#fanfiction garbage

[frownyalfred]

I'm seeing a lot of "ugh, so we can't even criticize fic authors anymore?" posts popping up on here and the ao3 subreddit and I just want to say, for the record: No one's saying you can't criticize (fanfic) authors publicly. They're saying it's rude and antithetical to positive fandom experience. And, yes there's a difference.

If this website was a conference and I had just spent a whole afternoon listening to a presentation on [unpopular fic trope] and after that was done, I got up on stage and very publicly told the audience that [unpopular fic trope] was illogical and anyone who writes it is woefully misinformed and should be banned from writing [relevant character], that would in fact be a dick move.

"But the canon character would never--" it doesn't matter. You're shouting down the hall at the person who just happily did a whole seminar on their OOC version of that character. "But I don't like that the author chose to make them--" good, you're well-acquainted with your likes and dislikes, time to find another fic.

We all run into fics and interpretations we don't like. But there's a huge difference between loudly talking about it on Tumblr where the author can see it, and just venting in a private discord or other group. Also, gentle reminder that this is a hobby for most writers and something they do purely because they enjoy it. Stop being massive dicks just because you feel entitled to a certain flavor of fanfiction you will probably be chasing until the Reformation of Krypton.

[caffeinatedmunchkin]

La Petite Mort

Emmrich Volkarin x Fem!Rook ✦ Rating: M (MDNI!) ✦ 7.8k words

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down. "You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more so to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy. "Please." Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted." The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness. "Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

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Crossposted to AO3!

*pspspsps at the Emmrich brats* come get tamed!

I told myself I wasn't going to write for Emmrich but I guess that was a big fat lie. Ya'll keep saying how he'd talk you through it, writing this filth was the only way I was gonna exorcise that demon. Writing characters OOC is my worst nightmare, I did my best. Let me know your thoughts on whether I was successful or not. Enjoy 😘

Rook floundered as she regarded her circle of companions, struggling to uplift those around her as her spirit was the lowest of them all. To her credit she wore her bravest face, and commended each and every one of them for their displayed strengths in their respective roles. A reluctant heroine who found leadership ill-suited and cumbrous.

Weisshaupt had yet to retract its claws. Emmrich noticed her energy waning, the tension in her thin shoulders festering. Her posture heavy with fatigue.

They were all on edge, but none shouldered a greater burden than her. The wayward little Watcher that held too much regret in the delicate lines of her young face.

Hazarding just a few glances her way during the meeting, each time displayed the same weariness she failed to hide. He wracked his brain for possible solutions to help ease her strain, but he kept falling short.

He would have known just how obvious his course of action should be, if only he knew where to look.

If he had given proper credence to her coy remarks, and coquettish body language. If he accepted that her freely given touch - nimble fingers grazing his elbow, the small of his back - were held longer with him, than the others.

If he hadn't been so consumed by his strict notions of gallantry, in accordance with his branding of her as the proverbial forbidden fruit. Securely out of reach, it was a pedestal he placed her on before he joined The Veilguard. Well before they had even been formally introduced.

Emmrich had suggested, with enough vagueness to spare himself from too much guilt, that he hadn't remembered seeing her before. To his relief, she corroborated his version of their story in kind.

A delicious discrepancy. A secret they each believed they held over the other.

"Have we really never met around the Necropolis before? Even in passing?"

"I don't remember everything from my scholar days."

Not an outright lie; those days were a blur. Rigorous and all-consuming academics with not much time for herself, except of course for the moments she slipped away, or stole. All instances that were still fresh in her history.

When the sun dropped from the sky, and the lights of the city beckoned her with it's promised anonymity, and its proffered escape. Getting herself into the sort of trouble that was otherwise irresistible to a teenager who felt she didn't belong. Who bore the associated pressures and expectations of a path more or less chosen for her.

Trouble that followed her even into young adulthood.

Scrapes and scuffles on the streets of Nevarra that inexorably found it's way back to the ears of her elders. Awaiting her with exasperated spiels, and stern words. And heftier measures of containing her the next time.

Though she had seen him plenty around the Necropolis. She knew who he was. More so than her flippant dismissal let on.

Professor Volkarin; the tall, handsome academician whose lectures she'd made a habit of crashing. Keeping to the back with one of her friends, one who actually held the right to attend, she'd watch him with a covetous gleam to her eye and a withheld breath. A luxury rarely afforded, her heart whirred like a hummingbird in the cage of her ribs whenever she could sneak off to sit in.

Confident, eloquent, experienced. He'd captured the attention of the entire lecture hall with the flourish he wielded in spell-casts, and final preparations alike. He was impassioned about his work. The full-breadth of his proficiency - and kindness - shining through as he expounded on the necessity of ceremonial tradition, and the importance of regarding the dead with the same reverence one would the living.

And Maker, his hands.

They had never been introduced. Not a word, or glance, exchanged between them in all their shared years. She was certain that she could admire from afar. That he hadn't taken stock of the vivacious, diminutive elven interloper that invited herself to his seminars.

Oh how wrong she was.

The professor was more familiar with Ariadne Ingellvar then he'd ever dare confess.

Catching glimpses of her around the halls. The vibrant little mage that radiated the fertile warmth and liveliness of a dawning springtime, with her rosy cheeks and bright shock of blonde hair. She evoked images of fresh bloomed honey-suckle dotting a verdant meadow, a herald of the seasons approach.

Who crept into his audience, and observed from the cover of shadow, as far back as their discretion would extend.

Like a voyeur, he'd sense her presence amongst his fold of usual suspects, making him feel exposed. The lecture hall too public a setting for the sudden feverish indecency that infected an otherwise appropriate, and strictly educational demonstration.

At times she looked out of place against the backdrop of the Necropolis. A beaming smile with a lot of teeth. An infectious cackle of laughter he had come to recognize as hers, as she maneuvered the halls with a gaggle of peers around her. A distinct bouquet of raspberry, gardenia and amber wafting in her wake. Little, pleasant pockets of fragrance left like breadcrumbs to follow her trail, should he ever be so inclined.

Or so bold.

The smells of the Necropolis were dominant, and familiar. Of myrr, clove, and Bitumen. The bitter cold. Her scent somehow refused to be suffocated by her surroundings. Her reputation, that he was only able to gleam fractions at a time, suggested that she refused to blend in. And in that, she was successful.

He was equally familiar with the whispers and disapproving remarks from colleagues over the years. They shadowed all conversations at which her found her at the center. Where she was mentioned, criticism was sure to follow.

Her raising esteem among the ranks made for all the more intriguing a contrast.

She was restless, it seemed. Headstrong. Spirited. But oh, was she alluring. And lovely.

Lovely enough to both coax his gaze, and forbid him from looking any further. Digging any deeper.

Emmrich was both ecstatic - and slightly sick - to see her traipsing up alongside Bellara when they arrived for his recruitment. It had been some time since he had last seen her flitting through the halls of the Necropolis. Though she had been absent from its structure, her memory very much still haunted his musings.

She didn't look much different from how he remembered. She seemed grounded; sated by the experiences she received in her time away from home. And yet, a flicker of despondency remained. Homesickness, perhaps? Dejection at being sent away?

After the meeting had disbanded, she remained in her seat. Eyes cast downward, as she studied her nails, and twisted her fingers. He found himself pausing, with brows lifted in concern.

In a gentle croon, he maintained the safe distance away from behind the other end of the table. "Rook, dear, are you alright?"

Lifting her chin to gaze up at him, he saw the same lost look he sometimes caught sight of around the Necropolis. He now knew it's origin, of course, or at least a likely theory.

During their jaunt at the memorial gardens, Ariadne revealed that she had been the babe that was found abandoned in the crypt. He hadn't been among the Watchers who recovered her, but he had seen her then. All those years ago when he was a much younger man.

Her impossibly tiny body swaddled and cooing from the crook of Myrna's arm. All pink cheeks and bright eyes. With elongated, pointy ears not yet grown into, even with how new to the world she was.

And then there she stood; an accomplished necromancer, and grown woman. Her ears now as proportionate as the rest of her.

The same grown woman who had caught his eye around the Necropolis, much to his dismay. It took everything in him not to react upon that revelation. Maker willing she hadn't noticed the falter of his tight smile, or the twitch in his left eye.

More reason to keep her at arms length.

Yet there he was. Alone with her. Lingering, like a besotted fool.

"Never better." She lied with a sidelong look, casting away the brief flicker of melancholy just as it breached. "I'm tired, but no more so than anyone else."

"Tremendous pressure often leads to tremendous physical stress on the body." His tone erudite, he straightened to a more erect posture. "I fear you're not heeding the tells of your own."

"I'm fine, really." With an exaggerated simper in effort to make it more believable, she rolled her shoulders as if their tension released with that declaration. "Thank you, Emmrich."

Fearful of coming off too strong, he nodded in surrender and cleared his throat. "I'll see you at dinner, then?"

She rose from her seat, smiling at him from across the table. "Yes." She affirmed. "See you then."

During dinner Ariadne was silent. Poignant as it was uncharacteristic, it was an observation that worsened his concern. She no more than picked at her meal like a bird, flashing brief smiles, or nodding only when appropriate. But the fiery Watcher he knew was miles away from the young woman who sat across from him. Her disassociation betrayed by the sad, brown eyes that had dulled from their radiant luster.

He knew she was in there somewhere, and yearned for her return.

With dinners unceremonious conclusion, he watched as she excused herself from the table without a word, and disappeared into the pantry. Returning after a curious length of time, the stem of a goblet was twisted in her fingers. That same small hand also clutched what he assumed to be a wine bottle by it's neck.

Her eyes darted among those closest to her before proceeding, hoping to avoid potential entanglement with someone who might think to join her.

Or worse, notice the specific vintage she was smuggling.

The only others left in the dining hall now were himself, Taash and Davrin. Too engrossed in a debate over whether or not an axe was more effective than a long sword against a Hurlock, to pay any mind to her suspicious behavior.

It only took him a few lengthened strides to catch up to her. Believing herself to be in the clear, Emmrich noticed how tense her back stiffened upon hearing him advance. She halted, before spinning on a heel to face him, brows quirked and her lips pouting in what could only be describe as anxiousness.

"Rook- I do hope I'll receive your pardon if this comes across as overbearing, but I must caution against such a libation on an empty stomach."

Unable to curve his curiosity before it took the lead, his gaze flickered down to the bottles label. A lump formed in his throat as he read it.

Carnal, 8:69 Blessed.

The good professor was well acquainted. It's sultry description reared from the depths of his psyche, and crashed over him like a sheet of glass.

An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation.

He clasped his hands in front of him with a soft clatter of his bracelets and bangles. Hoping beyond hope he hadn't played his hand. That she didn't notice the climb his brows made to his hairline upon noting her scandalous choice in drink.

If she did catch his prying, she had the decency not to acknowledge it. Her smile was tired, but genuine all the same.

Emmrich felt her palm slip around his elbow. The young mage was most unrestrained with her expressions through physical touch - it was just her way - and at times he fell prey to the rot of wishful thinking that he received more of it than the rest.

"And I hope it's not too much trouble to ask that you call me Ariadne. Or Ari, if you prefer." The fleeting contact pulled back to then give a dismissive wave, she planted a step behind her, poised to take off. It wasn't like her to look to flee his company with such haste, and that appealed to his morbid intrigue. "And trust me when I say, I only want one drink, just to help me sleep." The melody of her voice lilted in amusement. "Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me."

Call me Ariadne. His chest pulled in on itself. Pressing his tongue against his clenched teeth, it felt heavy and cotton thick at the mere thought of addressing her as such. Addressing her by name.

Rook was easy, and safe. Rook was a moniker for the explicit use of her associates. Referring to her that way maintained his professionalism, and staved his guilt.

Swallowing with a weak smile, Emmrich offered an acquiescent bow of his head. Neither indulging, nor denying her request.

She peered up at him in thought for but an extra moment, her exhaustion clouded gaze glimmering with contemplation. Abandoning whatever seemed to hold her attention, she gave him a final, small smile, before exiting the dining hall.

Though if you do get worried, I think you know where to find me.

And worry he did.

