#will do a bonus loop later

[tealgoat]

Got curious about the differences of my first time drawing these characters vs more recently so I slapped this together

These are (incredibly loosely) in chronological order

#will do a bonus loop later #isas might be a lol more put of order cause i did his first before deciding to do that #the differences in the amount of pics for each character lololol #in stars and time #isat #isat spoilers #cw blood #super small but its there #my art #in stars and time fanart #isat fanart #isat siffrin #isat isabeau #isat mirabelle #isat odile #isat bonnie

[reiderwriter]

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

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

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

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

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

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

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

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

And you really wanted to listen in.

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

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

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

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

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

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

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

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

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

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

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

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

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

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

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

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

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

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

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

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

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

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

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

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

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

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

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

“Spencer, wait-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

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

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

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

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

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

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

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

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

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

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

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

xxx

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“As much as anyone does.”

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

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

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

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

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want to sleep with me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

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

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

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you don't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm driving you home.”

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

“What about friends?”

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And let you touch my things? No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What's the difference?”

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

"And what would that be?"

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

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

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

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

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

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

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

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

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

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

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

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, Spencer-”

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

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

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

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.”

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

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[bellshazes]

dreaming up a syllabus for an imaginary course on metanarratives about gameplay, which i think would go something like:

unit 1: who do you think you are i am - auto-documentary & games

Vlogs and the Hyperreal, Folding Ideas

The Slow Death of Let's Play Videos, Meraki (to ~10:00)

World Record Progression: Mike Tyson, Summoning Salt

ROBLOX_OOF.mp3, hbomberguy

Life as a Bokoblin: A Zelda Nature Documentary, Monster Maze

optional: Braindump on the History of Let's Plays, slowbeef

unit 2: what like it's hard? - intro to challenge narratives

Chapter 26: Games as Narrative Play: Two Structures for Narrative Play, Rules of Play

A different kind of challenge run: Minimalist 100% (BOTW), Wolf Link

Surviving 100 Days on Just Dirt, Mogswamp

Can You Beat DARK SOULS III with Only Firebombs, the Backlogs

Is it Possible to Beat Super Mario 3D World while permanently crouching?, Ceave Gaming

The Pacifist Challenge - Beating Hollow Knight Without Collecting Soul [CHALLENGE] - Sample

optional: How to 100% Snowpeak Ruins in under 15 minutes, bewildebeest

unit 3: nelly you don't understand, i AM the narrative - form and function

The Future of Writing about Games, Jacob Geller

Can You Beat GRIME Without Weapons?, the Backlogs

Mushroom Kingdom Championships, Ceave Gaming

My Life as a Barber in Hitman 2, MinMax (Leo Vader)

MyHouse.WAD - Inside Doom's Most Terrifying Mod, PowerPak

optional: Mega Microvideos, Matthewmatosis

the theme and structure is mostly intended to introduce at least one critical or historically contextual work followed by examples of the type of narrative in question.

in unit 1, this is the idea of "How do people talk about their own experiences in the context of YouTube and playing video games?" across three rather different kinds of documentaries. unit 2 is intended to take that lens of who is telling what tale and dial in on challenge running, where i first noticed the way some videos turn the story of overcoming a challenge into its own narrative that is distinct from but related to the narrative events of the game itself. unit 3 circles back to the bigger picture with a variety of examples that, to me, are maximally metanarrative, the emergent story of the player-narrator now functionally replacing the game's embedded narrative.

bonus unit: broken narratives

Glitch & the Grotesque at the MLA, Sylvia Korman

Watching time loop movies to escape my time loop, Leo Vader

The Stanley Parable, Dark Souls, and Intended Play, Folding Ideas

Breaking Madden, Jon Bois

The TRUTH about the Pizzaplex in FNAF: Security Breach, AstralSpiff

this one is highly underdeveloped, but i'd love to work out something more robust building on randomizer challenges that produce intentionally bizarre, semi-ironic "lore," and bois-esque endeavors to break games so hard the story itself crumbles. but that's really out of scope so i'm just including the links to things i couldn't bear to get rid of. more rambling abt the challenge runs I chose under the cut.

Challenge runs represent one of the most obvious places to start, due to being extremely plentiful and having a hook that makes a "here's how I did X thing in Y video game" format almost unavoidable. Minimalist 100% is an underrated and sweet straightforward example that I mostly include as a baseline for reporting-out style narrative; here are the facts, here's what happened, this is the thing that it is. Mogswamp's 100 Days on Just Dirt is similar in style, but the physical measuring of days is a delightful and, more importantly, external narrative device.

Now oriented, we get a taste of Ceave Gaming's narrative approach to Mario challenges with the no-crouching run, and while we still aren't at the degree of player-characters being constructed for the narrative's sake, the spirited belief in crouching sets the stage for other rhetoric in more extreme cases we'll see later.

The Backlogs' entire body of work qualifies here, but GRIME is the strongest inspiration for putting this list together. I include the DS3 firebombs run because what was initially a factual description of how his wife's use of firebombs inspired him to play differently in the original DS1 firebombs run has developed into full-blown multi-game narrative arc with the Firebomb Goddess (his wife, who also voices the character) compelling his in-game character to achieve his destined quest. Grime takes that even further,

In-Game Documentaries

I include Life as a Bokoblin mostly as a contrast to My Life as a Barber - there is a level of fictionalization and roleplay involved in the Zelda in-game documentary that highlights exactly what I want to single out when I am talking about metanarrative, the story about a story.

#peter posts #mc meta #<- close enough #also i will add some context for the rest of the docus too since the summoning salt is on here for a VERY SPECIFIC REASON

[zepskies]

Strong as Blood - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: After you accidentally break through a solid wood table, you know there’s something wrong with you. You begin to have your suspicions, but can you keep it from Ben long enough to find out? 

(In other words: This is the story of how you and Ben discover that you’re pregnant.)

AN: Did you like Part 1? Well, here's Part 2! This two-part fic can be read as stand-alone, but it’s really a bonus sequel to Break Me Down!

(Also, for those of you in the medical field…try to suspend your disbelief on this one. 😅)

Word Count: 6,200

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff overload.

To find the chronological reading order for the series, check out the series masterlist. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down

Part 2: “One Year, Forty, and a Hundred”

About a week later, you and Ben told your family the good news.

Your mom, Marie, took Ben’s face in her hands and pressed a delighted motherly kiss on his cheek, and then his forehead.

He very narrowly tolerated it with his usual gruffness, but you knew better. You saw the fond glint well hidden in his eyes, even after Marie released him.

It hadn’t taken her long after meeting Ben to start treating him like a son; always asking about his missions with Supe Affairs, praising a job well done when he had a successful report, and offering a supportive word even when they didn’t quite go his way.

Ben maintained his usual stoic bravado, but you knew he secretly ate up the praise, along with Marie’s genuine, nurturing nature.

Every time you saw your mother, she would give you baked goods in tupperware—for both of you, she claimed. But you noticed they were most often his favorites. You had a feeling she’d won him over early on with her macadamia nut brownies. (She still couldn’t cook worth a damn either, but she’d been taking a baking class.)

So Ben continued to help her do the dishes, even though she insisted he was a guest in her home. He claimed he was doing it so you wouldn’t jump in yourself.

And now we’re family, you had pointed out. Then Ben gifted you with one of those smiles, subtle and pleased, just for you.

You felt somewhat lazy, just sitting at the kitchen table with your sister Luisa. She sat close to you with her arm looped around yours, and she rubbed your lower back, which you now realized had been aching more often. For God’s sake, you hadn’t even realized you were late on your period.

I need to take some time off work, even before this kid gets here, you mused.

Realistically though, you should’ve expected this might happen. You hadn’t ever gotten around to replacing your IUD after you’d gotten it removed a few months ago. And God knew, Ben didn’t know how to pull out. (And he certainly didn’t buy condoms.)

“What’re you hoping for, a boy or a girl?” Louisa asked you and Ben, disrupting the path of your thoughts. You turned to your sister thoughtfully.

She still had her reservations about him, but she seemed to be warming up to your boyfriend a bit more after you told her the news. Especially after Ben had explained one of his plans over dinner.

His first thought was to hire Frank and Loco back as your personal security throughout your pregnancy, and likely even afterwards.

It was a rare time when you didn’t argue with him; the idea made sense, especially if you were going to continue working in Surveillance at Supe Affairs until you went on maternity leave. And, it would just be great to see them again. Frank had already agreed to start on Monday, after giving his polite congratulations.

(You and Ben each got a package in the mail yesterday: a box of bonafide Cuban cigars for him, a maternity body pillow for you, and a hand-crafted toy box for the baby. Inside had been a white noise sound machine to help the baby sleep.)

But now, Ben brightened at Louisa’s question. He crossed his arms and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“A son,” he replied. How brow rose, as if the answer was obvious. “I’ll be able to bring him up right. Strong. Not like these beanie-wearing pantywaists running the fucking Starbucks.”

“Ben,” you warned. He crossed his arms at you, quite literally standing firm on his stance. But your mother just smiled and pat his arm.

“It’s okay, honey,” she said. “I understand what you mean.”

You raised an incredulous brow.

Oh sure, you thought. She didn’t mind salty language when it was Ben, but God forbid you or Luisa bang a toe in your mother’s presence. Nor did it surprise you that she was agreeing with him.

But then Marie turned to him more earnestly.

“The way you take care of my daughter, I have no doubt you’ll make an excellent father,” she told him.

Ben treated her with a charming smile that showed touches of warmth.

Damn, you thought, as you felt the telltale burn of tears in your eyes. But it wasn’t just about what Marie had said. You had hoped for this one day, but it seemed he was finally making room for your family in his heart too.

“Football. A man’s game,” Ben continued. “I’ll teach him, take him fishing. Everything my old man didn’t bother with, I’ll do it all. Bring him up right…”

As your boyfriend chatted away with your mom, you hid a tendril of worry. You wondered what would happen if the baby turned out to be a girl.

With a glance at your sister, her subtle, raised brows told you she was thinking along the same lines. You sighed and got up; once again, it was time to pee.

Louisa followed you into the hall and laid a hand on your back.

“Hey,” she said. “You know how much I care about you, right?”

“And where’s this going?” you quipped. But you turned around and gave your little sister a half-smile. You knew what she was about to say.

“So what are you going to do about that?” she asked, gesturing to your man in the kitchen. “Mr. Macho wants his prized stud. What happens if he doesn’t get him?”

You sighed. “Ben’s wanted this for a long time. He’s got an idea in his head of what it’s going to be like, and…we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

Louisa’s lips pursed, like she wasn’t quite satisfied with that answer.

“And what about you?” she asked. “How do you feel about this?”

You blinked back at her in slight surprise, but then your expression melted into a soft smile.

“I’m happy, Lou,” you said. Tears welled up in your eyes, yet again. “I’m really happy.” 

Louisa relented then, squeezing your hand. “Good…then good. I’m happy for you too.”

And that was really all you wanted.

“What? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Ben said, peering harder at the ultrasound. The kind OBGYN faltered, though she again tried to point out that what he was looking at was actually a small foot.

“Congratulations,” she told you both. “She’s the right size for twelve weeks of development. And look there, you can even see the umbilical cord—”

“You sure this thing isn’t on the fritz?” Ben asked, bumping the ultrasound monitor with his hand.

“Ben.” You looked over at him with a glare. “Are you serious right now?”

He looked back over at you, and you saw his stubbornness in his frown and knitted brows.

“I’m just saying—” he started, but you didn’t let him get that far.

“You heard the freakin’ doctor. We’re having a girl,” you snapped. “I’m the one who has the transvaginal probe shoved up inside me, so shut the fuck up!”

Ben’s jaw worked as he barely held himself from barking back at you. It wouldn’t be the first time you levied your smart mouth at him, but it wasn’t often that you disrespected him.

“Excuse me?” he still groused.

His anger got waylaid though. He watched you heave a sigh and blink quickly, so you wouldn’t release the well of frustrated tears building behind your eyes.

The doctor looked between you both warily. You turned to her with watery eyes, and you sniffed to keep your emotions at bay.

“Continue, please.”

When the appointment with the OBGYN was done, you didn’t let Ben help you down from the examining table. Nor did you let him touch you, all the way to the car.

An hour later, you both made it back to the apartment you shared in Scarsdale. You stomped up the stairs ahead of him and beelined into the bedroom. You had half a mind to slam the door in his face, but you didn’t have the energy to be that petty.

Frankly, you were exhausted with a tinge of nausea. But you didn’t know if that was pregnancy sickness, or if you were just that anxious.

You sat down on your side of the bed, and you sighed when you heard Ben’s heavy footsteps enter in behind you.

“All right, that could’ve gone better,” he said. “But look at it from my point of view—”

That nearly unhinged you. Your stomach roiled, but you got to your feet and turned around to face him where he stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed.

“It’s not all about you,” you shot back. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one carrying this baby. I’m not just a human incubator.”

“I fucking know that,” he retorted, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“And you’re not the only one who’s wanted this,” you said. Against your will, your eyes once again burned with tears as you held yourself. “You know very well what I’ve…that I didn’t have a normal family growing up.”

Ben quieted. His irritation softened around the edges, especially as your voice trembled.

“Don’t you know what it’s going to mean to me to give our child what I didn’t have?” you asked. “Stability, support, and…and love, from both parents?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks. And when he didn’t seem to have anything to say to you, you shook your head and walked away.

Ben let out a heavy breath. He followed you and stopped you in the living room. “Listen—”

“No, you listen,” you snapped, whirling around on him. “I would’ve been content no matter if it was a boy or a girl, and you ruined that today. You really did.”

His gaze briefly fell to the floor, before it met yours again.

“But even with that, I’m still happy,” you said, as your vision became blurry and wet. “I’m so damn happy…and so scared.”

When you finally broke down crying, Ben got a full picture of just how badly he’d fucked this up. He collected you in his arms and guided you to sit with him on the couch. There he held you as you clung to him and wept into his neck.

The longer it went on, the more he felt like an asshole—with the kind of uncomfortable, gut-churning remorse that only you tended to draw from him.

