#And I think the big thing would be teaching him not to internalize all of that as his fault somehow

[sophieswundergarten]

People talk about SQ going on a villain arc, but personally I've always thought he'd be more likely to just shut himself away for a while

He'd fall off the map, become a recluse not because he's trying to hide from his father, or his uncle for that matter, but because he's so confused and mixed up and lost he isn't thinking clearly

He finds an empty old house, one in a little town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, that he can live in. It's in much worse condition than Mr. Benedict's, and he gets to stay because he does farm chores for the nearby people who own the property

A quiet town. No one questions why this boy appeared, and as he keeps to himself no one bothers him

He comes into the general store sometimes, or maybe the hardware store. Buying basic necessities, repair materials, and asking sometimes strange questions with obvious answers in an embarrassed way

Every now and again, he stops by the pet store. Buying a small bird or two and an obscene amount of birdseed

He becomes known as a lonely artist, a mysterious figure the adults ignore for the most part and the children whisper about. He doesn't pay either reaction any mind

SQ's house is full of art

Colour splashed across the floor, tiny vines and butterflies covering the shutters, vibrant shades all over the fan blades. He etches painstakingly accurate bird footprints on every windowsill, sketches large diagrams of feathers and bird wings across most of the walls, because, who's there to tell him no?

He tries to teach himself to whittle, and there are many mishapen lumps of woods that vaguely resemble birds lined up on the back porch. (He knows they're terrible, but he can't bring himself to throw them away. He feels too guilty, after all, he's the one who brought them into existence. If he won't love them, who will?)

And he has a lot of birds. Some were wild ones he befriended, leaving food and nesting material out until they felt comfortable enough to rest in the rafters, flying in and out of the near-always open windows. Some were bird he saw, either sitting in a cage when they had no business to be, or wandering the park looking half frightened and confused. Birds that people had captured from their natural homes and probably smuggled, hoping to pass them off in a small enough town where no one would notice. Some were birds that had been "released" by their previous owners; left to wander an environment that was not their own and to fend for themselves when they'd been raised domesticated

It's these last few he feels for the most. It's not fair, he thinks. There's no one to take care of them, and it isn't their fault they were forced into a situation like this. At some point, someone had hurt them. Had taken advantage of their innocent nature, and it left some scarred.l

Some physically, like the ones who needed their wings splinted, or had lasting limps, or sometimes were even half blind. And sometimes mentally, like those that still shrank back from his touch after months of rehabilitation, or had missing patches of feathers, or would hiss instead of sing

And so he became known as sort of a wild artist. Someone who seemed to know everything about art and birds and the forest, but occasionally could be seen asking how microwaves worked or whether he would have to pay for checking books out of the small local library (He always returned them in perfect condition)

And, eventually, after he's had some time to think, he calls his uncle. He isn't sure how to contact his dad, but he isn't really surprised to hear the two are living together again. They're twins, after all

And so he tells them where he is, tells them that he wants to talk, wants to understand. And to his surprise, they come to him. And they offer apologies, and answers both

While the kids marvel at the birds and his art and the small collection of poetry and naturalist books he's been slowly building up as he shows them around, the adults confer on what it best to do

And he thinks that, if it's offered, he'd like to go back with them. But he isn't sure. And he's still caught off guard when they ask

[floswife]

SORE LOSER - T.N X READER

Pairing: Theodore Nott x reader

Summary: Theodore and Y/n learn how to better focus their hate for each other

Warnings: SMUT, oral, dubcon..?

Author’s notes: this is my first time writing smut so I honestly apologise for how inevitably bad this will be 💀

Y/n didn’t know what it was about seeing the anger flash before Theo’s eyes when she’d taunt him, but it honestly was her main motivation when competing against him.

Like now in this quidditch match as she threw the quaffle threw the goal hoops once more, she had to turn to look at Theo for a split second just for the sake of rubbing salt into the wound. She would like to lie and say she was ashamed of her pettiness but what’s the point in that?

She had been out to get him ever since he made her cauldron explode in potions, which prompted Snape to hate her even more than he usually did with Gryffindors. Which was quite a feat, she wasn’t on a Harry Potter level of hatred but on the other hand Snape didn’t have a perpetual hard on for her mother either so that probably helped her too.

In hindsight it was a petty reason to name someone your sworn enemy, but his smug smile when he saw her turn to glare at him was enough to set her eleven year old brain off. Plus she just really liked being a hater for no reason.

After successfully winning the game she went over to Theo who was leaning against the wall, looking like a kicked puppy, she couldn’t lie, seeing him like that really did numbers on her but she wasn’t about to let that get in the way of her favourite thing to do with Theo, gloat.

“How does it feel to lose yet again, Nott?” She called out cheerily, the broad grin he loved hated so much painted across her face.

He groaned in annoyance at the sound of her voice, “leave me alone, l/n, I’m not in the mood.”

He had always been a sore loser, she laughed in amusement “or what? I’m sorry but the last I checked you don’t get to tell me what to do.”

Theo glared at her as she stood in front of him, both of them still in their quidditch uniforms, he towered over her but she did well to push that thought to the back of her mind as she had been doing ever since he annoyingly hit a growth spurt in third year. She remembered how ranted about it to her friends later on, pretending to ignore her friends knowing smirks as she’d feel a rosy blush rise to her cheeks every time she had to crane her neck to meet his cold gaze.

“Why do you always have to be such a brat?” He sneered at the girl.

“Oh I’m the brat? I’m not the one sulking like a child because I lost a match.” Y/n’s continuous retorts just made him snap.

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to follow after him, practically dragging her, and took her under the quidditch stands.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She rubbed her wrist in annoyance at his harsh grip.

“I’m gonna teach you how to shut up.” He pushed her down to her knees and she looked up at him in shock, she looked forward and saw the prominent tent in his trousers, “now be a good girl and listen to me for once.” His voice was slightly whiny as he said that, like he was begging her.

Y/n gulped, really beginning to question her morals, but all her internal monologue silenced when he unzipped his trousers and freed his member from its constraints with a throaty groan, wetness pooled between her legs at the sound and just the sight of his pretty cock. Merlin he was big.

He rubbed the tip along her lips, the salty taste of his precum invaded her tastebuds.

“Open your mouth and put that mouth to good use.” He demanded, she did as she was told and tentatively kitten licked the tip, he threw his head back in satisfaction and let out a whimper? She then wrapped her mouth around his tip and sucked.

He moaned her name out even louder, making her moan around his cock at the sound, she took as much of him down her throat as possible, she gagged when he hit the back of her throat but she powered through, bobbing her head up and down and using her hand to pump at the parts of his shaft that couldn’t fit in her mouth.

“Fuck! Just like that. Taking me so well.”

He was groaning loudly, and she suddenly gained awareness that they weren’t exactly in the most private of places, she tried to pull away to tell him to shut up but he just wrapped a hand in her hair and pushed her back down, he began thrusting his hips and fucked her mouth, tears ran down her cheeks and saliva dribbled out the corners of her mouth as he used her as he pleased. The thought of how blatantly he was using her as just an object couldn’t help but arouse her.

“Being such a good girl for me.”

He held her head down on his cock and she struggled to breath, he twitched before releasing down her throat, he pulled out and tapped her cheek, “swallow.”

He tucked himself away and she got up and stuck out her tongue to show him she swallowed.

He now smirked, “it wasn’t that hard to listen now was it?”

Y/n was still in a haze as she tried to compose herself and have the decency to at least pretend to be embarrassed and tried to pull away but he firmly placed his hands on her hips and pulled her right back against him again, “Shut up, Nott.”

He raised his brows teasingly and she couldn’t help but grow frustrated at how he had switched the tables on her so quickly when she was so clearly set up for a win.

“That’s not how someone who just had my cock down my throat should be speaking, now is it?” His voice was mocking, condescending.

She get that familiar heat pool between her thighs once more and she remained speechless, he smirked.

“Such a shame, you were gonna get a reward for being such a good girl.”

She tried to gain her composure as she scoffed, “like I’d want it.” She really did want it

He leaned in, that stupid lazy smirk on his lips again, “so you’re not soaked right now?”

Her eyes widened and he then inched his hand from her hip to under her waistband, as soon as his fingers touched her wetness that had completely soaked through her panties she moaned lightly, her eyes rolling back at the contact she was yearning this whole time.

“Theo!” She gasped.

He pulled his fingers away just as quickly as it came he pulled his finger and he brought it to his lips to suck her juices clean from it and he hummed, “so sweet.. on second thought, let’s continue this tonight, room of requirements?”

“What-“

And just like that he left her there, needy for his touch.

She really did hate him.

But he was so hot.

Looks like she had plans for the night.

Part two?

[wintrwinchestr]

obedience | part 2

summary: a week ago, you and joel had experimented with a new kink, and it’s been on your mind ever since. you had been too shy to ask to try it out again, but joel always knows exactly what you need.

warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, pet play (egregious use of “puppy”, joel teaches you dog commands and refers to your hand as your paw, among other things), d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, praise kink, degradation/dumbification kink, cockwarming, edging, unprotected piv sex, creampie, pet names (baby, babygirl, sweetheart, etc), talk of reader wearing a collar, joel giving reader a bath/washing her hair, hella aftercare, reader has hair and can be carried by joel, implied age gap but reader is an adult, let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 5.7k

a/n: literally nobody look at me please. this the most self indulgent self insert shit i’ve ever written in my life and if you get it you get it idk what else to say!!! anyway thank you for being patient with me and reading what i write, my big girl job takes it out of me sometimes but that’s what i write this type of shit to deal with <3 nice comments and reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed or if this awakened something in you :)

(read part 1 here if you missed it)

dividers by @saradika

“You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil��� pet?”

It had been a week now since Joel had punished you, denied you for acting out over the phone, for disobeying him and sending him lewd photos of yourself when he had explicitly told you to stop. But you hadn’t listened, he wasn’t having it, and when he had returned home from work late that night, he had called you by a new name. Puppy, he had spat at you several times as he made you chase a ruined orgasm on his steel-toed work boot. 

The pet name hadn’t left your mind since then, repeating itself over and over, along with his question of if you wanted to be trained, if you wanted to be his pet. The more you thought about it, the more you found yourself becoming desperate for it. Each day in the office was a struggle to stay focused on even the simplest of tasks, your thoughts overrun with fantasies of Joel getting you on all fours for him, giving you commands and praising you for following them, tugging you towards him by a finger hooked into a collar to tell you what a pretty puppy, what a good girl you’re being for him.

You’d left work every evening for the past several days with a damp spot in the seat of your panties, feeling ashamed by how depraved and inappropriate almost every one of your waking thoughts had become. When you would greet Joel at the door all needy and wanting, he would tease you with a “What’s gotten into you, lately, hm?”, but never push for more than you were willing to reveal to him, though he thought he might have had an idea. He would take you to the bedroom and have his way with you the way you liked, the way you had usually craved, before he had turned your world upside down by deciding on a whim to try somethin’ new that fateful night. 

Joel would be more than willing to try it again, to follow through with that question he’d asked you, but he decided he was content with waiting for you to come to him, for you to decide when you were ready for him to make you his good puppy once more.

–

The weekend begins just like any other. Joel’s internal clock wakes him up no later than seven in the morning, the sun just barely streaming in through the blinds in your shared bedroom. He tries to keep his creaks and groans to a minimum as he rolls out of bed, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead before quietly padding his way into the kitchen to get a sizable pot of coffee brewing. He lets you sleep for another couple of hours, knowing full and well at this point in your relationship that he has the wrath of your grumpy morning attitude to face if he doesn’t. He does think it’s cute, though, how your face twists up into a pout but your eyes stay scrunched closed if he wakes you up at a time you deem too early.

When Joel does decide it’s a sensible time for the two of you to get a proper start on your generous two days off from the slog of your weekday jobs, he cracks the bedroom door open gently, making his way over to your still-sleeping form. He softly brushes some of your knotted hair out of your face as he places your mug of coffee on the nightstand beside your head, prepared just the way you like it. Whatever happened to good ol’ fashioned cream and sugar? Or just plain black, for that matter? Can’t believe you like it with all this cinnamon vanilla whatever you have me dump in it, he had teased, not long after you had first started sleeping over at his place. Can’t believe you drink it without anything in it. It needs at least a lil’ somethin’ sweet in it, you had bantered back to him, to which he was quick to reply with Got my somethin’ sweet right here, don’t I? before pulling you into his lap and kissing you hard until both of your cups ran cold.

You smile at the memory in your half-sleepy state, slowly blinking your eyes open to see Joel’s warm and familiar smile. “Mornin’, sweet girl,” he says, his grin only growing wider when you greet him back with the cute little squeal that comes out when you stretch your arms over your head instead of an actually intelligible word. “Got some emails and borin’ stuff to catch up on this mornin’, why don’t you just stay comfy and sip on your coffee while you wake up for a bit, hm? Probably be done in time to get lunch together somewhere, how’s that sound?”

“Okay, Daddy,” you reply softly, real words this time, as you push yourself up to sitting while Joel props your pillows up behind you for your back to rest against. You don’t put up much of a fight against the yawn that stretches your jaw, rubbing your blurry eyes as it does.

“Alright, gimme a kiss, sleepy girl. Enjoy your creamer with a splash o’ coffee,'' Joel taunts through a chuckle. He presses his lips to yours, and his coarse beard tickles the skin around your mouth, making you giggle. The smile hasn’t completely faded from your face by the time he slips out of the bedroom to head into his office, shutting the door gently behind him.

Extending a hand down to your nightstand, you hook your fingers through the mug’s handle and slowly bring it up to your face, careful not to spill any. He’d chosen your favorite Daddy’s Girl mug, the phrase written in bold pink text curved over a little illustration of two blue daisies. You always thought your coffee tasted a little better from this mug, somehow. Taking your first sugary sweet sip, you think the sentiment is as true this morning as it’s always been.

–

A little while later, when you feel somewhat more awake thanks to plenty of caffeine and sugar working its way through your body, you finally force yourself into comfortable clothes different from the ones you slept in. With your hair sufficiently tamed, face washed, and teeth brushed, you decide now’s as good of a time as any to try and act on the plan you’d been concocting over the past couple of days, waiting for a moment just like this to pounce on.

You still felt too shy to bring it up to Joel, to tell him how badly you’ve been wanting him to treat you like his little pet, and go even further with it this time. You know he’d never judge you for it, and he had seemed to like the experiment just as much as you did. But something about your little fantasy still felt taboo and shameful, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to use your big girl words and ask for it.

Though, you had finally realized, maybe you didn’t have to ask for it. Maybe you could quietly tip toe into his office one lazy Saturday morning and sit at his feet, nuzzle into his thigh until he brings a hand down from his keyboard to scratch behind your ear, asking you What’re you up to down there, babygirl?

And that’s exactly where you’ve found yourself now, answering his question with a dreamy whimper, leaning into his touch as the feeling of his fingers on your skin makes you smile so blissfully, wiggling on your knees.

“What’s got you feelin’ so snuggly this mornin’, hm? Just need some lovin’ from your Daddy?” he asks in his still-rough morning voice, gazing down at you affectionately.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his calf and rubbing your cheek against the soft leg of his sweatpants.

“Alright, lil’ thing. Just got a couple more emails to take care of and then I’m all yours, promise.” He removes his hand from your scalp to start typing again, and you pout in protest. 

Joel shoots a stern look down to you. “Poutin’ don’t typically get us what we want, now does it? Be patient, sweetheart, just a few more minutes.”

You release another upset noise, louder this time, and then he’s pushing his rolling chair back, your grasp around his leg coming apart as he does.

“Came in here actin’ so good and sweet, where’d this bratty girl come from, hm? If there’s somethin’ you want, gotta use your big girl words and ask for it, you know that,” he scolds, his expression becoming more serious.

You hadn’t meant to elicit this reaction from him at all, and it causes your eyes to well up as you stare at the carpet, avoiding his gaze. Opting to answer him with just a shrug, you fidget with your fingers in your lap to distract yourself from the sting behind your eyes. You do attempt to open your mouth and make your desires known to him, but think better of it, and any big girl words you did have swirling around in your brain are replaced by yet another half-hearted little whine.

A whine that sounds… a little familiar to him. 

“Oh, I see…” Joel muses, a little less authority in his voice as he assumes a more relaxed position in his desk chair. “I think I know what’s goin’ on here.”

You look up to meet his eyes, tilting your head in confusion. The action prompts his lips to tug into a knowing smile, and he leans forward in his seat, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “C’mere, baby. Between my legs.”

You obey immediately, crawling towards him to close the small distance between you, settling in a kneeling position between his spread thighs. “Good girl,” he praises, and the words make you beam as he cups your chin, the moisture that had been blooming along your water lines now forgotten.

“Think I know why my sweet girl ain’t usin’ her words with me this mornin’...” Joel says, scratching at the soft skin under your chin with his fingertips. You can’t help but lean into his touch, lashes fluttering, and it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Reckon it’s because puppies don’t know to, hm? They just whimper and whine for attention from their Daddies cause they don’t know how to talk, ain’t that right?”

You let out a pathetic little noise when he finally says the word, the one that’s been dampening every pair of panties you own for the past week, but that you’d been too scared to ask to hear again. But you were right after all, you didn’t have to ask for it, because Joel always knows just what you need, somehow.

