savor your delectable taste.

Placing you off to the side, giving you a second to calm down,, he hurriedly shuffled out of his clothing, throwing his cloak, gloves, and various other things on his person to the floor, kicking his boots off that landed with a heavy thump, leaving his underwear on as he crawled over on top of you.

Dazed, you stared deliriously up at him, a bashful smile on your lips, watching as he wipes your juices away with the back of his wrist before licking it clean. He was so sinful and messy.

The warm fire crackling in the corner hugged at his soft skin, making his eyes blown wide with lost twinkle like starlight. He looked so in love as he stared at you as if you were the only person in the world.

Breathing heavily, you reached out for him, and he was happy to lean in so you could wrap your arms around his neck, toying with the shorter curls at his nape as he kissed you again, your taste still on his tongue as your tongues intertwined. You weakly fought against his intrusion, teasing, only for him to grab a handful of your ass, making you gasp and effectively losing the battle.

He flooded your being with everything he had, his scent, his love, his passion, adoration, everything.

His knowledge on your own sexual human anatomy astounded you, but always left you moaning against him, much to his utter pleasure.

His thumb circled your twitching clit, bringing your attention back to his actions and the way you clenched helplessly around thin air, waiting for him.

You hungrily eyed the bulge in his underwear, licking your lips at the spot of wetness where his dripping head was.

You wanted to feel him inside you again, to clench around the very thing that drove you insane other than his skillful touch.

“P-please..” You begged, detaching yourself from him, pleading for mercy under his sharp gaze as he soaked up your wrecked self.

He loved hearing you beg.

“Please what?” he drawled out, running his lips down the side of your face and neck, pressing kisses against your collarbone. Moving his thumb previously giving you what you desire to your thighs, he held them in his grasp just to feel your smooth, warm skin against his rough, scarred palms.

You whined, shimmying your hips to draw his attention to them. He ignored your advances, peering up at your face with a glare and crooked smile that shot sparks down your body, “Tell me.”

As if on cue, and unable to disobey his words that squeezed your heart, you sputtered a response, barely able to maintain eye contact, “P-please touch me..! M-more.. I, I need more, please! I want..” your breath was stolen from your lungs as he began to grind his clothed crotch against your wet core, “I want you! I w-want you to fuck me, please..! I- I can’t take it anymore.. Please, Izuku..!” More tears fell from your eyes, falling onto the mattress below you, “Please fuck me..!”

Happy with your response, but still not quite ready to give in, he pulled away, circling your clenching hole with his middle finger, watching as your head flew back with tears as you meekly thrust upwards.

As much as he wanted to pull himself out right now and fuck you until his bed broke from the sheer force, he couldn’t risk hurting you.

Even if the potion was designed to make you ready for everything sexual, willing to comply with his every demand, you still were his princess, his angel, and he was going to treat you like one.

He didn't want you to wake with the soreness of not being properly prepared, even if he could heal you a minute after. That minute of you crying from the pain that HE selfishly caused would always be stabbed into his heart, and he certainly didn't want that, nor you to experience it.

“Sorry, love..” he apologized, finally plunging his thick finger inside you after thoroughly coating it with your slick, moaning at how tight you were for him.

“Fuck..” he whispered under his breath, keeping your thighs splayed wide open as he sat back on his haunches to watch you react to him.

Your back was arched, begging for more as you gripped the sheets below you, cheek pressed against the mattress as low moans trickled out your sinful mouth like water.

Face hot, a boyish smile fell on his face as he added another finger, observing how you hotly throw your head back as he pressed against the spongy spot inside your walls.

“Aaahh..! T-there! R-right there..!”

“I know, darling, shh, shhh.” He cooed at you, curling his fingers against your G-spot with each thrust in and out of your sopping pussy. His fingers made wet clicks inside of you as they rubbed against your walls, dragging more and more moans out of you as you ground down on his large digits.

His eyes couldn’t leave the view of you sucking him back in every time he pulled his fingers out, it left him imagining more and more scenarios in his head.