The hour was late, and the thought of disturbing her nagged with apprehension. Surely she didn't require his company, nor his consolation, when she had such a treasured, sororal bond with Neve. Yet he found himself taking the long walk down the corridor to her quarters nonetheless.

Perhaps reminiscing of home will offer a welcome distraction, if only for a short while. He assured himself. A comfort that I am uniquely disposed to provide.

All thoughts of Neverran eccentricities and their hopeful nostalgia halted as he arrived at her door. It greeted him with an alarming sound.

Though muffled through the thick, ornamented wood, she cried out his name - weak, and panted - as if in great pain. His chest tightened, seized by the gelidity of dread. It trickled down his lofty figure like he had plunged headfirst into a lake on the cusp of winter.

He pictured the worst. The Lighthouse infiltrated by a Venatori assassin, regardless of how improbable. He saw her crumpled on the ground and sticky with her own sanguine as it pooled beneath her. Her beautiful, flaxen locks turned to ink from coagulation.

That swell of panic was all it took.

Forgetting himself, and all prior etiquette he once held steadfast, Emmrich burst into her room.

His ferocity mirroring the pounding of his heart, he conducted a quick sweep of the space from left to right - intent to find the fabricated, surmised assailant. But none was to be found. Her room was blissfully free of the threat of imminent danger.

No Ventaroi. No blood. No need for his chivalry.

That relief was staggering, though short-lived. Emmrich next sought her out, rounding the lounge at the center, knowing there was no where else left in the space for her to be, except for there.

What he found dried his mouth, and spiked his blood to run frigid in suddenly too-tight of veins all the same.

Ariadne was draped prone on the chaise, in naught but her ivory blouse, and half unbuttoned at that. The loose, silken fabric shifted down her blushed shoulder, flashing him a peak of flesh as she writhed and twisted in pleasure.

Flesh pinched rosy and glistening. And far too much of it, more than he least of all had any right to spy.

The senior necromancer simply stood there aghast, gawping like an un-initiated adolescent - of which, he was neither - unable to come to terms with the fact that what he stumbled upon was indeed transpiring.

And she had moaned his name in her throes. Called out for him to come to her aid.

Swirling iridescence filtered through the glass across from where she laid, bathing her in a luminous, surreal glow. The waters reflection streaked her in vivid hues of chartreuse and turquoise that slithered over her flushed, half-naked body. As if guiding his appreciative leer, leading to where he should aim it next.

It drew his eye to the toned length of bare legs, her petite calves flexed and toes curling. The roll of her pelvis against the furious rubbing of her fingers was hypnotic. A faint, lewd squelch echoed her frustrated whimpers.

He watched tormented as her lithe body arched; shapely hips lifting, the base of her spine bowed in a provocative display, pressing her face down into the fabric, muffling her moans. Attacking herself from a deeper angle, the sinuous dip and curve of her silhouette alone was enough to drop him to his knees.

The bottle sat uncorked on the dresser, while her goblet dangled from her finger-tips, precarious as it hadn't been emptied. It impressed him how she managed not to spill as she then ground down. Humping the hand she pinned between her nethers, and the cushion that cradled her.

He had only ever seen her hair combed back and twisted in a bun, but now it was pulled free and hung loose. Glowing almost silver in the shimmer, a veil of ashen blond that streaked messily over her face. So removed from himself as he stared, it hadn't even occured to him that yes, he was still there watching, until her uncovered eye drifted to him at last. Only then had she realized his intrusion.

The soft hazelnut eye was almost eclipsed in full by her pupils dilatation. Glossy with lust, she peered up at him from beneath a heavy lid. Utterly unabashed at his presence.

If she was even a hint mortified to be discovered by him in such a predicament, nothing about her demeanor suggested it.

"Oh! Professor Volkarin... good." Her tone rich with intoxication, it spread a wide, lazy grin against her colored cheeks. "I-I'm in rather... desperate need of your masterful instruction."

As quiet and still as death itself, Emmrich's entire body locked in place, with a stoicism that presented much more severe than he meant. A strangled mewl forced it's way from her throat, one that lured him back out from his inward retreat.

The moment for discomfiture had come to pass. The obligation of responsibility to quell her suffering too great to ignore, he inspected her as a hunter might a downed prey. One his misplaced strike fell short of fatal, she bleated and wriggled much like a wounded animal. She was in pain. She needed him to put her down.

"You poor thing. You are struggling, aren't you..." Spoken softly, more to himself in observation, than acknowledgement of her plight. Wrought with sympathy.

"Please." She whined, having given up on the erected pearl, rubbed raw and twitching. Holding herself propped up by the elbow, her body stretched out languid and malleable before him. Ripe for his indulgence. "It's just been so long, and I've h-had maybe... a bit too much to drink." The admittance airing on sheepish, she then gave her best purr of seduction. "I'm finding myself... distracted."

The rich mocha of his eyes glimmered with something wicked. A shift in the gentleman Watcher, something she had yet to witness.

"Allow me, then, my darling, to realign your focus."

He stepped towards the chaise with a tall posture, and leisured gait, as if he very much believed propriety could be maintained despite the circumstance. She scrambled to allow him space beside her, curling her knees and swaying in place as she watched him sink into the upholstery.

She brought the goblet back to her lips, relying on that sweet bite of liquid, candied peach to fuel her shamelessness. But it stopped just shy of her pout.

Held in place by a firm hand, her glassy eyes floated over the rim to see Emmrich angling a look of disapproval her way. The lines of his handsome, angular face deepened in exasperation, like an austere parent about to reprimand an unruly brat.

"Dear girl, I should think you have had enough."

Her already wild heart-beat took off at a reckless gallop, at how he managed to wrap the rich velvet of his voice around such sharp scolding. Her weakened fingers broke away from the stem of the goblet with laughably pathetic submission, waiting with bated breath as he discarded it to the credenza behind them.

Settling the length of his tapered frame more comfortably against the cushions, he turned to address her once more. Ensnaring her eye-contact, he refused its release while he pat his thigh. Motioning her to him like he would a skittish kitten.

The cut of his jaw lifted, he stared down the bridge of his nose at her as she crawled the rest of the way towards his lap.

"Face away from me, so your back is flush with my front." The weight of her settling over him, the heat radiating from the naked thighs that then straddled him - sensations that were enough to break him on the spot. A reprehensible fantasy that now spilled into his reality.

He failed to swallow a groan as the curve of her bottom slotted against his groin.

"Good. Are we comfortable?"

The little she-devil that she was, her hips gave a playful wriggle against his bulge. She got more than she bargained for, tripping over her tongue in reply at the imposing mass that greeted her. One not yet swelled to full mast. "O-oh, yes."

Emmrich fought the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose and count. She wasn't going to make this easy.

Sinewy, bejeweled hands slid over the tops of her thighs, the metal of his bracelets clinking and cool and against her feverish skin. Stopping at her knees, he slipped his thumbs between them, and peeled them apart unhurried.

"That's it... spread yourself for me, nice and wide." His smooth palms glided back up the inside, feeling how supple the more delicate, inner muscle quivered to his slow exploration. The skin burned beneath his finger-tips, the heat emanating from her grew the closer to her womanhood he traveled.

Deliberate in avoiding that area, he instead drew up to clutch her about the hips, giving them an encouraging squeeze before he stilled. "We'll want as much room as possible, yes?"

When she drew her legs over his knees to dangle alongside the anterior of his own, a rumbling croon of "good girl" ghosted against the shell of her ear. The whimper he earned for it couldn't have been any sweeter.

"I gather you are most receptive to a hands-on approach?" Unable to give him a verbal response, all she could do was squirm in his lap and nod. An unending wealth of smart remarks, he preened at having already rendered her beyond speech. "Very good. You're going to show me how you touch yourself - exactly as you were before my interruption. We'll see if I can't refine your methods."

With a shaky exhale, she leaned back against him, while her fumbling fingers set to work.

She did well at first, all things considered. The young Watcher was reeling from his closeness; his infectious body-heat, the infuriating steadiness of his breaths. The overwhelming aroma of smoked potash, cedar and oakmoss, and an indistinct floral note layered in between.

He kept her anchored to him by her hips, thumb strokes absent-minded and rhythmic, while he observed her performance. Any time she teased herself just so, and gasped out for him, he'd reward her with a throaty; "stunning", "yes, that's a good girl", "you're doing quite well." Incentivizing her to maintain her pace with his praise.

The final nail in her coffin to it all was the strength of alcohol that coursed through her, pumping her blood so hot it made her feel smothered by her own skin, too tight and confining. Weighing down her limbs with rueful sluggishness that fought against her pursuit of release.

Her head swam laps against the lurching of the room, while his hummed approval only heightened her wooziness. All that kept her steady, were the eyes she held shut, and Emmrich's embrace.

He stared down the front of her body with enraptured attention, feeling himself pulse with a lazy heft against her rear. Knowing she could feel him while he stiffened to attention at her little mewls, and stifled rocking. But he couldn't find it within himself to care. His attentiveness a willing prisoner to the sight of her dainty index finger swirling over her clitoris, as her middle digit strained to edge inside herself.

The little elf would get so close to the release that continued to taunt her. It warped the edges of her bleary vision, and shook the sweat-dampened, tensed thighs that his knees held open. He'd feel her body seize, joints lock, and head snapped back, as she arched in prelude.

And then she'd lose it. Slipping from her trembling fingers, the white-hot, coiling tension ebbed in cruel absence. Like trapped steam set free from beneath the lid of a pot as it roiled. A defeated whine bubbled from her throat, and he swept in to console while easing her back to the precipice.

"Oh, my dear girl." He clicked his tongue, ever punctilious. His silken voice dropped an octave from its depth in his chest. "You need only concentrate."

Ariadne lulled her head back against his shoulder with an infantile huff that matched her pout. "I am."

He chuckled low in tantalization. So low she more felt it against her back than heard it, her blood roaring in her ears as loud as it was.

"Then you're still holding on." He kept his admonishing gentle. "And I need you to let go."

He watched as she twerked her wrist, working herself up and down in a blur of erratic, frantic strokes.

"Slow, slower." He instructed. "I can only imagine how you must ache... quiet your mind. Steady your breaths. Follow my voice." Every syllable pronounced in that assertive baritone had her walls spasm against themselves. "I'll help you, darling girl, if you'll listen."

An unintelligible moan was all the response he received.

She switched to tease her weeping entrance with one hand, while the other busied by hopeless strokes at her clit in irregular, clockwise circles. Her shoulder blades dug into his chest, they tingled against his mused susurration as it thrummed through him.

No doubt poised to deliver constructive criticism, he was nothing if not a stickler for proper form.

"You're much too rough with yourself. Too impatient." He tsked, his own hands kept occupied by massaging the firm swell of her glutes. More than a little sure that her piriformis was screaming at the prolonged tension it was suspended in. "Only to give up just as you're right about to crest."

"I'm not giving up," she insisted, her face screwed in aggravation as she brought herself back, only to then lose it again faster than before. To this loss, she growled. "I can't.. I can't-!"

His tone low, and contemplative, he then interjected in a display of his authority. "Hmm, I see now."

Emmrich fished the the end of his crimson binding from around his waist, and tugged the long end to unravel to a more generous length in his palm.

Bringing it between her legs, he began to wipe away the excess wetness. Tending to her with paternal affection, it made for an obscene contrast against his words. "Pardon my crude tongue, but you're much too wet, dearest. You'll not get the necessary friction otherwise."

Her body shuddered at his words, dripping from the tip of his tongue against the shell of her ear like liquid smoke. His chest was warm and sturdy against her back, a broadness to him that his lank mislead. His sheltering firmness curved around her as he continued to guide her with forbearance.

"P-professor please-," she nearly sobbed, hips stuttering up into his fingers as they rubbed her throbbing cunt through the satin. "I need your touch."

He fought the visceral reactions to the way she mewled his title like some revered perversion, for fear that if she realized its effects on him, she'd become merciless in its exploit.

"But of course, my girl." Voice slinking and sultry, he brought his lips closer to her ear. "I've never been known to shun a pupil in need."

His hands slid over the tops of her thighs to find her fluttered heat, and did so with the practiced ease of a body known to him. She shivered at his finesse, at how assured he was in her handling, though it was the first time they were ever intimate.

