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imagining-in-the-margins · 5 years

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Here to Misbehave (Pt. 3 | S.R.)

Summary: Spencer decides to return to a previous tryst. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Dom!Spencer, handcuffs, hair pulling, oral, fingering, penetrative sex, rough sex Word Count: 9k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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It was a Saturday night and I had nothing to do. My roommate had gone home for the weekend and all my other friends were at bars. I could've joined them, but it just didn't seem worth it. The last time had been so perfect, I just couldn't imagine that anything else could compare.

I'd tried going back to the same area a few times, but I never saw him again. Then again, seeing me back there might just piss him off. Then again, that would've been okay, too. He was pretty cute when he was mad.

But I wasn't looking at a cute boy that night. No, I was just sitting in my apartment, staring at the textbook that I wasn't even interested in reading. Wishing that something could save me from the boring limbo I had found myself in.

Then, like magic, my phone stirred to life beside me.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

I looked down at the LED, fully expecting it to just be someone tagging me in a picture of a cat. But it wasn't. The number was one I had saved in my phone, hoping that I would see it pop up again one day.

It had been almost a month. I didn't think it would ever happen. But there it was; a text message from Dr. Reid himself.

"Hey (y/n)."

When I slid the message open, I saw he was still typing.

"Long time no talk," was his second message.

That was an understatement.

"Hey yourself."

It was a cursory response. I wanted him to sweat a bit. He'd made me wait, so now he had to deal with the consequences. But then I changed my mind and immediately followed with a second text of, "Texting isn't talking you know."

"You never called. Why should I?" His response was so quick I swore he'd planned this all out in his head. He was playing me like a chess board. Bet he was good at that, too.

"It takes two to tango, Dr. Reid," I jokingly replied.

He read the message, but he didn't answer.

Getting nervous that he was losing interest, I continued typing.

"I figured you wouldn't want to see me again after I made you late. Are those marks still there?"

I smiled at the memory, because I knew he wasn't there to call me out for it. By the time he'd finally made it down to his ride, I had covered his neck in petechiae and his back was equally marked with scratches.

I'd wanted him to remember me.

It'd worked, too.

He'd been typing for a while and I was getting anxious. It had been a bold message to send, and I didn't really think it through.

Was he trying to let me down easy? No, that didn't make any sense. Who the fuck texts a one night stand at 10:30 PM on a Saturday after not speaking for a month just to end things?

He responded.

"Sadly, no. And I wouldn't be so quick to assume I don't want to see you because of that... Revenge is a powerful motivator."

That was the cheeky bastard I wanted to see. I could be cheeky, too.

"Is it?" I asked.

"Where are you tonight?"

His answers were starting to make my heart race. I had to get ready, because he was definitely about to ask me to be his booty call and I was definitely going to do it. Closing my textbook, I shot back another teasing reply.

"Not a club. I'm being a good girl tonight. All by my lonesome."

Thank god my roommate wasn't here and I had somehow been bored enough to clean today. I pulled out my make up and turned the light on my mirror on. As I started to apply it, I got a message that immediately solidified my answer to his inevitable proposition.

"Do you want to change that?"

'God, yes, I do.'

I waited another minute, wanting to be able to finish at least the bare minimum before he saw me. I knew he wasn't a superficial guy, but the last time he'd seen me I had gone full out.

"Which part?" I responded, already knowing his answer.

"Both."

So unpredictable in the most satisfying way.

I took a deep breath and a pause, tapping back a confident reply.

"Are you trying to entrap me, Agent?"

His reply was within seconds, and I was immediately reminded of how incredibly clever this man was. He knew exactly what to say to make me melt.

"Is that what you want?"

I wanted to pick up the phone, dial, and scream yes. But I didn't, opting instead for a calm and composed, "That would certainly be exciting."

My application grew significantly quicker, and I was already eyeing the special drawer I had for these exact situations. My mind was running through my collection of sheer fabrics and lace details, trying to decide what would work best.

Then he said the magic words:

"Send me your address."

Spencer was coming over, and it wasn't a dream. I was going to have that strange, brilliant, beautiful man back in my arms and I wasn't going to fuck it up. With shaking hands, I thumbed out my address with no other commentary. In a few seconds, I would know how long I had until Spencer Reid was in my apartment.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes."

Thank god. It was time enough to prepare.

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Spencer Reid was going to be at my door at any minute, and I was suddenly terrified that he'd be disappointed. Convinced that I'd done everything wrong.

We'd had a good time before, right? I'd played over and over again in my head ever since it happened. I was reminded of the soft way he'd touched me in the morning, the childish laughs we'd shared, and the smell of his cologne on the sheets.

God, I hoped he wouldn't be disappointed.

Knock Knock Knock.

When I heard the sound, I immediately tried to fix my appearance in the mirror despite having spent the last 20 minutes doing whatever I could given the time. I had opted for one of my easier-to-remove loungewear pieces. A simple white lace negligee. He seemed like he'd like simple. The little hint of purity, however silly, would also probably appeal to him.

Slowly exhaling, I composed myself before opening the door.

"Hello, Dr. Reid."

He looked as handsome as ever, although I did have the distinct impression that it had been awhile since he had a full nights sleep. I wondered why, but decided not to dwell on it.

"Hello yourself," he responded, his eyes ravaging my figure the very moment I stepped out from behind the door. He waited for me to take a step back and fully open the door before he walked in, and I watched the way he scanned my apartment.

I wondered what he saw.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

It was a tease, and based the look on his face when he finally turned to me, it took him a moment to figure it out. He was too much in his work brain. I could feel it. I'd never seen him at work, but I could tell.

"You seem tense," I spoke coyly, stepping closer and running my hands up his chest and onto his shoulders.

He didn't speak; instead his gaze bored into me, like he was going to lose his composure any second. But he held himself back.

"Can I help you with that?"

That dark shine in his eyes was getting stronger.

"That depends."

As he spoke the words, he finally touched me, a sneaky hand finding its way to my hip. I gasped at the sensation and my eyes fluttered shut. He always had this immediate intoxicating effect on me that I just couldn't explain. I didn't care to, either. I just wanted to keep feeling it.

"Hmm... On what?" I murmured.

I tried to keep track of his hand as it sneaked to my lower back before pulling me closer. I tilted my head to look up at him as I opened my eyes. I just wanted to see that look again. That starved, possessive stare that made me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.

Although he appeared stoic, I knew there was something brewing. I knew that he was reveling in the effect he had on me.

Such a quiet, peculiar mind.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked, and I recognized the question as something deeper.

He was asking me for my limits. He wanted me to tell him what he was allowed to do. I didn't know how to tell him that I would do anything for him.

How could he not already know my answer? Perhaps it was just his attempt at being a gentleman. But I didn't need him to do all of that tonight. I'd much rather see something more... feral.

"Whatever you need," I answered as sweetly as I could.

I heard his soft chuckle. It brought a smile to both of our lips, and he used his free hand to stroke the side of my face. I quickly leaned into his touch, trying to prolong the contact for as long as I could.

"Is that so?"

Yes, I thought before saying, "Anything."

His thumb glided over my cheek and to my lips, gently separating them as he stared at me with a morbid curiosity. He was wondering how far he could actually push me. So was I.

In lieu of an answer, I slipped his thumb into my mouth, running my tongue up it before closing around it. The gentle sucking was mixed with soft rotations of my tongue. His breathing rate increased as he stepped forward and pressed his body flush against mine.

"And if you change your mind?"

What a gentleman.

I wouldn't change my mind, but I chose to indulge him with the proper form. I released his thumb and held my mouth open for a second before biting down on my bottom lip.

"Hmmm," I hummed as I thought about what I might be able to say to set him off.

I needed a safe word that would drive him wild. The thing was, I only knew a few of his interests. But I did know enough.

"Starship," I giggled, a little nod to the enterprise we'd already bonded over.

The effect the word had on him was immediate. His hand shifted to hold my chin. He used that grip to push me against the wall to the side of us, and our mouths connected just as harshly.

What a ridiculously sexy nerd.

The impact of my back against the wall was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. My hands scrambled to grab onto his belt buckle, already trying to unwrap the present meant just for me tonight.

Once I'd gotten the metal separated, I smiled into the sloppy, heated kiss. He stopped, pulling away just enough to look down at my satisfied grin. He didn't say anything.

"What's that look for?" I said with half-veiled bashfulness.

Had he noticed something strange that I hadn't intended to display? Was I going too fast?

"Nothing. It's just..."

'Please don't be something I did wrong.'

"You're so cute when you think you're in charge."

I couldn't control the way my hips rolled against the front of him as he spoke, and I licked my lips before concluding, "I am in charge."

I don't know how Spencer was so fast, but he was. Within seconds, he had both of my wrists pinned against the wall behind me. Just as quickly, he shifted so he could hold them both up with one hand, the other lifting the side of negligee so he could touch the skin of my hip. I wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Adorable," he whispered to me.

Naturally, my body reacted by trying to regain control, to touch him more somehow. He knew this, which is why he took a step back, letting go of my wrists and watching them fall back to my control.

"Are you challenging me, Dr. Reid?"

He gave a content, sarcastic smile before shrugging.

"No, I'm not, actually. It's not a challenge if I already know I'm going to win."

I could barely notice the way I puffed out my own chest in response, ready to give him the challenge he was so clearly begging for.

"Fine."

I put my hands in the air in surrender, turning and strutting my fine ass down the hallway in front of him. I didn't turn around, and I didn't tell him to follow. He would. I was confident in that.

I took a seat on the side of my bed, crossing my legs over the other and looking down at my nails with a bored expression. Before I knew it, he was crossing the threshold into my room. He walked up to me, his hands in his pockets and a voice filled with too much confidence.

"I know what you're doing."

He had something up his sleeve. I could feel it.

"What am I doing, Dr. Reid?"

The way he approached me reminded me of a hunt. The cautious, quiet strides toward me were purposeful. He stopped just in front of me, with my foot resting against his shin.

"I thought I already warned you what would happen if you did this."

"Do what?" I feigned innocence, raising my hand to my neck before perching my chin on it and leaning forward.

"Tease me."

That time when his hand made contact, it was on the top of my head. He ran a gentle hand over my hand, and the feather light touches almost tricked me. I'd almost thought he just wanted to appease me. To end my temper tantrum. But shortly after he had gripped the back of my hair in his hand and used the new grip to roughly tilt my head back to him.

"I thought you said you were going to be a good girl tonight?"

I bit down harshly on my lip to stifle my giggle as he tightened his grip.

"Oops," I said with a smile.

Suppressing my laughs enough to string together a sentence, I pressed my hands against his chest while he maintained his grip on my hair.

"I guess if you really want me to be a good girl, Dr. Reid... You'll have to make me."