Ben hesitated, but he knew you deserved to hear him say it. (And you probably wouldn’t let this go until he did.)

“Okay, sweetheart, calm down,” he rumbled in your ear. Along with, "…I’m sorry."

The weight of that fell between you for a moment. You nodded, with a sniff, and he slowly rubbed your back.

“You don’t need to be scared,” he said. “My blood’s making you nice and strong.”

Well, technically it was the baby’s blood, and the super genes they held. You shook your head against his neck.

“That’s not it,” you said. “I mean, that’s part of it, I guess. Dr. Baker didn’t do a great job of reassuring me, but she did say that if the strength lasts throughout the birth, she didn’t expect serious complications.”

Fuck. Ben’s hand tightened in your hair. That...was a thought he hadn't considered. It now made his stomach clench, though he remained silent.

He wished you would’ve taken him with you to see Dr. Baker, but he guessed he couldn’t begrudge you for your worries. He knew he'd be having his own talk with the good doctor soon enough.

“I love my mom. She did her best, you know? But I…I’ve had to take care of myself for most of my life,” you explained, with a hand fisted tight in his shirt. “What the hell do I know about being a mom?”

Ben considered that with a frown. He pulled back enough to see your face, tucking his curled fingers beneath your chin so you’d look at him.

“You looked after your sister, didn’t you?” he reminded. “Made sure she was safe, and grew up right. Now you take care of me, like I take care of you… And you got no problem calling me out on my bullshit.”

That got a slight smile out of you. He brushed away another one of your tears with his thumb.

“You’re gonna be great, sweetheart. I never had any doubts about that,” he said, “The truth is, I couldn’t wait to fuck you raw to make this happen.”

You spluttered a laugh then, even though you were still weeping.

“Yeah, I know,” you said with a wry smile, stroking his bearded cheek. You leaned up and kissed the other cheek. He turned his head and went for your lips. The kiss was slow and tender while he held you where you always felt safe.

Ben grasped the hand on his cheek…and an idea flickered through his mind.

He parted from you, only to say, “Wait here.”

Your brows furrowed, and you blinked through wet lashes. “What?”

“Just stay put for me,” he said.

But he didn’t tell you what he was up to as he left you on the couch to duck into the bedroom. You took the time to wipe at your eyes and take some deep, calming breaths.

Ben came back soon after, seemingly empty-handed as he sat down next to you. You gave him a curious look.

He slipped a hand into his pocket. “Just for the record, I’ve had this for a while.”

And he pulled a black velvet box out of his pocket. You let out a shaky breath of surprise. The ring he pulled out wasn’t a flashy, gaudy thing like you half-expected. It actually looked delicate, and vintage, pale gold with filigree around the hexagonal stone. It glittered, even in the dim lamplight. 

“Where’d you find that?” you asked. But somehow, looking into his eyes, you knew what this was. 

“Besides those old pictures, the only thing I’ve got left of my mother is right here,” he said, holding up the ring for you. More burgeoning tears fell down your cheeks as your heart constricted. 

“Marry me,” he said, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. 

Despite yourself, a smile raised the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, I don’t know. Is that a question?”

Ben released a breath. Reluctantly, he smirked.

“Fucking figures that you’d make this difficult,” he said.

“You’re the one who fumbled at the goal line, Romeo,” you replied cheekily.

You then gestured at the ground in front of you. He raised a brow.

But, he obliged your demands, making a show of sliding from the couch, down to the ground. He parted your jean-clad knees so he could move in between them. He knelt one knee on the hard wood, and once again took your hand.

Ben somehow hesitated on the question, even though you both were hanging on his words. With your free hand, you smoothed his hair away from his eyes, subtly encouraging him. 

“If I had to go back, do it all over again,” he said, “I wouldn’t have done a damn thing different.”

You frowned at him. “Really?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Because I’m right where I want to be.”

You teared up all over again when you realized what he was really saying. You laid a hand on his chest, where his fiercest power resided. He squeezed the hand he held. 

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart. Will you marry me?” Ben asked. His smirk was almost boyish, despite his age. And yet, it was so very him.

You reached out with your free hand and slid your fingers through his hair, resting it at the back of his neck.  

“Yeah,” you agreed, with a beaming smile. “Let’s do it.”

He slipped the ring on your finger, where it fit well. And it was now the most beautiful thing you owned, not only for its shining beauty.

You pulled him in for a kiss. His hands burned up your thighs, squeezing your hips. But again, he hesitated. His lips pulled away from yours as his hand moved to brush your belly. It was already brimming with life. He’d seen the images, heard the heartbeat.  

“Thank you,” Ben said. His voice was deep and gruff.

You smiled. With a nod, you held him to you, laying a sweet path of kisses from his cheek, down to his neck.

“I love you,” you said.

He just nodded in response. His throat was tight at the moment. But you wouldn’t let him get off that easy.

“Say it,” you jostled him in your arms. “I’m only growing a super melon for you.” 

It earned you an amused look from him. 

“I love you too,” he said. His voice was a bit coarse, and laden with rare emotion. You pulled him into a stronger hug, which soon became him dragging you into his lap when he raised himself up onto to the couch. You took his face in your hands. 

“See? We made it here,” you teased. You knew he remembered the conversation you two had a few months ago, about waiting a little while to take this next step in your relationship. To have a family.  

“Soon. Not someday,” he’d told you. And you’d agreed.

You reminded him of it now while you stroked his face. “I promised you, didn’t I?”

He snorted at that. “You sure took your fucking time with that one, huh?”

“Excuse me?” you retorted.

Ben pulled you into a kiss before you could truly get going. Arguing with him was one of the things you did best.

But what you two ended up doing on the couch was second to none.  

A few months later…

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Ben said. His tone was edged, his brows crunching. “What kind of development?”

You curled a hand around his wrist, shooting him a calming look before you returned your attention to Dr. Baker.

“What do you mean, Tonya?” you asked. Your other hand continued to rest over your belly.

At the seven-month mark of your pregnancy, you felt like you were beginning to resemble a parade float as you sat on the medical examining table in the doctor’s office. But you were grateful for Ben’s warm hand spanning the small of your back. It gave you stability as a coil of anxiety began to bloom in your chest.

Dr. Baker reviewed her charts once more. You didn’t like that gleam of scientific interest in her eye while she perused the data, then looked up at you and Ben from her narrow-framed glasses.

“Not with the baby. She’s doing very well,” she said.

That gave you a measure of immense relief.

“The development concerns you,” she clarified, meeting your gaze. “As you know, we’ve been monitoring you very closely.”

You nodded. The weekly checkups and monthly blood panels served to both soothe and increase your anxiety, but you knew that it made Ben feel better, that you were being taken care of in this aspect of your pregnancy.

To government knowledge, no one other than Becca Butcher had ever gone through a pregnancy of this nature. And Homelander had been created in a lab. This was breaking somewhat new ground (which was only in the top five of “things that made you nervous.”)

“I found something…interesting in your bloodwork,” said Dr. Baker. She pulled out two charts from her files and clipped them onto her whiteboard for you and Ben to see. They looked virtually the same, with one graph’s red bars slightly lower than the first.

“What’s that?” Ben asked.

“It’s your wife’s cell regeneration levels,” the doctor replied, pointing to the second graph. “Hers have become almost as high as yours.”

She pointed to the first graph for comparison. You leaned in closer to see as your eyes widened. With the weight of your belly making you off balance, you nearly slid off the examining table. Ben noticed and caught you quick. His arms came around you, though as the news donned on him, his face slid into shock.

“What?” he uttered.

“That’s got to be because of the baby,” you reasoned. “Is it…just temporary? Like the super strength.”

Even that was somewhat intermittent. Some days, you felt your aches and pains and experienced morning sickness and food aversions, like any other pregnant woman. On others, you were able to lift one side of the couch one-handed and vacuum up the dust bunnies underneath it.

“I believe that blood transfusion, as well as your pregnancy greatly accelerated the effects, but no, this isn’t an isolated incident.” Dr. Baker shook her head. “Your DNA has mutated.”

“Are you serious?” you nearly choked out. She nodded. Dr. Baker never joked.

“By my calculations, this process started before you conceived. Over the course of the past year, or more,” she explained. “Do you understand what this means?”

“Y-Yes, I think so,” you said. Your hand squeezed over Ben’s; it was the hand that carried the weight of your gold wedding bands. A lump of emotion rose in your throat. “It means…I’m going to heal from injuries quicker than normal. And…I’m not going to age like a normal person.”

“That’s likely correct,” she replied.  

That news fell in the room like a stone. You shared a wide-eyed look with Ben. Neither of you knew quite what to think just yet. Even though he was trying to maintain an even-keel expression, you could see his eyes were beginning to brighten with hope. Yours were too…though you were still confused.

“How the hell is this possible?” you asked. “I mean, Ben gave me his blood for a transfusion. But like you said, that was one time, two years ago now. And you said the pregnancy accelerated this, but that’s not how it started…”

Dr. Baker actually smiled. You didn’t like the wry turn of her lips. She crossed her legs where she sat at her desk and tapped her clipboard with her pen.

“How often would you say you two have sex?” she asked.

That was certainly not where you thought this conversation was going. You couldn’t help but blush.

“How is that even remotely relevant?” you asked.

You glanced at your husband, who merely gave you one of his smug smirks, while his thumb stroked your side. Fucking typical. 

“Once a week?” the doctor prompted.

Your face heated up further, and you had to cover your mouth with a hand. Your sex life wasn’t quite as…vivacious as it had been since before you’d gotten pregnant, but it was still a good one, even with your growing size. Ben was nothing if not creative.  

And you were still newlyweds, after all.

“Assume we’re doing a healthy amount of fucking, doc,” Ben remarked.

You gasped and hit his thigh, and finally covered your whole face in thorough embarrassment. He just smirked and took your hand so you couldn’t hide. It amused him that you still got like this.

He then pressed a kiss to the back of your fingers.

You sighed and held his hand back. I chose this man. Remember that.

“Again, what does that have to with this?” you asked, your voice a bit higher.

Dr. Baker’s lips flickered at another one of those smiles. “Well, how often did you use condoms over the past two years?”

You and Ben both snorted in response.

“He’s morally opposed to them, doctor,” you said dryly.

She nodded. “I assumed as much.”

Once again, Ben smirked, but Dr. Baker plowed ahead.

“Let me explain it this way,” she said. “Think of how HIV spreads sexually. The infected DNA is transmitted, and it eventually hits the partner’s bloodstream, affecting the entire body. What we have here is a similar case…if for the fact that this was a gradual effect, over the course of several months.”

Ben blinked, and a frown also tugged down his brows.

“Are you saying that I gave her my superpowers…like an STD?” he asked.

Your eyes became as wide as saucers.

Holy shit! you thought, and another one occurred to you. If this all started from the first time you and Ben ever had sex…then that was over two years of being dosed with literal super sperm.

“Not quite,” Dr. Baker said to him. “Just the essence of what sets your DNA apart, even from other supes.”

“Right. Because how the hell hasn’t this happened to anyone else who’s normal?” you asked. “What makes Ben different?”

Dr. Baker finally set down her pen. She folded her hands in her lap to address you with a patience that you didn’t often see from her.

“Remember, the serum he received was still a prototype,” she said. “Vought continued to refine the recipe after the ‘Soldier Boy’ project was successful. For example, the way his cells regenerate is one of those factors that needed to be weeded out, if Compound V was to be a successful product in the long-term.”

You nodded slowly, as that made sense to you. If every supe suddenly lived over a hundred years, it would make it pretty hard to secretly inject that shit into newborns. They had to package it in a more insidious way.

“This is an unpredictable outcome of your exposure to his unique genetic makeup,” Dr. Baker continued, “and there may very well be more to come in the future.”

You weren’t sure how to take that potentially foreboding news, but on the other hand…

“Oh my God! I’m going to live to be a hundred,” you said, holding tighter onto Ben as shock began to make you tremble. His grip was firm and steadying in response. And yet, his face betrayed how he was trying to process this as well.

“Likely much longer than that,” Dr. Baker said, shocking you even further. And she reminded, “Your cells aren’t regenerating at quite the same rate as his…but it is close.”

Again, holy fucking shit.

You let out a halting breath, and you looked up at Ben, a smile growing across your face. You reached up a hand for his bearded cheek. He looked down on you with his usual stoicism, but it was merely a front. You saw through to the true emotions shining in his eyes.

“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me, baby,” you said, even as your own eyes stung with tears. Your heart felt full to the brim, and even overflowing. If this was what it took to be with your husband, then altering your genetics was a price you were willing to pay…at least in this way.

Though you gave him a more teasing smile. “You’re not gonna be able to welch out of that ‘til death do us part thing. So cancel the caravan of blow and strippers.”

Ben chuckled deeply. He held your hand and stroked the inside of your wrist. For a moment, he just looked down at your face. It had become a bit more rounded with your pregnancy—thighs and arms (and ass) thicker too. And to him, you were still perfectly his.  

“Fine by me. You’ve got something they don’t, anyway,” he said. He remembered the same words he’d said to you just a year ago, in the bed he still shared with you.

Your eyes gleamed with amusement, and so much more. You played along.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” you asked.

He smirked. “You’ve got a supe STD.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity, but you burst out laughing and hit his shoulder.

“Yeah, from you,” you quipped back. “I should’ve known you were carrying something.”

The two of you didn’t know it, but that was when Dr. Baker smiled to herself. She decided then to leave the room, giving you some privacy as Ben laughed and framed your face with his hands.

His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, catching stray tears as they fell. You bit your lip as your glassy eyes met his once more. Ben became more serious as he let out a sigh.

“It’s not gonna be easy,” he reminded you. “Your family, your friends…they’re going to change, and you’re going to stay the same.”

Your excitement dimmed as that realization hit you. Your hands clenched in his shirt, over his chest. You thought about your mom, your sister, Yvette and Devon, Annie and Hughie and the rest of the team (even Butcher, you would miss).

“Yeah…that part’s not gonna be fun,” you said with a heavy, tremulous sigh. Your heart clenched at the very thought of them growing old, leaving you behind.