Velvet smooth and puffy from her abuse, his touch felt like a salve that granted instant relief to her neglect. A loud, shuddering sigh dragged from her by the trace of his finger-tips over her petals. First with his bare hand, the dainty gold chain that connected the ring of his thumb to the bracelet on his wrist dragged against her folds. While he continued, his ornaments played against one another in a dissonant jingle with each and every purposeful manipulation. Just as they did during his casts.

She wondered if she'd ever be able to hear those otherwise mundane sounds again without becoming aroused.

His gloved hand, equal in dexterity to the one that stroked her bud, joined in to lend additional prowess. Both hands a flurry of expertise betwixt her thighs, Emmrich massaged and rubbed, his glove sticky with her honey as he spread it around her tender lips. Pressing them apart to slot his middle finger between, he began to glide back and forth over her weeping slit with an agonizing pace.

His pressure efficient, yet patient. Only giving her what was needed, refusing to indulge.

Sagging back against his chest, she dared to look down at the sight of his hands splaying her apart, as if in appraisal. She couldn't help but recall one particular demonstration he held for advanced techniques on relieving rigor mortis.

His grace, the fluidity of his manipulation. Long, limber fingers aglow with magic, as they palpated the tissue before him. He narrated his precise movements in the genteel inflection she had come to recognize, and adore.

However as she watched him work, hands gliding over the limbs that melted to desired pliability at the behest of his deft touch, she didn't hear a word of it.

All she could do was stare at those hands, and stew in the blatant envy she felt towards the corpse beneath them.

She was wrenched from the clutches of her reverie by a sharp, yet delicious sting to her cunt.

With his gloved hand and a quick flick of his wrist, Emmrich had demanded her straying attention with slap.

It was solid, but affectionate. No where near harsh enough to be unbearable. Just exacting enough to corral her back in line.

Ariadne yelped, jolting in his grasp as his gloved palm cupped her hurt. Soothing the sting with a gentle pet.

"I'll not tolerate you daydreaming." For all his chiding, it still held the warmth and patience she'd expected from him. "If my instruction is desired in earnest then your complete and undivided attention is expected, Miss Ingellvar."

" 'M sorry! I c-can't help-,"

"You can and you will, young lady." His interjection was laced with amusement despite his steeliness. "Unless of course, you aim to provoke my cruelty."

Professor Emmrich Volkarin cold and cruel. A thought that twisted her insides into a throbbing, tangled mass. Had she not been so helpless to the maddening of an out-of-reach orgasm, one now threatened by his denial, she would have delighted in goading such a side of him.

"I mind you to pay attention. I know you won't take kindly to the consequences if I'm made to repeat myself." The warning dripped from his tongue deliberate and restrained.

A gloved finger turned it's attention to her aching bead, Emmrich worked it in diligent circles. His feathered pressure serving as kindling to the wild fire that raged beneath her skin, the feeling of suffocation returned with a vengeance.

"The tissue here is most sensitive." His explanation cool as it was dignified, his knees continued to hold her legs open as she quivered to his stimulation. "All that's needed is a little leniency, and a light touch."

She could feel the prickling burn simmer at the soles of her feet. The promise of a full-body blaze lapping it's way through her, staring from the bottom, and working it's way up. His index finger continued to circle with rhythmic, borderline merciless insistence.

The more she writhed and arched in his lap, the tighter his circles became. The satin leather pressing down with measured pressure to her swollen sex.

"Do you feel the difference?" He urged, the bridge of his nose brushing at her temple as he nuzzled her, inhaling the combination of her perfume while he had her this close. And the heady musk of her arousal, as it drooled from her to his coaxing. "That pressure in your abdomen, it feels more reliable, does it not?"

He brought her so close, so gloriously close and sooner than she thought possible, given her struggles. Struggles that were worsened by the inebriation she now cursed.

Yet, somewhere through the foggy recesses of her rationale, her core clenched around its emptiness in indignation.

She yearned for his fullness, for the stretch of him to come down around. The raw desperation of her keening plea surprised even her.

"Please, I-I need-,"

"What do you need, my dear?" Emmrich didn't stop nor slow his expert ministrations.

She groaned. "Maker, please! I need you- need you inside me!"

He shut his eyes, drawing a deep, quiet breath to keep himself grounded. The girth in his trousers twitched in compliance, but he ignored it.

"Easy, easy now." He hushed, pushing her slick petals apart with his bare hand to first dip in his gloved middle finger. Almost too long, too much of him to take, and ribbed from his rings. The force in which she clamped around him nearly popped his joint from the socket. A shrill, breathy moan tumbled out of her and into the stifling air.

Allowing her a moment to savor his fullness, he then crooked the slender digit inside her heat, rolling her eyes back, and twitching her ears. "There, does that feel better?"

"Yes, oh yes." She sobbed, the plushness of her sex throbbing around his leather-bound intrusion. "T-thank you, Professor."

"You're most welcome, little darling." Intoned with the same dignified composure as if she were no more than a pupil in his lecture hall, he pumped steadily within her. His free hand toyed with her clit in complimentary persuasion. "Dare I say obedience is rather becoming on you."

The slightest condescension in his praise, it caused the entirety of her body to flush with a heat. Her center tightened in wordless request for more, though he merely chuckled. The deep rumbling brought a vibrant pink to smear the bridge of her nose. The faint striped scar there nearly disappearing in the stain, as it spilled across both cheekbones.

Emmrich had never taken an elven lover before, though he had once come across an excerpt pertaining to a certain weakness of the species. The salacious triviality now at the forefront of his mind.

Ever studious, the professor couldn't resist the temptation of putting the theory to practice.

Dropping his chin, he reached for the blushed tip of her ear with his tongue. Tracing the pink ridge of cartilage, his lips curled in a grin once he had the tine pinched between his teeth in a gentle nip.

A sharp gasp ripped from her as her body rocketed in his lap; tossing her head back hard to his chest while her hips bucked forward. A violence to her fervor, as if her lower half moved independent from the rest of her.

"E-Emmrich!" A hoarse plea, any of the conviction it might have held was stolen along with her breath.

"Miss Ingellvar, am I to assume I've dissolved your decorum, or is that how you address your superiors?"

She couldn't find it within herself to fire back with something witty. Becoming so strict with her in that intimate, hushed crooning had her walls clench against him firmer. A gush of her arousal soaked against his finger, only to leak out over his palm and seep into the cotton of his slacks underneath. A throaty groan sounded from behind her, like the purr of a panther.

"Professor Volkarin," her amendment shaky, she sucked in breath and called on it for strength, "h-how do you expect me to concentrate when you-you-,"

"Are your ears quite sensitive, darling?" His level tone feigned innocence with such a degree of effortless deception that it shocked her. "You'll have to forgive me, I hadn't a clue."

Whether or not that profession was sincere, he swept back in to once more suck the tip between his teeth. Sealing his lips to create suction, he pulled. Harder than her newfound sensitivity could withstand.

Hips stuttering and rutting into his hands like a woman possessed, she felt herself quite literally melt all over him. Painfully aware of just how much of the mess she had made of his groin pinned beneath her splayed legs.

The limber tip of his tongue laved at the point of her ear, growing just as swollen from his attention as the depths of her he continued to penetrate. Offering the gloved heel of his palm so as to not abandon her stinging clit. He seemed unphased by his soiled trouser, his sole attention on drawing out more of her melodic chirps and gasps.

"You're a bastard." For all the strength of such a word, it lacked the necessary bite. More curious still, was the fact that it wasn't spat - but moaned. He tsked through a smirk she couldn't see.

"My my, you've a filthy mouth on you." Her ear released from the heat of his mouth, he pursed his lips to blow against the damp, suckled skin. "Very well. Since there isn't a bar of soap handy, I shall just have to correct your insolence another way."

A shameless giggle bubbled up from her throat and spilled through her lips. Her words tinged with slurring, their softened points still managed to pierce him. "Had they sent me to you for disciplinary action back in those days, I can only imagine how much more insufferable I would have been."

He swallowed a pained groan, furrowing a sharp brow to the sinful, debauched images that notion conjured. "I shudder to think." The hoarseness lurking in his words sparked her to grind back against his roused bulge. "Glutton for punishment, are we?"

She beamed as he choked an another breath at the motion. "Most assuredly for yours, Professor."

His voice plummeted further down to the seat of his chest. His instruction stern, it left no room for negotiation. "Open your mouth."

She did as she was told, only to feel his spidery fingers slip up the velvet flat of her tongue, crowding her small mouth with warm flesh, and the metallic tang of his rings. Able to lift the traces of her own slick against the wet muscle, she curled it around his digits to begin suckling them, his cock perking to her eagerness.

He eased them deeper at a gradual pace, until they were in well over past the first knuckle. A few choked gags had him hushing encouragement into her damp temple.

"Good, very good." His voice then seemed thicker as he intoned. "Breathe through your nose, love. Nice and slow."

Emmrich had only just gotten his hands on her, and she was very nearly reduced to tears. An orgasm still dangled just beyond her reach, the tension coiled to a knot low in her stomach that his thorough, and methodical drilling inside of her only stoked. With two fingers invading her mouth, he thought it only fair to give her swollen sex the same treatment.

Without warning, another of his gloved fingers plunged inside her. Even with her lubrication, her slick walls twitched and stretched to accommodate him. She lifted from his lap as a strangled cry ripped from her, muffled around the fingers that tickled the back of her throat. He locked against the points of his contact and forced her still, hushing against her ear.

"There, there, little one." He regarded her with the utmost patience, and adoration. Crooning into her mussed hair as he dragged them out of her, and then curled them back inside. "You're taking me magnificently, my dear."

She was so desperate to come around them, and give him a show of just how erotic she found those hands of his to be. The smooth, bulbous gems inlaid in his rings added to the stinging pinch of his intrusion, the leather of his glove slick and satiny within her tight confines.

Her arms flew upwards and to wrap around his neck, clumsily clawing at the crisp starch of his collar, knotting at soft hair at his nape. Her feet slid back to hook around his calves. A little slip of a thing captive to violent shimmers, bewitched to the way his expert fingers dissected her need, she coiled around him like a garden snake.

"Relax, darling, don't hold to the tension. It will not serve you now." He purred, feeling her body warring with itself in his lap. Hips stuttering to try and goad him to quicken, while still not yet adjusted to him two-fingers deep inside. "Take a nice, deep breath for me... There you are. Close your eyes. Give yourself to me."

Withdrawing his fingers from her whimpering mouth, slick with saliva, he slipped his hold around her throat. Flexing with benign pressure, he squeezed ever so slightly against her untamed pulse, just beneath her jaw.

Quieting her frenetic mind and choking her to distraction, the act was as tender as it was merciful. He lead her to the edge of consciousness, introducing the intimacy of dipping a toe in each side, just as he began to work his fingers inside her sex. Just as she was about to come for him.

"P-please...Professor Volkarin-," a rasping moan that clued him in to just how close she was indeed. "- let me come."

The insinuation that he, ultimately, controlled her orgasm was not one he took lightly.

"Ariadne." Murmured low in warning, silken and smoky, like vanilla bourbon. Her name on his lips held a slight chastised edge, his habits from being a professor not so easily shirked. The first time he'd ever called her by name.

Every bit as provocative as she'd expected, and even more intimate than she ever could have imagined. "I believe the instruction I provided was quite clear; let go for me."

Her name on his tongue proved to be a trigger, and a powerful one at that. Her walls fluttered in tight pulsations around his digits, sucking them in deeper as a full-body eruption detonated outwards from her molten core.

Tears welling in the corners of her soft, hazelnut eyes, they broke free from the lash lines, and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She rode herself out on the long fingers that continued to knead her plush heat. Soothing her through the wrenching of a long-overdue, and arduous release.

The gradual thrumming outward from the root of his cock ascended to full-fledged throbs, painful in their insistence. He had now familiarized himself with her depths; knew how velvety, and narrow, and oh so very wet.

His heavy sigh fanned against her temple, before he pressed a kiss to the sweat that trickled down the vein.

As he licked his lips, he could then taste the ambrosia that teased him back to his memories of her strutting around the Necropolis, wholly unaware of the older, venerated professor she had beguiled. Frosted berry and white amber. He never wanted to be rid of it.