He uses his grip on your chin to nod your head up and down for you, and continues talking down to you in that gravelly tone of voice that makes you feel like you’re about to melt straight through the floor. “Yeah… ‘F you wanna be Daddy’s lil’ puppy this mornin’, tha’s alright with him. Figured you oughta be missin’ it by now, seein’ as how you liked it so much the first time around…”

You’re barely processing what he’s saying, your lips slack and eyes unblinking as your cunt releases little pulses of slick into your panties. Something about Joel seeing through you so clearly, calling you out on your newly discovered kink and using it to pull you hard and fast into this familiar saccharine headspace, has your whole body burning hot with arousal. 

“And if I know one thing about puppies, it’s that they need some trainin’, don’t they? ‘Specially impatient ones like the pretty thing I’ve got sittin’ at my feet. Don’t you agree? Don’t speak, just nod, babygirl.”

It’s unusual for him to request a nonverbal response, as opposed to a Yes, Daddy, but you’re grateful for the change as you allow yourself to fall deeper into your role. You give him what he asks for, a couple of eager nods in quick succession, even though you aren’t quite sure where he’s going with this yet.

“Asked you twice to be good and patient for Daddy, and all I got was poutin’ and whinin’ instead, didn’t I? Think my lil’ pet oughta learn her first command today: Wait. Because good puppies know how to wait for their treats, don’t they, sweet girl? Again, just nod for me.”

And you do, slower and with a little more guilt in your expression this time. But despite him making you admit to your disobedience, you’re not sure you’ve ever been more fucking soaked than you are right now. You’re throbbing, aching, shifting on your knees in an effort to get even the smallest bit of relief. You think you might be releasing little whimpers, but you can’t be sure, already feeling so floaty and far away from just his words alone.

Joel spots your desperate movements, a satisfied smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He shifts in his chair, adjusting for his own arousal, and gets an idea.

“On second thought… Got another command I might like to teach you first. Somethin’ a lil easier for that dumb puppy brain of yours to understand, hm?” He tilts his head at you, lips curved into a mocking pout.

Your eyes flutter and roll to the back of your head involuntarily, his degradation prompting the instinctual response from you. Another syrupy slow nod lets him know you’re ready to learn, to obey to the best of your ability.

“Alright, sweet thing. When I say paw, want you to put your hand right on my knee here, ‘kay?” Joel explains, patting his muscled leg for clarity. “Paw, baby, gimme paw,” he coos at you, his tone not dissimilar to the one he uses to speak to actual dogs. 

Forcing your brain to work through the dense cloud of submission that shrouds it, you lift your hand and place it on his knee, just like he had demonstrated. His enthusiastic reaction to your obedience startles you at first, but you break into a beaming grin when you see the proud expression he wears.

“Good girl, tha’s a good girl,” he praises, scratching at the top of your head and ruffling your hair. Using his touch as a distraction, Joel places your paw over his hardening bulge with his unoccupied hand, the thick shape of him prominent through his thin sweatpants. He tightens his hand on top of yours, prompting your fingers to squeeze him. He guides your hand into massaging him for a second or two more, long enough for your melted puddle of a brain to connect with the nerve endings in your fingers. Your breath hitches when you realize what it is you’re feeling, your blissed-out expression morphing into a more desperate, wide-eyed one as you focus your attention to the movement of your hands.

“Yeah, feel that, sweet girl? Feel what you do to Daddy by bein’ so good for him?” He prompts, and your thighs squeeze together as you grope him. You can’t help but draw your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down on it to stifle the needy whimper that threatens to escape.

“You wanna sit on it, pup? Hm? Wanna keep Daddy’s cock nice ‘n warm while he finishes up his work?”

Your aching cunt squeezes around nothing at the premise, and you nod so hard it makes you dizzy. You move to push yourself off the floor and stand up, but a firm hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Ah ah, gotta use your words this time. Speak, baby,” Joel commands, and it takes you a second of searching to find the ability to do so again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, wanna s-sit on it…” you answer softly, and you’ve never heard your own voice sound so wanton. It comes out in a pitch that you almost don’t recognize as your own, featherlight and dreamy and desperate all at once. The need in your voice alone is enough to satisfy him.

“Good girl, just learnin’ all kinds o’ tricks today, aren’t we? Trainin’ you so well… C’mon up here, babygirl,” he permits, and uses his big hands and sturdy forearms to assist you in your awkward and eager climb into his lap. “Take it out, baby, get your treat.”

You whine as you situate yourself atop his thighs, tossing your head back with a dramatic flair, overwhelmed and frustrated by all he’s been asking of you. You just wanted him to turn your brain off, to praise you, to not have to think while he plays with you however he wants, and instead all he’s been doing is asking you to listen, sit, speak, obey. But of course, you should know better by now, that Joel likes making you work for it, to wait for it.

“Hey,” he scolds, grabbing your face and pulling your head forward from where it had flopped between your shoulder blades. “You were doin’ so well, bein’ such a good, obedient girl. Don’t start actin’ up on me now. Could always change my mind, not let you have your treat after all. You want that?”

 “No, Daddy…” you admit, your words distorted through the way your cheeks are squished together. He’s not using much force, just enough to keep your focus on him. 

“‘S what I thought… Go on then, pup,” Joel commands, and you make quick but clumsy work of freeing his already leaking cock from the loose confines of his sweatpants and briefs. He lets go of your face in favor of placing both of his hands on your hips, lifting you up while you pull your loose shorts and panties to the side, maneuvering his length to just barely prod at your wet little entrance. You flit your eyes from where the two of you meet back up to meet his gaze, hesitating while you look to confirm your permission one last time.

“Sit, puppy,” he says through a smirk, and you release a sharp whimper as you sink down onto his cock. 

On instinct, you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between Joel’s neck and shoulder, rolling your hips back in preparation for a satisfying buck forward. His grip on your skin turns iron, holding you in place and preventing you from chasing after your pleasure.

He cuts off your pout with a strict, “I say you could move?”

“Mmph– No, Daddy,” you mumble into his firm muscle.

He huffs a mocking breath through his nose. “Really are jus’ a dumb lil’ thing for me, ain’t you? You already forget what you’re ‘sposed to be learnin’?” “‘M sorry, Daddy–” the embarrassment from his demeaning words makes you squirm, and his grip on you becomes bruising.

“Don’t need you to be sorry. Jus’ need you to listen. You’re gonna wait like a good girl ‘til I say you can start grindin’ that messy lil’ puppy cunt on me. We clear?” he orders, his deep baritone traveling straight from your ear to your needy core, the dark thatch of hair at the base of his cock already damp as a result.

You hug yourself closer to him, little fingers clawing at his t-shirt in an attempt to ground yourself, and nod meekly.

“Speak,” he spits again.

“Y-yes, Daddy, clear…”, you whine, managing to lift your head up just enough for your voice to come out a little more coherently.

“If I let go so I can finish up my work, you gonna behave and hold still for me?” 

You don’t seem to have a choice, but you agree, anyway. “Mhm, yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl. Now wait,” Joel instructs.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, the incessant clicks and clacks of Joel’s keyboard and mouse becoming more and more irritating with each passing second. Those sharp mechanical sounds, the vibration of his chest against yours whenever he clears his throat, the feeling of his pulsing cock as it splits you in two, it’s all so fucking much. You can’t help but release little whimpers and whines, pathetic pleases and Daddys that he either shushes or chooses to ignore. Any slight movement you make in an attempt to relieve some of the ache, he just responds to with a coo of wait, pup, and the tone of his commands as you twitching, clenching around him, soaking his cock more and more. It has to have been at least fifteen or twenty minutes by now, and at this point you’re sure he must be clicking around his desktop aimlessly just to drag out your training a bit longer.

Eventually, the noises stop, and Joel breathes a sigh as he replaces his large hands on your hips, their touch much more gentle this time. You lift your head from his shoulder to face him, wide and watery doe eyes frantically searching his face for a sign that the wait is over, that you’ve finally earned your treat. 

He grants you a soft smile, lifting a hand and using it to just barely grasp your chin, tilting your head side to side as he admires you.

“Got such a sweet girl in my lap, don’t I? Knew she could be good, just needed a lil trainin’ hm?”

You nod, already feeling so overwhelmed that your mind has started to drift elsewhere, to the relief you’ll hopefully be feeling in just a few minutes, after he’s finished toying with you.

He releases your chin, ghosting his hand downwards along the column of your throat, stopping when his thumb and fingers are resting on the tops of your collarbones. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just admires the placement of his hand for a moment, then hums.

“Neck would look so pretty with a collar wrapped around it, don’t you think, pup? With a lil’ heart-shaped tag danglin’ from it, engraved with my name so everyone knows that you belong to me? That you’re my puppy, hm?”

Fuck.

The sentiment alone, the domination and ownership of it all, has you crying out your most pathetic noise so far this morning, eyebrows peaked with need as you bite down on your lip so hard you think you might’ve drawn blood. Joel predicts your reaction, clamping down on your hip with his other hand to stop you from moving before he’s decided you’re allowed to.

Again, you nod, willing to agree to anything and everything he wants from you if it means you’re getting closer to getting what you want from him, what you need.

“Say it, baby,” Joel demands of you, his voice calm but commanding.

You tilt your head at him, humming a confused little noise, but he doesn’t elaborate. “Say it, c’mon,” he repeats. Your foggy brain is on a second or two delay, but it catches up eventually, and you realize what he wants to hear.

“I’m y-your… ‘m your puppy,” you say, softly, your voice tinted with embarrassment. 

“Wha’s that, sweetheart? Didn’t quite hear you. One more time for Daddy.”

You swallow hard, inhaling a shuddering breath before repeating the phrase a little louder, with a little less control. “I’m your p-puppy, Daddy. I’m your puppy, ‘m Daddy’s–”

“Yeah, y’ are, fuck.”

He moves his hand from the base of your neck back to your hip, and uses his strong grip to hold you still while he begins a series of sharp but rewarding thrusts in and out of your swollen cunt, each one seeming to hit deeper and deeper inside you. Falling against him once more, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your face into him while you let him fuck into you like a doll. His movements are quick and desperate as he growls an incoherent string of filthy praises in your ear, his words accompanied by the sloppy wet sounds of skin on skin.

“Perfect girl, Christ, tight lil’ puppy pussy feels so fuckin’ good, always feels so fuckin’ good. Such a good girl, such a good goddamn girl for Daddy.”

The harsh bounce of your body in his lap jostles every last one of your thoughts from your brain, and he relishes in the animalistic cries and yelps you mumble into the flesh of your upper arm, now damp with your drool. He must feel the moisture as it pools underneath your face and wets the thin fabric of his t-shirt, because then he’s laughing at you, spewing more obscene words at you as he spears you up and down on his cock.

“Shit, are you fuckin’ droolin’ on me, sweetheart? Got this messy cunt and that pretty mouth both soakin’ me, Christ. This cock make you that dumb, hm? You Daddy’s dumb puppy?”

You are, you both fucking know you are, so you agree and repeat it back to him to the best of your fucked-out ability because you know it’s what he wants to hear. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want to hear it too, the self-degradation lighting your whole body on fire as some of that heat forms itself into a tight ball in your tummy. 

Joel’s hips begin to stutter, his hold on you starting to falter, complete sentences turning into sharply whispered expletives as he nears his orgasm. He can feel you squeezing around him, notices the telltale sign of your muscles tightening and your breathing coming out in short bursts, and uses that four letter word against you one last time.

“Not yet, babygirl, don’t you fuckin’ come for me, not ‘til I say. Wait,” he spits through gritted teeth.

You were so ready, just teetering on the edge of your orgasm, all you needed was a few more jackhammering thrusts and you’d be careening down the steep cliff of it. It takes everything in you to hold it in, to not let go. But you’ve been so good for him, and Joel doesn’t have it in him to torture you much longer, and he permits you to finish just a few minutes later.

“Alright, come, puppy, come for Daddy,” he orders, and you spasm in his lap with a debauched cry, that ball of heat in your tummy dispersing through your bloodstream, igniting every one of your nerves and sending sparks flying behind your eyelids. He reaches his high at the same time, spilling his release inside of you the way you both like.

It takes a few moments for the both of you to come back into yourselves, heaving chests eventually matching each other in a more relaxed rhythm. Joel softly scratches at the back of your head while you place delicate kisses mindlessly along his neck and up behind his ear.

“You were so good, sweetheart. Always take everything I give you so well,” Joel quietly praises next to your ear. He touches his lips to the side of your head, then your temple, then gently maneuvers your face so that he can press a final kiss to your forehead. Your eyelids flutter open in response, and your lips tug into a sleepy grin as you focus on his face. “There she is, my beautiful girl.” He sweeps a few tangled locks of hair away from your face, and even though you know you must look like a mess, you let him admire you anyway.

“Still up to go out for some lunch? After we get ourselves cleaned up ‘n all,” Joel asks, shifting his gaze down to where his spend leaks from you, staining both of your clothes a darker color and dripping onto the fabric of his desk chair.

You pause, chewing on the inside of your cheek for a bit before shaking your head.

“No? Tha’s alright, sweet girl, don’t blame you one bit. You’ll still let Daddy get you cleaned up though, won’t you sweetheart? How’s about I run you a bath with some o’ that new flowery bubble bath you just got, hm?”

You light up at the premise, nodding eagerly, and Joel flashes his handsome smile at you in return. “Alright, hang onto me, baby,” he says, and you wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders as he scoops you up and carries you to the bedroom, his softening cock still nestled inside you. The two of you detach when he sets you down on the small, handmade wooden bench adjacent to the tub, and leaves only for a moment to retrieve your favorite pink blanket from the living room. He wraps it around your shoulders when he returns, and starts the bath for you. He makes sure to squeeze a generous amount of the bubble bath into the roaring stream of water, ensuring that the bath is sufficiently fragrant and relaxing.

When the tub is full, with mounds of white soap bubbles threatening to spill over the smooth porcelain walls, he helps you strip out of your clothes, tugging your bottoms down your legs as you remove your own top over your head. Joel offers you one of his hands to steady yourself with as you step into the bath and lower yourself into the steaming water. It feels perfect, because just like he knows exactly how you take your coffee, how you want to be fucked without you having to ask, he also knows the almost-too-hot temperature of bathwater you prefer. 

He allows you to wash your own body, while he uses the cup you keep by the tub to douse your hair with water, using his rough fingertips to massage your favorite coconut shampoo into your scalp. You’re almost done scrubbing yourself by the time he’s raking conditioner through your damp ringlets, and then he’s rinsing you clean, the humid air in the room now smelling like a dozen different flowers and fruits, all of them mixing together to smell definitively like you. It’s his favorite scent in the whole world.

You don’t exchange many words during your bath, mostly enjoying the intimacy of the activity in silence. The action alone is enough to let you know how deeply the two of you care for each other, how much you trust and love each other.

When the water eventually runs cool, Joel helps you out of the slippery tub, and wraps you in one of your plush bath towels, a lighter shade of pink than your blanket, but just as soft.

“I’ll let you finish up in here, and I’ll see about orderin’ us some delivery, hm? I’ll get you whatever you want, and we can throw on a movie to watch while we eat, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds good, Daddy,” you reply, the bath leaving you feeling refreshed and more like yourself, able to find your voice again.

You settle on ordering your favorite fast food, and it arrives shortly before you tiptoe your way into the living room, your wet hair now pulled up into a clip while the rest of you is dry and comfortable, wrapped in a soft lounge set and your cozy blanket.

“There she is, the Poky Lil’ Puppy,” Joel teases, removing your containers of chicken tenders and fries from the plastic bag they arrived in, setting them on the coffee table in front of the couch.

You giggle at his quip, settling down on the cushion next to him. “I’m not… poky, or whatever,” you reply, in a tone of voice that isn’t sure if you’re supposed to feel complimented or offended.

He looks at you in minor disbelief for a second, then moves his head and brows in a gesture that suggests something like touché. “It’s the name of a kids’ book. Written a lil’ before your time, I guess.”

“Oh… I’ll take it, then.” You settle against Joel’s warm, sturdy form as you munch on a fry, watching the TV screen as he flips through the most promising of the half dozen streaming services he’s subscribed to. “You know…” you start, but let the rest of your sentence drift away, not sure if you want to continue.

“Yeah, babygirl?” he replies, and it encourages you to finish your thought.

“I really liked, um… what we did today. Earlier,” you continue, doing your best to push through your shyness in an effort to get better at communicating your desires with him.

Joel pauses his browsing, putting the TV remote on the table so he can meet your eyes. “In my office, you mean?”

You can’t help but smile cheekily at the memory. “Yeah… I really like being called… that, I think. And if you don’t think it’s too weird–”

“Course I don’t, sweetheart. Would never judge you for likin’ what you like. If it makes you happy, makes you feel good, if it ain’t hurtin’ anyone, then there’s nothin’ wrong with it, baby.” Joel’s turned his upper body to face you now, to make sure you understand the sincerity of his words.

You smile, and his reassurance gives you the confidence to continue. “I really like that… collar idea,” you admit softly. “Maybe we can try that next time.”

He tucks his tongue into the pocket of his cheek, his face forming into a satisfied expression. “Thought you might. Keep bein’ Daddy’s good girl, he just might get you one. Maybe a matchin’ leash, too, somethin’ to tug on when I need you to listen.”

Your eyelids perform their involuntary flutter, a quiet whimper escaping your lungs at the thought. 

“Alright, settle down now, baby,” Joel says through a chuckle, shaking his head before kissing the top of your head affectionately. “Got all the time in the world to try whatever we want. Just focus on eatin’ your lunch for now, sweetheart.”

