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reiderwriter · 1 day

Text

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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cherryredstars · 3 days

Note

Ok so i have this fic idea where reader and mig are from different universes and reader is a scientist and one time mig and her get drunk and start talking about the multiverse and suddenly they are on the topic of what would happen if people from different universes had a baby together. (You see where i am going with this...) they end up drunkenly fucking and saying it's for "research" because they can't admit to themselves that they are in love. If this request is too complicated feel free to ignore. Thank you in advance cherry!! I hope u have a marvelous new year!! 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Mentions of Oral Sex, Mentions of Animal Testing (for science), Breeding Kink

A/N: Thank you, love! I hope you're well!!!

You know there is a process.

And you know this isn't it.

There are supposed to be hypotheses and written out procedures. Dependent and independent variables, a control group. Fucking hell, you should be experimenting on fucking mice. You should be limiting the margins of error, should be going with the most direct, straightforward pursuit for results.

And yet...

You don't stop Miguel when he pushes you back onto the couch. You don't pause or even really think when he's pushing your pants down your legs, placing kisses along the skin as he goes. You lift your hips to aid him when his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, shivering when his warm breath fans over your exposed sex. If this experiment was in any sense proper, you would get straight into it. Cut out all the unneeded steps. But you can't help but pull his head closer to your aching core, craving the way his warm tongue laps at you. If you weren't already drunk, you would be drunk on this feeling alone.

But god, nothing has even been more satisfying than doing the work. You know the data would be void in a real experiment. The trials bleeding into each other hardly make for adequate data, but the way you beg him for more is involuntary. It feels too good, to have him desperately thrusting into you. It makes your mind numb, and everything you know about your life's passion is erased. The only thing that fills your head is the words Miguel grunts into you ears, promises of fucking a baby into you. Vows to make you bloated with load after load of his cum. That all it'll take is one of his orgasms to make it happen.

You guess that is a hypothesis in itself: Miguel O'Hara can get you pregnant with just one orgasm.

Too bad he's too desperate to find out if that hypothesis is correct. Because he doesn't stop at one. No, he keeps going. One after the other with no breaks in-between. But you guess that's to be expected, he is a man of science himself. A passionate one at that.

He's almost crazed in the way he overstimulates himself. Sweat beading in his hairline as he grunts down at you, watching the way he creamy cock slides in and out of your abused pussy. You've lost count of how many times you've come alone, but you know based on the way your body shivers and jolts that it's far more than you've ever had before. It's almost painful now, the way your next orgasm rips through you and shatters your soul again. You let out strangled breaths as you fight through the aftershocks and the continued pleasure of Miguel's cock slamming against your cervix. You swear you black out before he finally stops, your eyes and mind groggy as he pulls your hips flush against his as he spills into you.

You can feel him trying to push deeper into you as he pants ruggedly, his cock twitching against your walls until he's milked dry. Even when he's done filling you, he stays connected. He collapses onto you, breathing in the linger smell of sweat and sex on your skin.

"Got to make sure it takes."

Well, does the process really matter if you get the desired result anyway?

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ashwhowrites · 9 hours

Note

AHHHH IVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOUR REQUESTS TO OPEN UP!!!!! I’m obsessed with your writing 😩 (I apologize in advanced for my gibberish below for I am VERY high 😂)

Anywho (and you can totally ignore this if it’s not your cup of tea):

Would you possibly do an angst to fluff Eddie x reader fic where maybe instead of reader being the popular one, it was Eddie instead? Like instead of everyone hating on hellfire, they think it’s super cool and so Eddie is super popular and reader is like a quiet nerd. And like reader has a big crush on Eddie and Eddie knows but always makes fun of her for it because of his reputation but he secretly likes her too and then the events of the upside down happen? Like maybe it’s reader who lures the bats away instead of Eddie but Eddie saves the reader before she dies from the bats and he admits that he likes her back and they start dating?

Again, if it’s not your cup of tea you can totally ignore it but you’re the only person I feel like would do something magical with this.

I'm honored you believe I can do something magical with this. I hope I won you over.

I think this might be my favorite Eddie fic to date. I hope everyone enjoys this as much as I do! Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

⚠️it ends happy and I like the ending. So don't complain in the comments about "she shouldn't have taken him back" it's fiction and sometimes we just want things to work out so for this fic, leave that opinion to yourself. Saying that in the kindest way I can❤️

To die for

Y/N wasn't the type to hang out with the popular crowd. She kept her distance and didn't interact with anyone. She focused on her studies and getting into the best school offered. No one wanted to stay in Hawkins, and she worked to get her ticket out.

