#i feel like a lot of this is probably just stuff i've said before but now i've said it all together just slightly reworded

[ellecdc]

Hiiiiii! I love your work sm!

I was wondering you would please be able to write something where the reader has a lot of restless energy and only feels calm around James?

It could be just James any pairing with James that you feel like! Thank you so much for filling the world with your beautiful stories! <3

soooooo I asked Liz first before I did this, but I've changed the pairing a bit in hopes that it would help combat my writers block - it's taken me longer to complete but I hope I've done the request justice even if it's not with our sweet Jamie <3 <3

Sirius Black x Potter!reader who feels like she's too much

CW: a little bit of misogyny/internalized misogyny, hyperactivity/trouble focusing

You’d recited the eleventh step of brewing the felix felicis potion silently in your head when you realised you were being called upon in class. 

“Miss. Potter.” Professor McGonagall called out, causing your head to snap to attention from where you’d been gazing out the window. “Are the birds outside more interesting than my lecture of Transfiguration?”

Yes.

“No, Professor.” You answered quickly as a few students around you snickered.

“Then I should expect your attention to be at the front of the class, Miss. Potter.”

“Yes, Professor.” You mumbled quietly as you sank into your chair, pinning your gaze to the board in front of you as you zoned out.

It wasn’t McGonagall’s fault; but Transfiguration was boring, at least to you.

Discussing the ‘intricate spell work and wand movements’ required to transfigure a button into a butterfly was childs play when one was already an animagus. You could probably [and may very well] produce butterflies in your sleep.

But she didn’t know that, she couldn’t know that.

So now, your knee was bouncing underneath your desk and your brain wasn’t fairing much better.

Sitting here and listening to McGonagall drone on about stuff you already knew couldn’t hold your attention, and it wasn’t long before you were eavesdropping on the two Ravenclaws gossiping behind you.

“I thought she was seeing the older Black?”

“She is, but that’s what he said!”

“I think he’s lying.”

“Honestly, I don’t believe 75% of the things to come out of Lockharts mouth.” 

Oh yeah, there had been a rumour that you had 'snogged Gilderoy Lockhart’ in a broom closet last week. 

You and Sirius had laughed and laughed about that. 

James didn’t find it nearly as funny though and charmed Gilderoy’s hair Gryffindor red for 48 hours. 

That was pretty intricate charm work now that you were thinking about it - you’ll have to ask your brother to teach it to you.

Perhaps some of the wand work would look similar to Transfiguration spells so McGonagall wouldn’t know you’re not paying attention.

Shit. You weren’t paying attention. 

You moved your eyes back to McGonagall who was still droning on about…well, Transfiguration, likely, though she had her eyes trained on you.

Dammit. You’d been caught. 

Your brain had been working in overdrive to keep your eyes glued to the professor that by the time class had ended, you realised you had been clenching your fists so hard that you’d created crescent shape indents in the palm of your hands. 

“Miss. Potter, a word?”

Oh, Godric. 

You heard a few classmates snicker again as you moved towards the professor with your tail tucked between your legs.

“It appears I had a difficult time capturing your attention today?” She asked; eyes and tone holding her same intensity, but a small uptilt in the corner of her mouth.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I assure you it’s not you; I just-”

“You’re a bright girl, Y/N, and I am quite aware that this level of Transfiguration may very well be below your level of capabilities, but I cannot allow you to set a precedent for daydreaming in my class. I have a reputation to uphold, afterall.”

“Yes, Professor.” You agreed readily. 

“Just try to daydream less obviously, okay Miss. Potter?” She offered you gently with a soft smirk. 

“Of course, Professor. I’m sorry, thank you.” You sputtered before you were rushing out of the room with what felt like a furious blush at being so clearly transparent in your restlessness.

Professor McGonagall was being patient with you but you doubted she understood you at all; you doubted she’d ever been anything but the dutiful, attentive witch that she is today. Her knee probably ever bounced under the table, her nail beds were probably never shredded, she probably never had to be called on in class because her mind was so clearly elsewhere. 

A sense of shame surged through you at that; you weren’t doing enough yet you were still too much. 

You knew James had a similar experience to you but it was different for him.

It was different because he was the enthusiastic, charismatic Gryffindor quidditch captain who exuded joy and excitement.

It was different because boys were supposed to be energetic and boisterous. 

“You need to sit still, behta’; this is not lady like.” Your auntie had scolded you as you and James raced around cousin Aparna’s wedding ceremony. 

You had been having fun - both you and James - before then. Neither of you understood why the fun had to stop, least of all why it was okay for James but not for you.

It set a precedent. 

It coloured every area of your life growing up; laugh, but not as loudly as James. Joke, but not as often as James. Shine, but not as bright as James.

And despite all of that, you never blamed him; he never discouraged you from being anyone but yourself. 

You loved that about James, though, he seemed to have enough love for everybody, even if they had a hard time loving themselves. 

You wish you could be more like that.

Be more like James, but not as much as James.

Fuck, this was exhausting. 

You hadn’t realised how fast your mind had been racing until you were standing outside of the boys dormitory in Gryffindor tower chewing aggressively on your lips as you picked away the skin of your nail beds. 

You shouldn’t bother them; you were too much.

Too much, too much, too much. 

They already had James to deal with; James was enough.

He was a lot, but not like you.

He was a lot, but never too much. 

And he was there first; he was their friend first.

And maybe Sirius was having a good day? Maybe he’d been having a good day and then you’d be showing up and ruining it.

Ruining it by being too much.

No, you shouldn’t be here. Perhaps you should leave.

But you couldn’t bring your legs to move fast enough before the door was being yanked open and Peter nearly crashed into you. 

“Whoa, Y/N. I’m sorry! Merlin, you scared me.” 

“I’m sorry, Pete.” You offered quickly. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh, hey bug!” James called from the room, leaning over on his bed so he could see you around Peter’s frame. 

“Hey Jamie.” You called quietly, acquiescing to Peter’s extended arm as he invited you into the room. 

Sirius sat up at the sound of your arrival, putting his book beside him on his bed while he smiled at you.

His smile faltered a tad when he saw the state of you, however.

You shouldn’t be here.

“Hey gorgeous.” Sirius offered softly. “How was your day?”

You looked over at Remus who was looking at you sympathetically, and James who was looking at you worriedly. 

“It was okay, how about yours?”

“Better now that you’re here.” He responded salaciously, offering you a wink when you visibly flushed at the attention.

“Prongs, why don’t we go see what Lily’s up to?” Remus offered pointedly, standing to gather his homework and nudging James in the side. 

“Great idea! I’ve been wanting to try out this new charm I learned that turns everything around us the colour of her hair. It’s so gorgeous - her hair, that is - don’t you think? I’ve never seen anything like it, Moony. I want everything I own to be that same shade of auburn. Would I look good wearing auburn? You know what, don’t answer that; I don’t want to know. I was also thinking-” James’ voice trailed off as Remus and Peter shared a knowing look behind James’ back and followed him out the dormitory door before closing it behind them.

You turned back to see Sirius looking at you intently; his expression so soft that you weren’t sure any of his friends had seen the likes of it before.

“Can I have a hug?” Sirius asked, opening his arms in invitation which you readily accepted.

You had barely dropped your book bag before you were all but cradled in Sirius’ arms; the tension immediately oozing out of your bones as you melted into him. 

“Was today a Too Much day?” He asked as he pushed some hairs away from your face before moving his thumb to pull your bottom lip out from between your teeth.

“I was Too Much today.” You corrected, immediately embarrassed at the stinging in your eyes and sinuses.

Sirius quickly tsked in disapproval as he placed his free hand between your hands; his other which was supporting your weight sitting on your elbow as his thumb rubbed circles against your joint. “You’re never too much, my love.” 

You let out a heavy sigh as you turned your face towards his chest, bringing his hand up towards your mouth as you fiddled with the various rings on his finger.

“You know that, right?” He asked at your silence, pressing a gentle ‘boop’ with his finger to your chin. “You know you’re not too much?”

“I was too much in Transfiguration. I was too much for McGonagall.” 

“Did she say that to you?”

“It appears I had a difficult time capturing your attention today?” “I cannot allow you to set a precedent for daydreaming in my class. I have a reputation to uphold, afterall.” “Just try to daydream less obviously, okay Miss. Potter?”

“No…” You admitted quietly, brushing the pads of Sirius’ fingers against your lips as you thought back to class. 

“No.” Sirius agreed; knowing that had been true before he’d even asked. “Because if there was anyone who was Too Much for McGonagall, it’d be me.” 

You chuckled then, finally bringing your eyes to meet Sirius’ striking grey one’s as he looked down at you. 

“You’re not too much, baby; you’re perfect.”

“You’re perfect.” You countered.

“You’re a liar.”

You shook your head as you removed one of your hands from Sirius’ to place it on his jaw, relishing in the contented sigh that escaped his lips as he leaned into your touch.

“Perfect.” You reiterated.

He smiled and looked to be fighting against an eye roll before leaning down to press a kiss to your hairline. 

“We’re perfect for each other, yeah?” He conceded.

“Yeah.” You agreed readily.

“And girlfriend or not, I will fight you for the title of McGonagall’s Too Much, got it? I’ve put years of blood, sweat, and tears into that honour and I will not let you take that from me.”

You let out a boisterous laugh as you took a deep stretch, feeling the last tendrils of tension seep from your body before turning back towards Sirius. “Fine, but I want to keep the title of Flitwick’s Too Much.”

“Deal.”

“Great.” You smiled.

“Perfect.” Sirius whispered.

Yes… yes he was.

#marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius orion black #sirius black fic #sirius black blurb #Sirius Black imagine #sirius black ficlet #potter!reader #fem!reader #hurt/comfort #fluff #ellecdc fics

[darkstarofchaos]

Yet more EarthSpark S2 spoilers.

And now for some general thoughts about the season itself.

Where was Nightshade during all this? They are a main character, why did they not have so much as a subplot in another character's focus episode? People talk about Thrash getting sidelined, but he had a whole episode plus a paired episode with Twitch. Nightshade is barely there, and when they are, it's either a battle scene or sharing the scientific spotlight with Wheeljack.

Speaking of Thrash, I liked his episode. I would like to think finding a random Quintesson on earth and then shooting it into space will have repercussions later in the season, especially with the Quint lore in the final episode. But now that the Decepticons are just flat and evil, I might not even watch that far.

Why are the Decepticons interchangeable now? Starscream and Shockwave are the only ones allowed a personality beyond "smash stuff". And yes, I'm counting Breakdown in that, because he's a shadow of his former self, and the whole thing with him being a parent to Aftermath got dropped after five minutes. And you know, I might be giving Shockwave too much credit, because disagreeing with your leader on one course of action isn't a personality trait. And Starscream's ultimate goal is apparently just smash stuff. So you know what, I'll amend that, why do none of the Decepticons have a personality beyond smash stuff?

Like. Twitch ends up in the Decepticon base in the guise of Spitfire, and we don't get a single characterization moment. I guess the Cons all just stand and snarl at each other when they aren't on missions.

On the other hand, I don't understand why so many people were confused that the Decepticons were following Starscream, because why wouldn't they? He seems to have been doing a fine job, judging by the number of Emberstone shards the Cons had. I get that most Starscreams can't get support to save their lives (often through no fault of their own), but the Decepticons here seem to have no reason not to follow him.

Moving on from the Decepticons, I'd have to call the trailer episode and the carnival episode the worst of the lot. The whole subplot with Robbie having a crush was the most uncomfortable thing I've had to sit through in a while, and I would not voluntarily watch it again. And the trailer episode was just tedious. I get having something more relaxed in between the Spitfire two-parter and the finale, but couldn't they have found any other plot for it? People rag on the bear episode, but at least that had a nice little lesson about not messing with people's prostheses rolled in. This episode was just. Nothing. But it did come with a distinct lack of squicky "feeling your brother's crush through your psychic bond" stuff, so I'll give it that it's rewatchable.

Okay, this was a problem with S1 too, but that psychic bond has to go. It's creepy and invasive, and it's only going to get more so as the humans get older and start exploring adult relationships. At least give them some way to close it or otherwise shield themselves from it (it's also a constant plot hole, because characters often end up in danger that the others somehow don't notice. Like, is there a range on this psychic thing? How far apart do they have to be before they can't feel each other anymore? This thing is not explained well enough, and I don't see why it even needs to exist).

Assorted episode nitpicks:

That is not how you dispose of hard drives. Why did you not wipe them before recycling.

No food ever touches the plates on the dinner table in the Quintesson episode. I am unreasonably bothered by this.

How did none of the adults think to address Spitfire's insistence on being part of the mission by pointing out that Twitch is older and more experienced than her? Like, yeah, Spitfire probably wouldn't have cared, but someone should still have put their foot down and said she can't go on a mission until she's had some training.

Megatron, you are the only non-participant who can fly and the final stretch of that obstacle course was over a ravine. Why were you not in a position where you could quickly help out if someone fell? Twitch wouldn't have had to go back to save Alex herself and the whole thing with Spitfire being mad because she crossed the finish line first wouldn't have happened if you had positioned yourself more strategically.

Actually, Megatron proposed the race, Megatron wasn't close enough to be helpful during the race, and Megatron said they needed to let Twitch and Spitfire sort things out themselves, which resulted in Twitch getting bodyswapped. Every problem in this episode was Megatron's fault. Optimus, why are you not vetoing any of this? Why are you just standing there and letting Megatron pit kids against each other? You're a leader, do some leading!

On the other hand, Megatron wanting to resolve everything by letting the arguing parties fight it out is on brand for him, so like. Kudos for characterization, now get an adult in here.

#transformers #Transformers EarthSpark #EarthSpark Spoilers

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

#tumblr polls #hrmm... a little poll perhaps.. about a subject I find interesting.. since this image came across my facebook today #still really not feeling that well. no longer shaking violently and such but I still feel weird and weak much more than usual #They did say my markers for like infection or inflammation were elevated but that they werent sure of the cause so hopefully #it's nothing too serious. they did also say a lot of different things can cause that thing to be higher than normal but didn't go into spec #fics of what. maybe some of them are relatively benign or something. I still havent felt much back to normal since #I got really sick that one time though. I feel fine on and off but then little bouts of feeling weird and sick happen. hrmmm #ANYWAY.. looking for small ways to be productive. such as little doodles on evil ipad or editing game videos #or posting polls or cat pictures or some other like not very labor intensive things #I WISH I COULD FOCUS on writing HHRGGhh... I need to finish my game.. it would be so freeing.. a project that's been looming #over my head for like 5 years even though througouht that 5yrs I've probably spent a total of 3 months working on it lo.. ANYWAY #I still partially really cannot beleive that people CAN see stuff in their heads. There's always part of me that's thinking like. well mayb #e everyone DOES see the same exact thing but we just describe/conceptualize it so differently that we think we're talking about #different things when we're really not. But I have been assured by people I've talked to about it that they can GENUINELY really see #stuff in their heads like as vivid as an actual picture in real life or something. And the other senses are neat too. Like for exmaple I #can hear in my head much better than I can see imagery. I still CANNOT hear vividly like as if I were listening to actual music out loud.. #but I think it's developed more than my sight. AND interesting how this varies the creative process. a friend I was talking to on the phone #said they write by literally just watching stuff play before them like a movie. where my process is COMPLETELY different. AND that affects #the content/what details we focus on as well as our individual styles of writing have differences that can be traced back to that.. hrmm

[sluttyten]

yall I want TDS3 tickets so badly 😭 but I don't know who to even go with and I'm not going by myself.... but I'm also seriously thinking I'm just gonna go ahead and try to get tickets on friday anyway

#last year i went with my mom and she enjoyed it #but im not entirely sure she wants to go again #and then my best friend doesn't like kpop at all lmao #but I don't know i might be able to get her to go w me but #i dont know how she'll feel about the traveling in chicago by ourselves thing #bc when we last went there together for a concert we were with her ex and he did the driving #so my last option is my brother lol because i asked the other day if he wants to go to chicago #and he did say yes so i told him attendance at the concert is mandatory #kpop is also absolutely not his genre of music #even though he listens to a little bit of a lot of stuff like country and pop and broadway musicals #like dude you'd love the theatrics of kpop and the gaybaiting they do? thats something he might like #and then one of my choices was my moms best friend bc she said after she saw my moms videos of tds2 #that she wanted to go see a kpop concert because she loves showmanship so she saw the eras tour and #fell in love so i think she would like kpop. she loved the wrist light things TS did so lightsticks are definitely #something she'd enjoy and the choreography #i really think it's just the language barrier that's preventing my brother and best friend from wanting to go #and the language barrier that keeps my mom and her best friend from probably enjoying the music as much #because my mom loved one direction so a kpop boyband isn't too far off from that #oh also i think my friend will tell me no because i've already turned her down for plans like a week or two before that #because i won't have PTO to use at work because i'll have just gotten back from a vacay that uses i all #and then i'm gonna turn around and take 2 days off for a concert (travel time sucks)

[mattodore]

hello, I'm curious about some things about Matthias and Theo

Who asked first to date?

How did their relationship look before it started to be serious?

Oh, Matthias was after Theo from the start. Theo’s pretty much Matthias’s exact type (which I’ve talked about here) and from the moment he first saw Theo he’d already made up his mind to go after him. He was, however, obstructed by the fact that Theo did not like him. Theo was instantly wary and on edge around him. Prey vs. predator. You get the themes and motifs, you understand what I mean. Obviously this changes over time, but when it does… Matthias doesn’t exactly ask Theo out. They behave exactly how a couple behaves: staying over at each other’s places, sleeping together, relying on one another… but Matthias still doesn’t ask Theo to date him because he already considers Theo to be his in that way. I don’t think he ever actually asks. And Theo… well. Theo doesn’t really think about it. But Matthias approached Theo first and he’s the one who made all the first moves. So… I would say him.