That instruction was what I needed to break the man in front of me. It was the command he'd been waiting for; the bait for him to finally take what he came for.

Before I knew it, he had spun me around. He abruptly yanked my arms behind me at the same time he bent me over the side of the bed. An unfamiliar, harsh, and fucking freezing material on my wrists told me all I needed to know. The clanking of the short chain when he released my hands was music to my ears.

That beautiful son of a bitch actually brought his handcuffs.

"At least one of us follows orders," I joked, happily remaining on display for the man behind me.

I'm sure he noticed earlier that there wasn't anything blocking him from taking what he wanted underneath the negligee. But he didn't take it. Instead, he pulled me up by the chain, letting me teeter onto my feet before he twirled me back to face him.

"Get ready to learn."

Spencer slowly began removing his tie from his neck while he watched me squirm. His threat raised the tension in the room, but he gave me no clue as to what he was about to make me do.

I couldn't wait.

Once he had removed his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt. It was infuriating not being able to touch him, and I was quickly becoming impatient. It was shocking that it somehow wasn't awkward. I guess I just liked him that much. My thighs were pressed together, and the friction from rubbing them back and forth was the only stimulation I could find right now.

He raised his eyebrows as he noticed, shooting me a warning glance that I knew meant to stop. I did, but only because I was worried he would make me wait even longer if I didn't.

"Get on your knees."

I swayed back and forth, prying my hands apart to shake the chain holding my hands back.

"I can't," I said with a pout.

Spencer seemed to be entertained, and for a moment I thought he might give in.

He leaned over, a quiet breath in my ear as he gave a few words of caution.

"Get on your knees or I will bend you over mine."

My legs shook at the way his breath felt on my ear, and the words made me want to melt. As always, he knew exactly how to get me to do what he wanted.

Deciding that I didn't want to be a full on brat right off the bat, I gradually lowered down to my knees and threw him yet another pout from my new position.

"I want to touch you," I whined before tugging at the chain again.

He must have known it was a test. I had been so open to the hand cuffs being on before, and I still was. I just wanted to see how much power my pout had. Judging from his response, my puppy dog eyes didn't have very much power at all.

"You don't need your hands for that."

In a twisted sort of way, I was glad. I wanted him to do whatever he needed. I wanted to be what he needed. I would be the fight he could always win.

So, when he finally pulled his pants down and let them fall to the ground in front of me, I leaned forward to reach him.

I was quickly stopped by stern hand fisting my hair once more, leaving me hanging in front of him with nothing fun to show for it. He didn't say anything, just watching me as I returned soft whines and rubbing my legs together again.

"For a brat, you're very eager. You don't even realize you're challenging my authority, do you?"

Per usual, he was right. Even on my knees and handcuffed before him, I was trying to take back my control. He at least offered me the control over my neck again, though. He released my hair, smoothing it over the top of my head as he licked his lips. I couldn't take my eyes off them.

"Maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I should just let you beg."

I bounced on my knees, trying to express what I wanted without resorting to outright begging. Not yet.

"I'll listen to you, I promise."

"Good," he acknowledged. "Open your mouth."

I obeyed, as I'd just said I would, opening my mouth wide with my tongue forward to receive him. As he pushed into my mouth, he would only give me a couple inches before retreating. He continued this pattern until he had gotten over half of it into my mouth.

That time, he paused, granting me a pleased groan as he let his head fall back. I responded in earnest, continuing to move forward as my tongue swiped over whatever it could reach. When I pulled back, I barely released any of him before going even further forward. I looked up at his face to see if he was impressed.

He was.

Shortly after, I choked as he hit the back of my throat. I receded enough to take a deep breath through my nose. I wished I could use my hands, but I appreciated the novelty of the cuffs for at least this one time.

I swore he heard my thoughts. Because after I finished my breath, his hands found the back of my head and pulled me even further onto him. If my hands were busy, he would just use his own.

That time as I choked, I swallowed. I could feel him slip further down my throat, blocking the air supply just for a second. When he pulled me back, I knew this was just the beginning.

Once he knew what I was capable of, he was ready to take control for good.

Sure enough, he set a moderate pace of thrusting into my throat, keeping direct eye contact with me as he did so. I paid all my attention on making sure I timed my breath, feeling tears prick the inside of my eyes as I let him take over.

He was so beautiful like this. I thought about what it must be like for him at his job, that I was the first thing he came to. I decided right then, that he would never feel powerless with me. I would be anything he needed.

Suddenly, his pace slowed down, eventually coming to a stop. He slipped himself out of my mouth, and the strings of spit snapped onto my chin. I couldn't do anything to stop the running make up or saliva with both of my hands behind my back.

I was certain I looked like an absolute mess. My knees were weak from the position, and Spencer had never looked so pleased. Bending over, he grabbed me under my arms and helped haul me up onto the bed.

His hands casually wiped the tears from my cheeks, and he used the back of his hand to clean the area around my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," he uttered.

'Oh my god, I think I might love him.'

"You're not bad yourself," I croaked, my voice hoarse from what we'd just done.

"Tell me what you want," he dared me, his hand dropping from my hand down to my lap.

"Whatever you want."

It was the answer I had already promised him. I'd meant it before, and I'd meant it then.

He had still maintained eye contact, staring directly into my soul as he slipped his hand between my thighs. The lack of underwear made his job so much simpler, and I was thanking myself for not putting another barrier between the two of us.

Because as much as I wanted to be patient for him, I was growing desperate. Which is why when he finally touched me, his finger slid into my heat with ease. The slickness that had pooled was more than even I expected from the complete lack of stimulation I had received.

His finger wasn't there for long. He briskly removed it and held it up to my face before rubbing them together. He smiled as I struggled to breathe through the teasing.

"I've barely touched you... And yet..." he taunted, causing me to roll my hips, trying to get to something wholly out of my reach.

I was ready to start begging.

"Please, Spencer."

"Please what? Use your words."

He was loving it. He knew damn well that I had absolutely no control over what I wanted. I couldn't grab him, and I couldn't touch myself. All I could do was beg.

"Fuck me. Please."

It was as straightforward as I could possibly be.

"Still so impatient... so needy," he laughed, his hand returning to its place between my thighs.

I wailed as he began thumbing my clit. It was mind-numbing. He knew that I desperately wanted to be filled, and he was doing the exact opposite.

"Yes," I panted. "I need you. I need you to fuck me. Please."

Spencer didn't stop, continuing to stroke the bundle of nerves with quick, repetitive motions.

"Not yet, little girl," he growled in my ear.

It didn't take long for my cries to pick up, my hips rocking furiously as he drove me into my first orgasm. A steady flow of pants and cries were mixed with mangled attempts to call his name. He still didn't stop, refusing to touch me anywhere but the one spot until I finally ceased shaking.

I almost fell backwards, but he caught me with an arm around the waist. I could barely see straight, and ever such a gentleman, he held my delirious body upright for a moment. I could tell he was wondering if I was alright.

The concern mixed with overwhelming desire was too much. Even as he tortured me with pleasure, I could see what an incredibly kind man he was.

That was the only way this would work, I thought. I had to trust him. And I did. I trusted him with my life.

"Tell me what you want," he uttered, offering me a guilt-free retreat that I would not take.

"You," I purred. "I want you, Spencer."

Finally allowing himself to give in to both of our desires, Spencer turned me onto my stomach one more time. When I heard the crumpling noise of foil as he tore the condom wrapper open, I raised my hips into the air. I stood on my tip toes and rested my head and chest against the bed.

He didn't say anything else, lazily rubbing the head against my sex. A trembling, relieved sigh escaped my lips as I felt him breach my opening. He took his time inching into me, savoring the way I clenched around him as he stretched me open. I wished I could see the look on his face, but I could barely keep my eyes open as the rapture overtook me.

Once he was fully in me, he paused, grabbing hold of my locked wrists as yet another reminder that he was the one in charge. I

wasn't going to fight him if he kept it up, that was for sure.

Almost pulling himself entirely out, he jerked me back at the same time that he snapped his hips forward and bottomed out inside me. I yelled out at the sensation, which clearly urged him on. His pace went from composed to frenetic in a matter of seconds, and each time he would slam into me, I couldn't stop the loud moans and cries from spilling out of my mouth.

He didn't let them dissuade him. I was pretty sure that he very much enjoyed the fact that I couldn't control myself. That he was the one doing that to me. But, in typical, sympathetic Spencer fashion, he leaned over me from behind and wrapped a hand over my mouth to stifle the noises.

Didn't want to alert anyone of what was happening behind closed doors, after all.

I could barely breathe as he fucked me into the bed, my feet lifting off the ground from the sheer force he used in each thrust. I let him take out all his pent up frustration on me, enjoying the harsh sting as his skin slapped against mine.

I wasn't going to last much longer. We both knew that we were riding dangerously close to the edge. As much as I didn't want it to end, I was ready to fall off that cliff with him.

His thrusts became jagged and stunted, and my thighs tensed tightly together. I chanted his name into his hand, unable to control myself as I felt my muscles flutter around his cock, urging him to finish with me. He happily obliged, pulling me roughly back to him one more time. Our hips violently collided and he held me down as far as he could onto him before emptying himself into the latex.

I could feel the soft twitching of his cock, and I started to wonder things you're not supposed to wonder about a booty call. I'd come back to that later.

A booty call. A one-night-stand.

Were we still just that? I wasn't going to ask... yet.

It felt so cold when he peeled himself off my back and slowly removed all of himself from me. I whined at the friction following the overstimulation. My legs shook terribly as my feet scrambled to touch the floor.

I couldn't see him, but I heard him throwing the condom in the trash before going through his clothes. Soon after, his hands were gingerly repositioning mine, granting him access to remove the cuffs. Once he'd slipped them off, I realized just how numb my arms had gone. They flopped uselessly to my sides, and I struggled to move my fingers.

Spencer's arms were around me before I knew what was going on. Delicately, he turned me onto my back despite my protesting groans. His touch was so gentle in a way I can't explain. He was acting like I would shatter at his fingertips.

"Wait here," he spoke in a hushed voice, placing a gentle kiss against my cheek.

I would wait anywhere for him.

While I did just that, I moved just enough that my entire body was on the bed. I inched up to the pillows and waited to regain my strength. My wrists were irritated and dented, but I couldn't really care. If anything, it would serve as proof that this night wasn't just a wild fever dream.

I saw Spencer out of the corner of my eyes, carrying an assortment of items that I couldn't help but laugh at.

"I come bearing gifts," he snickered before gracelessly dropping two bottles of Gatorade, a bottle of Advil, and lotion onto my bed.

"My hero," I spoke through the daze as I watched him pull his underwear back on. Understanding that the Advil was to stop my wrists from hurting, I took a couple quickly before I couldn't help but snicker at the sight before me.

