#it's Notes On When Traumas Happened more than explanations of What Trauma Was

[sundrop-writes]

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson One: Slick Silicone

(aka the one with the pocket pussy)

Summary:

What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot. 

And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on. 

Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

Word Count: 17,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn’t understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer ‘honey’ (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn’t keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.

This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning’ about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent’ (it’s more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer’s hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting’ Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.

Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss’; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy’, 'baby’, 'pretty boy’, 'dumb baby’; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it’s controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer’s hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that’s it. There is descriptions of aftercare!

A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it’s interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it’s worth the pay-off imo.

...

Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day. 

Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer. 

You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t. 

Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with. 

“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain. 

“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.” 

“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was. 

“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.” 

For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found. 

Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing. 

You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside. 

“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” 

Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you. 

You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell. 

It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch. 

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”

You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in. 

“Ugh, fine.” You said. 

You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made. 

Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out. 

Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips. 

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound. 

Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag. 

“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?” 

You looked up at Reid with awe. 

For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you. 

But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about. 

Your insides tingled with glee at this realization. 

Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction. 

“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag. 

“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?” 

This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head. 

You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell. 

You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion. 

“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again. 

Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you. 

“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?” 

You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this. 

“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered. 

There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.

It was something you found entirely endearing. 

“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark. 

Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you. 

“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.” 

Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true. 

“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.” 

Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this. 

“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid. 

“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -” 

“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.” 

Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features. 

“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.” 

As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did. 

“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence. 

He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question. 

You held back a giggle. 

“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered. 

“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips. 

“It’s a sex toy.” You told him. 

His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed. 

“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?” 

Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features. 

“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood. 

“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over. 

“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!” 

“I wore a glove, Reid!” 

… 

Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed. 

The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies. 

Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved. 

On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if. 

You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it. 

You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day. 

… 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment. 

He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for. 

When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense. 

Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina. 

(“Or an anus, of course.”) 

Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about. 

It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men. 

(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.) 

For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form. 

A pocket pussy. 

You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory. 

Yes, he was a virgin. 

He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.) 

He had been touched by a woman before, but only once. 

After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.) 

Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none. 

But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself. 

He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one. 

Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation. 

His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.) 

And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult. 

One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you. 

The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him. 

He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind. 

… 

You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning. 

There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked. 

You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie. 

You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels. 

Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted. 

You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass. 

It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it. 

You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself. 

You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him. 

Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office. 

“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading. 

“Traffic was hell.” You fired back. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.” 

Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it. 

“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office. 

You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer. 

You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case. 

“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?” 

“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.” 

It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day. 

You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer. 

You denied it. 

Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad. 

By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face. 

“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you. 

“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?” 

You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind. 

“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said. 

You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for? 

“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked. 

“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands. 

“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled. 

Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy. 

“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact. 

Both of you knew what this meant. 

For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company. 

What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it. 

“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.” 

He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work. 

Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life. 

You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother. 

“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile. 

He smiled back at you fondly. 

“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.” 

“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?” 

You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else. 

“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files. 

… 

You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer. 

A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment. 

One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense. 

He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you. 

Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time. 

You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him. 

It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up. 

He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard. 

You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant. 

He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back. 

You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise. 

You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly. 

“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.” 

You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position? 

“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him. 

Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order. 

He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking. 

“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.” 

Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy. 

“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.” 

These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you. 

When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was. 

You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him. 

Oh, but you did. 

You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for. 

“Spencer,” You called out his name gently. 

This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you. 

He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there. 

“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-” 

He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it. 

“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him. 

You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat. 

He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps. 

“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced. 

He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious. 

You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin. 

You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect. 

“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.” 

Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about. 

But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body. 

So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy. 

Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was. 

Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts. 

“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.” 

It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand. 

“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.” 

You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize. 

You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off. 

You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more. 

There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it. 

That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need. 

What he did next nearly sent you into orbit. 

He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you. 

But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time. 

When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace. 

“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”

“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.” 

The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried. 

Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock. 

You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him. 

“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.” 

You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future? 

The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous. 

“Of course.” You nodded. 

You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you. 

“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?” 

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. 

“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet. 

Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him? 

You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that. 

Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going. 

“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.” 

The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him. 

The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction. 

“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you. 

Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different. 

He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you. 

“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was. 

You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things. 

“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”

The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you. 

It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off. 

Intense want flared up of you. 

The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did. 

“Spencer,” 

You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest. 

“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?” 

Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 

“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?” 

You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm. 

You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command. 

You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules. 

“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.” 

“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?” 

You decided to tackle his questions one at a time. 

“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this. 

You then continued your explanation. 

“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.” 

Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all. 

“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’…” You took the time to find the right words to explain it. 

Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this. 

“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words. 

“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.” 

For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled. 

You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic. 

He easily understood what you meant. 

“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.” 

“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him. 

Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant. 

These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh. 

“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.” 

“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?” 

You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him. 

Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer. 

“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.” 

You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’. 

“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on. 

His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this. 

“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.” 

Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you. 

“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?” 

“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him. 

If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word. 

You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk. 

“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?” 

“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.” 

Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority. 

He nodded. 

“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words. 

You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now. 

These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.” 

You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day. 

“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?” 

“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” 

This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved. 

“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule. 

“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet. 

Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it. 

You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him. 

“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” 

You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy. 

When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’. 

“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.  

He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact. 

“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask. 

“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first. 

“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.” 

“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness. 

“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.” 

You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles. 

You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement. 

“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?” 

Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this. 

“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.” 

Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration. 

Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions. 

When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table. 

It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home. 

You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage. 

You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this. 

He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off. 

He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. 

But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said. 

“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand. 

“My - my belt?” He asked. 

Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules. 

You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat. 

“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.” 

Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.

When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks. 

“Spencer,” 

You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction. 

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders. 

He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why. 

You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen. 

He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement. 

“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.” 

He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down. 

A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside. 

You had to marvel at it. 

You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day. 

Spencer caught you staring, of course. 

He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you. 

He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-

“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules. 

“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment. 

“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair. 

He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him. 

You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch. 

“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.” 

To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it. 

He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you. 

You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back. 

It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you. 

You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement. 

Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it. 

“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.” 

Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe. 

“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists. 

“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again. 

You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him. 

He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state. 

Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin. 

You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question. 

“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him. 

Instinctively for him, there was only one answer. 

“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.” 

The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him. 

“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight. 

Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing. 

You were excited to finally use it on Spencer. 

Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy. 

“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,” 

Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time. 

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him. 

You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand. 

You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside. 

“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock. 

It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs. 

“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand. 

The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close. 

You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears. 

You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.) 

“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word. 

You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute. 

“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say. 

“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.” 

Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him. 

“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly. 

“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable. 

“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.” 

You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used. 

Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands. 

You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him. 

“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully. 

Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization. 

He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy. 

There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently. 

It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak. 

“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic. 

He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments. 

“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight. 

“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?” 

He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him. 

It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders. 

You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon. 

“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.” 

Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move. 

You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture. 

With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort. 

“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.” 

“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again. 

“Please, Miss.” 

When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. 

You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation. 

Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock. 

His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life. 

“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!” 

You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head. 

You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear. 

“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!” 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink. 

“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.” 

“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness. 

“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate.  “I - I need it.” 

You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.

“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.” 

He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along. 

“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words. 

“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips. 

“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father. 

“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.” 

“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again. 

You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy. 

“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked. 

“Yes!” He easily replied. 

“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask. 

“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped. 

Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact. 

“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled. 

Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to. 

“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?” 

“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”

He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him. 

But that thought left your head completely with his next words. 

“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!” 

Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm. 

This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy. 

Everything was so wet. 

It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate. 

“God!” He choked out. “Please!” 

He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow. 

“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness. 

Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?” 

“Please!” He sobbed. 

Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it. 

“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.” 

“Anything!” He easily declared. 

“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him. 

It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying. 

And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words. 

“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.” 

“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.” 

You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak. 

You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time. 

“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!” 

“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?” 

Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response. 

You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done. 

“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.” 

He only inflated your ego with his next words. 

“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!” 

It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be. 

You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath. 

“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him. 

And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one. 

It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips. 

You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit. 

So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand. 

The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive. 

His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath. 

It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible. 

He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else. 

Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him. 

His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe. 

You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses. 

You loved those glasses even more now. 

You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something. 

“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.” 

“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down. 

You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later. 

You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long. 

“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was. 

After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you. 

“What - what about you?” He asked. 

Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time. 

“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?” 

He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words. 

“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly. 

“Of course you can, baby.” 

You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink. 

You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal. 

You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf. 

You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question. 

“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?” 

You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care. 

“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?” 

You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress. 

His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed. 

“I don’t mind.” He told you. 

You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing. 

“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it. 

Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.” 

You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead. 

You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side. 

If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you. 

You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”

...

Keep Reading Here - Lesson Two: Magic Metacarpals

Note: This is a Capsule Series, so each fic can be read as an individual oneshot. There is no overarching story, and no specific ending.

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction

[tenpintsofsundrop]

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson One: Slick Silicone

(aka the one with the pocket pussy)

Summary:

What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot. 

And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on. 

Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

Word Count: 17,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

If you want to be notified whenever I post a new fic, go to my library blog @sundropslibrary and turn on all notifications there.

Please read my pinned post before interacting.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn't understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer 'honey' (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn't keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.

This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning' about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent' (it's more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer's hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting' Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.

Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss'; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy', 'baby', 'pretty boy', 'dumb baby'; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it's controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer's hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that's it. There is descriptions of aftercare!

A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it's interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it's worth the pay-off imo. also remember, if you want me to continue this series, please give me some feedback on it! I would love to hear what you thought of this fic before I start writing another one! I highly resisted the urge to put Mommy kink in this, but I feel like it would be unrealistic for a shy Spencer to be comfortable calling his partner Mommy during a first time (he would have a Mommy kink but he would be way too uptight/uncomfortable to admit it).

...

Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day. 

Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer. 

You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t. 

Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with. 

“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain. 

“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.” 

“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was. 

“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.” 

For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found. 

Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing. 

You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside. 

“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” 

Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you. 

You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell. 

It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch. 

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”

You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in. 

“Ugh, fine.” You said. 

You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made. 

Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out. 

Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips. 

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound. 

Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag. 

“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?” 

You looked up at Reid with awe. 

For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you. 

But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about. 

Your insides tingled with glee at this realization. 

Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction. 

“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag. 

“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?” 

This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head. 

You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell. 

You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion. 

“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again. 

Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you. 

“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?” 

You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this. 

“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered. 

There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.

It was something you found entirely endearing. 

“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark. 

Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you. 

“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.” 

Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true. 

“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.” 

Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this. 

“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid. 

“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -” 

“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.” 

Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features. 

“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.” 

As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did. 

“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence. 

He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question. 

You held back a giggle. 

“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered. 

“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips. 

“It’s a sex toy.” You told him. 

His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed. 

“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?” 

Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features. 

“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood. 

“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over. 

“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!” 

“I wore a glove, Reid!” 

… 

Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed. 

The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies. 

Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved. 

On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if. 

You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it. 

You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day. 

… 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment. 

He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for. 

When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense. 

Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina. 

(“Or an anus, of course.”) 

Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about. 

It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men. 

(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.) 

For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form. 

A pocket pussy. 

You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory. 

Yes, he was a virgin. 

He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.) 

He had been touched by a woman before, but only once. 

After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.) 

Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none. 

But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself. 

He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one. 

Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation. 

His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.) 

And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult. 

One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you. 

The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him. 

He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind. 

… 

You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning. 

There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked. 

You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie. 

You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels. 

Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted. 

You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass. 

It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it. 

You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself. 

You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him. 

Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office. 

“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading. 

“Traffic was hell.” You fired back. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.” 

Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it. 

“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office. 

You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer. 

You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case. 

“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?” 

“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.” 

It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day. 

You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer. 

You denied it. 

Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad. 

By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face. 

“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you. 

“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?” 

You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind. 

“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said. 

You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for? 

“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked. 

“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands. 

“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled. 

Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy. 

“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact. 

Both of you knew what this meant. 

For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company. 

What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it. 

“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.” 

He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work. 

Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life. 

You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother. 

“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile. 

He smiled back at you fondly. 

“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.” 

“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?” 

You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else. 

“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files. 

… 

You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer. 

A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment. 

One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense. 

He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you. 

Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time. 

You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him. 

It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up. 

He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard. 

You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant. 

He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back. 

You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise. 

You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly. 

“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.” 

You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position? 

“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him. 

Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order. 

He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking. 

“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.” 

Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy. 

“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.” 

These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you. 

When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was. 

You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him. 

Oh, but you did. 

You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for. 

“Spencer,” You called out his name gently. 

This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you. 

He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there. 

“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-” 

He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it. 

