#BUT if there's anything specific i need to know

[asxgard]

Heartbeat | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Summary: You get called in to assist with the mass casualty event on your day off and you’re grateful to be there when your husband finally breaks.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: episode 13 hurt a lot so I wrote this to cope. Likely will write more specific stuff after I’ve fully processed.

Word Count: 4.4k+

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: age gap (16ish years, I have a problem okay? The age gap trope feeds me), hospital/medical inaccuracies, hurt/comfort, panic attack, foul language, angst (it’s who I am), gore/gun violence (Pittfest), vague details from ep. 11-13, pet names (baby, my love), non-graphic shower scene, fluff at the end because we deserve it after that episode???

not beta read

You had met Dr. Robinavitch when you started in the ED as an attending. While your love blossomed slowly, it bloomed into so much more than you were expecting. It had been a bit of a whirlwind, from dating secretly to Dana and Jack finding out only a month after, to getting engaged just a year later.

You had done what you could to keep it from the hospital administration, but the time came where you got married and paperwork needed to be filed. You kept your maiden name to ensure there was no confusion, plus it added to your privacy. Everyone you worked with knew you were married, just not to each other, but it was more of an open secret to some of the nurses and other attendings.

Gloria nearly moved you to a different department. She tried separating you by shifts, maybe hoping you would leave and find work in a different hospital. Michael was technically your boss, after all. In her reports, however, she found that when you two were on shift together, it was seamless. Like you two operated on a frequency that no one else was even aware of.

Despite the bumps in the road, and Michael’s aversion for talking about his feelings, you made it work. Some shifts could be frustrating, and that sometimes got carried home, but you respected each other immensely. Michael was not keen on letting such a good thing in his life go that easily, and eventually opened up about Adamson and the toll the pandemic had taken on him.

After that hurdle, everything else was easy. Eventually, you decided to grow your family, and you got pregnant not even five months later.

—

On the fourth year anniversary of Adamson’s death, you were surprised to find Michael preparing for a shift.

“Didn’t you take off?” You asked, watching him dress into his scrubs.

“Yeah,” he said, not looking at you. “Peterson had a family thing, and I know they’re short staffed.”

You frowned, “You could’ve asked me.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He said, turning to look at you and his heart swelled at the sight. “I don’t want you to cancel your appointment.”

You sat on that for a moment. For as busy as you both were, Michael had made time for every appointment you had after finding out you were pregnant.

“I know, I know. I promise I won’t miss the next one.”

That satisfied you. For all Michael was, someone to break his promise was not one of them.

“I was hoping to find out the gender today,” you said with a tiny smile. “But a little anticipation never hurt anyone.”

He looked grateful at your words, moving to kiss you. He tasted like mint, holding your head so gently in his hands. Your hands moved to his chest, wanting to hold him against you, but you released him.

“Jake know yet?”

He smiled, “Yeah. He asked to take his girlfriend instead.”

You raised an eyebrow and grinned, “Oh?”

You and Jake had gotten close slowly, him being like a step-son to Michael, but now you loved the kid.

“If you need anything, just call, alright?”

He nodded, grabbing his coffee, giving you one last lingering kiss before heading out the door.

—

Your day was mildly uneventful, taking your time with a handful of chores before sitting out on the balcony to have lunch. Your OB appointment had gone well, and you got a recording of the heartbeat, knowing Michael might need to hear it after his shift.

As time moved, you missed that Michael had not been able to be there with you. You missed his touch and his presence beside you. Dinner came with a takeout box of your latest craving, before your phone rang.

Jack Abbott’s name flashed on your screen. You still worked a few shifts with him from time-to-time, but Michael had you mostly scheduled for days, with him.

“Hey,” you said when you answered.

“Did you hear?”

“That’s so specific, Jack,” you said, opening the fridge to scan your snack options.

“There was a shooting at Pittfest, unknown number of casualties. Closest trauma center is PTMC.”

Your heart stuttered to a stop, “What?”

“Heard it on the scanner. You’ll likely get an alert that it’s all hands on deck, but I wanted to give you a heads up before traffic got too bad.”

Despite not being super close with Jack, you were still friends and you knew he had your back. While you hated being treated with careful hands at work now that you were pregnant, part of you still appreciated the gesture of it. It was like something unspoken had happened between Michael and Jack months ago, both of them moving to take the more combative patients whenever you were around.

“Shit, Jack.” You breathed out, rushing into your bedroom to grab your scrubs. “Fuck, Jake is at Pittfest. Let me try to reach him.” You fumbled through your drawers, taking a deep breath through your nose. “I’ll be in. See you soon.”

“Drive safe!” He said before the call disconnected.

After changing, you moved to grab a few odd snacks and water bottles, stuffing them into your lunch bag, along with your cell phone charger. Who knew how long this was going to take, or if Michael had had the chance at any point today to eat. He hadn’t texted or called, but that was not uncommon. The Pitt never made it easy, which was why you were grateful that you worked most of your shifts with your husband.

You tried reaching Jake, leaving a voicemail and a text message before reaching out to his mother. You briefly explained the situation and asked for an update as soon as she heard anything, before you promised the same.

When you got into your car, you took a deep breath to steady your heart before beginning your way to PTMC.

Michael called you, your phone ringing through the car’s Bluetooth.

“Hey, don’t have much time, but I need you.” He told you, his voice quiet but full of so much emotion.

“I’m already on my way. Abbott called ten minutes ago. Tried calling out to Jake, too, he didn’t answer. Told his mom to reach out to either of us if she heard anything.” You said in a rush, coming to a stop at a light. Almost there.

He let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“I’ll see you in a few minutes, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

The mass alert came through your phone as soon as he hung up. Thank fuck for Jack.

You made it into the parking garage, waving at the security guard now posted at the entrance. You sat in your car for just a minute to get your bearings, knowing tonight was going to be a shitshow.

As you entered the Emergency Department, you saw patients leaving, escorted by nurses and admin staff — and you moved quickly into the back. It was a circus, but you spotted Michael and Jack and beelined for them.

Michael’s brown eyes caught you as you approached and his face relaxed, though his shoulders were still tense. Dana was beside them, and her usual quip of “Oh I get Dr. R squared today?” did not fall from her lips, but she was sporting a black eye. You looked at her in alarm, but she waved it off.

“Just another happy customer.” She said, but you only frowned at her.

Michael spoke next, introducing you, and then quickly running down the new faces to you: Dr. Mel King, an R2, Dennis Whittaker, an M4, Victoria Javadi, an M3, and Dr. Trinity Santos, an intern. You tried to remember their names, but knew you would not likely remember them in the chaos.

You went to quickly put your stuff down, and when you turned around, Michael was standing there. To everyone else, he appeared neutral, controlled, normal. To you? He was wearing his shift all over his face and you could see plainly that it had not been a good one.

“This is going to be stressful, I should’ve let you stay home—”

While you appreciated his concern, you would have come anyway. “I promise, if I get too stressed out, I’ll let myself take a few minutes. But you have me. What can I do to help?”

“I need you in pink zone.” He told you, moving right back to business. “You’ll be with McKay and Javadi, and incoming night shift. But I need you at the head of it.”

“You got it.” You said, honored he was trusting you to run point on your zone.

—

While the victims did not stop coming, you found yourself moving mostly on instinct. Assessing, treating, moving along — trying to do your best to teach when you came across any of the new faces. You flitted into red zone when there was a particularly bad patient and then moved to triage so Dr. Shen could take a quick bathroom break.

When you assisted Michael, you moved together like a well oiled machine — and despite the tragedy, it came to you both naturally. You only barely registered the tension between Michael and Dr. Frank Langdon — a senior resident, and someone Michael had taken under his wing. You would have to remember to ask about it.

Time moved by in a blur, but you were painfully aware of every minute, every patient that came under your care. All the blood, all the death, all the tragedy.

It only got worse when Jake arrived, thought were thankful he was alive. He was asking about his girlfriend when you approached.

“Jake?” You got his attention as you began to take in his appearance. Jesus Christ, he was covered in blood.

“It’s mostly her blood,” he told you blankly, eyes moving around the room at the carnage. “It’s mostly her blood.”

You called for a wheelchair, your gaze searching for Michael. He was working on a patient, giving CPR from the look of it, the patient blocked from your view by the charge desk.

“Take a seat, Jake.” You told him softly, gently touching his shoulder. “Let me take a look at you, yeah?”

He sat down, his head swiveling around to locate his girlfriend. “I think—I think I got hit in the leg.”

You nodded, moving him into the yellow zone so you could bandage him up. You were not related and there were no official familial ties, so there were no problems of ethics — at least that was what you told yourself.

He moved to stand, and you pushed his shoulder back down.

“Let me assess you and then I promise I’ll go check on your girlfriend, okay?”

Jake nodded numbly and moved onto the gurney so you could look at his leg. His injury was not as bad as you had feared, and while you knew he would need stitches, you made do with some bandages for the time being.

“What’s her name?” You asked, trying to bring his attention back to you.

“Leah,” he told you, voice heavy with emotion. “I need to see her.”

While you did not understand the full panic he was experiencing, you knew Leah was in good hands.

“She’s with Robby, Jake. Leah is getting the best care.”

He was still not looking at you, and you got him set up with an IV antibiotic drip.

“Jake? Jake, can you call your mom for me? Cell service might not be great right now, but can you try? She’s worried about you.”

He took that information in slowly, before nodding.

The call did not go through, but you made him promise to keep trying while you assured him you were going to check on his girlfriend.

By the time you reached Michael, he was calling time of death and your heart constricted. You wanted to scream. By the look in his eyes, you can see he wanted to as well. You could feel Jack’s gaze on you and when you turned, he simply shook his head at you. You easily translated that to ‘your husband is not doing good’.

“I couldn’t save her.” Michael whispered, and only you caught it.

You gave his hand a subtle squeeze.

Jack was there then, reading the situation perfectly, “No one could have saved her. Maybe if this was a normal day, but it tore right through her heart. There was not much we could do.”

Fuck, you thought, she’s so young. You hoped she did not suffer.

Michael moved to find Jake and you followed him, but he stopped you.

“Can you take over for me in red so I can let Jake know?”

Every part of you screamed to go with him, but you nodded, turning to step back into pace with the work. You tried to push away your emotions, packaging them away to deal with later, but compartmentalizing was tough. You felt guilty for never meeting this girl, someone Jake had so obviously cared a lot about.

You attempted to get lost in the work, but you caught sight of Michael wheeling Jake out of Peds — the current place they have been putting the deceased — and the look on your husband’s face made your heart plummet. He had moved back into the room, leaving Jake just outside and you quickly gestured to a passing nurse to get him back to yellow.

The security guard did not make any comment when you walked into Peds, and you were devastated at what you found. Aside from the deceased, the number of them slowly ticking upwards, it was the sight of Michael on the floor in tears that truly struck you.

After ripping the curtain closed behind you, to block the view into the hall, and give you both just a small amount of privacy, you moved back toward Michael. It had been a long time since you had seen him like this. He had broken down when he told you about Adamson and the weight of his choice, and once he had even broken down after a particularly bad argument, but nothing like this.

“Baby, baby, hey,” you crouched down beside him, but you did not move to touch him.

His breath caught in his throat, but his sobs continued, hyperventilating with his arms pulled across his bent knees.

“Michael,” you tried, a name you had never called him when within the walls of the hospital.

His watery gaze met yours for just a moment, before his eyes were back in his lap, face scrunched. His ears were red, as well as his face, with red rimmed eyes that broke something in you.

“Michael.” You stressed again, moving so your hands hovered just above his arms. “Can you look at me?”

“I—I—I couldn’t—fuck—I didn’t save her.” His breaths came in short bursts, in in in out, in in out, tears coming down his face, his cheeks red.

You found yourself at a loss on how to help him — you knew none of his thoughts were rational at the moment, and anguish rushed through your veins, feeling so helpless. So useless.

An odd idea struck you, and you pulled out your phone before you could doubt yourself. You flipped through a few of your apps before settling on the one you had used to record your baby’s heartbeat.

“Can you take a deep breath with me?” You asked gently. You took a deep breath in through your nose and then out through your mouth.