As for their relationship before they became serious… hm. Their relationship was always kind of serious from their very first interaction. With two characters like Theo and Matthias… there’s no way they could’ve been anything but that. But I do get what you’re really asking…

Since Theo is exactly his type, Matthias was drawn to him immediately, watching him across the room and leisurely enjoying the view. Matthias approached Theo at first the same way he approached all the men he wanted to sleep with—which is to say that he was charming and seductive. He did just want to fuck Theo at first, to be frank. But I will say that Matthias was kind of already ready to degrade himself for Theo from the moment they started talking. Theo is… very enticing. I mean, you’ve seen Theo. He’s gorgeous and he’s got an air about him that has you wanting more… He’s certainly captivating in his beauty but that quality of his that seems almost untouchable and uncaring is what really made Matthias crazy. Plus, Theo was rude. Matthias wanted him so bad he would’ve knelt then and there for him. 

Theo, on the other hand, didn’t want anything to do with Matthias. This isn’t to say that Theo had no interest in Matthias. Theo was… very attracted to him. The first word out of Matthias’s mouth made him shiver. Theo is a sensory kind of person, and the sound of Matthias’s voice paired with the distinct scent of his cologne… Theo was turned on pretty much the second Matthias got close to him. But Theo also has a lot of problems with a very certain type of man that Matthias fits the bill for: authority figures. Matthias gives a very strong impression. His bearing, his stature, his arrogance, his wealth, his voice… they all paint a very clear picture of who Matthias is and what he could be capable of. Or, they did in Theo’s mind, anyway. Theo makes a lot of snap judgments to protect himself and he’s very stubborn. He does not budge. And Matthias had the unfortunate obstacle of Theo’s acidic, distrustful personality to soften first before he could even try talking to him successfully. Now, I’m not saying Theo was exactly wrong here… Matthias is not a good person. Amoral degeneracy and hedonism… this is Matthias to me. So, yeah… Theo was very smart to avoid Matthias. But Theo was also misreading things almost intentionally because he was attracted to Matthias in a way he wasn’t used to. And he was also reacting to a trigger response. Prey animal fear. So.

When they met again, it was a little different. Matthias was interested in Theo for a much different reason. After Theo had so bluntly told Matthias off and showed how clearly he saw him, Matthias was intrigued. And Theo was… in a bit of a way. Plus, he didn’t remember meeting Matthias before. So the conversation was different. Theo’s guard was down. They talked, but nothing more. Matthias offered to dance with Theo, though, which Theo declined. 

They have more incidental meetings from there and Theo slowly drops his hackles. Not all the way, mind you, but enough that when Matthias slips Theo’s hair behind his ear and leans down to whisper to him, Theo allows himself to be guided someplace more intimate. Theo’s never had sex the way he’s had sex with Matthias. It scares him off. Matthias has to coax him back to him, which is no easy task… Theo can be very harsh when he’s scared. But Matthias likes being hurt and humiliated, doesn’t he? So. Not a problem for him. And the reward would be so sweet… so he takes his time. He warms Theo up. Theo’s aware of what Matthias is doing, but it’s not like Theo doesn’t want to have him again… his attraction to Matthias is even worse now that he knows what he’s like in bed. So he’s lured in so gently… and then they have sex again. And it keeps happening. But Theo doesn’t want anything else from Matthias. And all Matthias wants is Theo’s time. Matthias is infatuated and desperate and, yeah, a little pathetic. Theo is still detached and waspish but melts so, so easily when Matthias touches him just right. 

#river dipping #asks #anonymous #oc extras #theodore doe #matthias evanoff #a burning house to live in #echthroi #ts4 #FINALLY!!! finished answering this!! you sent this in october... my god................... anon you have my full permission #to execute me for making you wait THIS LONG!! despite how many time since october i've said i'd start working on it soon #but thank you for asking <3 it's very sweet of you and i appreciate the excuse to talk about them #very much a ''won't speak until spoken to'' kind of person even on my blog 😭😭😭 i really need to get over that but yk how it is. avpd. #but anyway i won't lie............ #i feel like a lot of this is probably just stuff i've said before but now i've said it all together just slightly reworded #i also finished typing out my reply to another oc extras ask earlier too so i'm going to answer that one soon too but!! #<- deleted some tags bc i ended up taking new screenshots and editing them :)

[bibiana112]

I have no idea how to phrase it but being on the older end out of the students in this class and seeing a lot of the ones that just left highschool struggling with very similar stuff than I did (because no one in this course is cishet and neurotypical) and then seeing them come to me for support with all that stuff just because I'm outspoken about my experiences and somehow signaled that I'm safe enough of a person to come to all in the third week of class is so much I don't know how I got here but I'm so glad I did

#like I've mentioned my cool genderqueer friend he's on the same age range as me but I am managing to interact #with like a decent portion of the class? which is awesome! it feels like art school all over again I actually understand people #and it naturally has a lot of freshmen #and today like idk probably because of how bad I had it yesterday that today just left such a big impact on me all of a sudden #it's important to me that I can be someone like that probably because it's how I remember being before trauma and stuff #but also I mean just logically speaking I know one issue I certainly don't have is with confidence and self esteem #so it's important to me that I can support friends who do still struggle with that self doubt #and something about that just coming across to others is getting to me #like I just make myself clear that it's a choice to be friends and listen and that I wouldn't hang out with anyone out of guilt or pity #and it actually makes people feel seen #like I don't think I've mentioned yet but I had at least three interactions that reflected this today so yeah #fellow autistic nb nerd asking for snuggly friend hugs so naturally I was talking to someone else #neurodivergent trans girl saying thank you out of the blue alongside her goodbyes when parting ways #guy with ocd I hadn't spoken to yet but that had a bad fucking time cause of the class incel being glad I reached out to him #after he had to walk out of class today #like idk #fuck man #I said I was trying to not infantilize or adopt anyone but still had the instinct to try and act all older sibling like #like almost joking and the girl genuinely said I was doing a good job at that though #Void fala aí

[ambiguousgrass]

I'm reading transcripts of the exile streams and just. Wow. C!dream was a fucking asshole. Like I've watched these streams before but sweet jesus I forgot the extent of his bullshit.

#I've been in the fandom since november 2020 and I watched as many vods as I could from before then but I've mentally blocked out/forgotten- #so much that it feels like I'm watching for the first time again and it's a bit strange lol #grass yells into the void #block men #tommy was doing his best and it just makes me so sad the entire exile arc was fucking rough he did not deserve that #<- hot take I know /sarcasm #no but like the fandom is definitely aware of exile but I feel like so many people haven't watched the streams so they're not really aware o #like I've seen a lot of dark!sbi discourse which I'm not going to touch with a ten foot pole btw leave me the fuck out of that #but anyway I've seen so many people get upset at the actions of the characters in dark sbi works and claim that the author shouldnt've- #written something like that meanwhile they wholeheartedly support c!dreams actions #idk it's just a bit funny to me #again I'm not taking a side on the whole dark sbi thing I really don't want to be involved in that shitfest #but some people who are vehemently against the genre are a bit hypocritical imo #if you're gonna be an apologist (or whatever people call it) for a character don't denounce another character for doing the same things :/ #god I am so tired my sleep schedule is so fucked up and my pain meds arent working so I'm very opinionated today while being sleepy #not a great combo lol I'll probably delete this later if I come back in a better state of mind and think all of what I just said was bs #<-very likely #I'm afraid to tag this as discourse so I'm not going to plus all of the stuff that would merit that is in the tags soooo #should be good I think #dear lord I need to sleep

[noxtivagus]

I'M SO SLEEPY HFLKDJA

#🌙.vent #weekends r too short i barely did anything ngl but. i did spend time w my family n some friends lately so that's nice !?! #just thinking n oh my god i hate being shy so much. i tell myself so often i need to hesitate less! but #it's just so HARD. I HATE IT BCS I REALLY WNA JUST #😭😭 i can't help but feel really bad about it bcs. i really need to.. #oh my mind is such a mess rn wait but i really need to hesitate less #ok that said it's 4 am n i have to wake up in less than 3 hours. i'm sleepy but. i want to.. write whatever. i need to #it's so hard for me to bring myself to sleep until i've. written. something #writing to my friend writing to myself writing for school i don't care i really just need to write something before i sleep #this sucks bcs i'm genuinely rlly sleepy rn but i can't bring myself to just. stop wtvr n finally go to sleep #it's so. tbf it is like 4 am rn my mind is so messy #i opened up a bit to one of my online friends of my.. anxiety of like drifting apart or being distant n all #n their words reminded me of some stuff that made me reflect a bit n #i know w like. a lot of my friends i don't have to be so nervous about anything at all n i #i'm about to cry rn i blame it on the lack of sleep n the sleepiness i have rn :< #it's just such a touchy subject for me i always get very emotional when i think or reflect on what i mean to others....? #it's a really really touchy subject for me bcs it just. reminds me that i'm. actually alive n human too yk? that. this is. real i think #i'm crying this is so dumb #it's so. i hate it so much bcs at heart i know better but it's just so hard to really just accept that. i don't know #how is it like to have /me/ in your life?? in whatever way?? it just feels so unreal to me n that. probably stems from a certain #loneliness that i've grown to be used to. n then it's the root of my hesitation i Think #it's just.. rlly so hard at times to. idk i can't help but unintentionally restrain myself w others n there's just often this barrier #i hate it i'm so afraid to be hurt in any way again that even though i rlly wish this fear wasn't there it's just engraved in me #n so i wonder at times. the person others know me as. is it rlly me or just the parts they want to see. an image of me? #i hate it bcs i know certainly w the way i perceive others i love them so much wholly but accepting that for me feels so 'selfish' #i know better but it's so hard to just break out of it n i feel like a burden so often.i hate it so much i feel like i'm rarely ever enough #& i 'have' to be just enough; not too much or too little. i have. fears of what wld happen if i really be myself if i wasn't shy n all..? #n then i rlly can be too harsh on myself at times. to do things right n properly. but life is imperfect the world is imperfect n it's ok if #if i'm not too right? if i can love others unconditionally then.. surely surely i'm not exempt from that? surely i'm human too? #yk what. i'll be fine when i wake up i think i'll go sleep n do the rest tomorrow. it's been.. a month now hasn't it? 28th huh

[soyoursoulisgreen]

3, 4, 19, 20!

3. What ideas come from when you were little

I have two OCs that have really stood the test of time: Akane and Kin - though their names have changed over time haha ♪ They were the first ever queer couple I made, long long loooong before I was out even to myself and shock among shocks, they're angels lol ♥ I remember I even wrote a short story about them from like - middle school probably?? as part of an assignment haha. They've been with me for a loooong time, and I'm still very fond of them 💕

4. Fav character/subject that's a bitch to draw

GLaDOS is so beautiful and I am so bad at drawing machine parts jfdklsasdf. I'm determined to draw her from both games now tho! Her design in Portal 1 is so weird!! <3

19. Favorite inanimate objects to draw (food, nature, etc.)

Plushies, no contest. Drawings the seams and darts and stitches and wear and fluff and fabric vs. fur I just ugh it's all so satisfying! The way the cloth folds over itself or stands firm on its own over well-stuffed filling! I love plushies!! Funny enough, I rarely use them as props tho haha - that's usually things like books, cups, pencils, etc.

20. Something everyone else finds hard to draw but you enjoy

I haven't heard the complaint in earnest in a while, just in a jokey fashion, but I really really enjoy drawing hands :) Hand expressions are so fun to me! They're just as expressive as faces - especially masked characters haha - and they're so versatile! Come in so many shapes, some hard, some rubberhose wiggly, some sharp and Shaped, but they still all emote similarly. Even just slight position changing can change the temperature of how it reads! It's a challenge for sure but it's just so satisfying >:3c

#Woah an original post #Ask #Ask me #Thank you! :D Fun fun!! #I always love talking about my own lads hehe <3 <3 #If I had to guess a year to put to Akane and Kin oh gosh hmm... #Somewhere around 2008/9 if I had to guess?? It's hard to keep track from before I was online haha and I joined kind of late #I've had them for a heck-while! I love them ♥ It's not shown in their tag I linked but I also made some Aarakocran versions of them haha #I still have a lot of the journals and stuff from when I was a kid but none of them have been as long-lasting #I think it's probably because I was very ''inspired'' by what I was reading at that time - which was mostly high school romance lol #Aya and Haruka are almost more like self-parody of that haha - not many characters survived from that time #But Akane and Kin were always in that vague sort of adults sort of teens haze that lets them convert over easily #Their problems weren't related to school or anything so it makes them more versatile :) #I wonder if I still have their short stories anywhere - I also cried while writing one of them lol I've always been the sensitive type haha #Sorry if GLaDOS is the obvious answer lol but it's true! I'm slowly improving but she really is difficult to pin down #Any kind of machinery my brain just blanks out lol. ''It is shaped'' ''How?'' ''Yes'' Pfft #Also rude to imply nature is inanimate! I almost mistakenly said tree but they are animate! They're very alive! #But that's alright - I like drawing trees but I don't very often haha #I really do love drawing plushies tho I lose my mind about them they're so cute <3 Send me pictures of your plushies I will love them /gen #And for hands I mean - I've been enjoying drawing them for so long that it almost feels like the Curse of Knowledge lol #Do people genuinely struggle with hands?? I mean I still do at times - especially closed fists or certain angles #But in general? When they're just hanging out and being silly fruity little appendages? #Or with ASL or the like ♥ They're so fun! My latests have been working with more knuckles than usual haha it feels weird #I never have to worry about same face syndrome with hands! They really feel so intuitively individual haha

[letrashbag]

I'm making this post so I can rant in the tags, it feels safer, like no one will see it, but I'm still screaming into the void y'know?

#no actual tags cause this shall not be found #mental health is a doozy now aint it #my sibling and I always joke that we have the same mental illnesses and I always say we operate on the same frequency #cause we have a lot of similar mannerisms and behavior #our brains just think in really similar ways #however #they are autistic (not diagnosed but its veryveryvery apparent #no discussion #research and experience have dictated it so) #its something that has been really hard for them to admit and acknowledge (imposter syndrome rsd and dysfunctional family issues etc) #then we reach the issues #they have implied (and sort of said) that we think similarly and act similarly because I may also be neurodivergent #I struggle with a lot of the same family issues as them (since it's the same family) #which manifests itself as a constant desire to be special and validated but being aware that I am constantly seeking that validation #(and people pleasing but thats a different conversation) #so I've been down the road of “social media diagnosed me with ADHD” before but I constantly doubt myself because #I'm probably faking it for attention; but I don't tell anyone and don't get attention; which means I'm trying to trick myself into believin #it's true so that I can get attention without feeling guilty; but I do feel guilty; but it's just my brain convincing me that I do so that #can continue this behavior and be noticed; but I've been doing these behaviors for a long time I can point out instances where I did stuff #like this before I knew it was neurodivergent trait; but am I sure that it was actually before? maybe I'm just making this up to validate #myself; but I have been doing some of these things that my sibling does that we both call out being an autistic trait; but clearly I'm jus #doing it since they're doing it; but I'm not consciously deciding to do these things; so you're just mirroring your sibling and you're #neurodivergent friends and the internet creators that you see; but isn't mirroring a neurodivergent trait?; which is why you're doing it to #validate your claim to be neurodivergent which means you're a terrible person who thinks that being neurodivergent is quirky and cool and #everyone hates you or everyone should hate you including yourself. #so yeah #it's a constant circle in my head that just keeps getting more and more vicious #and I want to admit that I have stuff going on #but since I don't have a diagnosis it feels like I would be just crying for attention and being a disgusting human being #cause there are things that I do that I can tell I am not doing consciously (but I may have just picked them up as I am constantly absorbin

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

#maxwell atoms #entertainment industry #animation #intellectual property #turds

[badgertracksart]

Portfolio advice, from a lead who hires Concept Artists

(This was originally a twitter thread I wrote before the site self imolated, hense it's strange structure.) I wrote this after a weekend of portfolio reviews - 1. Like a maths exam, please please show your working. I want to see thumbs options, mid options and of course a final design.

2. Arrange your portfolio, I don't want to bounce about between subject matter and pipeline. Your portfolio's narrative should be as strong as your work... 3. Please make worlds that excite the viewer, make them want to go in and explore them, explain to them the interesting parts of the town, or the way the character's hat unfolds. How will this draw the viewer in? 4. As I've said before the majority of your project work is explanatory not mood, make sure your portfolio contains explanatory work. Explained here -

5. A lot of beautiful post apocolyptic paintings, , but 80% of realistic games and film, we just give the environment artists photo ref, they are capable artists in their own right. Different work in stylised where you do need to create rules for how things can be translated. 6. Production art contains call out sheets, material references and flat graphics. This doesn't have to be your final image, but it should support it.

7. Design characters on a swatch(es) of the environment they will be viewed in. Not on white. I make swatch backgrounds from screenshots, it avoids assumptions that damage readability. 8. Reverse of this, put people in your environments, show me the scale.

9. It's not a deal breaker for a review, but if you intend to get a job, please show me your work on a screen larger than a smartphone (print outs probably the cheapest option with the best battery life). 10. Please have your contact details clearly visible, and by that I mean email address, I will not pass your social media contact on, I cannot input your form into my tracking system. EMAIL ADDRESS emblazoned and bake it in, sometimes recruiters do funky stuff to pdfs

11. Your portfolio will never feel done, not to you anyway. You will have learnt from your latest pieces and want to apply it to older work. But we know art is a journey. Send your portfolio anyway. I've been in the industry 10+ years and my portfolio is still not 'finished'. 12. If you are applying to an environment centric Concept Art position then please vary your times of day! Golden hour is cool but show me some happy sunny days, looming overcast days, what about at night? Vary your weather too! Sunny snowy day? Rainy Spring day? Stormy night?

13. If you are applying for a character centric Concept Art role then please ensure your portfolio shows a variety of body types and ethnicities. 14. Designing characters for games? Please show back views and feet (!) Many potfolios contain only front views. This is a problem because:

You haven't shown you are considering the design from all angles.

In many games rear view is the main view.

Stop cropping feet.

15. If you are entry / graduating and looking at Portfolios to compare content and standard of yr own work too, look at hired grad/junior artists as opposed to seniors Seniors and leads often have old or personal work in their portfolio which isnt representative of the day job. 16a. Show clearly the intended use case for your Concept Art. Mention the game type in the description. Are these player character designs for a 3rd person adventure game? Then more back views please. Bonus points for diagetic ways of showing health / equipment / role etc.

16b. Are these designs for an FPS? Then really the player view of the gun needs to sell the player style/ choices, in an FPS your weapons are almost your character. Are these world designs? What's the view distance? For an RTS your shapes need to read from above & a distance. 16c. The lack of clarification means I am judging the design in isolation, which both harms the design (you might be considering the backview of a char as the main adventure character.) Or an NPC, their waist up expressions may be important for conveying exposition and mechanics.

16d. Concept art is not separate from gameplay, great concept art serves the game team before it is a good illustration.

17. Play games. A variety of games. Think about them. IMO to be a good concept artist you need to understand the common language & references used by your peers. Also understand the principles and common language your audience are used to. FPS design rules are v.diff from RTS.

18. There are many skills that are needed in concept art, please show them. For example: Graphic design - logos, liveries, typographic use etc. VFX concepts - Abilities, Ambience, motion concepts. Architectural knowledge - How buildings are built! & more but I'm out of space :O

#gamedev #conceptart #advice #careeradvice #hiring

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were. 

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you. 

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive. 

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later. 

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost. 

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go. 

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question. 

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you. 

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet. 

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong. 

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours. 

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms. 

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close. 

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want. 

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel. 

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart. 

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you. 

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you. 

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure. 

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger. 

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes. 

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies. 

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch. 

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.  

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.  

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way. 

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak. 

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear. 

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you. 

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to. 

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him. 

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise. 

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important. 

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra. 

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him. 

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked. 

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands. 

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him. 

“Not right now,” he agrees. 

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides. 

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown. 

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range. 

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff. 

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight. 

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles. 

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing. 

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs. 

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought. 

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning. 

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you. 

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together. 

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles. 

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage. 

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair. 

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess. 

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you. 

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,” he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you. 

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this? 

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself. 

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply. 

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone. 

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck. 

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him. 

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff. 

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again. 

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod. 

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.  

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze. 

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction. 

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him. 

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions. 

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core. 

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry. 

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious. 

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly. 

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest. 

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him. 

Thankfully, he delivers. 

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl. 

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you. 

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds. 

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second. 

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh. 

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer. 

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit. 

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair. 

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light. 

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous. 

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning. 

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan. 

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it. 

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection. 

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat. 

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core. 

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first. 

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen. 

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

-

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

[cupid-styles]

Oh fuck tattoorry piercing his girl’s nipples would be so hot specially with how much she loves humiliation that entire interaction would be so sexually charged

this took me FOREVER but I hope you enjoy!!!!

part of the tattoorry/plugrry world

word count: 3k

content warnings: piercings (mentions of needles), spicy but no smut

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Wait, you're being serious?"

Harry huffs out a laugh, sticking his chopsticks in the to-go container of veggie lo mein. "Of course I'm being serious. Why would I lie about that, dovie?"

His response, though not meant to make her feel bad, makes her shrug, a warm blush blooming over the expanse of her cheeks. She stuffs another bite of dumpling in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully to save her from further embarrassment in front of her boyfriend. 

"Don't feel bad," he murmurs, his large palm finding the space between her shoulders, rubbing her sweatshirt-clad skin comfortingly. Her eyes stay glued to the television in front of them, where they're watching the newest episode of Ru-Paul's Drag Race per Y/N's request. (She's never watched it before and Jo, the receptionist at St. Mark's Social, told her she had to. Y/N's been steadily binging it for weeks. Harry pretends like he doesn't love it, but he's secretly just as invested.)

"Dove, look at me," he sighs, placing his food on the coffee table. She does, positioning herself to face him and flittering her eyes up to his face. He looks tired, but they both are. It's been a long week of work and school — however, Y/N was able to get an interview for the bookstore on campus, which ended up causing her a lot of stress and anxiety. It ultimately went well and they said they'd be getting back to her soon. Even if it wasn't the bookstore she wanted to work at, it was still a source of income that would hopefully replenish some of her savings and help her pay rent and bills. 

"I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry I did that," he says softly, "It's just a given to me, because of my work. Nipple piercings aren't otherworldly, like they probably are for you."

She shouldn't be nitpicking, but somehow that hurts just as badly. Sometimes, she feels like a child around Harry. It's as if he's lived a thousand lives in the adult world and she's just recently gotten to have a smidgen of those experiences. 

"It's not otherworldly," she says the word like it's an insult, and Harry has to press his lips into a line so he doesn't laugh, "I just didn't know people got them."

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to put on his professional piercer-and-tattooer face, "Yeah. It's something that anyone can get and I've done a fair amount of them. Semi-painful in the moment with a long healing time. They can look good on the right person, though."

That causes her eyebrows to nearly shoot up to her forehead. 

"What do you mean, the right person?"

"You're just a nosy little thing tonight, aren't you?" Harry fires back with a smirk. She goes to cower with deflated shoulders but he instantly makes a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, grabbing her hands to keep her close, "I just mean, like any piercing, it doesn't always look right on the person. Sometimes people get nose or eyebrow piercings and it's like, oh, that's fine. But sometimes it's as if their anatomy looks complete with the piercing — almost like it's meant to be there, if that makes sense."

It doesn't, but it only continues to pique her curiosity even more. 

"What about me?" 

"What about you?" Harry chuckles, using a hand to smooth her hair down. 

"What piercings would look good on me?"

He smirks at her little game. She plays this sometimes, and he assumes it only comes from a place of true wonder. When they talked about the drugs he's done before, she asked which ones he think she'd like. (None, except maybe for weed, but she has to get her anxiety under control before she tries it.) They went over different styles of tattoos when Y/N was interested in his work, especially when he explained that his are just a hodgepodge of designs, some with meaning, some without. (He said she can get whatever she wants if she decides on something one day, but he's particularly partial to a little "H" on her bum.) And now, she wants to know what piercings would fit her. 

"You can get whatever you'd like, dovie," he replies, "Just as long as I'm the one doing it."

She rolls her eyes and leans her shoulder against the plush of the couch cushion. "Yeah, but you're the professional, Harry! You know what would look best on me."

"Anything would, you're gorgeous."

"That's a cop-out answer and you know it!"

Harry laughs loudly and places his hands atop her shoulders, "Okay, okay. Let me think, dovie. I need to assess my client."

"Oh, you're being a professional now?"

"Shhhh!" he exclaims, and it only makes her laugh harder. He's already gone to that focused place, though, with wandering but fixated eyes and that small crinkle between his eyebrows. She feels bashful beneath his gaze, blinking her eyes as he analyzes her facial features. She's watched him work before, but for some reason, this in particular reminds her of the first time they met, when she sat in on him tattooing Mai. She remembers the way her stomach warmed and her core throbbed at his attuned facial expression, similar to how it is now.

"Okay," he murmurs. Slowly, he reaches up to gently tap at the side of her nose. "I think you'd look very pretty with a small nose piercing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes, but you're beautiful with or without, so it doesn't matter. Plus, I can't have my girlfriend looking cooler than me."

She's not surprised at the way he instantly returns to his teasing self, even if it's not exactly the answer she was fishing for. She watches as he leans forward to grab his carton of noodles. With her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips, she attempts to grab his attention again.

"What about...?" she glances down at her chest. Harry looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. Her form is currently swallowed up in a sweatshirt that's a few sizes too large, so she realizes she's not being entirely specific about what she's asking. "Like...?"

"Huh?"

She sighs frustratedly, "My boobs!"

"Oh," Harry's eyes widen, flickering down to her covered breasts, "You wanna know if you'd look good with nipple piercings?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She watches at the cogs turn in his brain, his gaze meeting hers a moment later. 

"Need to see 'em." he says decidedly. 

She huffs out a chuckle as he helps her peel her sweatshirt off, leaving her in a comfortable bralette. It's pale pink and sheer, but with Harry's hands splayed across her ribs, he still pulls the fabric down. In an instant, her nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold air, and she's attempting not to feel sheepish underneath his intense eyes as they flicker between her breasts. 

"I don't know why I'm even contemplating it," he says, though it's mainly to himself, "Of course you'd look hot with them. You're you."

He looks up at her with a goofy grin before pressing a kiss between them. She blushes.

"You think so?" she asks as her hand finds the back of his neck. He nods, eyes flickering closed when her fingertips play with the shorter, curly tendrils. 

"Of course."

"Would you do it, then?"

Harry's eyes shoot open. "Wait, what? I thought we were just... talking, I didn't think you were being serious."

Y/N shrugs, "I dunno, I kind of like the idea of it."

"Dovie... you only have your ears pierced," he mumbles, sitting up and reaching to gently touch her ear lobes, "If this is something you'd seriously want, I'd want you to think about it for at least, maybe, a few days, not just 10 minutes."

"I've never done anything impulsive, though," Y/N says through a whine. He understands it, and his face crinkles some at her request. "You've gotten tattoos while you were drunk! O-or given stupid ones to yourself!"

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "But those were stupid decisions and I don't want you to make the same ones. You're so much better than that."

She sighs dejectedly. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks, then to her nose. 

"I get it, dove, really. And by all means, I'd rather you get an impulsive piercing than a tattoo. But the healing time is really long, and it is painful. I just don't want you to regret it or... or get mad at me, either."

Y/N's heart softens a bit, nodding her head as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, I understand." 