God, how he wanted to destroy you.

Have you screaming his name so loudly you broke the sound barrier he had set up ages ago, letting all of the castle and its snobby guards know he was fucking the love of his life and doing it damn well.

He bet they would be jealous.

Those thoughts of it made his adrenaline spike, adding a third finger to the squelching party mixing your insides up, leaving you at their utter disposal.

Arousal poured from you like a steady stream, gushing down and leaving a wet puddle under your ass.

You were so wet for him it was hard to bear, but you felt so, so good.

Your mind was so muddled with lust, you couldn’t think straight, all that entered your mind was ‘more, more, more.’

You were being greedy, but you couldn’t help it.

Deciding you were prepped enough, his fingers pulled fully out of you, putting on a small display of licking them clean as you watched with wide, doe eyes, stuttering out about how dirty that was.

“More dirty than you using my face as a seat, my lady?” He teased, tucking his face into the crook of your neck.

“T-thats..”

He chuckles at your flustered response.

Pulling his underwear down, his cock slaps against his toned stomach, fully erect and dripping with precum.

Throwing them off to the side, he noticed the way your eyes greedily looked at his body, confidence burning his veins as he sees the impatience in your eyes as you stare at his member.

He was tempted to say, ‘like what you see?’ but he himself was far too eager and impatient to wait any longer.

Grabbing himself, he ran his thickness between your lips, gathering your arousal on him before leading himself to your entrance.

“Ready?” He asked whilst kissing the skin below your ear.

You nodded, hips wiggling in anticipation.

“A-ahh! Fuck!” You cried out as he fully sheathed himself inside you with one thrust, bottoming out immediately.

He bit at your skin, concealing the deep moan that rumbled in his chest as you strangled his weeping dick at last.

You were so intoxicating, you sweet aroma wafting off you with every breath.

Grinding himself inside of you, he waited patiently for you to adjust, leaving hickeys all over your skin with each passing second.

Gulping down air, you thrust upwards, dragging him out of his blissed-out state just to moan heavenly deeply in your ear.

“Naughty girl..” he seethed, making you giggle, only to be shut up as he pulled out and slammed his hips back into your own, drawing out a garbled moan.

Skin slapped wetly against skin with each rough thrust he relentlessly delivered, drinking up your cries for more.

Leaning back to watch you with hungry, dark green eyes, pupils blown wide with lust. He pinned your arms to the bed above your head, a punishment for catching him off guard.

His cock was truly a godsend, thick and long, curved upwards just to slam repeatedly into your soft g-spot over and over.

You could only hold on for dear life as he fucked you good and hard just like you wanted, just like you craved.

“O-Ohh!!! Izu!! Izuku-! Ahh.! F-fuck..!” You moaned with each thrust inside your wet self, body being pushed back from the sheer intensity of which he fucked you with.

He knew your body so well by now, he knew each and every way to make you fall apart by his own doing.

He knew how to break you in the most sinful way possible, and he loved it.

Your face was lewdly contorted with pleasure, eyes looking back, eyebrows pinched together, (H/C) baby hairs plastered to your sweaty forehead, and mouth gaping wide open so he could hear every slur of words and every noise you emitted.

He wanted to hear everything you had to say, every reaction to the way he fucked you.

He could feel you growing tighter around his throbbing cock, juices coating his thighs with each heavy thrust inside of you.

He loved how much he could turn you on, even if right now it was all thanks to the potion that added pink hearts to your innocent (E/C) eyes.

The same potion that had you openly moaning unashamedly, whereas you previously would have held them in by biting your lip and hands.

He was so happy to hear how good he made you feel.

At long last.

“(Y/N)..” he panted heavily, peering deeply into your glossy eyes, movements becoming more and more sloppy as he lost himself to the pleasure, a burning pressure building up in his gut with each shallow and deep thrust.

Falling down on top of you, he held you close to him, letting your arms go so you could dig your nails into the flesh of his toned, freckled back flexing with each movement.

The bed banged loudly against the wall, he momentarily worried it would leave a dent- but he couldn’t think about that now. Not when you were crying out his name so sweetly.

“I’m here, I’m here..” he soothed as you clung to him.

Your hips began to move in circles, drugging him with intense ecstasy as he thrusts into you. You kept him wanting more and more. He was addicted to you.

Pushing your legs back against the mattress, he reached so deep inside you, you swore you could feel his head kissing at your womb.

You were so helpless to the waves of infinite pleasure he washed you over with that all you could do was take it.

“You’re doing so.. hah… so good, baby..” he praised breathlessly.

“Gnnn! Gaahhah..! Izuku!!”

“Let me hear it.. let me hear you, princess.” He smiled against your skin as you let out an onslaught of sultry moans, fueling his inner fire.

“I’m..! I- gwaahhh..! I’m so c-close..!”

“Me too, me too..” He fervently pressed kisses to your cheek, letting his other hand travel down to coat his thumb in your spare wetness, just to rub circles on your puffy clit, applying the right amount of pressure that always drove you insane.

Drool dribbled down the side of your mouth as your tongue flopped out, breasts bouncing with each and every thrust, constantly captivating him as he could feel their softness against his pecs.

Holding you flushed against him, he let magic crackle to life on his hand, green sparks lighting up the area around the two of you just barely. His hand began to vibrate, magic he learned was good for massaging muscles, but of course, it had.. other uses..

The vibration against your clit, added to the pounding of his cock expertly slamming against your G-spot, sent your head flying back, white vision going black as your pussy strangled his cock like a python.

“Haaahh.! Aah!” You cried his name out so loudly it burned your throat, leaving you to cum harshly on his dick, the strange sensation of liquid squirting from your body making your mind go numb as all you were left with was burning hot stars in your eyes.

The display alone was enough to drag him over the edge as well, slamming his cock into you once more before warm ropes of cum spurted into you, completely coating your walls and spewing out from the sheer amount as he let out a silent moan.

His thighs twitched and his stomach felt empty when he finally came down from his high, the same time as you.

Love filled his gaze as you both peered into each other’s eyes, enraptured by the souls sealed within.

Heavy breaths blew past your lips, desperate to calm down your racing heart.

“How was it..?” He questioned lightly, moving hair out of your face so he could get a better look.

“How was… what..?” Your mind was still clouded. You hadn’t any idea how he could still think straight.

Giggling, he rubbed his nose lovingly against your own.

“The potion. Could you feel its effects..?”

Staring at him in bewilderment, it took a second to register his words.

The potion.. what had it done again..?

Oh..

You slapped a hand over your mouth, pulling away from him. “Oh gosh..!”

You were so embarrassed!

Gah, to be so loud!! You wanted to hide in a hole..!

“Don't be shy, my love,” He pleaded sweetly, placing a kiss on your sweaty forehead, “it’s just me.”

“That's the point!! I-it was embarrassing to- to be so.. lewd in f-front of you…”

“You say that, and yet I’m still deep inside you,”

“Izuku..!” You groaned, shoving his smiling face away with both hands, only for him to grab your hands and place gentle kisses on them.

“I.. I liked hearing you..” he flushed, bashfully looking away.

Though he could be quite the dominant man in bed, it was always endearing how he was still the shy witch you fell in love with at the end of the day.

“W-well I..” You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, “Well I’ll be louder for now o-on then..!” Your declaration surprised him, shock resting on his features before he broke out in another smile, flopping on top of your sweaty body just to hug you to his own equally as sweaty body.

“I love you, (Y/N)..” he sighed blissfully, burying his nose in your hair as he cuddled you, the crackling of the blazing fire just now reaching his ears.

“I love you too, Izuku.”

Though he could be a handful at times, with his insistent drive to be better and push himself beyond his current limits, as well as running headfirst into danger and getting littered with scars, you still loved him.

You always would.

He was your kind witch, and you, his darling beloved.

And nothing would ever get between a witch and the one he called his.

…

….

“So, are you going to pull out? I feel a little messy.”

“In a minute..”

“Izu!”

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