You didn’t give him time to respond before you were pressing play on the recording. The sound of it filled the room with something other than Michael’s panic, and he quieted just enough to listen to it.

“That’s our baby.” You told him, though the sound of it was obvious enough, racing steadily like hoof beats.

His eyes found yours, and while he was still breathing quickly, he seemed to have returned to the reality around you, rather than stuck in his head. Relief took a bit of the weight from your shoulders.

“Can you breathe with me?” You asked again, finally touching his arm.

His hand found yours immediately and squeezed, but he nodded. You took a few more deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth, watching as he mirrored you.

Aside from the quick beats of your baby’s heart, the deep breaths you both took filled the room. You desperately tried to ignore the dead around you, trying to solely focus on the man in front of you. When the recording came to a stop, Michael’s hand twitched toward your phone.

“Can you play it again?”

You nodded, pressing play and handing him your phone. The fast heartbeat filled the space again, and he cradled your phone like it was a lifeline. Maybe it was.

“Very active today.” You told him. “Wouldn’t sit still.”

A ghost of a smile passed over his lips, but it was gone in a moment.

“I have a video file that they sent me from today, but I didn’t want to look at it without you. Figured if either of us looked long enough, we’d be able to tell the gender ourselves.”

“Can we?” He asked, looking at you with tears still in his eyes.

You smiled, moving to sit next to him. You did not know how long the moment was going to last — sooner or later, someone was going to come looking for either of you. You tried to ignore it, trying to center yourself in this moment with Michael, forgetting about the outside world for just a moment.

Clicking on the video you had saved, you both sat quietly watching your baby move. Michael grabbed your hand in his and held it close to his chest. This was only going to be a bandaid, but any distraction was a welcomed one in that moment.

“They’re healthy. Measured 6.6 inches, 11 ounces.” You rattled off, moving your other hand to his head and running your nails along his scalp and through his hair. Any time in the past that he had had a panic attack in your company, you found that at the tail end of it, he enjoyed the feeling of your hands on him. Like it was grounding.

Michael’s hyperventilating had fully stopped, though a handful of tears still slipped through. His face was still scrunched in pain, but he watched the video attentively.

“You did all you could, my love,” you whispered. “No one could have saved her. Not even if it was all of us and just her. I’m so sorry.”

“Jake—”

You hushed him, “Jake is still in shock. He’s grieving. Whatever he said to you, he didn't mean it.”

“No, no, he does. I didn’t save her. I told him I would. I told him.”

You brought your lips to his temple, closing your eyes and willing no tears to come. You couldn’t, not now.

Michael tapped on the video again, watching as your baby moved, kicking against your womb like it was their job.

“It’s not your fault.” You told him, moving across the floor until you met his gaze. “I would never lie to you, you know that. I promise. If anyone could have saved her, it would have been you.”

His face scrunched again like he was going to cry.

You held him in your arms, squeezing him tight to your chest, hoping perhaps the more you squeezed, the more he would believe you.

You held his face in your hands, and willed him to look at you. “I love you so much, Michael. This was not your fault. Blame the shooter, they caused this whole thing. Jake will see that eventually, you haven’t lost him.”

Brown eyes held steady on yours, searching them with a gaze that nearly made you shy away. But you hold strong, wiping away the tears on his cheeks with your thumbs.

“Robby! Robby!” Dana’s voice came through the curtain, before it was pushed aside.

Dana only blinked at the sight of you, you knelt in front of your husband, both of your faces twisted and pained.

You found your voice, “Just two minutes, Dana. Please.”

She only nodded, closing the curtain again and disappearing.

“I can’t promise the rest of this is going to be any easier, but,” You paused. “Fuck it, if you want to leave, we can blame me right now. Say I have high blood pressure and you want to make sure I get home safe. I don’t care. Just tell me what you want and I’ll do it.”

You remembered all the times he covered for you when your morning sickness made you late, or when he had taken time away from the hectic flow to talk you through a bad case, or a death. When he shouldered the weight of an abrasive family member or aggressive patient, even before you were married. The times he let you leave early when you were having a bad day, or encouraged you to take breaks even when he didn’t.

“Let me try to take care of you right now. Please. Whatever you need.”

Michael took a long breath, rubbing his eyes. “Let me just splash some water on my face. After…stay by my side?”

“Done. If you need a minute, tell me to take a break and come with me. I can shoulder that right now.”

You did not say it because you thought he was weak, but simply because you felt you had the capacity to bear the brunt of the remainder of this shift. People knew he was going to worry about you regardless of the situation, so him ‘checking in’ would not phase them.

“Michael,” you started as you both moved to stand, him offering a hand to help you, “You’ve always been so great with Jake, just give him some time.” You paused, “You’re going to be an amazing father to our child.”

Tears flooded his eyes again and you felt like you had just made it worse while trying to make it better.

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me. How on earth did I—”

You cupped his cheek and hushed him again, bringing his face to yours until your foreheads touched. “I’m the lucky one.”

He kissed you softly, before bringing you into a hug, careful of your growing bump.

When you parted, he took one last deep breath before facing the chaos that awaited you both out in the ED. You knew the heavier parts of your conversation were going to have to be shelved until you got home.

Michael moved toward the closest bathroom and you rushed back to red zone. There were no words to exchange with Jack, but with a knowing glance at him, he seemed to understand.

“Robby’s moving me to red. Bilal’s got pink covered.” You told him, referencing the night attending.

Abbott only nodded.

When Michael returned only a minute later, you watched him — had you not known him that well, you might not have been able to guess what had just transpired. You were thankful no one else in the hospital knew him as well as you did.

You got back to work, busying your hands to try to stop your mind from worrying too much. Whatever he had done in the bathroom, he had clearly thrown his panic attack into a bag and stuffed it deep inside his mind. It made your heart ache, but you would help him unpack it once you were both in the safety of your home.

Michael still made sound decisions, and not once did you feel the need to question his judgement. Jack was steadfast with you both, and you were grateful for him.

—

It was 10pm by the time the dust began to settle and the situation finally simmered to a more controllable level. You were beat and you had only been there a few hours, Michael encouraging you to take a seat and have some water while he checked on a handful of things. You took that moment to find Jake — who now had been stitched up and was with his mom.

“I’m so sorry, Jake. I really wish I could have met her.”

He nodded numbly, “You would’ve really liked her.”

A sad smile formed on your lips, “I’m sure I would have.”

You wanted to tell him to go easy on Robby, but the words did not form on your tongue. It was still too soon, and while you did not want Jake to blame him, you knew it wasn’t the time or place.

You parted from them sadly, before going to check on the med students and finally finding Michael with Jack.

It was a half hour later that you both finally left, Michael following you silently to your car. You were still digesting it all, wondering how the hell you were even going to begin processing it.

At home, you both quickly discarded your scrubs to the floor and made your way to the bathroom. It went unsaid that you both needed to wash this shift off, more so mentally than physically, but being clean would certainly make you feel better.

It was amazing how well you had learned to read each other, and you held onto him under the warm water for a long moment. He kissed the side of your head before grabbing the soap, sudsing up his hands and gently cleaning your skin. You relished in the feeling of him.

Once you rinsed off, you returned the favor. You moved your hands over his arms, his chest and then his back. You added a kiss here and there, knowing he enjoyed your touch just as much. He held your belly in his hands, eyes faraway again — but you brought your hand to his face to get his attention.

You kissed him, holding onto him and trying to translate all the things you felt into it. He returned the kiss and you felt yourself sigh in contentment.

It was quiet, but cathartic.

You both dried off, and changed before collapsing into your bed, Michael immediately pulling you close. You rested your head on his chest to listen to the calming sound of his heart.

Moving off his chest, you pulled him close to you and let him rest his head on you, his hand going to your belly. His breathing was slow and controlled, but you knew his mind was racing. You held him tight, your fingers going to his hair.

“I’d like to talk about today.” You said. “Not right now. Maybe not even tomorrow, or this week. But eventually.”

He was quiet, fingers absentmindedly drawing shapes on your stomach. “We can do that.”

“I’m here when you’re ready.” You told him.

He moved to press his lips to yours, peppering your face with kisses, before bringing you back to his chest. He held you for a long time and you did not even dare let go.

“I saw what it was.” He said.

“Oh?” You questioned against his chest, leaning your head back to look at him.

“Our baby.”

“Well don’t leave me in suspense.”

He grinned and kissed you deeply. Truth was, it didn’t matter. And as you held each other, you knew it was all going to be okay.

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready

I need to give him a hug

[pomegranate-theater]

helloo i wonder if you have no problem with the idea of reader passing out during an intercourse?🥹🥹🥹 if that so, could you please write yandere phainon with reader who always reject his affection—even the smallest affection—despite already living together for almost a year or even more? then one day he just snapped and tying reader's hands to the bedpost, then mercilessly—but also gently—having his way with her until she overwhelmed and can't think of anything else other than "maybe his love is the only thing that i need" then eventually passed out? and phainon, being the sweet 'lover' he is, giving the best aftercare for her even when she's still lying unconscious. oh! it'd be great if you could put nipple play here and there. OMG i'm so sorry i talk too much, i hope you don't mind😭😭😭

BITTERSWEET / YANDERE PHAINON

cw: female reader / non-con / bondage / overstimulation / rough sex / nipple and breast play / phainon is kinda delusional / passing out during sex / aftercare / kinda angsty. not suitable for minors or anyone uncomfortable with the mentioned warnings. word count: 2.1k

Note: I tried my best to fit the description into the fic, and I hope everything still blends together well! Let me know.

Could a man being so cruel with you still try to exude sweetness? Because the ropes he chose to tie you with were silky ribbons, with him not daring to chafe your skin or even strain your wrists — should they tug against the headboard. The carefulness of the gesture didn’t mean he gave you any freedom in your movements, however — the binds were still meticulously twisted, not able to be broken unless you possessed a Herculean strength.

“How did this come to be,” Phainon said with bitterness, too shaken up by his frustrations and despair to be stopped in his actions of fucking into you to have a chance to realize the repercussions of doing this to you. “Almost a year of living together, almost a year of me pouring out my heart for you…” his hands gripped harshly on your hips, making you cry out from a small ache, and all you could have done is wrap your legs around his hips tighter if the upper limbs were restrained above your head.

“… and yet, you continue to break my heart repeatedly. I’m starting to think I’m not the selfish person here,” he hissed, and you felt your mind slipping away somewhere, far away, to escape the fire coursing through your nerves.

When Phainon first cornered you after you had yelled at him today, once again, for not respecting your space with what you deemed as clinginess, despite it being scary if out of the range of his typical behavior, you still asininely assumed he’s just agitated and affronted by your additional rejection. Unfortunately for it it turn to be punitive, when soon after he was pouncing on you this way — tying you up, eating you out until your clit was too numb to feel any pleasure, and now — fucking you like an animal, while shifting the blame at you.

You couldn’t be at fault here, in any way, if you’ve never asked him to become your lover nor did you ever have to accept anyone’s affection — no matter how unconditional, well-thought or sacrificial they could be. But put a man to be so desperately in love with you, reaching levels of unhealthily obsessive, and he’ll start to feel entitled to you involuntarily to him.

As he fucked you, and fucked you, and fucked you, not giving you any moment to be spared of him stretching your pussy and digging deep inside with his cock. Your indignant protests have gone quiet at this point, replaced with pleads for mercy as your sensitive body was being lit up when he was forcing you with an intention of making you cum again — this time on his dick, towering over you pliant body with him on his knees between your thighs to be thrusting hard into you.

“P-Phainon, I can’t—” you were sobbing at this point, not even capable of focusing on any specific part of your body, if every was tormented in some ways — so you felt overwhelmed everywhere’s. His cock was hitting your insides with too much depth and scraping them with fast frictions, his hands moved from hips to your breasts to be fondling them; and your clit was sore from both previous actions and now his hips constantly running the ache with thrusts.

“Well, maybe not everything happens to be about you for once—” he spit with venom, and his fingers skillfully massaged your buds between his fingers. Your body lunched upward, the stimulus shattering your last remains of sanity. Could a person die from being overstimulated so much? He’s tortured you with foreplay, if you could call it that, now his cock was his next lesson for you.