"Awwe. I like the way you look without them, though," I teased, motioning to bottom half. "You have a cute butt."

He just chuckled, sitting down next to me and pumping lotion into a hand before motioning for me to give him my wrist.

I turned onto my side and presented him with my hand. Once he started to work the tired, abused muscles, I watched his face. The way he carefully admired the muscles while he worked, like he was trying to rebuild my wrist to the way he found it. He was so careful.

After a few moments, he held out his hand to switch, to which I also obliged.

I muttered a soft, "Thank you."

He only gave me a fleeting glance before returning to our hands.

"It's the least I can do. After what you let me do."

It was a bit of a joke, but also very genuine. He didn't call it aftercare, but that's what this was. I was familiar with it.

He was good at it.

Once he was satisfied that my wrists were going to be okay, he turned to his side to look at me. I looked up at him and wondered if he noticed that I saw the world in his eyes. I wondered if he could sense the overwhelming joy that flowed between us. I wondered if it was just in my mind that it was going both ways.

"I hope you know that I really do appreciate you," he said with a surprisingly serious tone.

My heart fluttered in my chest in a very inappropriate manner.

"Is there anything you need from me?" he asked.

Yes, I wanted to answer. Everything.

I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn't.

This doesn't mean anything, I reminded myself. He was just doing what he had to.

"No," I lied, instead.

I think he knew I was lying. Of course he knew. Nonetheless, he draped an arm over me and scooted closer to me until my head rested against his arm. He gave my forehead a chaste kiss, and moved his fingers unhurriedly against the bare skin of my back.

I could've fallen asleep just like that, but I didn't want to. I wanted to feel that close to him forever. The freedom and happiness flowing through me was so intoxicating that I'd started to think about my previous thoughts I had during sex.

He was about that age men started to want kids and...

"Do you want kids, Spencer?"

'Oh, fuck, did I say that out loud?'

He looked as surprised as me to hear the question, and for a moment his hands stopped clean in their tracks.

'Oh no.'

"Uhh," He cleared his throat, "Yeah, I do. Wh-Why do you ask?"

Although he continued to drag his fingers across my back, it was different now. He was suddenly much more distant. Because seriously, why the hell would he not? We barely knew each other, and I definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"I was just wondering. You're good at taking care of people."

It was true. If he noticed I was covering my ass, he didn't say anything about it. Thank god.

"I'm not actually too sure about that. Right now you just think I'm good at it because your body is coursing with endorphins and adrenaline. The chemical process of love is extremely finicky and easily mimicked. Especially post-orgasm. Once that goes away, you might find you feel differently about me."

I doubted it.

Still, I shifted away from him, backing up so I could see his face again.

He continued, "You know, almost half of women surveyed said they felt anxiety and overwhelming sadness after sex. They even coined a term for it, aside from the typical sub-drop discussed in communities of more extreme sex. 'Post-coital dysphoria.' It's a shame really, that the idea of reassurance after sex isn't more mainstream."

Sometimes it was easy for me to forget he was some kind of genius. I always saw him at his most confident, which happened to also be his most quiet. As he taught me about things that I definitely should have been taught in high school sex education (but was not), I was not filled with anxiety or sadness.

In fact, I was happy.

I didn't really know him that well yet, but I wanted to.

"I can see why people mistake sex for love sometimes, then," I mumbled, not realizing the weight behind my words. It seemed obvious to me in the moment that he wouldn't think I was talking about us.

But then he pulled his hand back, running it through his hair and clearing his throat again.

"Yeah," he agreed, nonetheless, "It's pretty common."

I took a deep breath, panicking on how to pull him back to me. I lightly stretched, shifting to sit up and put some literal distance between us before the figurative distance was too far.

"Well, no worries here, Dr. Reid. I can confidently say I am not in love with you."

I could feel his eyes following me. I said I was confident, because I was. I was not in love with him.

Was I falling in love with him? It was a different question. I didn't know the answer to that one.

I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and freak out in isolation. I could not believe I was somehow incapable of controlling my words around him. He just had this face that made you want to spill your heart out to him.

Did he know that? Whatever. It was easier to blame him for being so damn cute.

When I made it back to the bed, he was already half-asleep. He looked so peaceful and unassuming compared to the dominating personality I had seen not even ten minutes ago. As quietly as I could, I sneaked into my side of the bed. He began to stir, so I came up behind him and wrapped an arm over his waist.

"You know, they say it's dangerous to stay the night after a one-night-stand," I whispered, resting my face on his shoulder. "People might get attached."

"Technically this would be a two night-stand, so I don't think the same rules apply," he grumbled before placing his hand over mine on his stomach.

"Well, if you really want to get technical, we are a one-night-stand plus a booty call," I corrected, earning a playful scoff from the man beside me.

"Pretty sure those are mutually exclusive."

I tried to repeat to myself that he was just trying to be nice. He was doing what all people are supposed to do after sex. It didn't mean anything, I tried to convince myself.

It didn't mean anything.

"You're right."

I still tried to convince myself. It still wasn't working.

Fuck it.

"We could be something more. If you want to," I suggested. I'd sounded absolutely bored by the idea on purpose, but it still hadn't been enough to convince him that I wasn't out here proposing marriage to a fucking bootycall.

His entire body tensed under my touch, like my words had inflicted pain. From my position half on top of him I felt his chest stop moving as he held his breath.

I shouldn't have said it. It was easy to say that in hindsight. But the truth was, I wasn't the only one blaring sirens of my growing attached to the kindhearted man who'd just massaged my wrists. Spencer had always been the one to be blatantly affectionate with me. It was him who had wanted to make this a recurring habit in the first place.

He was the one that always chose to stay the night. He was the one who initiated it. It wasn't just me who wanted something more, but he had to be a stupid, proud man like the rest of them.

"(Y/n) I—"

I knew that tone. I'd heard it before. He was going to tell me he couldn't be with me. We couldn't 'date,' or whatever he'd convinced himself the mature version was of the juvenile phrase.

But I already knew that. He was a fucking FBI agent and he was 10 years older than me. I barely knew anything about him. Had he ever even had a girlfriend? Did he have one now? I didn't even know, and that wasn't what I'd asked.

Still, he was struggling to come up with a way to let me down easy, and I didn't want to hear it. It was going to be a lie, anyway. So, I covered his mouth with my hand and stopped him before he ended things for good.

"Friends, Spencer. I meant we can be friends."

Suddenly, we could both breathe again.

"I'd like that."

The tension melted from the room, but only so much. There was still a wall between us. I wasn't sure if it'd ever go away, but that was a problem for another day.

"Me too," I lied.

I didn't want to be friends. I was scared what 'friends' meant. I was nervous that what I'd done was give him an out to never talk to me again. I was petrified that he'd lose the ability to see me as anything more than a collection of mistakes he'd made.

I didn't tell him any of that. If he noticed, which I'm positive he did, he didn't say anything about it. I was sure he wouldn't. Because even though he was about to shut me down, I knew part of him was craving the intimacy I was willing to offer him. I figured I'd just have to do it quietly for the time being. Wouldn't be the first time a woman took responsibility for a man's feelings.

At least the sex was worth it.

I tried to pretend like that's all it was. After a minute of listening to his heart beating rhythmically underneath me, though, he rolled over once more. Unable to leave him behind just yet, I joined him. I turned so he could pull me as close to him as he wanted.

There was never a barrier between us when the words were removed. My body fit next to his like it had been molded for that purpose. I curled into the warmth and I savored the quiet moments that I was convinced could never come often enough.

As I drifted off into sleep in his arms, our legs tangled together like we were part of the same two headed beast.

My last thought of the night was the one I'd been trying to avoid.

I don't want to be friends, because friends don't do this.

—————————————————

Waking up next to Spencer in my bed that morning was somehow even more ethereal than before. Although I'd shifted several times in my sleep, he'd found me in the darkness each time so that he could cling to me again.

I didn't want to move. I was worried I would wake him and we'd return to our previous lives like this had never happened. I thought back to how tired he had looked when he first got here. I still wasn't totally certain what a profiler is, but the haunted look in his eyes and the tension in his muscles told me it wasn't easy.

I ghosted my fingers over his hand splayed out on my stomach, and the touch only served to make him pull me closer to him.

He was like a child with his favorite toy, desperately seeking out the comfort only I could provide him. I continued to run my hands along his, eventually going up his arm and quietly giggling at the goosebumps that formed. I didn't want him to wake up, but I also didn't want him to be awoken with another notice that he had to leave.

I wondered what the morning would be like without a time limit.

When Spencer began to stir, the first thing he did was bury his face between my shoulder and neck. I giggled at the tickling sensation of his breath, and he responded by peppering the area with short, light kisses.

It was my favorite way to say good morning.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," I said through the laughter.

He didn't speak, just humming back contentedly as his kisses became more involved.

"Now who's the needy one?" I teased, tilting my head to grant him more access.

"Still you," he sighed against my skin.

"You know what I really need?" I began, starting the impossible task of turning onto my back while he refused to let go of his hold on me. "Coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh at the playful groan he released in response. He clearly agreed, and even followed the joyful sound with, "And they say the perfect woman doesn't exist."

It didn't mean anything, I warned my heart as it began to race. It was just a joke.

"Well, I didn't for the first ten years of your life. But don't worry, Dr. Reid. You have me now."

The brag, paired with the reminder of our age gap, earned me my release from his embrace. I was sad to lose it, but I'd also been scared of the effect it had on me.

"Your humility is my favorite part," he said in jest as he watched me squirm out from under his arm.

I stuck out my tongue, and he spoke again.

"Wait, never mind. I forgot about that part. That's my favorite part."

My face burned as I sucked it back in before pouting and climbing out of the bed. Grateful that I still had on my negligee, I stopped to pick up his clothes and tossed them onto the bed.

"Come on, lazy bones. I don't know how you like your coffee."

He just smiled, that gentle yet goofy look that told me he was enjoying himself. I didn't stay to watch him get dressed, deciding he deserved his privacy, despite the fact that I had shoved his dick down my throat the night before.

When he got to the kitchen, the pot was already on. I was leaning forward against the counter, half asleep on my propped up hand. He didn't take a seat at the table. He positioned himself directly behind me and wrapped an arm around my chest.

The man just couldn't keep his hands to himself. I wasn't complaining.

He slipped a hand beneath the front of my negligee, becoming more daring as he gently kneaded my breast and his mouth continued to mark my neck.

"What did I do to deserve all this attention now, Dr. Reid?"

It was a serious question. I had literally just been standing there. I had just woken up. I hadn't even cleaned my face.

"Nothing. You just exist."

I both chuckled and scoffed at the answer. So much for not wanting things to be emotional. Being the more responsible of the two of us, I focused on the way his tongue devilishly drew different sounds from me.