You snuggle up close to him after he starts the movie you both decided on, happily eating your salty and savory meal as you watch. For the rest of the afternoon, you feel warm and satisfied for a few different reasons, the most important one due to how grateful you are to have Joel.

He takes care of you, understands you, and loves you like nobody else ever could. And it’s mornings like these that make you especially aware of that fact. You’ll be his good girl for as long as he wants you to be–forever, hopefully–and he’ll always give you exactly what you need in exchange for it. 

Even if that something might be a collar with his name on it, fit for his perfect little puppy.

tag list (no pressure if this one isn't your thing!!) @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw (if your name is crossed out it won't let me tag you!!)

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 13: Taking Out The Trash

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV

Summary:  When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you neve expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you're around him the more you hate him, but you can't help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team.  (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Slow Burn, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 13.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Blood, GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF DEATH, DEATH, BLOOD, GUTS, Threatening, Denial, Attempted Manipulation, References to attempted SA in the past, Depressing Thoughts, INSANE REVELATIONS, CONFESSIONS, Talks about weed, Super Manipulative Creepy Trash Man, Sexist comments, Homophobic Comments? Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

A/N: I'm not going to lie, at the beginning of this chapter it's cute, but the rest of it gets... UNHINGED. I mean its dark because some things are revealed that I don't know why my mind went there immediately but... Also, apparently foreshadowing with dreams is my thing now 🤷🏻‍♀️?

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

"Are you sure that you're okay to start work today?" Jake asked you for the millionth time from across the large cherry wood table that proudly stood in the front window of the shop. "Because there's no shame in staying home and resting for a few more days."

He was holding a large box filled with golden barrel cactus that were about to be placed in the new window display that Jake and you were constructing. His dirty blonde hair was scruffier today, hanging into his face just over the top of his tortoise shell glasses. The red and navy flannel he wore stretched over his arms with the flexing of his muscles beneath as he watched you with interest, worry seeping into the clear blue of his eyes.

The store was as you remembered, almost blindingly green, with trailing vines that kissed your arms when you walked through the front door as if welcoming you home and the healing energy from the plants within fusing your body with newfound strength. You could feel the subtle push of roots in the earth, the unfurling of bright leaves,  the swell of fruit on outstretched branches, and the gentle bend of each petal on the vegetation inside the shop speaking to you and reassuring you. It was welcome after being trapped in a freezer for four days.

Jake didn't know about any of that.

Annie had come up with a lie that you'd been in a car accident when Butcher loaned you his car for a job. It hurt you to lie to Jake, especially when he had brought all the plants to your hospital room because he knew it would make you feel better, but you were still trying to keep that part of your life separate from him. Honestly, you worried that if Jake found out how fucked up the other half of your life was he'd fire you, so you didn't bring it hurtling in through the front of his shop like a freight train. And you really loved working here.

It felt natural for you, tending to the plants, helping teach other people how to for anything that grew while gently showing the love of gardening and tending the earth.

Jake had been pondering the idea of having workshops on the weekend at the shop after hours and he'd finally said yes.

Hopefully, I'd be able to use both of my arms by then. 

You were beyond discouraged that hadn't been able to do any of your crochet projects and you felt like a disappointment when you couldn't go to your bi-monthly crochet circle/class that you lead at the Assisted Living Facility a few blocks over. The woman on the phone from the facility had sounded so disappointed when you told her that you couldn't come and it only made you feel worse.

But it was nice to be back in the swing of things at the shop and wonderful to be back in a place that you felt at ease, but there was something tugging in your chest. It was an odd feeling, not as if you'd forgotten something, but almost as if you missed something. As if there was something that wasn't here that should be and you couldn’t put your finger on it.

A week had passed since you'd been released from the hospital and you were eager to get out from under Ben's house arrest to start working again even with your arm in a large and almost impossible cast to maneuver. You were calling it “house arrest”, because after your grandmother left, Ben refused to let you leave the apartment, stating that you needed to rest. And when you argued with him that you'd had enough rest, he'd planted himself in front of the door and refused to budge.

You were going stir crazy with nothing to do and you probably could have moved him if you really tried, but you didn't want to fight with Ben. Not when he was the person who'd brought you back from the warehouse and not when he was acting different.

Your lips press into a firm line when you think about the past week that you'd spent at home with him. Ben was going out of his way to do everything for you that he could, but that didn't mean you weren't annoyed. You'd had to practically swat him away with one of the wooden spoons in the kitchen when you were heating up a lasagna your grandmother left after he'd loudly complained that you shouldn't be standing for too long and tried to carry you back to the couch. Ben was acting like you couldn’t take care of yourself and hadn't been taking care of yourself since you moved away from home. It was odd.

And he kept doing little things around the apartment, like picking up his clothes and making sure to remember to put things in the dishwasher. Things that he hadn’t cared about before you got hurt and things that you’d yelled at him to do before everything happened. And he always made sure that the couch was clear incase you wanted to watch a movie or just read for a little while. Two things that you had been doing more often since you got out of the hospital.

But weirder still was that Ben hadn't been on one "date," since you got back. The only time he'd left the apartment was in the morning to get the paper and he always brought you back coffee or the pineapple iced tea you loved.

Yesterday he had finally allowed you to leave the apartment to go to the grocery store, because when you tried to give him a shopping list he'd said "I don’t need a fucking list I’m a man!" but then you’d asked him to repeat everything you'd told him to buy and he couldn’t.

The whole time out of the apartment you’d made plenty of jokes about the healing power of fresh air, while Ben countered by making a joke about the healing power of sex and that he'd be happy to make you feel better.

The trip to the grocery store hadn’t ended in bloodshed, even when you had to keep reminding Ben not to buy the name brand things and he'd ignored you or when Ben complained the whole time about how expensive everything was and how long it was taking you to find everything.

But the weirdest thing that happened was when the two of you were looking a produce there was a woman who kept trying to come on to Ben when you were testing the grapes and he completely ignored her. Surprising you because she looked like his type, and when she'd walked away Ben had dropped to his knees to tie your shoe because he noticed that it was loose.

When you'd teased him about it, he said that he "didn't want you to break your other arm when you tripped and ate shit on the concrete." You'd had no problem flipping him off with your unbroken hand.

But despite your insistences for Ben to try and find cheaper brands none of it mattered, because when you got to the register Ben paid for the groceries even when you’d explicitly discussed splitting the bill. The cashier had noted what a gentleman Ben was and you’d grumbled something impolite under your breath so low that only Ben could hear.

But Ben couldn't help you with everything, well, you didn't trust him to close his eyes when you needed help getting dressed or needed help washing your hair.

For those little things, Annie would come over, but she hadn't been sympathetic to your pleas to make Ben let you out of the apartment. In fact, when you hoped Ben wasn't listening she'd made a comment about exactly what you should be doing with a hot older man while being trapped in an apartment with only one bed. The raspberry vines that cling to the refrigerator had started spitting raspberries at her when she said it. And then Ben had looked over the back of the couch at the two of you and said "that's what I keep telling her."

At least when my grandmother was here she didn’t pry about Ben and me.

Your grandmother had stayed for three days following your return from the hospital, sleeping next to you on your queen sized bed before she went back to Illinois and everyday you were more surprised how much she and Ben knew each other. The easy way they spoke to one another, the jokes, the teasing, and the poker games that always ended in your grandmother winning an almost obscene amount of money from Ben all made your head spin. Especially, because whenever she won Ben would accuse her of "cheating," and she'd only roll her eyes and state that someone as old as Ben should be better at poker. But the way he'd said she was cheating was different, not as if she had cards up her sleeve, but if there was some other reason why she could cheat. It was confusing and a little frustrating, because you were terrible at poker.

You didn't understand how you could be that bad, but then Ben had poked the skin between your eyebrows that scrunched under his scrutiny and stated that you were "too easy to read" while your grandmother laughed at you.

She still wouldn’t answer your questions about how she knew Ben, but to you it appeared to be more than them running into each other a few times, it almost seemed like a friendship. You believed her when she said that they didn’t sleep together, but you didn't understand how they could have been friends. She'd never spoken about that part of her life with you before, just her childhood and when she met your grandfather. Needless to say it was like you were seeing a different person when she was around Ben.

Deep down you wondered if she was a supe, but she'd never said that before and you didn’t know why she would keep something like that from you, not when you were one too.

But when Ben noticed how discouraged you got playing poker, he let you look over his shoulder at his hand and watch him play. He was very much in his element and every few hands he would make a joke about playing strip poker to which your grandmother would reply "If you want to be naked that bad Ben, you might as well just go down to the corner and put it to good use."

When she left you were sad to see her go and even Ben seemed a little more moody than usual, almost as if he missed having her around. You missed her too. While she stayed with you, you hadn't had the nightmare, but the night she left you did. You'd woken up gasping for air, the unnatural flash of whitish blue light that raced towards the windshield from the dream vibrating against your skin. Ben had come in to check on you, without breaking down the door, and he'd sat with you until you calmed down enough to fall asleep.

But it was still unusual that Ben acted like he missed your grandmother. You'd never met any other friends that Ben had besides Legend and you wondered if Ben really was as lonely as you thought he was. In the past you'd ascribed that to the reason why he went out with so many women, but this time it only confused you because Ben hadn't been out with a single person all week. You couldn’t think of a reason why that was or what could have changed for Ben to avoid using Tinder. If anything you'd thought he would be bored sitting around the apartment with you, but he wasn't. He'd sit with you on the couch watching a movie or read the paper when you read your book, not talking about anything in particular.

There was only one subject you wanted to discuss.

The two of you hadn't talked about what almost happened on the couch when you slept together when Darren was visiting or the way Ben gently touched you in the hospital. You'd mentally compartmentalized it to being a fluke and were happy that things were going back to normal or at least normal-ish. 

But sometimes your mind would wander to how Ben acted when you were in the hospital, how he'd cupped and held your face, how he'd touched you so reverently, what he'd said about not wanting to leave you with Elijah, and how angry he looked when he found out exactly what Elijah had tried to do.

But whenever you thought about talking to him about that, you’d only shake off the urge and ascribe it to Ben wanting to try and be friends. The exact thing that you'd suggested to him the night of the party.

He's respecting me. If he wants to be friends I can be friends with him. Even if he is acting weird.

In fact, this morning, he'd walked with you to the shop this morning as if it was a normal day.

*2 Hours Ago*

Ben frowns at you. "Maybe you should rest one more day-"

He'd been saying that the entire walk to the shop, but you weren't going to give him the satisfaction of letting him trap you in the apartment for another day.

“Ben it'll be fine. I've rested enough-" You rolled your eyes at him, confused that he was making such a big deal about this. It was both annoying and frustrating you how overprotective he was acting and it was making you mad.

“What about your arm? You can’t lift anything-“ He presses.

“Jake is here for that.” You gestured with your head to where Jake was hovering behind the two of you at the register counting the till while pretending not to listen.

"That makes me feel a hell of a lot better. You think that fucking twink can lift more than me?" Ben scoffs. “Maybe I should stay.”

"Why?"

"So I can lift things!"

“Stop babying me Gramps!"

“I'm not babying you!" He rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“Yes you are! Why are you acting like a helicopter parent? I'm fine. It's been a week and I am completely and utterly-"

Ben's hand comes up and pushes back a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering for just a second too long against your cheek. The motion makes you freeze, the warmth of his skin like a siren call. "I don't think you need to come back to work so soon." He says quietly, eyes flicking up to where Jake is before he lowers his voice even more. “You were kidnapped and you got hurt. Not to mention that asshole tried to-" Ben's gaze loses any of the softness it held as he remembers what you told him about what Elijah did.

"Ben." You whisper raising your hand to gently touch his wrist. "I promise I'm okay. I'm not doing this to prove anything. I want to be here. I like being here."

"And you don't like being at home with me." Ben whispers it so low that you almost miss it. He withdrawals his hand from your cheek looking angry.

The memory of the day you walked in on Ben talking to Bean hovers over you:

"Why does she hate me so much?"

When you’d heard Ben ask Bean that it hurt you. You didn't want Ben to think that you hated him. He frustrated you and annoyed you, but you didn’t hate him.

Well, he hasn't been annoying me as much lately.

And if anything you were trying not to think about how much you liked being at home with Ben, how much you liked spending time with him. It was easier to try not to focus on that, not when Ben was acting like someone you could love.

Ben doesn't believe in love, not after everything that got fucked up with Countess. I don't think I could ever fall in love with someone like him either. Sure he's attractive, but he's so damn annoying.

"Look at me." You lay your hand on his arm to draw his gaze back to you. Ben almost looks a little embarrassed that you heard him say it and you watch his eyes flick over your head to where Jake is. You pull him through the plants to give the two of you some privacy. "I don't hate you. And I'm not doing this because I don't want to be at home with you." Your cheeks flush with the word 'home.'

Ben kept using it so casually, but to you it always meant something else. Home was the place where you went where no one judged you, where you went to be with the people who loved you unconditionally, and where you felt that you could be yourself with no judgement. Not to mention you believed that eventually your "home" would become a person. Or at least that was what you wanted to happen. Those prospects were looking pretty slim as of late and you were still on the fence about online dating.

Hughie and Annie met the old fashioned way so why should I have to go on an online site only to be rejected based on looks only?

You refocus on the conversation that you're having with Ben.

"I want things to go back to normal, before everything that happened with Darren and Elijah. And this is the only way that I know how." The mention of Elijah's name brings the memory of him on top of you to simmer beneath the surface. You were trying to forget, but every once in a while the memory would come creeping back in bringing the chill of the first frost in its wake to brush against your skin.

Ben's expression softens. "That quack at the hospital said you should rest."

"You mean the man who went to school for over four years to get a degree told me to rest?"

"Then he knows what the fuck he's talking about!"

"Ben-"

"Petals." He sighs the nickname in the soft way that makes a tingle travel down your spine. Ben had been saying it like that more often confusing you further. "You went through a lot and I'm trying to make sure that you’re okay.”

Why does he care about that?

“I am okay.” You whisper. “I’m sick of being on house arrest in the apartment. I can only watch so many of your old films before I go completely insane.”

“They’re not that bad.”

"Debatable."

Ben sighs again, but he seems to realize that you're not going to budge. You were just as stubborn as he was and you knew that he hated that about you. "Fine. I've got to do something today anyway."

"You got a date?"

You meant it as a joke, but for some reason you feel a twinge deep down that you weren't expecting.

"No." For a moment you think Ben almost looks offended by the suggestion. "Butcher's helping me with something."

"With what? You hate Butcher. And why would he want to do you a favor?"

"Because he wants to find the sick son of a bitch as much as I do!" Ben growls, the soft look in Ben's eyes goes dark as you realize who he's talking about.

You hadn't heard from Darren since everything with Elijah. Not that you expected to. Darren's things had vanished from your apartment and he was gone without a trace. Butcher had tried to track the phone Darren had, but it was out of service. You didn’t want to see him and you didn’t want to think about him, not after everything he'd put you through. It was like Darren to suddenly show up with an apology and say everything that you wanted him to. In the past you'd thought it was because he cared about you and didn't want to lose you, but it was becoming more and more apparent that Darren knew exactly what to say to get you to forgive him. He played you so easily that it broke your heart.

It was hard for you to acknowledge that and hard for you to believe that after all these years the relationship you had with your brother had been a lie, a well rehearsed play that Darren performed whenever he was in town.

And this time you weren't going to forgive him. Not when he'd given you to Elijah like a form of payment. Darren was done using you and you were ready to cut him out of your life.

At least, that was what you told yourself anyway. Sometimes when it was dark and you were all alone in your room you thought that maybe you should forgive him because he was your brother and you didn’t want to abandon him. You'd never admit that out loud, and certainly not in front of Ben, but you weren't sure if you were strong enough to turn Darren down if he reappeared.

"Oh." You look down at your shoes for a second while chewing on the inside of your cheek.

There's an awkward silence that passes through the two of you, charged with the same energy that hovered between you when you were back at the hospital. And you can’t help but think that Ben looks disappointed that he has to leave. You again wonder why he was being so overprotective, especially when he said that he didn't care about you.

That was another thing that you were starting to believe was a lie, Ben cared about you even if he didn't want to admit it, because someone who cared wouldn't do everything he had done for you over the past week.

"Petals?"

"Yes Gramps?" You look up at him mentally preparing for him to ask you again if you're okay, but he doesn't.

"Don’t get into any strange cars." Ben's lips tilt up into a smirk.

"Even if they say they have candy?"

Ben only shakes his head, but then he lingers for a second too long, as if he's waiting for something. "And try not to break anything else." He mutters and then he's gone.

Why is he acting so weird?

*Present Time*

"Because Ben said-" Jake says, snapping you out of the memory of Ben saying goodbye.

"When did you guys talk?" You look up at him from the table in shock.

"Well, I tried to come see you three days ago and he didn't let me in. He said you needed rest and that I should come back later." He explains, emptying another box of cacti.

"You came by?" You ask him confused. The cacti are in multicolored pots and you try your best to avoid the spines as you shift them over the table into position.

"Yeah. Ben said he'd tell you that I did."

"Huh."

Ben hadn't told you that Jake came by, hadn't mentioned it once and he'd had plenty of opportunities to tell you. The two of you were practically both living on the couch, because Ben was making you watch all of his old movies. You think that he was trying to impress you with his acting skills, but all it did was make you mock him endlessly for the cheesy lines and the ridiculous helmet they made him wear as a part of his supe suit. You had taken to repeating the lines from the movies at the most inopportune times to tease him and Ben had started teasing you with quotes from the romance novels that you liked.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory.