“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him. 

You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat. 

He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps. 

“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced. 

He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious. 

You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin. 

You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect. 

“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.” 

Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about. 

But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body. 

So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy. 

Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was. 

Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts. 

“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.” 

It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand. 

“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.” 

You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize. 

You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off. 

You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more. 

There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it. 

That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need. 

What he did next nearly sent you into orbit. 

He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you. 

But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time. 

When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace. 

“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”

“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.” 

The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried. 

Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock. 

You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him. 

“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.” 

You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future? 

The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous. 

“Of course.” You nodded. 

You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you. 

“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?” 

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. 

“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet. 

Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him? 

You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that. 

Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going. 

“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.” 

The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him. 

The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction. 

“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you. 

Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different. 

He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you. 

“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was. 

You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things. 

“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”

The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you. 

It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off. 

Intense want flared up of you. 

The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did. 

“Spencer,” 

You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest. 

“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?” 

Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 

“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?” 

You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm. 

You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command. 

You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules. 

“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.” 

“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?” 

You decided to tackle his questions one at a time. 

“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this. 

You then continued your explanation. 

“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.” 

Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all. 

“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’...” You took the time to find the right words to explain it. 

Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this. 

“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words. 

“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.” 

For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled. 

You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic. 

He easily understood what you meant. 

“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.” 

“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him. 

Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant. 

These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh. 

“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.” 

“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?” 

You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him. 

Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer. 

“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.” 

You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’. 

“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on. 

His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this. 

“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.” 

Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you. 

“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?” 

“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him. 

If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word. 

You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk. 

“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?” 

“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.” 

Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority. 

He nodded. 

“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words. 

You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now. 

These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.” 

You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day. 

“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?” 

“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” 

This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved. 

“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule. 

“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet. 

Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it. 

You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him. 

“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” 

You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy. 

When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’. 

“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.  

He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact. 

“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask. 

“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first. 

“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.” 

“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness. 

“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.” 

You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles. 

You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement. 

“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?” 

Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this. 

“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.” 

Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration. 

Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions. 

When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table. 

It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home. 

You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage. 

You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this. 

He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off. 

He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. 

But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said. 

“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand. 

“My - my belt?” He asked. 

Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules. 

You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat. 

“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.” 

Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.

When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks. 

“Spencer,” 

You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction. 

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders. 

He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why. 

You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen. 

He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement. 

“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.” 

He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down. 

A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside. 

You had to marvel at it. 

You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day. 

Spencer caught you staring, of course. 

He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you. 

He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-

“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules. 

“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment. 

“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair. 

He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him. 

You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch. 

“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.” 

To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it. 

He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you. 

You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back. 

It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you. 

You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement. 

Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it. 

“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.” 

Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe. 

“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists. 

“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again. 

You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him. 

He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state. 

Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin. 

You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question. 

“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him. 

Instinctively for him, there was only one answer. 

“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.” 

The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him. 

“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight. 

Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing. 

You were excited to finally use it on Spencer. 

Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy. 

“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,” 

Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time. 

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him. 

You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand. 

You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside. 

“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock. 

It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs. 

“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand. 

The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close. 

You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears. 

You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.) 

“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word. 

You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute. 

“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say. 

“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.” 

Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him. 

“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly. 

“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable. 

“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.” 

You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used. 

Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands. 

You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him. 

“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully. 

Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization. 

He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy. 

There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently. 

It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak. 

“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic. 

He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments. 

“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight. 

“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?” 

He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him. 

It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders. 

You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon. 

“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.” 

Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move. 

You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture. 

With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort. 

“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.” 

“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again. 

“Please, Miss.” 

When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. 

You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation. 

Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock. 

His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life. 

“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!” 

You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head. 

You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear. 

“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!” 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink. 

“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.” 

“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness. 

“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate.  “I - I need it.” 

You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.

“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.” 

He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along. 

“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words. 

“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips. 

“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father. 

“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.” 

“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again. 

You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy. 

“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked. 

“Yes!” He easily replied. 

“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask. 

“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped. 

Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact. 

“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled. 

Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to. 

“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?” 

“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”

He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him. 

But that thought left your head completely with his next words. 

“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!” 

Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm. 

This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy. 

Everything was so wet. 

It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate. 

“God!” He choked out. “Please!” 

He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow. 

“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness. 

Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?” 

“Please!” He sobbed. 

Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it. 

“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.” 

“Anything!” He easily declared. 

“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him. 

It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying. 

And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words. 

“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.” 

“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.” 

You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak. 

You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time. 

“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!” 

“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?” 

Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response. 

You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done. 

“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.” 

He only inflated your ego with his next words. 

“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!” 

It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be. 

You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath. 

“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him. 

And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one. 

It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips. 

You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit. 

So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand. 

The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive. 

His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath. 

It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible. 

He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else. 

Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him. 

His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe. 

You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses. 

You loved those glasses even more now. 

You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something. 

“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.” 

“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down. 

You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later. 

You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long. 

“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was. 

After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you. 

“What - what about you?” He asked. 

Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time. 

“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?” 

He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words. 

“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly. 

“Of course you can, baby.” 

You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink. 

You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal. 

You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf. 

You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question. 

“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?” 

You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care. 

“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?” 

You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress. 

His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed. 

“I don’t mind.” He told you. 

You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing. 

“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it. 

Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.” 

You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead. 

You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side. 

If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you. 

You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”

...

The sequel to this fic has now been posted!

Keep Reading Here: Lesson Two - Magic Metacarpals

#sundrop writes #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #sub!spencer #sub!spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

[indigovigilance]

Why Crowley Rescues Aziraphale

Okay, yes: it's flirtatious, it's cute, it's Anthony J. "Acts of Service" Crowley showing love in the only way he knows how because God forbid he use his words.

But what if there's more to it than that? What if there is a much darker explanation that portends major events in S3?

Allow me to convince you below the cut:

Evidence of Repetition Compulsion

But before we talk about the rescue motif, let's examine a more transparent aspect of Crowley's behavior that will provide a scaffold for the discussion of his Princess Peach obsession.

The Plants

Sure, Crowley is a hobby horticulturalist, but he doesn't do it because he loves plants. He does it because the plants are a representation of himself, and how he treats the plants tells us how he feels about himself. Importantly, how he treats the plants changes over time.

Season 1

He puts the fear of Crowley into them, destroying any specimen with a blemish and making an example out of it to threaten those that remain.

You know, just like God did to him.

This scene is jam-packed with symbolism, and we can simmer on whether his punishment of the plants is simply externalized self-flagellation, or reflects internalized standards of perfectionism, or if he feels so powerless that he creates a new relationship in which he is the one that has the power... We could simmer, but that's not the point of this meta, so let's keep going.

Season 2

In 2023, Crowley is no longer a domineering monarch, ruling over his houseplants with an iron fist; of all the memorabilia he has in his flat (the statue from the church, the original Mona Lisa), the only things he brings with him are his plants.

And for someone living in his car, he's taking pretty good care of them:

Someone else even noted that one of the plants appears to have spots, and clearly he hasn't thrown it in the garbage disposal for its transgressions. I wasn't able to see it myself, but I headcanon it because it fits with the observation that:

Crowley's attitude towards himself is changing.

He is evolving from internalized guilt and sense of inferiority to believing that he deserves care, even if he is a little blemished. It is this shift that brings it within the realm of possibility that he can admit his feelings to Aziraphale.

In both seasons, the unifying theme is that Crowley is reliving his trauma over and over, and then reliving his healing over and over. This cyclical behavior is, to my knowledge, incredibly characteristic of PTSD and CPTSD. In a phenomenon clinically referred to as Repetition Compulsion, the subject recreates and relives events of a traumatic past over and over in their present life, seeking resolution for something that has already happened, where the opportunity for true, satisfying closure is forever lost to the past. A huge part of therapeutic treatment is breaking these maladaptive cycles [citations]. But to our knowledge, Crowley doesn't have a therapist.

If this is how Crowley's CPTSD manifests in his relationship with inanimate objects semi-sentient dependents, how might it manifest in his relationship with his angel?

The Rescue Motif

The cycle of Aziraphale's self-endangerment and Crowley's nick-of-time rescues might look like just a cute part of their flirtationship, a necessary cover for their continued association, but I argue that it something much darker.

Crowley rescues Aziraphale over and over throughout history to try to absolve himself for the one time he couldn't.

But clearly, Aziraphale doesn't know that.

It only took one rescue for Aziraphale to realize that this kind of behavior brings them closer together - and he desperately wants to get close to Crowley. Please forgive the crudeness of the metaphor, but: when you need to drive a screw into a board and all you have is a hammer, you're gonna smack that thing on the head over and over with the only tool you've got. The problem is, this is really bad for the screw.

Aziraphale, by leveraging the damsel-in-distress motif, over and over again, is inadvertently triggering a trauma response from Crowley because he likes what he gets out of it, which is spending time with the demon he loves and growing intimacy. If he knew that this is what he was doing, it would be sick and twisted and go against everything he believes about himself as an angel, let alone being mortified that he was hurting Crowley.

So the only possible conclusion (given we take the above conjectures as fact (see @queerfables, I listen to you <3)) is that:

Aziraphale Doesn't Know About His Own Jimmification

What is it that Crowley could have failed to rescue Aziraphale from that Aziraphale himself is unaware of? Well, at the least, it would have to involve a mind-wipe.

We know, canonically, that the Metatron can and will mind-wipe angels without actually casting them out of Heaven. Just because Aziraphale is an angel does not mean we can assume that this ability was never leveraged against him.

If Crowley knew that they were going to do this to his friend, he would have tried to stop it. The repeating damsel-rescue motif (in context of the existing, plant-based evidence of Repetition Compulsion) is a strong indicator that his mission to protect Aziraphale from the memory-wipe failed, and he is living in an endless loop of rescue behavior to try to resolve his guilt about that.

So why wouldn't Crowley tell Aziraphale that his mind was erased?

To properly address that I will need time to write a part 2. But others are welcome to use this as a jumping-off point, please just cite the inspo; it's a little thing that brings me joy ^_^

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the meantime, if you enjoyed this, you may also like:

Why Crowley is Blind to his Yellow Eyes

A Nightingale Sang in 1941

Baraqiel and Azazel

The Erasure of Human!Metatron

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #repetition compulsion #trauma #ptsd #complex ptsd #good omens memory #ivoc #erasure theory

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 22: Cozy

Word Count: 855 Rating: General Summary: When Grogu wakes up upset in the middle of the night, both you and Din are concerned for him. But getting cozy and cuddling with his Clan soon brightens the little boy's mood. Content Warnings: Allusions to past trauma but nothing detailed! Author's Note: Oh to get cozy and cuddle with Din and Grogu. yEARN,, ING. Little shorter than my usual today because I had a busy (but very fun) day! Exchanging presents and catching up with friends always makes my heart so full at Christmas time. Hope you enjoyed this one! ♡

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

You opened your eyes and instantly realised that something was different, what exactly you weren’t quite sure of. It wasn’t until you reached a hand out and discovered an empty, somewhat cold spot next to you on the cot that you realised Din was not next to you. It was the first night you were spending together in the cabin that he had brought to you for a snowy getaway. You were about to leap out of bed and search for Din, momentarily fearful that something terrible had happened, when the door opened and revealed a familiar figure.

You noticed as Din shuffled into the room that he was carrying Grogu. You looked at Din concernedly, wondering why Grogu was with him. It was not uncommon for Grogu to make his way into your room sometimes after you had slept. The child was occasionally prone to nightmares and used his abilities with the Force to leap into your bed and nestle between you and Din for comfort. You never minded, but Din fetching him like this was rare.

“Sorry, he woke me up. I could hear him crying from his room,” Din offered as an explanation for both his absence and Grogu’s presence.

“You don’t have to apologise,” You replied, sitting up.

“I just didn’t mean to wake you,” Din said as he handed Grogu to you and clambered into bed beside you.

“It’s alright, Din. You didn’t wake me up when you left. I guess I woke up eventually because I realised you weren’t here. The cot didn’t feel as cozy,”  You reassured Din. Then you turned your attention towards the little boy in your arms who had apparently been upset: “What’s up with you, buddy?”

Grogu looked at you, his brow furrowed on his wrinkled head. His eyes were glassy from the tears he had seemingly been shedding. 

“I don’t know if he had a nightmare. Perhaps the change of scenery and coming somewhere new has unsettled him,” Din suggested.

“Perhaps,” You agreed. Sometimes the reality of being unable to communicate with Grogu in words made things extremely difficult on your emotions. It was precisely a time like this when you wished more than anything that you could speak to him, to know what was going on inside his little head. “Whatever it is, I think he needs lots of cuddles. Do you want to sleep in here tonight with me and your dad?” You asked Grogu.

The little boy nodded slowly, still looking at you with wide, sorrowful brown eyes. Your heart ached at such a sight; your ordinarily vibrant, cheeky boy was deeply upset for some unknown reason.