As if they were amongst of crowd of nobility at a gala, and he was about to impart something truly scandalous meant solely for his lovers ears, he then drawled; "I must express my gratitude for having granted this senior Watcher the pleasure of assisting you in this little death."

His length twitched in retaliation to the confines of his slacks, more than anxious to feel the pinch of her channel as he worked his way inside. To feel those same flutters of release wrapped snug around him, kneading him until he spilled himself inside her.

Yet he possessed more patience than that. She needed time, hit little Watcher.

He had only just begun.

"Now, dear girl, since you're well acquainted with the more... mechanical route, shall I introduce you to my oral technique?"

He shut the door behind him with care, mindful not to jostle the latch. As if trying to keep from waking a babe he had just gotten to sleep.

Creeping back around gave him a start, the color draining from his face.

Davrin, Lucanis, - even Varric, up and out of bed - were gathered just outside her door. The three now looking more startled than he.

Though he had taken the time to right himself before exiting her quarters - leaving her to a much deserved and rigorously earned slumber - the steel locks of his hair, disheveled from their typical neat coif to fall into his eyes, were quick to humble him.

The wild young Watcher hadn't let him slink away from their tryst unscathed.

A beat of awkward silence coalesced between the men. Though coming as a surprise to none, Varric was the first to piece things together, with an amused smirk working it's way crookedly across his face. Emmrich took the initiative to break it, tipping his head in as much politeness as he could muster.

"Gentlemen." The nonchalance of his greeting earned a raised brow and a stifled chortle from Davrin, who otherwise remained quiet.

"We just... heard Rook scream and we...," Lucanis began and then surrendered, clearing his throat.

"Ah, yes..." Emmrich gave a tight-lipped smile, brushing his vest for nonexistent lint, just to busy his hands. The joints now achy and creaking. "Well, there's no need for concern, she's just fine. However I do ask that you leave her undisturbed for the time being, she's... quite spent, you understand."

[emperorsfoot]

A tired wildlife rescue worker, coffee in hand, walks out in the morning and finds Superman hovering outside, holding a struggling badger in his arms. Superman is uninjured, but his costume is all torn up, his hair is messy, and Superman looks like (even though he's invulnerable and can't be hurt) he lost this fight.

The tired wildlife rescuer has to wonder where and how Superman crossed paths with a badger.

-cut away, several hours earlier-

Bruce is having his Alfred-mandated 'normal' bonding time with his kids, tossing a ball around the backyard. Bruce is 37-hours without sleep and running off energy drinks that would be outlawed anywhere else besides America, he fumbles the ball and has to go get it.

He finds a badger on his property instead.

Batman is very good at sizing up an opponent. He recognizes that this is a fight he should not pick.

He pulls out his phone. "Hey, Clark, you're good with animals, right?"

[gothhabiba]

when people point out that "90% of fanfiction is garbage" as though this is something that reflects on fanfiction in particular and not something that is true of literally any kind of content in any medium and genre

[chronically-ghosted]

day before a 5 day holiday weekend. office empty. got me thinking thoughts.

[iwriteiguessandiloveit]

I have a fun idea for Movie!juice that I was actually thinking about writing :3

So the reader and Beetlejuice are very close friends and in a friends with benefits relationship; and soon he starts feeling genuine romantic feelings for the reader

One day, BJ gets completely drunk and the reader stays sober so they can watch over him and make sure he doesn't cause too much chaos

BJ gets touchy, no surprise there, but soon his drunken words go from being flirty and perverted to affectionate and more tender and romantic, a side the reader barely sees of him

He passes out and the next day when he's sober, the reader confronts him about his feelings in a rather giddy way :3

YES YES YES YES YES THATS A GREAT IDEA

I needed an excuse to write more MovieJuice and HERE IT IS

Good ideas already keep 'em coming guys

-Rea

[valehour]

been idly discussing this with a friend, and generally just kind of ruminating on the DLC's final boss and end story and how mad it made me. so consider this significant rewrite to make the story more like I think I now want it to be because my opinions are obviously important """fix""" to the story.

What if the Miquella's lord was just- the player character, not Radahn?

(Full (and Extremely Long) justification under the cutoff)

this is born from my previous thought/rant on the fact that the player isn't given a motivation to actually oppose Miquella within the game itself.

By contrast, the player being the potential Consort of Miquella necessarily helps solidify the conflict around Miquella's Age of Compassion, and the player's place in it.

the Fundamental nature of Miquella in this DLC is that, ultimately, Miquella's love is amoral, stretching the full range from compassion to overtly abusive manipulation. one of the most evocative descriptors of Miquella's love is that it is "Terrifying". That feels like it's a fundamentally punchy, heavy thing for the player to wrestle with. The Age of Compassion is something that the War-torn Lands Between so clearly needs, it needs peace, and love, a more gentle place to cope with the trauma and the suffering and the Ruin, not merely from the Shattering, but the world that preceded it. but it's being created and enforced by a "terrifying", manipulative Cult leader (for want of a better term) who's channeling a very "All Shall Love Me And Despair!" energy.

There's a familiar throughline created by this- the player (both as the Tarnished, and as the Player has a particular impression and idea of Miquella, one who ultimately promises and provides salvation. As we advance through the story of the DLC, we increasingly learn the truth behind what that means- who Miquella is and the full extents of the implications presented.

The biggest moment in regards to this, is, of course, the Approach and descent into the Fissure, and the one of the most important parts of the story.

"I abandon here my doubt and vacilation"

"I abandon here my love"

"Kindly Miquella. I see you've thrown away... Something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation Offer... to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"

Miquella's pursuit of godhood has excised St Trina, who appears to have fundamentally dissented Miquella's deification, as it's her, delivered through sleep, who tells us that we shouldn't side with him, but kill him, instead.

This Feels spiritually adjacent to something like encountering Darkstalker Kaathe for the first time, and hearing his side of the story, an argument for The Age of Dark. but, as far as I can tell, this doesn't actually matter. Knowing that St Trina values preventing Miquella's Age of Compassion means nothing in the game, it's just an explanation as to why she was ditched halfway across the realm of shadow in a pit . But the argument St Trina raises, the doubting of Miquella's agenda means nothing because the final confrontation with Miquella is not born from the player's decision to reject the Age of Compassion, it's born from someone on the Fromsoft Dev team needing to put a final bossfight into the DLC.

it's this that forms the main Issue with the ending. The Player is forced into a passive role- the story happens To them, not Because Of them. the "choice" given by the game mechanics is to "Fight Radahn", or quit the DLC. but while the second one is technically a valid resolution to not opposing the Age of Compassion. It really isn't in any practical metrics because, well, That's not actually narrative resolution- putting a book down halfway through does technically end the story, but it doesn't resolve any of the plot threads or conflicts that the audience is expected to engage with- it stops abruptly and unsatisfyingly, told that we're not supposed to care about those plot details- Literally just the "it was all a dream" ending, but punching through the fourth wall. Simply Stopping Engaging with it isn't narratively satisfying for any work who's resolution isn't designed around the idea of putting the story down. and SOTE quite unambiguously isn't designed around that. So even if we view it as "an" ending, it's still fundamentally a bad ending.

but fighting Radahn is also narratively unsatisfying as an ending simply because of the fact that it's DLC- there was no space or time to establish or set up this plot thread or idea that Miquella and Radahn had any relationship or meaningful interactions in the base game (which, fair enough, it'd've bloated the main game which already has a lot to say and discuss in regards to it's own story). but without the idea that Miquella and Radahn actually interacted, this "reveal" is unsatisfying because like. Why should we care? Why Radahn? many other people have commented that Godwyn would be a better fit, but regardless, I think it still doesn't really address the underlying problem- The Player is a passive actor in this story.

So then 9+ paragraphs later, we get to the actual proposal of this unhinged rant essay:

What if the player, due to being tarnished, became the Consort of Miquella, much like one becomes the Consort of Marika and thus Elden lord in the age of fracture. Tarnishedness is a status that can apparently be conferred and withdrawn, and is not, in fact, a limiting factor in lordship (given you can become Elden lord regardless). Not to mention that being opposed to the present order, why should Miquella care as to whether or not the Golden Order values tarnishedness or not? Additionally, Miquelladahn already has an attack where he bewitches you (his grab attack), and should he successfully accomplish it twice, provides an instant game over due to your newfound love and affection for your new God.

This confers the advantage that now the player an active participant of the story, allowing them to choose, for themselves, whether they embrace or reject the Age of Compassion. it's the question posed by the ghost in the Fissure: "How will you salvation Offer... to those who cannot be saved?" Opposition is largely fronted by Ansbach (who resents the use of Mohg in this ritual. Which like. Me Too Buddy.) and St Trina, who fears that Miquella will become "trapped" by godhood, much like Marika was. but now the player can also decide for themselves whether or not to Oppose Miquella. maintaining a Hard-as-fuck bossfight as a result of refusal also creates a rather fascinating ludonarrative tinge to the amorality of his love, and it's most villainous side- after all, if he valued a gentle place, why does he support Radahn ultimately destroying you? Clearly, his world order is at least founded on the same violence that everyone else's is. it's a Fascinating argument against pacifism, calling out it's hypocrisy- that in truth, peace is violent, born from crushing those who ultimately oppose it- the police- The State's armed body do not enforce "The peace" by beating bankrobbers in a debate, only by beating bankrobbers. It's a strong argument against meekly accepting the shape of the world and one's part to play in it- that one ought to stand up for themselves against someone else's will, that one should fight for one's own world.

It's an argument, effectively, in favour of the worldview supposed by Ranni The Witch, who is arguably one of Miquella's strongest narrative foils. She used a shocking act of violence (the assassination of Godwyn) as a tool of liberation, to overthrow the order imposed by another. the shape of society shall not be determined by militarist-Faith, or a cult of adoration, but by self determination, the power to pursue one's own ends. Ranni and Miquella both have love play a part of their quest, but whereas Ranni spurns and fears love, maintains a cold exterior in favour of her duty- keeping the power of the Greater Will distant from the world- that the player must actively pursue and be willing to share the burdens of the thousand year journey into the chill night- a choice and a sacrifice you have no obligation to actually make- but you choose to do out of love, a willingness for, just a moment, Ranni to be truly vulnerable, share her past and her beliefs. But, Ranni's world, for all it's freedom, guarantees none of them, guarantees no true success, that people would actually be free, only that they be free to choose. what stops great warriors from simply founding a new kingdom, a new empire? Are Crowns not warranted by strength, after all?

Miquella, by contrast would build that peace, build it so intensely, that it feels obsessive, maddening. You drown you in it- drown in his Peace, his Love. You can choose to agree with him- because the world should be more gentle, more kind, more loving. This war has gone on too long, the cities in Liurnia are sinking into the ground, Leyndell partly buried into the ash of a failing world order. Stormveil suffers under a mad tyrant-king, the Albinaurics oppressed for the "sin" of their birth. Where are the people? Where is harvest and harvesthome? Miquella's peace, Miquella's love can give it to you.

but if you refuse to serve leally, if you refuse to submit, refuse to build his peace. Well, you join the corpses scattered about the divine gate. you walk in again. Godling Miquella asks you once, again, in a voice polite, courteous, filled with love and civility. to join him. You refuse, and he and his servants, be it the resurrected Radahn or some original boss crushes you again. And Again. it hurts. the pain of asserting your boundaries, your body, to refuse to give in to the world he'd build. it'd be so easy to submit.

Miquella would love you, to the best he was capable. and after all, what's the alternative? marrying Marika into an Age of Fracture? perpetuating the age of an obviously flawed Golden Order as it continues to decline? Or is it a more inclusive order- that welcomes those who live in death? It's reactionary principles jolted forward in a moment of tolerance. But Fia's hallowbrand doesn't save the Albinaurics, though- only Those Who Live In Death. It's still a bigoted, reactionary order, making a concession to what is explicitly framed as a social minority only because it's literally written into the laws of reality.