It had been embarrassing. You were reading on the couch quietly to yourself and were so absorbed in the scene that Ben had snuck up behind you to read over your shoulder. It hadn't helped that you were at a particular steamy part. He'd made a joke of wanting to re-enact whatever you wanted from the chapter and you'd stomped away to take a shower. It was getting harder to deny his requests to sleep with you, especially when Ben was acting different than he usually did and had been acting like a new person since you got back from the hospital.

"He didn't tell you?" Jake looks disappointed.

"Gramps is forgetful sometimes." You frown at the display between the two of you.

Why didn’t he tell me that Jake came by? Jake has been so sweet. He brought me all those plants and he was worried about me. Or at least… You bite the inside of your cheek remembering what Ben said about when Jake came to the hospital:

"He was fawning all over you like a fucking pussy, thought he was going to cry."

You hadn't thought about Jake at all, other than the occasional wave of guilt for leaving him without any help for a whole week. But it was weird that Ben hadn't told you that Jake stopped by, because when Mike brought you a bouquet of yellow roses Ben had let him in and stood with a cup of coffee in the kitchen smirking at you as Mike talked with you for thirty minutes about how nice the weather was outside. It made you want to strangle Ben, but as retaliation when Mike's mother came by later with a basket of wheat grass muffins and something that looked like green sludge you'd invited her in to talk with Ben. She'd sat on the couch in a bright pink mumu, rubbing his upper thigh and talking about her ex-husband while Ben glared at you every chance he got and you sipped a cup of blueberry tea and laughed quietly to yourself.

"Why do you call him that?" Jake asks while putting down a golden barrel and grabbing a fishhook cactus carefully to avoid the spikes.

"Because he acts like a grumpy old man." You snort to yourself thinking of how cute you thought it was when Ben acted all crochety and frustrated by modern day technology.

"He does." Jake laughs. "So…"

"So?"

"Are you guys together?"

"What?" You sputter looking up from the plants to Jake with wide eyes. "Why do you think that?"

"Well he's always around." Jake picks up the empty box and stacks it on top of another one. "And he always acts kind of…" Jake shrugs.

"Kind of what?"

"Jealous. He's always mad at me for some reason."

"That's just how he is. You gotta peel back the layers like an onion when it comes to him." The words are easy, but you can't help but be a little bit surprised. You were defending Ben. You’d never defended him before, made fun of him, apologized for him, but never defended him. "I mean he's-" You prick your thumb on one of the spikes. "Ow."

"Did it get'cha?" Jake snorts.

"Yeah must be losing my touch. Went soft on all my days off."

"You deserved those days off. You needed to rest-"

You roll your eyes. "Please don't say the r word again. Ben's been saying it for the past week."

"I'm serious." Jake picks up another golden barrel and arranges it on a higher platform on the display. "There's something going on between the two of you."

"You mean Ben driving me to the point of insanity?"

"No. I mean the guy is always watching you-"

"He likes to stare at my ass." You roll your eyes at Jake. "What else is new?"

His cheeks flush with your mention of Ben's interest in your body. "I don’t mean like that. He always looks at you when you're working."

Your straighten up from the floor with a fresh box of Christmas Cactus, arranging the long tendrils so that they are hanging down over the edge of the table. "What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I see him walk by later in the day when you're reading at the register."

What? When has Ben been walking by and why? Is he spying on me?

"What? When?"

Jake shrugs. "I don't know just sometimes. He never comes in. One time he walked by with two cups of coffee, but he just kept walking."

Probably for one of his dates.

"Ben isn't interested in me like that. We're just friends and roommates." When you say that your chest gets a little bit tighter. "Ben doesn't have relationships, he has flings. The guy is basically a walking Trojan ad."

Jake runs a hand through his shaggy dirty-blond hair, to push it out of his face and away from his glasses. "I don't know, you didn't see him when you were asleep in the hospital. The guy was practically daring anyone to get close, like he was trying to protect you from something."

His words make you chew the inside of your cheek remembering what your grandmother said about Ben yelling at the doctors and the nurses and make you think about how overprotective Ben seemed to be acting over the past few days.

Ben is just trying to be a better friend. He knows that I went through a lot.

Annie had also been acting overprotective as well. She kept bringing things by the apartment to make your life easier with the cast and she kept bringing by food. She'd also brought by a big bag of thrifted romance books that she had found at your favorite used bookstore Inky's Inspirations and the two of you had spent the better part of a day devouring them. She was making more time for you because you knew that she felt bad about you getting hurt, and Hughie came by too. Ben didn't share the same enthusiasm that Hughie had for conversation, but whenever Ben was mean you would glare at him and Ben would huff out something under his breath and try to contribute more to the conversation.

"That's just how he is. Ben is kinda," You wave a hand. "Protective of his friends."

"I noticed." Jake frowns. "But I guess I'll take your word for it."

An awkward silence follows and the two of you finish the display, but you can't stop thinking about Ben walking past the shop.

How many times did he do that? And why? He always seems to hate walking and makes a big deal about me walking by myself. Why would he want to walk here all the way from Butcher's?

"Why don't you go check out the display of herbs by the register? I'm not sure how to arrange the Rosemary and the Oregano."

"Sure." You shrug heading back through the aisles that spill vines onto the concrete floor, your hand sliding through the leaves as you walk, feeling the plants begin to perk up with your gentle touch. The browning leaves vanished, the drooping stems straightened, and the plants turned up to you as if you were the sun.

Being here again and having a normal day was making you feel better. At home your plants had needed some TLC after you were gone for so many days and as hard as Jake tried to maintain every single plant in the store, you knew that it was too much for him to contain. Things like that were easy for you.

The day passes by slowly. Ben had told you that he'd be there to pick you up at closing and you found yourself checking the clock. You'd never done that before. When you were working in the past you never wished for the day to be over, but for some reason the idea that Ben was going to pick you up made you almost happy.

The shiny metal bell above the door jingled as the last customer of the day entered the shop, but you don't look up from the bouquet of flowers you were arranging for a last minute birthday order that someone called in for tomorrow morning. You didn't often do them, but Jake was busy breaking down the display of flowering plants in the other window and you were more than happy to help out.

Even if it was difficult with one hand.

You could hear whoever it was coming closer to the register, the sound of their shoes clunking against the weathered gray concrete floors with every step.

"Welcome in. Can I help you with something?" You don't look away from the sunflowers in the vase in front of you, using one hand to place some holly ferns to give it a bit more green before you reach for the baby's breath that sits in a bundle on the vintage wooden bar that served as a desk for the register.

"Well I'm not sure. Do you have anything that says 'I'm sorry my friend kidnapped you?'" A familiar voice asks.

Your head jerks upwards at the sound of the voice, but you already know who it is.

Darren stands there in his traditional black army jacket. His blonde buzzed hair is blindingly white in the sunlight that comes through the wide glass windows at the front of the shop, catching the glint of the gunmetal colored hoops in his right eyebrow. His smile is sheepish, apologetic, and if you hadn’t been through what you did, you might have believed that it was genuine.

"Darren?" Your voice is no more than a whisper, surprise leaking into it as you utter your brother's name.

You didn’t actually think that he would come to see you, not when he knew who Ben really was, and not when he knew that you knew he sacrificed you to save his own skin.

"Hey sissy. Did you miss me?"

The nickname strikes a nerve deep down.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Jake glances over from the front window his eyes widening at your sudden outburst. He'd never met your brother before and he knew that something must be wrong if you were angry. Jake knew you well enough to know how composed you were most of the time and knew that for you to be angry something must really be wrong.

"I wanted to see you. Can I give you a hug?" Darren holds out his arms towards you.

"What do you think?"

"But you love hugs." He makes a step towards the end of the register.

"If you take another step I'm going to scream. What are you doing here?" You say again.

"I told you. I wanted to see you. I haven't been able to see you since-"

“Since you handed me over to Elijah to pay off your fucking gambling debt?” The baby's breath in your hand crumbles into a ball, but you barely feel it.

“See." Darren rolls his eyes and holds up a finger. "I knew you’d overreact. You’re way too sensitive.” 

“Overreact? OVERREACT? He locked me in a fucking freezer!” You spit. “He tried to-“ A cold feeling rises and prickles against your skin when you remember the weight of Elijah’s body on yours and the way his hand squeezed your throat. The purplish-black marks were still there, but hidden under a burgundy ribbed turtle neck sweater that you'd put on this morning. You figured it would be hard to explain those marks to Jake, especially when Annie had told him you were in a car accident.

“Hey, is everything okay over here?” Jake interrupts. He wipes this dirt covered hands on his jeans as he gets closer to where Darren is leaning against the front of the register.

"Yeah." You clear your throat. "Darren was just leaving."

"No, I'm not." Darren hasn't looked away from you and hasn't acknowledged Jake's presence. "I want to talk to you."

"Too bad. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say." You breathe, but you could feel a twinge in your heart. The love you had for your brother was ebbing just on the edge of the rage and heartbreak that you felt every time you think about what he did to you. It was difficult to treat him this way, not when you'd given in to whatever he wanted for so long. You hated that about yourself, hated the piece of you that wanted to forgive him.

But Darren does not move, in fact you can see the way his eyes flick over you as if he can sense that you're unsure.

"I want to talk this out." He says a little more forcefully.

"If she says that she doesn’t want to talk to you, I’m going to have to ask you to leave." Jake replies continuing to frown at your brother. They were both about the same height, but where Darren was rail-thin, Jake had a little bit more muscle to him. Not as much as Ben, but enough that he was bigger that your brother.

But you knew that it would do little good. Darren was even more stubborn that you were, and you could see the dangerous glint in his eyes that got him into trouble more times than you could count when the two of you were growing up.

“Try it four eyes." Darren's lips pull back in a challenge.

The lights overhead flicker for just a second, almost imperceivable to the eye. Jake crosses his arms over his chest in a way that you think he must believe is intimidating. “I’m going to ask you to leave one more time before I call the police.” 

"And I said that I'm not going to fucking leave without talking to my sister."

"Sister?" Jake falters looking at you, his blue eyes wide in surprise behind his glasses.

You stand there for a moment trying to think of a way out of this. There's a little voice buzzing in your ear telling you that something is wrong, but you can't put your finger on it. And an even smaller voice whispering that you should call Ben.

I don't need him to handle this. Darren and I have to talk eventually and might as well do it now.

"Fine, but let's take this outside." You walk around from behind the register. "Jake has to lock up in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect! I just need five." Darren smiles at you the same way that he always has, the smile that you'd laughed with and allowed to reassure you, but this time all it does is make all of this worse.

When the two of you get outside, the sun is just starting to sink behind the buildings, bathing everything in a golden glow. Despite the situation it is a beautiful day. The smell of the bakery next door sent the soothing aroma of cinnamon and brown sugar each time it's door opened, the warmth of the sun was on your back and shoulders, the wind had picked up just enough to rustle your hair where it was pulled back from your face in a ponytail, and you could hear the children playing in the park just around the corner where the trees sent their long shadows over the playground.

Darren shifts from foot to foot and you can see the way he's trying to think of something to say, as if he's pretending that he didn't rehearse this in his head. You wonder if he's always done that, if he'd rehearsed everything he ever said to you because he knew exactly what to say to get you to agree for so long.

"Look Darren, I don't want to talk about this. Nothing that you're going to say is going to make any of this okay. Nothing that happened was okay! You left me there with him, you brought me to him, and then you lied about why I was really there."

"I'm sorry about that." Darren's gaze softens, eyebrows furrowing in mock sincerity. "Believe me, I wouldn't have taken you there if I knew that Elijah was going to do any of those things to you honey."

"Oh that is such-"

"I will admit that I did lie about why you were there. But I knew that you wouldn't come if I told you that it was for weed and Elijah really said he just wanted you to look at the plants for a few minutes. He didn't say anything about a freezer." Darren holds up his hands as if surrendering.

"And there it is! You admit that you lied to me, that you manipulated me to get me to go with you. And then you had the audacity to say that if I was uncomfortable we could go home!" You shout at him, narrowing your eyes. "Well Darren, I gotta tell you I was fucking uncomfortable in that damn freezer and in his damn office, and where were you? Oh right…" You tap your lips with the tip of your finger. "You left me there with that fucking psychopath!"

"I didn't leave you there! I called Richie and when I came back into the office, you were gone. Elijah told me that you left! I went back to your apartment and-" Darren frowns at you. He didn't like that you weren't listening to what he had to say.

"Do you expect me to believe any of that bullshit?" You plant your hands on your hips as you interrupt him, feeling a surge of anger swelling in your chest.

Even though the two of you are technically standing outside of the shop, you can still feel the energy from the plants inside, intertwining with you, strengthening you, and waiting for your command.

Truthfully ever since you'd killed Elijah you hadn't been able to forget it. You'd never used your powers like that before, never knew that you could, and never had fanaticized about that. But now, standing outside of the shop with your brother you could feel the plants calling out to you, asking you to command them, begging you to free them. You could feel them clawing in the dirt, the roots beneath writhing and unsettled, the flowers turning to watch Darren and you. Even the trees down the street that stood as stoic protectors over the children playing beneath their feet began to bend towards the two of you.

Sure in the past you'd been connected to the world around you, but ever since everything that happened with Elijah, your powers felt different, as if there was something else brewing and prickling beneath your skin that begged to be unleashed.

"I'm trying to apologize and you won't even listen to me!" Your brother shouts. Darren was leaning down over you, not as tall as Ben, but tall enough to be bigger than you.

You'd never feared him in the past, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes, something predatory, something that you'd never seen before in all the years that you'd spent with your brother.

"I don't want to hear anything you have to say Darren. I want you to leave-" You reply, hands still planted on your hips.

"No."

"No?"

"No. I can't stop by your damn apartment because you have that asshole hovering around. He would tear me to pieces before I got a chance to talk to you. And I want to explain what happened." Darren snaps back, eyes dark.

"I know what happened! Elijah told me exactly-"

"You're going to believe him over me? I'm your brother! I'm your blood, do you really think that I would have let Elijah do any of those things to you if I knew he would?"

"I don't know anymore."

It broke your heart to admit that aloud, but it was true. You didn't know if Darren cared about you at all and if he loved you the way that you loved him, if he ever had.

"What do you mean you don't know?" He looks hurt, shoulders slumping downward. "Sissy-"

"I-" You falter.

For just a fleeting moment the anger and heartbreak you feel towards your brother recedes just enough for the love you have for him begin to trickle back in. You wanted to believe that he cared about you. Frustrated tears burn in your eyes, because a part of you wants to push him away but there's another part that clings on with bloody fingertips and asks you to listen to him.

Because Darren was your family and all you could think of was if your parents were here what would they do? All those years that you supported your brother you'd thought that you were honoring their memory by refusing to turn your back on him. You wanted to love your brother, wanted to believe that everything he was saying was genuine, and all the years that you gave in to whatever Darren asked you were bearing down on you.

"Come on sissy. I love you. You're the only family that I have left." Darren soothes taking a step closer to you when he senses how hesitant you are to push him away.

"Well-"

"Please listen to-" Darren begins to say, but his entire body is yanked backward by something.

"She doesn't need to hear another fucking word you have to say." Ben snarls, holding Darren tightly by the throat above the sidewalk.

You hadn't seen him walk up. Ben could move silently when he wanted to and right now he looks murderous. There's a fire blazing behind his eyes turning them into heated furnaces of pure emerald, practically glowing in the last slips of the sunlight that peeks behind the buildings and stretches the shadows long over the almost empty street. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl as he stares at your brother, the grip he has on his throat tightening.

The couple across the street gasp when they watch Darren struggle in Ben's unbreakable grip, but Ben doesn't acknowledge them.

"I made you a promise." Ben's voice is a low growl as he holds Darren up so high off the ground that Darren's feet kick helplessly in the air. "You should have stayed gone you insignificant piece of shit."

Darren's eyes flash to yours. "Are you really going to let him treat me this way? I'm your brother!"

Ben's grip tightens on his throat and Darren grabs on to Ben's wrist.

You stand there frozen in horror unable to speak. A part of you is screaming for Ben to let him go and another part of you is begging for Ben to do what you don't think you can. You felt so weak in that moment, unable to turn your back on your brother, on the abuser, the manipulator, and the man who used you for years.

Ben's eyes flick to yours for a moment, something passing through his gaze that you can't understand, but it gives you strength.

"Sissy?" Darren's voice sounds so broken.

"Ben. Put him down." You say.

"What?" Ben snaps, eyes flashing.

"Please. Put him down." You breathe, your eyes catching Ben's for a moment.

Ben's jaw is tight, the muscles in his torso tense, but he does what you say with a grunt. Darren's body falls onto the sidewalk and he gasps for air, touching his throat as he gets to his feet.

Darren smiles at you through the deep breaths. "I knew you wouldn't let him-"

"Leave" You say as calmly as you can, but there's a slight tremor on the edge of your voice.

Ben takes a step closer to you when he hears it, but he doesn't touch you. He's still staring down Darren, eyebrows pulled tight together, and his mouth turned down into a frown with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. You know that he's probably a little pissed at you that you told him to put Darren down, but you also couldn't believe that he listened to you.

"What?" Darren stutters.

"Leave." You repeat. "I never want you to come back here ever."

"But I'm your-"

"If you say that you're her fucking brother one more time, I'm going to rip you in half." Ben's hands clench at his sides and you know that he's holding himself back from grabbing Darren again.