He suckled gently on the side of my neck, and his fingers began to tweak my nipple. A moan was ripped from the back of my throat as I jutted my hips backwards against him.

"God, when you react like that I can't help but think you want me to fuck you over this counter."

He was right. I did. Men weren't the only ones who had to deal with illicit thoughts in the morning. I figured he knew as much.

"Please," I begged, moving my arms so I could brace myself against the ceramic.

"Only because you asked nicely."

He withdrew from my neck. I heard as he drew familiar, crinkly foil from his pocket and I giggled at the anticipation. At the knowledge that he'd clearly pulled one from his wallet before he ever left the bedroom.

Soon enough, his fingers were trailing up my inner thighs, quickly encountering my very wet center that was still affected by the night before. Upon realizing I didn't need any preparation, he skipped it entirely. Slowly and with purpose, he slipped inside of me. I let out another loud moan as he filled my sore heat.

"Fuck," I heard him mutter under his breath.

I loved to know he couldn't entirely control himself with me. I wanted to know how I made him feel. It wasn't like the other times. There was no battle for dominance; I submitted to him immediately and freely. He was not rushed or driven by high emotions. His thrusts were slow, deep, and intimate. One of his hands returned to my chest, paying special attention to the breast that had been ignored before.

I leaned forward into his hand, my back arching to provide him with whatever relief he was looking for inside me. I panted out his name as my own version of a Sunday morning prayer.

It went on like that for a while. He took his time with me, like he was memorizing each nook and crevice he could reach. My legs were beginning to shake from his intrusion and also from my impending orgasm.

"Spencer..." I whispered his name differently this time, and his hands withdrew. I whimpered at the loss. But my disappointment was short lived, as his hand found its way down to where our bodies met. I gasped at the contact.

"What, (y/n)?" he asked with the utmost concern, beginning to make soft circles around my clit while he continued to fuck me from behind.

"I-I'm going to..."

I couldn't finish my sentence, collapsing forward as the stimulation became too much to bare. As it usually did, his other hand grabbed hold of my hair, clutching it tightly to pull me back up to him.

"Then do it."

His statement was a demand, but also its own beg. He wanted to feel me finish before him. I couldn't fight it even if I wanted to. The way he commanded control of my body was a force that could not be ignored. The ever tightening coil inside of me snapped, causing twitches and spasms to rack my body. My mouth tried to call his name, but my voice didn't come out.

I tried to grip the ceramic when he began to pick up his pace, fucking me harder as my orgasm went on. I knew how much he loved to feel me come undone from the inside. But he held on, continuing his brutal pace until even after I had devolved into a panting, dripping mess underneath him.

My soft mewls from the sensation of being fucked through peaked bliss were still not enough.

"What do you want, little girl?" he growled in my ear as he leaned forward, somehow thrusting harder. Another moan was bubbling up my throat as my feet left the ground with each impact.

"I want... I want you to cum. Inside me."

It was a beg laced with pants and high pitched whines. It was what he wanted to hear.

He grabbed one of my hands, guiding it to my lower abdomen and holding it there. I didn't realize why until the next thrust, when I felt a bump form as he moved within me. I hadn't even considered how deep within me he was. He was showing me how much of me belonged to him.

I'd already known, but the reminder was nice.

With a few more rough, deep thrusts, he had buried himself inside of me, and I could feel it against my hand. From within me I could feel him spilling into the condom.

I remembered my question about children. I remembered his answer.

That beautiful, sneaky bastard was imagining what it would be like to make me pregnant, whether or not he would admit it. I had put the thought in his mind. I just wasn't expecting it to have that profound of effect on him. I was more turned on by that than I'd like to admit.

I had said that I'd do anything for him.

He didn't say anything else. He released my hair and pulled out of me. He left me to prop myself up on the counter the best I could while my body trembled from the loss.

At some point, the coffee pot had finished. I figured there were worse ways to pass the time.

Spencer was gone when I turned around. I figured he had gone to the bathroom to clean up, and I tried not to think anything of it. I poured two cups of coffee and pulled out the cream and sugar.

When he came back, he'd come with his phone. He sat down at the table and silently read through messages from the past hours he spent with me. I watched him prepare his drink, immediately downing some of the contents despite its temperature.

"Good lord, do you even have feeling in your throat?" I asked, laughing as I continued to stir my cup.

"Interesting you would be the one to ask me that. After last night, I wondered the same about you."

Touché.

"Did you get any interesting messages? Is the ever-so-busy Special Agent Dr. Reid going to be whisked away from me without a proper goodbye again?"

The words were laced with only a little bit of bitterness. He ignored it.

"I don't know if I would classify our goodbye last time as improper. At least, not in the sense you're using the term."

He was avoiding an answer. I figured he had to go. Or, well, he wanted to.

That's fine, I told myself. He can go. Even though I didn't want him to.

I watched him, the way he continued to nurse his drink with one hand and look at his phone with the other. I tried to suppress the hearts forming in my eyes.

"When will I get to see you again?" I asked, my tone full of trepidation.

"I'm not sure," was his honest answer, given without ever looking up at me.

"We should do something fun."

That made him look up, with a sly grin forming on his face.

"Not like that, you perverted old man," I laughed.

He raised his eyebrows, choosing not to reply outright to my taunt just yet.

"As much fun as we have in bedrooms, I don't know much about you. I'd like to change that," I explained.

He watched me carefully, his eyes shifting away as he began to overthink it. I could see the cogs of paranoia turning in his mind. I think even he knew he was being sort of ridiculous.

"As friends, Spencer," I reminded with a gentle smile. "Let's do something fun. As friends."

The reserved half smile he gave would be good enough for me.

"Sure," he conceded, which filled me with a bubbly happiness I tried (and failed) to conceal. "I do have to go now, though. If for no other reason than wanting to change."

An understandable concern. I was fine with him leaving if I knew I would see him again this time. But still, something about him leaving so soon hurt a deeper part of me. I wondered if it was that dysphoria he was talking about, but decided not to question it, lest he tell me it was something more worrisome. Something like infatuation.

I nodded, leaving my coffee on the table as I took his already empty cup. He stood up, waiting for me to return before the both of us walked over to the door. Something about his hesitation resonated in me. My puppy dog eyes were out in full force as I stared up at him.

I wasn't able to smile as he left.

"I'll see you again soon. As soon as I can," he assured me.

I wanted to believe him, but I hated that I didn't know when that would be.

He reached a hand down, brushing loose hairs from my face and commanding my attention that I so readily gave.

"Don't look so sad," he instructed. "It makes it hard to leave."

My chest swelled with anxiety and adoration. I wasn't sure how to combat it. I hugged myself with one arm, and Spencer shook his head with a laugh.

"Still not following directions."

He didn't seem to mind all that much, though. He leaned forward and cupped my face in his hand. Our lips pressed against each other with a tenderness that made my head spin. We kissed each other in a way that was carelessly romantic.

When he pulled away, he stared into my eyes for a second too long. And when he waved goodbye and walked out of my door, I couldn't get the thought out of my mind.

Friends don't do this.

—————————————————

| Part 4 |

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #smut #criminal minds imagine #here to misbehave #request

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longlivefeedback · 7 years

Text

Start with a bang, end with a whimper: the problem with fandom studies

Imagine you start talking about a new fic idea, and it’s a hit! People are excited, they’re weighing in, they’re even signal boosting. This is going to be awesome, you think, and you start writing. A thousand words, five thousand words, ten thousand words - the first chapter is a big one, but it has to be perfect. After all, so many people are interested, and you’re using a lot of ideas they gave you, so you want it to be as good as possible.

Finally, you’re ready to publish. One last round of editing, then you hit post. Look!, you want to yell. I did the thing you wanted me to do!

And... tumbleweeds.

There are a handful of kudos. Those are nice, but what do they really mean? Was it great? Was it adequate? Are they going to stay on for the next chapter? A few comments follow. Some are polite “thank you for writing this” notes - those make you smile. About half of them point out perceived plot holes or typos and nothing else.

Where are the people who thought it was cool, who sent you ideas, who talked about wanting to see what you’d come up with? Are they there, lurking; or did they just not see the notification; or did they decide it wasn’t interesting enough to bother with?

Was it worth all those hours you spent writing it?

As authors, a lot of us have been there. As readers, we can sympathize with authors who have poured time and effort into something, only to receive very little response.

And thus comes the problem with fandom studies.

During the data collection phase, everyone is very interested - on the whole, actually getting the information to analyze isn’t difficult, because users are great about signal boosting, answering surveys, and giving their own predictions about the eventual results.

Then it gets to the cursory overview. Demographics, “this many people said this,” a lot of basic factoids that are cool but not very important or relevant. A lot of time might have gone into taking the raw data and converting it to an easily digestible form, but it’s not what we’re here for. It’s just the foundation.

This gets some attention. Quite a few people will reblog it and ask questions, and some will mention wanting to see the actual answers to the questions that the study wants to answer. It’s nowhere near the level of engagement reached in the data collection phase, but that’s to be expected - not everyone who was willing to take a few minutes and answer survey questions or signal boost is really interested in the results, but they were being supportive and helping out!

We finally, finally get to the analysis, the hardcore number crunching, the hours of fighting with excel and desperately reviewing statistics textbooks and sending panicked messages to your old math teachers because wait am I actually doing this right or-

By this point, most of the engagement has dropped off. There are a fair number of likes and a handful of reblogs, but almost all of the written feedback centers around pointing out perceived errors or problems and nothing else.

This is, admittedly, to be expected. Truly math- and stats-intensive analyses are much less accessible, less fun to read, and generally harder to understand even if you’re comfortable with the methods being used. However, it also leaves the study authors feeling like they’ve put a lot of work into something that people simply aren’t interested in, despite the fact that it was the stated goal of the project since the very beginning.

As such, I’d like to make a few suggestions as to how to support fandom studies.

1. It’s okay to say “thanks!” and leave.

You don’t have to write an essay or go over every bit of math. If you’re interested, let the author know that you appreciate their work, even if you don’t say anything more than “this is cool” or “oh nice!”

2. The rules of concrit still (mostly) apply.

When it comes to data, there’s no opting out of concrit. These are facts. If there’s a mistake, it should be pointed out and addressed. However, if this comes in the form of “this should have been considered instead” and nothing else, it’s like getting a comment that only says “your protagonist was OOC.” This is especially frustrating when the author has no good way to respond to the criticism.

3. If you leave criticism or a correction, make sure the author can talk to you about it.

First of all, the author may not have enough details to make use of your crit. If you simply say “I’m not sure this was the right statistical test,” but they’re not able to reach out to you for further details, the author will proceed to tear their hair out. Therefore, this isn’t the time for anon asks, which must be answered publicly, or replies, which may not be able to tag you and group blog moderators must respond from their main blog. Furthermore, criticism is best offered in private - frankly, it’s highly embarrassing to have a mistake pointed out in front of everyone, and it’s much more polite and respectful to give them a chance to make any corrections without having to do so in front of an audience. And finally, the criticism or correction offered may not, in fact, be correct. Everyone occasionally misreads, misunderstands, or gets mixed up. If this is brought up privately, it’s easy to clear up. If it’s public, and the author has no way to respond, and there’s no “thanks for your work,” they will be screaming into the void.