Is the failure of the Order that the gods were not held accountable to it's principles? But Ranni didn't want to be an Empyrean. Didn't want to be someone with explicit fertility-childbearing metaphors. her freedom is in many ways a story of fighting that selfsame Order, the literal Laws Of Reality in the name of her bodily autonomy and her self expression. but that was only because she was not held accountable to The Order, because she could dissent. Don't you see Tarnished? Is this pursuit Not Flawed? But he could fix it. and He would, he would save people To the best of his ability. Miquella loves you and he suffered Apotheosis to save you. But what happens to those who Cannot be saved because they Refuse to be saved. For Miquella Loves you and Suffered Apotheosis to Save You. But only if you submit to his shape of "Being Saved". and If you don't? Well, the Swords of the Haligtree will sever parts of you until you can.

Or I guess we could have what we actually got where we show up and Radahn immediately throws hands for unclear reasons with someone he's seen for like 3 seconds, in a game that fails to like, explain a motivation as to why the player is fighting Miquella aside from "Because the DLC needs a final boss" with his admittedly sick as fuck wrestler intro for a plot thread that has left at least a few fans with more than a sour taste in their mouths. Myself included. Hence the essay. Anyway, if you finished reading this, congratulations. :D

[manikas-whims]

me writing my own fanfics and Headcanons

[yourlocaldisneyvillain]

cup runneth over

Rating: Explicit

Category: F/F

Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV)

Relationship: Cersei Lannister/Brienne of Tarth

Additional Tags: #dubious consent, #rough sex, #lesbian sex, #grief/mourning, #using sex to self-harm, #gender feelings, #degradation, #humiliation, #wine, #i guess it sorta counts as food play, #dom/sub undertones, #insults, #vaginal fingering, #not much plot lol

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈ ♡︎ ◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Since he’s been gone, Brienne hasn’t been herself.

Cersei looks so much like him. Brienne finds herself craving her presence, following her around like a lost puppy. Cersei taunts her, calls her a big, dumb cow. And perhaps she’s right — no person in her right mind would let anyone what Cersei does to her.

It began weeks ago — and it continues, with no end in sight. Tonight, it’s no different. 

“I know you would take anything I give you,” Cersei taunts her, her tone cold and mocking. Brienne averts her eyes. Her stomach fills with hot shame and her cheeks burn, but her heart beats fast in a twisted excitement. It’s sick and she knows it — and yet she keeps coming back for more. She craves the sick and twisted pleasure. It makes her feel alive in a way nothing else does.

Not since he’s been gone.

Cersei gazes down at Brienne as she pours the wine into her cup. She keeps pouring and pouring, and the cup is going to run over, Brienne can tell. The wine reaches the brim. Brienne opens her mouth, wanting to say something, but she doesn’t.

(Stupid, spineless cow. Can’t even speak.)

The wine spills over the glass and all over the table. Brienne watches, unable to move. It slowly trickles down the table and onto her legs. She glances down at her sticky, wine stained thighs.

“Drink,” Cersei commands. 

Brienne takes the cup and drinks. She never particularly cared for the taste of wine, nor did she ever find solace or fun in drinking. She wants to lower the cup after a few sips, but Cersei grabs it and holds it to Brienne’s face. She tilts it and holds it pressed to Brienne’s mouth. Sweet wine drips down Brienne’s chin, glides onto her neck, reaching her shirt, staining it. Only when she drinks it all does Cersei lower the cup back onto the table. 

“Do you want more?” Cersei asks. Brienne is silent. She is sticky and wet from the sweet wine, stained and humiliated, filled with hot shame — but somehow the shame is even sweeter than the red wine. 

She does want more.

to read more, please go on ao3, and please consider leaving me a little comment if you've liked it! here is the link -> ♡︎ cup runneth over ♡︎

[lowaltitude]

Oblivious | Spencer Reid

- Criminal Minds - x Reader, Rossi’s daughter. (Y/N Baker-Rossi)

❪ FEM! ❫ ❪ adult aroace virgin attempts to write smut Altitude

───── ❝ description + disclaimer ❞ ─────

𖥻 Spencer Reid x AFAB+FEM!reader, in which SSA Dr Spencer Reid is dating his coworker. OR in which SSA David Rossi’s daughter is has been sneaking around with the smartest man in the FBI for months.

𖥻 established relationships. Not directly connected to Criminal Minds series timeline but an estimated place in the timeline around season 5. 8.2k words

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

───── ❝ backstory ❞ ─────

Carolyn Baker-Rossi, first wife of SSA David Rossi. After the loss of their son James, the couple began to drift apart and eventually filed for divorce after a case made him miss their anniversary in 1983 and he came home in time to see Carolyn packing his things.  A few months later, and with no complications, a daughter was born. Y/N Baker-Rossi.

Y/N was always a gifted student, deciding when she was 7 that she wanted to “catch the boogie monsters that daddy does” and following through.  Eventually, a few book releases and divorces later, Rossi’s 22 year old daughter completed her degree, resulting Rossi using his connections to get her allowed into the BAU as a liaison.

Y/N was spending 85% of her time at the BAU following around Penelope Garcia, 10% getting everyone coffee, and the other 5% staring at Dr Spencer Reid. The boy genius who joined the BAU 2 years prior as a Supervisory Special Agent.

2 years passed and Y/N— Agent Baker, affectionately nicknamed ‘Cupcake’ by Derek Morgan— was promoted, officially joining the team. And although she loved him, she refused to use her father’s last name while at work.

───── ❝ Oblivious ❞ ─────

Rossi‘s chair scraped along the floor as he pulled it out, and I groaned. Morgan called and woke me up at 6am, how much more murdering could happen if we waited just 1 more hour?

I wasn’t angry, but It was my first official case. I was no longer a liaison I was an SSA. My seat at the table meant something, but I didn’t expect them to drag me into work while it was still dark outside.

“Wheels up in 30” Hotch said, ending the briefing and giving us time to get what we needed from our desks.

Spencer was sat across from me like always, his hair messy and shirt collar a little messed up, and he pushed his chair out from the table before getting up.

I walked behind him as he went to his desk, and I went to mine. “Rough night?” I yawned.

“No, no. I’m fine.” Reid put his bag over his shoulder, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand.

I hummed in response and walked up to him, noticing that he tensed up as I got close to him. I put my hands on his collar, fixing it and his tie as he just watched me with his lips slightly parted.

“Uh, New collared shirts often come with stiff collars; however, after a number of washes and wears, the material that keep the collar stiff begins to soften, causing the shirt collar to lose its shape.” I nodded, enjoying the seemingly pointless information that he would often share. Everyone had left, the space around us now empty. “This leads to shirt collars curling and folding.”

When I was done, I went to step back and gave him some space, but Reid put a hand on my waist stopping me.

“Are you aware of how hard it is to avoid touching you while we’re at work?”

“You’re touching me now”

“But i’m stopping myself from… More”

“Nobody’s around” I kept my voice no more than a whisper, putting my hand on Reid’s chest and pushing myself up to reach him. 

“Ready to go, Cupcake?” Morgan entered, back over his shoulder and eyes down as he looked at his phone. Reid and I jumped away from each other before Morgan had the chance to look up and tuck his phone in his back pocket. “Kid?”

Both of us nodded and he turned towards the doors, Reid following a few steps behind him. I slung my bag over my shoulder, jogging to catch up.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“How was your first case?” Garcia asked, rushing towards me with an open container of cookies in her hands as we entered the BAU. Returning from the long trip to Florida.

“I might be a little traumatised but that’s part of the job” I looked in the plastic container, happily taking one and almost melting at how good the warm cookie was.

Morgan patted my shoulder as he stopped beside me, swiftly taking a cookie and earning a shocked gasp from Garcia.

“Those are not for you”

“Thanks, baby girl” He smiled. “You look like you need a drink after that.”

“I do, I really do” I sighed wiping the cookie crumbs on my pants. “Garcia?”

She nodded enthusiastically, putting the lid on the container. “Yes.”

“Drinks?” Morgan asked the other members of the team, clapping his hands together. He earned a few responses as the team packed the extra things from their desks.

The team conversed as they left the building, leaving Garcia, my dad and I a little behind.

“You did real good, kid. Make sure you call your mum later”

“Got it.” I nodded, watching him hurry to catch up with Hotch.

“So…” Garcia started.

I shook my head at her. “Don’t” Garcia and I had spent so much time together over the past few years that she was practically my sister at this point.

She claimed knew about my crush on Reid before I did, noting that ‘22 year old Y/N came in to see her dad and immediately took notice of the 24 year old who’d just joined the team.’ But i’d managed to keep it from her that we had progressed our relationship.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

With my FBI visitor pass— Which honestly seemed like a bad idea in retrospect, I walked into the bullpen and was barely noticed. Agents passing by without so much as a quick glance in my direction.

I spotted my Dad in a glass office, along with Hotch, and who I know knew was Garcia. He waved my direction, Hotch doing his best to smile at me before going back to their conversation.

Walking further into the room, I narrowly dodged someone with their head down looking at an open file as the walked and bumped into someone’s desk.

“Oh shit, i’m sorry” I muttered, the boy at his desk seemed barely older than I was.

“No, it’s perfectly fine. Young adults fall more frequently than expected, most falls even occur during everyday activities such walking and talking.” The boy looked up from the open book and papers scattered on his desk and It felt like I got slapped in the face by emotions that made no sense.

I couldn’t think of anything to say, I just forced my mouth closed so I could stop gawking at him. “Totally”

“Uh…” He stared at me for a second before quickly blinking a few times. “Each— Each year slips, trips and falls cause thousands of preventable injuries. In most cases, people trip on low obstacles that are hard to spot.”

I laughed, not really understanding what the boy was rambling about. Just nodding and smiling like a fool.

“Y/N” Hotch called my name, I turned to face the 2 men and the blonde. “Hey, I see you’ve met our newest SSA.”

“You’re an agent? I wouldn’t have guessed” I gave the boy another once over.

“Boy genius.” Rossi sighed “IQ of 180, photographic memory—”

“187, actually, and I have an eidetic memory. Eidetic memory refers to the ability to retain visual information with extreme precision while in contrast, photographic memory refers to the ability to remember everything in a scene, not just the visual elements.” The boy pushed his chair back from his desk, playing with the pen in his hand.

Woah.

Hotch cleared his throat. “Y/N Baker-Rossi, this is our technical analyst Penelope Garcia , and doctor Spencer Reid.”

“Baker-Rossi? As in, you, Rossi?” Garcia’s eyes widened, looking between us quickly.

“Yes.” I laughed. “From his first marriage.”

“Wow, I didn’t even know you had spawn. It’s great to meet you”

Rossi put his hand on my shoulder, taking my bag from my hands. “She’s actually here to see you, Garcia.”

“Me?”

“Y/N just completed her advanced degree in behavioral science, and while her application is pending I got permission for her to be a temporary liaison, somewhat of an assistant for you”

“Oh, assistant wow. Yes, yes. Come my child, I will be your seeing eye dog for the BAU.” Penelope linked my arm, taking the bag from my fathers hands and wishing me away. Hotch and Rossi already making their way back to the office.

I was flabbergasted to say the least, looking around as Garcia began to explain her position here. I looked back at the boy sitting at his desk and smiled. “Uh, bye Spencer”

“Yeah— Yeah, bye Y/N.” He spun his chair, watching Garcia and I as we disappeared down the hall.

When he was gone from sight, I took a deep breath. Spencer Reid.

When he spoke there was something eerily calming and familiar about him. Something in the pit of my stomach told me that this guy was special. Special in different way than being a young genius working for the FBI.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

As we entered the bar and found somewhere to sit, JJ and I sat beside each other so she could show me pictures of her son, Henry, on her phone. Spencer at the other end of the table across from Garcia.

I finished my drink and sighed, moving away from the table taking my glass with me to the bar. Rossi passing me his empty glass with a smile as he engaged in conversation with Morgan.

“Hey” I tiredly smiled at the bartender “Can I just get another Vodka and Coke, and 3 fingers of Whiskey please.”

The bartender got to work on the drinks and I found ed my attention on my shoes.

“Y/N?” I looked up at the person calling my name. “Oh my god, it is you.” I stared at the man in utter confusion as he walked up to me, leaving his friends chatting at their table behind him. “George. We went to High School together.”

“Whoa, George Maddison?” It finally clicked, he chuckled, nodding that it was in fact him. He was a handsome sight but in my memory I can still see him wearing his Harry Potter-esque glasses in his brown coat and black beanie.

“You look amazing. And I heard you work for the FBI now, isn’t that what your dad did?”