“You’re my family. I love you.” Darren says, the edge of his voice cracking just a little bit, but there's something behind his gaze that makes you pause. You're not sure if it's because he's trying to hide how mad he is at Ben or what, but there is something unsettling about the way he's looking at you.

“I don’t think you do.” It broke you to say it, to admit it out loud. “I’ve let you use me all these years, sacrificing my own happiness, my own success for you, because I loved you, but I don’t think you’ve ever once loved me. All you’ve done is look out for yourself.”

“That’s ridiculous-“

“When’s my birthday Darren?” You ask him, throat tight.

He freezes. “You're kidding right? You really think I don't know when your birthday is?"

"What have I been dreaming of doing since I was ten years old?"

"Sissy-"

"Your birthday is June 12th." You reply without stuttering. "Since you were thirteen years old your dream has been to own a blue 1970 Chevelle with black racing stripes. But you can never seem to scrape together enough money to get one."

Darren visibly pauses with your answer.

"I pay attention to everything you tell me Darren. I remember everything because I love you. And if you loved me, you would know those things about me. You would actually care enough to remember that I hate surprises, that I hate that insipid nickname, and since I was eight years old the only thing that I've been dreaming about is to open up my own farmer's market."

"You're kidding right?" Darren snorts. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"And that's exactly why I don't believe that you love me. Because if you did you would support me the way that I've supported you for years."

"I-"

"No. I have sacrificed so much for you and you have never once done anything for me! So I'm asking you to leave, because as much as I love you, I can't do this anymore." The tears were blurring your vision, but you were holding it together the best you could. Ben was now standing so close to you that his arm was almost touching yours and you feel his fingertips brush the back of your hand just for a second, as if he wants to hold your hand but he doesn't.

"But-" Darren gapes, mouth wide open.

"She told you to fucking scram Dipshit." Ben snarls his eyes narrowing at your brother.

You could tell that it was taking a lot of effort on Ben's part not to turn Darren into mush and it made you grateful that he was here. Because Ben was letting you handle it, but he was there for you if you needed him to be. It was the first time that you realized how much you needed him with you.

Darren stands there for a minute eyeing Ben and you, emotions running together across his face merging with one another, his eyes darkening. And then he does something you didn't expect.

Darren begins to laugh.

 Not just a little giggle or a snort, a deep throated rumble that shakes his body as he doubles over laughing so hard that he begins to wheeze.

"Oh sissy. I've been waiting for this for years. You have no idea." Darren continues to laugh, gasping for air and putting his hands on his thighs to hold himself steady.

What the hell is happening?

"What?" You ask tentatively. Even Ben is looking at him in surprise.

"Man. I've been wondering for years how long it would take you to finally grow a fucking backbone, but wow. I never thought it would be now." He starts to slow clap. "I'm impressed."

"What are you talking about?"

The glint in his eyes was back and Darren was smiling wide, so wide that you could see all his teeth. It reminded you of when Annie and you used to watch Crocodile Hunter on tv when you were kids and would huddle together watching Steve Irwin fearlessly handle them.

Darren's smile turns more into a smirk. "Kinda a good thing too, because I don't need you anymore, not with the way business is going. Honestly, I should thank your boyfriend. He solved a major problem for me."

"What problem?" Ben snarls.

"Elijah." Darren laughs out the name. "When I found out that you were Soldier Boy and saw how friendly you were with my sister at that ridiculous fundraiser. I knew that you'd come save her and kill Elijah. Poisoning his plants and letting it slip at that my sister just happened to be a plant supe at a poker game was the only way that I could get her involved and Elijah jumped at the chance.

He was at the fundraiser? When was he at the fundraiser?

"Why would you do that?" You ask in surprise.

What in the actual fuck is going on? He planned for Elijah to take me? He purposely poisoned the plants?

You were seeing a different side of Darren. Growing up he'd always had a temper, but Darren was never conniving or cunning. He never planned ahead more than an hour. It was always you that had to remind him to do things and you that begged him to at least think ahead for the entire week.

He's not some criminal mastermind. The guy doesn't believe that pickles used to be cucumbers for fucks sake.

"He was bad for business, he was already encroaching on my territory with the weed and then he said he was going to expand into cars and I couldn't have that. So." Your brother shrugs.

"But I don't understand why?"

Ben looks just as confused as you do, but the anger has not vanished from his eyes. You realize that Ben is waiting for you to say the word for him to start in on Darren. And it made you feel grateful again that he was here with you.

"Oh sissy you're still so innocent. I almost feel bad for you, not really. But" Darren flashes another brilliant smile that doesn't seem to fit the conversation the three of you are having. "I guess I should thank you. I would have never been able to build an empire without you."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ben spits.

He was getting tired of Darren's monologuing and frankly so were you. An odd feeling prickled against your skin, splattering and splashing like oil in a skillet and the plants in the shop behind you pressed themselves against the windows as if trying to warn you. There was something wrong about this whole situation, something that you knew that you were missing, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

"And to think I was so upset when you survived that night." Darren looks disappointed, but he chuckles. "Of course my aim now is a little bit better than it was then." His eyes pulse a dangerous electric blue and an unnatural hum fills the air. "I've had the practice."

He's a supe? How long has he been a-

The thought stutters to a halt when you realize what he said.

"Your aim? What do you-"

The words are barely out of your mouth, when the cold shock of what he's talking about hits you like you'd been dunked into a bucket of cold water. The memory of the night your parents died comes crashing over you in a wave and you're transported into the backseat of the car. The supple leather beneath your fingertips, the chill of the air conditioning, the melding of your parent's voices to "Nights In White Satin," the patter of rain against the metal roof that streaked across the glass windows, and the sticky remnants of chocolate ice cream on your cheeks. The unnatural flash of white light illuminates the interior of the car, the light that seemed to crackle and pulse across the space in front of the vehicle and seemed to come from in front of the car and not above the way the cops said it had.

The same flash of light that everyone said was lightning, but now you knew better.

You remembered it all, the hum of electricity in the air as the bolt hit the car and your dad jerking the wheel and sending the car over the bridge, and the sound of your mother's scream ringing in your ears just before the jolt of the car hitting the water and everything went black.

"No." You whisper taking a step back from your brother. "It was you?"

Horror and shock clamps down around your throat making it difficult to breathe.

Why would he do something like that? They were our parents. Why would he want to kill the two people who loved him as unconditionally as they loved me?

You didn't have one unhappy memory from the childhood you spent with your parents. The house was always warm, filled with the smell of baked goods, and the love your parents had for one another and for Darren and you. Every day was fused with wonder and excitement, and the weekends were filled with surprise trips to places that you’d never been before. They cared so much for the two of you, sacrificing the big things in their lives so they could be around Darren and you.

Darren wasn't with us in the car, he said he had homework and that he couldn't come with us to my recital.

Darren smiles wider, proud that you figured it out. "I was worried that you saw me standing on the road that night in the rain. That's why I left for a few days after the accident, but when I showed up again  and you were so happy to see me, I saw my chance. You didn't know that it was me and there wasn't a need for me to stay gone."

"But why? Why would you do that?"

Darren's expression turns murderous. "Do you have any idea what it was like being second best to you my whole life?" Electricity jumps from his fingertips, flashing a dangerous blue and crackling in the air. "What it was like to be your brother?"

Holy fuck he's the electric supe. And the empire that Elijah was encroaching on was his chop shop.

The thought blazes through you and you remember what Elijah said about "expanding into automotives."

Of course Darren needed us to take Elijah out. Elijah had money and had the means to destroy Darren, but without the competition then…

You blink to bring your thoughts back together, realizing what your brother just said to you. “What are you talking about? You were never second best-"

"Yes I was!" He seethes. "You’ve always been the special one. The supe, the favorite, the golden child. I could never touch you! You're the one that mom and dad were so proud of.”

Darren takes a step forward and Ben mirrors the move, shifting his body in front of you to protect you from Darren, but Darren doesn't take his eyes off you. His face is contorted in hate, anger flaring white hot in his eyes that still glow an unnatural and dangerous bright blue. The air is full of the energy, popping and crackling along Darren's skin with every pulse of electricity.

"Darren-" You begin to say, but he interrupts.

"No." He snarls. "I'm talking now. You can't shut me up. Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this? They put you on a fucking pedestal for years. You were the one with all the toys all the talent. You're the one that they gave the Compound V to. I had to scavenge and scrape together enough money to bribe a friend of mine to swipe some from his mother's hospital."

So that's how he got it.

Anger, rage, heart break, and shock were fighting in your chest for dominance. You could feel the burn of tears in your eyes understanding that the brother you thought that you'd loved for all these years was also the man who murdered your parents in cold blood.

He tried to kill you too.

The thought was everywhere, ricocheting around in your head, the truth that Darren hid for years finally coming out.

"I was made for more. You. You're nothing." Darren spits. "You're a disappointment. Mom and dad gave you the powers and all you do is sit in a fucking plant shop all day long. What about me? I can fucking fly! I can fry someone from thirty fucking feet away! I amounted to something. All you do is make the fucking flowers bloom."

You'd heard the insult before on the lips of the men Elijah employed, the men who underestimated you. You'd heard it before in the tone of voice your brother had when he spoke to you the other night when he came to crash in your apartment and took your bed.

The energy in the air was reaching a dangerous peak and you could still feel it scraping against your skin. The plants in the shop behind you are pressed tight against the window and you have no idea where Jake is, only that you hope he's far away from whatever is about to happen.

Anger pulses hard and fast in your chest, sending a bitter taste into your mouth.  "Oh you amounted to something? You didn't amount to anything! You’re still just a sack of shit that’s I’ve been dragging around. And I can't believe that I let you do it to me for years! You don’t care about me you don’t love me-"

"Of course I fucking don’t! I never have!"

"And then you killed the two people who loved you unconditionally-"

"They didn't fucking love me!" Darren snarls. "The only thing they loved was you. A pathetic little bitch who should have just keeled over and died like a good girl."

Ben's hand comes out and grabs Darren by the front of his jacket hauling him up into the air. "Don't you fucking speak to her that way." His voice is no more than a growl, rumbling low in his chest, his own eyes flashing a deep green, darker than you'd ever seen before. His skin has taken on a golden glow, coming through the dark t-shirt and pair of jeans he was wearing and the smell of ozone fills the air around the three of you.

"What are you going to do Benny?" Darren's body is glowing a blue beneath his outfit. "Show me that famous Soldier Boy temper? Fuck, you're just as pathetic as she is, nothing more than a washed up-"

Ben isn't holding on to Darren anymore, Darren's body is flying back into the street with the force of Ben's throw, but it doesn't strike ground, it gets hit mid-air by a passing bright red minivan. Darren's body flips backwards over the top of the car and lands in the street in a broken heap.

You're still frozen on the sidewalk as Ben sails in to beat down Darren's body where it lies, but there's an awful flash of bright blue light and an SUV that was parked on the street goes flying into Ben, propelling both of them into the bakery next door to the plant shop. The loud crashing of glass and brick with the force of the hit rings in your ears.

"Ben!" You shout, but he's no where in sight.

Darren stands from the ground, one of his arms hanging limply at his side and there's a bloody gash on his forehead that drips blood down into his eye, but and when Darren smiles, blood smears the inside of his usually white teeth.

"Goodbye sissy."

You don't have time to react. The bolt of lightning catches you in the center of the chest and throws you backwards into the plant shop. There's a terrible feeling of weightlessness, before your body hits the glass windows and slams into the flowering plant display that Jake had been working on when Darren showed up.

You land on your back hard, head hitting the concrete with a sickening crack that you feel vibrate through your entire body. Pain is everywhere. There's glass imbedded in your back, the cast on your arm is cracked open, your leg is burning and you're afraid to look down to see what you'll find. You can taste blood in your mouth and feel something sticky underneath your head that you're sure is the same.

You stare up at the florescent lights of the shop for a moment, the revelation of everything your brother had done beginning to finally sink in.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

Tears burn and fall down your cheeks with the thought. Emotions swirling in your chest too fast to name.

I spent years taking care of him, letting him berate me, manipulate me, use me for whatever he needed and not once did he love me. I was so stupid. How could I have been so stupid?

The plants were circling around you, calling out to you, brushing against your broken body as you continued to lay there staring up at the ceiling. Black was starting to close in on the edge of your vision, making everything go a little bit fuzzy, but your mind was awake.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me.

You think again, but you still can't move. You feel the trailing vines of the plants touching your legs, wrapping over them, laying down over your chest, and creeping up towards your broken arm and your face. They were whispering to you, asking your permission, begging you to let them free.

He killed our parents, he tried to kill me, and he tried to kill Ben.

And with that thought, you feel the rage begin to take over, burning hot and beating against your rib cage like a drum.

The plants around you begin to glow a vivid green, binding around your limbs, their strength flooding into your body as you call them forth to help you. The healing energy wrapping you in a cocoon of energy and life, taking away your pain. Pieces of glass fall from your skin, your bones knit back together, your skin closes and the scars left behind disappear as if they never happened.

You rise from the ground, the plants that wrapped around you no more than blackened tendrils of what they used to be, crunching underfoot as you make your way towards the front of the shop. You could feel the energy thrumming through your veins, the wounds you had were gone, the exhaustion and fatigue washed away by the plants that gave what life they had to make you whole.

You'd only ever given life to things that needed you, you'd never once considered that you could take it away.

Darren is still standing in the street, looking proud of himself, but when he sees you reappear in the broken window his smile falters.

"Guess you can take a hit." Darren shrugs. "I'm a little impressed-"

"Our entire lives you’ve never appreciated me. All I did all was listen to you, do everything I could to love and support you. I did whatever you asked without question. I spent so much of my own money, sacrificing little things in my life, doing ridiculous jobs to make a little bit extra, because I thought I was helping you.”

“You did.” Darren sneers. “I never had to work-“

“I’m not finished.” You snap. “I have given so much of myself to you and all it did was enable you. Annie was right and our grandmother was right. You are a leech. All you do is take and take until there's nothing left, and you don't care who you hurt."

"Look who's finally seeing the bigger picture!"

"I am." Your heart was running a mile a minute and you could still feel the remnants of power from the plants thrumming in your veins. "You're a parasite and Ben was right, I was too stupid to see it, too conditioned to believe that you cared about me. But you don't, the only person you care about is yourself." Your voice trembles just a little bit as you say those words, but you knew it was true. "I'm sorry that you spent your entire life believing that our parents didn't love you, I'm sorry that I wasted so much of my own money and time taking care of you, and I'm sorry that after all this time there's still apart of me that wants to forgive you even though you don't deserve it."

"Oh no sissy did I hurt your feelings?" Darren puffs out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. "What are you gonna do? Throw a spinach puff at me?" He cackles. "You're so pathetic. You really think that Mr. American Dream and you can beat me? Please." Bluish white arcs of energy illuminate the air around him, catching in the long shadows, emanating out from his body. His skin has gone an even paler shade of white, his veins a dark blue beneath. "In Greek mythology Zeus is the king of the gods. And all the others bow to him." He raises a hand and the electricity dances across his palm. "Have you come to bow?"

“No, because you were wrong about one thing.” You feel your eyes shift to bright green with your words, the plants in the store behind you screaming for blood, writhing together in a tangled mass in the depths of the shop.

"And what’s that sissy?” Darren snorts.

“Ben didn’t kill Elijah. I did.” 

The building that housed "Please Don't Die" explodes behind you raining brick, mortar, and rubble on the street around where you stand. The creature that crawls forward on broken limbs and tangled roots from the remnants of the store is the size of a city bus. It looks like a large lizard, the claws easily the size of your forearm, it's head the size of a washing machine, and the body rippling with muscle woven from stems, leaves, and vines to claw it's way from the rubble on four legs.

Darren stares up at it in shock, confused at it's sudden appearance.

It opens it's mouth, revealing a mouth full of broken sticks fashioned into points, and lets loose a roar that shakes the parked cars that line the street. You could feel your body intertwined with it, the creature an extension of yourself, the rage, anger, and frustration you felt pouring through the veins of the behemoth that towered over the empty street.

This has never happened before, but it felt right. As if everything inside of you had been building from this, since the moment you used your power to kill Elijah your powers had felt different, amplified. And now standing in the street with the creature at your command it feels cosmically correct. There's a switch inside that flipped the right way and for the first time in your life, you feel powerful.

Darren tries to blast you backward again, but the lizard is faster than he expected it to be absorbing the bolt of electricity. It plows head first into Darren, knocking him back into the pavement. He lets out a yell of surprise, the sound of his head hitting the pavement echoing down the street.

You could feel your body thrumming with power, electrifying your veins, exploding from every nerve ending, and charging through skin and sinew to recreate you into something that you never knew existed and never knew you could be.

The creature's clawed hand is on Darren's chest, flattening him down into the street, and he struggles beneath it electricity crackling in the air. The lizard stares down at him with unblinking eyes, not reacting to the arcs of bluish-white light that pulse from Darren's hands.

It looks over it's massive shoulder at you, the plants that formed it’s body asking your permission, bending to your will, opening it's mouth to click in a broken language that only you understand. You can hear the little whispers of the leaves against your ears and feel the roots and vines that knotted together to form the behemoth that takes up most of the street.

"Sissy-" Darren begins to say, his eyes wide. You could see him mentally calculating his mistake, his misinterpretation of what you were capable of, and see him trying to switch tactics to save his own skin.

But you don’t want to hear any of it anymore. You didn't want to waste another second of your life listening to anything he said.