But your gaze eventually drew back up to him. You wondered then, not for the first time, how it must’ve been for him. For his parents to grow old and pass on long before him. For childhood friends, old lovers…

“Do you know what I worried about when we got married?” you asked.

Ben’s hands traveled down from your face, down your arms, to finally rest at your waist and thigh. He stared back at you expectantly.

“When you first told me you loved me, you said you were holding back the truth. Because you thought that one day, you’d be alone again,” you said, stroking his chest. “That honestly broke my heart. And it made me wonder if I was selfish to be with you anyway.”

Ben frowned, but you shook your head before he could respond.

“I told myself that after the baby was born, I’d go to Dr. Baker and ask her to find a way to make this happen,” you said. Another smile grew across your face. “But guess what? We figured it out all on our own, super stud.”

Ben smiled then, huffing in amusement as he thumbed at your cheek. You couldn’t really understand the full force of his relief. It might’ve threatened to buckle him into a seat, if he had been standing.

But now, he struggled with the warmth in his chest that for once, had nothing to do with his powers. He moved in to tug you into his arms, and he let out a long breath through his nose.

You couldn’t see how his eyes closed, but you felt his lips press against your forehead. You held him close. Or as closely as you could with your belly getting in between.

You rubbed his back and rested against his chest, hearing the calming, steady sound of his heart beating under your ear.  

“And at this rate, I might even live longer than you,” you teased. “After all, you got a head start. Compared to you, I’m still a hot young thing.”

Ben snorted and shook his head. “All right. Now you’re pushing it.”

You smirked into his chest.

“I’ll have to figure out where you rent those caravans.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he muttered. At the sound of your giggle, he couldn’t help but smile.

He still swatted you on the ass though.

A couple more months later…

He smelled like cigar smoke. For which you had no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Frank and M.M. outside the hospital. 

The team of doctors (led by Dr. Baker) had finally left you alone with your husband, allowing you to take your first relaxed breath of the day.

“Your mom and your sister are waiting. Blondie and the others are out there too,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “My girl’s got a whole possy of bitches.” 

You assumed he meant Annie and the rest of the team.

You shot him a look, but you were careful not to disturb the sleeping newborn resting on your chest, in the crook of your arm.  

“They’re my friends, babe,” you whispered. “And they’re your friends now too, you just don’t want to admit it.”

Ben didn’t acknowledge that, but he laid a hand on your shoulder as he sat down on the edge of your hospital bed.

“How’re you doin’, sweetheart?” he asked. “Got everything you need?”

He’d become even more protective, but also very sweet to you in these past several months. More so than you’d thought him capable of, but it warmed you every time, when you considered how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he was not so very long ago.

It seemed that fatherhood was beginning to soften him, even before he began. You quirked a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you said, tired but still cheeky as ever.

He snorted a bit loudly at that, and you shushed him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expected nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answered his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considered you for a moment, a slightly softer smile curving his lips, and he nodded.

“All right,” he said.

Your daughter woke and began to squirm in your arms, prompting Ben to look down at the bundle wrapped in a soft pink blanket. Gently as possible, he brushed the tuft of downy brown hair on her head. His hand shook ever so slightly, touching her small cheek. 

How can this little thing be mine? he wondered. His lips pressed into a firm line.

There was a thought, deep and thrumming inside him, that he didn’t deserve this. That just a couple of years ago, he had nothing to lose.

And now, his entire world was in this room. He’d never admit it, but it was a terrifying thought, for a man who’d had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stopped the path of his thoughts when you raised a warm hand to his cheek. It earned his attention, and he grabbed your hand to keep it there.

You smiled up at Ben with weariness in your eyes. The super strength had drained out of you a few moments after the umbilical cord was cut, which had made for a less painful labor than you anticipated. But it had also been a long and uncomfortable eighteen hours.

“Wanna hold her for a while?” you asked.

The offer caught him off guard. His brows drew together, but he very carefully took his daughter from you, into his arms. Despite your temporary abilities throughout your pregnancy, he didn’t know if she already had his strength, or if it was something she’d grow into. Ben didn’t want to take any chances.

As he looked down at a small face that already had some of his features, he inhaled a faltering breath.

It was the first time you ever saw true tears in his eyes, as one managed to draw a path down his cheek. You smiled, and the pair of rings on your left hand caught the lamplight as you rested your hand on your chest.   

Ben held the bundle close in the crook of his arm. One of the baby’s hands was free, and he tickled his finger in her palm. She grasped it on reflex, opening her mouth on a yawn. Despite his red and shining eyes, he smiled, especially when she reached up for a strand of his hair with small, grabby fingers.

He let her get a hold of it, smirking when she gave it a little tug. Just hours old, and his girl was already demanding his attention. He didn’t know if newborns were able to do that this early, or if it was her blood that made her special.

Either way, he knew then that she was going to be a handful. Just like you. 

Ben glanced over and found you watching him with soft amusement. He looked back down at his daughter and told her the obvious.

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, baby girl,” he said. It elicited a knowing scoff out of you. However, his smirk softened. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looked back at you, and there was the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he said.

He knew then that what he said to you before was right. If he had to go back to 1984, or even 1944, he’d do it all exactly the same.

It all worked out pretty damn well, from where he was standing.

AN: I’m not crying, you’re crying. 🥹😭

I sincerely hope you enjoyed Strong as Blood. I know I said I was going to be done with these two for a hot minute while I concentrate on Smoke Eater (Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reader).

But now that we’re here, I have another one-shot idea I’d like to sketch out in the near future…

Would you guys want to read about their family dynamic? Maybe fast-forward a couple years to the “terrible twos” stage with their first child.

Along with some cameos from the Annie, Hughie, M.M. and the rest of the team. Maybe even Marie and Louisa, Grandpa George, and the insufferable Aunt Trina?

Let me know in the comments, or just what you thought of Part 2! 😘

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#Strong as Blood #Part 2 #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben x reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #the boys #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x you #fluff #BMD verse #Break me down verse #zepskies writes

[idfciluvsmut]

Hey everyone, I’ve got many ideas and wanted to see how thing go for me. Not exactly sure how to add cool font or anything fancy so forgive me. Thinking on Nerdy Migueeel MWAHHH.

PICTURES ARE NOT MINE!!

Nerdy Roomate Miguel. Who stares only at his feet instead of anything else when he asks you out with flowers from the shop a couple blocks far from campus.Along with stickers from a show he noticed you like as you watch it on repeat every chance you get, Learning a couple lines from how much he’s heard it.

Nerdy Roomate Miguel who gets beyond flustered when you accept and pull him down to kiss his cheek. Confessing you always found his shy nature cute despite him being so tall. And how you find it funny he works out just to hide his figure under vests and strictly color-coded outfits.

Nerdy Roommate Miguel who apologizes over and over again for getting hard at accidentally seeing your legs while you were shaving and he was brushing his teeth

And resulting in you later on in the day deciding seeing him be in charge instead of shy was your new goal.

Nerdy roommate Miguel who follows everything you say during your shared first time. You hadn’t been intimate or anything. Considering your love life has been as dead as 8-track for years. So you couldn’t help back from entering in a silk gown you bought to help your skin, and straddling Miguel until he’s a puppy man.

; “Y/N?! What are you doing-“ You ran your hands through his hair and perplexed his face with soft kisses. Miguel Calmed down and lowered his eyes lidded, His glasses sipping to his nose as you smiled gently and kissed him softly. Placing his hands on your hips, but due to his size a little more than just his fingerpads touched your rear. And he pulled back.

“A-are you sure princesa..? No quiero hacerte daño linda..”

You smiled at his care and looped your arms around his neck and nodded.

“yes Migs, I promise I’ll tell you if i dont like anything.”

Not much convincing was needed after you started to grind and he hesitantly brought his hands back to your hips, the same place that later ended his faint yet noticeable marks of his finger from his strong grip.

Nerdy Roomate Miguel! Who tells you over and over how you’ve cured wounds he didnt know ached. Kissing every part of you during soft and gentle sex.

Nerdy Roomate Miguel who came so hard just from bottoming out at the feel of your tight cunt around him. (Protection)Telling you how warm and moist your pussy feels and panting heavily as he finally starts to move. Missionary, Doggy and eating you out with;

“Like this?” “Is this okay..?” And muffled. “ Mmfgood..”

Nerdy Roommate Miguel who groans and Placed his mouth on your neck when you try to shift further from him as you wake up. He learned you quite like marks last night. You’re covered from your neck to thighs. Marks on your neck, Shoulders, breast, thighs and Especially your Tummy. Wrapping his arms tighter around your soft waist. Massaging the soft skin as he nuzzles into the hollow of your shoulder.

Bonus!!, he broke his glasses from when they fell off him during intimacy and the gown you wore lays in shattered, Ripped piece of light green satin scattered around the floor.

WHOOOOO OKAYOKAY ALMOST 50 PEOPLE HAVE LIKED THIS AND IF I WAS IN A ROOM WITH EVERYONE I’D PASS OUT. PLEASE COMMENT WHAT YOU WOULD TO SEEEE and what i can improve on! TANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING !!

#miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara au #reader is female

[pawnshopbleus]

Vigilante shit: giving abby a sexy lap dance while she sits in a chair, and you wear sexy and sparkly lingerie during this whole ordeal to treat her. With matching high heel stilettos, of course, Bonus points if they're Louboutin boots.

I'm going to try my hand at headcanons for this one.

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬

Lawyer!Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

Summary - You give Abby a lap dance as a treat for working so hard.

Contains - lap dances, a mention of a fictional murder case (nothing detailed), suggestive movements, lesbians being lesbians, a chaste kiss, and a baby bit of smut at the end.

Authors Note - This is my first time doing headcanons so I hope i'm decent at them 🗣️ Also, anon, I'm not quite sure if you actually wanted a vigilante!Abby and if you did, I'm sorry for not delivering!

She’d come home, more tired than ever, but try her best to stay up. She makes her way up to her home office.

As she passes you, all she spares is a chaste kiss on the lips and a quick squeeze on your hips. She wants more and she can sense that you want more, but that’s all she can spare. There’s more paperwork to do and not enough time at the office to do it. She locks herself in her office, not wanting to be bothered.

You sense that she’s tired and frustrated. She told you a few facts about the case she’s been given. It’s a murder case. Abby hated those.

You've always respected her time alone. You knew that she could get snappy if anyone interrupted her work, but this time it was different. She has been working so hard these past few weeks and she deserves a break. Even if it’s a quick one.

You make your way to your closet and immediately find the lingerie Abby bought you two months ago. It was sparkly and red, perfect for the occasion.

You let your day clothes pool at your feet and slide all the straps and loops onto your body. A red mesh bra covered your tits and a red thong left nothing to the imagination. Thigh garters sat on your plush thighs and the belt that held them together snaked up your thighs and settled on the strap of your thong.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and sighed. You looked beautiful, sexy even, but it was missing something. Then in the corner of your eye, you saw the perfect shoes to match. You slipped on your red Louboutin's and nodded at your reflection in the mirror. You threw a trench coat on. You weren’t sure if it was yours or Abby’s, but it didn’t matter. It would be on the floor in seconds.

Your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you made your way to Abby’s office. The key to her office was in the pocket of the coat.

As you opened the door, Abby dismissed you, saying “Not right now, honey. I’m really busy and I-'' Her words got cut off as she inhaled once she saw you standing there in the doorway. The trenchcoat lay haphazardly on the floor. Your body is bare except for the red lingerie.

“I think you deserve a treat for working so hard.”

Abby got up from her seat, but you sat her back down. She needed to sit still for what you had in mind.

“You can look, but you can’t touch,” you warn as she reaches a hand out to caress your skin.

Abby’s hands form into fists as they sit in her lap.

You're dancing in front of her. Your hips swing to the music playing quietly from your phone. But Abby can’t hear the music. She’s just focused on the way your ass jiggles and how she’s going to mark it up later. That’ll teach you for teasing her

As the night goes on, Abby’s work is long forgotten as she fucks you with her strap on top of her desk. Your tits bounce as she thrusts into you. The wooden desk is a tad bit uncomfortable under your bare back, but that's the least of your worries. You just hope that Abby will let you cum this time.

That's what you get for teasing her 🤷🏿‍♀️

#abby anderson tlou2 #abby the last of us #abby x reader #abby anderson x reader #abby tlou #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson #lesbian reader #lesbian #abby anderson headcanons #headcanon #abby anderson x female reader

[sarawritestories]

Starfall with the General (Bonus Part)

Cassian X Fem Reader

Summary: 5 years later Starfall looks a little different for the members of the Night Court, especially for The General and his mate.

Part 1 Part 2

A/N: this was simply an idea that struck me in the shower so enjoy the final installment of Starfall with the General

Warnings: none, this is as fluffy as it can get. It's not proofread.

Word Count:1885

Standing in front of the mirror you smile at your reflection. The dress you wore still fits even years later. Mor comes into your room and smiles, “I haven't seen that dress in ages.” The hairpin and necklaces deigning your neck made her smirk. “He's going to swoon.” Mor kissed your cheek as little feet padded from the bathroom causing you both to look in that direction.

“Auntie!” Violet, your 4 year old jumped into Mor's awaited arms. Spinning her around causing the young Illyrian to giggle. You smile at the sight your daughter wore a red dress with tulle and sequins that complimented her little wings and matched Mor’s signature red look. “I look just like you.”

Mor’s eyes beamed, “You sure do Vi, I am going to see what Uncle Az is doing we’ll see you soon okay?” the young girl nodded and Mor tapped her cheek as Violet kissed her and set her down to exit the room.

Having Violet was a blessing for you and Cassian, Nesta who in the midst of saving Feyre when she was in Labor with Nyx had also adjusted your anatomy to accommodate wings. You had tightly embraced the eldest Archeron sister for her wonderful gift. Cassian followed it up by scooping us both in his arms. Only a few months after that did Madja provide you with the good news you were with child. The pregnancy went smoothly and Cassian was with you every step of the way.