“Thank you, I really don’t feel amazing right now so it’s much appreciated.” I laughed, thanking the bartender as he put the drinks on the counter for me. “My dad actually still works for the BAU, he’s right over there. The team is just celebrating my first case.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“Spence” Garcia whispered, the boy practically grunting in response. “You’re going to burn a hole in the back of her head if you don’t stop staring.”

“I’m not staring” Reid snapped his attention to Garcia, keeping his voice low to avoid drawing attention from the other agents. He was staring, and he knew it. But of course he was there was someone else talking to Y/N, and he knew that when men go to a bar, they are typically looking for a good time, to catch a buzz, to let off steam, and maybe find someone to take home for a one night stand.

Garcia hummed, finishing the rest of her cocktail and pushing the glass towards Reid. “Here. Get me another, there’s your excuse to go interrupt.”

“Why would I interrupt, I’m sure Y/N is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She’s a highly trained federal agent and although studies suggest drink spiking may be more widespread than previously believed, on average—”

Garcia wasn’t listening, instead looking across the crowded bar at the tall blonde making Y/N smile. “He’s like Derek Morgan levels of hotness.” She muttered, Reid immediately shutting his mouth.

After a moment of silent contemplation, the 26 year old took Garcia’s empty glass and walked to the bar. Swallowing the lump in his throat and leaving Garcia smiling to herself as she thought about adding ‘Matchmaker’ to her resume.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“Another one of… Whatever this is” I heard Spencer’s voice behind me and turned my head to look at him.

“Hey” I smiled, my heart almost skipping a beat at the sight of my coworker.

Reid licked his lips quickly before smiling back at me. “Hey, sorry to interrupt.”

“Not a problem”

“Hi” George stuck his hand out for the lanky brunette to shake. “I’m George”

Spencer ignored his offer and instead chose to just nod at him in acknowledgment. “SSA, Dr Spencer Reid. Do— Do you two know each other?”

“Yeah, High School. We even dated for a while.”

“I wouldn’t really call going to the mall and a few kisses during spin the bottle ‘dating’.” I awkwardly laughed, swirling the straw around in my drink.

“Dating is a term coined in America to signify that stage of romantic relationships in which two individuals engage in an activity together, most often with the intention of evaluating each other's suitability as a partner in a future intimate relationship. Most couples go on 5 to 6 dates before discussing a relationship, and some take even longer.”

George momentarily seemed frozen, letting Reid’s words sink in. “See! We were dating, and I guess technically we never broke up. Thanks dude.”

“Uh, you’re welcome, dude”

I laughed at how unnatural it seemed for Spencer to say ‘dude’. My smile even beginning to hurt my cheeks. He turned to the bartender, taking the drink they had just put down and I raised an eyebrow at him.

“What the hell are you drinking?”

“This is Garcia’s actually, she wanted me to come get it for her.”

“Oh” He didn’t want to come be my knight in shining armour, rescuing me from the mystery man that could swoop me away from him.

“What is taking the two of you so long?” Rossi asked, reaching past me to grab his drink from the bar. “You’re young, aren’t you meant to be fast? Don’t answer that Reid it wasn’t a real question”

Spencer shut his mouth quickly. Rossi sipping his drink and noticing George standing with a smile on his face.

“Mr Rossi” He put his hand out to shake again. “How are you?”

“Have we met?”

“No” I answered, I didn’t want to hear another remark about us ‘technically’ never having broken up. “We did a play together in High School but, you were on a case.”

“I’m sure you want to get back to celebrating, but i’d really like to see you again Y/N.”

I raised an eyebrow at the blonde “You would?”

“Really?” Rossi and Reid said almost simultaneously.

“Definitely. Can I have your number?”

“Uh” I thought for a minute, I didn’t want to give some guy at a bar my number and lead him on in front of my boyfriend. But on the other hand my dad was standing right there. “This job doesn’t give me a lot of time to myself.”

“I’m sure you’ll work something out” Rossi smiled, gesturing for me to put my number into his contacts. Reid’s eyes widened and for self preservation he turned and went back to the table.

“Okay.” I forced a smile, keying in my number and passing the phone back him.

George left, my dad and I waving as I went back to the table and I took my seat beside JJ again. Sipping my drink and raising an eyebrow at the stares I was receiving. “What?”

“Who was that?” Emily asked, a slightly suggestive look on her face.

“Just someone from high school.”

Rossi hummed, looking over to where George was laughing with his friends

“He’s cute” JJ commented

“Yeah.” Reid said, catching my attention. “Dude seems great”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We were lucky to have 2 days off before being sent on our next case, Reid and I sitting beside one another on the plane and enjoying what little intimacy we could have on the trip; Our arms touching on the arm rest.

The jet ride consisted of Rossi making popcorn, me and Morgan trying to sleep, Garcia calling us with more information and everyone doing their own thing.

As we left the airport terminal, Reid walked a few steps ahead of me, and I watched as the wind blew his hair into his face. The boy stopping and looking at me when my phone started to ring.

“Hello…?” I said cautiously

“Hey! Y/N, it’s George”

“Oh, hi. I didn’t actually expect you to call this soon, isn’t there some men’s unspoken rule to wait 3 days?”

“I’m just really excited to talk to you I guess.”

“I actually can’t talk, we just landed in North Carolina for a case.”

“Already? Wow, serial killers work fast.” He laughed on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you back some other time then”

My phone beeped and I took a second to look at it before putting the cell back to my ear “That would be great. I have to go, work call.” I hung up, not hearing whatever he tried to say before I cut him off and answering the other call. “Garcia?”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Hotch had split us up for the case, him, Prentiss and Rossi at the latest crime scene. JJ and Morgan at the house interviewing the family. Leaving Reid and I at the police precinct trying to find the MO, and looking for potential UnSubs.

Reid and I were professional, apart from lingering when our hands touched and the occasional longing stare. But we made it through the case without a hitch, and as soon as Morgan called to tell us they’d caught the guy we began to pack our things.

“I think it was pretty, uh, pretty hot how you worked out that the UnSub was taunting the victims.”

I scoffed, putting the photos from the whiteboard into a manila folder. “Replicating murders from famous movies isn’t that difficult to realise”

“There’s a number of generally agreed elements comprising popular culture. These aspects are often subject to rapid change, due to omnipresent media. It encompasses the most immediate and contemporary aspects of our lives.” He paused for a second to breathe and I leaned against the table to look at him. “Considering my circumvention for most aspects of modern technology or media, I show a fair amount animosity against popular culture, the likelihood that I would have figured that MO is only about 3%”

“I’m taking this as I need to educate you on horror movies”

“I’m well educated on classic horror films. In fact, I think my favourite would be Anita. The 1920 Austrian film that depicts a societal lady trapped under the spell of an unskilled hypnotist.”

“Have you ever watched anything that wasn’t a foreign black and white silent film?”

The door to the precinct briefing room opened before Reid could respond. The team walking in, exhausted from working without a moments peace.

Hotch put his phone down on the table. “Unfortunately theres thunderstorms coming in and we won’t be able to get a flight out until some time tomorrow. Garcia’s booked us into a hotel in the meantime, we can all hopefully get a good nights rest”

“I doubt that.” Emily said, a disgusted look on her face as she pushed the picture from one of the crime scenes across the table away from her. “This one was some real nightmare fuel.”

The photo made my stomach turn as well, a recreation of a scene from 1976 film The Omen. The victims face sewn into a Joker-esque smile and hung from the room of her house.

I quickly put the photo in the envelope and closed it so i’d never have to see it again.

“That gives you some time to call George.” Rossi smiled, helping pack up what was left scattered across the table.

“Dad” I groaned, earning a puzzled look from the officers nearby. Morgan and JJ chuckled at my annoyance I shot them both a glare.

“Reid, tell her she should be putting herself out there. I want grandkids eventually”

Spencer choked on air, his eyes wide as he tried to stop coughing and everyone looked at him in concern.

“Are you okay?” Emily asked, Reid nodding and putting his hand up to stop anyone from helping him.

“Um” He finally caught his breath. “Single men are far more likely than single women to be looking for a relationship or dates – around 61% compared to 38%. While looking both men and women report equal levels of dissatisfaction with their dating lives and the ease of finding people to date, women are more likely to say they have had some particularly negative experiences.“

Rossi stared at him for a moment, dissatisfied with his response. “Don’t listen to him. Call the boy.”

I rolled my eyes and Rossi picked up the case files, heading out of the precinct with the rest of the team and leaving Reid and I behind.

“That was… Uncomfortable” I laughed, combing a hand through my hair and picking up my bag.

“I was actually thinking how we could possibly utilise this whole George situation.” 

“Yeah?”

Reid put his hands either side of me, pinning me against the table and putting his face a few inches away from mine. “You can tell Rossi you’re going out with him and then we’ll actually be able to spend some time together”

“And after a few ‘dates’ with George, or multiple nights where I don’t come home, how do you suppose he’ll react if I don’t start bringing George around as my boyfriend?”

“Just a few dates, not enough to be considered a relationship but enough so he’ll believe you’re trying.”

I hummed in response, my lips just about to press against Reid’s— The feeling i’d craved for the past 3 days that we’d been running around on this case—

“Agents?” One of the local officers stood in the doorway, Reid taking a large step back with his bright red face. “Sorry to interrupt, but Agent Hotchner is waiting outside.”

Clearing my throat and smiling, I moved off the table. “Thanks.”

She smiled briefly, taking one step away before turning back. “You two are a really cute couple.”

Reid put his bag on his shoulder, looking down to try and hide the smile on his face. “Thank you.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Completely exhausted from the case, I didn’t even bother to change once I’d walked into my hotel room. Instead just collapsed face first on the the plush bed, the TV on at a low volume and the heavy rainfall outside lulling me to sleep.

Of course, as my mind finally went blank and eyes fluttered shut, a knock came at my door and I had to force myself up.

“Reid?” I muttered, the boy standing in the hall rocking back and forth on his heels. And nodding at me as I opened the door, eh just stepped inside and closed it behind him.

“I need you”

“Couldn’t it wait? I’m so tired.” He titled his head slightly to the side, a tuft of hair sliding down his forehead and breaking me. “Fine, what is it? Chemistry? Math? Missing sock?”

“No, no.”

“Then what?”

“I need you.”

I sighed, a ghost of a smile playing on my lips. “Spencer”

“Don’t say my name like that if you’re going to say no and send me away” His voice was so soft, breathy and faint. It set goosebumps up my arms.

Hotch’s room was beside mine, at least when Spencer snuck into my bedroom he had no chance of running in to Rossi since it was on the entirety opposite side of the house. I reached for the door handle, intent on sending Reid away, it wasn’t worth the risk even if I really wanted him right now too.

My arm brushed against his warm skin and I looked up at him, eyes locking on one other and drowning out everything around me.

I find life seldom follows the plans you've made.

Turning the lock on the door, Spencer waited for the click before hisface coming close to mine, sleepy eyes closing, medicine-sweet lips puckering up, and all the other sounds of the world going silent— The thunderstorm, whatever had been running on the television, the sound the rain made on the small balcony as it made a small puddle— all silent, as Spencer’s lips finally met mine and I couldn’t get enough of him.

I was tired and sore but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted him, all the time. His weight on top of me. I wanted feel his warm breath on my skin. I wanted his sweat to drop onto me.

Reid took a step forward, his hands sliding down my body and stopping at my hips, cold fingers sitting on the exposed skin where my shirt had ridden up. Our breathing became heavy, more desperate as we gave in to our urges.

He took another step, forcing me to take one backwards and kept doing so until I felt the hotel bed mattress behind me. I slid my hand down his chest, Reid groaning as I reached his waistband, hurriedly unbuckling his belt. I grabbed the zipper of his fly and he pulled away from me.

“You’re going to have to be really quiet” He had a painful expression on his face, eyes shifting between my lips and eyes as if it truly hurt him to pull away from me. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, I can be quiet.”

He didn’t waste another second, letting me fall back on the mattress so he could hover over me. Soft open mouth kisses along my kneel as he carefully undid the buttons on my shirt and I tugged at his zipper.

He shifted his weight, using one hand to hold himself up as he dug though his back pocket. Putting the shiny plastic wrapper in his teeth before pushing his jeans the rest of the way down before moving to undo mine.