"I'm your brother." He wheezes the clawed hand heavy on his chest, pushing him down into the pavement. 

"I don’t have a brother." Your voice is cold and emotionless. "All you are is the asshole who killed my parents and used me in every way he could. And you're never going to use ever again.  Goodbye Darren."

"Wait-"

The creature's jaws fasten onto Darren's head and his last words are cut off in the rip of teeth and crunch of bone.

You stand there watching the lizard tear at his body, gazing at the bloody mangled mass that was your brother and your creation that crouches above him. Blood drips from it's bloody maw onto the pavement, staining the street red and it looks at you as if waiting for your next command, but you can't move.

"Petals?" You hear Ben say from somewhere to your left, but you don't acknowledge him. "Are you okay?"

The rush you felt from the plants is gone, the green fading from your eyes, and the sound of Darren's final gasp still vibrating against your ears. The energy is slowly ebbing from your body and you're scared by what's left behind, because that meant that everything was about to come crashing back down on you.

The creature turns and moves closer to you, pressing it's giant head against your torso as if trying to comfort you. And you raise a hand to rub the top of it’s head you can't stop staring at the body, not quite comprehending everything that has happened in the past fifteen minutes.

Darren killed my parents, he deserved this, he tried to kill me, he tried to-

There were tears in your eyes, bubbling over, as you exhale a gasp and a bone shaking sob. Everything was crashing down over you quickly and you sink to your knees.

The creature seems to follow you down, growing smaller and smaller until it's no more than the size of your hand, and clings to your jean's pocket.

Darren's body is unrecognizable, lying in pieces, and scattered over the street. People were running and screaming in terror, but you couldn't hear them. You knew that the police would be coming quickly and you didn’t know how the fuck you were going to explain any of this. Not the giant lizard, not the destruction of the building behind you, and especially not explain any of this to Jake who you hoped wasn't hurt or worse.

You feel Ben's hand come down on your shoulder. "Petals look at me, come on."

"He killed them." You murmur, the memories of your parents flashing through your mind, all of them happy and in love. "He killed them because he thought they loved me more. It's all my fault."  The memory of the nightmare grates across your skin sending a shudder through your body.

"Petals." Ben turns your face to look at him. His eyes are still filled with the force of his rage, but they are softer now, looking at you with an unreadable emotion that you'd only seen in the hospital when you woke up and Ben sat with you. His hand gently traces the curve of your cheek. "That was not your fault. Everything he did wasn't your fault. He was fucked in the head. He-"

"I can't do this." You swallow, pulling yourself from Ben and standing up on shaky legs.

"What?"

"I've got to get out of here." Your feet stumble slightly on the cracked pavement, and Ben catches your now unbroken arm to stabilize you, but also to stop you from leaving

"Let me make sure that you're okay first-"

"I'm not!" Your voice breaks. "None of what happened is okay. I'm not okay Ben I-" The sobs were coming closer together now, everything coming down hard and making it difficult to breathe. "I can't breathe. I-"

"Hey. Shhh-" Ben tries to step closer to you.

"No Ben." You shake your head, tugging your arm to tell him to let you go, but he doesn't. The tears fall faster, soaking through your bloody shirt.

Emotions were pummeling you, overwhelming you, and were making it difficult to speak and to think. The only thought you had was that you had to get the hell out of here, that you couldn't look at what used to be Darren anymore, and that you couldn't look at what used to be the shop you loved so much.

"Just wait a damn minute-" He says more forcefully, tightening his grip.

"No. Let me go."

"Petals-" He's saying it in the soft concerned way that he did whenever it was the two of you, but you couldn’t listen to it. All you could feel was the jumble of emotions in your head and the events of today beginning to press down over you. Darren's confessions and his death were crushing you into oblivion.

"Let me go Ben." You shout again, through a sob.

"I don't want to. Let me help damnit!"

"No, please." You shout, tears streaking down your face as he finally lets you go. "I need to be alone. I need to-" You gasp. "I need to go home."

The darkness was closing in quickly and you didn't know what to do. The tide was overwhelming, pulling you under with every passing second.

"Then let me take you home."

"No." You shake your head. "I have to go home." You say it again for him to understand what you mean. "I can't be here right now with this. With any of this I-"

"Please-" Ben's voice is thick and it's the first time you've ever heard him sound that way.

"No, I have to go."

And you run, leaving the body of your brother and everything you know behind, while Ben watches you go with a twinge in his own chest that he can't understand.

A/N: Lots happened in this chapter. I know the revelations and the twists were WILD. But it finally happened, Darren got what he deserved. I know we don't see too much of Ben and the reader, but in the next chapter things between them are about to become less blurry. And we get a re-appearance of Granny Di in the next chapter!

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Comments, and Likes are not required, but are always appreciated. I love hearing what y'all think! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series please let me know! :)

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@faephoria @possiblyafangirl @jqtaro @quietlybitchy @tinydancer40

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[tenpintsofsundrop]

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson One: Slick Silicone

(aka the one with the pocket pussy)

Summary:

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

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

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

Word Count: 17,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you. 

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

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

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

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

“Ugh, fine.” You said. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked up at Reid with awe. 

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

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

Your insides tingled with glee at this realization. 

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

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

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

This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was something you found entirely endearing. 

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

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

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

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

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

Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question. 

You held back a giggle. 

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

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

“It’s a sex toy.” You told him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wore a glove, Reid!” 

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

… 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

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

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

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

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

(“Or an anus, of course.”) 

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

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

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

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

A pocket pussy. 

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

Yes, he was a virgin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation. 

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

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traffic was hell.” You fired back. 

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

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

“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You denied it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both of you knew what this meant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiled back at you fondly. 

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

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

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

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

… 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

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

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

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

Oh, but you did. 

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

“Spencer,” You called out his name gently. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What he did next nearly sent you into orbit. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course.” You nodded. 

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

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

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Intense want flared up of you. 

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

“Spencer,” 

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

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

Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 

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

You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm. 

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

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

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

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

You decided to tackle his questions one at a time. 

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

You then continued your explanation. 

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

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

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

Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this. 

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

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

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

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

He easily understood what you meant. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer. 

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

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

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

His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. 

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

You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this. 

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

Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My - my belt?” He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had to marvel at it. 

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

Spencer caught you staring, of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state. 

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

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

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

Instinctively for him, there was only one answer. 

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

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

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

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

You were excited to finally use it on Spencer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Miss.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!” He easily replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!” 

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

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

Everything was so wet. 

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

“God!” He choked out. “Please!” 

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

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

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

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

“Please!” He sobbed. 

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

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

“Anything!” He easily declared. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only inflated your ego with his next words. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You loved those glasses even more now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What - what about you?” He asked. 

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

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

He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

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

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

“Of course you can, baby.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.” He told you. 

You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

The sequel to this fic has now been posted!

Keep Reading Here: Lesson Two - Magic Metacarpals

[almondx1ao]

Sanji hcs

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Words: 1248 (?) some changes have been made

Cw: nothing just hcs

Doing Sanji hcs as a person who just started one piece and just met Sanji.

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• The type to push your hair out of your face before cupping your cheek to kiss you.

• gets your attention by lifting your chin until you meet his gaze.

• He's the type to keep track of the things you don't like and do like. Whether that is food or anything else

• Sanji would keep an eye on your portions that you normally eat, and make sure you get that portion everytime. Since he wants you to be full, but not overeat, but also not waste food

• Would absolutely get up and make you more if you were still hungry

• Acts of service and pda/physical touch are his love languages

• Literally would panic because you're upset

• The type of you were to notice his gestures he would accept it but also the type to be in his room giggling and kicking his feet later when he thinks about it.

• Would like it if you played with his hair

• Jealous, and will have more pda because you're his and he wants your attention.

• He would gently pull your gaze to his when he's jealous and lean in and whisper into your ear things like "eyes on me." "Look at me my love."

• Soft spot for pets and kids

• Would be the type to teach you to cook, would internally cry if you got the steps wrong, but not let it show because it's you. Because he's a sous chef he's used to not only making sure the other chefs are doing things right, but doing things in a very quick yet flawless way. He would still be gentle with you, but he is internally crying every time you make a mistake.

• I feel like he would hug you from behind and take your hands to guide them through each step.

• He's making sure that every utensil, pot, pan, ECT is sparkling clean. Would keep the kitchen spotless and organized. Would have one of those knife sharpness testers and an expensive sharpening kit. His tools are always pristine.

• Will get upset if things in the kitchen are out of order

• Loves making food for you because he likes seeing your eyes light up when you taste each dish

• Would have a laid out schedule for everyone to eat, making sure everyone is kept fed during the day, is staring down Luffy if he grabs one snack when it isn't a snack time

• Would make a special plate for you if you didn't like a certain ingredient. People liking the meal is so important to him. Sanji would want to lessen the waste, if he knew that you would pick out something he would not put it in again or at all to begin with.

• If you didn't like him smoking, I don't think he would quit necessarily, unless you found another stress reliever to replace it, but he wouldn't smoke around you

• Very attentive to you, you're his priority.

• during cuddles he would lay his head on your chest.

• I feel like Sanji would like being the big spoon, but also wouldn't mind being the little spoon. Anything is fine as long as he's touching you

• His favorite places to kiss are in the most obvious places

• He's kissing everywhere, but out in public he's making it extra obvious, if there's exposed skin, it's getting kissed.

• Stands tall and is super proud to have you at his side

• Will not hesitate to show you off, absolutely is showing you off

• Bringing you up in every conversation, he literally will not shut up about you.

• A flirt, but once it's you, he's done for. You are the apple of his eye. You would be one of his treasures

• If he's not there when you wake up, he's leaving you a letter on the side table. Making you breakfast in bed everyday, you're the only one that gets special treatment.

• Head over heels for you in everyway possible. Would act like he got shot by cupids arrow.

• I would feel like he would follow you everywhere. Would be moody if he's not near you. He's like a lost puppy.

• Is the type to write love letters, he's sappy.

• Would like to do your hair for you, anything to be close to you he's doing it.

• Has an interest in fashion

• Knows how to do makeup

• Example: you would be getting ready for a date and you were getting frustrated because you weren't liking anything that you were wearing, your hair, your makeup, and your accessories. But he would absolutely notice immediately,

"Sweetheart? What's wrong?"

And you're hysterical as you tell him, he would gently guide your eyes to his and gently smile and look at you,

"You're beautiful no matter what you do."

He would then help you with everything and making sure you like it as well

• If you're acoustic(I promise I'm joking I mean autistic) would have a journal to keep track of what makes you meltdown/shutdown

Favorite stim toys if any

Favorite textures

Comfort foods

Ect.

Would spray something with his cologne to give to you to calm down

• If you were to infodump about something you already have, he would pretend that he knew nothing because he loves hearing you talk.

• Would play it off like it was normal, but seeing you hugging the thing and burying your nose into it Sanji is mentally kicking his feet and giggling that his scent and just him in general brings you comfort

• He would absolutely love that he brings you the most comfort

• Oh and if you asked him to lay on you for compression, do you think he's gonna say no?

• He would call you every name in the book, but I feel like his favorites are sweetheart, darling, and my love

• My love specifically because it has that possessive part to it. Not in a bad way, but a reminder "they're mine" to himself and others.

• Still starstruck that he has you because he flirts all the time obviously but no one has reciprocated. So he feels like he's in a dream and it's unreal.

• A romantic and is the best date planner

• Has expensive tastes, suits aren't cheap.

• If you were the type to not get anything expensive things for yourself and turn down expensive gifts, he's spoiling you and not taking no for an answer. Wouldn't tell you prices either, no matter how much you asked.

• If sanji notices that you have a favorite piece of clothing whether that be pants, shorts, shirt, ECT. He would make sure that it was clean for the next time you wore it. Would match with you as well. He would love it. He would put his cologne on it before you wore anything.

• You're always getting special treatment

• He would memorize your favorite songs, possibly would hum them while he was cooking

• Would be the type to get you a necklace that says I love you in different languages

• Flowers, chocolates, jewelry, and a giant stuffed animal any day, but especially Valentine's.

[itsabouttimex2]

I have seen many yandere parental figure so how about yandere offspring? Like Yandere mk/nezha/redson/mei to his parental figure? How would their parental figure to their child "strange" behavior?

Yandere Children:

Red Son and Ne Zha

(This is the first time I’ve written romantic yandere for Y/N. Not too surprised that it was for Bull King and Iron Fan.)

I like to think of this particular Y/N as a demon born of ice, someone who owes a serious debt to Princess Iron Fan.

When she finally calls it in, you head immediately to her fortified residence, seeing the former celestial standing outside with her husband, a small bundle in his arms.

You expect the worst, and prepare accordingly. The favor you owe is great- no task is beyond her asking. Your blessing, or a fragment of your power. Your service as a guard or war companion. Your compliance in a murderous scheme. But Princess Iron Fan does not wish for any of that.

Instead, she wants a babysitter.

“We were hoping… that you might be a suitable caretaker for our son. It could be that your natural affinity for ice will help to neutralize Red Son’s wielding of the Samahdi Fire.”

So the little boiling bundle is pushed into your icy arms, steam hissing and filling the air on contact.

His temperature lowers as yours rises, the little baby cooing and laughing at the humid mist swirling around you.

“…I didn’t know you had a son,” you say, poking the plumpness of his little scarred cheek. “And what a big and healthy thing he is, too.”

“A worthy heir to my throne!” The Demon Bull King proudly announces, watching closely as you handle his cherished son. Gently, you press a kiss to his bindi. Pulling away slowly, your lips leave a glittering ice-blue mark upon it, reading simply: 凛.

This is the life you settle into, a mostly peaceful passing of days spent playing with the growing boy and helping to tame his deadly flames.

Any time they grow out of control (and it happens frequently) you quickly reapply your blessing to his forehead, chilling his internal temperature and forcing his body to redirect the fire to heat himself up.

His parents watch on in awe, seeing you so easily and calmly reign in something so deadly and uncontrollable. You quickly become more than a temporary babysitter, given a lavish room furnished with every luxury that a demon could desire.

(Let’s be honest, there’s some real poly energy with you’ve got going on with PIF and DBK. ‘Live-in babysitter’, my ass.)

As the three of you grow closer, so swells your bond with Red Son, serving as primary caretaker and educator. He’s a prodigal learner, taking quickly to magic especially. You learn that the boy has a knack for putting things together, spot-welding any pieces of metal he can find. These little jagged creations are often gifted to you, and you have a shelf entirely dedicated to displaying them. Often will he reject his own bed to sleep beside you, finding comfort in the coldness of your skin.

But, in spite of all sweetness…

Red Son is still a demon, things that are horribly powerful and often violent or deceitful, if not outright murderous.

And he grows to see Y/N as being something that belongs to the Demon Bull Clan. And sure, with the nearly unpayable debt you owe to Iron Fan and your budding relationship with his parents, he’s not exactly wrong.

A caretaker, a maid, a teacher, a mentor, a friend. These are all things you have become in grateful service to this powerful family. And eventually, all those things bleed to what they really what:

A spouse and a parent.

It’s hard to tell exactly when the shift in their perspective occurs, because their obsession is a slow, drudging creep. But the shift in their actions once they realize their obsession is instead blindingly quick.

One day you’re sitting down with Red to teach him calligraphy, gently and reassuringly fixing his brushstroke and complimenting every line he gets right, all while he demands to sit in your lap.

Then night falls and it is made very clear to you what your new role in the family in, complete with a shift in sleeping area and clothing.

You’re pressed flush between Iron Fan and Bull King as they slumber, dressed in a red silk gown and bearing purple-jeweled rings across many of your fingers. Red Son sleeps on your chest, his grip immovably tight.

And this is the new life you must grow accustomed to, either to repay your debt or perhaps… because you have come to like it.

Loved isn’t the worst thing to be, after all.

(Personal headcanon: befitting his status as the Third Lotus Prince, most offerings given to Ne Zha consist of foods containing lotus seeds, lotus root, and lotus paste. At this point, he’s grown somewhat sick of the sweet taste. He actually prefers meat and vegetables.)

“Ne Zha,” you call, exploring the halls of his palace. “Little one, it’s time for dinner!”

All that meets your words is the clanging of metal and the tearing of leather. He’s training again, as always.

You push aside a silk curtain embroidered with many lotuses, revealing a well-stocked armory lined with dozen of training dummies.

And in the middle is a very worn-out Ne Zha, the little prince dripping with sweat.

“Little one,” you say, causing the boy’s sash to stand to attention, startled upwards like the tail of a cat. “What did I say about training so late?”

“I, um… I’m not supposed to train… so I won’t want to sleep in late to, um, make up for lost energy.”

“That’s right, sweetpea. Come on, let’s get something in your stomach. And then you’ll need a bath.”

“I already took a bath today,” he huffs, slotting his dual-tipped spear face-down into a holding pot. “I don’t need another.”

Timed to the click of your tongue, you swipe a finger across the young boy’s forehead, dragging a line in the built-up sweat. “I think you do, Ne Zha.”

“…hmph,” he pouts, his little cheeks puffing out. Though the prince is much too polite to outright refuse or go so far as to throw a tantrum, he still shows his displeasure in a quiet and mild way.

It’s one of the things you cherish most about him. Ne Zha is well behaved and rather mature, to the point where you have to encourage him to play and take breaks. It feels a little unfair, really, that someone so young has been saddled with so much responsibility.

You ply the Third Lotus Prince with plushies and paints, allowing him to explore avenues of creativity and make-believe. It’s nourishing for both his mind and body, a period of well-earned rest to slowly recuperate from the constant training he’s so insist on enduring.