When your body went slack, mind fuzzy and difficult to follow up with anything, only then Phainon softened — pitying was visceral to him. “Must you really be so cruel and treat me like I’m a dictator with your rebellion, if I’m only trying to show you my love?” he asked with longing, and slowed down for you sake. In this state, your mind was more susceptible to anything he could throw at you.

“P-phainon… I’m sorry,” you choked out, your sobs having died down but the feeling of being minced in every inch of your body remained.

You either knew how to play him well, what vulnerabilities of Phainon to tug at; or you were genuinely sorry — he couldn’t tell, but didn’t he wish to hear more of your kindness.

“Do you mean it?” he asked with a hope for your benevolence, and grabbed your legs to throw them over his shoulder, before he leaned down to be on top of you — face to face. You were drenched in your sweat, your eyes barely held up with his, and your breath was disturbed.

Somehow, it only made you more beautiful to him; regardless of him being the meanest he has ever been. He was making you his, if you didn’t want to be his. Maybe he’s been too lenient. Maybe he’s given you too much benefit of the doubt, thinking you just need to adjust to him — it’s been more than eleven months now, and he’s been kind, wasn’t he?

Begrudgingly, you agreed. You were losing your mind in this situation too, especially you — at this point, the singular aspect that could prevent your life becoming from more of a ruin was giving in to him. There was no way Phainon would ever let you go, not if he’s not dead, so you could either continue struggling or… try to make the best of this situation to live a better life. “Y-yes, I’m sorry. I know you care…”

It was as if your words whipped him, making him still, as his blue eyes looked at you with disbelief. An acknowledgment, no matter how minuscule compared to the amorphous affection and devotion levels he has expressed when being with you, was a blessing and felt like a greatest of gifts. Perhaps, he’s made a good choice coming at you this way, and should have nipped that in the bud much sooner — in his opinion.

A man now vivacious kissed you with joy and excitement, and withdrew few seconds later when hearing your whimper. “Sorry, I must have exhausted you. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle now.”

Hearing him signal he’s not done yet, just more careful, made you want to protest again. Yet, you didn’t, scared of bursting his bubble or bringing his wrath back. ���Okay…”

“That’s right,” he said with pride, and still slow in his thrusts, his lips kissed all over your collarbones, gently, to not further fray your nerves. Phainon knew — at least has learned it today — that you were holding particularly erogenous areas in your breasts. That’s why his lips nipped at the soft flesh.

With your hands still tied, you couldn’t grab at his hair to have something to hold onto; you only grazed your skin with the sting and writhing of the material as you tried to tug your hands away from the headboard. “No… not here!” you begged, trashing under him.

“Shh. I’m being gentle, as per my promise. You can take it, if my only wish is to make you feel good.” You couldn’t explain it to him that feeling good wasn’t the problem here; sadly, once this man sets his mind on this idea, he couldn’t stop.

“And it does feel good, doesn’t it?” he inquired. It did pleasure your body, unfortunately not fully exploitable to you if you felt out of control and way too intense… though, with him looking at you with hope, you muttered “yes”. The sooner you let him finish, the sooner he’ll snap out of his trance — and maybe you’ll manage to let yourself fall too.

You wanted to take it back when his lips wrapped on the right nipple and sucked, nerves in your plush flesh feeling prickled with needles.

“Oh, gods, Phainon, it’s too much!” you cried out, tears spilling on your face again. The drain concerned him for a moment, and he looked up at you, wiping tears for you.

He knew he should be stopping at this point. But there was something in him, not even fueled by sadism, that wanted to see how far he could push you — for his own satisfaction and comfort, so he can be assured in his belief you’re his. Maybe it was control-driven, but having control over you meant he had you.

“Then let it go. Let it all go, and everything will be alright,” he smiled, way too innocently for your distress, and lunged at the other nipple with a doubled fervor. His hips were now awful to you again, chasing the intense unravel from you. He wanted to see you get lost entirely, so he could impose your mind with him only.

His hands under your bent knees, he split you on his cock fast and deep, hitting a spot below your cervix that made you feel lightheaded. His lips were vicious too, swelling the nipples. You couldn’t speak anymore, only make almost screeching noises, among skin clapping and wet stirring sounds reverberating from the walls of a bedroom that should have been a safe haven.

His mouth finally left your nipples and he moved himself closer to you between your legs, his arms sliding upwards — his hands were now holding the sides of your head, his face so close your noses were almost touching, and your legs rested bent over his forearms.

“My love- please, tell me you love me,” he pleaded, his voice cracking, as he sped up his thrusts in chase of anything from you.

To his shock, you reciprocated the words, albeit meekly, “I love you.” Phainon couldn’t be sure if it was you meaning them, or if you simply were repeating anything when your brain was dead and soaking anything like a sponge — but he closed his eyes and pretended it was an honest confession.

“Thank you, thank you…” he moaned when you tightened around, so nearing your orgasm, and hid his face in your neck. “Thank you so much. I love you so much, I could just die—”

You meanwhile, couldn’t even hear his manic ramble, busy with your body getting so light you thought you could fly away. The overwhelming pleasure and approaching demise in form of the orgasm was rushing your blood to be hot and fast through your veins. You weighed nothing, when the final peak of the day was by overly stimulated furnace of your body, and the climax would be your last straw.

The pressure in your abdomen snapped, making you twitch around his cock violently, and you couldn’t even scream when finally lost consciousness, not able to handle the blood pressure change.

He didn’t notice yet, rapt by the ecstatic state of having both of your pussy and your “devotion”; not until he was done filling you up with cum — even with your body limp, he was clueless.

“You are unreal,” he sighed contentedly, trying to bury down the arising guilt coming with the pleasure being lifted off. When not hearing your response, he suddenly snapped his head up, and gasped when seeing your unconscious form. Phainon gently shook your shoulder and when you didn’t wake up, palpated for your pulse — thankfully, you were alive, just shaken up by the intense experience.

A dutiful lover he was, he gently pulled out, witnessing his seed drip out onto the bedsheets under you. You could be waking up any moment, and him not wanting you to panic by discomfort, he was quick to clean you up and dress you up — no matter if sad by the loss of skin to skin contact, all gentle and delicate for you and your sensitive body.

He was conflicted and flickering between two emotions — guilt and satisfaction. Guilty from pushing you so far, and jubilant from your submission and admission (whether honest or not, time will verify).

When you began to awake, slowly coming to the realization of what has happened as you regained your bearings, you didn’t find it in yourself to struggle. Too exhausted physically and wiped out emotionally, you let him hold you.

“I’m so glad you’re awake. I was extremely worried about you, my muse,” he was now in a cosseting mood, speaking to you as if you were a sick baby of his. That’s why while running his hand over your back, safely nested in his arms, he spoke sweetly; as if it wasn’t all his fault, just duty doing to finally make you see his efforts and love, “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m sore…” you replied with no enthusiasm; to which he didn’t deflate, assuming you’re as tired as you say. “Hm, I’m sorry for that, but I’m sore with our intimacy, we finally have made amends.”

“Amends”, he says. You didn’t want to make any; however, what other choice did you have at this point? You had to survive somehow.

“… Yeah,” when you confirmed and even cuddled up closer to him, he smiled beaming with happiness, and was quick to be on his feet. “Stay here.” Not that you could walk anywhere. “I’ll bring you some water and food, and then I’ll massage your legs-”

When Phainon disappeared out of the room, you closed your eyes with resignation — you even missed the warmth of his body and hoped for its quick return.

[hellspawnmotel]

Any specific thoughts on Noelle’s seemingly one sided crush on Susie? Ur analysis are always real neat

hm! well I kinda already talked about this but only in a tag essay like 2 1/2 years ago (here) so I can get into it again.

I think noelle's crush on susie reveals a lot about noelle as a person, though the story and framing so far have kind of conditioned us to just look at it as a surface level "omg mean tough girl x sweet shy girl! lesbians!!" and maybe even subconsciously connect it to alphys/undyne and just brush it off as the type of wholesome relationship toby likes writing. I also don't think the crush is necessarily one-sided! you could argue that susie felt pressured into saying what she did on the ferris wheel, but susie is all about breaking the rules and doing whatever she wants so that wouldn't make much sense to me. her responses seemed very genuine. it could turn out to be a fleeting feeling or susie mistaking a desire to be friends as a desire for romance, but I don't really have enough information to speculate much on that yet.

back to noelle, pre-chapter 2 noelle's attraction to susie seems far more based in fantasy than anything, kind of objectifying susie's violence. which is fine, she's a teenager, it doesn't make noelle a bad person, it just indicates that the crush is very shallow to start off. susie is also a symbol to noelle, someone she definitely sees as representing freedom and defiance, which is something she craves. noelle does end up very open to the possibility of getting to know susie as a real person once she learns susie is "nice" but her priorities are still more with her own feelings than susie's.

this is tricky to talk about as an adult, so first I'd like to remind everyone that I have Been a teenage girl and I remember very clearly what it was like, haha. anyway I would argue that noelle's interest in susie is also undeniably sexual, even if she doesn't fully realize it. I think we all kind of know that but it's uncomfortable to just say in plain language. (this is an aside but I think the way toby implies this from noelle's dialogue and internal monologue is REALLY smart from a writing perspective, it leads the brain there without getting weird about it.) in addition to freedom, susie also represents adulthood to noelle in that way. she represents the future, one where noelle can fully express herself. at the same time, noelle associates the feeling of fear with being protected by somebody else in her childhood, the past. susie is "the good kind of scary", both sexually exciting, an "adult" feeling, and nostalgically comfortable, a "child" feeling. susie could be the bridge between past and future that noelle, who is notoriously frozen in her own childhood, needs to move forward. I think that could apply even if the two don't end up together, just from noelle working through her own feelings about it all.

I could also get into the implications of suselle being "the narrative's approved ship" or how noelle's relationship with susie contrasts her relationship with kris, or even how we're conditioned to see lesbian relationships as either inherently more "wholesome" or the taboo and exciting "toxic yuri", but this is getting really long already. idk where it all will end up going but I think theres already a lot to dive into if you look past the surface!

[carbonfiction]

i know the general census is that frank is gentle but how would he handle if his little bunny that seemed all innocent and shy liked it insanely rough? not just spanking and backshots “rough” but face slapping and grabbing, breath play like holding her mouth and nose, intense manhandling like chokeholds and being held in the air to show how small she is in his arms and lowk clit torture. and she likes to act all delicate because she is and can’t even fit him all the way in after training and also squirts from a few touches to her clit but she likes being broken and wants him to use every ounce of his strength to do that and i need him to skullfuck me with my hands tied behind my back with a vibrator assaulting my clit…and then he slaps my cheek over and over and then pulling out to put me in a chokehold until i’m bruised 🐳 glasses anon i need him to break five pairs monthly from how rough he is i need him to CORRUPT MEEE

FIRSTLY!! 🐳ANON HELLOO<33 I have missed you<3

Please you are so real, it’s like actually a carnal needdddd how bad I need frank to hold my jaw and coo filthy filthy things at me while he blows out my back. And you are SO right on the corruption and skull fucking omggggg. Oh and I also wanna add bc of this ask (and my absolutely foul thoughts on born again bearded frank) I ammmm working on a rougher/mean!Frankie piece rn and I am quaking each time I open the draft. I cannot wait to get a sec to get it finished for y’all <3

im praying this is understandable enough though and not complete waffle😭 I struggle trying to get my thoughts out clearly enough sometimes if ya couldn’t already tell🥲 18+smut thoughts below the cut inc themes of rough sex, breath play/choking, Size kink? Doggy/prone? Was the goal anyway😭Overstimulation, bodily fluids and aftercare (pleeeeease lmk if I've missed anything, i always go blank tagging😭)

Buuuuuuut buckle up! in response to this, I feel like if there’s anyone who can offer the rough stuff it’s him yk? Obviously if you were to let him, no mattwr how embarrassed you could be about it, he'd listen openly. But just know there would be SO many conversations beforehand on likes, dislikes, hard limits, safe words, boundary’s ect, and this goes for both of you! Neither of you want to make the other uncomfortable, especially not in a moment that takes such a level of sexual intimacy, trust and even respect. (Even when being deceptively disrespectful sometimes)

Frank strikes me (and im sure many of you guys) as task motivated so if his baby bun wants something a certain way, he’s going to ensure everything is correct for her to get it. He loves you too much to do anything without afformentioned confirmation. This also includes a lot of discussion on what sort of thing you need for aftercare within those moments when things get heavy too-

And I say those moments bc I don’t think he’d always indulge it? like dont get me wrong, he’d do it, but it’s not going to be every single time you fuck yk? He might incorporate bits here and there like a lil hard tap on the cheek for your attention “eyes on me, yeah, there she is, theres my dirty girl” or a hand on the neck “that feelin good sweetheart? That pretty head gettin all fuzzy?”