I take the wrapper from Reid. allow him to take his own shirt off as I open it, watching as he rushes to get back to smothering me in kisses.

My hand touches his chest and begins to fall in excruciating slow designs, the boy almost whining against my lips.

Gripping a pillow in my fists as he breathes against me, hot air down my exposed him. 

Reid flips, me now straddling him and allowing me to playfully tug at the ends of his hair.

My phone vibrated on the bedside table, Reid groaning in frustration and pulling away from me.

“Ignore it” I muttered, using my index finger to turn his face so he was looking at me again. The phone stopped and he smiled into the kiss until the phone started again. He pulled away. Making me the one to whine this time.

“Hello?” He said into the phone “She’s busy.”

He hung up, putting the phone back on the bedside table and gripping his hands on my thighs to pull me closer to him. Skin to skin.

I moaned and Reid laughed, moving to place a kiss under my ear and whisper. “Quiet, remember?”

I wanted nothing more in that moment than to be with him. Feeling I was about to crumble like sand as the bed creaks beneath us.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We all arranged to meet in the lobby, Emily and I were talking, entertaining the possibility of a ‘girls night out’ soon.

JJ walked back towards us with coffee cups in her hands, offering us each one. “Where the hell is Reid?”

“Maybe we should send someone to check on him.” Morgan walked towards the elevato, pressing the button and the doors opening instantaneously.

“Hey” Reid greeted. “Ready to go?”

“What took you so long?” Rossi asked

“I didn’t get a very good nights rest.” He walked off the elevator, heading towards the exit. “Poor sleep habits often include an irregular schedule, more than 90 percent of law enforcement officers report being routinely fatigued.”

Reid and I were in seperate cars, unintentionally splitting into women in one and men in the other. I spent the entire drive wondering what they were talking about.

“You alright, Baker?” Emily asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror

“Yeah, i’m fine.” She raised an eyebrow and I sighed. Working with profilers sucks. “I’m just trying to work out why my dad is suddenly so pushy about me dating someone.”

“Maybe he knows you have a crush on Reid.” JJ shrugged

“JENNIFER!” Emily gasped

“You guys think I have a crush on Reid? Did you hit your head or something?”

Prentiss sighed, parking the black SUV “We may have realised a long time ago. It’s not a very kept secret. I think everyone except Reid knows.”

“I’m pretty sure Morgan and Hotch are oblivious too.“ JJ laughed. Climbing out of the car.

We boarded the jet, JJ and Prentiss sharing a knowing look as I took my seat next to Spencer.

“Shut up” I mouthed, the pair of them shaking their head as Reid gave me a confused look.

As the jet started to take off, I listened to everyone’s conversations, checking my phone when it beeped to a new message from Garcia. I looked up through my eyelashes, Prentiss and JJ both looking at their phones and telling me we all just got the message.

Girls Night. Please. Tuesday. - P.G

Emily put her phone down first, mine and JJ’s buzzing again and Hotch noticing. “Are you three messaging each other?”

“Maybe” JJ smiled, putting her phone down after pressing send.

Morgan raised his eyebrow as mine and Emily’s phones buzzed again. “What are you talking about?”

Yes. We need to talk about Y/N and Reid. - E.P

Tuesday’s perfect, and I agree we need to talk about it. Code name: Romeo and Juliette. - J.J

“It’s girl talk, Morgan. And no matter how smooth you are, it’s just not for you.” I sighed, clicking send and making a point to turn my phone off.

“Come on, Cupcake, don’t do me like that.”

There’s nothing to talk about! … but I prefer Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy actually. - /.BR

We had small conversations until we landed, all heading to put away files and clean up our things before heading home.

“So?” Garcia smiled, taking a seat in my desk chair “Anything happen this time?”

“It’s a work trip, G.”

“But Em and JJ know now, so something must have happened!”

“They just worked it out, profilers notice everything.” Apart from that we’d been in an exclusive relationship for a while now.

“You two are totally smitten, just ask Reid on a date. Rossi doesn’t have to know, I can keep a secret. Swear.”

I looked at Reid talking to Morgan across the room, nobody else knowing about the purple marks hidden just beneath his collar.

“See!” Garcia signed “You’re even blushing just looking at him.”

“Nothings going to happen between us.”

“Ready to go home?” Rossi smiled as he walked up to Garcia and I, oblivious to the conversation he had just interrupted. I nodded and he adjusted his bag strap. “Did you call, George?”

Garcia’s eyes snapped to look at my face. I had to focus on how I would answer, he’d know if I was panicked or lying.

“Yeah he called last night.” Truthfully he did, it’s just I didn’t answer, Reid did.

“And?” Penelope urged

I shrugged. “I’m very busy.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Girls Night Out. Usually we’d be out at a bar getting insanely drunk, but the night started at JJ’s house waiting for Will to come home.

“He’s asleep” She sighed, returning in the 3rd outfit she’d tried on since Henry had decided to throw up on her 1st dress and pee on the 2nd.

“Finally. Now we can discuss.” Garcia smiled, shifting in her spot on the sofa to look at me on the armchair. “Go on, Y/N.”

I laughed, having hoped they would have forgotten this topic over our luxurious 3 days off of work. “Discuss what?”

“Tell them how long you’ve been in love with Reid.”

“I’ve never been in love with Reid!” I protested

“First day she arrived at the BAU, the both of them, practically drooling.”

“Really?” Emily smiled, looking at me with a glint in her eye.

“Hey, well don’t you all look pretty.” Will draped his coat over the back of the couch, everyone greeting him and standing ready to leave.

“Henry‘s asleep, we’ll hopefully only be out for a few hours.” JJ kissed her partner and he gave her a warm loving smile. Maybe I could tell them about Reid and I, but we had a very different situation to others.

Most people don’t work with both their boyfriend and father.

As we left JJ’s the topic shifted and I was immediately relieved, enjoying listening to everyone’s funny anecdotes much more.

The bar we went to was busy, full of people out celebrating. Any time my glass was empty, a new one seemed to appear in front of me until I was viewing everything in a slight haze.

“I think we should go!” JJ announced loudly, pushing herself up from the table and knocking over Emily’s drink.

“At least it’s the weekend” Garcia groaned, picking up her back and adjusting her glasses.

Emily snorted “It’s Tuesday”

“Oh god”

As we managed to make our way outside, JJ’s phone rang and I whined. “Please don’t tell me someone’s murdered again”

JJ answers the call “It’s Will”

“Will!” I cheered, flagging down a taxi for us. I told the man Garcia’s address first since her apartment building was the closest, and we drove off as soon as JJ was done on the phone telling Will we were all safe.

Emily, as the most sober. was in the front telling the driver addresses and making sure we all got to the door safely.

“I’ll see you tomorrow” Prentiss sighed, knocking on the front door as I attempted to find my keys at the bottom of my bag.

Rossi opened the door, pyjamas on and sleep in his eyes.

“Dad, what’s up?” I snapped my fingers, finding my keys. I wasn’t completely drunk but I was buzzed enough that I needed a babysitter.

Rossi looked at Emily as he let me inside “Thank you” Shutting the door behind me, he put his hands on my shoulders to guide me to my bedroom. “Don’t throw up on my carpet”

“I won’t” I groaned, pulling my jacket off and throwing it on the end of my bed with my bag. Rossi turned the light on in my bathroom, walking off and returning with a large glass of water and some snacks.

“Get some rest.” He said softly, pushing a loose strand of hair from my face.

After he was gone, I yawned and pulled my phone from my bag, keying in Reid’s number.

“Spencer” I coo’d when he answered, dragging his name out.

“How much did you drink?”

“Not enough.”

“It’s been stated that to reduce the risk of harm from alcohol-related disease or injury, a healthy limit is to have no more than 10 standard drinks a week and no more than 4 standard drinks on any one day.”

I stayed silent for a few seconds, mentally trying to count how many drinks i’d had. “Then I had way too many.” Reid chuckled on the other side. “Come over.”

“Alcohol primarily affects areas of the brain associated with behavior regulation, this impairment in judgment makes people much more prone to saying the they normally wouldn’t sober.”

“But I would invite you over sober”

“A sober brain helps weigh the good and bad consequences of any decision, therefore I know that it’s probably a bad idea.”

“I hate sleeping alone”

“I believe this is what Morgan’s called a, uh, a ‘booty call’. Human nature to be monogamous but humans quite frequently engage in short-term sexual relationships as well. Evolutionary psychologists resolve this paradox by proposing that men and women employ both long-term and short-term mating strategies, depending on the circumstances. It’s important to note that—”

“Spence. Please.” There was a long pause, a few rustles coming from his end. “Spencer?”

“Hold on, I’m putting my shoes on”

By the time I heard the knocking on my window, i’d already changed into an oversized FBI t-shirt and pair or shorts. I pulled the curtains open, smiling at Reid and letting him in. Much more sober than I had been when I got home.

“Hi”

“Hi” He smiled.

He took a seat on the edge of my bed, taking his shoes off and I looked over the outfit he had on. Plaid pyjama pants, a grey shirt.

He dropped his dirty old converse and stood, stepping towards me slowly and embracing me in a warm hug. I practically melted into his arms, Reid pushing the hair from my face so he could gently kiss my forehead.

“Prentiss and JJ think I have a crush on you and you’re oblivious” I muttered, feeling his chest rise and fall as he laughed.

Moving away from him, I laid on my bed and waited for him to join me. The bed dipped and I reached for the remote on my bedside table.

Spencer raised an eyebrow “Really?”

“You need a horror movie education, i’m thinking The Shining. Morgan and I were talking the other day about how it was a revolutionary film for its time since it explored horror conventions such as isolation, fear, mental illness, and duality—”

Reid cuts me off by rolling over so that he's laying on top of me, parting my legs with one hand. "I get jealous when you talk about Derek like that," he says in a low voice, surprised that he's admitting this to her. "It gives me the wrong idea."

I can already feel my heart beginning to beat faster. "You know he’s just a friend" she whispers, my mind going wild when he leans down, pulling the neckline of my shirt and kissing my collarbone. 

"But he gets to call you nicknames, and I don’t" Reid whispers back and looks down at me again.

Before I can even think about her response the words, "But i’m all yours" spill from my lips and he smirks. 

Our lips become one and Reid grinds his hips against mine, groaning as he does so. He keeps moving his hips, creating a friction that make my breathing shallow— makes me want more. 

He pulls away, slipping the shirt over my head and kissing around my chest. "You know how crazy this all is?" He asks, hands reaching down for the button and zipper of his jeans as I nod. Our romantic situation was our secret but we knew it was crazy since we should have just told people from the start.

He stands so that he can pull his shirt off and motions for me to get up with a finger. "Can we try something?" he says, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling her down with him. 

He positions me so that my crotch is on his thigh and places his hands on my hips. Spencer's eyes take every single inch of my body. Never once had I felt bad about myself when with him. Whispering in my ear what he hoped to do with me tonight.

Normally, the idea of dry humping someone to the point of orgasm would sound like a ridiculous and odd suggestion, but with Spencer it was different.

We kiss again and I nod, willing to do practically anything that he could ever want to do together.

Reid’s hold on my hips tightens as he presses me down on to his thigh and, slowly, he begins to rock me back and forth. 

I try to think of how many other ways he could make each other feel. Not just physically. 

Placing my hands on his shoulders as he begins to move me faster, and pressing his mouth to my neck.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“Y/N” Rossi called out, wrapping his knuckles on the bedroom door. “Are you awake, Hotch said he tried to call.”

I shot up in bed, Reid still peacefully asleep beside me and I shook him awake. The boy blinked slowly, smiling at me like I was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

“Y/N?”

The smile disappeared and Reid threw the blanket off of him. Rushing around the room as quietly as possible to grab his clothes.

“One second dad” I picked Reid’s boxers off the floor, throwing them at him. He pulled them, and his pants, on as I opened the window for him to climb out.

Reid put his arms in his shirt, climbing out the window and pulling his head through the hole. He rushed away and I cautiously opened the door, pretending to rub my eyes. “Good morning”

Rossi smiled, cup of coffee in hand. “Your cell must be off, Hotch called asking you to come in.”

“I’m not meant to start until 12” I sighed, looking at the clock on my bedside. 9:30am.