4. Studies are made to be shared.

The questions a study is trying to address are generally applicable in some wider sense, and the work that goes into this is meant to spread answers as far as possible to people can find them. Therefore, if sharing and signal boosting ends at the data collection stage, the study has failed.

Reblogging is tricky, especially if it’s not to a fandom blog, but sharing it is still important. Send it to your friends, tag people who might be interested in the replies, link to it if you see related posts that could use some data support (or contradiction), and cite it if you talk about the issue. If you’re a stats-minded person, write a more accessible version of it or use it in some of your own discussions. Post (cited and sourced, tagging the author) excerpts. Use it in your fandom metas.

Creators thrive on feedback, and this includes those who conduct fandom studies. Please remember that behind every nifty little chart is a person (or several people) who have put a whole lot of effort into their work, and not number crunching machines who happily churn away and assimilate every bit of impersonal criticism.

Data analysis can be as rewarding as writing a great fic, but when it comes to practicalities, there’s no such thing as information for the sake of information.

Support fandom studies. It’s easy to get discouraged when audience interest goes from overwhelming to tepid to tumbleweeds, especially when the majority of written feedback is neutral or negative. Answering fandom questions isn’t going to help cure cancer - that’s my day job - but it will, hopefully, make fandom better.

Besides, they’re doing math so you don’t have to, which is always a good thing.

So to end this post, we want to give a shout out and thanks to @toastystats for their extensive work and analysis of ao3 tags; @ao3commentoftheday for hosting discussions about commenting culture and looking at the meaning of kudos; @dawnfelagund who has written for us and helps keep the tolkien fandom going, including studies like her look at gender in the tolkienfic community; @cfiesler for looking at fan platform use over time.

We are surely missing more, so readers, can you help us out? Link to a cool fandom study you’d like to share and/or tag someone who writes them!

#fandom studies #feedback on feedback #longlivefeedback

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rose-edith · 7 years

Text

That Empty Feeling, part one.

Who could say they knew what ordinary was? Well Y/N certainly couldn’t, but then a childhood filled with the thoughts of others- whether these thoughts be good or bad- was hardly the norm for the other children of Earth. Y/N was born to the Betazoid ambassador to Earth, Leilani and her human husband Charlie Jones. But unlike other half betazoid beings Y/N was able to hear the thoughts but not feel the emotions of the people around them. Y/N was unique, quiet and misunderstood, even Leilani couldn’t comprehend Y/N, the void of feeling surrounding her child complexed and frightened the poor woman.

Nonetheless Y/N sought to have an adventure filled life, they longed for far away planets, brand new life and culture, for a whole new experience of living. So that’s exactly what the half human-betazoid did, Y/N graduated at the very top of the linguistic class in their year, surpassing even the exemplary track record of the famous Lt. Uhura. So with a happy heart and light step the young Y/N Jones stepped up on stage to shake the hand of the very Lt. that they had dreamed about meeting in order to accept a new position on board the USS Enterprise as Uhura’s second in command for the linguistic station. Cheers rang all through the auditorium, and though Y/N could hear the well wishes and some slight jealousy from her fellow alumni, they felt no joy or happiness. Just empty, as always. Y/N didn’t even feel frustration at the same lack of feeling as they had always experienced, they just felt nothing. As the young graduate smiled and accepted the ceremonial pad containing the details of the assignment a new voice entered their mind, an intriguing voice that was mumbling profanities about pointless ceremonies. Y/N concentrated on it, using her expert skills to find the point of origin. It was a man, two seats to the left of the stage, when Y/N caught sight of the person as they made their way to return to their seat the young person saw that the voice in question was none other than their new captain, James. T. Kirk. Y/N reasoned that the emotion a normal person was supposed to be experiencing was curiosity and a desire to know more. Y/N however, felt nothing. They made their way to their seat and smiled as if overjoyed.

*Time Skip*

Ambassador Jones and her husband watched as the Enterprise left space dock, taking with her their only and most precious child Y/N. Even from their position on the bridge beside Lt. Uhura Y/N (due to her close mental bond with their parents) could hear the frets and fears and promises stampeding through the minds of the parents. The h/c haired beauty turned their attention back to their station, making sure to acknowledge that the Enterprise had received the final information transfer about the mission the crew were embarking on.

“Time to get this show on the road Mr Sulu.” Captain Kirk clapped the helmsman on the back as he sauntered last and slithered into his seat.

“Aye Sir.” He put the Enterprise into warp and began the journey to Silaust Seven, where the ship would be rendezvousing with the USS Hopeful for crew transfer.

Commander Spock held out the final paddy to the Captain who gave it a cursory read before signing it. Then he swiftly swivelled in his seat to face Y/N, they turned before Kirk even opened his mouth to speak, earning a twitch of the eyebrow.

“Junior Lt. Jones, welcome to the crew. I’m told you’re an extra special addition given your uniqueness of being, though everyone refuses to discuss why. Could you enlighten me?” He flashed that charming smile that made all the other women, and some men on the bridge start to think about how beautiful their Captain is.

“I am half betazoid half human Sir.”

“So you’re an empath?” He produced an apple from his pocket and started munching on it. “Hardly unique given that there is a whole community on Betazed of half human half betazoid beings.”

“You’re correct in many ways but one Sir.” Y/N stared deep into the blue eyes of their Captain. “All other persons like me are empaths, I am not. Unlike all other human-betazoid beings I am a telepath only.”

The Captains left eyebrow rose a margin, even Commander Spock stopped tapping at the controls on his station and turned his attention to the exchange before him. According to the subdued mental dialogues of all the people on the bridge they too were listening.

“So you can’t detect others feelings? Just their thoughts? That must suck. Still, at least you have your own feelings to console you.” He smiled in what (according to his thoughts) he meant to appear as a friendly manner.

“I have no feelings Sir. I never have, though it cannot be explained why not. That is my unique point Captain, I am a half betazoid who has no feeling or comprehension of feeling at all. It shouldn’t be possible.” The young person shrugged.

“So like a Vulcan?” Kirk’s probed.

“More or less,” Y/N nodded. “Although I am more physically affectionate and highly telepathic.”

“But no feelings? God that must be awful. Never to know love, happiness, joy, sorrow.” He became lost in his own world of memories for a moment.

“Captain, you seem to believe that only a life filled with emotion can be fulfilling, I as a Vulcan have a fulfilling life without emotion. I am sure Lt. Jones does too.” Spock spoke clearly, many people agreed with him.

“Of course, I meant no disrespect to you Spock, nor to you Lt. Jones. Simply that you must have felt left out on Earth.” He nodded solemnly.

“Don’t concern yourself Sir, as I have no emotion I have no concept of being ‘left out’. It doesn’t matter to me. As for a fulfilling life, fulfilment is an emotion- I want a successful life, rooted in what’s real, not the abstract uncertainties of the emotions that envelope your lives.” Y/N turned back to their station, aware that a new message had popped up on screen.

Kirk kept staring at the back of the head of his new communications staff. They were a puzzle, perhaps he could try to invoke an emotional response. Y/N rolled their eyes, that had been attempted many times.

“God,” He sighed “that’s so much worse than being a Vulcan, at least they have feelings, even if they do control and purge them.”

“I am not capable of being provoked Sir.” Y/N spoke over their shoulder, eyes never leaving their screen. “I am not offended, I’m not capable of feeling it. Forgive me Sir, I must go down to Communication lab Seven, there seems to be an issue. Permission to leave bridge Lt Uhrua?”

“Granted.”

Y/N stood from their station and entered the waiting turbo lift. The last sight they saw as the doors slid shut was the look of curiosity in Captain Kirk’s face, Y/N knew that in this situation other people might be frightened or curious themselves. But Y/N still felt nothing, although logical thought made her decide to listen more carefully to the thoughts of her Captain in the future.

#this is my first thing #please comment #betazoid/human reader #gender neutral #james kirk x reader #star trek #star trek imagine #star trek x reader #Spock #Uhura #shall i do a part two?

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wintercovers · 8 years

Text

52 short stories 1: story entitled ‘A New Beginning’ [feat DaiYui and university]

It’s more than a little unexpected when halfway into his first semester of university Daichi stumbles upon Michimiya in the middle of his evening run. At halfway into the semester, while still not quite feeling as grown up as being able to say he lives on his own in another city was supposed to grant him, he at least had a routine. Routine currently means a run half an hour after he’s eaten, a running path that takes him out past most of the small area of the city he’s come to know, before crawling back around to the campus gym (in case of a particularly heavy meal) and the closest convenience store (in case of a particularly warm day).

Yet not in the few weeks of this being his routine has Daichi ever spotted a red-faced Michimiya leaving the campus gym as he debates whether or not to pay it a visit himself.

Another surprise comes when calling her name results not in recognition and the happy smile Daichi has come to associate with Michimiya, but with a squeak, a dropped bag, Michimiya scrabbling to pick it up, and then running away into the night. Never once looking at him. Never once turning to see who it was that called out to her.

It takes a while of thinking over the encounter later in his room to realise that of course she ran when a strange male voice called out to her in the dark. It takes another short while to come to terms with the fact Daichi has no way to contact her. Firstly to apologise for startling her and secondly to hopefully spend time with someone he’s known since he was twelve; someone who can bring a piece of home to this city that should have become his new one but is not quite there yet.

What Daichi learns when he does some digging — digging actually meaning he is still scary enough to have Asahi do his digging for him because Asahi is much closer to home — is that one: Michimiya Yui does indeed attend the same university, has done since the beginning and yet apparently neither she nor Daichi had seen fit to share this information with each other; two: despite being given this information nobody is willing to pass on any contacts details.

His own searching, both closer to where they now both reside and yet completed comfortably from the table in his room tells him that he and Michimiya apparently do not share any classes as her name is not present in any of the line groups he is a part of.

This leaves him with only one final way to get in contact with her. Something Daichi has thought about whilst trying to dig up information, yet something he had also hoped to be no more than a last resort: he is going to have to find her at the gym again.

Creepy? Yes. Although perhaps a little less creepy if he actually manages to run into her inside of the gym rather than while the sun is down and she’s alone in the dark. Why is she walking around alone at night anyway? If Daichi manages to catch her — in a non-creepy way he means — he’s going to have to fix that.

The problem, Daichi is realising two nights into his casually run into Michimiya at the gym plan, is that he does not actually know how often Michimiya visits the gym. The other night could have been a one-off type of thing, an anomaly from her usual schedule… anything. Which means his not-creepy attempt at finding her has actually become kind of creepy.