Perhaps frank even indulges you with licks of overstim outside of those moments, forfilling it with whatever form is within the mood- vibe, his mouth or fingers. “Shhh, You can take it. Taken more than this before, atta girl, you feel it, aint gotta think, just gotta keep cummin”

But the whole shebang? The whole 9 yards of him getting reeeeal rough, properly leaving marks, really manhandling or getting intensely mean would definitely be different; perhaps even almost planned? Like for example those moments are reserved for say arguments sake, ovulation, pent up stress relief or when your headspace is feeling a specific way?

The way he fucks, the way he talks and touches you? All Completely different to how frank would usually operate in the bedroom and that’s not a bad thing in the slightest!! I just personally feel it would take as much out of frank to do it as it would for you to take it yk?

But That being said he would be disgustingly good with it when he does use it <3

Wrapping his big bicep beneath your chin as he fucks into you harshly from behind, the other hand pinching and slapping at your tits- the taugt buds of your nipples- sharply enough to make you jerk and gasp. Problem is though, the more you jerk and react the more he tightens his hold, squeezing you in the headlock until he can feel the flutters of your cunt and the heaves of your chest. His massive body completely draped over yours, the weight of him pressing you down toward the mattress, hips pummelling your backside in a brutal fashion, punching deep and fast. "Fuckin tight little hole's squeezin my cock, you like not bein able to breathe? feelin me in your tummy?" the hand at your tits drifting to press at your stomach making you squeak, the pressure intensifying the pleasure coursing through you. "Yeaaah, yeah you love all that cock in there dontcha Bun, greedy fuckin girl. Made for it, just lettin me use that pussy how i want"

That hand (sometimes then reaching for your vibe if the mood so runs that way) will then drift further down to your puffy clit, already oversensitive and abused from prior attention. Frank slaps it once, twice, three times before immediately massaging tight, quick figure eights until you practically end up limp in his grip, eyes rolling back as you cum again with a choked, almost gargled moan. Your cunt squeezing him almost as tight as the grip on your neck before he lets go; letting euphoria take over your body with each gasp of oxygen that fills your lungs.

Frank does not stop until he feels you physically cannot cum anymore (or you Safeword!!). He fucks you through orgasm after orgasm (even his own) until you’re nothing short of a mess, practically trembling like a newborn deer and the slightest brush on your clit has your legs closing with a broken yowl. Panting body absolutely covered with various marks, drying spit, slick and cum.

The aftercare, while hes incredible with it generally, is then a complete 180 however- gone is all the roughness of his movements, the sharpness of his words. Replaced by touchs that are feather light and words careful, quiet grumbles as he checks in on you. "Hey pretty girl.. Heads all hazy huh? I know.. But i gotcha, franks gotcha, your safe."

Once you've had a drink and a little bite to eat, some fruit or something simple, he'll always carry you to the bathroom and only leave you to change the sheets as you sit to pee (bc christ forbid a uti on his watch-) then you can lean back against his chest in the warm water of the bath he left running, his broad body sat behind yours as he gets you clean without you even needing to move.

Whispers of soft praise and gentle shushes filling the echoing bathroom as he ensures every sensitive inch of skin is clean even when your eyes droop. "Shhh, i know.. Know its sore baby, just one more moment. One more swipe n' ill leave it alone yeah?" punctuated with a soft kiss to your temble that an hour ago you wouldn't of been able to even dream of him doing.

Frank dries you off with the softest towl you own, of course warmed by the dryer. soothing your skin with a lotion and/or balm you love. Never forgetting to pay extra gentle attention to the red welts on your ass, thighs and chest as he tells you how gorgeous you are in a moment that sometimes, you can feel anything but.

He'll help you into the pajamas you choose (wether your own or one of his shirts/boxers) and not bat a single eye if wearing panties to bed is too uncomfortable for you to handle.

Once fully comfortable his first mission is to then get you a propper snack or little meal. Insisting food is fuel and you need it after everything he put you through as he treads of to the kitchen. Coming back to then execute mission number 2: laying down with you resting cuddled up on his chest.

Fingers softly running over your arm as he presses kisses anywhere he can with little movement. "Doin okay sweetheart? You tell me if you need anything else alright? Nothins too much for my girl." " so proud of you, ya know that?"

"Gettin sleepy down there? I know..shh, you get some rest. Not goin anywhere i promise, Love you sweetheart"

[lindwurmkai]

I just realised something after reading the comments on this post and recalling my own feelings in 8th grade or whenever we first started doing literary analysis. The point about drugs is very important, but I want to talk about the general "what if the author didn't mean anything by it" attitude for a moment.

I think that, for a lot of people, and especially for autistic people who are of course also the most likely to struggle with literary analysis to begin with, the sometimes oddly passionate refusal to participate in analysis is actually about a fear of having their own art misunderstood. Or even just misplaced empathy for a hypothetical author whose art is being misunderstood.

I remember being absolutely crawling-out-of-my-skin offended on the behalf of some long dead author because what if they didn't mean that? How could the teacher be 100% sure? How could we be so disrespectful as to put words in their mouth? What if I wrote a story and someone did that to me??? I was going to show them! I'd write a story in which nothing symbolised anything and if anyone dared to claim it did, I'd triumphantly let them know they were wrong! THEN they'd understand they were being disrespectful and needed to stop doing that.

But these feelings came from being misunderstood in my personal life. I had no idea that most writers actually a) did put symbolism into their art on purpose, b) had no problem with alternative interpretations and c) were reasonably educated on literary traditions instead of just kinda writing off the top of their heads.

If any of my teachers had explained that, I wouldn't have been frustrated to the point of tears because HOW COULD WE POSSIBLY KNOW OMG I'D HATE IF SOMEONE DID THAT TO ME.

I also wish my teachers had explained that "literary fiction" was a whole separate category from the genre fiction I was reading in my free time, and that it was kinda known for being especially full of symbolism. That certainly would have helped.

There is at least one person in the notes complaining that they're tired of having their poetry misinterpreted - especially when people assign meaning to specific parts that they only included as "filler" or because it rhymed. Now, you might say that only an amateur poet who hasn't formally studied the craft would be concerned about that, and that a real poet would simply consider it evidence that they're not very good yet because the goal is to no longer rely on "filler" phrases one day and to be able to change the format to fit the content of the poem instead of including irrelevant details just for the rhyme. But that's not really fair. Not every artist wants to follow tradition and art that "breaks the rules" by deliberately including fluff is still worth something. It can even be good, depending on your metrics. Besides, amateurs who haven't fully grasped how the craft they're dabbling in "normally" works deserve better criticism than "you're doing this wrong."

So I don't think the "what if the curtains are just blue" attitude is all anti-intellectualism per se, although it can easily become that. If you're trying to convince someone of the value of literary analysis, consider finding out if their resistance is coming from a place of, "But I wouldn't want people to do that to my art. :(" And no, the correct response to that is not, "Well suck it up or stop making art then because people are going to read things into it that you didn't intend whether you like it or not!"

It's hard to sum up what might help because it depends on the person, their age, and which information they're missing. But the first step is to take their feelings seriously because they're probably coming from a place of having been misunderstood a lot in non-art contexts.

[wandaslovey]

I just know wandanat sits at home completely worried while bunny is out there partying with her friends.(Mommy wanda specifically)

Btw what do you think bunny's career path'd be after the school is over? Also some random facts about bunny which wandanat absolutely adore while something they y'know kinda tolerates for their little one

definitely! thankfully, bunny isn’t much of a partier.

bunny’s currently in school to get her masters degree in psychology. she wants to be a therapist eventually once she jumps through all the hoops and gets enough hours in to start practicing officially.

fun facts about bunny:

• she has to watch asmr to fall asleep. at first wandanat thought it was kinda strange, but it quickly went from “this is weird” to “what video(s) are we watching tonight?” and they like it just as much as her now.

• she’s incapable of taking a fast shower. the average time she spends in there is about 30 minutes and that’s if she’s being conscious about how much time she spends in there. wanda or natasha often have to step inside the bathroom (assuming they’re not already showering with her) to give her a time check n tell her she needs to wrap it up.

• bunny is obsessed with sour candy. a bag of a sour patch watermelon gummies are never too far away from her. one time natasha ordered the worlds sourest candy to try with her for fun and it totally backfired on her. bunny didn’t mind it, but natasha just about passed away.

• bunny is the queen of cinnamon. cinnamon gum, floss, toothpaste, candy — you name it, she has it. wanda particularly loves that taste in her mouth

• she likes to sing to herself a lot. when she’s zoning out, feeling a little anxious, feeling a little down, really anything. she doesn’t like other people to hear her though, so she either hums or sings really quietly. both wanda and natasha try to catch her in the act on numerous occasions. she has a lovely voice, they have no idea why she tries to hide it.

• she specifically loves tummy kisses. so much so that because she’s too shy to be straight forward about asking for things, she’ll often lay across either natasha or wanda’s lap and stretch her arms back so her shirt rides up a bit, making the newly exposed skin look more “tempting” to feast on. it works 7.5/10 times

[ao3commentoftheday]

ao3 skins faq

Just a few answers to questions I've seen in the notes on this poll

What is a site skin? A site skin is CSS code that changes the way AO3 looks. This could be anything from changing the page colour to the font to the way tags look to hiding parts of the site - and more.

Where do I find site skins? There are a few places. The easiest one is in the site footer (that red band at the bottom of the page). There are four skins linked there under the word Customize, and you can click on them to see what they do. Another place to find skins is https://archiveofourown.org/skins?skin_type=Site Those skins were created years ago and loaded into AO3 for easy applicaiton. Just hit the Use button and they'll be applied to your account. Lastly, you can find skins created by other AO3 users. Some people post their code on AO3 itself, some use github or other code repositories. A lot of folks share their skins here on tumblr with images and then a link to the code itself.

How do I save them to my account? If you're using the ones in the footer or the ones linked on the Public Skins page, you don't need to save them. Those are built into AO3. If you want to create your own (or use one created by another user), that's when you save them to your account. Tap on your name at the top of the Ao3 page. Then select Dashboard, then select Skins. Tap the button labelled Create Site Skin and give your skin a unique name. Write or paste the CSS code into the big box, then hit the Submit button to save it. If you want to use it right away, hit the Use button on the next page.

What's the difference between a Work Skin and a Site Skin? A work skin changes the appearance of an individual AO3 work, and it changes it for everyone who looks at that work. This lets you turn your fic into something that looks like an email or a text chain or a newspaper, etc etc without having to use images. Work skins can also be turned off by other users, so if they just want to read the plain text of your work they still can. A site skin changes how the entire site looks - but only for you.

How do you have 100+ site skins?? I start a lot of skins that I abandon partway through. I also create skins for certain specific purposes - for example, changing the look of all of the buttons on the site - and then I can just grab that chunk of code and add it to any "full" site skins I create for the purposes of sharing. I have a lot of experiments that fail, but I keep the code around because maybe I'll learn how to fix it someday.

Can I create my own site skin if I don't know how to code? You can! AO3 has a site skin Wizard that will help you change the colours, fonts, and font sizes on the site. Go to your Dashboard > Skins > Create Site Skin and then tap on Use Wizard. Give your skin a unique title. Click on the ? bubbles to get examples of how to enter information into each box. If there's anything you don't want to change, you can just leave that box empty. When you add in colours, they must be hex colour codes, and they must include the # at the start. Any font you add need to exist on your device (so it might work on your computer but not on your phone because your phone doesn't have that font installed). You can add parent skins to Wizard skins, too. See below!