“Better get moving” He brought his cup to his lips, turning and walking away as I closed the door and went to close the window.

“Hey” Reid reappeared outside, startling me.

“Jesus” I put my hand to my chest. “What are you still doing here?”

“I forgot something”

“You never forget anything”

Reid kissed me quickly, his lips warm and soft. “I love you”

He left before I had the chance to say anything back, leaving me dazed at the window for a minute until I managed to force myself to get dressed for the day.

Hotch smiled as he sat me, Garcia, Prentiss and JJ at the table. “Have a fun night last night?”

“The volume is up here” Garcia held her hand above her head, moving it down to the table height. “It needs to be here”

“You still have paperwork to fill out, need it done before the rest of the team gets here.”

Sitting at my desk, I mindlessly filled out the paper. Garcia got to sit in the quiet darkness of her office, meanwhile Prentiss, JJ and I were in the open bullpen. People walking buy constantly, and since JJ had the worst hangover she was constantly complaining  I looked over my desk, groaning when I couldn’t find what I was looking for and picking up my phone.

“Hey, Rossi.” I sighed, rubbing my head with my thumb and forefinger. “I must have accidentally taken one of my files home last night, do you mind grabbing it from my room?”

I could practically feel the sarcasm radiating off of him through the phone. “Oh yes my darling daughter, your wish is my command.”

“See you when you get here.” I yawned, ending the call knowing he’d grab the file from my room for me. Spencer pulled his chair out, sitting at his desk across from me. “Good morning, Reid.”

“Morning, Baker.” He greeted, glancing around before leaning forward and lowering his voice to a whisper. “Coincidentally, I found myself walking home in my socks this morning.”

He nodded to his foot, poking his leg out from the desk and I held back a laugh. “You’ll have to collect them later.”

“I guess so”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Rossi put his phone and keys down, closing the front door again so he could go and grab what Y/N had forgotten.

He walked into her room, spotting the folder on her dresser and picking it up.

Feeling the cold breeze coming in through the open window and walking to close it, Rossi almost tripped in the sneakers by the window.

David Rossi picked up the shoes, intent on moving them to the shoe rack in the open closet but stopped. He’d seen these shoes before, but he knew what his daughter wore.

It hit him.

Rossi knew who these shoes belonged to. And he was angry.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We were waiting in the briefing room, all of us chatting at the table when Rossi walked in, smacking the file down in front of me. I looked up with a smile, about to thank him when I saw the look etched on his face.

A moment later, Reid looked up at me noticing the tension and then looking up at my dad.

Rossi ran his tongue along his teeth. “Why haven’t you called George?”

“We’ve been busy, but I’ll— I’ll do it” I tried to smile but the look on his face didn’t change, instead, taking his hand from behind his back and revealing none other than Reid’s shoes.

“Crap” Spencer whispered. Everyone silencing as they tried to understand what was happening now.

“Dave?” Hotch asked “You alright?”

“Spencer? Anything you want to say?” Rossi urged

I swallowed the lump in my throat “Dad”

Rossi slammed the shoes down on the desk “He’s messing around with my kid!”

“Technically, uh, I think ‘messing around’ implies that we’re frequently having unprotected sex” All eyes went to Reid, nobody knowing what to say exactly.

“Kid—” Morgan started

“Which We’re— We’re not.” Reid held his hands up in defence. “Well, we are, uh, active just not an impractical—”

“Spencer!” I shouted, trying to get the man to stop talking all together.

“—Amount. Once a week is a common baseline, although that statistic depends slightly on age: 40 to 50 year olds tend to fall around that baseline, while 20 to 30 year olds tend to average around twice a week.”

“Spencer!”

“Right.” The boy finally stopped talking. Everyone at the table was silent, eyes shifting between Spencer and I.

“Are you really mad?” I asked quietly, Rossi pulling out his seat and putting his head in his hands.

“No” He sighed. “Disappointed.”

“Why?” He’d already walked in here and slammed shoes on the table, making it everyone’s business. They’d find out eventually so we may as well have this conversation now.

“You kept it from me. I’m your father and you were sneaking around behind my back, don’t you trust me?”

“Can I say something?” Reid asked, Rossi pointing a finger at him.

“No.”

Spencer ignored this. “In our field everyone is at constant risk. We all know someone who’s been effected by our job, it was a lot safer for us to not tell anyone when we started dating. We actually discussed telling you around month 2 but it was—”

“How long has this been going on?”

“228 days” Everyone looked at Reid. “7 months”

“Rossi, it’s not that bad.” Hotch tired to make his friend see the bright side. “Albeit I didn’t know how far it had gone, I thought it was obvious they had some sort of attractive to one another”

Rossi looked at him with wide eyes. “You knew?”

“How did you not know? They always sit next to each other, long stares and awkward glances.” Morgan practically scoffed.

“Oh shut up, none of you really knew.” I laughed, feeling the mood change in the room.

Everyone laughed, agreeing and talking about how they only thought it was a meaningless crush that we’d never pursue.

“So” Rossi started once the laughter had died down, a small smile on his face. “7 months it’s serious? You’re not going to hurt my daughter?”

Spencer tensed. “No— No sir.”

“Good, because you know I have a gun and can use it.” Rossi leaned back in his chair. “Please just knocknext time you come to my house.”

“Oh my god you would not believe how big the bucket load of crazy in this case is I—” Garcia walked into the room, ready to present us with our new case when she stopped. “What did I miss?”

“Everyone knows that Y/N likes Reid.” Emily informed her. “And that Reid likes her.”

God it sounded so much like some school yard drama.

“Everyone? Oh… So what now?”

After Penelope was caught up, and celebrated that she was right— Noting “Penelope Garcia will always notice a blooming office romance. Always. Especially if it’s love at first sight.”— We were sent to pack for our case, Reid and I staying behind in the briefing room as he put his shoes on.

“No exactly how I wanted everything to go but I’m assuming it’s been accepted. We’ll have to fill out an Employee Relationship Management in HR.” Reid stood and I grinned up at him. “What?”

“I forgot something”

He looked at the table. “No, there’s nothing—” I cut him off by kissing him, waiting until he kissed me back before pulling away. “One more, one more.” Our lips met again, full of emotion. Gentle, loving and romantic. The perfect kiss.

“I love you, too” I whispered as I pulled back, Spencer staring at me in silence, slowly sliding his hands across my body to rest in the small of my back and resting his forehead against mine.

“Hey!” Rossi knocked on the glass. “None of that. Hands where I can see them Reid, you’re a smart boy you should know better.”

Copyright © 2023 Altitude. All rights reserved.

[disgracefulthings]

There are plenty of fics of Wei Wuxian being adopted by different characters, even from different MXTX stories, but what if that happened someone else?

I'm saying I want a fic where Shen Jiu adopts Meng Yao

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

ALRIGHTY I FINALLY BUCKED UP AND FINISHED IT!!!

That’s right my dudes pce actually cursed ao3! And with a WLW BALLERINA STYLE AU NO LESS!!! Yep, here’s the shit I’ve been posting about for like a week instead of writing,

She’s The Smoke

[firstclassthot]

Otp prompt #77

Person A is attending a family wedding. The only issue is that they RSVP’d with a plus one in hopes of avoiding another year of being asked about their non-existent dating life.

Person A needs to find someone to be their fake date, and quick. Lucky for them, person B is all too willing to step in.

[chaosjedimasterk]

Bad Batch with ill Reader Head-cannon

I finally caught a cold this season so since I’m laying around just trying to kick it I have some head cannons about how the bad batch would treat you while you were sick

No warnings just fluff. Only gross thing is a human just having a cold.

Gender neutral reader

Hunter:

~ he would know you’re getting sick before you do because he just pays close attention to you. You’ve been sneezing more and are looking a tad more tired than usual

~ you’d refuse to admit you’re sick and try to keep helping around the Maurader and he would have NO TIME for that

~ he would march you straight to his bunk, tuck you in with every possible blanket he could find and make sure you had water, medicine, and tissues and anything else you needed

~ he’d make everyone get off the ship so you could sleep in peace and quiet

~ as a bonus I really feel like Hunter would be the only one of the bad batch who would learn how to cook and would make a mean soup that he claims could cure any illness

“Here drink this - it’s a recipe I came up with - careful it’s extra spicy it helps clear your sinuses right up!”

Wrecker:

~ He would be trying to goof around with you like normal and you’re trying to play back but you’re too tired and too achy he immediately picks you up, tossed you over his shoulder and brings you to bed

~ he wouldn’t be worried about getting sick and would lend you one of the few civvie shirts he has laying around so you could be extra comfy and he would snuggle in bed with you

~ I feel like he would switch into super tender mode and he would run hot like a furnace and keep you toasty warm

~ if you couldn’t sleep he’d find really easy games for you two to play together on Tech’s data pad he secretly stole

“Don’t worry sweetheart I ain’t goin nowhere you just rest okay?”

Tech:

~ would be similar to hunter in that he also notices you starting to get sick well before you would admit it- mainly because he has your patterns and routines memorized and you slept in 30 minutes too long past your normal sleeping in time

~ you would try to help him with repairs or mods on the ship and he would simply tisk at you and turn you right back around and watch to make sure you actually got into bed

~ would immediately start looking up your symptoms on the holonet to see if he could find the best remedies even after you protest that it just needs to run its course

~ so worried that he tries ever old wives tale remedy on you even after you tell him your own tricks

“My dear you simply cannot work in this state. Back to bed it is for you, you will not be able to recover properly without adequate rest and fluids!”

Echo:

~ he remembers Kix’s tricks from when the 501st had a bad cold rip through the unit. It 100% looks like a mystery drink and the look you give him when he hands it to you is one of absolute suspicion

~ Echo is the mom of the group but knows that you probably know your body best and asks you how you like to recover - he would immediately get anything and everything you asked for

~ would also shoo the rest of the batch off the ship so he could take over your duties and chores and make sure you could have some peace and quiet

~ he’d go all princess bride on you and tell you as many stories as he could from his time with Rex and the batch before you’re arrival until you fell asleep

“Look I know it looks weird but Kix created this and we were all feeling great in 1 day flat. Yes, it looks awful but let me tell you about the time Fives wandered into a Gundark cave….”

Crosshair:

~ he would notice when he went out to practice with his rifle that you kept sniffling and sneezing and almost ALMOST made him miss a shot

~ you tried to brush it off and say it was allergies but he saw straight through you , you thought he was annoyed but he used some of his personal stash of credits to find you two a hotel for the night with a big bath tub

~ while you napped he found some soup and bath supplies for you and when you woke up he already had the bathroom as steamy as it could get and a full bubble bath waiting, he would gently wash your hair and body for you

~ and when you were ready he would silently curl up with you in the big bed and turn on your favorite holoflick

“Sweetheart you’re not feelin’ well don’t try to hide it. Let’s go I can practice another day”

Bonus: ✨

Omega absolutely draws you little cards and pictures while you’re sick or sends you funny videos she saw of tooka cats

Omega absolutely draws you a get well card and makes up her own stories for you

[uneryx]

A little idea that's been rattling around in my head for... a while. Then I saw this art https://www.tumblr.com/nephiieatsuranium/762425589705670656/tw-dead-body-in-the-bleak-midwinter?source=share by @nephiieatsuranium and got motivated to actually write it.

[epickiya722]

There's nothing more disappointing to see someone write how they'll read a fanfic so good and then the fanfics they read after that one are trash or whatever and it's like...

So fucking harmful to say.

Can we move past holding something, especially fanworks, with high expectations and expect everyone's work to be just as good and if it's not it's "Oh my gosh, this fanfic is so disappointing"?

Honestly, it's comes off judgmental and does nothing for writers and artists. But make us feel like our work isn't good enough. Not here to be judged. Just here to post our creations we wanted to share, to have fun!

Like, even for that writer who you say has a great fanfic and it should be the fanfic everyone should aim for... don't do that. That writer is still a human and don't need to be put on a pedestal because then they'll feel pressured and scared that they won't write another fic just as good as that one again.

If you're reading for a very popular ship, I am sure you will come across some great fics. Not every single one you read after JUST ONE FANFIC is total garbage.

Other than that, start writing your own damn five-star rates fanfiction then!