The method is not the important part. The important part is that it works.

Exactly one week later at what Daichi thinks might also be the exact same time. Again, he calls out, again, she ducks. Only this time Daichi calls out to her name two more times and gets to watch as her shoulders come back down from around her ears and she actually takes a cursory look around.

Daichi can tell the exact moment Michimiya recognises him. Her face breaks into a sunshiny smile it’s been too long since he bathed in. He’s forgotten it’s radiance and instead of saying any of the words he’s been thinking of the past week all he manages to do is raise a hand. He can’t even find whatever brainwave is necessary to wave it.

“Sawamura-kun?”

It’s his name from Michimiya’s mouth yet even so, Daichi finds himself searching around to check that it really is him she’s talking to. It’s like seeing her again after all this time has sent him back to the boy he was when they first spoke.

“I… yes!”

Michimiya bounds over to him like a puppy, sports bag swinging at her side. “It’s been so long!” She clasps his hands briefly, face blooming when she releases them. Daichi’s own hands tingle at the touch until he brushes it off on the back of his neck. “What are you doing here?” She doesn’t clarify whether she means here at this moment or here in this town or here being very specifically, outside of the campus gym.

“I live here?” It’s not meant to sound like a question. “I go here.” He waves at the gym behind him. “I had no idea you did too.”

Her sparkle dims just for a moment before it returns with a glint of determination.

“Oh! We should definitely share our contacts then!” Michimiya digs around in the bag at her side, hair falling over her face. The brief respite from being directly in her line of sight gives Daichi the chance to breathe again. To relax. To calm himself down—even when he realises there is no reason to be tense. This is Michimiya, this is just Michimiya. Michimiya who has known him from the awkward stage of twelve until now. He is able to relax only until Michimiya stands back up, one hand pushing her hair back behind her ear and the other producing her phone with a grand flourish.

“Oh,” he’s an idiot, “I don’t have my phone with me.” He didn’t want to get distracted by it and accidentally miss her.

“Right, of course, well—“

“Do you have a pen? You can write it down on my arm.” Michimiya flushes a warm red but bends down again to search through her bag. When she comes up this time she doesn’t push her hair away, staying hidden as she prints off how to find her on his arm. “This is so seedy,” he says. Daichi feels like one of the guys he’s overheard comparing how many contacts they’d managed to collect.

Michimiya hums, “I was going to say you could add yourself on my phone, but whatever floats your boat.” She puffs a breath at her hair and Daichi gets a brief look at a soft smile.

“What?” Daichi jolts, the name Michimiya has written ending in a long stripe of ink down his arm. “You could have— You should have— Ah! I feel like an idiot now!”

Michimiya laughs, it’s more of a nervous chuckle than something Daichi feels he should take offence to. “This has its benefit as well.” When Daichi asks what benefit Michimiya could possibly get from writing out her contact details down his arm she only shakes her head. “It’s a secret!” She says cryptically, biting down on a smile before moving away from the topic altogether. “You better add me as soon as you get home!”

She runs off before Daichi gets a chance to really talk to her.

Again, Daichi thinks later, simply jumping on Michimiya outside of the gym is not the best way to catch up with someone. Michimiya probably had somewhere to be; friends to meet, food to eat. All Daichi is able to do is as Michimiya said.

He walks the route back to his room instead of running, just in case running somehow manages to smudge Michimiya’s writing. Although, having read Michimiya’s username, it’s not one hard to forget. It’s simple and not at all the embarrassment of his own username. He’s glad to have Michimiya’s name on his arm rather than the alternative of actually typing up the stupid name Sugarcoated signed him up with back in their first year of high school after taking personal offence to Daichi not having a line.

Unfortunately, despite his care taken on the way home, habit takes over once he’s home. Usually, at this time, he is returning from a run and very much done for the day. Routine takes over and Daichi is halfway into scrubbing really hard at the black ink on his arm before he remembers what it was there for as well as Michimiya’s very specific words.

Daichi jumps from where he’s sat, turns off the water and slips twice on his way out of the bathroom before thinking to slow down. He picks up his phone from his bed, finishes washing, and adds Michimiya as soon as he’s in the bath. The name captainmichimiya81 easy enough to remember now that he knows it. Easy enough to think he should have been able to come up with it on his own.

Almost immediately after sending out the contact request, he gets a message.

[9:30 PM] You live further away than I thought you would (lol)

[9:30 PM] I may have actually forgotten about it (lol)

[9:30 PM] I don’t actually live that far away

[9:31 PM] (crying)

Daichi should have known Michimiya was the type of person to use stickers. Text not quite enough to get her thoughts through on its own. Meanwhile, Daichi has never touched the ones on his phone.

[9:31 PM] And here I thought you were excited to see me (crying)

[9:31 PM] I was!

[9:32 PM] It’s nice to see a familiar face!

[9:32 PM] I can’t believe there was a familiar face around all this time

[9:32 PM] And I didn’t know

There’s a pause in the conversation. Almost unnoticeable except for the fact that Daichi’s screen has been very active; messages popping up almost instantly.

[9:34 PM] Yeah

[9:34 PM] Strange

Strange is Michimiya’s response, but it’s quickly pushed to the back of his mind as Michimiya starts off talking about her course. It’s fun and strange and interesting because Daichi doesn’t think he’s ever talked to Michimiya this much, for this long, in person. Even with being aware of each other since way back in junior high. Daichi doesn’t know if it’s the breath of home in a new town of the screen of the phone that makes it more comfortable, but he likes it.

[10:17 PM] Anyway

[10:17 PM] I should let you go it’s getting late

[10:17 PM] Yeah

[10:18 PM] Okay

[10:18 PM] I’m the one who’s tired (lol)

[10:18 PM] Yeah I’ve probably been in the bath for long enough now

[10:18 PM] But it was nice to catch up we should talk again soon!

[10:18 PM] I’m all pruney (lol)

Michimiya doesn’t respond immediately and Daichi takes the opportunity to do as he’s said. In moving he notices he’s not just pruney, the water is actually really freaking cold — how did he not notice until now? How long has it actually been?

Daichi towels away his goosebumps and jumps straight into his pyjamas.

Michimiya finally messages back while he’s making himself a warm water to properly heat himself back up.

[10:23 PM] I haven’t even had a bath yet (sigh)

[10:23 PM] Next time we could be bath buddies (lol)

[10:24 PM] (lol)

Daichi doesn’t have anything to say back to that. He doesn’t want to think more on those words, but even thinking this much Daichi knows that any future occasion that involves Michimiya will have him wondering if she’s in the bath… which is not a thing he wants to do.

[10:26 PM] Goodnight

It’s sent with a cute, flowery sticker and Daichi sends the same sticker in return because he doesn’t want to extend the conversation. He doesn’t want to ask Michimiya if she is the bath now. He doesn’t. It’s weird to even think about.

He’s clearly done for the night. It’s been a long day, he’s reunited with an old friend and now he really needs to put his mind to rest.

In the morning, Daichi finds Michimiya has messaged him again. He didn’t hear them come through, but when he shuts off his alarm the notifications sit front and centre across his screen.

[Yui: Or not don’t worry about it (lol) 17m ago] [Yui: If you’re free at all over the next… 46m ago] [Yui: But last night was definitely too late 46m ago] [Yui: Sorry that was probably too early 47m ago] [Yui sent you a sticker 1h ago]

Daichi has only just woken up but straight away he’s been slapped with a six-year reminder of how insecure Michimiya can be when it comes to certain things. Usually, it was in relation to volleyball — the one thing they had in common — her fears of not being good enough, of failing as a captain. This is the first he’s ever known of her feeling insecure even as a friend. It’s another part of what Daichi feels is a part of his life on fast forward. He’s found out more about Michimiya in a few minutes this morning than he feels like he has in all the other years they’ve known each other.

Although, in all those years, while they knew of each other and Daichi kind of considered them friends, they’ve never actually been particularly close. Until now, outside of finding Michimiya in her classroom they’ve never had an alternate way to talk to each other. Yet yesterday Michimiya had not hesitated in asking.

She must be feeling it too. Lost in a new place, even weeks into it being new, happy to find something old and familiar so that this new and strange place doesn’t feel quite so intimidating.

[8:24 AM] What time do your classes finish today?

#daiyui #52 #i was meant to post this on sunday but \shrug thursday is fine #lets see how long i can keep this up for #lets see how long it takes my destressor to become stressful #oh well; my faves boys next week so that should at least be a thing #meliae.fic #tbh i procrastinated bc i was double checking how the line notifications showed up on my phone haha

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wiccanwyverngw2 · 4 years

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Glyph’s beginnings

This is my first time posting something I’ve written on here so hope you guys like it! This is just a little thing of recordings his mother, Vivi, did during the first month or so that he was living with them after being rescued from the inquest. Hopefully it makes sense you you all.

28th of Zephyr 1323ae

Things have certainly gotten...interesting in our household once again. My wife and I woke up to a pounding on the door that turned out to be a small group of peacemakers saying we needed to come with them. We were terrified of course thinking that something had happened to Dizz but no he was still sound asleep all furry limbs and ears. He’s still such an adorable little fox.

They wouldn’t give us any details claiming that it was confidential and couldn’t be said out in the open. We left a message on the caretaker golem for Dizz when he woke up and followed them into the prison, still terrified the whole time. Heh I’ve still got little marks on my arm from how my flower was holding on so tight. We thought for sure we were going to be thrown into those cells for our research.

No it wasn’t anything so harsh. When we got there we were taken to a more secluded area where the captain was waiting for us. That’s where we got our answer. Mara saw him first. There behind the containment field was a small asura no older than Dizz maybe younger. Poor little thing was pressed as far as he could into the corner of the cell and was shaking so hard you could make it out from a distance.

Mara, the dear, went straight to the cell to try and comfort the progeny and I doubt she heard a thing the captain said afterwards.

He went on to explain that they had just completed a late night raid on an inquest outpost out in Kessex due to suspicion of them being involved in an influx of illegal asuran made weapons in the hands of the local bandits. They found their weapons but as they were clearing out the lab they found the progeny in a cell there. None of them had the heart to leave him there despite being a genetic experiment.

It really was obvious. He had a beautiful pair of wings that he was hiding behind, or at least they could be beautiful. Even through the field I could see bald patches in the feathers and it almost looked like he was still going through his adult molt given all the white down.

They knew about our experiment, honestly I can’t see Dizz as anything other than my son at this point. He is as much as an asura as anyone in that room. I’m getting off topic. Point is that they were going to put him in our care to see what could be done with him since we have experience.