I wish I could have [X functionality] in [Y aesthetic skin] You can! If you create one site skin in order to block certain works or tags, you can add that skin on top of an aesthetic skin. To do so, edit your aesthetic skin, scroll down and tap on the Advanced button (lower left of the CSS box), tap on Parent Skin, type in the name of your blocking skin and Add Parent Skin. Then save your aesthetic skin, and the two are combined! You can also do this with those skins that are native to AO3. So for example, you want a Reversi (dark mode) skin that Shortens Long Tags and also hides the "you have muted some users" banner. Create a site skin with the muted users code:

p.muted.notice { display: none; } And add Reversi and Shortening Long Tag Fields to it as parents. (you can also copy/paste all of the code into a single site skin, if you'd prefer)

For more FAQs, you can check out the Skins & Archive Interface section on AO3's FAQ page. Or you can drop questions in the notes, too.

[cheriesbucky]

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

══════════════════

The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

══════════════════

The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

══════════════════

Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

══════════════════

If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

[hrrtshape]

hello, darling em <3

how would you go about using your “method” throughout the day? kind of incorporating loa in it? any affirmations you’d specifically use?

hello lovie of mine <3

i just live in the assumption. seriously, just think what if i already shifted and just forgot? what if this is my dr and i’m just waiting for the memory to catch up? it’s the same way you don’t constantly question if you’re real, you just are.

loa ties in because you’re not trying to shift, you’re just accepting that you already have. no what ifs, no doubt. just a knowing. with affirmations, i try to keep it simple :

i’m already there. i don’t need to do anything, i just need to remember. everything is aligning in my favour.

it’s not about convincing yourself. it’s about realising there was never anything to convince in the first place : )

[shouts-into-the-void]

Montresor caring about Will didn't come out of nowhere, Lenore was just mad: a biased completely unbiased post

The thing we need to remember as a rule is that Montresor's default personality is rude and antagonistic even when he's not actively trying to be an aggressor, which means you have to look at what he means rather than necessarily the things he says. He's a clear victim of abuse, who reacts to feelings trapped, cornered, threatened, panicked, or humiliated by lashing out. From what I have gathered, it seems like his mother may have been the type of person who was nice one minute, then became abusive at the drop of a hat, and/or acted loving while claiming she "had to do this for his own good", and he was clearly raised in a very strict religious environment where he didnt have a lot of control/was punished for things he couldnt help. As a reaction, Montresor tries to force an aggressive response out of anyone he feels threatened by, because at least then it's predictable and he feels in control. Okay, great, Montresor analysis out of the way, moving on.

Our first real look at Will and Montresor as a unit is when the clusterfucks (side note: I've seen a lot of people calling them the acoleets now? Far less funny, absolutely not) are discussing their spectres. During this conversation, Montresor is actually hyping Will up, and even when he agrees with Ada that is sounds useless, he makes sure to assure him that it "looks really cool though."

We only really see Montresor become outright violent and dangerous once it's revealed that only one person can win a new life. We see him actively panic about it, and while we don't really get a lot more context for him yelling at Will in the moment, I think its relevant that this is the moment when he starts treating Will less nicely, because now it's a competition and everyone else is potentially out to get him. Hell, he even immediately begins joking around with Will after telling him to shut up, so it's clear that he's acting out of stress and fear immediately after the revelation.

The interaction that immediately follows this is the incident with Morella and Ada, and I find it notable that Montresor goes out of his way to include Will. (when he makes sure to let you get your turn humiliating a woman to prove her loyalty to the group #romantic 🤡)

Later, during the Spectre vs. Students lesson, when Berenice bites Will and he asks for help, Montresor immediately tells her to leave him alone. While he seems mildly annoyed with Will the whole time (kind of understandably, because Will keeps screwing up the plan) he only says anything particularly horrible after Berenice slashes him across the face with her knife, which clearly pisses him off in general. We see him letting Will nap on his shoulder afterwards, which isn't super important I just think it's cute.

Montresor clearly sees them as a unit, as he still involved Will with the plan despite Will messing up the previous night with Duke and stops Will from helping Annabel with Ada despite not having a real reason to do so by saying "We'll sit this one out." Like it should have gone without saying that if he's not doing it, Will isn't either. Then the next day, the fact that Montresor comes to get Will specifically so they can walk to breakfast together? Knows what his toothbrush looks like and goes out of his way to give it back? The little flick on the forehead when he calls him a churchmouse? That he picks up on Will's distress and immediately goes to collect Ada to save him? I see you, fake-ass idgafer.

Which brings me to my next point, which is that it is Lenore on her enraged, vengeful tirade who claims that Montresor hates Will. She claims it's due to his behavior towards Will when he came to get him, but I think its pretty clear she only says it to upset Will. And Will can't think of anything nice Montresor's ever done for him because he's stressed, thinks he's about to get shot, and his self-confidence is super low. He even addresses the fact later that Montresor goes out of his way to save him all the time.

I also think now is a good time to point out that Montresor only seems to physically hurt Will in any significant way when he's been having a flashback. His expression when he comes out of his death flashback to find himself attacking Will is shocked, and while he doesn't apologize, his response does come across as apologetic. He has a similar expression when he wakes up from Ada's vision choking Will, only he looks incredibly panicked that time because he'd done actual damage. The expression on his face when Lenore points out what he's done is pained. I think this runs back to Montresor telling Will not to touch him, I'm pretty sure part of his trauma revolves around physical touch and when he's having an episode of PTSD/not fully aware of his surroundings he lashes out instinctively at the person touching him, which unfortunately means Will, who is a very physically affectionate person (man has 13 siblings and it shows.) Which is unfortunate, because I think Montresor also seems to be a very tactile person, and he actually goes out of his way to be touching Will a lot.

Another interesting thing? Montresor only ever addresses Will by name, which is very significant with context. The nicknames Montresor gives people are meant to mock them, so by only using Will's name it subtlely signals that he holds him in higher respect (or at least in more genuine regard) than the others. In Will's flashback, Sally–someone who went to school with him and was in all the same classes–doesn't remember his name, only that he's one of many Wilson siblings. So for Montresor, who can't even remember his "ace in the hole" and current fling's name, to be constantly making it a point to say he knows who Will is, is a great indicator of his actual feelings. By contrast, Will calls Montresor "Monty" exclusively, the only nickname he receives that is genuinely affectionate and something he never attempts to make him stop calling him.

Which pretty much brings us back to the events of the current episodes, which I've already talked about the significance of in another post. I know this is probably insanely biased for multiple reasons and im sure theres a bunch of little tidbits I've forgotten , but do with it what you will.

[vaguely-concerned]

powerful mental image of lucanis expounding passionately about any given one of his limited but extremely deep areas of interest (the wyvern/knives/coffee/cooking/murder continuum of lucanis dellamorte special interests if you will) while rye lounges around and Beholds him with palpable twink boutta pounce energy

[reidmoony-toast]

Never let me go. ౨ৎ

"But the arms of the ocean delivered me"

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Spencer and r are investigating a case that involves a lake and a rickety old boat—the problem? They can't stand each other.

Content: based off this vid of George Russell and Carmen (it's so random I know but I was inspired), fluff, banter, Spencer does the Darcy hand flex (!) cw: lil bit of violence (they briefly mention a case) wc: 2.1k an: I started this AGES ago oh my lord but anyways I hope you enjoy this very weirdly specific prompt, ilyy <3

· · ───────────── ·𖥸· ───────────── · ·

About halfway down to the dock, you are seriously reconsidering this whole ordeal. Maybe it was Spencer’s confidence when he expressed his knowledge of boats when the officer offhandedly mentioned his massive workload, or maybe it’s your dedication to the job, or your unfortunate tendency for some light masochism. Whatever reason your brain had conjured previously has vanished into smoke between the police precinct and the gravel path you now traverse. 

The officer leads the way, Spencer walking beside him, discussing the impending trip that the two of you are about to take. Together. Alone. In the middle of the lake with a man who might have the theoretical—but certainly not the practical—knowledge to drive this boat without killing the both of you in a freak boating accident. 

You finally reach the dock, and you examine the death machine moored in front of you. It was an old police dinghy, with a small frame around the driver’s seat, and inflatable sides to increase its safety level. The officer begins to explain the workings of the boat, and you squint out at the expanse of lake before you, as you try to pay attention—if only so you can call Spencer up on anything he does minutely wrong. 

The officer eventually deems the two of you water-safe and gives his final farewells, echoed kindly by Spencer. After a few seconds, while Spencer is checking the mooring line, you clear your throat pointedly. 

Spencer glances up, eyebrow raised in question. You fold your arms across your chest. “I’m not getting into that boat with you as its captain.”

He stopped with the rope all together. “Technically, I'm the Skipper. Captain is saved for bigger vessels with more authority.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah whatever, smart-ass. Still not letting you be my Skipper.” You huff. “I don't have a death wish.”

He lets out a long sigh, like you’re a petulant child. “You volunteered to come and look at the dump site with me. No backing out now.” He returns to his work, like your indignation is simply fleeting because he knows he will win in the end. “Plus, I need a second pair of eyes.”

You let out a loud groan. As much as you can’t stand to spend over an hour in a rusty old boat, with nobody for company but Spencer Reid, you have a job to do, and you can’t very well flake out now. What would Hotch say if you came back now, with the only excuse being ‘I can’t deal with Spencer’? Most likely something about being disappointed at your immaturity, that you can’t even manage to work with one of your fellow team members. 

“Fine.” You snap, unendingly irritated that you have to concede to Spencer. The corner of his mouth tips up in triumph, and you have the violent urge to kick him in the face. He’s in the perfect position for it, too. But, of course, being a mature adult, you gallantly resist.

“I’ll grab our stuff, you can get in.” Spencer passes you, heading to your equipment bag, as you step to the edge of the pier. It’s a much further way down than it had looked from where you were previously standing, and you pause for a moment, assessing the best way to get into the boat without falling into the chilled lake water. 

You sit on the edge, attempting to lower yourself down into the dinghy below, but your legs are too short, and you scrabble for purchase, trying to reach the boat floor, and succeeding, but only with the tips of your shoes. 

“Do you need help with that?” Spencer speaks up from behind you, a lilt of amusement clouding his voice. You continue your pitiful attempts to climb into the small boat from the too-high dock. 

“I'm fine.” You say, petulantly, not bothering to turn to address Spencer, as you knew he would be smiling at your misfortune. Finally, you shakily lower yourself down until you fall heavily onto the floor of the boat, staggering when it rocks in the water. 

“Whatever you say.” 

You turn just in time to see him swiftly, and with a surprising amount of grace for a man you have seen trip over nothing but his own feet, enter the boat. He lets out a low chuckle as he passes you towards the controls. 

“Show off.” You scoff loudly, and roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised they return back to the realm of the living at all—although it's not like he could see it anyways as he fiddles with the buttons at the helm. 

You and Spencer spend the whole boat ride, and examination of the watery dump site, bickering about god knows what. From Spencer’s questionable driving skills, to your glove application, to your differing opinions on the case. While the whole situation was bothersome, you find yourself surprisingly unvexed, even to go so far as to somewhat enjoy yourself. You shake off those thoughts—Spencer is a pain in your ass, and that will never change.

“You’re seriously doing it wrong.” You say for the hundredth time, as Spencer jerkily guides the two of you back to shore. 

“I’m doing fine, okay?” The boat jolts, and you wobble, letting out a yelp, before finding your feet again. “Stop doubting my abilities and trust me.”

“I am most definitely doubting your judgement, and I do not trust you!” You tightly grip one of the rusty beams of the cockpit. “I was almost flung out of the boat just then, you maniac!”

“Calm down.” Spencer counters, sounding exasperated.

“I think I have a say in how I go out, and dying in a dusty old police boat with you of all people is not what I choose!” You make a noise of frustration when Spencer simply laughs at your agonising. 

“Is that really a bad way to go?” He keeps his eyes on the approaching dock, but there is a lilt of amusement in his tone.

“The worst.” You groan out, and Spencer chuckles jovially.

By some miracle, Spencer manages to dock the boat, and he motions for you to disembark first. 

You stare at the dock, and your stomach dips. You might have had trouble getting into the boat in the first place, but getting out? That was a whole other story. This was certainly going to be a lot trickier than it was before. 

“Need some help?” Spencer pipes up, just like before—the deja vu was very definitely unappreciated. He must have seen your assessment in your hesitation, and taken it as yet another opportunity to terrorise you.

“No.” You move to the edge, judging the large distance before you—the gap was considerably larger now, and it was much harder to traverse up than down. You blamed Spencer’s questionable boat-driving skills. The length wasn't a problem by itself, but paired with the height, it was an impossible feat for someone with your frame. You bend your knees, ready to jump across—your hopeless plan to somehow get yourself from the boat to the dock. You lean forward, but almost lose your balance, stepping back abruptly to prevent a very unpleasant outcome.

You finally bail on your fruitless attempts when you realize it would most likely end with you either in the water, very injured, or with a severely bruised ego. Less than if you let Spencer help, that is, but the other two options weren't something you wanted to experience. 

You exhale slowly, knowing you had to admit defeat. You turn slowly, facing Spencer. He grins, knowing what your look meant. 

You hated needing the help of others, preferring to do everything yourself; assistance from others always felt like a personal failure. You also knew you could be… stubborn, and you had rejected Spencer's help already, so this was certainly a blow to your ego.

You stare at him impatiently, waiting for him to get the memo that you need his help. A shit-eating grin spreads across his face and his eyebrow flicks up in a silent mocking question. 

“Spencer.” You deadpan, fixing him with a glare. 

He shoots your name back to you in the same flat tone, eyes dancing in amusement. You glare back, unblinking. A battle of wills arises in the form of prolonged intense eye contact, but you unfortunately don't possess the demanding expression you were hoping for, and you begrudgingly admit defeat.

“Can you…” You groan at the words you have to utter. “help me.” 

“What’s the magic word?” 

Scratch that. The scathing look you were searching for? There it was. Spencer snorted, wholly entertained by the whole situation. You debate shoving him straight into the grimy lake. 

“Please.” You grit out. 

“Thank you.” He says cordially, like he was a perfect gentleman. Yeah, the lake could definitely help him see the hard truths. 

He walks forward carefully, trying his best not to rock the boat too much. As he enters your space, your chest tightens slightly, but you don't read into it. That was something to unpack later. Much later. 

“Can I?” Spencer asks, and you realise he's asking permission to touch you. You nod quickly, watching in morbid anticipation as his hands snake towards you, settling carefully but firmly on your hips. You snap your attention away, desperate to break the strained silence with the first thing that comes to mind.

“Are you even strong enough for this?” The execution of nonchalance you were aiming for is partially botched when your voice comes out breathier than normal. 

“Ouch.” Spencer hisses, tutting amusedly. “You’re relentless today, aren't you?” His hands break from their hold on your hips and fold across his chest, and you feel an utterly irrational sense of disappointment. 

“I might not be Morgan, but I’m still an agent.” He glances down at your form, sizing you up like you’re a bothersome math equation. “Also, I’m guessing you weigh about as much as a small sack of potatoes, so you���ll be fine.” 

You scoff at that, but don’t argue back, and Spencer takes it as his green light. 

“Brace on my shoulders or you’ll make this very difficult for the both of us.” He replies, and you hesitantly place your hands on his shoulders, not wanting to get any closer to Spencer than you already are. 

He rolls his eyes. “Are you even trying?” 

“Geez, I’m so sorry I respect the personal space of others, I won't be so considerate next time.” You jab back, narrowing your eyes at him. He responds with an amused huff, but doesn't speak as he gently moves your hands to where he wants them. You shiver.

One ends up on his bicep, while the other wraps around the back of his neck. His hands fall back to your middle, but instead of settling back on your hips, his large hands mould to your waist, flexing as he finds his grip. They tighten and he pulls you closer than ever. You find yourself with nothing to say—witty retorts form in your throat, yet none seem willing to come out.

“Ready?” He says in your ear, voice low. 

“No,” you answer, still very apprehensive at his physical ability to get you all the way to the dock. 

“Too bad.”

Before you can retort, he lifts you with surprising strength and ease in one smooth movement, and you let out a small squeak at the suddenness of it all. He swings your body around, using the momentum to haul you onto the high dock, long fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to keep hold during the precarious lift. It was more of a controlled throw, if you’re being picky—which you always are.

You wobble slightly, but manage to gain your balance on the waterlogged wooden planks. You glance back to Spencer, who is standing stock-still on the little boat, eyes a little unfocussed. You watch as the warm hands that were just clenched on your waist flex once, twice, before he blinks a moment later and looks towards the dock. Towards you. 

“All good?” He asks, voice strained.

“I’ll live.” You stare at Spencer for a moment, before shaking yourself from your slight stupor and turning to head back up the hill. 

“Now hurry up,” you call over your shoulder. Spencer simply sighs, lifting himself easily from the boat and jogging to catch up, hauling your shared belongings onto his back. 

As you finally re-enter the precinct a little while later, Spencer peeling off to debrief the team, you swear your hips still tingle from where his hands were wrapped tightly around them mere minutes ago. 

But, like you said. You would think about that later.

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Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 @thegloryofliterature <3 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[starfruitbats]

I want to learn more about circuitbreaker they're so cute!

Aaaa thank you!!! I’m not sure what you wanna know specifically but here’s a basic rundown!

CircuitBreaker, who more commonly goes by just Circuit, is my fankid OC between Sabotage (my other oc) and Thundercracker!

They use they/them pronouns, and were born at around the mid point of the war.

Circuit is an outlier with electrical capabilities. They can generate and discharge electricity which they use for their scientific endeavors. They specialize in weaponry, ship maintenance, and general machinery.

After the war, Circuit decides to pursue their love for science by boarding the Lost Light and doing an apprenticeship under Perceptor (and by extension Brainstorm). They get plenty of support from their parents, even if they aren’t necessarily keen on them ‘leaving the nest so soon’. Thundercracker would’ve much preferred if they stayed on Cybertron and mentored under someone else, but understands the wanderlust.

They’re blunt, monotone, straight to the point, and can come across as cold. Ironically, despite all this, Circuit is a certified yapper. Mostly talking about their projects. They actually do enjoy people, even if dumb ppl drive them nuts, but because of their general vibe, and being a much younger mech in comparison to others, they don’t tend to have a lot of friends. Circuit tends to be a bit of a stickler for rules, and only tends to sway if there’s something they can benefit from.

Circuit’s electrical outlier ability is used pretty frequently by them, whether it be jumpstarting a generator or using it to power small (rarely large) machinery. Their outlier ability is not without its flaws. It takes a lot of energy, and will result in exhaustion when used execessively. It also creates a pretty strong appetite, making them particularly easily the wavered by snacks. (Their favorite being energon sticks)

Circuit is pretty close with both their parents. Although has some repressed issues with Thundercracker they need to work through. But by nature they’re kind of the opposite of an open book. So the only people who really know about those issues are them and their parents.

Other than that, they’re mostly just a silly scientist on a silly ship.

If there’s anything specific you wanna know feel free to ask!

[rivergirlabby]

dresdencodak:

Part 1: Rebooting the Justice League

Part 3: Rebooting Batman

What are heroes without villains? To follow up with my Rebooting the Justice League post, where I treated those characters to a more extreme reboot than DC’s “New 52,” I thought it would be fun to take a look at a redesigned villain team to oppose my redesigned Justice League:

Make sure to read the previous post, as I’ll be referencing plot points I set up there. All of these characters are part of the Legion of Doom, a group organized specifically to oppose the Justice League.

Lex Luthor

Origin: Lex Luthor is a self-made man. Born in the slums of Metropolis, he pulled himself out of poverty and was accepted with a full scholarship to MIT, though he soon dropped out to start his own business, LexCorp. Luthor’s company soon became the most influential in the country, the leader in both consumer and military technologies. His business practices were less than honest, however, and his further rise to power increasingly involved more dubious dealings. Upon the arrival of Superman, however, and his clear message of standing up to those who would abuse their power, Luthor became concerned. He didn’t understand where this person came from or how he was seemingly invincible, but he would find out.

To keep Superman and other heroes away from his most important dealings, Luthor devised two plans. First, he worked with the CIA to create Power Girl, a metahuman counter to Superman who would join the Justice League and watch over them. The second was a far more sinister and secret plan: to fund a team of supervillains to occupy the League’s time, a “Secret Society.” No one but Luthor and a single Society member knew he was ultimately behind their organization.

Notes: Luthor’s a pretty great foil to Superman already, so I didn’t want to change much. I prefer his depiction as a corporate mogul instead of a mad scientist, especially since it fits with my Superman’s proletarian leanings. This, however, doesn’t mean that Luthor isn’t a technical genius, it’s just that his goals are bigger than just inventing things. Visually I wanted someone who looked pretty friendly, nerdy fellow, like a Steve Jobs or Bill Gates. He’s a famous guy and his personal image is strongly tied to the success of his company, so he’d try hard to suppress any notion that he’s anything but perfect. Then comes Superman, who’s this media darling, and it really gets to Luthor. Not only is this guy out to stop Luthor and his kind, but he’s doing it with a squeaky clean image.

Cornelius “Gorilla” Grodd

Origin: LexCorp geneticist Cornelius Grodd was tasked with reproducing Superman’s regenerative abilities and invulnerability. When he learned that his professional rival at S.T.A.R. labs, Ananth Patil, had made greater strides in this, Grodd sabotaged Patil’s work (unwittingly turning him into the Flash) and stole a sample of what he believed to be a serum for reproducing Superman’s invulnerability. After thorough testing and modification, Grodd concluded that the serum would work, and would also easily double his intelligence. He also concluded that only he should possess such power, and took the serum himself. It did increase his intellect, but instead of invulnerability, Grodd’s body was turned into an early hominid-like form. Disgraced, he turned to Luthor for aid, who offered him a new mission in exchange for the funding needed to undo his disfigurement: create a supervillain group to keep Superman occupied.  Grodd knows he’s being used, but for the meantime plays along before making a direct action against Luthor.

Powers: Grodd possesses slightly higher than human strength, but his main ability is his cunning intellect and ability to hypnotize and control those with whom he makes eye contact.

Notes: Grodd’s a fun character and everyone loves an evil gorilla, but I wanted to have an appearance that wasn’t so on the nose about it. I decided for kind of a Planet of the Apes appearance, and went with a backstory that meshed with that. He’s also a guy who’s now as smart as or smarter than Luthor, with the same sort of ambition, and I wanted to preserve the classic semi-rivalry between these two villains.

Metallo (John Corben)

Origin: LexCorp wasn’t the only company bidding for the government’s superhuman contract. Cadmus Labs also had a candidate for the “answer” to Superman, but while Lex Luthor’s project was simply to make their own superhuman, Cadmus took a darker route by creating a weapon explicitly designed to kill Superman. In place of a life sentence, mass murderer John Corben signed on to be one of Cadmus’s experiments. Project Metallo involved grafting him to a mechanical body, one that was powered by a mysterious meteor that they had been observed to weaken Superman. When Metallo was rejected by the government in favor of Power Girl, Cadmus made plans to dismantle him, but Corben managed to escape. Soon, however, he was intercepted by the Grodd, and offered an opportunity to join the Society so that he could fulfill the one action that would truly give him pleasure (thanks to Cadmus’s conditioning): fighting Superman.

Powers: Metallo possesses superhuman durability and strength, as well as a limited armament and the ability to fly short distances via rockets. His most distinctive attribute, however, is the power source in his chest: a fragment of Krypton, which fell to Earth along with Kal-El’s rocket years ago. The reason it causes harm to Superman is that when Colu sets out to destroy a species, it reforms their planets into a substance that unmakes them, specifically. As such, a fragment of the reconstituted Krypton (��Kryptonite,” if you will) unravels Kal-El’s very being. Metallo is also capable of firing a beam of Kryptonite radiation from his chest or eyes (when his faceplate is down).

Notes: Criminal experimentation seemed like a natural way to go with Metallo. I also like the notion that Lex Luthor actually didn’t come up with the most evil way to deal with Superman (at least at first). Visually I wanted Metallo to look a bit clunky and retro; there’s some Iron Giant and Big O in there, as well as a creepy glowing skull. He’s meant to look like he can take and give a pounding. The origin I’ve given him isn’t far removed from his original, just a little closer to something from the Robocop movies.

Livewire (Leslie Willis)

Origin: Leslie Willis first gained notoriety on the reality TV show I’m a Superhero, Get Me Out of Here, where contestants were given a superhero name, powers, and forced to live together in Miami. When she discovered she would soon be voted off the show, Willis concocted a plan to increase her popularity by “going evil,” and proceeded to murder the other contestants and film crew. The plan worked, and “Livewire” continued to garner fame with a violent life of crime. She joined the Secret Six primarily because it would increase her exposure and chances of killing a popular hero. However, if that doesn’t turn out, Livewire has a backup plan where she will “turn good” at the last minute and help the Justice League.

Powers: Livewire’s gauntlets and helmet allow her to control electromagnetic fields. This mostly involves firing bolts of electricity and a rudimentary usage of magnetism to bend or throw metal.

Notes: Livewire’s original origin (as a shock jock) seemed a little too early 90s, but I do like the idea of an obnoxious egomaniac angle, so I went with the reality show backstory. In a world where Superman and other heroes are a new thing, you’d expect media outlets to capitalize on the hype. Livewire’s motivations aren’t too far removed from modern non-celebrities of that type, she’s only taken it to extremes. Visually, I wanted her outfit to be provocative before it’s practical. This is a character who is more concerned about being photographed than having combat-ready clothing.

Giganta (Doris Zeul)

Origin: The appearance of Superman and others sparked somewhat of a superhuman arms race worldwide, with nations concerned about their enemies gaining super soldiers of their own. A high price was offered, for example, for anyone who could navigate to the Amazonian island, Themiscyra, and recover its relics. Many treasure hunters lept at the opportunity, but only the mercenary Doris Zeul and her team were able to successfully navigate to Themiscyra. Although her companions were killed by the various traps left by the Amazons, Zeul survived and found a suit of armor said to contain the power of Ares. Deciding the claim the armor for her own, Zeul now works for the highest bidder, and that bidder is the Secret Society.

Powers: Fueled by rage, Giganta’s armor enhances her fighting skills and physical stature, as well as raise her strength and durability. Generally, the longer a fight goes on, the more indestructible she becomes.

Notes: Wonder Woman needed someone to sword fight, so I went with a little-used origin of Giganta that involved her being more of an Amazonian foil than a lady with growing powers. I also wanted to keep the origins of the characters diverse, and liked the idea of some powers-that-be trying to replicate Wonder Woman’s powers instead of Superman’s. Visually, I wanted Giganta to contrast with Wonder Woman while still having Greco-Roman vibes. I used a gladiator style to help distinguish her as someone who revels in combat and power, while Wonder Woman is more of a peacekeeper.

Sinestro (Evan Qward)

Origin: Midori Ota was not the first on Earth to possess the Oan “green lantern.” Years earlier, another person, Dr. Evan Qward, first received it, but he quickly came to abuse its power, hoping to rule over the Earth with what he deemed a divine gift. The Oan lantern, however, was built with a failsafe against such abuse and disappeared from Qward’s possession, in search of a new host. Soon Qward was driven mad, having become addicted to the power, and spent the rest of his life trying to replicate the abilities of the lantern. Having recently discovered there is a new person using his former “gift,” Qward has taken up with the Secret Society under the name Sinestro in order to kill this new Green Lantern and reclaim what is rightfully his.

Powers: Sinestro has designed a suit and power supply meant to mimic the Green Lantern’s abilities, though it does not exactly achieve this. Instead, he can only deconstruct and manipulate nonliving matter with yellow rays from his gloves.

Notes: I think Sinestro is an important component of the Green Lantern mythos, as he represents the temptation that comes with such power and how easily it can be abused. Although his origin here is fairly different from the original, I think I’ve still kept the essential element of him being a “fallen” Green Lantern who thinks that power should be used to rule over people rather than serve them. While originally his antagonism was mostly an ideological one (since he still had his own power ring), here I’ve added a more direct motivation: he wants his lantern back. I like the notion of such power being addictive. After all, I imagine losing the ability to make whatever you imagine come to life would make anyone pretty angry. Visually, I didn’t want to stray too far from the original Sinestro. He’s a basically an evil Green Lantern, so that should stay the same.

Parasite (Madame Vandal)

Origin: Shortly before their fateful visit to Mars, Kryptonian explorers briefly visited Earth to determine if its inhabitants were ready for “modification.” After a brief experimentation, it was determined that humans were too savage in their present state, and the Kryptonians erased the evidence of their arrival before moving on to Mars. One experiment lived, however, and found that she could prolong her life by absorbing the “life force” of those around her. As time went on, the power did dwindle and she found she had to more and more frequently absorb others to maintain her life. This persisted for over a thousand years, when she encountered Grodd, who wished her to join the Secret Society in exchange for research into her “condition.” Madame Vandal’s story of alien abduction is not believed (and she never quite remembers it correctly), but she is nevertheless welcomed, as she is indisputably the most powerful member of the Secret Society.

Powers: Vandal has the ability to leech energy from others through physical contact. This rejuvenates her, as well as temporarily elevates her strength and vitality to whatever she’s touched. This effectively makes her as powerful as Superman while fighting him. To fully maintain her presumed immortality, Vandal has to completely drain a person until they die.  Also, with some concentration, she can absorb non-biological energy as well (such as kinetic or electrical) and redirect it at her command.

Notes: I combined Parasite’s abilities with a more Vandal Savage origin story, as I think the two work well together. Visually I wanted someone who didn’t look very imposing, hiding their true power. Parasite here is almost like a vampire, slinking in the shadows and lasting as long as she has because most people don’t know her true nature.

Huntress (Helena Bertinelli)

Origin: Daughter of a prominent Gotham crime boss, Helena Bertinelli watched her family gunned down during a mafia war.  Living in hiding with a foster family, she grew to despise organized crime in all its forms. When she came of age, Helena idolized Batman and wished to gain his favor by taking on the persona of Batgirl. However, Batman was concerned about her brutal methods of crime fighting, and told her he couldn’t waste time training such a person when there is a growing superhuman concern. Still wanting his approval, Helena created a new villain persona, the Huntress, and joined the ranks of the Secret Society with the intent of exposing their mysterious financier. She reasoned that superhumans loyal to the government or a corporate force were far more dangerous than the Justice League, and intends to dismantle their operation by whatever means she can.

Powers: Huntress is an expert in hand-to-hand combat and ranged weaponry. Her goggles allow her night vision and infrared tracking, and her body armor is designed specifically to absorb concussive blows, as well as redirect energy known to be used by many metahumans. Her preferred weapons are a crossbow and collapsible sword.

Notes: I wanted to have one character who rode the line a bit, and the Huntress is a good candidate. While obviously not a real villain, Huntress is to the Secret Society what Power Girl is to the Justice league, at least in that she has ulterior motives. Visually, I wanted someone who took after Batman, so most of what’s she’s wearing is a more practical version of her regular costume. I’m not a fan of people with secret identities and exposed hair, so I gave her a full mask and cut her hair short to fit. I liked the religious imagery of her original costume but felt hanging crosses were a little too on the nose, so I went with a priest’s collar and an overall look that sort of resembles a cardinal.

******************

And there’s my Secret Society! I wanted to have a combination of personalities that would play well with each other, as well as give the Justice League appropriate foils in combat. Most importantly, I wanted the backstories, characters and designs to be fresh and get people interested in some of these (often obscure) supervillains. Tell me what you think!

Part 1: Rebooting the Justice League

Part 3: Rebooting Batman

Rebooting DC's Villains!

[xaer1s]

ㅤㅤtrust me ───ㅤ𓈒 he makes you work for it this time:ㅤ[l. mark]

𝒇 ! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽erㅤㅤ⚝ .. .ㅤㅤ2329 ⸝⸝ ⬦ㅤㅤㅤcontains,ㅤnsfw!!, very brief clit play, lap riding, gentle-dom!mark, reader never did it before yeah so she doesn’t wanna do it but mark knows how manipulate, not toxic though!, dry humping, encouraging, pet names, dirty talk, lmk if missed anything & sorry for possible mistakes!!ㅤㅤㅤ check out NAViGATiONㅤ♡ㅤif you'd like to be a part of my taglist, fill out this form, dm me or comment on ONLY the rules post! / requests open!

if you'd like to be a part of my taglist, fill out this form, dm me or comment on ONLY the rules post!/ requests open!

a/n: yeah so the mark brain rot is doing its work. i had originally planned this as an event but i literally lost all my motivation so instead i post this as a single oneshot. enjoy! <3

You stirred awake against your own will, exhaling an exhausted huff while the person behind you just smothered himself against your back completely. His face pressed into your neck, so even if you’d asked him, the man wouldn’t be able to answer anyway, it was too warm to leave.

“Mmh.. turn around..”

“Mark, just sleep.” He couldn’t physically see the eye roll, but your voice dripped with mocking. When falling asleep, cuddling, he often demands to end up spooning you from behind, which of course he regrets later and goes on a rant about how much he likes to rest his head on your chest and feel your fingers twirling the short strands of his hair. Mark didn’t even know what he wanted at this point, one thing was sure, you. He wanted you.

In any shape or form, he embraces it and is very happy, regardless of what it is. The one thing he knows is how he wants to see you in every possible way.

And it’s all for him. Of course, it’s all for him. He flaunts the pride of being the only male on earth with whom you can be so open.

Mark thinks a lot, and I mean a lot, especially in moments like this. He has nothing to do except sleep, but he can’t. He can’t because he’s holding you in his arms. He wants to spend every moment staring into your eyes and holding you close—not because he fears you might leave if he lets go, but simply because that’s who he is.

Before your relationship, this loser would claw people off of them sometimes. But now, he did a 180-degree turn. When in the company of you two, this man is unstoppable.

Then it hit him. His eyes from the forced slumber snapped wide while an audible breath stuck in his throat. The only thing that he couldn’t convince you to do was one specific action you avoided at all costs.

“What is it?..” You sat up abruptly, the bed creaking and you huffing and puffing at him, in response, he just embraced you, tugging you down flush against his chest, now placed on top of him.

“I was just thinking..”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know.. but.. " Gentle hands gave your waist a small squeeze to ground himself before continuing. “I really want to see you on top of me..” He was blunt, embarrassed, but still so goddamn blunt, that‘s what never failed to make you flush for him.

“I mean.. you know..” Mark wasn’t affected, at least not in the way you were. Now, when you concluded what he wanted, you got into a big tussling around in his arms, your face red and your lips formed in a small pout.

“Hey- baby- calm down!..” Arms tightening around you, it was hopeless. “Y/N! Don’t make such a big deal about it- calm down already..” Were you indeed making a fuss about it? Maybe. But you were just so clumsy at times, it was starting to get annoying. For you, for him, it was just sweet and adorable the way you struggled to even sink down fully on him without needing a helping hand.

It felt just overwhelming, what if he won’t enjoy it? Sure, you would feel the most uncomfortable between the two of you if you were to ride him, but you didn’t wish the same bad feeling for Mark.

You were his pillow princess. He had nothing against it, so why not? You were clueless too, it was perfect for both of you. Until you got spoiled. And even insecure about your own abilities.

“Let me guide you, sweetheart..” He whispers, two gentle palms lay on your knees, fingers curling behind them and pulling you to settle on his warm lap.

“Hold onto my shoulder and don’t be scared to tell me if it hurts, ‘aight?” Mark asked with all the tenderness in his voice, left hand now tucking some hair behind your ear gently. You felt your heart flip, your stomach twisting with heat. He blinked up at you with the most adoring look through his thin eyelashes, his orbs shone with devotion. His face was even more defined as he took you in, just the way you were doing it with him, too.

“The last thing you should do..” his fingers traced the contours of your legs and hips, following the path intently with his eyes. “Is being embarrassed about doing something with me.. y’know?” The digits stopped almost at the clothed apex of your thighs, the thumb gently brushing on the hem of your sleeping shorts absent-mindedly.

“But I want it.. so you’d do it for me, right?” And when he got really desperate and asking gently just wasn’t doing it, he’d end up attacking you emotionally. It wasn’t toxic in any way. If you’d still say no, he wouldn’t force you to do anything and just go with whatever you want.

But you nodded. Yeah. Yeah, you would do it for him.

At your acceptance, a small smile crossed his lips under the faint light of the moon filtered through the blinds. It was hardly visible around the room, but he knew everything when it came to you. That’s why he knew the redness blooming on your cheeks of the small change in your breathing, he noticed the gentle trembling in your limb,s and the gulp as your attention turned to his wandering hands.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” he cooed. “Let me take this off.” As you lifted your hips from his lap, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid the fabric off, tossing it somewhere across the room. He wanted to make sure you couldn’t reach for it, even if you wanted to.

“Loosen up, darling.. I know you’re scared.” A kiss to the edge of your lips. “But I’ll make it feel good, just trust me.. It will feel good.. you trust me?” He questioned while the warm breath fanned on your even hotter skin, swift fingers snuck under your panties. Two pads circled the throbbing bud, occasionally dipping deeper to collect your wetness, smearing across you.

You still weren’t wet enough. You were so goddamn nervous. And like that, the hand in your underwear left you, making the band snap back in place. Shame ate you up, was he already done with you? Head turned in the other way, unable to form a sentence, you felt warm, comforting lips pressed on your jaw, your neck and then your cheeks.

“Okay. Let’s try another approach, then.” Mark mumbled, two hands steadying your hips and making you sink your weight directly over his now straining bulge.

“Just get used to it first..” The instruction called out softly, patting on the small of your back, resulting in a not-so-confident roll of your hips. The man under you gave a few seconds in the hope of you collecting yourself,f but unfortunately, that didn’t come.

“Don’t sit on it like it’s going to break, Jesus.. " Impatience bubbled in him. Yeah, seeing you ride him was hot. But the way you struggled around like a dying fish out of the water, just screamed at him to do something.

That’s why the grip traveled to your hips, and now you were purely moved by his strength.

“You feel it, right?” When you weakly nodded, he continued. “Don’t overthink. Just do it.” He hissed through his teeth. The way he moved your only underwear-clad core over the hard outline of his cock in the comfort of his sweatpants did it for him too.

The smooth skin of your inner thighs brushed on the harsh fabric every single time, the cotton of your panties stuck to your labia, the way his member just struggled its way past them. Now your underwear crumpled between your lips, feeling every grind directly on your sensitive clit.

Not being able to hold back, a small, pleasure-filled moan fell from your lips, the grip getting tighter on your hips as his own bucked up into you, not too roughly, just yet. He can’t overwhelm you, he really shouldn’t but he can’t fucking hold himself back.

“Yeah baby, that’s it.. don’t be scared..” With pleasure strained voice and eyelids heavy with lust, he painted a ravishing picture. Mark looked almost delicious with pleasure etched over his pretty face.

“How does it feel, baby?..” The soothing question made you look up at him now for a quick second before your gaze darted back where you eagerly moved on top of him.

“Good..”

“Take these off, too, then.” Stopping your grinding, his forefinger curled under the elastic of your underwear and gave it a small pull before it snapped back against your skin harshly, while the small wet patch grew with every unsure rut against him.

After a few seconds of patiently waiting and just straight up staring at each other, you realized he won’t do it for you this time. Not now. He let you take matters into your own hands. But God you were nervous like a fucking virgin who’s gonna do it for the first time.

Biting the bullet, you finally slid off the last remaining piece of clothing from your lower body, Mark’s attention fixated on your actions all throughout. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and your breath caught in your throat the moment your flushed, hot, naked skin got in contact with the harsh material over his bulge.

A knowing smile curled on his lips in the darkness of the room, he knew the hot feeling on your tummy pooled over the minutes, and you’d gladly take over the control from now on. “There you go.. so good for me, don’t stop now..” He reassured, legs spreading just a bit wider. The fact that he still had all of his clothes on while the only thing hanging from your body was a loosely fitting white t-shirt didn’t even cross his mind. The focus was placed on you this time. On making you feel good and chasing away the nervousness, which by now was a success.

You were ready to tug on his sweatpants when one hand stopped you, making you dumbly blink up at him, confused.

“Not today.”

“But-”

“No buts, just focus on yourself..” His words were soothing and caressing to your frayed nerves, sitting up with a small creak of the bed, his hand let go of yours, letting them limply fall on the top of your thighs as he cupped the side of your face, leaning just a breath away from you.

“I told you not to stop.” Hummed on your skin with the company of a few kisses landed on your neck and collarbone, you gulped hard as your body almost instinctively began to work in small circles. “That’s it, baby.. can you try getting off for me like this?” You were uncertain indeed, but at the question, you started picking up pace, adding just a faint roughness to your movements.

The fabric burned on your dripping folds, your clit throbbing and hole clenching around pure air, desired to be filled up so good —which Mark won’t do at the moment—

He just stared up at you in awe. Your actions, the way your plump bottom lip got caught between your teeth, the desperate furrow of concentration in your eyebrows, to which he leaned in to kiss away on your forehead. Two big palms are planted on the side of your thighs, occasionally sliding up and down to your waist and back.

“I-.. I can’t..” The whining you let out made him faintly chuckle.

“You can’t, sweetheart?..” He questioned mockingly, despite the pitiful state you were in. “Don’t doubt yourself, go a little harder, I’ll help you, hm?” Except he didn’t wait for an answer, taking matters into his own hands and roughly gripping your sides to manage all your delivered humpings. The bed shook just a bit more as his hips pistoned up towards you.

He coaxed your juices right over him, coating him in your essence as the heady scent tickled your senses. The warmness of his erection even through his confines sent tingles down your body while his cock catched on your clit with every single slide.

“You close, baby?” As a non-verbal response from you, your hips moved with more fervor. “Let go for me.. you got it..” Sensing the sloppiness in your movements, Mark decided to guide you to your awaited peak on his own. The knot in your belly snapped suddenly, the aching settling in your knees and thighs, resulting in your movements faltering.

With a small squeak struggling through your lips, your body stiffened while the waves of intense pleasure washed over you, shaking apart in his gentle hold, as if you were the most fragile living being he had ever encountered. While he was incredibly tender, he made sure to push you through your high by moving under your back and forth.

Hot gasps of you trying to come back from your hazy state got him giggling at your expressions. Giggling, how his sweet little princess was able to be so hungry to rut herself into orgasm over his lap. Your boneless body leaned exhausted on his wide chest, eyelids already heavy with weariness.

“I got you, darling..” The whisper was muffled against the top of your head as he dusted a few kisses on it, laced with gentle back rubs to calm you. Yeah, you made a mess right over him, but it was so worth it. When the slumber pulled you down, knuckles brushed over your sleeping, relaxed muscles, clearing a few strands of hair from your face while his other arm just snugly held you against him.

Lightness settled in the room as he turned his attention out on the window, the first rays of sun seeping into the room, yet he made no move to get up just yet.

feedbacksㅤ. . . ㅤ𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀, 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌 & 𝖿𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗂𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 ⚝ please don't spam!!

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽️

VERSION VIII.

(a/n: dropping 3 eps cause i was gone for like half a month, so enjoy this holy trinity 🤌 thank you for your support 🫶)

Warning-none

wc: 1k

ALSO: tags @ttheggrimrreaper ✌️

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…69, Karasu Tabito.”

Smirking at his jersey number, you instinctively glanced around, wondering if anyone else had found it just as amusing. But as your eyes swept the room, it quickly became clear—everyone was far too anxious to notice such details unlike your brilliant self, of course.

Taking a closer look at the guy, you memorized the two most prominent details about him, making a little note to yourself. Find someone with an oddly specific hairstyle and a cute mole under his left eye.

Exiting the room, you followed the signs, leading to Anri, who handed you some documents before sending you off to find your partner.

Imagine being Karasu Tabito’s manager, known as the assassin.

——————

Karasu Tabito, who moved on the field like he was flying, the ball looking like a feather on his foot. You, amazed by his movements, quietly stood near the benches until the whistle blew, indicating a break for the boys. Snapping back to reality, you jogged up to him with a warm smile across your lips, introducing yourself. Raising a brow, he did the same, his gaze sharp, yet curious.

“So, yer my new manager, huh?” he asked again, still unsure 'cause you looked too lovely to be assigned to him. Maybe Yukimiya was the lucky bastard?

“Yup. Somehow managed to get myself a nice player.” you cracked a smile, trying to break the awkwardness. He smirked at your reply, before initiating another conversation.

——————

•Karasu, who clicks with you immediately. The conversations flow smoothly, and getting to know each other seems to be the easiest task for you yet. (he analyzed you waaay before you spoke to him)

•Fun fact, the first thing he requested from you was hair wax saying the one in the facility makes his ends split. :)

•He also has the ability to remember the most trivial details that you have shared with him about yourself—something he gladly takes advantage of, either to tease the hell out of you or simply make you flustered by casually bringing them up.

•Extremely attentive, and always notices if you’re struggling. He’ll also offer help with paperwork if needed. Other times, he prefers to yap or test your patience by hiding your pens, reading aloud or giving unwanted comments.

•Karasu, who’s sometimes waaay too relaxed for his own good, yet he has never once made you scold him for anything important. He likes to arrive just on time for practice, only to complain about training all while flawlessly following the instructions, and if there’s any competition—be it big or small—he will make sure to be in the top 3.

•Also, petnames. Not the flirty ones, but something like “boss” or “shortie” that makes your eyes roll from the amount of time he uses them. He’s pretty clingy to your surprise, following you around all day, and if anyone tries to disrespect you, they gotta deal with him first.

•Karasu is the king of reassurance. If he sees you comparing yourself to other managers, he will stop whatever he’s doing to give you a motivational speech. Rare moments of him being sentimental, where he makes you repeat over and over that ‘he wouldn’t be here without you’ or ‘don’t you dare switch to other players’.

•Has a lot of respect for you as well. The way you always put him first, making sure he’s alive and breathing. The fact that you can keep up with him is impressive too, and he’ll never admit it, but he’s been amused since day 1.

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Karasu takes training more seriously—not that he never did—just that he’s now putting in more effort and energy than before. Pushes himself harder as well, yet he still doesn’t let you work overtime.

•Has a habit of pushing your laptop closed or simply snatching your clipboard out from your hands, if he sees you staying up later than usual.

•He’s also more engaged in the analyzing, actually taking notes and listening to your opinions before asking questions and such.

•Karasu will never miss a chance to tell you “yer messy hair is funny” or pat you on the head when you’re angry saying “relax manager-san, i’m sorry ‘kay? forgive me please, ‘cause anger will stop yer growth at this rate”

•Tutoring him is like gambling—there’s a 50% chance of him actually paying attention and doing what you said, or lazily finishing half of the exercises you give him, before he passes out on the table. Weirdly good at guessing which nouns are feminine or masculine.

•Loves to listen to your voice thanks to his fetish, so don’t even try to give him a textbook to read. Won’t work unless you read it for him like it’s daycare, while he lays on his arm, looking up to you, admiring every inch of your face.

•Interviews with him are a pain in the ass. Loves to sarcastically answer questions making you groan in the background. Karasu also never fails to appreciate you at least once in every interview he does, talking about how hardworking and supportive you are.

•Working with him means throwing insults and arguing about who’s smarter, but physical touch isn’t rare. Karasu has a habit of casually throwing his arm on your shoulders during break, laying his head on top of yours for support, or making you piggy back him back to his room.

•He’s very proud of you and will fight with anyone who thinks their manager is better. He also knows your schedule by heart, favorite snacks already on your desk, when it’s a long day with a small note that says

“oi, am I the player or your manager? get some sleep”

•Karasu, who is fiercely loyal to you—granting privileges such as bossing him around, make him worry about your health, and be able witness his rare waxless hair. Switching managers? Not a chance. You’re stuck with him for life.

“You’re the one and only person I’m capable to work with”