Cassian was a fierce warrior, a wonderful friend, and the most attentive mate, however, all that pales in comparison to how exquisite he was at being a father. The first time she had cried in the middle of the night he forced you to lay back down, whispering in your ear, “Let me.” With that he sat on the chair skin-to skin with your babe, telling the story of how he had met you for the first time and how he fell in love with you. The sight brought tears to your eyes and you awoke the next morning to the two of them in the chair. An image you shared with Feyre and had her paint to give to Cassian as a solstice gift that year.

The first time Violet had a nightmare Cassian stormed into her room you in tow and saw her tear-stained eyes and Cassian’s heart shattered. He spent an hour fighting off imaginary monsters causing the little one to giggle and you saw his face light up at the sound. Then the 3 of you padded back to your and Cassian’s shared room where he held on to both of you tightly wings shielding the night breeze.

“Well doesn’t my niece look beautiful,” Rhys’ voice pulled you from your thoughts as Violet’s face lit up to see her favorite Uncle. Nyx in tow behind him. Rhys bent down arms ready as Violet ran to hug him. The high lord stood still holding your child his eyes met yours and he eyed the outfit his gaze lingering on the necklace he got you all those years ago. He took in the dress and smiled.

“Mommy, looks pretty doesn’t she Uncle Rhysie.” Rhys’ gaze turned to the small child in his arms his violet eyes meeting her Hazel ones and lightly flicked her nose another giggle erupting.

“She does, I think your Daddy is also going to agree.” Rhys set her down and she immediately ran to Nyx as the two began to play. Rhys held out his arm, you walked over and you looped yours through his and you all made you way to the ballroom.

You giggled as Nyx tried to mimic his father and loop his arms with Violet’s but before he could she would run off and he would chase after her. “In the forest that day you found me,” Rhys stiffened but remained quiet, “I thought I was destined to be miserable that I would never get the chance at happiness and peace.”

Rhys with his free hand gripped yours and gave it a comforting squeeze. You continued, “I wish I could go back and tell her how happy I am now. I have that peace and a loving family that my life has been nothing short of amazing.”

The four of you reach the doors of the ballroom, Rhys releases your arm and turns to you pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. “I am so happy you joined our family, Y/N, I love you.”

You return the embrace, “I love you too, now lets not keep the loves of our lives waiting shall we?” you pull away and swipe the stray tears from the High Lord’s eyes.

“Kids, you want to open the doors?” Rhys asks looking over to the two small children. Their eyes light up and Nyx picks up Violet so she can reach the handles and they open the door revealing the party in full swing.

Nyx sets Violet down and it doesn’t take her long to find the one person she is looking for in the crowd. She sprints into the ballroom, “Daddy!”

The sound of his name causes Cassian to stop his conversation with Feyre to find his daughter in the crowd. In the perfect moment bends down as she tackles into him almost pushing him off balance. The way he holds her makes your heart swell. He has his wings tucked comfortably his hair in a half up bun you always enjoy and in his signature black dress shirt and pants. He whispers in your daughters ear as he looks up no doubt looking for you. His eyes meet yours and his smile gives you butterflies.

You and Rhys walk towards your mates as Nyx already was at his mother’s hip. Feyre took sight of your dress and her eyes gleamed with mischief. Cassian still holding your daughter planted a kiss to your cheek. His breath grazed over the shell of your ear, “Well don’t you look beautiful, Sweetheart. I have very fond memories of this dress.”

You giggle as you do a twirl the black lace twirling with you, the red rubies in your hair and around your neck shining in the fae light. Cassian’s eyes gleamed as he watched you showcase the same dress and accessories you wore on the Starfall you found out you were mates.

“Mommy looks like a princess,” Violet nodded her head in approval.

Cassian looked at her, “I agree, but so do you,” the music changed to a slower song and Cassian put Violet down and held out his hand, “May I have the honor of a dance, Your Highness,” Violet smiled wide and nodded her head excitedly. Taking her father’s hand and running to the dance floor. Cassian gripped both of her hands in his and lifted her up so her feet were on his and the two began to sway.

Watching your mate dance with his little girl made you smile wide, tears glistening in your eyes. To watch them both laugh and his big smile, he must have noticed you staring because he looked up and gave you a wink that made your heart skip a beat. There was a tug on the bond urging you to come toward them. You walk to them and Violet squeals, “Mommy, dance with us!”

Cassian scoops Violet into his one arm and slips his free one around your waist pulling you closer. His scent of cedar and leather infiltrating your nose. You wrap one arm around his neck and one around Violet as the 3 of you sway to the musicians and you dance for the majority of the evening. The music shifts back to a slower song as he brings the two of you close once more, Cassian hummed in content, “My sweet Girls.” He whispered as Violet’s head laid on his shoulder as she yawned, ever the daddy’s girl. He kissed Violet’s forehead followed by yours, “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile, “I ask myself that everyday.” You lay your head on Cassian’s chest and you 3 remain like that until the music shifts into an upbeat tempo.

You pull away as everyone begins making their way to the balconies. Cassian leans closer to you, “Let’s go back to our room,” You nod in agreement and you sneak away and make your way back to the bedroom.

“Did you have fun, Princess?” Cassian asked Violet.

Violet yawned again and her eyes beginning to close, as she gave a soft, “Yeah,”

His hand was interlaced with yours as you reached your bedroom, “What about you, Sweetheart?”

You press a finger to your chin in mock thought, “I had fun but not really my favorite Starfall not yet anyway.” Cassian quirked a brow at the statement, as the three of you enter the room. As if on cue the house opens the balcony doors. You slip of your heels and wiggle your feet in the cushy carpet and you three walk outside right as the first star makes its way across the sky.

You lightly shake Violet, “Sweetie, Look up,”

Violet opens her eyes and when she sees the colors painting the sky they widened, “Wow,” she whispered.

You take a moment to look at Cassian as he looks up with Violet and your hands grip the balcony and your gaze moves to the sky above. “Out of curiosity,” You could feel Cassian’s gaze on you. “How would you feel about Violet having a sibling?” Your eyes meet his Hazel ones.

Cassian grins, “I would be happy if we could, but if we weren’t able to have a second child, I have everything I could have ever asked for right here.” Cassian kissed the side of your head, “Why do you ask?”

You give him a shy smile and drop the shield revealing your scent and his eyes go wide his wings ruffle in shock. “Really?” he whispered as Violet had fallen back asleep.

You nod and he cups your face with his free hand and kisses you tenderly. He sends wave after wave of love down the bond. He presses his forehead against yours, “Happy Starfall, Cassian. I love you.” You whisper closing your eyes at his warmth.

He lightly kisses your nose, “Happy Starfall, Y/N. I love you too.”

~few hours later~

Cassian sat in bed watching the rise and fall of his wife and daughters chest. The duo spooned together, drifting off into a soundless sleep. He took a moment to look at you the small smile that graced her features. He tucked a hair from your face and put it behind your ears. In his 500 years he never thought he would find a mate and when he found you, he thought that was the happiest he was ever going to get. Then Violet came in the picture. His gaze moved over to his daughter, she may have gotten all of Cassian’s physical features but her personality was all Mommy. Now there will be a new babe on the way and Cassian smiled as he laid down grabbing his girls and cocooning them in his wings. He whispered, “I love you three so much,” even to the babe in the womb and drifted into peaceful sleep.

#cassian acotar #cassian imagine #cassian x reader #cassian #cassian x you #acotar fanfiction #rhysand acotar #acotar #girldad!cassian x reader #girldad!cassian

[1d1195]

Ding - Round 4

Read Ding here | ~4.7k words

Warnings: angst, fluff

From me: Sorry for the delay. Honestly, might be for the best. I know this is a little shorter but I think it will help spread out some of the plot points I have planned for parts 5 and part 6. I think it might be a little rush but I promise hope it will be worth it.

Summary: Cupcake wants a proper date. Harry wants a Cupcake for dessert.

Harry was fresh out of college when he took out a loan and bought the gym. It was a steal, an investment, and exactly what he wanted to do. He didn’t have a lot of staff—in fact, Harry taught a lot of classes, cleaned the showers and toilets as much as possible. He got Niall and Louis to help as well. Once he was settled a little more, he got his college roommate, Mitch and his girlfriend Sarah to help as well. His own little family. Niall managed it most of the time and while he still liked to teach classes and train with Louis, he hired a few more staff members (and honestly? Even though he hired a few custodians, he didn’t mind cleaning the bathroom every now and again). His family was his life and he tried to maintain a proper balance which required a certain number of employees.

But adding in the sweet girl that dinged his car threw him for a bit of a loop. A good loop.

Louis was insistent he focus more on his training. Any time not spent teaching classes or going over the paperwork in his office was spent training for his big fight. He was going to be boxing a guy from a few towns over; someone also undefeated. It was being publicized as their own state’s match of the century. Harry didn’t care truthfully about it. He just wanted to remain undefeated. Harry was competitive and he would rather never box again than lose his undefeated record. The added bonus of Driven getting more publicity wasn’t a bad part of the deal either.

Truthfully, the part where he might win $100,000 was also a bigger influence on him than he was willing to let on. The fame of the fight had sponsors and publicity, and more good stuff for him than he wanted to believe he could have.

Harry wanted to give his niece a substantial chunk of money to kickstart her college fund. But even still, he would have plenty to give her and then he would consider, finally, purchasing a house—which seemed silly because he nearly lived at Driven and if he wasn’t at Driven, he was at his mum’s...or Gemma’s with the baby.

But that pretty girl with an apron and sprinkles had him thinking about all kinds of future things. Like a house with a fence. A garden that they could have picnics in during the summer with a dog that needed to be walked two times a day but didn’t mind lounging with them among the flowers while they read. A massive kitchen where she would bake cupcakes for their little ones when they had birthday parties and—

No, he just wanted to win.

Maybe if he had lost at some point in his career he would have felt differently. But the “0” in the loss column made him cocky. He was good, and he knew it. Harry was smiling at his phone, a picture of his sweet niece smiling for the camera while he went over the bills for the current month. There was a knock right outside his office.

“Hey,” Niall smirked. “Your class is about to begin.” Harry was dreading it. They had chatted a lot more and gotten a lot closer than they previously were, but the class made him irrationally angry. Maybe it was the space and just knowing why she was there, that had him so grumpy. “Thought you would want to see her,” Niall murmured when he didn’t respond and also looked like someone pissed in his cereal.

He sighed, putting the bills into a folder for later. He thought about taking them home and dealing with them while he watched a show before bed. Since he’d been teaching her self-defense moves, he found himself riled and angrier than normal—especially after her class. It made it difficult to focus on bills and his calendar when she was there feeling unsafe. “Course I want t’see her,” he mumbled.

Harry stepped out of his office and headed to the room with Louis. She and Louis stood close together speaking quietly, like two old friends. She was smiling brightly, looking adorable as ever. Her T-shirt was bright blue. It said A Pinch of Sprinkles across the back and was littered with sprinkles like rain over the design. Louis caught Harry’s eye and then tilted his head toward him. She turned to face him. It was like a reflex and her smile was so bright, Harry couldn’t help but feel better than he did when Niall alerted him about the class. He felt all the anxiety and frustration leave his body and he headed over to her.

“Hey, Cupcake,” he put a hand on her arm gently giving it a friendly squeeze. “How was your day?” He asked.

She smiled in return. “Good, relaxing. I went to visit my dad.”

He thought so. He may or may not have spent his lunch hour being creepy and noted that her car wasn’t in the parking lot near A Pinch of Sprinkles. Nor was it there when he drove by in the morning on his way to the gym...and if he ran his four-mile cardio workout outside rather than on the treadmill to see her car still wasn’t there right around the four o’clock shift change then who would really know?

“S’nice,” he smiled. “How is he?” He asked.

She hesitated ever so slightly that if Harry wasn’t so focused on her, he might not have noticed. But before he could ask more about it, she simply nodded. “Good,” she offered. Harry needed to remember to circle back to that when they were alone. He wanted to know more about her family and why she seemed so guarded at times.

Which reminded him of what he really wanted to talk to her about. “Hey, Cupcake, would you want to—”

“Alright, let’s get started everybody!”

Harry was looking forward to “accidentally” punching Louis tomorrow during his training session. He sighed. “Stay a minute after class?” Harry asked and headed toward the front of the room.

“Since this is the second to last class, we always offer to have a bit of a celebratory send off the final class if you are interested,” Louis said knowingly. Harry was looking at the floor, then picked the lint off his pants. The grumpiness he felt with Niall returned rapidly. There seemed to be a long pause while the group decided if they wanted to celebrate next week. “Oh, thank God, love,” Louis sighed causing everyone to laugh. “You don’t want Harry or I baking for the masses.”

“I can make cupcakes,” she promised with a giggle.

Harry looked up realizing she was offering her kindness to a bunch of strangers, bonded through their own traumas and the need to feel empowered because of it. His lips curled into a smile. Even though he was still a bit frustrated. It was kind of her to offer. He wasn’t surprised. Someone that worked with sugar that much had to be sweet.

“Can you make the chocolate chip ones?” Someone asked.

“The blueberry lemon ones are my favorite, it’s a shame they’re a summer flavor.”

“I can...” she laughed lightly, and Harry felt so warmed by the sound; all the frustration he felt melting off him. “I can make a list before we leave.”

Harry truly thought there was no one sweeter.

It killed him she was in this class learning to protect herself. Especially now that he knew why. But as mad as it made him, he was so happy to see her. Having her in the class was just more time he got to look at her and note how beautiful she was. Her strength, her resilience, all these qualities he instantly admired as he got to know her more and more. That first night where she dented Clay seemed like ages ago, not months. He was wound around her finger, and he didn’t care.

They went through the moves they learned the weeks prior and discussed more scenarios. Harry had Louis help her more when she needed it. Frankly, it was too hard for him to do it without getting irrationally angry. “You want t’make sure you’re continuing t’practice these moves even after the lessons end,” Harry told the group as their time was ending for the night.

“So, we should be fighting our significant others over the dishes?” Someone called from the back of the room. It caused everyone to laugh once more, and Harry chuckled.