In turn, he’s viciously protective of you, and often asks for your explicit attention over any other maidservant in the Celestial Realm.

Expect him to ward off any would-be suitors by challenging them to duels. It’s a lose-lose scenario . They either somehow win and beat the hell out of a little boy, or, more likely, get the hell beaten out of them by a little boy. Either way, it’s not exactly something that endears them to you, watching grown men and women raise their blades to your protective charge.

Kissing his wounds and fixing his hair, doting on the little lotus prince as your would-be suitors seethe, wishing that they were the ones receiving your attention.

Eventually, Ne Zha will properly dress himself (that’s a lie, he needed your help) for an audience with several important deities in the Celestial Realm, he asks for your permanent placement as his personal parent maidservant.

And what reason do they have to deny such a loyal warrior?

[yourlocaldcbitxh]

How I think Gotham characters would reach to you being overstimulated

Brought to you by me being overstimulated

Warnings: Overstimulation due to whatever reason, maybe some self harm (scratching of arms or forgetting to eat), mentions of someone getting shot

~~

Immediate reaction is confusion

Why are you not speaking? Why are you rocking back and forth scratching down your arms?

Probably stands there for a moment before asking you to “stop whatever it is you’re doing” while waving his hands

Doesn’t realize that you can’t hear him until he just stands there saying your name (ex: Edward, Edward, Edward-)

Then he goes into panic mode

Buzzing around you wondering what wrong and how he can help

Settles with glass of water, absolute silence and him sitting there, making sure to get ice for your arms or whatever you need or want after

The type of guy to shoot anyone who walks in and then profusely apologize for the loud noise

Like a 7/10 when he gets his shit together

Pre Riddler

He understands and had anything you could need

Weighted blankets, headphones, snacks you name it he has it

Will let you sit in his apartment or lab for as long as you need

Will get a little distressed if you end up scratching yourself or anything like that

Will walk over and gently grab your hands, apologizing for touching you but saying he doesn’t want you hurt

Will sit with you or leave you alone

Another guy who gives you anything you need

10/10 would recommend

Post Riddler

Gentler than one might think

Technically he is still Ed and is in his body so he knows overstimulated when he sees it

Had the same things as Ed but is a lot less nice about giving them to you

Kind of just hands them to you and walks back to whatever he was doing

Another one who will leave you alone or sit with you if you need it (he will complain about being busy)

Will not care if you scratch yourself

May look at you strangely for a moment but will not comment

Will clean them after if they’re deep though

6/10 kind of disinterested but he’s there

Looks at you strangely for a moment before sitting next to you and asking what you need

If you can’t speak he will simply guess

Essentials are water, blanket, food, soft music or silence

Will not touch you unless asked or signaled to

He runs cold though so beware if he is shirtless or pants less

Will hold you in his arms if you’re scratching yourself in kind of like a bear hug

Refuses to let you hurt yourself

Big on that (hypocrite)

All in all like 8/10 he’s great but can be a little rough with the grabbing

Barbara the queen that she is will order everyone out immediately

Puts a blanket near you to grab if you want and gets some water

Doesn’t ask questions but kind of does the Hand movements asking “stay or go” and you can decide one or two

Definitely has flash cards made she is mother

Another one who would shoot anyone who dares make fun of you or makes a noise

She won’t touch you on purpose but will probably touch you out of instinct

Just move away if you need she won’t take (much) offense (just explain after)

All in all 9/10 we love her

Nice about it

But has no idea what the fuck he is doing at all

Kind of just, stands there and looks at you and walks away to get a glass of water before leaving

Will panic and grab you very roughly if you start scratching yourself

Doesn’t really process the fact that he is making it worse probably

After that he just kinda… leaves

Comes back with food after and says sorry but is still clueless

Explain to him cause he does wanna help but is dogshit at it

4/10 teach him

Another man who doesn’t know what’s happening

“Want a drink” (he means whiskey)

Gets food and water and that’s about it

Totally just freezes when you scratch yourself and kind of just…. Lets you I guess

Internally man is beating himself up

But on the outside he just sits with you to make sure you don’t die

And gives you things you ask for

He’s like that clueless dad who needs to learn but won’t or can’t

Totally a pacer and just walks in circles

3/10 help him (if he can be) he means well

This man does not know the word overstimulated

He is going at all times

Nothing is too loud or too much or too bright

He is the fucking sun for god sakes

Will simply keep talking when he sees you freaking out (jerk)

Covering your ears is a good way to shut him up because usually you listen to him

He won’t know what do to at first but turns down the lights and tries not talk too much (mildly fails)

Blanket and water are a must and he sets them besides you

Another grabber when you’re scratching

“That’s my job sweetheart”

Smells good and is warm so that’s a good plus

5/10 loud but he’s trying

Quiet and respectful

A man of science so he knows what is happening and how to deal with it

Gets you water, a dark room, silence and headphones, and leaves or sits with you while working

He is busy but he cares

A gentle grabber who lets you know he’s gonna touch you

“I’m going to hold your hands if you don’t stop hurting yourself doll”

Surprisingly kind and gentle but that’s because he knows what it’s like to be ignored and not cared for

10/10 for the insane man

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Slashers with a cold/distant s/o :)

Idea: s/n(slasher name) gets a gift for their s/o (a piece of clothing or an accessory) and is a little disappointed that they aren’t wearing it. And fast forward a couple months later they find the clothing/accessory in a little box filled with stuff their s/o holds dear to them

There s/o still remembers details about the day:D

Slashers giving small gifts to an s/o who is emotionally distant

Jason Voorhees

He gives you a lovely ring he found on the finger of one of his victims, and is rather hurt when he doesn’t see you wear it. You smile and say thank you when he gives the ring to you, but don’t seem as thrilled as he would like. But when he stumbles upon your box of knick-knacks, he understands. He remembers having something similar as a child, even. So now, whenever he finds something he thinks you will love, he puts it straight into your box, and starts his own with all of the things you give him, from dried flowers to small carved things the campers made.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent gives you a necklace, that once belonged to his mother, making it clear to you just how meaningful this is. It is a symbol that you are part of the family now, so cherish it.

And cherish it you do, by putting it where you keep all of your most loved memories. Though you seem rather indifferent when receiving it.

Later, he finds your box, and all of the things in it, including the necklace. He carries it to you and asks in sign for you to explain.

And you do; that this is a stash of all of the happiest memories you made in the past. And he concludes that it is a good place to keep his gift to you.

Freddy Krueger

The red and green sweater, basically just a version of his sweater tailored to fit you, is mostly a gag gift, but he does get a bit grumpy when you never wear it. He gets it, the damn thing is ugly, but that’s what’s fun about it! Don’t you get it?!

Being so deeply anchored in your head does allow him to catch some glimpses into your life while you’re awake, and he sees you put the sweater into a box he has seen a few times before. If memory serves, it’s where you keep the stuff you use to comfort yourself if you have a really shitty day, and his annoyance goes up in smoke.

Oh. Well that’s okay.

Brahms Heelshire

“WHY are you never wearing the brooch I gave you?”, he demands to know. Brahms isn’t big on internalizing things, so when he believes you are disrespecting his love and generosity, he does not hesitate to confront you.

You stare at him blankly. “I just don’t want it to get damaged. If I wear it while doing chores, I could drop it and accidentally step on it, or scuff it, or any number of other accidents could happen to it. That’s why I keep it somewhere safe. It’s way too pretty and precious to be worn every day.”

That is true, both emotionally and practically. The Heelshires being the kind of family they are/were, those gemstones on the brooch are probably the real deal, and you don’t want to be the kind of idiot who lost a year’s salary’s worth of diamonds while cleaning the house.

Bubba Sawyer

Bubba has Nubbins teach him the very bare basics of making jewelry out of bones and proudly presents you with a bracelet made of several bones on a piece of string.

His brothers tease him when you end up never wearing it, so he tries really hard and makes another, in his eyes prettier one. You accept it as well, but never wear it.

Bubba is distraught. Do you not like his work? Is he still that bad at it?

Finally he stumbles upon your jewelry box while cleaning, and finds the bracelets there, lovingly taken care of. So you do care.

[wordsarelife]

so my idea was that reader never had her first kiss and is very inexperienced. they‘re all making fun if her but in a loving way. but lockwood decides to rescue her and teach / practise with her.

—london boy

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: lockwood and y/n finish a study about what defines the greatness of a kiss

warnings: kissing ig

note: this was so fun to write!! such a good idea, I hope I did it justice!!

"yeah" Lucy laughed "but that wasn't the weirdest thing, when he kissed me, he had so much spit in his mouth, I nearly had to throw up"

"ew" George exclaimed, the rest of the table irrupting into similar sounds at the story of Lucy's horrible date

"I hate it when people do that" Lockwood agreed and you grew quiet. you had never kissed anyone, so it wasn't like you would now what should and shouldn't be done while kissing.

you found it some what embarrassing, but at the same time you had only turned sixteen, you had all the time in the world to kiss dozen of people. you internal monologue, had totally occupied from listening to the conversation and now all eyes had turned to you

"what is it?" you raised your brows. you sensed the growing reservation from your friends

"nothing" exclaimed Lockwood quickly, but you didn't buy into it

"we just wondered if you had ever kissed someone before" George said. Lockwood threw an angry look in his direction and Lucy admonished him loudly

"what?" you asked, startled by the sudden question

"well" said George "we all had a fair share of relationships, but we never saw you with anybody.. that begs the question" George left the rest of sentence unfinished, due to the kick he received from Lockwood under the table.

"oh" you looked down in shame "well, in that case I guess you're right"

"its nothing to be ashamed of" muttered Lucy. you looked up and send her a grateful smile

"it's a bit funny. but in a good way" George send you a smile "hopefully you will never have to kiss such a douchebag like Lucy, with a mouth full spit, there are enough of them in this world"

you all broke into laughter, the tense atmosphere suddenly blown away by you guys falling into your usual comfort.

an hour later, you were cleaning up the kitchen, when there was a soft knock at the kitchen door. you turned around and were met with Lockwood

"hey" you smiled "you know you don't have to knock, right? this is still your house"

"I didn't want to startle you" he walked into the room and sat down at the table

"I just finished" you sat down beside him "its quite late, we should go to bed"

he had taken your hand and stopped you from standing up

"wait" he muttered and watched as you sank back in your seat again "what you said earlier, was that true?"

"what? that I've never been kissed? do you think I would lie, because I like to feel embarrassed all the time? it's bad enough already, I don't need you to make fun of me"

"I would never, and there's nothing to be embarrassed of, a few less douchebags you have kissed, what does it matter?"

you just shrugged

"not every kiss is awesome. some of them are bad. so bad even, that you later regret them" he smiled reassuringly "maybe you avoided a few of them"

"this might sound stupid" you breathed "but are there bad and good kisses or just bad and good kissers?"

"well, what's the difference?" Lockwood smiled

"I presume there's a big one" you said "the difference is noticeable wether you measure the quality of a kiss by the circumstances or more by the person giving them. statistically-" you were interrupted the moment Lockwood suddenly leaned forward and plastered a chaste kiss onto your lips

"wha-?" your eyes turned big

"that was a good kiss for example" he said lowly "and just for measurement purposes" he leant forward again and repeated his action, this time leaving his lips a few seconds longer

"yeah" you breathed confused "those were pretty good"

"I think I understand what you meant now" he said "is it the kiss or is it the person giving the kiss"

"yeah" you nodded, leaning forward and kissing him again "I think it's the person giving the kiss" Lockwood shrugged and you smiled

"well, maybe there's another possibility we haven't thought about yet"

"is there?"

"yeah, what if it's the length of a kiss?" you planted a short and chaste kiss onto his mouth

"yeah, what if the quality is defined by time rather than skill?" Lockwoods hand wandered to rest on your cheek. he pulled your face forward slowly, connecting your lips.

it was in that moment you realised that kissing was much more easier than you had initially thought. it was a lot like falling asleep. all the time it didn't happen, you would worry and think, but when it finally did, it just happened, you knew what you had to do suddenly

your hands went into his hair, his hand was still resting on your cheek, the other gliding down towards your waist and pulling you off your chair and into his lap. his lips were soft, not that you had anything to compare them too, but still. you opened your mouth slightly, his tongue slipping inside.

you slowly broke the kiss, leaning your forehead against his and smiling. you stayed like that for a few minutes.

"do you think those are enough kisses to determine a measurement?"

Lockwood shook his head. "we still have to find out if quantity stands above quality"

you stood up from his lap. "I think quality's more important" you giggled, watching his face fall dramatically

"well, only one way to find out" he laughed, chasing you up the stairs.

the next morning George and Lucy would complain about having heard you two giggle all night.

you would send a conspiratorial look in Lockwoods direction, having continued your study up in his room

you were no longer the only one in the house who had not been kissed. and you had Lockwood to thank for that. although he had gotten quiet angry when you had suggested to expand the study by testing out different kissing partners.

he was much more keen on him being the only one you were kissing. well, let's just say, it's not like you minded...

[bullet-clubs-bitch]

The Best Present

An: Today is Kenny’s birthday so of course I had to write something!

(Kenny Is referred to as Tyson)

Summary: Spending Tyson’s 40th  birthday with fem reader and their 1 year old daughter Violet!

Word count: 682

Tyson hated his birthday. Every year was the same, he didn’t want a party but I would convince him and of course he would have a good time. This year however was a special year, this year Tyson would be turning 40 and I knew that terrified him. I tried to plan a big party with all of our friends and family but of course Ty hated the idea. So we would celebrate his big day with just the two of us and our one year old daughter Violet  until Wednesday when we would go out to dinner after dynamite with friends to celebrate. 

I didn’t quite understand why he didn’t like to celebrate his birthday, I know most people don’t like their birthday but Tyson was different. It was almost like he was embarrassed of it. 

I woke up bright and early and started working on a cake for Ty. His only request each year was for me to make him a german chocolate cake and let him sleep in. This would mark the 10th german chocolate cake I would make for his special day and each year it seemed to get more special. Tyson claimed to love my cake, I thought he was just lying at first, since my baking skills can be questionable at times but 10 years of the exact same cake would say otherwise. Unless he is just extremely committed to the lie. 

After I put the cake in the oven I decided to make a nice breakfast as I waited for Tyson to wake up. As if on cue, he came downstairs right as I finished setting the table. You could tell that he was exhausted but nonetheless he still looked just as handsome. 

“Good morning birthday boy!” I said in a gentle tone, embracing him in a hug

“Good morning” He replied half asleep. “Did you do this for me?” Tyson asked, looking towards the feast laid out on the table. 

“Of course, anything for you my love” I said as I placed a kiss on his cheek. I turned to grab a fresh cup of coffee to give Tyson but it was almost like he vanished into thin air. Not thinking too much about it, I went back to preparing things in the kitchen until I heard noise coming from the baby monitor. I quickly realized that it was Tyson, who seemed to be talking with Violet. 

“Hi, my angel. I hope you had an amazing sleep” Everynow and then I would catch Ty talking with Violet and it always made me smile. Just then I heard Violet say “Birthday”, it wasn’t perfect but she definitely said it. I was internally high fiving myself, I had spent weeks trying to teach her the word for Tyson’s big day. 

“Yeah, it is my birthday. You are so smart Violet” I could hear his voice crack a bit as he spoke.  

“I must say you are the best present. I wish I had you years ago, I don’t know what I would have done without you Violet” I could hear his voice start to tremble as he spoke and I could feel my throat start to get dry. 

“Come on Violet, let’s go see Mom before she starts to wonder where we are” I could hear them start to make their way back to the kitchen so I ran back to the table, pretending that I didn’t hear the whole conversation. 

“There you are, good morning Violet!” I said as I approached the pair, giving them both a hug and kiss. “Who’s ready for some breakfast?” I asked as I took Violet from Tyson, putting her in her high chair. 

“Y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“Thank you” Tyson said, as he held me in a tight embrace 

“For what?” I asked, playing dumb

“For everything, I really don’t deserve any of this”

“Yes you do, stop saying that alright. I love you so much, okay. Like a ridiculously amount alright. And I will continue to love you for the rest of my life Tyson!” 

“Y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“I think I want to have another baby with you” 

“What?”

[d-apperc-adaver]

PART I

warnings: n/a, no there will be no smut, but spicy things will HEAVILY will be hinted at. sorta

plot: this chapter is more of a buildup. frustrated hopelessly in love gn reader :)

Thinking about Beetlejuice’s love life made you filled to the brim with rage. This havoc created by Delores and thinking about his past with her…lit your fuse.

It was quite obvious. You were tapping your finger obnoxiously on the table thinking about it.

And now he also has the nerve to say that Lydia was the love of his life?!! Damn that man! Damn him! Eternally!

Superficial deals for his own benefit. Or so at least you tried to convince yourself.

He was outright ridiculous at this point. The Beetlejuice you knew would’ve moved on already. And you know Beetlejuice.

You saw the man have an Elvis phase, get a fixation on speology, teach you medieval languages, lie that his middle name was Pete because he lost his shit when he heard Louis Armstrong sing Cuban Pete.

You always stayed. Just to be seemingly made out of cellophane when you tried to talk to him about anything relationship related thing. Didn’t matter whose problems were. If it weren’t about something he did in the past, a rendezvous, he would avoid it like a devil running away from holy water.

Everything made you internally explode.

He drove you crazy.

And you kept tap tapping at the surface of your table, the poor thing might just get a dent.

But the thing is, why did you even care about his poor “love choices”. Why did you put up with this then organise a mental pity party, “it should’ve been me! ME!” for yourself?

Fair enough he talked a good chunk about them and about how what a catch he is, but still. You accepted his way of being when you took the commitment of being his friend. A gross, perverted, ridiculous in every capacity and disgustingly charming ghost.

And you loved it. You were in absolute awe with his way of being.

You don’t quite remember when you started to fancy him. But in moments like this you sure do wonder why the feelings remained.

You really wished he would have seen more in you but unfortunately you seem to not have bewitchingly cursed enough eyes or some other bullshit.

But with the sound of your thoughts growing louder and louder and getting thrown off by your own feelings that you wanted gone and substantial amount of jealousy, you got back to work.

I mean. Doing him a favour. Sorting leftover business flyers..yeahhhh.

Ironically enough this was the fuel to all of your fire.

If you could say so.

“Looking for a…

LOVE CONNECTION?”

“DEAD-ICATED TO FINDING YOUR MATCH?”

It’s as if you could smell the cheap candles, satin robes and rose petals right in your face.

Makes sense to get angry at a lovey dovey flyer he planned on sending to any woman, VERY MUCH preferably a breather he would have to “woo” to do that weird wedding ritual, in his close proximity. I mean he already went ahead and conjured one for Lydia. But the worst part of this is that he seemed to have more of a romantic obsession with her now rather than his just do it for his own freedom. Ew.

So while doing that. You tried your best to keep your mind quiet from the suppressed feelings for Beetlejuice out of all ghosts, and moved to the normal classic good ol “TROUBLE WITH THE LIVING” flyers. You packed them up neatly in boxes, hell even put labels on them.

You got up from the table with a loud sigh of relief of finally getting away from things that reminded you of your adoration for the demon (oh how you’d love to just staareee all day into those big blue eyes) and rising your head up you were met with a horrifying:

“What’s got your panties in a twist hun?”

———————————————————

Hope u enjoyed the fanfic ♡´･ᴗ･`♡ thx for reading through

I’m cooking up a part two…

EDIT: THE TAGS!! How could I forget the tags… gee. I’m stuid :P

[redrage71890]

HEY NANBAKA FANS!!! Has anyone ever thought about the linguistic skills everyone has? Concerning the fact that the cast is largely international with the inmates primarily besides the guards since majority of them are Japanese (except for Building 5 that's mainly Chinese).

Big Note: I'm not fully caught up in the manga and just basically started it, so this is all coming from an anime watcher. If its somehow explained in the manga then someone tell me please...

Though staying with the primary cast of Building 13, 3/4 of cell 13 are foreigners from specifically English speaking countries being America and Britain. So are the three of them fluent in Japanese? I guess they would because Nanba Prison is in Japanese waters with majority of everyone being Japanese. I understand that the foreign guards would have to know Japanese for obvious reasons.

So here are my personal headcanons/thoughts for the each of the primary characters in the anime (because I haven't finished the manga):

Inmates

I think it depends on the pasts and learning abilities of the inmates for them to have a better understandings of learning another language and retaining that.

Jyugo: I find it hard to believe he would be able to learn another language easily or even moderately. He probably tries to copy how someone pronounces something but he struggles with reading and writing. From all the prisons he's been to internationally, he probably has basic English that was kind of refined from Uno helping.

Uno: Out of everyone in cell 13, Uno would most likely be bilingual with English and Japanese. I don't think he would be completely fluent however, he might struggle with more complex sentences or words he's unfamiliar with. (Also who doesn't think Uno might slip into some angry British English or something...)

Nico: I think Nico would be able to speak more Japanese than English because of watching anime. He can't read so he's going off hearing, so he might have picked up on words from how they're used in phrases and puts them in his everyday. Along with all the guards and Jyugo probably teaching him in some way.

Rock: Honestly, I see Rock using more English than the other three. Using it more emotively especially when he's angry or frustrated, mainly to himself. His Japanese I'd say is decent but not as fluent.

Tsukumo: Definitely bilingual and possibly trilingual. Japanese and English and I'll say Chinese that his 'mum' encouraged him to learn because of possible roles. Probably maintains them by trying them with English and Chinese speaking inmates.

Liang: Japanese and Chinese straight up. Doesn't know English well at all because of the environment and situation he grew up in, but he probably doesn't care about learning another language and just keeps Japanese and Chinese. Too busy training anyway.

Upa: Same thing with Liang. Don't really care and too busy training. English? I think he'd be really competitive against like Liang to see who's better at English.

Qi: Trilingual. Qi is pretty smart so I'm not surprised he would know three languages or so. He might've had foreign clients before he went to prison so he'd have to know English at least. Its Japanese, Chinese and English he knows to spell it out.

Musashi: Most likely the most knowledgeable out of the inmates, considering Musashi went to college so I'm saying trilingual. For all I know he might not be fluent in Japanese but he’s certainly fluent in German and English for obvious reasons (he’s German if anyone forgot).

Honey: Bilingual. He’s half Japanese and American but we don’t know anything about his family so who knows if he was actually taught Japanese at a young age. But Honey is quite smart with his bullets and the thread so I’d say he knows English and Japanese well to near fluency.

Trois: Most likely also bilingual but possibly trilingual. Trois is very intelligent considering his somewhat sadistic self with machinery, in my mind he probably has enough brain space for two at least languages. French is one and the other is Japanese, I said trilingual because I'm not sure if he would know English somehow.

Guards

They gotta be smart in a way and physically strong enough to keep these inmates from escaping. Not to mention the foreign guards having to learn another language to work at Nanba.

Hajime: Strikes me as a man that at least knows decent English but not fluent. I think he's very knowledgeable in other languages but he's too busy to study them or learn them.

Yamato: I don't think Yamato knows a lot of English or any other language besides Japanese. I'm not sure how he met his wife since she's Russian but I think she's bilingual while he isn't really.

Seitarou: Shy English speaker and isn't that confident in his skills, but he knows it decently. Though he doesn't give a vibe that he knows anything other than Japanese or English.

Samon: For obvious reasons he's bilingual with Japanese and Chinese. I like to think that the Chinese inmates and guards talk to each other in Chinese as a way of retaining the language. I see Samon helping some inmates retain their Chinese if some happen to forget like writing.

Inori: Again, bilingual. Highly doubt he would try to learn another language. Would he speak it at Nanba with anyone else? Honestly, he might but probably not often at all yet he somehow still remembers his Chinese.

Kenshirou: I'll be honest here, Kenshirou most likely knows the basics for a bunch of languages from his years in the police and he might of had to pick up basics for other languages for situations or so. Currently, I see his linguistics being a bit broken from not using it and or he forgets because of his work.

Hitoshi: Probably really knowledgeable on linguistics and other cultures but might have trouble speaking. Is very curious about other cultures and actually wouldn't mind learning from the people and feeling a great amount of appreciation for them. Considering the fact that he remembers that Hajime told him that Germans like beer a lot so I think Hitoshi wouldn't mind learning about other languages.

Kiji: This is hard. But I don't think Kiji would be extremely good with learning another language but I think he would know a few words. Like random words he can use and say in the correct times, though he probably would be too busy with his duties

Mitsuru: Ironically, probably knows many languages and surprisingly doesn't butcher any of them. Most likely favours English the most and is most likely fluent. Reason I'd say is from music he listens to or just saying shit for the jokes and memes.

Momoko: Relatively knowledgeable on other languages but isn't fluent in those languages. I'd say as the warden she'd have to encounter many foreigners so she'd know other languages for conversation and what's necessary.

[beachy--head]

AU drabble set in season 9, because a) Mercy West forever, and b) both Jackson and April deserved to have friends they could confide in and that could have avoided us some angst.

___

He’s been an attending surgeon for a few months already, but Jackson still feels a little something when he sees his name and those of his residents class marked as lead surgeons on the OR board. Part of it is pride to have made it, part of it is just plain incredulity, like they’re all children playing pretend doctors for the day and are not old enough to be trusted with a scalpel. 

“Dr. Adamson.”

Next to him in the OR, Reed Adamson, old friend and brand new ortho attending, only grunts in response to his greeting.

“Hmph.”

Reed is often gruff, so he lets it slide, but she doesn’t say one word during their whole surgery, except when she answers the interns’ questions, and that is very uncharacteristic of Reed. Two hours later, they’re scrubbing out, and she still hasn’t said one word to him.

“Okay, spit it out.”

She gives him a dirty look that makes Jackson ever more annoyed.

“What?”

Reed rolls her eyes and turns to him.

“What are you doing with April?”

“What am I doing with April?”

“I spent last night at Joe’s listening to her rant, and she didn’t talk specifically about you, but the poor girl is so confused, and we all know it’s because of you.”

“Oh really?” he says sarcastically, because the last thing he needs is for Reed to get involved in his thing with April.

“You’re acting like children, and it’s going to end badly.”

“Because you’re such an expert in relationships and human connections?”

Reed ignores him.

“I’m just saying. Don’t break her heart.”

He stops rinsing his hands and shoots his friend an incredulous look, speaking before he can stop himself.

“‘Don’t break her heart’? How about she doesn’t break mine?”

Shit.

“What?”

Reed can be pretty perceptive (when she’s not busy staring daggers at you), and he’s just given her ammunition. Great. He has to backpedal, and fast.

“I’m just saying. Her heart is not breaking, she only wants sex.”

His friend is small, but fast. In one second, she manages to roll her eyes, finish washing her hands and whack him on the back of the head.

“Ouch!”

“Jackson. Are you actually really dumb and have been hiding it the whole time?”

“What?”

“How long have you known April? Type-A, neurotic, has-a-life-plan-pinned-above-her-bed April?”

“Isn’t she supposed to be your friend?”

“You think that suddenly, she’d be chill with a no-strings attached relationship? That sex with you is so good she’d throw away her wedding scrapbook, white-picket-fence dreams? I had to teach her what ‘friends with benefits’ meant, and now you think that’s her life goal?”

“I don’t know what she thinks, okay? It’s not like we spend our time talking, you know?”

Reed’s face contorts in a grimace of disgust.

“Okay, ew, no, I don’t know, and I don’t particularly want to. Despite what April is saying, I don’t need the visuals, thank you.”

“I’m just saying, I don’t know what goes inside her head!”

“Have you tried just asking her?”

“Have you tried talking to Charles about whatever it is you have with him?”

It's a low blow, but he's ready to try anything to change the subject.

“Leave me and Charlie out of it. Grow a pair and talk to her. We used to never be able to shut the both of you up. What happened?” 

What happened is feelings, very, very big feelings, feelings he’s not sure he’s ready to handle yet, because in his experience, people you love tend to leave after a while, and why would he put his heart in the hands of someone with the power to crush it?

Reed still seems annoyed with him, like she can’t believe her best friends can be so clueless, but seems to soften.

“You’re not teenagers anymore. I know you’re both afraid to ruin the friendship or whatever, but you’re going to have to talk about it sooner or later. Sooner would be better.”

Jackson sighs and passes a hand on his face.

“I know, I know. Thank you.”

Reed bends her legs in a mock curtsy, and he suddenly remembers something she said.

“Wait, April has been talking about me? What did she–”

“Talk to her, Avery!”

[siflshonen]

when you say there is nothing of substance in regards to izuku, what exactly are you referring to? what would you have liked to see in the ending between bakugo and izuku?

It actually has less to do with Katsuki and more to do with Izuku and everyone else.

I would have liked to see him talk more with All Might about life after all for one and the possibility of loss. I would have liked to explore the drama of Izuku being the last wielder a little more from a personal perspective. It seems like Katsuki did most of the work exploring how Izuku returning to quirkless life would be a big adjustment.

I would have liked to see Izuku grapple more with understanding that while Shigaraki is someone he wanted to save, he also hated him. I would have liked to see him realize that besides just saving Shigaraki, he might have to spare a thought about what might happen next even if it didn’t happen. Ochako did, even in passing.

I would have liked to see more emotional impact regarding Izuku having the epiphany that he wants to save someone who has wronged him in a permanent way that matters. That wasn’t Katsuki, but Shigaraki/All for One, who have put Katsuki in jeopardy three times and Toshinori in the same position at least twice when Izuku was present. We go through this briefly, but it’s more like watching it go by as something we’re meant to expect rather than something we explore.

I would have liked to see Izuku, Ochako (with Ochako lurking on the sidelines and keeping her thoughts to herself a little, just as she was), AND Shoto discussing the very real possibility that the people they might try to save will die, and the public WILL try to martyr them a la Curious to Himiko, and they WILL have to discuss their actions. In the epilogue it seems Ochako has found a way to talk about Himiko with the public without talking about Himiko directly, which is its own thing, but I would like to see Izuku actually try to handle the consequences of his sudden fame since it is directly affected to what Heroes (career Heroes) value and strive for.

Katsuki, I think, also has an opportunity to act as a counterpoint because he killed his opponent and it was never some deep, emotional debate. I wouldn’t expect it to give Katsuki any existential angst, because I feel like it would be absurd if he OR the public gave TWO SHITS about whether All for One lived or died, but he and Izuku did enact two differing functions and methods of Pro Heroing that have to be discussed. Izuku can feel however he likes about his role in Shigaraki’s death, but he should also recognize that the people around him and that he respects and love did arrive with the intention to kill, and even that Katsuki put himself in that position SO IZUKU DID NOT HAVE TO HANDLE IT.

I would have liked to see Izuku questioning, at many points throughout the series, what it is exactly a pro Hero does and what they protect and value before he thinks about extending that nebulous definition to include trying to save Shigaraki Tomura. I don’t even necessarily want him to have to try and fix it in the story, but I would like for him to identify it beyond being “kinda weird”. From Ochako’s comments on finding Himiko a potential heroic purpose (meaning, the fact that she knows saving Himiko must be justified to the public to have some kind of purpose, or even that it COULD be) I think she understands what she is grappling with much better than Izuku does.

I don’t mind or disagree with him being a teacher, but I don’t get the sense how helping pro Hero students, who still have to be incredibly powerful to qualify for the career, apparently, makes him heroic. What the hell is he teaching them if I’m not convinced he learned much besides the taste of failure in his own heroic story?

I’d like for Izuku Midoriya to have more going for him as an individual character with a more extreme internal monologue and desires with fears, doubts, and explored resolutions to any of these things. He has them at the start, but by the end I personally don’t find them interesting or or well explored, and he does not connect with me.

And, yes, as a cherry on top, I do wish he had the balls to tell Kacchan that he has value in his life as something besides a rival. He can smile and have his shiny eyes all he likes and let it be implied or self-evident all he likes, but I would like for him to acknowledge it instead of always being a recipient. It was pretty gratifying to see him take the time to go speak with Ochako and tell her how heroic she is, finally, now at the end, but it would be nice if he did that for Toshinori, his mom, Katsuki, or a slew of other characters who have always saved him, helped him, or held their feelings inside for the sake of him or others.

While he uses stupid machismo and yelling, Katsuki has hidden his true feelings a lot not just as a shield for his fragile ego in the second half, but to keep Izuku from worrying. So nice of you to notice, Izuku.

[sillayobjects]

this is the part where i ramble about my lairy headcanons...

i posted this to twitter a while ago for pride month but ill copypaste it here too for the tumblrians (i need to use tumblr more i hate twitter)

vvv insane ramblings of a madman under the cut vvv

i headcanon that airy is autistic. he was hyperfixated on ONE which became his special interest, until liam came along and ended ONE. then he became hyperfixated on liam because ‘backpack’ is all that he has left of ONE. he is also brain damaged. (due to extended isolation and also shattering his head)

airy is cupioromantic/cupiosexual to me, for lack of a better label. but he doesn’t really think about labels or cares about what he identifies as. he just is really interested in liam and all things liam related. he wants to experience everything there is to experience with liam.

as for liam, i headcanon him as adhd. he cannot stand airy but deals with his antics because internally he feels a little guilty for destroying the one thing most important to airy (ONE). he would never admit it, but he thinks its nice that someone cares about him so much.

he doesnt think of himself as anything special, a nobody with a boring life. he’s never had someone dote over him and care for him so unconditionally before, and despite hurting airy and constantly pushing him away, airy will never leave him. he likes that sort of stability.

it took a long time for him to come to terms with the fact that airy wasnt the evil villain he built up in his head, he’s just a very mentally ill dude living in the woods all alone for who knows how long. he doesnt know how to deal with someone like that, and struggles to teach airy boundaries. airy has sort of lost the capacity to genuinely care about other people’s boundaries, but generally wants to make liam happy. his desire to make liam happy clashes a lot with his desire to be close to liam however, because liam does NOT want to be close with airy. any time airy tries to hold hands, hug, or anything further, it makes liam upset (outwardly… sometimes inwardly he likes it and is just being tsundere), so airy has to balance between what he wants and what liam wants. but he’s not very good at balancing.

this leads to liam fighting with airy a lot (airy doesnt fight back), which makes liam feel conflicted about his feelings towards airy, as he can see that he has no malicious intent, but is still very cold and insensitive regarding his feelings.

in my mind, they have a very interesting dynamic!!! its not entirely healthy, liam has the mindset of “i can fix him…” but… he cannot fix that thing. he will realize this eventually

i bend things every so often for funsies (like making liam a lot more tolerant towards him, or more hateful/unforgiving) because i like every flavor of lairy.

if you've made it this far you must be a big lairy fan... i will bestow upon you my two fanfics... maybe you will like? :)

Curtain Call - Begin Again