Then she got a little distracted, and she hated to admit it.

Eddie Munson, the leader of hellfire. He was a punk, loved music, and caught the eyes of every girl. Y/N didn't see the attraction until they got paired to do an assignment in music class.

She twiddled her thumbs nervously when he walked over. She inhaled his cologne as he pulled out the chair next to her, his bright smile flashed her way as his cheeks scrunched. He was the only popular kid in music, and she was terrified to be paired with him.

But as they worked together, they talked about themselves. It turned out they had a lot in common. While the assignment was boring research, she couldn't help but be excited to go to music every day. The assignment was a huge part of their grade so the teacher gave them a month's worth of class to work on it. It didn't take more than one class for Y/N to be just as smitten with Eddie.

~~~

"I hate that we couldn't pick which musician to research. Like why can't we do Dio?" Y/N mumbled as she began to write down notes.

Eddie never lifted his head so fast, he looked away from the computer towards Y/N. Her eyes were on her paper.

"You listen to Dio?" Eddie let out a breathy laugh. He was shocked, to say the least. He never thought the cute nerd would listen to a band like that.

"Who doesn't," Y/N laughed, she finished writing the sentence and looked up. She gulped when she noticed Eddie's warm eyes staring at her. A smile of adoration on his face, it made her stomach flip.

"Damn, there's more than just brains and beauty to you, huh?" Eddie joked as he went back to the computer. His words repeated in Y/N's head as she sat stunned. Did he just admit she was pretty?

~~~

Y/N cleaned her room at a rapid pace. Eddie was going to be over any minute and she was terrified. She was positive Eddie had seen the inside of many girl's bedrooms and she did not want to leave a bad impression compared to the rest.

"Can we take a break? My eyes hurt." Eddie groaned as he fell back against her soft bed.

"Sure, I'll grab us some water." Y/N offered, as she went out of the room. Eddie stood up, and his socks landed on the soft carpet. He walked around her room. He took in her huge collection of books, many he never heard of before. He looked at her wall of music. Band posters were on the walls and cassettes were neatly placed on a shelf. He had to admit, she had great music taste.

Her closet was cracked open, and Eddie couldn't fight the urge. He cringed as the door creaked as he opened it.

"Pretty girl," Eddie smiled as he grabbed the acoustic guitar that leaned against the wall.

"What are you doing?"

Eddie jumped but kept a tight grip on the neck of the guitar.

"Uh, sorry. I was snooping." Eddie confessed, "You play?"

Y/N blushed at the thought of him snooping, embarrassed of what he found and thought.

"I've always wanted to, but I'm not very good. One of the things I couldn't teach myself." Y/N laughed sadly.

"Sit, I'll teach you," Eddie said, he sat on her bed

"Um, are you sure?"

"Pretty girl in my lap as I teach her the thing I love? Yeah, I'm sure." He smirked as she slowly walked over. She sat the water down on her side table.

She coughed as she sat on the bed, next to him.

"Can't teach you all the way over there," he teased, she swallowed her nerves when he moved behind her. He placed the guitar in her lap and wrapped his arms around her.

"You smell nice," Eddie said against her ear. Y/N felt her tongue go numb, too nervous to respond.

She placed her fingers on the guitar and Eddie's ghosted over hers. She tried to focus on his directions and movements, but his breath hitting her neck sent her somewhere down south.

After an hour, she successfully could play a few chords.

"That a girl," Eddie praised as he placed the guitar to the side. "Unfortunately, I have to go home."

"Oh um yeah, thanks for teaching me," Y/N said shyly as Eddie put on his jacket.

"Pleasure is all mine," Eddie winked.

Y/N stared at the spot where he once stood for what felt like hours.

~~~

After spending a full month together, Y/N didn't want it to end. Their assignment was turned in, and now they didn't have a reason to see each other.

Y/N found a way. She sat on the phone all night trying to win tickets to the Dio concert, on Friday night. She scored the tickets and couldn't wait to tell Eddie the exciting news. She raced through the halls spotted his curly hair and headed his way.

"Eddie!" She said excitedly as she bounced on her feet. She ignored all the friends surrounding him. Her eyes were on his. She felt her excitement dissolve when Eddie's eyes looked panicked. He looked at her and his friends, she swore he looked like he was going to throw up.

"Yo dude, who's this?" one of his friends said as the group laughed and nudged Eddie's arm.

"Some type of little girlfriend?" Another one was added on

Y/N blushed at the thought of being Eddie's girlfriend. It wasn't like she didn't think about it with all the flirting and soft touches.

But Y/N ignored in and continued.

"I scored tickets to Dio! This Friday night, you and me?" She was proud of herself for making it through the sentence without shaking.

Eddie's friends laughed....loud

Their screeches could be heard blocks down from the school. But she kept her focus on Eddie. He stood frozen. He didn't say a word as he stared back at her.

"Oh, how cute. Little nerd has a crush on ya, Munson!"

"Looks like someone has a date on Friday."

"Atta boy, another one on the list."

"I uh..uh" Eddie stuttered

"Do you think he's actually going to say yes?"

The crowd around them got bigger as the school watched.

Y/N felt his friend's words stab her in the chest. Now she felt like she wanted to throw up. Her eyes watered as she looked around, everyone was staring and waiting for Eddie's reaction.

"Are you going to say something?" She meant it as a question, but it sounded like a plea. Like she was pleading him to tell them they were wrong and that they had something. That their moments meant something to him.

Y/N saw the Eddie she knew disappear in his eyes, and she knew he was going to land the final blow. She stepped back as she tried to brace herself.

"Do I know you?" Eddie asked, he pretended to look confused as his friends laughed.

"Eddie, don't," she whimpered, but it didn't matter. It was popularity or her, and she knew it wasn't a fighting chance.

"Look, sweetheart. I am flattered, but there is no way in hell I'd ever go out with you." Eddie smirked as his friends nudged him and they all fist-bumped behind his back.

Y/N didn't say a word, she nodded sadly and turned around. She pushed through the crowd as the tears slipped down.

"Oh, poor baby is even crying!" A girl's voice announced, then laughs followed.

Y/N shoved the tickets in the trash before she ran out.

Eddie was dead to her.

Eddie gulped as she raced off. His friends still hyped him up as he felt the hallways closing in on him. He stepped forward as she threw the tickets in the trash, but he stopped.

He felt guilty, he felt so fucking guilty. He wanted more than anything to spend his Friday night singing along to his favorite band with the cutest girl he'd ever met. To hold her hand as they walked in, to dance like idiots during their favorite song, and to talk about it for days after.

But he panicked. He wasn't supposed to like someone like her.

~~~

After Y/N embarrassed herself in front of the whole school, her life went to hell.

She couldn't walk in the halls without people laughing and pointing.

She dreaded music class. She kept her head down whenever she walked in, she felt his eyes burn into her. But she refused to look in his direction. She should have known Eddie would only like her behind her bedroom door. She should have known he was incapable of liking her shamelessly.

The cafeteria was loud as Y/N walked to her table, Robin was already sitting and picking at her lunch.

"Hey Y/N!"

Y/N looked over her shoulder, she groaned when she realized it was coming from Eddie's table.

"Turns out Eddie does wanna see Dio!"

Y/N looked to Eddie who kept his head down. She looked back at his friend confused.

"Just with a hot cheerleader, not you!"

The table erupted in laughter as she bit her lip. She knew Eddie wouldn't speak up so she turned around and walked to her table.

"I'm sorry they are dicks," Robin said as Y/N sat down.

"It's whatever." Y/N shrugged

"Um Y/N?"

Y/N looked up and was shocked to see Eddie standing there. She looked behind him and noticed his table was watching.

"Yeah?" She asked quietly, it hurt to even look at him.

"I'm so sorry for everything," he whispered.

"Is it like a trap?" she asked confused, as she suspiciously looked back at his table.

"No, I just re-"

"Whatcha doing here, lover boy?" Eddie's friend appeared next to him.

"I was...umm" Eddie nervously stuttered, the panic in his body again. He looked at Y/N's sad face and back to his friend's accusing one.

"Not trying to talk her up, are you?" His friend asked with a chuckle.

"No, of course not! I was just telling her to stop calling me. Chick won't leave me alone." Eddie faked laughed. His friend seemed to believe him, laughing with him, as they walked back to their table.

Eddie looked over his shoulder and mouthed "Sorry" but Y/N rolled her eyes.

~~~

Even if Eddie agreed to go to the concert, he wouldn't have been able to go.

Instead of sulking in his room about his poor decisions, he was stuck in the upside down.

"Dustin and Eddie you go to the trailer and lure them to you. Then the second the bats come, get back inside the trailer. Do not come out!" Steve said, his finger pointed at Dustin.

The group went to their positions and prayed their plan would work.

"QUICK WE NEED TO CREATE MORE NOISE TO LURE THE BATS AWAY FROM EDDIE AND DUSTIN!" Steve screamed.

"I KNOW WHAT TO DO!" Robin yelled as she grabbed the radio.

A panicked Dustin screamed over the radio as the bats began to chip parts of the trailer away. Eddie tried to swallow his fear but he knew this was it. He lived his life, did he have any regrets? So damn many.

He hated that he couldn't fix things with Y/N. He hated that she wouldn't get the closure she deserved, she wouldn't get the apology Eddie had been practicing for weeks.

If he knew his life was going to end so short, he wouldn't have wasted it on popularity. He would have picked her.

Eddie closed his eyes as he felt the cold air rush in, the bats were loud as they began to swarm into the trailer. He cried out as the bats clawed and nipped at his skin. He yelled for Dustin to run and not stop.

Eddie wasn't sure who to pray to but he did. He prayed as his clothes were torn and he felt blood rushing down his chest.

Then suddenly, the bats stopped.

A loud ring of music began to blast, Eddie knew he left his guitar on the top, and the sound wasn't coming from it.

The bats raced out and chased the sound.

"Who's doing that?" Dustin asked

"I have no idea. You okay?" Eddie asked, checking on him before he grabbed his weapons.

"Yes. Let's go!" Dustin said as he climbed out of the trailer.

Along with the bats, Eddie and Dustin raced. Eddie ran as fast as he could and Dustin jumped on his bike.

Eddie ignored all the pain he felt as he kept running. As he got closer, he realized it wasn't a song. It was the same few chords over and over.

And Eddie knew those chords.

Eddie felt even more panic in his chest as he guessed who was playing it. In a selfish way, he hoped it was someone else. It was wrong but he prayed it was someone in the group, and not her.

"WHO IS THAT?" Dustin screamed as he threw down his bike and prepared his weapons.

"It's Y/N," Eddie gulped as his eyes took in the sight of Y/N playing the guitar. She didn't have any protection, simply standing in her normal clothes as she risked herself for everyone stuck in the upside down.

For a second, everything was silent. The guitar stopped. Eddie's eyes caught hers. Both stared at each other as time slowed.

"I FORGIVE YOU!" Y/N screamed, the tears flowed down her cheeks as she threw the guitar to the ground.

"NO!" Eddie screamed, but it was too late. The bats already found her. Her body was taken to the ground as she screamed in horror.

"GET HELP!" Eddie screamed at Dustin, he didn't look back at him. He just ran to her.

He started swinging everywhere, he heard thuds and screeches. Eddie used every ounce of anger and hurt that his body held as motivation to swing the shit out of these blood suckers. The agony screams coming from Y/N's lips made him move faster.

Dustin called for help on the radio, he wasn't going to leave them alone. He quickly joined Eddie and began to swing.

Eddie didn't have time to yell at him, in the moment he was grateful the kid didn't listen to him. Together they cleared the path towards her. Eddie thought he felt the greatest amount of fear, but when her screams stopped he knew he was wrong.

Y/N felt like she finally caught her breath. She gasped as her eyes opened. Bright white lights shined above her that caused her to shut them again.

"Y/N?" She heard a relieved voice say then a warm hand intertwined with hers.

She slowly opened her eyes, a familiar brown eyes looked back at her. He was covered in dirt, blood stained clothes but he still was the prettiest man she'd ever seen.

"Hm, even in heaven you look the same." She said, her voice cracking with every word.

Eddie laughed and grabbed some water. He softly put it against her lips and helped her lift her head to drink.

"Well you haven't made it there yet." Eddie joked. "You had all of us scared."

Y/N looked around the room, but no one else was there. "You are the only one here."

Eddie scratched his head, "they were, but the nurse said only one person at a time, and well I called dibs for six hours." He said as he looked at his watch.

"Why?" She asked, from what she's learned he wanted nothing to do with her.

"I know it's incredibly hard to believe, but I have feelings for you. I know I've been a dick to you and I'm sorry for all the pain I caused. It's pathetic that it took you nearly dying to grow balls and be honest. But before you showed up, I was positive I was going to die. And all I thought about in that moment was how you deserved an apology and that I regretted not taking my chance with you." Eddie confessed. His hands were still in hers as he sat on the chair next to her bed. His eyes were red, and his cheeks were wet.

"It is pathetic, Munson." Y/N snapped, but she kept her hands in his. His touch was warm and soft, a feeling that reminded her she was still alive.

Her heart wanted to hug him and cry. But her head wanted her to keep her pride and tell him to fuck off.

"Did you mean it? When you said you forgave me?" Eddie choked out, sniffling back his tears.

"I prepared to die and I didn't want to ruin your life even more." Y/N confessed, sadness flood through her body as she remembered how worthless she felt because of him. He was the only person in her life that made her feel loved, but hated at the same time. In the end, that was the only experience she had with love and she was okay to die with that in mind because at least it was someone she'd die for.

"You never ruined my life!" Eddie promised, his wet lips kissed her hand as he sobbed. "You are a gift in my life, okay? I've never felt so happy around someone and so alive. I'm an idiot and I made all the wrong decisions. But I swear on my life, I'll make this up to you if you give me a chance. I love you."

Y/N snapped her head as she felt her heart race. The machine gave it away as it beeped.

"You love me?" She whispered, tears flowing down her face as she looked into his eyes.

The Eddie she knew was behind them.

"So damn much. I know I don't deserve anything and I definitely don't deserve you. But I'll do it all right this time. It'll be us and that's all I want."

"Is that why you saved me?" She choked out, she remembered his arms carrying her as he screamed for help. The fear in his eyes and the panic in his voice. He didn't have to come save her, but he did.

"The second I heard those chords, my heart fell out of my chest and my only goal was to get to you before the bats did. I'm very angry with Robin for putting you in that position, but she knew you'd do it to save me. And you deserve someone who'd save you back."

Y/N didn't say anything, she unlaced her hand from Eddie's. He tried to ignore the disappointment he felt.

She sat up slowly then placed her hands on Eddie's cheeks, before he knew it, she leaned in and smashed her lips on his. He felt his stomach flip a thousand times as he reached forward to hold her waist. He kissed her back with everything he had left in him. The kiss tasted of blood and dirt, but it was the best kiss he's ever had.

After a few moments, she pulled away and gasped for air. Eddie leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes still closed as he tried to memorize the feeling of her lips on his.

"I love you too." She whispered, before her lips attached to his again.

Eddie meant everything he said. He was going to prove he was worthy of her and her love.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson request #eddie munson fluff x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson angst x reader #eddie munson fluff #ashwhowrites #popular eddie Munson! x nerd reader!

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nothorses · 2 days

Note

What is your opinion on terf blocklists, where every one on there at the time had clear and intentional radfem beliefs pushing shitty ideas about trans people and easily identifiable as to what exactly they believe via what they say and circulate and who they constantly reblog shitty things about trans people from?

I promise this is a genuine good faith question; I want to understand if the thing I've been taught be others to do with the purported intention of eliminating platforms for terfs to protect ourselves and others is actually helpful or if that also has far reaching consequences I hadn't considered before. I'm trying to think about it but struggling with the idea I got taught to do them/follow them (blocklists) for being to identify correctly and block, not harass. But do the harms of encouraging that approach actually outweigh the benefits and that doesn't change even if the blocklist is for actual bigots?

Again, genuine question. Trying to learn.

I think the problem here is less in how a blocklist is constructed; it's not hard to imagine that a list can be made under strict enough criteria, with enough careful vetting, to contain only Genuinely Bad People- or at least people who would not object to being placed in the category of that list. It's also not hard to come up with categories of people that feel morally reprehensible enough, and unattached from any marginalized identity enough, to be "safe" to target: it would be absurd to argue against a "Nazi blocklist" that contains only self-proclaimed Nazis.

The problem also isn't really in how blocklists are intended to be used; it's pretty fair that someone might want a list of people to block pre-emptively in order to avoid harassment, particularly when that harassment is bigoted. It's not hard to imagine that someone making such a list is doing so with the intent that it only be used for blocking, and that they might even make an effort to say as much in the post. And at that point, is it really their fault if someone goes against their clearly-stated wishes?

The problem is that a blocklist is, by fundamental design, "free research". It's put forth entirely so other people do not have to do their own research, which means the entire premise discourages people from doing that research.

You aren't offering up a list of people that others should go look into and form their own opinion about, you're offering up a list of people you already did the research on so people can copy/paste and be done with it. It would be counterproductive- and frankly silly- to post a blocklist with some "but make sure to double check these yourself!" disclaimer, because like, that's not the point of the list. Nobody is going to do that. Even if they did, they're looking into these people under the assumption that there is something to find; everything is going to look suspicious in a way it never would have without that framing.

The question isn't whether a blocklist can be made with good intentions and due diligence; the question is whether it can be made with ill intent or sloppy execution, whether anyone can tell the difference, how likely they are to actually check, what you're doing with that list, and what impact your choices have.

If I make a list, the message I send is, "you can trust me. I did the research, I did it right, and this is a Good Blocklist. If you trust me, you should trust this list."

If I reblog a blocklist, the message I send is, "I trust this list. I may have even checked it myself. This is a Good Blocklist. If you trust me, you should trust this list."

The majority of the people who follow me probably believe they can trust me to some extent; oftentimes, people just trust that whatever is on their dashboard is trustworthy, because someone they follow put it there. Those are their friends, and their friends are trustworthy!

This should make you nervous. You should not be comfortable with this. People make mistakes all the time, and even if they did do the research (it's so much more likely that they did not, especially if they're not the original creator), someone else's standards of what kind of person "deserves" to be on a list like that are very likely different from your's. Are you going to double check every single name on that list yourself?

Well, if the accusation is bad enough, probably not. Especially if the accusation is something like "Nazi" or "TERF". And if you do start checking, how likely are you to check every single name? If the first 3 or 5 seem to check out, will you bother with the other 50 on the list?

What if OP hid someone in that list who doesn't belong there; someone they just have a personal grudge against? What if OP defines "TERF" to mean "anyone I assume doesn't think trans women are the most oppressed", and after the first 15 actual TERFs, the list is just a bunch of transmascs- many of whom don't even disagree with OP in the first place? What if they define "TERF" to include anyone who has ever been a TERF, and one of the people on that list is a trans person that has been rumored- without any foundation or grain of truth whatsoever- to have once been a TERF?

Will you know? Will you check? Even if someone you trust reblogs it? Even if someone you trust made it?

A blocklist may not have the same kind of obviously punitive intent as a callout post does, but it's a tool from the same toolbox. People think callout posts are about "safety", too. Lots of people also think that about the criminal justice system, about prisons, about the death penalty.

The question is not whether that could be true, or whether there could be a world in which justice is administered correctly with these tools. The question is whether it could fail, and who it hurts when it does.

Who can abuse this system? How easy is it to do so? Who is most likely to be hurt; is it the intended target, or people who are already disempowered by our systems and society?

What is the best way to go about this?

Even done correctly, a blocklist is not the most effective tool here: people can remake their blogs, change urls, and often have sockpuppets ready to go anyway. The list is rendered useless and inert as soon as enough people change their strategies to evade it. A more effective tool is education; teaching people how to recognize a TERF, or TERF ideology, on their own. Teaching them why those ideas are problematic. Encouraging them to block and disengage, and teaching them why engaging is harmful and counterproductive. Talking about de-radicalization, cult recruitment and radicalization tactics, and how to fight this epidemic.

Telling people what to think does not solve the problem, but teaching them how to be critical might.

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psiroller · 22 hours

Text

in which chilchuck tries to get some but ends up a sucker to his caretaker instinct once again

i just wanted to write something where chilchuck unironically indulges laios' hyperfixation, lol. im folding this into something larger but it kind of stands on its own for now, so here.

“Hey,” Chilchuck slurred. An arm crawled around Laios’ shoulder, stirring him from his reading. “What are you doing up? It’s my shift.”

“Just research,” Laios replied cheerily. His eyes were drawn back to the book and away from Chilchuck, something that elicited a soft huff of irritation. “I’ll still be good to take over for you. I’m kind of wound up, you know? Couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah,” Chilchuck snickered, his hand brushing across Laios’ chest with just a bit too much pressure to be purely friendly. “I’ve been wound up, too.”

Laios met Chilchuck’s lascivious gaze with concern. “Are you starving yourself again? You wouldn’t have such bad insomnia if you ate well.”

“I got wine, there’s nutrients in that,” Chilchuck giggled, giving Laios’ tit a fond pat. Laios smelled the drink on his breath and the hair on his neck stood on end.