“No, not what I would suggest,” he snickered and even though there were at least fifteen other people in the room, Harry could pick out her giggle among everyone else’s.

“We’ve discussed a lot of reflexive moves and how a lot of the fight back instincts that take over don’t always help you get away,” Louis continued. Harry’s face returned to its neutral position. Although if she was asked, it was one of the sourest expressions she saw on him. But she was intently listening to Louis repeat the spiel once more. “Remember that’s your goal: to get away and find help as quickly as you can and as safely as you can.”

Harry didn’t dare look at her.

*

She stood next to Sarah’s desk taking down orders for their celebration the next week. It was a long list. Harry wasn’t a baker nor the owner of a bakery, but he knew that if they came to her store, it would have cost a pretty penny to sell all that was listed on her slip of paper.

“I can pay for it,” Harry offered coming to stand in front of her.

“Oh God, no. Don’t you dare,” she smiled and shook her head. “You’ve made all of us feel so safe and so empowered. It’s the least I can do—besides, it’s almost blueberry lemon season so I need to practice anyway,” her shrug was casual as she crossed out different parts of her list and added tallies to the other parts. “Maeve and I can handle it. I usually end up giving the leftovers to a homeless shelter anyway, or the nearby nursing home.”

Harry wondered if she was magic. Made of flour and sugar herself that was dipped into all her treats at that bakery and decorated with a pinch of sprinkles. There was simply no one as sweet as her. He was certain.

She watched as Harry’s eyes softened around the edges as she spoke. It felt warm and nice to look at Harry so intensely. He was so handsome and so kind to her. No one had made her feel so safe in ages. Not even Louis who propped her hands and feet into their proper positions and told her how to execute a stomp to someone’s instep.

“Cupcake, do you want to—”

“I’m sorry, Harry, one second,” she held her hand up toward him and turned her attention to a girl from their class. “Did you say Jack?” She asked.

Harry tilted his head curiously but watched as the recognition on the girl’s face blinked in surprise. “Uh...yeah?” She held her phone out to show a picture. Harry watched as her whole body stiffened and she glanced away. “Why?”

She bit the inside of her lip. “Look, I don’t want to prevent you from having a nice time, but he tried to force me back to his place. I would feel horribly guilty if I didn’t tell you. Maybe it was just a me thing. But I think I would like to know ahead of time. He’s why I’m here, taking lessons,” she looked at her pleadingly. “One girl to another,” she offered. “That’s all I want to say. I’ll mind my business now.”

The girl looked back and forth at her then the phone curiously. Her friend was silent.

Harry was shaking again. His hands clenched into fists. He saw the picture of him. He tried to place him in her bakery the other day and couldn’t identify where he was. Harry stalked off toward the back room without another word to her or the other ladies.

His focus was on making his way for the punching bag as quickly as he could to release the stress and anger he felt. He didn’t get to hear the rest of the conversation, nor did he want to. He hoped that girl took her advice and didn’t go out with him. It would serve that sorry excuse for a man right, and of course, most importantly, keep her safe. Harry would lose his mind if he found out he hurt someone else the way he hurt his sweet sprinkle girl.

His breath was a series of uneven pants. Not the regulated breathing he practiced while he trained with Louis. His emotions and frustrations clouded his head taking over instinctively. When he finally ran out of breath with one final punch he stopped, held the punching bag, and rested his forehead against it trying to relax his breathing.

Softly, she cleared her throat. Harry blinked, his eyes opened and turned to the sound. “Sorry,” she whispered. He steadied the swaying bag and looked at her, his eyes intense and as focused on her as ever. “I know you...” she sighed. “I had to tell her.”

He nodded. “I know.”

She paused awkwardly standing in the doorway. “I’m okay,” she offered. “Actually... I’ve learned at least five ways to incapacitate you to get to the front and tell Sarah to call 911,” she smiled weakly hoping it would make him smile.

It didn’t.

Biting the inside of her lip, she felt a wave of anxiety come over her. He was too mad right now. She should have just left. “Do you want the raspberry filled?” He continued to stare at her. Unspeaking, unmoving. Her heart felt sad that he didn’t want to talk to her any longer. “Um... okay... I guess... I’ll see you around, then, Harry.”

It felt like he was holding his breath until that moment and then released it as if all the air in his lungs had been there since the day, he met her and whooshed out of him for a good thirty seconds. “Cupcake,” he murmured running a hand over his face. She turned back, stood far away from him as she could without being in the other room. “I’ve been trying t’ask you on a date all night—well, for days really. And... s’jus’ not the right time—never the right time. We keep getting pulled into other conversations. Or training or your timers for cookies. Then m’mad or m’tired or—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

Harry stopped speaking. This time he thought he had stopped breathing altogether. “Yes, what?” He asked.

“I would love to go on a date with you,” she answered. Her cheeks were pink—he could see how flushed she was by the concept.

“You would?”

“I’m glad you’ve been doing the repeating lately,” she smiled.

“Are you sure, Cupcake?” He ignored her joke. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable; and I know I’ve been a lot... Plus your last—”

She closed the space between the two of them and pressed her lips to his cheek. He tasted like salt from the sweat that poured over him throughout the day. He was in desperate need of a shower. “I would really like to go out with you, Harry,” she repeated softly. “Whenever you want.”

Harry swore his heart skipped a beat. “Yeah?”

She nodded, still smiling. “I would really like that,” she promised. Harry sighed with relief.

“Tomorrow? I’d like to take you t’dinner,” he offered.

She nodded. “I would also like that,” it was the happiest she ever felt in her whole life.

The guilt of it was overwhelming.

“Good night, kitten,” he cooed softly.

“Night, Harry,” she headed for the door again. Harry watched, smiling after her as she turned in the doorway. She leaned against it, her hand pressed to the frame, and she tilted her head against it. “You’re going to kiss me, right? After our proper date?”

Her smile was so pretty, Harry felt light-headed. “I hope so, Cupcake.”

*

Harry did kiss her.

In fact, he kissed her so much they didn’t even have dinner at the restaurant. He could hardly stand how pretty she looked he couldn’t leave her doorway when she opened it. She had spent the better part of an hour fixing her hair into a perfect style rather than the stringy, rainy mess he saw the day he met her. Or the way her hair was almost always up and out of her face to deal with baked goods. She put on extra makeup too. She felt beautiful—but Harry’s reaction made her feel... gorgeous.

He put a hand over his heart and smiled, stepping back a pace to take in how beautiful she looked. She laughed at his dramatics. “Wow,” he tapped his hand over his heart. “I thought y’were beautiful with the apron and sprinkles.” She laughed; her pretty cheeks turned pink. He put his hand against the top of the doorframe and leaned in toward her.  “M’not going t’make it through dinner, Cupcake,” he shook his head. “Can I kiss you now?” His eyes were soft.

“Now?” She whispered back.

He nodded his eyes focused on her lips. “Repeating again?”

“What about dinner?”

“I’ll take y’after.”

Honestly, she didn’t think there would be an after if they didn’t go now. Harry looked unbelievably good. He wore a pair of dress pants and she had only ever seen him in sweats and shorts. Those did things to her heart that she didn’t know the dress pants would do. His button down was tucked into his pants, and he looked like he was ready for an interview. He was so handsome.

“I’m pretty hungry now,” she told him, her eyes dancing flirtatiously.

“Me too,” he answered and leaned closer. His forehead rested against hers. She could feel the exhale of his breath against her skin. “May I kiss you, Cupcake?” He asked. She nodded breathlessly. He shook his head. Rested a hand on her waist and pulled her closer to him. “You have t’say it, kitten,” he encouraged softly. “M’not messing around with this,” he assured her. “I’ll give y’anything y’want, but y’have t’say it,” his voice was so gravelly and low she felt it in every inch of her nervous system. She shivered involuntarily and nodded again.

“Please kiss me,” she whispered so quietly he barely heard her.

But he did hear her. Harry would give her anything she wanted so he pressed his mouth over hers, and it felt like he was supposed to kiss her. The way her lips felt against his, the exhale of her breath against his skin. It all felt so perfect. His hands rested on her hips, and he tugged her closer to him, so she pressed snuggly against his body. Her hands came up to the sides of his neck, her fingertips curling to the back of his head and sliding into his hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” she whispered when they broke apart for air. Harry chuckled and kissed her again, his lips slotting between hers and he brought an arm around her back leaning toward her, so she tilted back just so slightly. “Can we go inside?” She whispered.

“Do you want me inside?” He asked against her lips.

She nodded quickly. “Very much.” Harry didn’t break from her lips to push her inside the doorway. She slipped out of her shoes; shoes Harry didn’t even get to look at because he was so distracted by how much he wanted to kiss her he couldn’t take in the rest of her and how pretty she looked. He took a moment now to note her dress, all black with some buttons and a tie sinched around her waist. It fell to just below her knee but left room through the slit for him to see part of her thigh.

She was stunning.

“God, Cupcake, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured went back to kissing her. His hands roamed over her waist making her insides turn to mush wherever he touched her. She shivered again letting her tongue run over his lower lip as he kissed her. He groaned into her mouth. Her hands held onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to her. She could feel the way their kiss was affecting him. It made her want more to feel his arousal.

“Can I...?” She swallowed pulling from his lips and her hand started for the front of his pants.

“Oh fuck,” he croaked.

“I...” she looked at him nervously. He made consent sound so sexy but she felt stupid for asking.

“Yes,” he nodded firmly. “Whatever y’want, Cupcake, m’all yours.”

For whatever reason she thought of Niall saying how Harry was whipped for her when they hardly knew each other. He called Harry her boyfriend and now she wanted to take his belt off and rip his pants off.

Was it too fast? She didn’t let Jack take her home and she knew him about as much as she knew Harry at the time. Was she overreacting? How could he ruin this moment even though...? How come—

“Cupcake?” Harry asked quickly. “Y’okay there, sweetheart?” He asked softly. She blinked in surprise, realizing she spaced out as her thoughts reeled. Harry was holding her face gently. “D’you want to stop?” His pants were unzipped and unbuttoned—she didn’t even realize she had done that. Her fingers tucked into his beltloops once more, ready to pull them down further. The Calvin Klein band poked out from his shirt and the shift of his pants falling lower on his hips. Harry was staring at her nervously. Her gaze was blank as she looked back at him; as if she was unsure of her own actions. “Kitten?” he repeated and removed his hands from her face. He tugged her fingers loose of his loops. “Can y’talk t’me please?” He asked, separating them a bit more. He pulled his pants back up, zipped and buttoned them. “You’re making me nervous, Cupcake...” he trailed off eyeing her uncertainly.

Her heart felt sad for him. He was so gentle, so nice, so careful. He steered her to the couch, putting space between the two of them. The only part of him that touched her was his knee bumping into hers. “Sorry,” she whispered, finally.

Relief rushed through him at the sound of her voice. “There’s nothing t’apologize for, Cupcake,” he promised reassuringly.

“But you’re—” Her eyes looked at the bulge against the zipper of his pants. He shrugged.

“S’not important.”

She disagreed strongly. That bulge nearly made her mouth water but as much as she needed her brain to focus on it, her mind had other ideas. “I just... need a minute,” she leaned back against the sofa and sighed. She stared at the ceiling, her hands covering her face. Harry was hot. He was so kind. His lips tasted like sunflower oil—perhaps it was his chapstick. He smelled so good and looked so good. It was unfair that someone from nearly a month ago could continue to ruin her date.

“You can have all the time in the world, Cupcake,” he continued to assure her so soothingly, it made her heart melt. “Did I do something—”

“No,” she shook her head and looked him straight in the eye. “You didn’t do anything,” she promised.

He sighed with relief and leaned back beside her and smiled. “Good,” he draped an arm along behind her head across the back of the couch and kissed her temple. “Take your time, Cupcake. M’not going anywhere.”

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat trying to break her esophagus open wide. “He ruined it,” she whispered.

“Ruined what, sweetheart?” Harry’s voice was so soft. Like the way it felt to snuggle in bed on Christmas Eve when she was little. It was so comforting. It made her feel safe. She sniffled and turned her face away from where Harry was.

“Our first date.”

“No, he didn’t,” his voice was still soft, but the tone was firm. He was certain when she very much wasn’t.

“But I want to—”

“I know, Cupcake.”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Do I want t’have sex with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met before we go to dinner?” He asked bluntly. “No, sounds like a terrible waste of m’time.”

She blushed, closed her eyes; still turned away from him. “I don’t know who this most ‘beautiful woman’ is you’re talking about. I just see a snively baby.”

He snorted. Gently he coaxed her to turn her around and look at him again. His expression was still gentle, and she was sure he wanted to be mad. She wondered what kind of self-control that took. Maybe it was the Oxytocin covering for him.

“Show me,” he murmured.

“Show you?” She repeated.

Harry smiled. “Practice.”

“Practice what—oh. Oh,” she looked at him in confusion. “You want me to practice my self-defense moves?”

“I like when y’repeat me,” his eyes were warm, smiley on their own.

“I’m wearing a dress.”

“Look, I could say m’dying t’know what’s under your dress if that will make y’feel better.”

“Harry!”

He pushed off the sofa and moved the coffee table toward the side of the room. He grabbed her hands pulling her up, so she was standing in front of him.

“Well, t’be really honest, Cupcake. You’re not going t’have much say in the matter of what you’re wearing if y’need t’use the moves,” he reminded her gently, he cupped the side of her face and looked into her eyes as if his life depended on it. She gulped in response. He was so intense. It made her forget every one of the moves she was supposed to practice. “C’mon, it’ll make you feel better...and me, honestly.”

“You?” She questioned.

He didn’t even comment that she repeated him. “Want t’know you’re safe, Cupcake,” he skimmed his thumb along her cheek. “Always.” She grabbed his hand against her cheek and smiled at him.

Then swiftly she pulled his arm behind his back and twisted it up. He chuckled peering at her over his shoulder. “Good. Again.”

*

After a while of practicing her moves, Harry ordered pizza. He took his jacket off and described a series of moves she could try that she hadn’t learned in the class. She took them seriously; the little pucker of her brow made her so adorable—Harry wanted to kiss her.