Now Mara and I were both shocked by this to say the least. I mean they were asking us to adopt a progeny just like that? That sort of thing takes a lot of planning! It was obvious though that the captain saw the little puffball as nothing more than another creature to study. Honestly the guy was talking about him like he wasn’t even in the room!

Off track again. We couldn’t say no of course so agreed. We didn’t know his name or if he even had one. We do know his identification code though, G-121, and he seemed to respond to that. He let us lead him out of the cell following us obediently with such a downtrodden expression and posture my heart really went out and I just wanted to hug him so, but I couldn’t with all those peacemakers around and that much contact might be too much at once for the little bird.

He’s home with us now in a spare room we quickly put together.I keep catching Dizz staring at the door. Sweet little fox wants to play with the new kid, soon Dizzy right now he needs to rest and adjust.

35th of zephyr 1323ae

G-121 has been with us for a week now, just a note if you happen to listen to these recordings in the future neither of us see you as just an experiment to run. You are our child now, but the higher ups want updates and they prefer to keep things professional and detached. I shouldn’t be saying this stuff on the recording. I'll have to edit that out or record a new one for the bosses.

All that aside we were able to examine G-121 without sedation. The delay was to ensure that the findings weren’t obscured by the readjustment period. In the interim he’s been isolated in his room with the exception of when Mara or myself comes in to give him food and to attempt to speak to him. On a side note he has pulled all the bedding we provided off the bed and made it into a nest on the floor that he seems to prefer to sleep on. Guess that’s the bird instincts kicking in.

He also doesn’t like taking food unless we take a bite of it first. I suspect from having his food drugged to see how he reacts. He does eat everything afterwards but still hasn’t spoken and still flinches if we move too fast or towards him.

On to the topic of today. We did just a cursory physical and initial photos today not wanting to risk traumatizing him further with scans and machines just yet. Once we got that old rag of a gown he had been wearing off, and incinerated after giving him better clothes that thing was gag inducing, we discovered that he was very thin to the point that his ribs and spine was easily visible. We’ll be upping his portions starting now. The going theory is that he’s inherited the faster bird metabolism from whatever species he is.

On that note it would be much easier to adjust for his needs if we knew what he was crossed with, but the council is blocking our attempts to gain access to the inquests notes on this if there even are any and they weren’t destroyed in the raid. Honestly it’s stuff like this that makes me realize just how incompitent the peacemakers and council can be and- ... There’s another bit to edit out.

Anyway you’ll find the aforementioned photos attached to this message. You’ll notice on the close up photographs of his wings there are several bald spots surrounded by newer downy feathers. I showed them to a colleague under the guise of having discovered a mismanaged griffin. He suggested they could be caused by stress plucking, which makes sense given all the feathers in his nest. We will try and provide him with a bit more to entertain himself with to keep him from continuing to pluck. One of those feathers is currently going through a sequencer so that we can figure out what he was crossed with to continue forwards.

Dizz has not been allowed to see G-121 just yet. He still flinches and winces whenever he hears Dizz running by or calling for one of us. Sweet little fox is already wanting to meet and play with his ‘brother’ it’s wonderful he’s already referring to him as such. Can’t really blame him he’s not really able to play with- I need to stop rambling and keep professional. It’s hard though when you’re talking about your progeny. Dizzy is just too naturally hyper and hasn’t learned to slow down just yet.

41th of Zephyr 1323ae

Unless something happens to warrant it I’m just going to keep these reports weekly. There’s really no need for daily reports.

Over the course of the week we got the results back and discovered my little lie was only a partial one. Turns out he is a griffin cross. Northern featherwing to be specific. With that in mind we have been able to better tailor his diet and we have seen a marked improvement since. G-121 still refuses to talk to us but is beginning to gain weight and energy. It’s not uncommon for us to find him walking around the room or even playing with the toys we’ve provided, but once we enter the room he stops what he’s doing and he loses that spark again almost like he thinks if we see him enjoying something we’ll take it away. I shudder to think how he was being treated before but he doesn’t want to talk about it and neither of us are going to force him.

45th of Zephyr 1323ae

This recording starts out differently. There are two voices talking from a distance.

“That last lightning strike must have hit the generator.”

“That was some surge I’ll go check on that you go check on Dizz you know how he gets when it storms.”

“Okay I’ll let you know how he’s doing be careful out there.”

The sound of footsteps fades off in the distance before coming back a few moments later more like running at this point.

“Dizz! Dizzy?! Oh I hope he didn’t blink outside again. He hasn’t gotten a handle on that yet.”

The sound of a door being opened close to the recording followed by the recorder being picked up. “Isn’t that just the cutest picture ever. Vivi is going to love seeing this. Sleep well you two.”

48th of Zephyr 1323ae

Mara should we keep what was picked up during the storm? You’re better at these things than me. So during the inclement weather that rolled in a couple nights ago it appears that Dizz got spooked by the thunder and accidentally blinked into G-121’s room. We hadn’t planned on introducing them to each other until next week but it seems that the eternal alchemy had other plans.

They’ve been nearly inseparable ever since that night. Dizz is so high energy being crossed with a fennec fox gave him the boundless energy the species is known for, but he has been so patient with G-121. He tells us that G was scared of the thunder as well so they hid together in G’s nest. Should we include the photo, hun? I’ll leave that up to you.

Since they joined forces G has been more lively then ever and hides behind Dizz rather than retreating into his own mind. I suspect it’s where Dizz is a genetic test as well that he feels a kinship with him that he doesn’t with us. He’s also started responding to questions more readily. Only head nods but progress. Right now they’re in Dizzy’s room playing with Fizz.

Maybe we should get G a pet as well, dear. I’m sure a griffin hatchling would make him feel more at home. I’m going off track again.

Despite this speed up in the plan he’s still making steady progress. Gaining weight and beginning to show signs of growing new feathers. A good sign I was so hoping he would grow his flight feathers back. I truly can’t wait to see the day those gorgeous burgundy wings of his can carry him over the cube and off to wherever he feels like. Completely free as well...well as a bird. 55 Zephyr 1323ae G spoke to us! For the first time since he came to us he’s begun speaking. He’s got a very quiet voice and it’s raspy from not using it for so long but he did it! Him and Dizz were playing a game and we came in to ask if they wanted something to snack on. Instead of his usual nodding he looked up and told us “yes” It felt like Dizz saying his first word all over again it was such a surprise.

He continued later today while we were eating our evening meal. Everyone has just been referring to him as G but we told him some time ago that if he ever wanted us to call him something else to tell us. While we were eating he said he wanted to be called Glyph. Little sweetie got so embarrassed while telling us his ears were red it was just the cutest sight. That’s one less hurdle to get over but he’s not free just yet. Now that he has a way to communicate he can begin his schooling and we need to run some more extensive tests to get a better look at what other mutations he might possess. Glyph should trust us enough now that we can get him into a scanner without him completely breaking down. 63 Zephyr 1323ae The scans went as well as expected. He held it together long enough to get it done but broke down as soon as he was out and clung to us the rest of the day. We’ve had to stop him a couple times when we caught him starting to pluck again. The machinery brought back some bad memories for him but it was something we had to do. That reminds me I forgot to mention that his wings have fully healed from his confinement and he now has a full feather coat again. Included in this message you’ll find the results of the scans, as you can see, there are changes to the shape of his eyes and the structures within indicative of those of a hawk. We believe from this and from observing him that Glyph can see much farther than with much better clarity than an average asura. We also can see a decrease in olfactory receptors so it seems he doesn’t have as great a sense of smell. Those seem to be the biggest changes in his senses.

The greatest changes are in his muscular and skeletal system. If you look you can see entirely new muscle groups across his chest, back, and shoulders that power his wings. This leads to what I think is the most troubling change he went through. His bones are hollow and honeycombed like a bird’s. This is great for allowing him to get aloft but I worry about what this could mean for him as anyone who knows anything about progeny knows about their propensity to hurting themselves.

That reminds me he’s starting to show signs of trying to fly. He’s flapping his wings when he’s playing with Dizz and chasing him around the lab or holding onto something and flapping them quickly much like fledgling birds will do when they’re stretching and strengthening their muscles to leave the nest. We’re planning on taking him out of the city to let both of them get some air and see if that assists him in getting airborne. Mara make sure to bring the aetheric recorder. I want to make sure to catch his first flight. 73 Zephyr 1323ae He flew! Glyph was actually flying! Oh alchemy you won’t believe how incredible it felt to see his feet leave the ground like that! He was laughing and was happier than I’d ever seen him since he came to be in our care. Both Mara and I were crying we were so happy for him when he picked himself up off the ground after landing and hugged both of us before he ran off to go again. Sure it wasn’t the most graceful first flight or landing, more of a powered glide really but he did it! Our precious bird is in his element now. I wonder if griffin parents feel this proud when their chicks fledge for the first time.

That being said I think this will be my last scheduled record of his progress. At this point anything the council wants to know they will be able to get from his school records. He is making good progress in catching up and will soon be on the same homeschooling schedule as Dizz. Glyph has come a long way in his recovery. He still has a long way to go and it will likely take him a lifetime to recover from what he went through, but we’ll be with him every step of the way. Sincerely, Mara and Vivi 40 colossus 1333 ae

Hey Moms. I found these old recordings in storage and since they had my name on them I listened to them. Hope you don’t mind my curiosity got the better of me. I just want to say thank you. Thank you for everything. You didn’t have to agree to take me in and raise me as one of your own, but you did. Thank you for everything you did for me. You were the first to treat me like an actual asura not just an animal to be studied. You let me be me and for that I’m forever grateful. Maybe one day you’ll take these back out and hear this. I love you both so much. Glyph

#gw2 #asura #glyph #My writing

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lindyhunt · 6 years

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Are Sex Robots Really the Answer to the Incel Problem?

The ranks here at FASHION are not filled with men. Shocking, right? But there are one or two (there are actually, literally, two). Naturally, when a question about male/female dynamics arises it’s only fair that one of them stand in for the members of his gender and provide some insight. Our last topic of conversation was why men tend to get defensive when the #MeToo filter is applied to certain news stories, and today we’re wading into the concept of ‘the redistribution of sex’ as a response to the incel movement. Two of our staffers—from the men’s corner, Greg Hudson, and from the women’s, Pahull Bains—talk it out.

Pahull Bains: Last week, the New York Times published a whopper of an op-ed by a man named Ross Douthat in which he put forth his thoughts on how the “redistribution of sex,” much like an equitable distribution of property or money, could be the key to a future without angry, violent behaviour from men who identify as incels: “involuntary celibates” aka men who find it difficult or impossible to find sexual partners. (The op-ed is in response to the recent killing spree in Toronto at the hands of self-declared incel Alek Minassian, which left ten people dead.)