“On an empty stomach? Chil…” “What you getting worked up for? I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.”

Laios’ brows furrowed. Chil stared up at him, waiting for him to back down, and the smug smirk only widened when he didn’t.

“You gonna force-feed me or something? I didn’t take you as into that kind of thing.” “Knowing how depraved you are, you’d enjoy it if I did.” Chilchuck scoffed. “Oh, yeah, you’re one to talk—”

Laios closed his book. “You’re being reckless,” he declared, in that know-it-all leader tone. Rarely used—Laios hated using it—but terse enough for Chilchuck to tilt his head and shut his mouth for a minute. Not long enough.

“Being a little tipsy doesn’t mean my eyes and ears don’t work,” Chilchuck groaned, pulling away and slumping onto the next step up from the one he was perched on. “It’s not my job to fight them anyway. All I gotta do is throw the bottle at your head and I’ve done my part.” “I’m not talking about the party, Chil.”

Chilchuck shrunk away from Laios and crossed his arms.

“When did you become such a nag?” Chilchuck groaned. “I’m older than you. I know my limits.”

Laios turned from his seat on the floor, rising on his knees, invading Chilchuck’s space. He braced his arms on either side of Chilchuck’s lap.

“Do I have to say why?” Laios rumbled. “If you don’t want me to care, stop making passes at me.”

Chilchuck clucked his tongue. “Didn’t have to hit on you to get you to take a few quills to the back for my bony ass.” “So much for never talking about that again.”

Chilchuck grinned. Laios’ eye twitched, knowing that Chil knew he’d taken the bait. Chilchuck reached up to cup Laios’ face; Laios let him, unfortunately.

“You can relax, big guy,” Chilchuck said, and the softness in his voice made Laios deflate all at once. “I got by just fine until you hired me. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to believe you,” Laios murmured. Chilchuck could feel the muscles of his jaw working as he spoke, the weight of his heavy tallman skull in his palms. “I do. But you don’t know—" “I’m fine,” Chilchuck asserted. “What’s got you so…?”

He stopped, bit his tongue. Laios looked up at him with those insufferable, upturned puppy dog eyes, deep amber in the low firelight, and he remembered. Chilchuck let out a long-suffering sigh, stroked up his cheek into Laios’ hair and scratched his scalp.

“We got this,” Chilchuck said. “It’ll be alright.” Laios slumped forward into Chilchuck’s lap, thick jaw slamming down onto his legs like a harpsichord lid, and Chilchuck squawked. Laios turned his face into the loose-fitting, threadbare slacks Chilchuck normally wore to bed, sucking in a long breath that made his back rise and then letting it all out through his nose. It reminded Chilchuck of Leed’s wargs after a good dinner, resting their big, wrinkly heads on any friendly knee and whining for attention.

Chilchuck scratched at his sideburns. He knew propositioning Laios would be risky in the dungeon, but this wasn’t the kind of disaster he’d envisioned if it went wrong. His hand came to rest on Laios’ back, and he rubbed it along the length of Laios’ spine. Laios’ broad body sunk that much further into his lap. Chilchuck’s calves were going numb, but he held deathly stll, as if he’d scare Laios off. As if he didn’t want to scare Laios off and get out of this mess.

“We’ll find Falin,” Chilchuck said. “We did it before, and we’ll do it again.” Neither of them believed it, really, but it was a nice thought. Maybe if they chanted it enough a spell would be cast. No mana sickness yet; they’d have to keep at it.

“I’m pretty confident about that,” said Laios, muffled in Chilchuck’s legs. His breath puffed warm on his thighs in short, controlled breaths. “But if we do and we don’t get her, if the Mad Mage takes care of us, then—it’s not just Falin, anymore.”

Chilchuck’s breath caught. His fingers curled in Laios’ shirt and tugged fitfully. Laios didn’t budge.

“She used to be all I had, you know.” Laios hugged Chilchuck’s pins-and-needles calves, which further trapped him but also returned some level of blood flow. Small blessings. Chilchuck wished he were dead. “That was fine. It was—better that way. Less to worry about. Then I found a nice girl, and I proposed—"

“Wait, what?”

“—she was so cute, so nice to me, but when my father said Falin would have to leave, I couldn’t just leave my little sister to rot somewhere, so—I broke it off. It didn’t matter, if I could earn enough money and Falin would be okay—”

Try faking a heart attack. You have the plausible deniability. “He… sent Falin away?” He was dimly aware of Marcille and Falin having met at magic school. “You were supporting her?”

“—but I didn’t even—need to. She was happy where she was. And I still—I still dragged her here, let her get eaten, let the Mad Mage take her. What kind of brother—”

Chilchuck gripped the back of Laios’ skull and pulled at his hair, not enough to move him, but enough to shut him up. He let go and ruffled it instead, soothing out the tension in his scalp. Laios melted, limbs melting to the stone tunnel floor.

“I see why you’ve been so wound up,” Chilchuck said. “You’ve just been sitting here and spiraling. Are you even reading that book?”

Laios squeezed Chilchuck’s legs to his chest. “Not really. I’m looking at the words but I’m not… retaining anything.”

That’s bad. “Let me see it.” Laios looked up at Chilchuck with confusion, then distrust. “Please?” That only confused Laios further, but he lifted the worn old tome from the floor for Chilchuck to take.

“Dragons of the Eastern Archipelago,” Chilchuck read out. “Another cookbook, eh?”

The jocular tone whiffed right past Laios’ ears. “It’s… not really research,” he admitted. Chilchuck thumbed through the pages—there were many detailed technical sketches of long-bodied, short-limbed dragons with horsehair and deer antlers, strange boggling eyes and stretched lips. More impressionistic doodles filled the margins, with scrawled-circle eyes and jagged teeth, little flared scratches of the broad side of a pencil representative of dragon fire. Their fat snake bodies had wobbly, uneven sides and sloppily looping scales—but some were a little more distinguishable as a dragon than others.

“Ah.” Chilchuck cleared his throat. “Nothing wrong with a little light reading, I guess.” He tried on a smile. “The, uh, pictures are nice.” “I kept telling Falin that long don’t breathe fire,” Laios said, voice tight, “but she kept saying it would be cooler if they did.” “That’s what they’re called? Longs? Seems kind of on-the-nose.”

That managed to get a laugh out of Laios, but it sounded more exasperated than anything. “It’s just one of the native words used for them, but it’s not Shuro’s language, apparently. The word he uses is ryu.”

“I haven’t seen anydragons other than red and green. Maybe it’s just the dungeons I’ve been to.” Chilchuck said. He winced, realizing he’d just stumbled over a lecture topic, but Laios stayed folded across his lap, seemingly having gotten comfortable there, and stayed quiet. The silence made Chilchuck’s hair bristle. Chilchuck nudged him, knuckles against Laios’ temple.

“C’mon, man, I set you up. Go on.” “Now you’re just making fun of me.” “Seriously, Laios. I really want to know this time, and you’re gonna sulk about it?”

Laios turned up from his lap to read Chilchuck’s face, though he never seemed to be able to get it right all the other times he’d attempted it. Chilchuck heaved a melodramatic sigh and patted Laios’ head, an action that lowered his hackles. It really shouldn’t have worked that easily, but Laios closed his eyes and hummed.

“There are… so many kinds,” Laios said dreamily. Dread began to creep in on Chilchuck’s charitable mood, but he’d talked himself into a corner. “They’re super adaptable. Pretty much anywhere you have a dungeon or an ecosystem robust enough to support one, you can find a dragon.”

“I’ve, uh, heard about white dragons. Furry ones, kind of like these guys, but with wings and the stocky body type. Never seen one, though, so it could have been bullshit.” “Oh, they’re real. Pretty common up north.” “Do they really breathe ice? How does that work?”

“Basically, yeah. It’s super-cooled air. They have huge lungs and a fuel organ like a red dragon, but instead of burning the waste matter inside, it liquefies it into a kind of slurry—” Chilchuck grimaced, but Laios was already talking with his hands and not measuring Chilchuck’s enthusiasm. “—that undergoes a rapid chemical reaction when exposed to the air the dragon exhales.”

“Huh.” Chilchuck absently stroked the back of Laios’ neck. Laios squirmed, but didn’t complain. He slipped out of his kneeling position to sit flatter against the wall, head still flopped over Chilchuck’s lap but looking outward toward the fire. The angle looked uncomfortable, so Chilchuck dropped a step lower, letting Laios slide over just a bit more, lay more solidly in Chilchuck’s lap. Laios’ ears had turned red. “Y’know, I always just figured magic did it. I never knew any of the biology until I met you.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong for thinking that way,” Laios half-shrugged. “They wouldn’t exist without some kind of mana source, so they’re still a product of magic. But to sustain the kind of huge, complex bodies dragons have on mana alone would starve the ecosystem, so they have to develop organs and bones to keep them upright and moving to serve their purpose.”

“To destroy whatever enters their lair?”

“To survive.”

“Same as the rest of us, then.”

Laios hummed. Chilchuck’s wrists had begun to hurt from holding the book, so he propped it up on the crown of Laios’ skull. He didn’t seem to mind.

“So what’s this big pearl they keep drawing the long dragon with?” Chilchuck asked, even though the answer was right beneath it, indicated helpfully in a list of figures.

“Oh, that’s an egg, believe it or not.”

“No kidding.”

“Dragon clutches start out pretty big, but because of how demanding the hatchlings are, most of them don’t survive to adulthood. Some species of dragon choose a ‘favorite’ out of their eggs to focus on and raise instead…”

Chilchuck smiled into the palm of his hand as Laios rambled, flipping through the book to keep his eyes open as Laios talked, listening as the spaces between words grew and his tangents unspooled, dissolving into dreamlike nonsense. The weight of Laios’ head got heavier in Chilchuck’s lap until the static crept back in, but Chilchuck had no intention of moving him anymore. It was well past the scheduled watch shift change by the time Laios began to softly snore, but Chilchuck didn’t rouse him.

#chilaios #dungeon meshi #ficroller #if you recognize the dragon egg factoid i know what you are

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