“Okay, little guy,” You soothed as you pressed a soft kiss to his forehead once again. 

Din lay back on the bed and you placed Grogu on his chest. The little boy shifted so he was nestled in the spot between his father's neck and shoulder. Din rubbed soothing circles on Grogu’s tiny back; you watched them fondly for a second, before you joined Din lying down. You positioned yourself on Din’s chest too, sighing happily when his arms wrapped around your waist as your cheek rested on his broad chest. You reached down to pull the blankets around your little Clan so you were all warm and comfortable, bundled up tightly from the horrors outside. 

You heard a rustling next to you, watching as Grogu positioned himself closer to you so he was lying on Din’s chest, rather than nestled in the crook of his neck. You looked at Grogu, watching closely for any signs of discomfort on his face. But it seemed that a little time cuddling with you and Din had done wonders to soothe whatever anxieties he had. Fortunately, Grogu looked a lot happier. Knowing that he was warm and safe on his father's chest and cuddled up next to you, who cared for him just as deeply. 

“Goodnight, Grogu,” You whispered as his enormous lids began to droop over his equally sizable eyes.

Seeing the upturn in Grogu’s demeanour meant that you could enjoy the coziness of the moment. Lying here in Din’s arms, knowing that you were comfy and snug underneath the layers of blankets from anything that lay outside was incredibly reassuring. You both knew pieces of Grogu’s life, things that he had been through that were more than any child should ever have to experience. But he had found a home, a safe haven and parents who loved him very much. Against all odds, Grogu had found sanctuary with you and Din, two people who had endured many trials and tribulations too. You felt incredibly lucky to have the two of them and that you had somehow, in a galaxy so vast, ended up by each other's side.

Your cheek rested on Din’s firm chest and you sighed contentedly as you listened to the reassuring, steady beats of his heart and the shallow, even breaths coming from Grogu, who was nestled beside you. With the weight of the blankets and your Clan by your side, you were certain that you had never felt more cozy. 

#dincember 2023 #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal characters #my fics #seriously so tired but happy i managed to write this !! #i went to my geek friends' house and we did a star wars quiz lmao i slayed at the mando questionssss

[kira-fluff]

haikyuu!! neurodivergent headcanons 💕

tw: several listed mental illnesses, some of these are solely off of vibes but most of them I have reasons lol note! I do not believe autism is a mental illness or something that is "wrong" with an individual, hence why the title is "neurodivergent" rather than "mental illness". just had to put that out there! to all my neurodivergent babies I love you! a/n: hello! as a neurodivergent like myself (depression, anxiety, ptsd, bulimia, etc etc) i thought it would be really cool to do an analysis on one of my biggest hobbies (psychological illnesses) and relate them to haikyuu characters! some of them have a deeper explanation because I feel so strongly about it.

attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADD/ADHD) BOKUTO, hinata, NISHINOYA, atsumu, lev

generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) sugawara, OIKAWA, asahi, yamaguchi, yachi, aone, akaashi, tendo

social anxiety disorder (SAD) asahi, KENMA

post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) oikawa

depression (MDD) oikawa, KENMA, kuroo, suna, matsukawa, tendo

autism sakusa, USHIJIMA, kageyama, kyotani, kenma

eating disorder(s) (AND, BND, BED) OIKAWA, KENMA

obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) oikawa

borderline personality disorder (BPD) daishou

insomnia kuroo, kenma, osamu

hypersomnia suna

analysis under the cut

it's pretty obvious that bokuto struggles the most to self-regulate, even to others, but I personally believe that oikawa struggles the most with his mental health.

like almost everyone in haikyuu, oikawa is obsessed with volleyball, but he takes it to a point of overexertion and taking his anger and frustration at his own inadequacies out on others.

I really think oikawa's relationship between he and kageyama and he and ushijima are the ones that show how bad his anxiety is

ushijima and kageyama both don't understand the emotions oikawa is feeling which could be written off as them not understanding their talents, but I think it's something more

to me, I feel it is blatantly obvious that ushijima is autistic. he just so frequently seems to be unable to read the emotions of others or takes things literally when it's something else intended. I'm not autistic, though, so autistic community, let me know your thoughts!

bokuto and hinata both have an insane amount of energy, but struggle to be successful in school. sports works for both of them because their focus is constantly needed to be diverted or "all over the place" that it helps them be great players

kuroo is one of those other characters that I feel like I'm reaching to say he has mental health struggles but to me it just comes off in vibes. first of all, any kid with divorced parents should be in therapy so I feel there's definitely some struggles there.

I think kuroo is the type that hides his struggles and pretends they aren't happening. he puts a lot of pressure on himself to be the best at everything he does, and so he feels he doesn't have time to deal with the emotions that leave him feeling empty

kenma was someone I immediately felt was autistic. he has so many key factors like an obsession/hyperfocus on his hobbies and trouble socializing (social anxiety).

kenma has some of the strongest evidence toward my beliefs, specifically in this quote: "I'm not good with people, and I don't want to interact with them. and yet, I'm very concerned about what others think of me." like, tell me that doesn't radiate autistic/SAD vibes!!!!

idk what it is, like inadequacies or what but I genuinely believe oikawa has some kind of trauma. like he's definitely carrying something that so heavily effected him that it controls the choices he makes in life

I don't have much evidence that suna has depression, it's just a vibe because of his mannerisms and what he says. I think it's the kind where it's well-managed, but it shows up in physical symptoms like apathy more than anything.

atsumu gives ADHD vibes solely because of like how all over the place he is and how he can't always seem to properly get out what he's trying to say lol

sakusa is one that to me could be seen as "done with your bullshit" but I think he also hates crowds (like me, I mean who doesn't) and struggles socially probably because of anxiety or autism. not sure!

basing daishou off of vibes, too, because if I'm being honest all I've seen in the show is him having hostile relationships or being on-off with them, though its certain I could be reading too much into it, but that's the fun of headcanons.

do you agree with what I wrote? I would love to hear your thoughts!

#haikyuu!! #haikyu x reader #kuroo headcanons #haikyū!! #haikyuu headcanons #neurodiverse stuff #kenma x reader #fem!reader #kenma kozume x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #suna headcanons #suna x reader #suna rintaro fluff #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #atsumu miya x reader #osamu miya x reader #oikawa fluff #oikawa x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #nishinoya yu x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #tendo satori x reader #daishou x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #kuroo x reader #yamaguchi tadashi x reader #akaashi keji x reader

[randomlonelymusician]

Lacey's Petshop Theory/Analysis (So Far)

So Lacey's Petshop dropped a couple of hours ago, and here's my thoughts so far after watching the video twice and doing some rough transcriptions.

Illegible text transcriptions HERE.

Warnings for disturbing imagery, abuse, blood, and animal death. Also spoilers.

So here's my overall takeaway from this entry:

There are two stories going on. The story of Lacey, who represents Rocio Yani (Lacey Game's cofounder), and the story of how the games came to be. They're very heavily connected, but not everything we're shown in the Lacey games is exactly what happened to Rocio.

In Lacey's Petshop, Lacey's uncle kills her dog. After years of abuse from him and him killing this one bit of happiness she has in her life, she kills him. She hides his remains under the bed, and is afraid to leave the room after this.

Lacey seems to be a sort of stand-in for Rocio, who has clearly suffered similar abuse. There are two directions that Rocio's connection to the "bad versions" of the Lacey games could go: they were vent pieces to she could express her trauma, or she is literally connected to the games, living out a 2000s-esque life while her trauma seeps through in the bad endings.

Now, for further explanations.

I think it's pretty evident that Lacey's uncle killed her dog. With how she constantly mentions him "taking her angel away", and how the dog's face appears while a mutilated leg/bloody eye flash on screen.

The motifs connecting the image of the dog to animal death and distress go even further:

I believe that Lacey killed her uncle after this mostly due to how images of a mangled/rotting foot and a bloody eye when she is talking about how "he is still under the bed" and that she "can't leave"

The lines about her not being able to leave also could imply some sort of guilt. The mirror scene could also reinforce this, since she sees horribly distorted versions of herself.

I also don't think every game is a direct representation of her trauma, since the timeline get a little messy if they are. Especially Lacey's Wardrobe. That's the one that sticks out as different from Lacey's Diner and Lacey's Petshop, which both focus on the abuse from her uncle. Both Lacey's Diner and Petshop do both show that she killed him, with in Lacey's diner she is cooking him and her trauma into the food and serving it to others (a representation of what what is doing with the games, maybe?"

BONUS NOTE: After you click the... substance on the left, it shows this image, which features Rocio's name.

As for what's happening in the real world. I'm actually going to go with the theory that Rocio is literally connected to the game as Lacey, and that's why there's bad endings that didn't used to be there. Everyone in the story remembers how they used to play Lacey games, and never seem to remember anything disturbing. But now that Rocio is connected to the game, her trauma is infecting it.

I think that her being connected to the wires is more literal than some may take it.

Forming a bit of a timeline, Laceygames.com / Yaniasogames started in 2004, and from the interview with Grace Asop confirms that they parted ways in 2010. This means that the "infections" were more recent, which is why no one has been discovering them until now.

Lacey / Rosio just wanted to have a normal life, so she connected herself to 2000s-esque flash games to make that a reality. But her past traumas ended up seeping into those games, creating the grotesque imagery that we now know.

I think that's all I have so far. Here are my favorite screencaps from this episode that I didn't get to use:

If anyone has any comments, ideas, or additions, please add them! This series has brought me back into the analog horror community, and it's really fun to discuss!

#lacey's flash games #lacey flash games #lacey games #lacey's petshop #lacey's pet shop #lacey's diner #lacey's wardrobe

[incarnadinedreams]

Hot Take Time #2309209 (edit: actually this isn't a hot take it's lukewarm at best. it's a room temperature take) but I really don't understand the argument "mo dao and gui dao are different and therefore everything WWX does is completely fine!"

Like, yes, it's a difference that plays into the public discourse vs. real truth themes of the novel to a degree, and I of course absolutely appreciate all the explanations and meta around the nuances and differences. But like. What he actually does with it is... still not good whether it's mo dao or gui dao? And there are many very significant reasons that gui dao is still not great? (Which I won't get into here because there are other people far more qualified with cultural/genre knowledge who have written about it way better than I ever could anyway)

Like y'know. The several hundred people he tortured to death, the thousands of desecrated graves, the mini-harem of pet zombie girls he kept after the war for purely entertainment purposes...? Like, those behaviors aren't inherent to the method (well, except the method sort of uniquely facilitating the keeping of pet ghosts), but they're not... good...? (Note: 'morally good' is completely different than 'fun & sexy, having a great time torture-bonding with shidi, etc'.)

I just cannot agree that keeping a little harem of pet ghost girls nor anything that happened with the Wens is being "gentle with the dead, empathetic and respectful". Even WWX thinks his past self was kinda cringe with it and went way too far!

I do think there's meant to be a significant amount of ambiguity about what elements of his downward spiral are caused by the corrosive nature of his method vs. the trauma of the Burial Mounds and his own, internal, homebrewed mental crisis. The alcoholism, rapidly shifting moods, anger and inability to control his temper, before and after the war. How much of it is Wei Wuxian and how much of it is the impact of the resentful energy he's using, and the use/proximity of the Yin Hu Fu?

I do think there's a reason why there's just as much brutality carried out by characters using orthodox cultivation methods. But in the end, his behavior was a problem, and the novel hints that the methods were impacting his mental state, and it was overlooked because of his usefulness to the war effort, but it did significantly damage his credibility leading up to the parts where he is in the right, which is also part of the point of the story. And you know. The subject of Jiang Cheng's whole 'the flower that blooms alone' monologue in the cave.

Anyway. 'He's using gui dao not mo dao and there's a difference' is super not the same thing as 'Wei Wuxian is morally justified in every action'?

Anyway this book is a lot more fun to me when you approach it from 'look what absolutely insane things these boys will do when they go absolutely feral for each other, it's so cool' with a side of 'look how fucked up he is now, that's hot' and not, like, trying to somehow figure out how to make pet ghost girls into a moral ideal.

So much of the story, for me, is about what desperate, wild lengths a person will go to for survival and revenge when pushed, and then what do you do after? When the danger is past and the revenge is done, what then? How do you come back from that?