“Let me make brownies,” she offered heading to the kitchen and mixed the ingredients within minutes of opening her cabinets. It took maybe ten minutes and soon her place smelled like brownies. Once the pizza was delivered, she pulled out seltzers that Maeve left behind after a girls’ night in. She put on a reality show about baking that she watched two years ago when she was sick with the flu. “The cake challenge is my favorite part,” she told him.

Harry had his arm around her, her body slumped into his embrace, and she snuggled deeply against him. He was so happy to be curled up on the couch with her. It was like they had watched TV together for their whole lives. Had been spending date nights in for twenty years. It made him unbelievably at ease.

Eventually, without realizing, they fell asleep on the sofa. Harry woke up with a slight strain in his neck that he was certain Louis would be pissed about, but the sight of her sleeping beside him made him smile. He scooped her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom. “Are you kidnapping me?” She yawned.

He chuckled, kissed her temple. “No, Cupcake. Putting you on the bed. Want you t’be comfortable. I’ll go back on the sofa.”

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” She pouted.

He chuckled. “I do,” he promised. “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

She nodded. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“No,” he shrugged. “Do you?”

She shook her head. “Do you want to stay here?”

“Always, Cupcake. Always.”

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[sleepyorchidmonster]

After Chapter 7, Malleus and by extension Briar Valley had to deal with plenty of backlash.

In an attempt to appease the public (and control Malleus), the Senate organized a press conference with world leaders and NRC parents (there's A LOT of overlap between those two groups).

The main idea was to show the Senate as capable advisors that would guide the young Draconia, cementing their status in Briar Valley while also "protecting" and isolating Malleus.

What really happened was that Mrs. Rosehearts yelled at them for ten hours straight.

You see, Riddle was worried about how his mother would react to the entire Chapter 7 situation, so he made sure to explain everything to her, casting Malleus and Lillia in a more favourable light.

And it acually worked! You see, despite all her failures as a parent, she is still a mother at the end of the day, and the idea that a son would go to such great lenghts, overblotting and almost dooming the entire world, just to keep his parental figure safe, was quite touching.

She also has a newfound respect for Lillia, how he spent all those years looking for ways to get Malleus to hatch, how he went above and beyond to care for the Prince, even while banished, how he adopted and raised Silver (who is the only student she actually respects). HOW HE LITERALLY SACRIFICED PART OF HIS LIFEFORCE FOR MALLEUS TO HATCH!

On the other hand, she HATES the Senate. Mostly because she put herself in Meleanor's shoes: imagine you're about to die and decide to entrust your unborn son to your friend, only for said friend to be unjustly banished, leaving your kid in the hands of a bunch of entitled senators that completely DISREGARDED YOUR LAST WISH (Mrs. Rosehearts hates it when people don't do what she says, so she feels personally offended by that last bit, the fact that Malleus almost died also doesn't help).

Anyway, she's angry and, since the Senate IS encouraging people to air their grievances with Briar Valley, might as well seize this opportunity!

Malleus, Silver, Sebek, Lillia, Baul and Maleficia feel vindicated. Since only the housewardens and Diasomnia were invited for the event, the group chat was crazy.

The housewardens were all sitting together near the back of the room, alongside Silver and Sebek (they DON'T want to draw attention to themselves, especially since most of them are overblot survivors), so they could easily chat or sleep. Meanwhile the students back on campus were watching everything at Ramshackle.

As a small bonus, a few ways to avoid panic attacks, by Riddle and Trey:

*Mrs. Rosehearts starts talking*

Trey: Hey Rook!

Rook: Oui?

Trey: What is the meaning of beauty?

Rook: :D

*Rook starts monologuing and nobody can hear the TV anymore*

Meanwhile Riddle:

*School chat*

Epel: So, how long until she stops yelling at people? It ain't funny anymore...

Riddle: Since she yelled at Trey's parents for five hours because they gave me a tart, maybe ten or fifteen hours?

Ruggie: Wtf

Deuce: Are you doing okay, dormhead?

Riddle: I have a fully charged phone with a crosswords app, headphones playing all the Queen's rules on loop, and an entire bottle filled with the strongest calming tea I could find.

Riddle: Moreover, I'm currently seated beside the sleepiest students in this school (Leona and Silver). Their calm disposition creates a peaceful environment.

Riddle: Therefore I shall be able to keep panic attacks AND overblots at bay!

Ace: Just say yes or no...

*15 minutes later*

Riddle: I beat the game, there are no more crosswords

Vil: Chess.com

Vil: NOW

Vil: Wake Leona up, we're having a TOURNAMENT!

Idia: Congrats, u just got a World Record

Idia: Also I'm sending you a list of games later...

They left a bit after the seventh hour mark.

#twst #riddle rosehearts #malleus draconia #leona kingscholar #kalim al asim #vil schoenheit #azul ashengrotto #idia shroud #lillia vanrouge #silver vanrouge #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola #deuce spade #rook hunt #trey clover #mrs. rosehearts would later say that this was a defining moment of her career #apparently she got plenty of job opportunities abroad after the conference #like a job at Afterglow Savanna or STYX #it was an attempt to keep her as far away from Riddle as possible #Riddle spent the summer at Briar Valley #ace is still laughing at how Riddle managed to weaponize his abusive mother #twst spoilers #twst chapter 7

[faefictions]

RX

Eddie Munson x Reader

Fluff, dealer!Eddie (kinda), self medication, reader is not in a good headspace my guys, completely unedited

2k words

Summary: You turn to weed in hopes it will help you finally get a break from your brain, but when all else fails, your so-called dealer knows how to help.

Tired.

It wasn't only what you were, it was the only word that had been repeating in your head for the past several days. Your constant state of autopilot only interrupted occasionally to remind you of how fatigued your limbs still were. 

Sleep wasn't coming easy. It never had, but your insomnia only grew worse with every day you spent trying to pretend that life was currently business as usual.

It had been three months of this. This constant state of exhaustion. This inability to make it through a day without wishing your life had turned out any other way. This yearning for anything to take your pain away. 

That was how you met Eddie. Your coworker told you about a friend of a friend. Some dude who used to deal back in high school. And although his new employment circumstances were legal, she said he could still get you something. 

"Maybe it'll get that stick out of your ass," she had commented while writing down the number of this "dealer". Said "stick" was none other than depression brought on by the trauma you were still refusing to talk to anyone about. It didn't feel important anymore. 

What was important was figuring out a way to just sleep. You were willing to try anything to make your brain shut up for a full 8 hours, and it would be an added bonus if it could shut up for the other 16 hours of the day. 

Eddie got the call from your coworker, not you, a few days later. Although you were desperate for anything to make you feel better, you weren't able to build up the energy to pick up the phone and have a conversation with a man you'd never met. Especially not a conversation in which you plead with this stranger to sell you drugs. 

He wasn't eager about the idea of selling again. He still got his shit from Rick, but that was his stash only. After being accused (and exonerated) for the murder of the most popular girl in town, he did his best to keep his activities legal. He didn't need to add any more fuel to the fire of the town hating him. 

That didn't include partaking in the product himself though, the thought of quitting that barely crossed his mind. 

He honestly tried telling your coworker no, that he didn't do that shit anymore, but he didn't know how to tell a begging girl no. 

That was how you found yourself at his trailer at 9 pm on the coldest night of October. You felt guilty even showing up, you had heard the other end of his conversation with your coworker, and you knew he was just about as excited for this interaction as you were. But you needed to try something, and he couldn't lie, he could use the spare cash. Even if it was just a few bucks. 

The man who answered the door was exactly what you were expecting. She hadn't told you what Eddie had looked like, but you figured anyone with a reputation like his wasn't going to look like your average Joe. 

He was wearing a faded Van Halen t-shirt that had been poorly cut into a muscle tee, long curly frizzy and falling into his face. The chains attached to his belt loops were what really sold it though. He definitely looked the part of the high school drug dealer, the kid people only pretended to like for a discount on weed. The kind of kids you had been best friends with in high school. 

"You y/n?" He asked the second he opened the door. You answered with a quick nod, and he welcomed your shivering body into his home. 

He never would have done any deals in his trailer in High School. Not only did he not want Wayne caught up in all of his shit, but he never wanted to let anyone know where he lived. He knew better. 

But now that he lived on his own, across the lot in the same trailer park he spent a majority of his childhood in, he was less worried. Especially knowing that the person he was selling to was friends with one of the few people from his past who didn't still think he was a murderer. He just hoped you were safe to have around. 

He figured you were when he opened the door and took one look at you. Nothing about you screamed trouble, not to him at least. You dressed in the same way as him, and the most concerning thing about you was the dark circles under your eyes. 

For a moment he thought you had been in a fight, but as you entered and came closer to the light coming from the kitchen, he realized that they were just the bags under your eyes. 

Neither of you spoke much before you left with your goods. He told you to call him when you needed more, and smiled at you as he led you out the door. That hadn't been the plan. 

He was going to tell you to buy from Rick next time, or one of his other dealers in town. He didn't plan on getting caught up as the middleman, but something about you made him want to make sure he was there next time. 

Sure enough, a week later, you called to ask if you could stop by that night to pick up some more weed, and you were back on his doorstep by 10pm. 

He did a sly once over of you when he opened the door, making note that you still looked like you hadn't slept since he saw you last. He tried making a bit more small talk this time, hoping to get you to crack a smile, but you left just as quickly as last week. 

On the third week, you had been tempted to ask Eddie to double up on what he had been giving you. You were grateful to have a couple hours a day where your brain didn't feel on fire, but you still weren't sleeping. You weren't sure more weed could help with that though. 

"Probably a dumb question, but you don't happen to have anything stronger, do you?" You asked as he handed you the same amount as last time. 

Your question seemed to strike a nerve with him. Not one that angered him, but one that definitely upset him. You couldn't make out his emotions, but you thought he almost seemed concerned. Little did you know, that question had brought him right back to a conversation in the woods with a particular cheerleader. Nothing good happened after she had asked him that. 

"What are you looking for?" He asked, though it sounded like it pained him. 

"No idea, just something to make my brain stop for a while."

He deliberated for a moment, then tried to play nonchalant when he asked, "Not sleeping, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed bitterly. 

"You look like you got hit by a bus… to put it lightly," he replied earnestly, and got a chuckle out of you. 

"It's been a long year," you gave him a half hearted smile. This was still a business transaction to you, and the last thing you wanted to do was trauma dump on your dealer. 

But that was exactly what he wanted. 

"Can I be honest with you?" He asked, unable to fully hide his concern. 

"Shoot."

"I know you're paying me, but I dont think drugs are your answer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean I don't know what's going on in there," he gestured vaguely towards your head, "but there's other ways to feel better."

"Well I think I've exhausted all my other options," you sighed, dragging a hand down your face. 

"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"What's today?"

"Thursday."

"OK, well that would make it…. June?"

Eddie chuckled, but went right back to being worried.

"That's almost half a year."

"So you see why something stronger would do me wonders."

"I have a better idea. Do you trust me?"

You looked at him for a moment, deciding on how to answer. You barely knew him. This was your third time seeing him in person, and this was the most words you had heard come out of his mouth. Yet, the answer was yes. You trusted him wholeheartedly for some reason, but he didn't need to know that.

"Sure," you sighed, and allowed him to lead you to his couch. 

He guided you to sit down, and left you with a blanket to cozy up with while he grabbed a joint from his bedroom, and an armful of snacks so you could stay put for the next few hours. 

Now, taking your 4th puff from the lit joint before passing it back to him, you laid back and let him continue asking you questions. 

"So you're friends with Cindy then?"

It took you a second to process who he meant. Cindy was the coworker who had recommended Eddie for weed. 

"No, not really."

"Really? Because she seemed to have nothing but kind words about you."

"We're more of workplace acquaintances, I guess."

"OK. So do you live with any roommates?"

"No, just me."

"So no friends, no roommates, and no family within state lines?"

"Yeah, but it sounds more depressing when you put it like that."

"That's because it is depressing," he insisted, taking another drag from the joint. The room was just beginning to grow hazy from the smoke, and your brain was starting to feel the same. 

"I think I know what's really wrong," he shot you a small smile from the other end of the couch. 

"Oh yeah? Please tell me your diagnosis, Doctor Ed."

"You're lonely."

You froze for a second. Sure, it was obvious that was a big part of the problem. But how he said it, like it was almost a question. Like he knew that was the right answer, but there was still a blank he wanted you to fill in. It made you pause, unable to look him in the eye as you grabbed the joint from his hand and nearly inhaled the whole thing. 

"Maybe you've got a knack for this therapy shit," you joked, hoping he wouldn't still be looking at you the same way when you returned his gaze. But he was. He was still looking at you with pity, though you could tell he was trying to hide it. 

"How much do you trust me?"

"Less and less each time you ask."

"If I promise to stop asking, how would you feel about spending the night? We can watch a movie or something. And I'll drive you home in the morning."

"I dont know…"

"No strings attached, no ulterior motives. Just a guy trying to make a friend with someone just as lonely as him."

You considered for a moment. You hadn't meant what you said. No matter how many times he asked, you still trusted him. So you said yes. 

You had to fight him on putting on a horror movie. It was the Halloween season after all, but you told him that watching people getting killed would make you rethink your decision to stay over. 

"Feels too much like foreshadowing," you said, and he finally relented. 

Instead, he found the old western he had inherited from Wayne when he moved out. You were much happier with that decision. 

You fell asleep 30 minutes in, and Eddie would have complained in the morning that you had missed his favorite part, but he had fallen asleep right next to you. Your head rested on his shoulder, his head atop yours. The awkward untangling from each other was future you's problem. 

For now, you were getting the full 8 hours you deserved.

Tags: (please let me know if you would like to be removed from my tag list, or add yourself to my tag list via the link in my bio!)