Aside from the fact that to posit this sort of argument requires one to consider women’s bodies a commodity, much like land or money, and erases entirely their agency in the ‘transaction’ of sex, there’s also the tiny matter of equating incels—men with a demonstrably violent and misogynistic worldview—as a subjugated group worthy of a paradigm shift undertaken on their behalf. To help his argument, Douthat quoted Robin Hanson, an economist who, in his estimation, is a “brilliant weirdo:” “One might plausibly argue that those with much less access to sex suffer to a similar degree as those with low income, and might similarly hope to gain from organizing around this identity, to lobby for redistribution along this axis and to at least implicitly threaten violence if their demands are not met.” Douthat goes on to suggest that a combination of sex workers, virtual-reality porn and sex robots might be the answer to “address the unhappiness of incels, be they angry and dangerous or simply depressed and despairing.”

These arguments fail to consider several points. 1) Women are as likely as men to suffer from a lack of sex, yet we don’t see women shooting up frat houses or “threatening violence” as a result of it. 2) Since men are the prime “sufferers” here, a ‘right to sex’ largely translates to a ‘right to women.’ 3) If we are to go by the Reddit and 4Chan message boards where incels gather to vent and commiserate, it’s not just a ‘right to women,’ but a ‘right to attractive women.’ So mere access to sex—or in the case of sex robots, access to acquiescent partners—isn’t the solution. Incels demand that the women they fantasize about—the ‘hot, beautiful blonde girls’ that Elliot Rodger, patron saint of incels, purported to hate in the manifesto he left behind after his 2014 massacre—be truly interested in them. It is the absence of unattainable, beautiful women in their lives that they deplore, not necessarily absence of the sexual act itself. So how could something like sex robots possibly appease that burning, and likely insatiable, desire? Tell me Greg. How???

Greg Hudson: It’s like you’ve been reading my Internet history or something.

While the devil likely doesn’t need an advocate (especially now that Ty Cobb is available–HEY-O political humour!), I want to push back on a few of the things you said. Not because I believe that we should live in a world where the sexual needs of misogynistic men are at all a priority, but because I think this is at least an attempt to find some kind of solution to what is obviously a giant problem. It’s easy to feel nihilistic about this, just as it is when discussing terrorism based on other ideologies. You even alluded to that yourself when you call their problem an “insatiable desire.” There’s no hope!

But the problem is, when there aren’t many solutions offered, the few that are can seem smarter than they actually are. Because, while I admit that parts of his thinking is intriguing, it seems he maybe should have spoken to like one woman before publishing this, if only to flesh out the details of what he’s proposing.

Let’s put aside talk of incels for a moment, so that this Redistribution of Sex Idea isn’t a kind of ransom/response to incel terrorism.

You mention that there are women who suffer because they maybe don’t get the sex they wish they could have, but they don’t go out and kill anyone. That seems true! But of all the incels out there, only two have made the news for causing mass violence. Most just feel bitter and mean and make nasty comments on the internet. It’s similar to the argument silly gun fans make about gun control: that the mass shootings skew the picture. The reality is most gun deaths are suicides. (How that really works as an argument against gun control is kind of tortured). Most incels are just sad.

But what if sex was a right for both genders? What if Ross Douthat had included women in his piece? As he mentions in the piece, we often look to programs that help connect disabled people up with sex workers as progressive and important. The differently abled deserve physical affection, too! What if sex was just one aspect of holistic healthcare? Like mental healthcare, sex would be available if you want it (and maybe qualify), but not essential. Does that change the argument at all? Because you’re right, a Right to Women is gross. But, I don’t think it’s necessarily fair to distill this argument down to that.

We’ll get back to why this probably wouldn’t help incels.

PB: But incels are not disabled people! (Unless you construe a lack of game as a disability, in which case, I think we’re done here.) And I don’t think we can reasonably conclude that most incels are “just sad.” Yes, only two might have committed mass violence thus far, but they are cited as heroes on these message boards and their acts are glorified. So although we could agree that the majority of the men who identify as incels don’t go out and commit murder, it’s indisputable that they harbour virulent views about women. Even the most cursory glance at some of the misogynistic message boards of the ‘manosphere’ is enough to see that. I mean, a word I saw coming up over and over was ‘femoid,’ which, it turns out, is a combination of female and humanoid, implying that women are subhuman. Another common thread was the opinion that the only thing women are good for is sex.) So I don’t think these men need to commit an act of mass terrorism to be deemed dangerous or potentially violent.

Now, getting to the women. Again, not being charming or beautiful or confident enough to attract men (or women!) does not a disability make. So if we were to talk about sex as a right, regardless of whether or not you’re disabled, we’d have to first address the question: what makes something an inalienable right in the first place? And what makes sex fall into that category?

GH: Ugh. I don’t like that I’m within walking distance of defending incels. Like if incels were a highway McDonalds, and defending them was buying a Big Mac, then I’d be seeing the golden arches looming. And Big Macs always make me super sick.

Assuming sexism leads to violence isn’t really fair. All men who are violent towards women are sexist, but not all sexists are violent. In fact, I think it’s more likely–and we should just state that both of us are making assumptions that may or may not prove to be true according to the data we don’t have–that most incels don’t have the confidence, means, or strength to incite much violence. They see themselves as Good Guys. Until they don’t.

You have a very strange way of defining a right. I can’t think of any inalienable rights that are so defined. Is healthcare a right? I think most Canadians would agree that it is. What about a childhood free of fear, hunger, abuse? What about an adulthood like that? Probably. I mean, it’s a hard right to enforce, but I think we’d all prefer a society that ensures the safety and at least minimal care of its people.

There is a significant push to have employment, or a living wage, be considered a right, even though it would be just as easy to say, “why is laziness a disability?” I don’t know if I agree, but one could make the argument that sex–physical touch, affection, intimacy–affects one’s quality of life in pretty serious ways. And just as there are many reasons a person can’t work, or find a job–some visible, others not so much– there are many reasons why men and women might have trouble finding sex. But if there are people who deeply miss human intimacy, and there is an industry set up to meet those people’s needs–and if that happened to prevent some men’s loneliness from curdling into misogyny, wouldn’t that be kind of cool?

But, to your point: it’s not orgasms that incels want. It’s not dates, either. Not really. I’m sure you’ve had the experience of meeting someone truly eccentric and then meeting their partner and thinking, yup, there’s someone for everybody.

The incels don’t just want sex, they want validation and companionship and love. They want to believe they are okay, and the only evidence they’ll accept is a woman who aligns with society’s definition of beauty, wanting to be with them. That they only see these women as prizes or means to their own gratification is what turns them into monsters. Would having a regular appointment with a sex worker help them see women differently? Part of me thinks it wouldn’t, since they’d always know they were paying for sex (even though in my pretend reality, this sex therapy is subsidized by the government), which would insult their fragile sensibilities and prove that women are objects that can be bought. But, then again, a therapist is a friend you pay for and that doesn’t stop them from helping people.

I think what I didn’t like about the responses to Ross Douthat’s column was that so many of them lacked imagination. They presumed a world where the sex robots and sex workers were essentially enslaved, against their will. It’s as though we all assumed that this redistribution of sex was going to be done with all the grace and nuance of a dictatorship, rewarding only men at the expense of women. That’s partly a result of how it was written–and what it was written in response to. But if we forget that a conservative columnist wrote it, would the principle of accessible sex be dangerous?

But, seeing as how we don’t live in Greg’s Socialist Sexual Utopia, in real life incels, violent or not, don’t just want sex. They want to punish.

What’s the answer then?

PB: Quick note: I don’t believe that sexism leads to violence, nor do I think I implied that. There is a wiiide, Grand Canyon-scale expanse between sexism and violent misogyny, and I think it’s safe to say that incels fall pretty firmly in the latter camp. (Last year, the 40,000-member ‘Incel’ group on Reddit was shut down by the site following policy changes that prohibited content that “encourages, glorifies, incites or calls for violence.”)

Now, back to the sex-as-a-right thing. While I do agree that sex affects the quality of a person’s life, treating sex as a right turns our world into a minefield. What, then, would prevent husbands from arguing that marital rape isn’t rape, it’s a response to their wives denying them their basic right to sex? As Amia Srinivasan noted in her recent London Review of Books essay: “On the now defunct Reddit group, a post titled ‘It should be legal for incels to rape women’ explained that ‘No starving man should have to go to prison for stealing food, and no sexually starved man should have to go to prison for raping a woman.’” So if we did live in a world where sex was considered a universal human right, we’d have lots more ideologies like that floating around, and what’s worse—legally sound ideologies. That seems more dystopian than utopian from where I’m standing.

You ask: ‘would the principle of accessible sex be dangerous?’ No, of course not. But there’s a huge difference between access to sex, and a right to sex. Accessible sex is already a reality. (Let’s face it: the fact that prostitution is illegal isn’t really slowing anyone down.) What we both agree on, I think, is that access to sex isn’t actually going to solve the incel problem because it’s far more deep-rooted than that.

Going back to Douthat’s op-ed, what bothers me the most is that, like with most problems that involve male violence against women, the burden to fix it or to find a solution instantly falls on the women’s shoulders. It’s always ‘how do women adjust or reevaluate what they’re wearing or how much they’re drinking or whom they trust,’ instead of ‘how do men adjust or recalibrate their mindset or outlook or behaviour toward women.’ This is another manifestation of that. Rather than looking at the incel movement as a potentially violent and sadistic ideology, and trying to figure out how to address it, the solution goes immediately to how women (or robots!) can appease and satisfy it. Rather than the policing or probing of this dangerous mentality, women must find a way to live safely around the contours of it.

GH: Nuts. Man, I forget that the world is the worst. Here I am imagining this world where sad, angry, lonely people can talk to a mental health professional and get a prescription for like a date night with a sex professional, who will help them feel less alone. And once people feel less alone, all misogyny, racism, homophobia, and whatever else ails the deplorable set, will melt away and we’ll all bake birthday cakes full of rainbows and speak only in clapping emojis.

And while I don’t really see how sex as a right will lead to marital rape–just because something is a right doesn’t mean violently stealing it is justified, especially since there is already a recourse for spouses who are unhappy with their sex life. It’s called divorce.

But I realize that that is all a little idealistic. In a way, I’m doing the same thing that I said annoyed me about other people’s response to Douthat’s column: I’m judging it based on what I’m wishing it said, and not what it really encouraged.

Thus, to answer your very first question: sex robots can’t fix this. I don’t know how the incel ideology can be fixed. But, I’ll do whatever you think I should!

PB: I think the first step is accepting that incels are not “sad, angry, lonely people,” who might be easily cured with drugs or weekly sex (android or otherwise). As Harper’s Bazaar’s political editor at large noted in her recent piece: “Their existence is not about being lonely. It is about blaming women for their loneliness.” The sooner we all see the deeply violent, unstable and misogynistic ideology driving the incel movement, the better off we’ll be.

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