#mdzs thoughts #I am a wei wuxian enjoyer #but it feels like I enjoy a different wei wuxian than these people #which is fine... I guess... #people on the internet out here just. having different opinions than me. ugh. #mostly joking but I just find it weird because to me these takes also significantly ruin the cool factor

[idyllic-affections]

i just read both of your muichiro works and I’m really impressed 😭😭💓, so I would like to request some thing. What would the reader (gender neutral pls) have to do to cheer giyuu,obanai and muichiro when they are is sad 

what might one need to do to raise the hashiras' spirits?

summary. how do you comfort the hashiras?

trigger & content warnings. no applicable warnings.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. reverse comfort. muichiro tokito & reader, kyojuro rengoku & reader, tengen uzui & reader. 0.7k words. no pronouns for reader.

author's thoughts. hello lovely!! thank you so much. muichiro is like... my favorite ever, so recieving praise for the content i write of him is so heart-warming <33 on a more serious note, please please remember to read my rules before requesting. like any writer, i have boundaries. it states who i do and don't write for, and as of right now, i'm just not comfortable writing for giyuu or obanai. i replaced them w/ kyojuro and tengen. muichiro's is the longest though bc i love my son <3333 also this is kind of a different writing style than my usual content? if you guys like it enough i might try to use it more often.

T. MUICHIRO—

oh this boy. this poor boy.

i like to think that he goes through random bouts of sadness and frustration, especially before he regains his memory; he doesn't even know where his deep-seated rage towards demons come from! that fact just perpetuates his frustration. he can't understand why he's so angry and that only serves to anger him more.

also, let's not forget that he's a child. he is a fourteen-year-old child. he has a hard time processing his feelings and working through his trauma alone. children need love and support, love and support that he does not get enough of.

(the other hashira try their best, but let's be honest—they're all always so busy. they wouldn't realistically have time to attend to the emotional needs of a child.)

i don't care how independent canon muichiro seems to be.

he is a child. he grew up too fast.

to ease his soul, i think the best course of action would simply be to dote on him.

he needs the attention. he really does.

dote on him.

brush and braid his hair (braiding it would have practical value, after all!) with his permission, cook for him... just small, familial gestures.

he may or may not cry.

if he does, squeeze his hand and run your thumb over his knuckles. he's like a cat; do not make any further contact unless he initiates it first.

he probably won't vent because he doesn't know what's upsetting him. just let him cry it out. don't expect an explanation (and don't be surprised if he forgets about his breakdown soon after it happens).

give him a lil forehead kiss. he deserves it.

R. KYOJURO—

kyojuro is an interesting one!

i personally think that doing little domestic things with him would be a good way to cheer him up.

or even just doing things with him, spending time with him.

take a walk! go out to eat! make friendship bracelets! any activities done together are always a good bet with kyojuro.

simple little gestures are definitely the way to go, too. he's got a big heart. it's really not too hard to cheer him up, as long as your efforts are genuine.

also, definitely give him a big hug. he'd love that. squeeze him like your life depends on it. it won't hurt him; he's a hashira. he'll be fine.

i headcanon that he's a very good cook!

he is, however, a disaster with baking.

doing things like cooking and baking with him would raise his spirits so so effectively. trying to teach him how to bake would be really good for making him laugh, because i guaruntee that you & him would end up covered in flour and shit like that LMAO

be sure to listen to him talk if he decides on opening up. he'll appreciate having someone that listens.

U. TENGEN—

we all know this man is flashy and loud!

because of this, i think the best way to cheer him up would actually just be sitting in the silence with him.

no words, nothing. just calm silence between two friends.

observe the stars at night with him. listen to the wind rustle leaves and blades of grass.

anything that's simply low effort and relaxing would be good for him, i think. he's got so much energy all the time. tengen spends so much time being... loud and—obviously—flashy.

because of that, every now and then, he needs quiet time to recover.

he needs to decompress sometimes.

like kyojuro, i think he'd appreciate a good hug too. in his case though, it would be best and most effective to hug him once he's feeling better, not while he's feeling bad.

with his permission, massage the tension out of his shoulders. that would help too.

really, he just needs a judgement-free safe space in which he can wind down. i don't imagine him as the type to vent, so that's not something he'd be doing. he just needs someone who understands his need for the quiet, someone who won't pressure him to open up when he just isn't ready to.

he just needs a friend to be there for him.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion's headcanons 🌸 #platonic demon slayer x reader #platonic kny x reader #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #muichiro tokito x reader #tokito muichiro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #kyojuro rengoku x reader #uzui tengen x reader #tengen uzui x reader

[lorcandidlucienwill]

People got shocked when I suggested an Azriel-Beron rejected mating bond with Gwynriel endgame, but truthfully in many ways, it makes more sense than canon. 1. Azriel's Vanserra beef would be explained better. Sorry, but the canon explanation is pretty pathetic. I totally buy into Azriel being jealous of Lucien for a multitude of reasons, from the mating bond to his impeccable personality, but these guys have been at odds, or at least Azriel has, from the beginning. The wHeRe DiD hE gO was hella weird from Azriel. Like...why is he soooo hyperfixated on him? And I've been turning it over in my head too: yes, Lucien is superior to Azriel in every way in ACOSF, but Azriel has been gifted with more than him in every way except the mating bond while Lucien has lost everything. So why is he still jealous? There has to be more to it. Enter: the mating bond. Azriel still thinks Lucien to be Beron's son. Imagine watching the son of your tyrannical mate be blessed with their perfect match while you're stuck with an abusive monster for a mate. Imagine he has to feel the mating bond strain every day and Lucien, being his son, only reminds him of it? And the High Lord's meeting. I'm not buying Azriel's beef with Eris solely being about Mor, it makes no sense. Mor was uncomfortable with what Azriel was doing, which was choking Eris to death. And you can chalk this up to Azriel being overprotective and not knowing Mor well, but...they've been working together for 500 years??? He has to know basic things about her. Also, Azriel is a shitty spymaster, yes, but even I would figure out my friend's sexuality if I was given 500 years to do it. He has to know. So maybe the reason Azriel was so unhinged was because Beron and the sons of his mate by another faery were there. So he went after his kids as a mating bond instinct to eliminate all threats. And maybe he pretends to long for Mor. Not to protect her like some people suggest, but to protect himself. Imagine how the IC would freak out if they knew their spymaster had such an intimate connection with their sworn enemy? And what if this mating bond is the "secret" Eris suggested he knows in ACOSF? 2. It would explain his fear of fire. I'm sorry, but he should have trauma from tunnels but like...he traveled through them in HOFAS, no problem? That burning thing happened when he was a child. He has had...(checks notes) well over 400 years to get over it. Since they expected Nesta to get over her trauma so soon, and Cassian got over his shit so easily by going on a killing spree, why would Azriel still be so hung up on it? If his mate was a monster with incredible firepower (literally). Chalk the Sangravah thing to trauma from abuse suffered at Beron's hands, explain the Gwyn interactions in the BC with the lightsinger theory, which is a theory I adore except when used to vilify Gwyn, and boom! Azriel-Beron rejected mates, Gwynriel endgame. Or something like that.

#azriel #azriel shadowsinger #beron vanserra #gwynriel #azriel x beron #beron x azriel #lucien vanserra #eris vanserra #the morrigan #mor #i mean just call me queen of the rarepair because i think i'm the first to suggest this ship

[aphrogeneias]

𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 — 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

summary: there is more to a couple of friends exchanging mixtapes than what meets the eye.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: peak mutual pining. oblivious idiots. reader is in danger but nothing specific is mentioned. allusions to a bad home life. a super tiny reference to high fidelity.

author's note: again, only minor changes were made, as well as editing.

series masterlist

In the backseat of Steve’s car, squeezed between Dustin and Lucas, while the group disclosed your situation to him, Eddie could barely keep his own thoughts in check.

He felt sick to his stomach, even as the gentle breeze coming from the opened windows hit his face, and the radio played a song that, if he let himself think too much about it, it would remind him of you.

The younger boys explained that you were alone during Spring Break, and that you've been neighbors with the Wheelers your whole life. Last night, Nancy had noticed something strange happening to the lights of your house, and when she went to check on you, you said you were fine, you just thought you saw something, but it was probably just the old electrical wiring. Nancy knew better, though.

Cursed, they said. You were cursed.

They also told him that Vecna didn’t choose his victims randomly, you were all connected through some kind of trauma, all being monitored by the school counselor, like their friend Max, and Chrissy, and Fred, from the school newspaper - both of the former weren’t able to escape, but they could save Max after a breakthrough they had about how music can break the trance caused by the curse.

Eddie wasn’t processing any of that information, though. Their voices seemed to blur in the background, Dustin’s detailed explanations and Steve’s bickering interruptions fading away as his mind wandered to you, who were suffering, unbeknownst to him. The tragic princess in a tale, trapped in the tower of your own mind — and Eddie was no dragonslaying knight, no hero. There was nothing he could do to help you other than trust Dustin's plan to work.

He should have known something was wrong, shouldn't he? He should have insisted on making you tell him what you were going through instead of letting you slip away. Should have, should have, should have.

It was too late now.

4.

Saturdays were the busiest day at the record shop.

Eddie didn't usually visit you on Saturdays, since you never really had the time to hang out with him as you did during the week, when the store was mostly empty — but, that Saturday, he had a mixtape to deliver to you.

A couple of days before you had gifted him with one, wrapped in sparkly purple paper, a small note with his name on it attached to the worn out ribbon tied it all together. You'd explained to him that, even though the two of you had widely different takes on music, those were a few songs that made you think of him, and you thought he'd appreciate them.

Most of the music in your tape was mellow, acoustic songs, the kind of music he imagined you listening to in your room, or driving your car to school — Crosby Stills and Nash, Joan Baez, Fleetwood Mac. Not that he kept thinking about you alone in your room all the time, not at all.

It rendered him speechless. You were casual about it, sliding the cassette on top of the counter in his direction, but he could tell you were somehow shy about it. There was something else hidden under your fleeting gaze, something that had shifted along the way — or, perhaps, it was only his imagination.

Except that something had changed, ever since his friends decided to take a trip to the record store only to mock him for his infatuation with you. Barely noticeable, barely there, but it changed in the way you looked at him, how you'd seemingly always find an excuse to be close — something unspoken lingered in the air.

Then, again, maybe it was only his fertile imagination playing tricks on him. He wasn't used to getting this kind of attention, and it confused him, but Eddie would be damned if he let his feelings get in the way of what you had.

As he made his way into the store, mixtape heavy in the pocket of his jeans, he shoved through a small group of school kids gathered around, looking for you. Spinning on the heels of his well worn boots, his eyes searched the whole room, but you were nowhere to be found. Behind the counter was one of the guys who only worked weekends — Rob? Bob? Honestly, he didn't care much to learn.

"Hey!" He called out in the other boy's direction, who looked up from the tapes he was piling. "Uh… where's Y/N?"

Rob, or Bob, simply pointed in the direction of the steel door that led to the back of the store, a slightly frightened look on his face. That was the reaction Eddie usually got from people, but it never got old.

Smiling, he said "Thanks, man!", and strolled to the back to find you.

The warm afternoon sun was hitting the brown brick wall, where you stood, leaning against it. Sunshine illuminated your features as you blew smoke from the cigarette you were smoking, looking straight ahead. Eddie felt the breath being knocked out of him as you turned, after probably sensing his presence, and smiled.

"Hey, sailor. What brings you here?"

The rasp in your voice made his tummy flutter.

Approaching your side, he mimicked your pose, leaning against the wall. "Came here to thank you for giving me some new music to fall asleep to. Honestly, insomnia? Never again."

"Why did I have a feeling you would say that?"

"Only because you know me so well." You chuckled, playfully squinting at him.

You smiled, turning your gaze to the ground. “Yeah, I think you’re rubbing off on me, Munson.”

It was silent, for a bit. He watched you finish your cigarette, stubbing it into the wall and crushing it beneath your beaten up converse. This was not the comfortable silence you would sometimes fall into, there was something unreadable in your face, dark circles under your eyes weighing on your features. Fighting the urge to reach out and comfort you, he reached into his pocket instead.

“Here,” Eddie handed the tape to you, a simple cassette inside an acrylic case with your name scribbled on top with his handwriting, quickly before he could regret it, “I brought you this. It’s not much but I thought it was fair. You showed me yours, I’ll show you mine, right?”

“Right.” You nodded, securing the tape in your hands. “You’re making that sound a lot more exciting than it actually is.”

When he laughed, you didn’t follow suit, managing only a half smile before you looked away again. It worried him, your silence.

“Is everything alright? You’re a little out of it today.”

“Uh, yeah. Had a tough week, that’s all. Things at home aren’t… great, right now.”

���You know you can talk to me, don’t you? About whatever you want, whatever you need. I mean, the last thing the freak can do is judge you.” He chuckled that last part, but there was no humor behind it.

Looking back at him, your face was still unreadable, but the look in your eyes was earnest, raw. "You're not a freak, Eddie. You're my friend."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic

[honey-minded-hivemind]

OH I really like the idea of reader with an animalistic mutation! It could be something monster/werewolf-like, or possibly a different animal like a BEAR or some kind of big cat.

They'd have to be scared out of their wits, not able to rely on their powers and their enhanced senses doing nothing to help them out of this mess, because the pain they're in is blinding. Besides that they're caught up in freaking out at how their alive, despite all the gore and the wounds they're too scared to look at, they aren't dead, which makes no sense, and they want explanations that no one can give them.

On related note, If the kids did manage to slip away, somehow hiding under the radar for a few days even, I picture some sort of emergency forcing them to seek better refuge or certain supplies, and that's when their parents would catch up with them.

Lamb Anon

Ooooooo, that's good, thats good! I'm liking these asks, 🐑 Anon! I myself am always partial to a animal/feral mutation for Reader. And to top this situation off for you, and for everyone else? Imagine if Reader actually IS the blood child or relative of one the adults platonic yans. Maybe Reader was a child they gave up who only later wander back into their lives, only to later be ripped away by what had happened. Perhaps Reader was a mystery child they knew nothing about until after the event, and the guilt eats at them for never knowing their kid really WAS their kid by blood, too. Either way, it would only add fuel to the already massive fire that is the train wreck the kids are in. On a separate note, yes, the kids are also handling their own trauma due to dying? or almost dying, only to end up back in a world that they can't explain the changes of, but it's going rather poorly, not to mention they now have this to add to their growing trauma. It shouldn't be different, right, they couldn't have been down for long, the >,">#÷,/ only just happened, it's been at best maybe a day since what was done-

It hasn't been a day. It's not even the same year.

And they have no explanation why.

On a separate separate note, if the teens did escape the first encounter with their older, more grim and harrowing friends and family... They know they aren't out of the blue, not even close. They're dealing with people who know what they know, every plan and preparation and procedure for what to do if something goes wrong, how to track people, how to survive, places that are safe-

It's endless, how much they're out of their depth. They weren't sure they'd planned for this. That this was even a possibility. Sure, sure, they'd made a few safety precautions incase one or two of the teams' members went off the deep end or was mind controlled or possessed. They had never accounted for everyone being turned against them. And while yes, the four of them have powers and know how to use them, their powers (except possibly Reader's) aren't offensive. One of them can run really fast, faster than light if they want; one of them can walk through walls, doors, floors, anything; one of them can teleport anywhere within reason and within a two mile radius; and one of them has something that isn't any of that. Except they're all wounded, hurting, and traumatized. Fast guy can't run, phaser can't phase, teleporter can't teleport, and even though they could possibly afford to use their powers once or twice before complete collapse... they can't do so without leaving the others behind. And they don't want to leave anyone behind. So all they can do is stick together and hold out until they can make a better move. If only they have enough time to do so...

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #platonic yandere xmen evolution au #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #🖤dark au

[grizzersmamma]

Bloody Paws and Broken Strings | Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” MacTavish | Daemon AU

Summary: Simon and his daemon Elanor have more than a little trauma from his time with Roba. Call of Duty daemon AU.

Notes: This took a lot longer than I thought and was much longer than I intended, but I hope y'all enjoy!

Pairing:  Simon “Ghost” Riley x John “Soap” MacTavish.

Warnings: Past Childhood Trauma, Torture, Amputation, Daemon Torture, Forced Separation, Being Buried Alive, Permanent Injuries, Fluff.

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

Prev | Next

When Simon thought of torture, he thought he had everything figured out. As a SAS member, he’d been through all the training to resist pain and had sat through lengthy explanations of anything and everything the enemy might be willing to throw at him. It would all be unpleasant, sure, but he was confident that both he and Elanor could handle anything that came their way.  

How wrong he was.  

It was after only a week of captivity among Roba’s men that the unspeakable happened.  

The concrete floor was uncomfortable, but it was far better than the steel table they had strapped him to. The leather bindings were far too tough for him to break through without a blade, and there were enough of them holding him down that he couldn’t so much as twitch without the material digging into his limbs and bare throat.  

Elanor was on a table to his side, and she had been much more difficult to deal with. While she was already muzzled from their capture, her legs had been left loose enough that with one swipe of her paw she drew three deep gashes into the face of the nearest man. It was bad to antagonise the enemy, Simon knew, but he couldn’t help the way his lips twitched upward slightly. After a week of torture, it was rather cathartic to see one of his abusers yelling and cursing while another attempted to stop the blood spurting from his colleague's face. 

Unfortunately, one of the other men in the room must have noticed his minor amusement, for he reached forward, digging his filthy fingers into Elanor’s scruff with a bruising grip. “Think that’s funny, English?” the man hisses, giving the daemon in his hold a firm shake.  

Simon is smart enough to remain silent, schooling his features into neutrality. He can feel the pressure of the other man’s nails digging into Elanor’s skin but refuses to give them the satisfaction of knowing how it affects him.  

The man continues, “I suppose we’ll have to ensure that can’t happen again, hm?” His hold on the panther vanishes as he moves around the table, pulling the bindings on the daemon’s legs tighter. A sinking feeling begins to grow in Simon’s stomach, but he pushes it down, settling for simply watching the man with narrowed eyes.  

“Don’t worry, I hear this is a standard procedure for cats that don’t know how to keep their claws to themselves,” there’s a glint of silver as the man selects a pair of bone shears, testing them out briefly before he turns back to Simon. “Of course, normally the patient is unconscious, but I’m sure you can handle it, right?”  

In response, Simon simply grits his teeth and focuses on his breathing, staring hard at the crumbling ceiling above. The man moves to stand in front of Elanor’s front paws, grabbing one of them and squeezing the top and bottom of the feline’s paw to force the claw to slide into view. He can’t see what the man does next, but he certainly feels it.  

Pain explodes throughout his body, completely blinding him as his vision is washed in white. He presses his head back into the table, choking back any pained noises that threaten to escape him, even as he listens to his daemon’s agonised yowls and thrashes. He can feel tears creeping into his waterline, but before he can even try to fight them back, there is another sickening crunch, and the pain intensifies once more.  

By the time they reach the fourth claw, Simon is panting, sweat beading his forehead. It’s difficult to focus on anything happening with his eyes blurred by tears and his whole body shivering from the pain his already weakened body is struggling to handle. He can vaguely see Elanor weakly struggling out of the corner of his eye, feeling her pain and terror flooding his body.  

No matter how he pulls against the bindings he can’t free himself, the lack of food and dehydration leaving his body feeling heavy and sluggish.  

Simon had been foolish when he thought that he knew how much it hurt to have his daemon harmed. He thought pain was when his father struck Elanor, or his despicable serpent counterpart would sink her fangs into them. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of his daemon having parts of herself cut away in uneven, bloody chunks.  

Elanor had taken such a large, dangerous form to keep her boy safe from the horrors of the world, but here these people were, muzzling her and snapping off her claws. She was reduced to the same defenceless little daemon she had been before settling, cowering in fear and pain and unable to save her person from being terrorised.  

He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that everything would be okay and they would make it out the other side. He tries to push those emotions to the forefront of his mind, desperately clinging to their bond in the hopes of ignoring the pain.  

Unfortunately, the moment he thinks he might just be able to get through the agony of his daemon’s mutilation, Roba’s dog moves on to the next finger. The pain is increased with each claw removed, and it quickly gets to the point that Simon almost wishes he could just pass out rather than soldiering through it. But his brain keeps him wide awake, registering each and every sensation that shoots down his nervous system.  

By the time it’s all over, Simon’s entire body is in so much pain that he hardly notices when they loosen the straps around his arms and legs. The skin where the bonds were has been rubbed raw, leaving behind thin trickles of blood that has soaked into the leather. The room stinks of something metallic, but it’s difficult to tell with the way bile burns his nostrils.  

Hands grip his arms and drag him off of the table, dropping him down onto the cold, hard ground with little care for the pained sound he makes when his body collapses into a heap. He grinds his teeth when he feels someone grab Elanor’s body but is far too weak to do anything about it, watching as she’s carried away.  

It feels like hours pass before they return for him, grabbing him from under the arms and dragging him across the floor and down the hallway back towards the detainment area. They throw him onto the ground again when they reach the room he’s been kept in for a week now, leaving him in the centre of the damp cell alone.  

Simon eventually musters the strength to roll over onto his back, searching the room for Elanor, only to find himself alone. He can feel darkness beginning to creep in around the edges of his vision, consciousness growing harder and harder to hold onto by the second. It isn’t surprising when he finally gives in and lets the abyss claim him, escaping from the waking world and the pain that comes with it.  

He isn’t sure how long it took for him to wake again, struggling to blink his heavy eyelids open with the way they’ve crusted over during his sleep. Elanor is still nowhere in sight, but other than the throbbing pain from the previous torture, she seems to feel alright. She must be nearby if he isn’t feeling the uncomfortable strain on their bond.  

“Ellie?” He grunts out softly, hoping to not draw the attention of any nearby guards. “Elanor?” He tries again when he doesn’t get a response, moving to push his back off the ground. It’s uncomfortable with the black and blue bruises that coat his chest and back, straining at his already swollen muscles, but he manages to slump into an upright position.  

He listens intently for several long moments while heaving air into his lungs, exhausted by the simple exertion of changing positions, until he hears a muffled growl from nearby.  

Struggling against his own body’s deteriorating state, Simon hauls himself across the floor and as close to the front of his cell as he dares. Leaning his head against the cool bars for a moment, he swallows down the foul burn of bile lapping at his throat, choking out a whisper-soft “Ellie?”  

In return he hears a quiet growl, accompanied by the sound of chains shifting across the ground with faint clinking. He can’t see her, but he feels the way their bond lights up with feelings of relief, Elanor seemingly just as happy to hear from her boy as he is her.  

Simon moves to press himself into the corner of the cell, as close as humanly possible to where his daemon is being kept. His head rests back against the wall separating them and he fights back the panic threatening to overtake logical thought at the inability to see, to feel, his daemon. His fingers twitch with the need to run through her silky fur and feel her warmth pressed up against his body.  

It’s unnatural for a person to be without their counterpart for any period of time, let alone somewhere so dangerous. They can’t protect one another while they’re apart like this, can’t comfort one another and lend each other their strength.  

Elanor had always preferred smaller forms while they were children. A tiny squirrel or fluffy rabbit was perfect for her Simon to scoop up and carry around safely in his arms. He had always been so picky about which textures felt good or bad, but Elanor's fur never felt strange or weird, unlike some materials he would touch. He could bury his face into her soft fluff and revel in the way it pleasantly tickled his rosy cheeks.  

But then Simon’s father grew more aggressive toward them. He would corner Elanor and grab at her tiny body, cackling when she squealed in pain. Begging for him to release her only resulted in Simon being berated further for showing such weakness, the cruel man’s bony fingers digging deeper into her tender flesh.  

Small forms, while good for evading capture from the drunk bastard, did little to hinder the man’s slimy python daemon.  

Karoline was a sadistic creature, loving nothing more than to grab the young boy’s daemon and crush her with her muscular torso while Simon wailed for her to stop. More than once she had used her needle-like teeth on the other daemon to hold her in place so she couldn’t escape to somewhere Simon’s father couldn’t reach her.  

The worst was when the man insisted Simon kiss the serpent, “don’t be a coward Simon! Show some respect for your old man’s daemon,” he would growl, only to burst out laughing when the young boy earned himself a bite to the face.  

Being small and meek and avoiding confrontation hadn’t worked, so one day, refusing to allow her boy to be used as a punching bag anymore, Elanor had shifted into a panther. She slashed at Karoline with her new claws and a snarl on her face, badly wounding both snake and man in her attack.  

Neither Simon’s father nor his daemon raised a hand to Simon after that, and Elanor would never be able to shift again.  

For her to lose her claws is more than just painful, her entire purpose for choosing such a form was to be dangerous in defence of her human, and now they’re both just as vulnerable as they were as children. Simon isn’t sure how they will be able to adapt if Elanor is crippled for life – the procedure wasn’t exactly precise – and such an injury could very easily have them removed from service.  

If they get out of this situation alive, that is.  

Dwelling on the future, however, is cut short when Simon catches sight of several guards heading in their direction. There aren’t any other prisoners down this hall, so there’s only one place they could be heading. 

Time for the next round to begin.  

“You know, I have a contact in Mexico who specialises in daemon removal surgeries,” one of the guards says conversationally to the man beside him, but given he is speaking in English rather than Spanish gives away the fact they’re hoping Simon will hear. “Won’t even cause the daemon to dust,” he continues, “I hear the market for daemons that don’t have human counterparts is pretty lucrative these days.” 

The other man scoffs, “the boss wants English broken, not braindead. Haven’t you seen the state that surgery leaves people in?”  

The first man shakes his head “no”.  

“They are...” the man pauses for a moment to consider, “sin alma, they have no soul, empty.” 

While Simon has never had the displeasure of encountering a daemonless person, he has heard the horror stories just like any other soldier and has been told by other men who have seen it firsthand just how terrifying it is to witness. Men, women, children, all with their daemons cut away from them and sold as slaves on the black market.  

Their eyes are dull and their bodies shaky, always searching and reaching for their other half, continuing to live even after suffering a fate that should have killed them. No man should be without their daemon, no matter their crimes. It wasn’t just unethical; it was unholy to tamper with the connection between a person and their soul.  

But if Roba won’t allow these men to remove his daemon, even if it would ensure his subservience, then there isn’t much more they could do to him that he doesn’t already know they can endure. They can survive the torture; they just need to figure out a means of escape. Nothing could hurt the way having someone tearing off chunks of his other half could.  

Only Simon was very, very wrong when he had thought that physically hurting Elanor was the worst these monsters could come up with.  

An hour later and he can only press himself against the bars of his cell with a hoarse scream as he feels his connection to Elanor burn with strain. She’s been put in a small crate and slowly, agonisingly slowly, they’re pushing it further and further away from Simon. At first it was only a little uncomfortable, then painful, but now? He can hardly see straight.  

He knows he’s screaming and thrashing, throwing himself against the steel bars with a wild kind of abandon only brought about by the desperation to survive above all else. The tethers that bind the man and daemon together have been stretched beyond anything Simon has ever experienced, and he can feel some of the bonds shuddering, dangerously close to snapping altogether.  

With shaking knees, Simon falls to the ground, clutching at his chest in a desperate attempt to choke down some oxygen. He can’t even scream anymore with the lack of air in his lungs. It’s hardly a surprise when his body finally gives out, watching the ground rush towards him before everything fades to black. 

This method or torture isn’t used only once, but again and again and again. Every day they stretch their connection further, as if it’s some kind of game for them, to see how much they can tear them apart before risking death. More than once, Simon had hoped that Elanor would dust and they’d finally be at peace.  

“You should thank us, English,” one of them grins, watching the way Simon whimpers, his body shaking uncontrollably, “it is rare for someone to be able to separate from their daemon, you’re already able to be further from that cat then when we first tried this.”  

Simon doesn’t bother replying to him, closing his eyes and silently praying that the man and his coyote daemon will simply leave him to suffer in peace. They’re thankfully finished with the torture for the day, shoving the crate containing Elanor back into her respective cell.  

It has been several months since Simon last saw his counterpart, even longer since he heard her voice thanks to the muzzle she has been forced to keep strapped tightly to her face. She’s still in pain constantly, and he can feel his mind slowly falling to pieces at the loneliness. He still tries to talk to her, even if she can only offer a tiny chirp or purr in return.  

He sometimes catches stray thoughts sent his way, but most of them are of how they both ache and yearn to be able to touch one another again.  

It continues for another month, until Simon can hardly feel his bond between them being yanked at. The pain has dulled down to an old ache that he’s learned to ignore over time, his spirit beginning to wane as the days pass by. The thought of escape has started to drift away, replaced only with thoughts of trying to get through the current day.  

He really shouldn’t have been surprised when Roba finally loses his patience.  

Resilience is a vital trait for anyone serving in the Special Air Service – they are routinely pushed to the brink of human endurance to ensure they can handle taking on the most difficult of assignments without breaking under the pressure – and Simon is no different. His homelife fostered a certain tenacity in him from a young age and, coupled with his time in the service, an unbreakable will had been born.  

Roba had admitted that his mettle was impressive, but it was costing the man time, money and resources, and as of yet had failed to yield any worthwhile results.  

The smell of being trapped beside a rotting corpse in a wooden box is something that will never leave him. It was a battle to keep down the tiny amount of water left in his system from the intensity of the odour, but the smell was nothing compared to the sensation of maggots wriggling around beneath him, crawling over his body after bursting from his old major’s deteriorated remains.  

Tearing the jawbone from the dead man’s face is difficult, even with the tendons holding it in place having largely withered away. The foul sludge that had once been the man’s blood makes the bone slippery and difficult to keep a hold of, but he’s able to grip it long enough to crack through the top of the casket he’d been buried within, tearing the wood apart with his bare hands.  

He’s amazed that he has any energy left at all when he crawls out of the sandy ground, dragging his body a few feet away from the hole, before rolling over onto his back. His wounded ribs burn as he pants heavily, the dry, hot air a blessing compared to the quickly depleting supply he’d been surviving on for several hours now.  

The gentle tugging at his bond draws his attention toward the wooden crate abandoned nearby. Despite his weary bones, he pulls himself closer, still brandishing his bony weapon.  

His fingers are coated in a thick combination of muck from Vernon’s corpse and his own fresh blood that makes it even harder to pry apart the box’s hinges, but with the last of his strength he’s able to pull the front of the crate open.  

He drops back down onto the sand, tossing away the bone with an exhausted huff. Reaching inside the box, he grabs Elanor’s front legs, pulling her toward him as gently as possible. He can’t speak, too focused on swallowing down fresh air as he unstraps the leather muzzle from her face and unravels the rope tethering her paws together.  

The moment she’s free, Elanore is pressing her face against her boy with a deep, pleased growl. She doesn’t mention the damp spots on her fur from where Simon presses his face into her, his body wracked with sobs and half-mumbled apologies. His grip is on just the wrong side of too firm, but neither of them care, not when they haven’t been able to feel one another this close in God knows how long. It’s pure bliss, even if their bond still pangs and spasms every now and then.  

They need to move quickly, lest the cartel return to confirm their prisoner’s demise. And so, ignoring the throbbing of every inch of his body, Simon hauls himself to his feet. He wobbles at first, but Elanor is there to support him, gently leaning her weight against his body to keep him standing straight.  

As they walk, Simon’s fingers are buried in his daemon’s pelt, unable to physically release her. Her every step is agonising, the tiny particles of sand digging into the poorly healed wounds from the exposed nerves and bone of her toes. It feels to them both as though glass is tearing at her paws and, eventually, Simon is forced to try and carry the massive feline to try and ease her suffering.  

He can’t let anything else happen to her. He won’t let anything else happen to her. He wouldn’t let anyone touch Elanor again, ever.  

Of course, all those years ago, he hadn’t factored in the existence of one John ‘Soap’ MacTavish. 

Johnny seemed to have been born an expert when it came to worming his way past Ghost’s many, many layers and directly into his very core where the remnants of Simon reside. No one had believed he could do it, including Ghost himself. Yet somehow, there the man was, lounging on his bunk as though he belonged there, Elanore laying peacefully on the Scot’s chest.  

Gwen, the honey badger, has her face nosed up against Elanor’s side, grooming the feline with her rather rough tongue. She’s purring loudly, very pleased that Elanor has simply decided to concede defeat and allow the smaller daemon’s doting behaviour.  

While Johnny lays on the bed, his hands ever so gently glide over Elanor’s muscular front legs, exploring the panther’s stunning body with a touch so soft that Ghost barely notices it. The sensation he does feel is unusually pleasant, almost as if he can feel the affection radiating off of the sergeant through his bond with Elanor.  

Anyone who treats his daemon with such tender care, as though she might shatter at even the slightest mistake, is a rarity and something Ghost isn’t entirely sure he deserves. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky as to have Johnny in his life, but he’s determined to do everything in his power to be as worthy of such devotion as humanly possible.  

He’s drifting off again, mind pleasantly hazy as he relaxes back into the chair under him. Both he and Elanor are so distracted by the delightful sensation of another person’s touch that they don’t notice when the man’s hands draw closer to the feline’s paws.  

Johnny gently slides his fingers down one of Elanor’s pads, going to massage the big cat’s paws with his thumb and-  

Elanor snarls, shooting to her feet and near enough throwing herself away from Johnny, Ghost just as startled by the way pain suddenly shoots through him. The panther’s lips pull back in a panicked hiss, her fur standing on end.  

“Ellie?” Johnny sounds horrified, sliding down from the bed and onto the floor where he kneels down, “are ye alright, bonnie?” If anyone else had tried to call Elanor by “Ellie” they would have had their face bitten, it’s reserved for Ghost only, but the name sounds so right coming from Johnny’s lips that neither of them have said a word about it.  

Ghost shivers slightly, but quickly pulls himself together, placing a hand on Elanor’s spine to pacify the frightened cat. Johnny is looking between Ghost his daemon frantically, trying to piece together what caused the feline to react so aggressively, and Ghost can’t help feeling bad for not warning the other man in advance.  

“’s alright, Johnny,” Ghost promises, feeling his heartrate slowly lowering back down again, “old girl’s paws are sensitive.” 

Now much calmer, Elanor creeps a few steps closer to Johnny again, offering a headbutt to the hand the sergeant offers her. An apology for responding so hostilely toward a loved one. She very quickly has Gwen rubbing up against her side with little chirps, clearly concerned.  

“Did she get hurt somehow during the last mission?” Johnny asks, laying his hands in his lap rather than trying to touch Ghost’s daemon again, providing her some much-needed space.  

Ghost gently wraps one of his fingers around Elanor’s tail, watching as the daemon’s limb curls around his arm in response. “It’s because of her claws, they cause her pain,” he explains, “it wasn’t your fault, Johnny, we didn’t think to tell you.”  

“What happened to her claws? Never seen the lass use ‘em, are they really that sore?” Johnny looks so upset by it, brow wrinkled as he frowns in worry.  

“She doesn’t have claws anymore, they got removed.”  

“Why would-” Johnny cuts himself off, thinks for a moment, before immediately puffing up indignantly. Ghost has to fight down the urge to mention just how adorable it is when the sergeant and his daemon visibly fluff up like disgruntled birds whenever they’ve decided that something has personally insulted them. “Who th’ hell removed ‘em?!”  

Ghost isn’t entirely sure how to de-escalate the situation, but settles for simply telling his partner the truth, “Ellie had the tips of her fingers removed while we were captured a long time ago, scratched the wrong person,” he chuckles, refusing to show just how ill the memories make him feel, “she just never healed right because of the shoddy job the bastards did, cut through the bone wrong and fucked up the nerves in her feet.”  

To say Johnny was mad would have been an understatement, he immediately jumps to his feet, shouting curses and rambling angrily in what might have been a weird mixture of English and Scottish. It’s difficult to tell with how rapidly the man is grumbling to himself, hands flailing in his obvious distress.  

Abruptly, Johnny turns to Ghost again, face red and his hair a mess after running his hand through it too many times, “yer both in pain? All the time?” He sounds so heartbroken at the very thought.  

Ghost isn’t sure what to say to that, offering a slight shrug, “normally. Doesn’t cause much trouble for us unless we’re going through rough terrain.” When that doesn’t seem to satisfy Johnny he adds, “we’re used to it, you don’t need to worry yourself about it.”  

He can see that his partner still looks as though he’s going to argue, so Ghost decides to cut him off before he can, rising from his chair and walking over to the man. “Really Johnny, Ellie and I are fine,” he breathes, gently taking the sergeant’s hands into his own and rubbing circles into the back of them. He never been great with intimacy, nor with helping to calm others, but with luck his genuine tone will do the trick.  

It takes a few moments, but Johnny eventually breathes out a heavy sigh, his shoulders drooping. “Sorry, ah shouldn’y have lost me heid,” he admits, scratching at the back of his neck, “am sorry fer makin’ you tell me all tha’, and fer hurting Ellie.”  

In response, Elanor leans over to butt her head against Johnny’s thigh again, “we’re okay, Johnny,” she purrs, licking at the top of Gwen’s head. The badger’s fur sticks up like a carbon copy of her counterpart’s Mohawk, much to the panther’s amusement.  

They’re able to gently steer Johnny and Gwen away from the conversation, but Ghost can tell that the other man isn’t quite ready to drop the subject entirely.  

It isn’t for another few days that it’s brought up again.  

Ghost is preparing to ship out for their next assignment in a few hours and he’s taking a moment to do a final check of his travel pack. There’s a knock on his door and, upon opening it, he’s met with a rather nervous Soap, holding some fabric in his hands. Before he can ask what’s going on, Johnny shoves the bundle into his chest.  

“I, uh, got ye somethin’,” he says quickly, tanned face quickly turning a bright shade of red, “ah thought ye might appreciate it, y’know, considering we’re shipping out in a few.”  

Ghost glances down at the fabric and then back up at Johnny again. He carefully removes one of the items from the collection, flipping it over in his hold as he inspects it, “the hell did you get these?” At first, he had thought it was a couple pairs of gloves, but they’re the wrong shape and have some tread built into the bottom.  

“Got ‘em from a local handcrafts store,” Soap grins sheepishly, “they’re supposed to be shoes fer cat daemons, ta keep their feet warm ‘n comfy durin’ winter. Ah thought they could be useful fer when we’re out in the field and there’s rough ground.” His face is bright red by this point and he’s looking in every other direction than at Ghost.  

The lieutenant can’t help swallowing thickly, a warm feeling filling his chest. This is, perhaps, the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given to him and it’s making him feel a strange fluttering in his stomach.  

Pulling open the velcro holding the glove together, he bends down and gently takes one of Elanor’s paws, wrapping it around the end of her limb and securing it in place. He moves through the rest of Elanor’s feet until her feet are completely covered.  

Elanor wiggles her paws within the confines of the new gloves, testing them out by stepping from foot to foot. The inside of the little boots are covered in soft wool and the bottom are supported by a soft sole. The tread on the bottom of the shoes keep her from slipping and, while they’re likely not intended for intense use, they’re certainly a lot more comfortable than walking barefoot.  

“They’re perfect, Johnny,” Ghost offers his partner a rare, genuine smile from behind his mask, “thank you.”  

Johnny’s whole face lights up in that adorably excitable way of his, Gwen wriggling about equally as eagerly at his feet, “ah, it’s nothin’,” he waves away Ghost’s thanks, smiling brightly, “am just glad ye both like it.”  

Ghost wishes he could take the time to well and truly thank his sergeant, but the clock is ticking and they both need to get a move on. “I’ll see you on the tarmac before take-off, sergeant,” he says, noticing the increase in activity outside his room and deciding to take a slightly more professional approach, just in case anyone should be watching.  

Johnny simply offers him a nod and a half smile, “sure thing, L.T, catch ye soon.”  

He watches as the Scott makes his way down the hall with Gwen hot on his heels, waiting until he is out of view before pulling his door closed again. He still has that gooey, mushy feeling inside and, judging from the way Elanor is grinning at him, she feels it too.  

This must be how it feels to be loved.  

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #daemon au #his dark materials #crossover #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap

[starry-blue-echoes]

Star Swap is so hyped for me!!!  cuz Jotaro just has to go through his trauma! Jotaro gets to uncover what happened! Protect his past self! He has to inform his past self that things are going to go well In the past his mom was going to be okay and nobody (Important Dio get fucked) dies. But also things are going to go bad because that brat that past him is currently inhabiting right now. Will make everyone in the past freak out so bad because he didn't write down a single thing explaining anything. 

SO RUDE JOSUKE! and low-key life-ruining.

I know you said in general that Jotaro Is going to have a thing with electricity and Loud Noises (which I think are Kira's bombs I'm pretty sure) I also think *Click is just going to Immediately alert him. But I would also like to add RATS.

 Because I can't get over the fact that two Jotaros with their same Stands are going to be facing off with two rats with their same stands and our two Jotaros are going to get CLAPPED.  Those rats were INSANE.

Anytime Adult man Jotaro nearly gets killed

The teenager Jotaro’s brain: FREAKS OUT

I think the main issue here is that Jotaro has no actual context so Jotaro looks at a radio tower “I have emotions towards this And have no idea why and that's a problem.” I also feel like he's probably going to be Vigilant toward any unexplainable feelings that seem to emanate from that memory Gap so those Feelings just kind of get Amplified until he gets an explanation.

Having said that, I do believe that it is quite possible for our adult man Jotaro to ping Yoshikage Kira  Before he does anything in front of anyone.  Passing each other on the road but only once.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS yesyesyesyesyesyes

GOD this is all so delicious I barely know where to start

I didn't even think about just how much the mystery of Jotaro's "past" is going to tie into all this. Part 4 really is just a mass of mysteries and uncovering so many decade old secrets, and now some of the secrets have become personal

(Also uh. Before we get into things, clarifying nicknames are likely in order <3 let's just keep it simple and easy, Jojo is the teen and Jotaro is the adult)

but just. Gods can you imagine the pure chaos when Jotaro and Jojo meet for the first time. Jojo of course realized what was going on first, after all Jotaro's style.... really hasn't changed much. Not to mention the subtle shift in the air when the other man used his Stand

and of course, when Jotaro realizes he gets thrown for a loop. He came here to check up on his father's illegitimate child and do some poking around for the arrows. Now he's suddenly being nailed in the face with the past that's eluded him for years

it's going to be a MASSIVE relief for Jojo to hear, even if he doesn't express it fully. That mom is safe, that everything turns out okay.

He is however, equally as frustrated by Jotaro's lack of clarity in his memories and starts planning out a very aggressive note to leave behind when they finally switch back

and YESSSSSSSSSS with the clicking noise and rat thing, that's absolutely perfect. Especially with the rat thing since well. They move :)

and the worst part of it all, the electricity and explosions and clicks and rats, is Jotaro doesn't know why. All he knows is that this is a danger to him, that it is life threatening and pain causing and he needs to get away

(and speaking of Bug Eaten, Tonio is going to be getting a L O T more visits than in canon on account of the whole..... Being The Only Healer In This Entire Stand Ridden Town)

I LOVE the concept of Jotaro getting vague feelings of events to come. Because his memories aren't fully gone per say, they exist and are present but they're hazy and muddled and unclear. And yet, with every day he spends in Morioh, every adventure he hears the kids have gone through and every adventure he gets roped into as well, they become clear

But rarely do the warning systems help. At least, not in any way that truly helps. After all, Fate and the Future has already been decided. every action has already been taken, every fate known, every thing unavoidable. This is not a second chance at the life Jotaro had lived, it was Jojo's first chance

that's the most taunting part of these feelings. How vague and muddled and fuzzy they are. A feeling of deja vu can mean a new ally or a hated enemy and he can't differentiate the two

when he eventually realises this, Jotaro shifts his energy to something he can do, and that's training the kids. He came back to his own time a competent fighter and with the ability to stop time, so dammit he knows he can at least try

...........wait a moment I had

a FUN idea to play with regarding the time stop

so. Given the fact Jotaro learned it essentially via a slight paradox, there would be no relation to Dio at all. There wouldn't be any baggage or trauma attached to it at all

at least...... not with Jotaro that is :)

the other Crusaders? Who fought and nearly died against such an ability? That's an entirely different ball park :)))

plus, it could also lead to some fun angst in terms of "Theories Of Where Jotaro Was" now including captured and possibly trained by Dio which wasn't a fun thought for anybody involved

#f in the chat for joot's mental state it's all over the god damn place #star swap #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #stardust crusaders spoilers #jjba part 3 #diamond is unbreakable #diamond is unbreakable spoilers #jjba part 4 #jjba jotaro #jotaro kujo #sb answers #angstaceanon

[centrally-unplanned]

As I am now full-in on the body count section of The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere, I do have growing complaints about how it handles its sort of mystery build-up and reveal aspects. There is an adage for mystery novels to "have your answers ask more questions"; you set up a mystery, you *resolve* the mystery, but that resolution itself just creates deeper mysteries. This of course works very well to keep ratcheting up tension and keep the story moving forward; but it also resolves tension at the same time, you do actually get answers as you go. As an author you can perhaps think of there being a "quota" for the number of active questions for the reader to be considering; if you stack too many at once its both too hard to track them and is frustrating to read about, the story never delivers.

TFTBN breaks this rule; not every time, but a lot. In particular with Su's identity/trauma origin it happens all the time, you get literally dozens of "more mystery" moments behind it before you ever get any answers around it. Its just too coy by half! Why is my narrator like deliberately hiding their own thoughts from the reader across dozens of instances where those thoughts would be extremely relevant? The tension has already been ratcheted to the max, you can set it aside for a bit if you want but if you dangle the question in front of me too often it loses impact.

And even though now we have been getting answers, its *still* playing coy. You have a flashback to a scene of child Su being confronted by Ran over her identity mystery, and she breaks down and starts to explain it, and then the scene just cuts, so you only get a half an explanation. Which is enough to pretty much piece it together, so like the tension is gone? Now when you are coy about it (multiple times after that scene!) its a little lame actually, who ya fooling! But what it did is take away the opportunity to just have a really good scene. You cut away from a character's moment of emotional revelation and interpersonal confrontation.

Mysteries, to simplify of course, do two things for the reader; they make you turn the page in your desire to know more, and they set up dramatic stakes for their reveal in scenes. Its a balancing act ofc but you don't want to sacrifice the latter to keep baiting the former.

I feel this too around the "villain faction" for the story. Right now the villain faction is a virtually-unknown group of actors who have had no interactions or relationships with any of the characters, using mystery tactics to kill people. We are many chapters into that plot, multiple people of note have died, but they are still just strangers - their stated motives minimal and seemingly farcical.

Ofc I am no fool, I understand via meta knowledge and have picked up on the hints they have dropped that they will in fact not be strangers in full - I get how stories work. The problem is that meanwhile we have had like multiple scenes of the group having the traitor debate - "is it one of us?" But that question is silly because I *know nothing about the villains* of substance. Why would any of these classmates betray their group for them? We have no info on that. Oh sure sure I have these like, tiny *mechanical* hints. Like one time Seth? He gave a thumbs up to Ezekiel, when they were supposed to be mad at each other. Sus, my dudes. But that isn't a *motive*, right? Its not a compelling story, its just data. Because the story wont resolve any of its dangling questions, the idea that any of these people is a traitor is just dumb, you would have to like explain the entire plot in one infodump to sell it as interesting. By insisting on drip-feeding every mystery, instead of chained resolution-renewal, these plot threads aren't developed enough to work when they need to.

I do think this comes back to the fundamentals of the pacing issue - there is essentially a desire for this story to be longer than it is. Its a 3000 page book (equivalent ofc), but it isn't, not really. I am ~1000 pages into it I guess, but its probably not even ~500 pages in actual content. I could do this in definitely 400. And this is more than just a padding problem - its that structural thing, to make that length work and still be decent as a story (which it is, its a good story overall) you have to sort of chop up your big moments , which sort of kills them.

Like there is a character, Jia Fang, a fellow student who doesn't go with the group, but is mentioned a bunch as a sort of wild card, and its built up right? They are totally gonna show up somehow, there is tension about what they are up to, and then bam, they literally burst through the door. Its great, they make a huge impact, the chapter ends on that cliffhanger.

And then after maybe a few paragraphs with them the next *multiple chapters* are about a conversation between other people, about other topics where Fang is barely mentioned, and then literally, literally, we get multiple other student's academic thesis presentations, before the plot that Fang showed up to be involved in kicks back into gear. Its self-sabotage right, the literary moment broken apart because the story has to hit quota.

Its certainly a case where the serial nature of the publication would make it ludicrously difficult to fix, that I totally get. Art is really, really hard.

#the flower that bloomed nowhere

[huesofvioletandpurple]

A few days ago, the DRDT channel made public a “character song” playlist with sixteen songs inside (link). Naturally, considering this means that every character has a theme song of their own, I became Fucking Obsessed and tried matching each song to every character

Out of sixteen, I have exactly Four I am completely and absolutely confident in. That’s like, (checks notes), a quarter of the songs. I wish four was as neat of a number as three but unfortunately I do not get a choice in that regard. This would’ve been a quick post on which song I think matches with who + why but these guys made me recite an essay to myself as I paced around the room. So they deserve their own post <3.

Featuring: screenshots, hidden quotes (link) (required reading), and a shit ton of brainrot. explanations are below cut. tl;dr:

Rose is Cartoons

Charles is Asymptotic

Nico is Drawing Pins

Teruko is Good Grief

=

Rose Lacroix is Cartoons

[plain text: Rose Lacroix is Cartoons]

Track #4 is Cartoons by Louie Zong, and I have decided this is Rose’s track too. This is one many, many others have suspected as well. Starting it off with this first because it’s the simplest to explain: Rose is an artist, the lyrics are about art; or, at the very least, uses animation and drawing as metaphors.

Abstractions how I live my day to day, [...] Hard to explain, And to express, Forever just a work-in-progress.

The song in general uses drawing to explain feeling burnt out/not passionate about. Well. Your passions. Rose states herself that her work can only give her catharsis, considering none of it technically “hers” anymore.

[ID: Two screenshots of  Rose from chapter 2 episode 5. She is in the dressing room talking to Teruko, and has her hand on her neck as she looks downwards. Transcript: All I do is make paintings on other’s beck-and-call. It’s been so long that I don’t think I remember how to paint something original anymore. / There’s no value in the creations of someone who’s fallen so far from artistry. The only thing I can get out of art is catharsis. End ID]

Which is even more tragic, considering how she had huge ambitions as a child

[ID: One screenshot from the same episode. Rose now rests her chin in her fist. Transcript: I wanted to be a great painter when I was a kid, but things didn’t turn out that way. None of my original stuff ever sold well. End ID] 

There’s also these lyrics here

Can't hold a pencil or a thought. (Oh uh oh) Can't paint myself something I'm not.

Tryin' to make that ol' deadline, But all I've got are two dots and a line.

Rose knows she’s talented; in fact, I’d argue she’s one of the most secure about her talent than anyone in the class. She understands how useful it is in the killing game when paired with her photographic memory. In chapter 2, however, she hesitates, despite knowing this more than anyone.

[ID: Three screenshots of Rose from chapter 2 episode 8. She is sitting against a wall, knees drawn to her chest as she buries her face in her arms. Transcript of her dialogue: I don’t want to find out what kind of corpse Arei left. It’s easier for me to pretend nothing bad happened and forget about everything tomorrow. / That’s why I’m sitting here, wallowing in my own guilt, unable to do anything helpful. / You probably need me to draw a picture of a crime scene, like last time. That’s something only I can do that can help everyone. End ID]

She doesn’t want to use her talent that way—she can’t “paint herself something she’s not”, and she would “make the deadline”, but she can’t just will herself to simply Do Something when it’s draining and linked to her trauma from the previous case—and she’s more self conscious of it than anyone, that she only has “two dots and a line” —an upset face.

There’s also her hidden quote from the inspect elements of her character page: “In the end, all I can do is watch my wretched life go on.” I think it fits with the general theme of being incredibly discouraged and burnt out. “Forever a work in progress” indeed.

=

Charles Cuevas is Asymptotic

[pt: Charles Cuevas is Asymptotic]

I’ve chosen Asymptotic by (once more,) Louie Zong as Charles’ song. I could say it’s because of the mathsy theming and Charles is literally a fuckging chemist and leave it at that—I almost chose this as Min’s song because of how groovy and nerdy (affectionate) it was. I’m sorry to say it’s because of angst.

We’re aymptotic, Divided, by the smallest, slimmest line

Hey, so you know how Charles has an older brother ?

And you know how he didn’t know this until one of the motives told him ? So now there’s a good chance he won’t remember him fully for a long, long time ?

[you’re] Not imaginary. But it's complex! The limits are infinitely great

Charles now knows of this family member he has no recollection of. He most likely existed at some point—every other secret, though written to show the worst of the cast, are based on some sort of truth. I have a pet theory that his phobia of blood is connected to his brother, considering amnesia of a traumatic event is a common occurrence, and he doesn’t recall the origin of his haemophobia either, which opens up the possibility of them being linked. As long as he has this amnesia, any memory of his brother will always be far from his grasp.

As close as we could ever get, you'll be just out of reach

His hidden quote is about how it’s better to just forget; that means those events weren’t worth keeping.

if you forgot it, then it probably wasn’t important to begin with. none of those memories should ever be kept anyway.

In the context of the creator looking at the lyrics of the song and going “omg that’s blorbo from my brain”, the song refers to him as believing that he and his brother are asymptotes—lines that greatly resemble each other that will never reach, existing in different planes altogether.

=

Nico Hakobyan is Drawing Pins

[pt: Nico Hakobyan is Drawing Pins]

So.

Drawing Pins by Nothing but Thieves ! This song in particular fucking Stumped me. The lyrics are good, they slap, the Creator has fantastic taste in music; I just couldn’t figure out who the Hell it could be. Then, I had an epiphany.

This epiphany, by the way, is also probably one of my BIGGEST reaches. It completely redefines the song—even MORESO than how I treated asymptotic—and focuses hard on One aspect of Nico’s character.

(In my defense, it’s a really huge part.)

I don't feel like I belong Here at all

Tell me what you did it What you did it What you did it for 'Cause I can't figure it out

What do I have to do To be loved, loved by you

These are the lyrics in particular that made me go “wait a god damn Second”.

Firstly, not feeling like they belong.

[ID: Two screenshots of Nico from chapter 2 episode 6. They hold their arm and look nervously to the side in the first screenshot, then bury their face in the collar of their shirt in the next. Transcript: I thought you would laugh at me. I was worried you would pick up rocks and start throwing them at me or pick up clumps of mud and start throwing them at me. / I’m sorry, this never happens! Usually people call me abnormal or say that I’m just trying to be special, in a derogatory way. End ID]

Nico has been a frequent victim of bullying. Even though their current classmates are accepting, that just made them wary that something was off, because their past experiences stuck with them ! I feel like it should go unsaid that that, already on its own, is pretty fucking isolating !

[ID: a screenshot from the same episode. Nico is in the same pose. They say “And then they leave me out of everything and never talk to me again because there’s something wrong with me.” End ID]

So, self-explanatory line in the context of Nico. Cool. Cool. What am I seeing in the other lyrics, though ?

Tell me what you did it What you did it What you did it for 'Cause I can't figure it out

Okay, so. You know Nico’s hidden quote ? It’s “why should I own up for the mistakes someone else made?”, if you’re wondering.

There’s another reason they don’t feel like they belong.

There’s this running thread of Nico misunderstanding social cues, causing conflict and being scorned for it, but never being explained why those social cues exist, leading to them confused on why something so arbitrary is held to such importance. This causes this cycle that they’re just expected to escape, yet not being given the understanding or tools to do.

[ID: Three screenshots of Nico from the same episode. Nico looks down at their hands, then scratches their chin, then buries the bottom half of their face in their shirt. Transcript: If you’re having dinner and want someone to pass the salt, you can say, “Please pass the salt,”  or you can say “Give me the salt.” / One of those things is supposed to be more polite than the other, right? But why? They both meant the same thing. They’re just slightly different mixes of words. / It’s like that. I don’t understand why some mixes of words come off as ‘rude’ and some don’t, even if they mean tthe same thing. End ID]

I suspect the hidden quote is of Nico snapping, of not caring about being polite or nice anymore. They are already honest, which escalated their animosity with Ace, but this time they’re not caving if someone tells them that they’re being “too blunt” about it.

What do I have to do To be loved, loved by you

But it was never on purpose. They are not “blunt” or “brutally honest” to Ace or David whoever because they want to build that kind of reputation. I think these lyrics are suggesting a culmination of their arc, “What can I do to be loved ? Why should I apologise in place of the person who did hurt you ? Why am I constantly apologising for my existence ?

How do I win over people like you?”

I am fully aware that I may be reaching, but if you see the song as a representation of Nico’s rage and resentment that they had to “hold down by drawing pins”, you can at the very least see where I’m coming from.

=

Teruko is Good Grief

[pt: Teruko Tawaki is Good Grief]

Good Grief by Bastille, aka the last song on the playlist !

I’ve seen people say it’s a Whit song, or a Charles song, and I see it ! Death is very important in both of their arcs, and so is their way of mourning. However, I feel like it couldn’t be anyone but Teruko, and I also feel like there’s a very important part of her that people often forget.

[ID: Two screenshots from the episode 1 of the first chapter. They are lines of Teruko’s inner monologue. Transcript: His name, her face, it’s just barely out of reach. I claw and grasp through the dusty haze of my memories. / Choking on my nostalgia, I keep begging for you to come back. End ID]

[ID: A screenshot from chapter 1 episode 9 of Mai Akasaki turning around and smiling at the viewer. End ID]

Teruko mourns.

At the very least, she tries. She misses people. She grieves. That is what drives her distrust—she knows how much love hurts, and doesn’t want to feel that way.

[ID: A screenshot from chapter 2 episode 3. Teruko playing with succulents in her room as if they are dolls. One succulent has an eyepatch and knife, and the other has a knife and a sticky note, with a cowlick resembling Teruko’s. End ID]

Even in this silly moment of Teruko playing with cacti—it shows she didn’t WANT Xander to die ! She misses him. She wishes it could’ve gone better and blames herself for trusting—and notice how Xander in this scenario stands by her side.

Every minute and every hour I miss you, I miss you, I miss you more

She “chokes on her nostalgia” when she thinks of two unnamed people, “begging them to come back”. Will she ever admit it? Fuck no are you kidding me she couldn’t be emotionally vulnerable to save her Life. But Teruko constantly loses and is never given time or space to mourn (That is what I meant when I said she tries), and it’s led her to bottling and hiding them to further isolate herself, to prevent her from losing the ones she loves again.

In my thoughts you're far away And you are whistling the melody, Whistling the melody Crystallising clear as day Oh I can picture you so easily, Picture you so easily

Again, the two people are “far away”, she’s half forgotten after all. But Mai Akasaki’s image is as clear as day. Her memories are one of the only traces of Mai we have at all.

I could repeat myself over and over with pretty much every lyric of this song in particular, so I suggest seeking it out and listening to it yourself. I cannot stress enough how much this song SCREAMS Teruko to me

=

Overall, I’m fully ready to be wrong. I do not have a great track record when predicting story arcs. However, I have thought about this for a very intense bit of time, so this is to work as a way to get my thoughts out there.

I have a few hunches, like Shun-Ran for David or Jotaro’s theme for Xander, but both are just hunches, and neither are as strong as the four above.

Anyways, have a great day ! holy shit this is over 1.7K words excluding the image descriptions.

#drdt #danganronpa despair time #rose lacroix #charles cuevas #nico hakobyan #teruko tawaki #meta #nooty lore #anyways Hi. this was a fuckign pain to format

[rise-my-angel]

The thing with R/L shippers and their annoying push back when anyone brings up the super dark undertones of that relationship is that they have convinced themselves the show depiction of R/L is more or less what will happen in the books/is GRRM's intent. Which is hilarious because the people who ship R/L are almost always Dany/targ stans who think Dany breaking bad, being the final villain, and Jon/the Starks being antagonistic to her and taking her down was complete Benioff and Weiss fanfic. Which...lmao...I have a bridge to sell them.

In general, I've noticed this with the remaining book fandom, there is very much an undertone in their 'theories' and 'speculations' of 'everything I liked in the last four seasons of GOT totally came from GRRM and will totally happen in the books, and everything I didn't like was total fanfic, not Martin's intention at all, and will not happen.' Which, once again lmaooo and good luck with that!

Side note, the show depiction of R/L was hilarious. The writers had to magic away Rhaegar's marriage in one of the dumbest plot points on that show, and then attempted to magic away Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon's existence/deaths. They also had to magic away Rickard and Brandon's existence/deaths. Gave zero explanation as to why and how and what happened between R/L. The writers really made R and L into two sociopaths who they wanted viewers to romanticize, but only the opposite ended up happening. The absolute dragging they received from the fandom was INSANE lmao.

Anyway, I think the lack of any development of R and L by the writers to the point where Jon didn't even state how he felt about their relationship might indicate that the book version Benioff and Weiss were told was problematic and they just didn't want to open up that can of worms. But instead their writing choices made R and L even more hated and worse than I think GRRM intended. Just the most hilarious writing choices.

The fact that where the first substantial introduction to the nuances of this plot was scrapped entirely tells me that Benioff and Weiss had no idea what kind of character they wanted Rhaegar to be. We don't truly see anything of the Tower of Joy until late in season 6 in some half baked Bran Greensight vision. But if they did it properly, that Tower of Joy scene should have been all the way in season 1.

Open episode 6 of season 1 with the Tower of Joy flashback as it is depicted in the books. Then slowly transition into Ned waking up in bed after his fight in the street with Jaime Lannister. That is how early in the books the seeds of that mystery were planted, but they never even begun to tackle it until the end of season 6.

Which is bizarre, beacuse they actually shot themselves in the foot already. Show Robert is so much more nuanced of a character in his book counterpart. The way he talks about Rhaegar and the way he lements a genuine heartache over Lyanna is so much more dynamic then what we got from book Robert.

What I could critizise from the books, should have been fixed in the show. They proved they could. They turned what is a pretty black and white unlikeable character in Robert to someone who is as problematic as he is tragic. He is so much more human and that should have been the perfect set up happening at the same time Ned is beginning to experience his traumatic dreams and flashbacks about Lyannas death.

That despite Roberts heartbreak, there is something so much darker then Ned is letting on that is now spiralling him into having consistent trauma reactions over it.

If this were a love story, why would Ned twenty years later be so utterly haunted by it in a way he had long since pushed down?

Also the annulment is...I don't have words for how impossible it is.

I'd literally have to make a whole separate post to explain why that annulment subplot literally could never have happened.

And like, Jon had no reaction because they did not care about using it properly. The revelation of who Jons mother is has always been about Jons personal journey with identity, and making sense the parts of his father he never understood and the sacrifices he made to protect him. It's supposed to be about Jon realizing he was never the bastard who accidentally ruined his fathers honour. It's about Jon realizing he had a mother who loved him and watched over him in their home his entire life, and that Ned Stark chose Jon to be his son all on his own.

It's about Jon learning his mother died loving him feircly begging to keep him safe, and that Jon wasn't Neds son by accident. He was Neds son by choice out of love.

But they only used it to fuel half baked drama about the Iron Throne because at that point all Jon was there to do, was act as an accesory on Danys arm. He was no longer his own character by then so of course he has no reaction. He wasn't told because it was meant to impact him. Jons secret was revealed soley to add drama to Dany's narrative.

R+L=J was never meant to be about Jon's Targaryean side. It was meant to be about Jon learning he had a mother who died protecting him, and that Ned chose to ruin his own reputation because he decided to raise and love Jon as his own.

It was supposed to be about Jon learning who his mother is, why she isn't here, and how that heals all of the hurt left behind that Jon didn't understand about Ned.

It was never supposed to be about Rhaegar or the Targaryeans.

But I mean the second I saw they aged Lyanna up to the the oldest in the show I checked out. I knew they did that beczuse they couldn't portray a 14-15 year old girl marrying a 25+ year old man without the obvious implciations of at the very least, grooming a minor.

They knew this wasn't a romance, but that is too hard of a story to tell, a forbidden romance is so much easier. It was done only out of convience. They had to do something about that mystery, and so they took the easiest route and only ever mentioned it when it pertianed to adding drama to Dany's personal narrative.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #anti rhaegar targaryen #anti rhaegar stans #anti rhaegar x lyanna #anti daenerys targaryen #anti targaryen #jon snow #eddard stark #lyanna stark #long post