@embrace-themagic @fanficparker  @heartbeats-wildly @saturn-aka-six @calum-hoodwinked-me @peterplanet @mischiefmanaged49 @nicotine-sunshine820 @itsjusttor @emistrash @thenoddingbunny-blog @sovereignparker @raajali3

@eddielives1986 @eddieswifu @chickpeadumpsterfire @fluffybunnyu @panagiasikelia @canthavetoomuchchaos @whenshelanded @starlitlakes @witchwolflea @ali-r3n @g0thdraculaura @celestcies

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #dealer!eddie #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

[brendathedoodler]

My latest au is what I’ve been calling the Adventure Swap Au! Basically, take a link, and plop him in someone else’s adventures (with some modifications to the story or character’s abilities). As a result we’ve got:

Wild, the chosen hero who fell from Skyloft and lost his memories.

Twilight, the hero of minish who wields a sword that turns him into a wolf.

Time, a seafaring hero who started his adventure after his big sister was kidnapped.

Sky, a military captain who traveled through time against a sorceress who desired him specifically.

Wind, a veteran adventurer who can’t remember a time he hasn’t been doing quests.

Four, who perished in battle and woke up 100 years later with his soul split into pieces.

Warriors, a traveler and strategist trying to survive in a world that hunts for his blood.

Legend, who traveled many dimensions and gained several forms to stop the usurper king.

And finally Hyrule, whose magical instruments and masks helped him defeat Ganondorf and escape a 72 hour time loop.

(Also with a bonus minish Midna on Twi’s shoulder!)

#linked universe #lu au #lu chain #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #lu sky #lu wind #lu four #lu warriors #lu legend #lu hyrule #lu adventure swap au #there’s so much more than this but I didn’t wanna start off with an infodump lmao #also I haven’t played all their games yet so some of their stories and the changes aren’t 100% fleshed out yet #feel free to ask questions! I’m always eager to talk #brenda's art

[redactedrem]

You know what? Fuck you. *Ponifies Batman*

Guys I'm so excited to share my newest project of ponifying the Batfam, it started out small with the hypothetical "I wonder what Batman would be like in a mlp universe." And then the project kept getting bigger and bigger.

If anyones interested in my world building/ headcanons surrounding this project, you can see it under the cut. (I didn't want to make the post too long.)

Incase anybody couldn't read my bad handwriting, I gotchuuu.

-(First pic) Bruce Wayne: Bruce had got his cutiemark the night of his parents death, after the grief had broken his spirit and he realized that he never wanted anypony else to feel the same pain as he does. (He has a fake cutiemark to cover up his obvious destiny)

- The first pic is pretty self explanatory, but I want to make it clear that Bruce's destiny isn't "My parents are dead so now I dress up as a bat and beat up mentally ill folk". Because I've seen people on here give hot takes on cutiemarks that directly link them to a ponies destiny.

This goes for specifically in the mlp fandom but (for the sake of being on topic) I'll use the the example of that one post where someone gave the hot take that Jason would get his cutiemark in the warehouse right before he dies (or after he dies? smthing like that) because "It would be really fucked up to know that you were always destined to die." And listen, I can appreciate some good Jason Todd whump as the next guy but knowing that this would be based in a mlp universe . . . just doesn't sit right with me.

It sounds less magical that way. Its like saying that Rainbow Dash was always meant to be the fastest flyer, so theres no point in trying to compete with her. So uhm, trying to stay on topic here. My personal hot take is that a pony's cutiemark is symbol of something that they do/ a skill or talent that they have that makes them happy. And whats a more magical and fulfilling destiny than doing something that makes you happy for the rest of your life?

Looping back to Bruce, he didn't get his cutiemark the moment his parents died, but I like to think that he got it sometime later on in the night. After hours of being checked on by the police, getting looked at by the paramedics, and after Alfred took him home. Its 1:40ish in the morning and tiny foal-Bruce is just staring at his bedroom wall feeling numb and dissociated to hell. And sometime after processing everything that night- he just decides that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him and that he will do anything to make sure that nopony will ever feel the same pain that he has felt. And then-- Ta da!! Cutiemark!! Too bad neither he or Alfred got to experience the excitement when they both saw it the next day :')

(Edit: I didn't know where to put this detail, but Bruce's fake cutiemark is based off of the "Make It Wayne" TV logo from this fanfic here )

-(Second pic) The Bat: This is heavily inspired by Flutterbat, I know theres canonically already a race of bat ponies made from Lunas stunt as Nightmare Moon. But I chose to go through with the Flutterbat route because batponies are a race, and have bat-like features 24/7. In comparison Fluttershy maintains her pegasus appearance by day and transforms into Flutterbat at night (ALSO with there being implications that there are "Triggers" for her transformations in the day too!!) Which adds the "Vampire." right in front of her batpony title.

I might do a lil comparison chart between vampire batponies and regular batponies in the future or something. But for now I'm focusing on my batpony Bruce Wayne headcanons so yea. My point is that I felt like making Bruce a "vampire" batpony would give him a more solid secret identity with also the bonus of a really metal origin story.

Now we all know that the canonical origin story of batman is that a few months after the tragedy of his parents death, Bruce had fallen into a cave? a well? a pit? of bats and triggered a fear of bats since then. Later on he decides to become Batman so he can invoke the fear of bats he once had into the criminals of Gotham. Yadda yadda yadda.

Now canonically, we don't know the exact science on how Fluttershy turned into Flutterbat. What we do know is that at the time, pony magic is not researched enough for Twilight to be aware that Fluttershys "Stare" is her own form of pony magic and that it would interfere with Twilights spell.

Do you see where I'm getting at here? Uhmm don't ask me what exactly happened in the cave, I'm doing this for fun and thinking about it too hard makes me spiral. But uhmm something something- Bruce looked at a bat in the eye and decided to embrace his biggest fear to fuel his cause, and his already traumatized and fucked up pony magic had transformed his body- something something. (Edit: I didn't think about this until now but maybe Fluttershys "Stare" and Bruces "Bat Glare" could be a usage of the same form of magic? Just a thought)

I'll probably come up with a more suitable explanation in the future, but like I said. All of this is just for fun.

#batfam #batfamily #batman #bruce wayne #headcanon #jason todd #nightwing #dick grayson #alternate universe #my litte pony friendship is magic #my little pony #mlp fim #mlp #mlp art #flutterbat #twilight sparkle #really thought out headcanons #nonbinary artist #dc x mlp #dc x mlp crossover #crossover art #dc crossover #batfam headcanons #mlp headcanons #bruce wayne headcanon #bat pony #batman is so babygirl

[stxneflxwers]

cuddle sesh.

⋯⁂ a/n: HAHA IM GONNA CRY TUMBLR ERASED THIS POST WHEN I HIT CTRL Z. IM GOING TO CRY. FDHGKJDFLKJDFG anyways... no cw's. it's just pure fluff and cuddling

⋯⁂ w.c: 293.

Zhongli

Warm, close, and tight but not too tight. His arms loop around you in a protective manner, almost as if he believes he could lose you at any moment. He prefers to face you when you cuddle (or even nap together.) So that when your eyes close, his own open to stare down at you and admire your peaceful features. It never fails to bring a smile to his face.

Shenhe

Lukewarm, awkward, and surprisingly soft. The softness of her awkward touches is enough to make up for the rest of her…faults with cuddling. It's a new prospect to her—cuddling, that is—so, she's doing her best to not scare you away or accidentally hurt you. But, what you love most about cuddling her is how soft her body is. (It's a bonus knowing how fast she'll fall asleep when you come snuggle up to her, too.)

Alhaitham

Loose, but not really. A simple word for a simple man. He's hardly concerned about you getting up since he can just tug you right back down into his snug embrace. He doesn't do so most of the time, because he knows you'll come crawling back into his loose hold a few minutes later. He likes to spoon you as an excuse to tangle all his limbs around your frame, effectively trapping you exactly where you should be.

Layla

Sleepy, tangled. When she gets a good, long snuggle from you, suddenly the world isn't so frightening anymore for her. All of her woes and worries push to the back of her mind as she begins to fall asleep. Within a few minutes, she's sound asleep in your arms. She's a small girl in a big world, but the world becomes as small as her when she's with you.

#genshin x reader #🌠— my works #zhongli x reader #🌠— fluff #💕— zhongli #💕— alhaitham #💕— multi #💕— layla #💕— shenhe #alhaitham x reader #shenhe x reader #layla x reader

[raayllum]

You think I've done awful things, and I have. But I'm not evil. It's me. You know me. I'm still the same person.

I actually think these lines / scene from Claudia is one of her most interesting in the entire show, so let's talk about it, beat by beat.

You think I've done some awful things, and I have.

This line, along with others from Viren (his "I had to" is another form of justification, and what's to justify if you done nothing 'wrong' or nothing to be blamed for?), i.e. "In the name of love, you will perform acts so unforgivable, you will never forgive yourself" as well as Claudia's explanation in 4x01 ("I had to do things... I never imagined I would be able to do" with tears in her eyes) and Terry's assertion ("I've seen you do a lot of awful things, dark magic things") is like... while Claudia still doesn't see the error, I'm willing to bet, with the bulk of her actions (elves and dragons are still clearly not wholly people to her), she's still done things that she considers awful. Things that crossed her previous moral lines, beginning, I'd bet, with the deer in 2x09, and that which only escalated from there.

Claudia still thinks she's a good person (which we will get to in a second, believe me) but she doesn't think she's squeaky clean. She knows, just as Viren knows (and just as Callum knows/believes) that she's done genuinely awful, terrible things.

A character feeling bad about doing something, or a character recognizing that something they've done is terrible ("It's horrific, Viren" "We have no other choice"), is not a get off scot free card in this show, and it never has been. Not for Claudia, and not for anyone else.

While Claudia has been manipulated by Aaravos, everything she's done is of her free will, and without lying to herself about the exact nature of them (even if there's still plenty she's in denial of like the plague, but I digress).

Claudia is like 5 different cognitive dissonances in a trenchcoat, but she's not stupid, either.

But I'm not evil. It's me.

This to me shows the mask slipping the post, because if there wasn't even a hint of possibility at being evil, you would feel no need to declare otherwise. I forget where I've said this before but Claudia cares (esp in arc 1, less so in arc 2 but it's not nonexistent) about being a good person. It's kinda like how Viren doesn't really care if he's good or not, but he wants to be important (matter). Bonus points for Claudia's hypocrisy/shields being worn down over time ("She kidnapped you and Prince Ezran, how can she be good?" -> attempting to do the exact same thing an episode later). She's cracking, but desperately trying to convince them (for mostly manipulation reasons) and herself (genuinely) that she's not, that instead...

You know me. I'm still the same person. I am.

TDP has always been very interested in identity, most notably for characters like Callum, Rayla, and Soren in arc 1, but it's fun to see it be expanded and interrogated further by looping Claudia in during arc 2. S5 and arc 2 places a lot of emphasis in particular on the idea of knowing yourself ("That's not my name. I am Elmer") or knowing others ("She's not the elf, she's Rayla") / preserving your sense of self in the face of change or hard circumstances ("But violence tests us" "Callum, you're the 'destiny is a book you write yourself' guy").

Claudia highlights this twofold. She asks the boys to know her, despite how much time and bad blood has gone by. She appeals to the many years of friendship they had in contrast to their few months turned years of being foes. It's barking up the wrong tree (Callum's Spellbook asserts that even as of s2/s3, "I feel like I don't know who she is anymore" on his end) but I am actually inclined to believe her.

This may be a misread, simply because from S1 but especially S2 onwards I always figured Claudia would end up precisely where she is now, so I don't know if it's the consistency influencing my judgement call possibly clouding more intense changes (she refused to use Harrow against the boys in 2x02, to a degree) but... I don't think almost anything Claudia does in S5 is something she wouldn't have done the bulk of in S1, other than threatening the boys, and she's done that multiple times by the time the end of S2 and S3 rolls around, most notably towards Ezran.

She's still the same person, but her circumstances and therefore her responses have gotten steadily, consistently worse. But this has always lived inside her. She's the same person (but worse), they know her and see her more clearly than they ever did before, and both of those things are precisely the problem.

#tdp claudia #dragons liveblogs #5x09 #analysis series #eye motif #the dragon prince #tdp #tag ramble #reminds me of callum's assertion that 'not everything's changed' i.e. he's still as devoted to rayla as he always has been #since arguably 2x03 but i could argue for earlier #or even rayla and ezran and soren of like #by and large in arc 2 they are the same ppl they used ot be #but things are getting worse. so most of them are getting worse. and i think that's really interesting #negative character development/circumstance my beloved #altho rayla is getting better. For Now #one day i'll write a thing just about the claudia + viren eye motif properly

[quitealotofsodapop]

The crew listens to Epic: the Musical.

MK's favorite song is Legendary.

Wukong identifies with Just a Man (not that he'll admit it).

Macaque likes Ruthlessness because he's an emo little stinker.

Sandy likes Open Arms (of course).

Tang and Red Son like Warrior of the Mind.

Pigsy really thinks the monkeys should take Luck Runs Out to heart.

Mei likes Keep Your friends close (a fun bop that belies danger underneath, just like her).

I have to be careful binging a new muscial (or in this case Saga) cus I end up playing each song on loop for hours. Opinions might change once the full and finished versions of later sagas are released.

I love all these hcs <3

Im imagining the gang likely sees/listens to Epic on the reccomendation of MK (who's currently on a Greek Mythology hyperfixation), and he gets them all to watch the full play - maybe in the future as a irl performance or film.

"Legendary" is SUCH an MK song. Both him and Telemachus growing up with the stories of someone dear to them and wanting to replicate their success. I could also see him really liking "Warrior of the Mind" with the theme of "some nobody" gaining the favor of a god (reminds you of anyone?) + SWK is infamously the personification of The Mind in Jttw so its a bonus. MK is smiling evily whenever a harsh plot twist occurs and his fam are shocked silent. >:3

Sun Wukong feels targeted personally with how many of the Epic songs remind him of his past. Ofc he starts crying halfway through "Horse and the Infant", and is inconsolable during "Just A Man" - verbally yelling "NO!" at the end. And like Nezha and Sandy is *silent* during Posideon's songs. Is super jazzed during the triumphant Ithaca Saga though! And feels mega catharic during "King" when Odysseus proves that he still rules to the suitors! He tries his best to hide how much the muscial is affecting him.