"If you still want them in a few weeks or months, I'm more than happy to be the one to do it," he says softly, reaching down to give her hand a small squeeze. She perks up a little at that, and he smiles. "Just give it some more thought, okay?"

. . .

Harry really, truly thought Y/N would never mention the whole nipple piercing thing again.

It turns out, his girl is way more stubborn than he could have ever anticipated, because it's been four weeks since then and she still wants them. 

In fact, she's currently sitting in his little work zone, where he tattoos and pierces other clients. Not his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asks for the thousandth time. In the time since she first brought it up, she's done tons of research, including asking Harry just short of a million questions. He appreciated her enthusiasm towards education, but talking about nipple piercings as soon as he finished up work wasn't always ideal. Still, though, he made sure to entertain anything she had to ask, even catching her looking up different jewelry styles and what it looked like on different people. 

And, as soon as Jo accidentally overheard Y/N talking to him about it, of course she offered to show her own. Harry wanted to bang his head into a wall as he listened to them excitedly chatter in the corner, right after one of his employees bared her entire chest to his girlfriend. It had to be some type of workplace violation, only Harry served as the closest thing to Human Resources at the shop — and, considering they sold weed on the side, he didn't think he had much of a case against Jo.

It just so happened that Y/N got out of classes early on Wednesday and Harry hung around the shop those days, making deals and doing boring business administration things. When she asked if she could come by to get her piercings done, he reluctantly said yes. 

It wasn't that he didn't absolutely love the idea of it — he did, actually, and his mouth nearly watered at the imagery it created in his brain. What he did hate was the thought of causing his girl any kind of pain. He was still in the camp of being fearful that she'd get angry at him if she didn't end up liking it. But her excitement towards it never wavered, and he would never be one to tell her no.

"Yes, I'm sure," Y/N replies, wringing her hands together in her lap. "I'm nervous, though."

"That's normal, dovie. Just try your best to relax, it's only me."

She nods as he shuts the door to give them some privacy. He never does that with clients, but he wants to make sure he's making it as comfortable as a process as possible — and, maybe he's keen on ensuring no one else gets a peek. 

He busies himself with sanitizing his tools, washing his hands, and eventually pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He wishes he could make it a more fun experience for her, but the whole thing is quite medical.

"You already picked your jewelry out, right?" he asks lowly. She nods her head as she watches on. 

"Mhm. I sent you a picture of it last week."

"Right, these simple pink barbels, hm?" 

The piercing jewelry she'd chosen were pretty spot on to Y/N's aesthetic of being uncomplicated and feminine. When he saw what she picked, he immediately told her that it would fit her perfectly. 

"Alright, I'm gonna clean them and then we can get started. Still feeling good?"

She nods again. 

"You gonna tell me if you're gonna pass out again, baby?"

She scowls, remembering back to fainting from her first ear piercing. The sour, twisted frown on her face makes him laugh. 

"That's still so embarrassing." she mumbles. On the newly cleaned workspace, Harry shakes his head, placing the sanitized jewelry and piercing supples down on it. 

"Not embarrassing. Cute, actually," he corrects, peeling his gloves off. "Okay. I'm gonna help position you, is that okay?"

"Do you do that for every client?"

He narrows his eyes at her playfully, "No, you jealous little fiend."

She pulls her sweater off, revealing a pale blue baby tee. He swallows as she lays back on the extended table, taking a deep breath to surely calm her nerves. He gently squeezes her wrist, hovering over her form as she gets comfortable. When she shoots him a small nod, he smiles, flipping her shirt up. 

"Okay, baby," he says, smoothing his hand over her stomach, "I'm sure you read this in your... insane amount of research—"

"Not insane."

He nods curtly, "Right, not insane," he quickly corrects. "Anyway, your nipples have to be hard for this. It helps with the placement."

She issues another silent nod his way but doesn't move to do anything. With a small smile, he gently cups her breast. 

"Do you want me to?" he asks, his tone dropping lowly. She's not quite sure what he's even asking to do, but she still provides an affirmative answer. It's not a second more before he's latched his lips around her nipple, her eyes fluttering back from the sucking sensation. It's messy, the way he alternates between each one so they're swollen with his spit, and her fingers find his long curls, tugging at them gently to press him closer to her chest. 

It feels like he's gone far too quickly, plushy, wet lips pressing a quick kiss to the valley between her breasts as he examines his work. Her mouth parts as she watches him bite his lip. 

"You're good," he pants out, though he takes a moment to adjust the growing bulge in his pants, "Need to... put gloves back on."

They're both a bit lust-driven now, but Harry's quick to meld back into his professional persona after snapping a clean pair of gloves on his hands. Y/N swallows as he analyzes her, feeling squeamish beneath his eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs a marker and places two dots on either of her nipples. 

"That's just for the placement," he explains, grabbing a mirror so she can look at where the jewelry would sit, "What do you think?"

Truthfully, they could have been completely wonky and Y/N wouldn't have noticed, let alone say anything. She trusts Harry implicitly, even if she still feels a bit hazy from the welcomed assault on her stiffened breasts.

"Good." she says with a nod, glancing up at him, "Looks good."

"Alright, baby," he replies. He turns to get the clean piercing needle from his rolling tray. "I'm gonna count down from three. I want you to close your eyes and inhale on three, then exhale on one. We'll take a short break after the first one, and then I'll do the second. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, nervously biting her lip. "Just do it, please. 'm gonna lose my nerve."

He chuckles and nods, instructing her to keep her eyes closed as he situates himself over her. 

"Okay. Three— there you go, dovie, big, deep breath— two, one."

She immediately winces from the sharp bite of pain, a noisy gasp falling from her lips. Harry silently cringes to himself — not because the piercing isn't perfect, but because he absolutely hates knowing he's the reason why she's in pain right now. 

"Keep your eyes closed, baby," he murmurs as he fits the jewelry through the first piercing, "Good girl. You're doing so good for me, hm? My strong baby."

She swallows harshly, hands balled into fists at her side. It's painful, that much is true, and she's beyond grateful when he finally finishes screwing the jewelry into place. She lets out a shaky breath and Harry coos, taking one of his gloves off to thumb her tears away. 

"Was that okay, dovie?" he asks worriedly, "We can always save the second for another day."

Y/N quickly shakes her head, "No, no. Just do the other one now, otherwise I'll never have you do it."

Harry repeats the process on the other side. The pain is just as bad, tears continuing to cloud Y/N's vision and roll down her cheeks despite her keeping her eyes squeezed close. He shushes her softly throughout it, his heart tugging. Once he's finished, he's quick to wash his hands, listening to her quiet sniffles. 

"I know baby, I know," he mumbles. He crosses the room as soon as he's done, sitting down next to her and brushing her hair back, "You did so good, you know that? 's all done, dovie, you're done."

She sniffs, batting her wet eyelashes up at him. "'s done?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." he says with a small, crooked smile. "You were so good. Took it like a champ."

"I didn't, I cried the whole time."

He chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna see them?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip as he stands to grab the handheld mirror. He helps her slowly sit up, hinging at the waist. He holds it up to her chest, both pairs of their eyes staring at her swollen breasts. His eyes flitter to her face to gauge her expression, scared that she hates them. 

"Wait," she mutters, cocking her head to the side, "Wait... they're kind of hot."

Relief floods Harry's system and he smirks. "You think so?" 

"Yeah," she nods, sitting up on her knees, "I know they're kinda puffy right now but... I think I like them. A lot."

Harry swallows harshly, dropping the mirror on his chair. Suddenly, he's surging towards her and taking her cheeks between his large palms, smushing their lips together like his life depends on it. It takes her entirely by surprise, and it's hurried and hot and desperate, so much so that she's panting into his mouth and gripping at his black tee-shirt. 

When he finally breaks their kiss, strings of spit still connecting their mouths, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers. Again, he glances down to get another look at her chest. 

"I love you so fucking much," are the only words he can utter out before he's pulling her jeans down to bury his head between her legs. 

#bestie asks #writing #tattoo artist h #harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles one direction #one direction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x oc #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fic rec

[mariasont]

Office Sleepover - A.H

a/n: this is honestly kind of shit but whatever

might make this a mini series?

part two here!

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: reader kind of flashes hotch, really inconsistent with how the gov works i'm sure, there's also definitely not an oven in the break room but in my world there is <3

wc: 3.8k

Hotch's voice reached you, but the words tangled into an indecipherable code as they hit the air. You nodded, a reflex, but it was as if your brain had short-circuited. You could make out fragments--a hit on you, stay at office, 24/7 protection, you can take the back office. But no matter how many times he said it, it seemed to ricochet through your head, making less sense each time. You were on a hit list? A hit list?

It all felt very made up, like a script ripped straight out of a tv show. Risk was a part of the BAU job description, but a hit list? For a fleeting moment, a chuckle hovered at the brink of your lips, but it was swiftly swallowed by a wave of dread that rose in its place. You blinked a couple times, probably too many in a vain attempt to clear the fog and bring Hotch's face into focus.

"But what about all my stuff? And you want me to camp out here in the office? For how long, Hotch? I mean, I'm all for overtime, but this is... this is a lot, and I--," you babble, your speech racing ahead of your thoughts. "And my baking? That's my biggest stress reliever. Not to mention my DIY projects--I can't just abandon my half-finished throw pillowcases. Plus, how many pairs of shoes is too many for an office closet?"

Your pout formed a delicate bow, and though he said nothing, his eyes softened. Hotch could feel the frown marring his features. He might never say it, but seeing you like this struck a chord, making it a little hard to breathe. 

Circling the desk, he planted himself in front of you, his hand settling on your shoulder. "Hey, take a deep breath," he urges softly. "Let's take it one step at a time. List out what you need, someone will bring it here. Your baking supplies, DIY projects, even your shoes."

True to Hotch's word, as usual, you found every piece of your life carefully compartmentalized into cardboard boxes, lined up carefully in the office that now doubled as your temporary room. There was an odd sense of dislocation in finishing your workday and needing only to count about thirty steps before arriving at your room.

You swung the door closed, the sound sealing the room as a deep sigh wrapped around you and you started sifting through the boxes. The pullout couch serving as your bed was less than appealing, its worn fabric making you grimace internally. Nevertheless, you diverted your attention, busying yourself with the organizing of your extensive collection of things. Spencer would definitely shake his head at the sight of the vast amount of clothes you had brought.

The irony wasn't lost on you; surrounded by the office's ceaseless motion, yet you felt more alone than in the stillness of your own apartment. God, this was pathetic, and you needed a drink, but you had a nagging suspicion the office handbook would have a thing or two to say about that. You spent a solid two hours attempting to infuse the sterile space with a touch of home, it wasn't perfect (at all), but it would have to do.

Rossi knocks on the doorframe, poking his head in with a grin. "I didn't realize we were redecorating the bureau in shades of bubblegum," he teases. "How you doing, kid?"

"Actually, it's blush," you correct with a mock-serious tone, meeting his smile with one of your own. "I'm fine," you insist, but Rossi's knowing look prompts a quick add-on. "I am, really, I mean I've always said I wanted my own office."

"An office with a view of the bullpen, no less. You're living the dream," he says, his eyes scanning the room. "Need any help with anything? Or anything else from your place? Maybe your favorite mug to make feel more like home?"

"Don't worry, I'm already one step ahead of you," you assure him, revealing a drawer brimming with mugs.

Rossi lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Why am I not surprised?" he chuckles with a broad grin. "Well, I'm heading out for the night. Remember, I'm just a call away if you need anything. And Hotch is still here, buried in paperwork as usual."

He left, and you were alone--a cue to try and cling to some normalcy of your routine; you drew the blinds and slipped into the comfort of your pajamas. You hauled yourself off to the office bathroom, reluctantly at that, and proceeded to attend to your skincare, brush your hair, and polish your smile with a thorough teeth brushing.

Eyeing the hallway warily, you made a silent exit from the bathroom, the carpet softening your footfalls. But in your rush to avoid prying eyes, you crashed into a solid wall of a figure, the force sending you tumbling backward. You hit the floor with a muted thud, your ass hitting the ground, legs splayed inelegantly in front of you. Your eyes rose to meet the firm, penetrating look of Hotch. Of fucking course.

There was a pause as Hotch's eyes drank in the sight of your flushed complexion and the wide, doe-like eyes that seemed to capture the light just so. He felt like his heart could stop then and there. And he knew it was wrong, but he certainly liked the sight of you sprawled below him. He blinked, breaking the trance, and offered a concerned, "Are you okay?" His hands were outstretched, ready to pull you back to your feet. 

Your cheeks turned a deeper shade as you held onto Hotch's hand, the feeling unexpectedly comforting, rough in yours but nice. "What? Oh, yeah, I'm all good, sorry about that," you managed to say, the words squeaking out a tad too eagerly. 

You stood up, and his closeness was all-consuming. You were suddenly intensely aware of every breath, every throb of your heart, and your mind went blank; the usual stream of thoughts replaced by a buzzing silence.

His eyes held yours for a fraction longer than necessary before he stepped back, creating a respectful distance. The hallway's warmth seemed to dissipate with the space, leaving you with an unexpected stab of disappointment. 

"Rossi said you'd be here. Anything I can do to help?" 

You rationalized the offer as a gesture of your goodwill, but a small part, well a big part, of you knew just wanted to be close to him, to be alone with him maybe--in the office, after hours, in his office. This was weird, I mean, you'd always admired your Unit Chief, but this was different. You chalked it up to the day's unfortunate series of events--you were tired, and lonely, and you needed desperately to snap out of it before you made a fool out of yourself.

"No, you need to rest. It's been a long day, and you've been through enough." He paused, his gaze assessing you. "How are you holding up?"

"At this rate, I'll need a sign that says 'I'm fine,' to stop the check-ins." Although you silently doubted that would deter him. You gesture to the surroundings. "And this? It's like a sleepover at work. Just hoping this so-called hit man doesn't show up."

Hotch internally recoiled at your words, leaving him with the sensation of a cold grasp tightening around his heart. He cleared his throat, the joke falling flat in the gravity of his concern. "I'll be here for a while longer. If you need anything, don't hesitate to come find me," he managed a nod before retreating to his office.

A while longer? You knew Hotch was a workaholic, but it now occurred to you that he must never sleep. Quickly, you gathered your scattered belongings, and made your way to your office.

The pull-out couch seemed even less inviting than you remembered, if that was possible. You perched on the edge, the metallic frame cold through the thin mattress. As you lay down, the couch seemed to swallow you in its awkward angles. Perfect. Tossing and turning, you struggled to find a comfortable spot. Eventually, exhaustion won over discomfort, the rhythm of your own breathing lulling you into a fitful sleep.

Your eyes flickered open at some point during the night and the blinds drifted apart, as if by an unseen hand, and through the gap, your eyes fell on a hooded figure, the face not visible in the dim light. Your muscles locked in terror, an icy fear clawing its way up your spine as you tried to move--to reach for your gun, to call out for Hotch, to do anything. But as if imprisoned by an invisible force, you could only watch, confined to the bed, as the figure crept towards the door. 

A scream tore from your throat, a raw and piercing sound that ricocheted off the walls and echoed through your eyes. This was it, you thought. 

Then, in an instant, you were awake and disoriented, your breaths coming in short bursts, and your body covered in a sheen of cold sweat. Your fingers clenched the sheets, the fabric twisting in your grasp as you fought to decipher what was reality. Your eyes snapped to the blinds, half-expecting to see the figure from your dream materialize, but the emptiness beyond them slowly calmed your racing heart.

With a throat dry as parchment and your pulse still echoing in your ears, you drifted from your room towards the break room. As you ambled past Hotch's office, you paused. The door, slightly ajar, felt like an invitation. Despite knowing better, a foggy curiosity nudged your feet forward. With a shaky breath, you eased the door open wider and slipped inside. 

His office felt different at night--it was quieter, more personal, and you felt like an intruder on Hotch's private world. You took a moment, absorbing the sight of his meticulously organized desk, the case files that were always present.

It was tempting to try to piece together the man from his workspace, but you held back. As you turned to leave, a familiar scent stopped you--the subtle hint of his cologne hanging in the air. It wrapped around you, easing the tension that had sunk into your limbs. Almost without thinking, you found yourself sinking into the couch.

The room, infused with his distinct scent, seemed to have your blinking growing heavier, more intentional. You nestled deeper into the cushions; the fabric familiar beneath your fingers, lulling you into a sense of security. Just five minutes, you thought.

Hotch's steps were slow, his eyelids having a hard time staying open as he made his way through the bullpen. He carried his briefcase, the leather handle worn and conformed to his hand. He contemplated a detour to your office, a silent check-in to ease his mind, but he dismissed the idea--you were probably still asleep, and he'd definitely look like a creep. Reaching his own office, he noticed the door ajar, a sliver of morning light spilling through the gap.

He stepped into the room, and time seemed to stand still as his gaze landed on the couch. There you were, fast asleep on his couch. Your hand lay gently under your cheek, a makeshift pillow softening the hard angles beneath, while your nose gave the faintest twitches. Your lips were parted as if mid-whisper and strands of your hair were splayed in a disarrayed crown around your head. He knew that in no way could that have been comfortable. It hurt his back just looking at you, but still you looked so peaceful.

He moved with quiet steps, heat creeping up his neck as he placed his things on the desk. Turning back to you, he couldn't help but notice the gentle dishevelment of your pajamas, buttons undone in innocent disarray, the fabric parting to reveal the gentle slope of your breasts. He felt an odd mix of emotions--a gentle chiding for finding you in such state, and the guilt of finding the sight so undeniably sweet. 

A quiet cough escaped him, more out of habit than necessity, as he approached a cabinet where blankets were neatly stacked--a nod to many nights spent just as you were. He draped one over you, his movements slow and unhurried, shielding you from potential curious eyes before finding his normal place behind the wooden desk.

He tried to focus--really, he did. I mean, he had a towering pile of paperwork and responsibilities that demanded his attention. But despite his best efforts, his gaze involuntarily drifted to you time and time again. It was as if he needed visual confirmation of your steady breathing to assure himself that you were okay. He thought about you here all night, alone, and he found his knuckles whiten against the grip of his pen. He knew you had security on you at all times, but somehow, he found no comfort in that.

Hotch's eyes flicked to the clock--7:30 am. You still had at least another half an hour before you technically needed to start work, although truth be told he would let you sleep as long as your body allowed. There was no way in hell he was going to disturb you when you looked so content. 

As Hotch worked, the morning light grew stronger, casting a warm glow over his desk. It was nearly 9 am when the sound of shifting fabric eventually roused you. You were waking up, blinking away the remnants of sleep, confusion etched on your face. As your eyes caught sight of the clock and Hotch, mortification set it. 

"Oh my gosh, Hotch. I am so sorry," you blurted out, embarrassment coloring your cheeks. "You could've woken me up--I... I should've set an alarm. And I shouldn't even be here, but I can explain, sort of..."

In a flurry of motion, you leapt from the couch, only to feel a sudden tug at your chest as a button from your top snagged on a stray thread. The fabric pulled open, revealing way more than what was appropriate for your boss to see. Your face turned a shade redder as you scrambled to cover up. Hotch, momentarily sidetracked by the sight of the cleavage of your tits once again, quickly refocused and interrupted your flustered explanations.

"It's fine," he assured. "Given everything that's happened, you needed the rest." He nodded towards the couch. "You're always welcome to sleep here if you need to--though I can't promise it'll be any more comfortable next time."

"Oh no, it was super comfortable, really," you insist, despite the awkwardness clinging to your words. Hotch gives you a look that says he's not entirely convinced. "Okay, well, I'm going to uh... go," you mumble, stopping short at the door with a sudden concern.

Hotch understands immediately and offers, "They're all in the briefing room--won't be out for a while."

With a relieved nod, and minimal eye contact, you dash out, hoping to reach your office unnoticed. But because the world just hated you these past days, just as you're rushing by, Morgan's hands come to your shoulders to stop you.

"Easy there, mama," he teases, a smile on his face. But as he gets a good look at your attire, his grin grows wider. "What in the world...?" he starts, laughter in his voice. He glances from you to Hotch's office door, then back again. "Hold up, hold up--you didn't... with Hotch? Are you?"

"What? No, Morgan, absolutely not! Why would you even--oh my god," you gasp, wishing the ground would swallow you whole. God, I mean, the day hasn't even started, and you needed it to end. Realizing your voice has risen in your flustered state, you quickly lower it to a harsh whisper, your eyes darting around to ensure no one overheard. "Why would you even suggest that?"

"Um, maybe because you're making a grand exit from the boss man's office in your PJs? Just a wild guess."

"No, Morgan, it's not what you think," you insist, but your attention snaps to the sound of the team's voices nearing the door. "I don't have time for this," you mutter, darting back to your office. 

In a whirlwind, you shed the pajamas, slip into your work attire, and hastily run a brush through your hair. Good enough. 

You threw yourself into work, the stack of papers becoming a welcome distraction, a rare sense of relief rather than the familiar dread. It was a considerable effort to divert your mind from the distractions--Hotch, the hit man, and Morgan's incessant teasing. Not that anyone would believe that you and Hotch were together; he was the very definition of sophisticated, handsome, and successful, and you were just, well, you.

Not that there was anything wrong with you. You liked yourself just fine; you laughed too loudly at jokes, talked to your houseplants as if they were your old friends, and you had an odd fascination with weather patterns. These things made you wholly you. You just knew you couldn't be more different from Hotch.

With a bit of luck and purposeful avoiding, your day passed smoothly, sparing you any unnecessary run-ins with Hotch. Everyone had gone home for the day which is why you stood in the break room attempting some baking recipe from Pinterest. 

The slippers on your feet padded against the carpet as you hummed around the room. With swift motions, you ushered the coffee cake batter into the oven, then turned to tackle the mess you had created on the countertops. Cleaning as you go wasn't your usual style, but office break room didn't seem like the place for your usual creative sprawl. 

Your phone had buzzed incessantly with Penelope's calls--her offers the keep you company is why you loved her, but you weren't going to subject her to that, no matter how many times she said she didn't mind.

Hotch's office was quiet, save for the soft scratching of his pen against paper as he finally closed his files. He moved into bullpen and as he passed the breakroom, the soft hum of the light and faint sound of movement drew him in. There you were, engrossed in tidying up, with your hair casually gathered above your shoulders and wearing your sweats, Hotch found him instinctively pausing to watch. 

He knew he shouldn't bother you, knew he was likely the last person you'd want to see, yet he found himself rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on you, the warmth in his chest intensifying with each fleeting second.

The moment you turned and saw a figure, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and the icing in your grasp became a sweet projectile that flew across the room. Relief washed over you as you realized who it was.

"Jeez, Hotch, give me a heart attack why don't you," you said, half-laughing as your heart rate settled. "Especially when there's a hitman who might beat you to the punch."

Hotch parted his lips to speak, but you were quicker, a stream of thoughts tumbling out before you could stop them. "I thought everyone was gone. You weren't at your desk earlier--oh wait, you had that meeting with the DOJ, right? Did they have anything about the people who marked me?" 

In your haste, you closed the gap between you, and only then did you spot the icing on his cheek. "Oh, sorry about that, Hotch," you said with an apologetic grin, reaching out as if to wipe it away. 

As your palm made contact with his skin, a shared realization of the intimacy of the gesture washed over you. Time seemed to slow as your thumb traced a lingering path through the icing, your whisper barely audible, "There."

The word seemed to hang in the air as you froze, the proximity suddenly overwhelming, your breath caught in your throat. Hotch's backward step was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. You cleared your throat awkwardly, cheeks warming with a flush. "Um, did you need something?"

Hotch shook his head slightly, "No, just wanted to check on you before I head out."

You gave a thumbs up, mustering a smile. "Well, consider me checked."

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. "Goodnight," he said, to which you echoed in response as you watched him leave.

Alone now, you slumped against the counter, your hand pressed to your face. Consider me checked? God, someone needed to tape your mouth shut.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfic #hotch #hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #ssa hotchner #agent hotchner #cm #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Spotify

[jonnywaistcoat]

Hey, Horrormaster Sims. I have a wildly different question that barely relates to TMA (Sorry about that) but its about your own process. Please, if you could, can you tell me how your first drafts made you feel? I'm on the fence about writing my own thing (not a podcast, and again, not Magnus related, though I have a million little aus for that delightful tragedy you wrote, thank you for that!) But I'm discouraged by the collective notion that first drafts are always terrible, because there's no ... examples I can solidly use to help the dumb anxiety beast in my brain that tells me everyone who is in any way popular popped out a golden turd and not, well, you know. One of my friends said 'Oh I bet Jonathan Sims's first draft was nothing like what he wanted' and I got the bright idea to just. Send you an ask, since you're trapped on this hellsite like I am. Anyway, thanks for reading this (if you do) and if you'd rather ask it privately, I am cool with that. Alternatively, you're a hella busy man with Protocol (you and Alex are making me rabid, i hope you know) and you can just ignore this! Cheers, man, and good words.

To my mind all writing advice, especially stuff that's dispensed as truisms (like "first drafts are always garbage") are only useful inasmuch as such advice prompts you to pay attention to how you write best: what helps your workflow, what inspires you, what keeps you going through the rough bits. There are as many different ways to write (and write well) as there are people who write and so always consider this sort of thing a jumping off point to try out or keep in mind as you gradually figure out your own ways of writing.

On first drafts specifically, I think the wisdom "all first drafts are bad" is a bit of unhelpful oversimplification of the fact that, deadlines notwithstanding, no piece of writing goes out until you decide its ready, so don't get too hung up on your first draft of a thing, because a lot of writers find it much easier to edit a complete work than to try and redraft as they go. It's also important to not let perfectionism or the fact your initial draft isn't coming out exactly how you want stop you from actually finishing the thing, as it's always better to have something decent and done than to have something perfect and abandoned.

But the idea of a "first draft" is also kind of a fluid one. The "first draft" you submit to someone who's commissioned you will probably be one you've already done a bunch of tweaks and edits to, as opposed to the "first draft" you pump out in a frenzy in an over-caffeinated weekend. For my part, my first drafts tend to end up a bit more polished than most, because I'm in the habit of reading my sentences out loud as I write them (a habit picked up from years of audio writing) so I'll often write and re-write a particular sentence or paragraph a few times to get the rhythm right before moving to the next one. This means my first drafts tend to take longer, but are a bit less messy. I'm also a big-time planner and pretty good at sticking to the structures I lay out so, again, tend to front load a lot of stuff so I get a better but slower first draft.

At the end of the day, though, the important thing is to get in your head about it in a good way (How do I write best? what helps me make writing I enjoy and value? What keeps me motivated?) and not in a bad way (What if it's not good enough? What if everyone hates it? What if it doesn't make sense?) so that you actually get it done.

As for how my first drafts made me feel? Terrible, every one of 'em No idea if that's reflective of their quality, though, tbh - I hate reading my own writing until I've had a chance to forget it's mine (I can only ever see the flaws). I suppose there's theoretically a none-zero chance they were pure fragments of True Art and creative perfection, but Alex's editing notes make that seem unlikely.

#writing advice #rambling #first drafts #gotta say not mad on being called a horrormaster #feel like ive a ways to go yet #horror journeyman maybe