Macaque is a canon theatre Nerd - so he's already listened to the musical multiple times, but he's uber excited to see the live performance (and secretly bond with his found fam). Is rocking out during "Ruthlessness" and "Done For" in particular, so much so that he's fidgeting and dancing within his seat. He also vibes with "No Longer You" as someone with powers of prophecy. Is really amazed how much Wukong gets into the musical, but in retrospect understands *why*. Him and Wukong accidentally share a glance during "Would You Fall In Love With Me Again" and it gets a little awkward afterwards.

Mei is similarly excited to see anything with her bestie, so she tried her best not hear/see any spoilers ("it's a centuries' old story Mei" "Ssssh!! Dont tell me!"). She was shooketh by how hard the muscial goes. "Keep Your Friends Close" is her fave based on beat alone. She gets delightedly scared and amazed by consistent horse imagery used with Posideon (shameless link to my fave Animatic of "Ruthlessness").

Tang loves himself some historical and mythological adaptations, and is estatic that MK has given him an excuse to go see one! He's not as familar with Hellenic mytholgy as he is with Hindu-Chinese, but he knows enough lore to make the pog-champ face at every foreshadowing/reference. "Warrior of the Mind" really gets to him as a song about valuing your smarts. He also feels really empathetic for Calypso.

Pigsy only went cus Tang begged him. He feels super lost by the deep Greek lore he's missing, but he can get Odysseus's whole thing with trying to get home - but he def identifies more with Eurylochus. "Luck Runs Out" proves this to him. Later on he feels that the second-in-command was justified in having the soldiers rebel against Odysseus after so many losses (who wouldn't after losing all their friends?). Audibly gasps at the end of "Just A Man" - cus who would just do that!? Is a little freaked out by Circe turning the Athenian's into pigs - Eurylochus is depicted as partly-transformed, played by a pig-demon actor who was in super convincing human makeup in the previous sagas. He also gets protective feelings by-proxy seeing Telemachus's situation since the prince reminds him of MK. Is surprised by how much he likes the musical!

Sandy feels betrayed. This isn't like Disney Hercules at all! He does really enjoy Polites message in "Open Arms" and the later moments when the hopeful soldier's outlook is proven correct. He's a little overwhelmed at points though - he get eerily quiet during Posideon's scenes. He sobs joyfully when Odysseus finally makes it home and reunites with his family! :')

Because of this really good animatic/almost child-like depiction of Aelous by gigi; I can def see "Keep Your Friends Close" being Nezha's fave. It reminds Nezha of when he was far more carefree + has a solid lesson on about trust/"forbidden fruit". He also enjoys the more march-like tune of "Survive". He does however, freeze when he listens to Posideon's songs "Ruthlessness" and "Get in the Water" - he has been on the bad end of a sea god before and is quietly shtting himself for Odysseus.

Red Son goes in feeling like he could have stayed at home listening to the musical on his phone while working on a car instead. He is however blown away by the heavy themes and performances, especially "Warrior of the Mind" and Telemachus's situation - a prince forced to grow up fatherless and protecting his mother from suitors due to his dad pissing off a higher power? Hello?? Accidentally shrieks "YES!!!" when Athena becomes Telemachus's mentor/friend after "Little Wolf".

Princess Iron Fan I could see loving any song including Penelope (she empathizes with the Queen's situation hard), but unexpectedly enjoys "Keep Your Friends Close" - she's a fellow Wind Goddess at her core. It also reminds her of her not-so-little-anymore nephew.

DBK on the flip side loves the heavier songs like "Polyphemus" and "Ruthlessness". This man is a Posedion apologist. He does feels bad for Odysseus by the end though - man just wants to get back to his wife and kid dammit!

Bonus: The Spider Gang are watching the bootleg and Spider Queen agrees with Circe's whole girlboss attitude especially "Puppeteer". Scorpion Queen is Calypso in "Not Sorry For Loving You".

This got a little away from me - hope you enjoy!

#lmk hcs #lmk headcanons #epic the musical #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk mk #qi xiaotian #sun wukong #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #lmk mei #long xiaojiao #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #lmk sandy #lmk red son #lmk nezha #lmk princess iron fan #lmk pif #lmk demon bull king #lmk dbk #lmk spider gang #lmk spider queen #lmk scorpion queen

[tropes-and-tales]

Obsession

Day 6  Voyeurism (Dave York x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event that I created on my own because I am boring and basic and am trying to keep it simple this year...found here!) 

CW:  Dave is creepy; voyeurism; smut (PiV, protected; between reader character and not-Dave); 18+ only.

Word Count:  2023

AN:  This was requested by the lovely @chemicalalice

It’s a feature of Dave York’s new neighborhood, how close the houses are to each other. 

His new neighborhood, rather:  after his divorce from Carol, his now ex-wife kept the house, so Dave took the opportunity to embrace a new beginning.  He moved from his McMansion in its suburban purgatory into a part of the city where the housing is more varied, closer together.

He buys a small Craftsman-style house, and he makes it his.  He settles into his new life.  Dave York’s Second Act.

He finds his rhythm.  Work, then home.  His daily run through the neighborhood.  His evenings with a scotch, unwinding on his couch in bad weather or on his back porch in good weather.  He has next to no back yard, but he can see where the original plat used to lie:  his house’s original carriage house had been subdivided into its own plot, and the former carriage house was converted at some point to a single family home.

Owned by you.  Occupied by you.

Dave noted you the day he moved in.  He noted all of his neighbors, everyone on his street.  He did surface-level searches on everyone—a hazard of his job, his perpetual distrust of everyone—but he dug a little deeper on you.

It’s been months now.  Dave and you are on polite terms.  You wave hello, call out “good morning” when he’s stretching for his run and you’re walking your dog.  Sometimes your mail gets switched because of the off-kilter numbering on your street.  That’s the extent of it, though.

Dave wonders how you’d react to everything he’s dug up on you.  There’s the obvious stuff, the wide-open social media profiles that give him a good idea of the type of woman you are.  There’s the professional website that shows your work history, your education.  Easy stuff that anyone could find.

But then there’s the stuff no one should be able to find.  The stuff that would probably horrify you, infuriate you, if you ever found out that Dave went spelunking for it.  He’s horrified, a little, at himself, but you’ve become something of a hobby to him.  An interesting puzzle to piece together.  Is it boredom, the long quiet nights without the noise of his family?  Post-divorce rebounding?  Stress relief from his job?  Who can say?

It’s a slippery slope from interested to obsessed.

It’s appallingly easy to hack your computer.  It’s easy to pick your front door lock while you’re at work and your dog is at doggy day care.  Easy to slip a monitoring program on your laptop, and since you have everything saved on the cloud, Dave has the bonus access to your phone as well.

It’s an obsession.  It’s all-consuming.  It’s a constant feedback loop of call and response:  Dave thinks of you, has the image of your float in his mind’s eye.  A moment later, he taps on his phone or laptop, pulls up his spyware, and can see what you’re doing.

Sometimes, you’re not using your phone at all.  Or your laptop.  Sometimes you must be otherwise engaged:  driving or eating a meal, or drinking with friends or walking your dog.  Those moments make Dave feel unsettled, irritated that you’re out of his sight, like the sun slipping behind a cloud and casting the earth in darkness. 

Then the delayed gratification when you’re back, the sun breaking through the clouds again.  You unlock your phone to log your meal—you track your food.  You unlock your phone and pull up a playlist, and he can picture you humming along to ‘90’s alternative or ‘80’s New Wave or old hair bands. 

You unlock your phone and read smutty stories on a website, and Dave reads along with you, sees the kinks you gravitate towards, and he thinks, “oh, you filthy little girl, the things I’d do to you.”

When your phone activity goes idle right afterwards, he can guess why. 

It doesn’t take a genius to see why his obsession grows.  Just a bit of boredom before, a way to pass time until Dave’s Second Act could really get going, yet now he thinks of little else, wants little else. 

His rhythm:  work, then home.  His daily run through the neighborhood.  His evenings with a scotch, unwinding on his couch in bad weather or on his back porch in good weather, the ghost of you beside him, behind him, in his head, hijacking every thought.  The real you, the flesh and blood you, so fucking close—mere yards away, if he’s on his back porch—but you may as well be on Jupiter.

You unlock your phone.  You open the dating app that is really just a hook-up app.  Dave watches on his own phone as you swipe left, swipe right, send opening salvos to men younger than him, but not by much.  He watches those men fumble, fail.  He sees the dick pics that come through, pathetic shots of ungroomed dicks with dirty laundry, unmade beds in the background.  He sees how politely you brush them off, how you return to the search and adjust the age brackets and the distance to cast a wider net.

Dave goes to bed that night and seethes at how unsure he finds himself.  He should make a move.  He should leave you alone. 

If he makes a move, he’ll definitely come on too strong.  His obsession will spill out and scald you with its intensity; he’ll scare you with how much he wants you already, how much he wants to own every part of you.  And Dave is like a wolf:  if you’re scared and run from him, he will want to chase you.

If he leaves you alone, though, will his obsession ever die off?  Will it wilt, then exhale quietly as it dies? 

-----

You unlock your phone.  You have a match on your hook-up app, and you and this guy—this Eric—text.  You make plans.

Dave watches from his darkened living room as you leave your carriage house.  Dress, heels, makeup.  Hair done up nice.

He seethes.  Your phone has little activity for most of the night.  Unlocked a few times, and photos of your dog pulled up.  You must be showing Nice Guy Eric pics of your dog.

Does Eric pay for your meal, or does he make you split the bill?  Does he lay his hand on your lower back, tantalizingly close to the swell of your perky ass?  Does he chance a look down your dress; does he lean in close to take in the scent of your soap, your perfume, your pheromones sparking at the male attention?

In the hours when you’re gone, Dave lays out an infinite number of possibilities.  Scenarios where Nice Guy Eric isn’t nice at all, and for some unknown reason you call Dave.  Dave York to the rescue.  Dave York scooping you into his arms, and when his obsession spills over, it doesn’t scald you at all because in this scenario, you’ve been obsessing over him too.

Stupid shit.  It’s stupid.  Dave is a grown man; he has a job and a mortgage and an ex-wife and children, for fuck’s sake, but he’s here mooning like a teenaged girl daydreaming over a boy band…

You unlock your phone.  You order a car.  Dave tracks the route from the city center as it gets closer to his home (your home), but when you climb out of the car, you aren’t alone.

Nice Guy Eric is with you.  He’s on your heels, his hands on your hips as you fumble with your keys, as you giggle when you try to unlock your door.  Nice Guy Eric spins you around, presses you against the door, kisses you.  Dave watches from the darkness of his living room, rages to see your hands as they settle on the back of Nice Guy Eric’s neck, on his waist as you kiss him back, then lead him inside your small home.

Dave cannot stop his feet from carrying him outside.  He leaves his porch light off, lurks in the darkness, and he knows exactly how it looks.  He knows exactly what it is.  It’s creepy, it’s borderline illegal, but he cannot stop himself.

His back porch overlooks your bedroom, and though you’ve drawn your blinds, they aren’t drawn tight.  Dave on his porch looking down into your room, and he can see you and Nice Guy Eric.  He watches as you and he spend long minutes on your bed, stretched out and making out, and Dave wishes it were his hands on you instead of this fucking idiot, because he’s touching you all wrong.  He’s groping you, there’s no finesse, and you deserve someone who knows what the hell he’s doing.

Dave doesn’t know where the wellspring of his anger comes from at this moment.  Is he furious because there’s another man in your bed, kissing you, fucking you?  Or is he furious because Nice Guy Eric is not making it good for you at all?

Because Nice Guy Eric is an idiot.  He spends no time seducing you.  He doesn’t sit back and admire you:  that amazing ass, those tits, all wrapped up in the prettiest pink lingerie Dave’s ever seen.  Nice Guy Eric doesn’t ease you out of it; he doesn’t push you back against a bank of pillows to put his mouth and tongue to you.  Nice Guy Eric has this opportunity to taste you, to tease you with his tongue and fingers, but he doesn’t take it.

His only foreplay is the making out, and then he’s rolling a condom onto himself, climbing on top of you.  It’s a paltry four, five pumps before he’s shuddering and then collapsing on top of you.

The asshole doesn’t even cuddle with you more than thirty seconds.  Nice Guy Eric may be nice in other ways, but he’s a selfish lover, and even Dave can see the blatant disappointment on your face as you see your date off.

-----

You unlock your phone.  You pull up your hook-up app.  Back to the drawing board, Dave guesses.

Dave is ready now.  He knows your parameters, and he’s tailored his profile to fall within it.  He’s paid the paltry amount to be featured—he already has a slew of matches, but there’s only one he wants.

He needs you to make the first move.  In whatever twisted logic is ruling this game of his, he needs you to make the opening gambit, to invite him in.

You scroll through your matches.  Dave watches in real time on his own phone, and he sees when you find him:  he pictures your thumb hovering over his profile, because you swipe neither right nor left for a long stretch.

You obviously recognize him.  You scroll through his profile, and Dave has been honest here.  No sense in lying, because you’ve probably seen the girls when they come over for their every-other-weekend visits.  No sense in pretending he’s not on his second act.

You scroll through the photos he’s uploaded, a few nice ones and one where he’s shirtless—an outdoors shot from when he ran a half-marathon last year, then shed his shirt afterwards, and he hopes you like his build, that you like the scatter of chest hair and the way his skin glows from the exercise and the sweat and the sun.

When you finally swipe right, Dave nods to himself, then smiles. 

*****

Your phone chimes, and you unlock it.  It’s a message on the dating app, and you send up a silent prayer that it’s not another dick pic.

Prayer answered:  it’s not a dick pic.  It’s a text message from the guy who lives in the house that’s at a weird angle to your house.  The runner who sometimes gets your mail.  He’s cute, so when he popped up in your possible matches, you matched with him and thought, “why not?  What’s the worst that can happen?”

His message asks if you’d like to grab dinner or drinks sometime.  “No pressure,” he’s typed out.  “I’d just like to get to know you better.”

#dave york #dave york imagine #dave york x reader #the equalizer 2 #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales