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street-smarts00 · 7 months

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Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

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WC: 7.3K

Summary: After recently joining the team, you and Spencer could never get along. What started off as you two ignoring each other turned into bickering at work. What happens when a stressful moment for you turns into an opportunity to get to know this fascinating coworker of yours?

tags: enemies to lovers, fluff, brief mentions of crime/murder at the beginning (talking about cases/kidnapping), reader is shy and anxious, reader looks young for her age. (reader might be female but i don’t think i specified)

A/N: I haven’t written anything in years and I’ve been on a criminal minds kick for a while. I had this idea loosely based off a prompt I saw on cai by (ApolloTheBoykisser) so thanks babes ;) also for once I had a fic of mine beta read lol my bestie beta read this for me. This is also posted on my AO3 page.

You had been working at the BAU for the last few weeks. You tried to get to know most of your coworkers and it seemed like you were making great progress. You had heard a lot about the team before you joined and were pretty intimidated by them at first. Okay- you were still pretty intimidated by them. But you pushed through your quiet exterior little by little and slowly but surely tried to get to know them.

All except for Spencer Reid. It seemed like he was trying to avoid you. He was always very quiet and would barely talk to you. Being a shy person yourself, you thought maybe he was just shy or a quiet guy. However, he continued to ignore you except for when he had to acknowledge you for work.

His coldness towards you was increasingly annoying as time went on, and your perception of him had slowly warped. The things about him you once found endearing, you now forced yourself to hate about him. If he rambled for too long, it could potentially make your blood boil. However, you could never stop paying attention to when he rambled on about facts or statistics. You didn’t want to admit it, but you found him fascinating.

It didn’t take that long for him to start acknowledging you, but this soon turned into the two of you bickering like children. When you were discussing cases or profiles, you both would argue over motives, victimology, crime scenes- literally anything about the case- you two could turn it into an opportunity to contradict the other. You both still kept a level of professionalism to not let your rivalry affect your job.

But there was always this tension between the two of you when you were in close quarters for too long.

And at some point you both reached your boiling point.

Last week, while the team was on a case, you and Spencer had gotten into a little spat once again. This time it went beyond the slight bickering or contraction. In the middle of the local precinct, you two were at each other's throats.

“What was that?” You asked after you and Spencer left the interview room that held a victims family.

“I was working off of the profile . . .”

“You mean the profile we haven’t finished?” You interrupted. “The one we are still currently working on and have yet to disclose?”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t work off of the information we already have,” he objected.

“You told her information we are still unsure about. We don’t know for a fact how long he keeps them alive,” you accused while placing your hands on your hips, trying to conceal your frustration but failing.

“Guys.” Someone tried to tone things down. Neither of you heard who and you weren’t backing down.

“If I remember correctly, I heard you discussing this very subject and inputting your thoughts . . .”

“You still shouldn’t have told her! Especially when you don’t know for sure if her daughter could be alive,” you seethed stepping closer.

“Would you rather me hide everything from the mother who’s suffering from the disappearance of her daughter?” He asked, matching your tone and taking a step forward.

“I didn’t say that!”

“It sure sounded like it.”

“Reid. Y/N.” The two of you turned your heads to your boss like two deer caught in headlights.

“With me, now.” Hotch demanded and led you to an empty interview room.

You could tell how angry he was- despite the fact that his stoic face represented almost every emotion in the book. But by the tone of his voice, you knew you and Spencer had messed up.

“You two do not only represent this team, you represent the bureau. These cops are already not pleased with the idea of their boss calling us in and I do not need you arguing in front of them and giving them a reason to take us off this case. You must learn to respect and cooperate with one another or I will take you both off this case. Do I make myself clear?” He lectured.

You both replied with a monotone “yes.”

“Good”

Ever since your argument, you both had been relatively quiet towards one another. Like it had been in the beginning when you were ignoring each other. But that didn’t stop you from letting him invade your mind at every waking minute. It almost saddened you in a way there was no more bickering or quick remarks with him. With how much it annoyed you, you never thought you would miss it.

The team had just finished a case and before everyone packed up and went home, Rossi announced that tomorrow everyone should come over for a little ‘get our minds off work’ get together. Your coworkers all thought it was a great idea to relax after the last few very stressful cases.

As excited as you were to finally go to one of Rossi’s house parties, you were also scared shitless. Parties with relatively new people in your life were hard. You were so quiet around new people and were scared to approach others; you often waited to be approached. To you, being a profiler was easier than having a social life.

But, maybe this time would be different. There’s not that many people on the team and you’d already started to familiarize yourself with them.

The next day, you were pulling up to Rossi’s house. If there was anything else to be intimidated by with this man- besides his years of experience in the BAU- it was this giant house. You were greeted by the man himself at his front door.

“Y/N, glad you could make it.” He opened the door and welcomed you in.

He led you inside to where everyone else was gathered. Everyone was cheery at your arrival. Penelope with her clicky heels ran up to you and greeted you with a hug. It was refreshing to be around people who were so welcoming. It made it a little bit easier to really let your walls down.

Well, almost everyone. Spencer gave you a small wave from where he stood.

The night continued on and you would occasionally engage in conversation with the team. At this point, you were off to the side- standing in the kitchen and occasionally sipping some wine that Rossi had been bragging about and was just so excited for everyone to try. You were a bit too overwhelmed to go back to talking. The music was getting a bit loud and the lights seemed to be too bright. You opted for sitting on the barstool next to the counter and observing everyone around.

They were all off in small groups or pairs around the house. All except for you and Spencer. He was another outlier and standing away from all the commotion. You looked over in his direction and he caught your eye. You both glared at each other and you quickly averted your gaze away from him. Your thoughts started to race and you began playing with your hair.

After a moment, he glanced over in your direction again when you weren’t looking. He was unintentionally profiling you and noticed you getting overstimulated. Your eyes laser focused like you zoned out, your foot tapping against the chair, and your hand anxiously playing with your hair.

While he wasn’t exactly your friend, he did understand what it felt like when social gatherings got overwhelming. He made his way over to you, careful not to make you more nervous or uncomfortable.

“You okay?” He asked you. You were pulled away from spacing out. His voice sounded a bit concerned- which took you by surprise. You were partially relieved someone approached you to help bring you back down to earth. That someone noticed something was off. What confused you was the fact that person was Spencer.

“I’m fine.”

He was well aware of what it meant when someone was “fine” and you were clearly not fine. He felt bad that you were so quick to shut down his attempt to check on you. After all, it was his fault and he knew that.

“Do you wanna step outside?” He asked.

You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be outside alone with him, but at the same time, you needed some time away from everything. Maybe it would help calm your nerves.

“Maybe for a bit.”

You followed him outside onto the back patio. You took note of the fresh air and the muffled sounds from inside. It all felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders. Pretty soon though, you realized how awkward it was to be outside alone with him.

Spencer cleared his throat and spoke to break the silence, “Sometimes these parties can be . . . a lot.”

“A little bit. I was doing fine for a while but I think my social battery is running low.” You confessed to explain your discomfort.

“Yeah” he replied. He appreciated the fact that you felt comfortable enough to express this with him. He tried to relate to you. “It’s the same with me. Sometimes I just need a moment to collect myself.”

“Exactly.” You were relieved to hear that he felt the same way. “Plus it doesn’t help that I'm so new to the team.” You crossed your arms and slightly closed yourself off.

“I was the same way when I first joined.” He told her to try and ease your concerns. You were just like him at some point. The new guy and just trying to figure out how you fit in.

“It’s difficult at first, but you settle down after a bit. Once you get to know everyone.”

“Yeah it’s just the whole getting to know them part is a bit . . .” You abruptly stopped, hesitating to reveal too much to him.

“A bit what?”

“Intimidating,” you confessed, avoiding his eyes.

He obviously noticed your hesitance and avoided his usual behavior with you. You were always so strong and quick to banter with him. But now you seemed vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of that.

“It’s not just you, I promise.” He was being honest. This was the calmest and most genuine conversation the two of you had ever had. “I find them all pretty intimidating.”

Your eyebrows raised at his confession. How could he possibly be intimidated by these people?

“Really? But you’ve known them for so long. You all are so close.”

“Close doesn’t mean you can’t be a little intimidated,” he replied. It might not make much sense, but it was the truth.

“I mean Hotch is always stonewall and silent, no matter what you say to him. And don’t even get me started on Morgan.” He joked, knowing you would understand.

You lightly chuckled at his joke. “I get what you mean.” You were starting to understand him more. You thought it was ironic that one of the team members you were first intimidated by was also intimidated by the team. Now he was starting to seem less intimidating or annoying and more approachable. You kinda liked seeing this new side of Spencer.

“I guess I’ve always been like that. Worried to get to know people or open up.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were telling him this, but you knew he would understand.

"I think when you're afraid of being hurt or judged or misunderstood by people, you try to keep your guard up." He told you, speaking from experience. From a young age until now, he's always felt misunderstood.

"And I think...maybe that's why you're on edge with me? You're not sure what to expect from me."

“Are you profiling me?” You asked jokingly. Spencer however thought you were serious and you noticed him tense up.

“I’m kidding.” Your expression softened to let him know you weren’t actually accusing him of profiling you. “I’m gonna be completely honest, I’ve been on edge with you cause I thought you didn’t like me.”

He was a bit taken off guard by your statement. But at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He didn't dislike you now, but at first, he wasn't exactly fond of you. And now he was ashamed of that.

"I didn't like you." He admitted. "I thought you were pretentious, too eager to be accepted. I think I saw you as competition."

Spencer’s comment did sting. It was never sunshine and rainbows to hear someone doesn't like you. However, you did take note of his language. He said “didn’t,” “thought” and “saw,” all past tense. Does this mean he doesn’t dislike you now? What you did appreciate was his reciprocated honesty. You both were making some progress in your relationship and you wanted to continue it.

“I was eager to be accepted. I wanted to feel like I belonged.”

“I know how you feel.” He expressed his sympathy. “I regret not giving you a chance. You’re not like I thought you were.” He also appreciated seeing this different side of you.

“You’re not like I thought you were.” You admitted.

A little smirk tugs at his lips, “So I’m not as pretentious and selfish as you thought?”

You lightly chucked, “I never thought you were selfish, but I did think you were a ‘know-it-all’ and trying to show off.”

Spencer really didn’t want you to think he was a show off. Sure- he had a vast amount of knowledge, but he never wanted you to think he was bragging or that he knew better than you. “I do know a lot but I promise I’m not trying to show off. I just have all this information in my head and I want to share it with people or I’m really passionate about something and want to talk about it.”

You understood that feeling all too well. There were so many times you wanted to ramble on about things you cared about or had knowledge on, but for the most part just stayed quiet. Meanwhile, he didn't keep quiet. He would go on and on. And while almost everyone else was either rolling their eyes or trying to shut him up, you were listening intently. You didn’t want to admit it back then, but now you were feeling up to it.

“I will admit, while I did think of you as a know it all, I found a lot of your tangents interesting.” You admitted.

His eyebrows raised in surprise. He was so used to people dismissing him. It was nice to hear you often would listen. “Really? You didn't mind me babbling on?" He asked, relieved with your response.

"I mean, it is something I have trouble with. I tend to talk too much.”

“Oh Dr. Reid I am very familiar with rambling and being worried about talking too much.” You paused for a moment- considering how much more you wanted to share with him. “I know it may not seem like it because I’m always quiet around the team but.. once I get comfortable around people, I actually get very rambly”

"You do?" He asked, sounding surprised. “About what?”

“Really anything. Mostly things I’m passionate about like you. I’ll also tend to go on tangents about memories or just things happening in my life.”

You made your way to a bench on the patio as you spoke. Spencer followed and sat down on a chair adjacent to you. You brought your attention back to him and noticed his focused gaze on you and he quickly licked his lips, a habit you noticed he did all the time.

"You really are a lot like me. You're just quieter at first." He added, teasing you a little. While he was not one for social cues, he had the sudden urge to be bold and make a joke. "Maybe next time I see you rambling, I won't immediately contradict you."

You dramatically dropped your jaw and placed your hand over your heart. “Wow, you really know how to give a compliment,” you said, pretending to be offended.

He laughed with a bright grin. "I'm sorry. Let me rephrase. The fact that you're so silent and reserved makes it that much more thrilling when I find out how much of a chatterbox you actually are." He joked, being playful as before.

Your cheeky smile slightly falters for a moment. You hoped he wouldn’t notice but he did. “I think you won’t be so thrilled once I actually turn into a chatterbox around you.”

"Actually I think I would find it intriguing." He told you, looking directly into your eyes. "The quiet ones tend to be the most interesting and complex when they do end up talking."

“I’m not that interesting.”

“I beg to differ. You’re very interesting. Probably the most interesting person on the team.”

Did he really say that? Did he mean it? Or was he just being nice? You tried not to profile him, but couldn’t help it. His body language expressed he was being honest. Uncrossed legs and arms, open palms, eye contact. The only thing you didn’t notice when studying his body language was his dilated pupils.

“Thank you,” you smiled at his compliment, “I doubt I’m the most interesting though. You maybe, Mr. Three PHDs and can read 20,000 words per minute.”

He smiled back at you, “Just because I'm well educated doesn’t mean you can’t be as interesting as me, if not more.”

You couldn’t believe he was saying such nice things to you. This was the first time you guys were actually making some kind of connection.. and it felt wonderful.

“I still can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long but are just now talking. And by talking, I mean not getting into a spat after speaking for more than 3 minutes.” You confessed with a hint of playfulness in your voice at your joke.

“Yeah, I feel like I barely know you.”

“What would you like to know?” You asked.

He thought for a moment trying to think of a question to ask. You noticed once again that he licked his lips, trying to concentrate.

“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

“Wow, I think that’s a bit too personal.” You said, voice laced with sarcasm. You tried your hardest to contain your amusement but started to smile. He smiled back at you. At first, he was always confused with sarcasm and social cues. To be honest, he still was. But he could just tell with you. He knew when you were joking and when you were being serious. He found your sense of humor amusing.

“Yellow.” You answered. “What’s yours?”

“Purple.” He replied.

You intended to leave it inside your head- but a quiet “huh” made it past your lips as an idea came into focus.

“What? Is it my choice for my favorite color?” He tried to joke with you but was also a little bit serious.

“Oh no, it's just I thought it was interesting because those are complementary colors. You know how they are opposite on the color wheel?” You asked even though you figured he knew.

He nodded his head, “Yes! Because they are on opposite ends of the color wheel, when they’re used together it creates a vibrant contrast and enhances visual appeal. The two colors almost balance each other out and support each other's intensity. Complimentary colors are a key component to color theory.” He suddenly noticed how long he was talking and his posture stiffened. He pressed his lips into a thin line and avoided eye contact. “Told you I talk too much.”

“And I told you that I find your rambling interesting.”

His head perked back up at you. You genuinely wanted to listen to him. It was refreshing to talk to someone that didn’t cut him off or zone out.

“That’s kinda like us though, don’t you think?”

“What’s like us?” He asked confused, still thinking about the fact that you actually enjoy listening to what he has to say.

“How our favorite colors are complimentary colors. Like you said, they support each other's intensity. When you first see them they’re opposites, but the more you look the more they compliment each other.”

He softly smiles. “That does sound like us. The more we learn about each other, the more we find we have in common.”

There was a short pause where you both considered his statement. You did want to know more about him. You wanted to know all of him.

“Can I ask you a question this time?”

“Of course.”

“So, you're always reading. Like everywhere you go, you carry a book with you. I wanna know: what’s a book you could read over and over again and never get tired of?” You wanted to know beyond his favorite color. You wanted to get to the various building blocks that made him the way he was.

Spencer considered your question for a moment. Trying to go through the near infinite list of books he’s read in his life. You could tell he was concentrating on his answer because licked his lips. “Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.”

“Is he one of your favorite authors?”

“Yes.” He said almost immediately, confident in his answer.

“How come you like that book so much?” You asked.

You could see this sort of spark enter his eyes the more you asked about it. Giving him the chance to share his passions. ”Oliver Twist was one of the first books that used satire to deliver social commentary. Particularly in this book the social commentary was aimed at poverty in 19th century England. The book also quickly gained attention after its publication due to the scandalous subject matter in which crimes, such as murder, were depicted in detail.”

Spencer finally stopped rambling and almost looked as if he caught his breath from the endless talking. But what he was met with was your undivided attention.

”That sounds really interesting, maybe one day I should give it a read.” You say with a soft smile.

“You should,” he matched your smile, but it seemed a bit more sheepish due to his brief tangent. “Have you ever read Charles Dickens before?”

You shook your head in response. “I’ve never read anything by him. I actually don’t read much. But I used to in high school.” You revealed.

“What have you read?” He asked. He leaned slightly forward and unconsciously mirrored your body language and placed his right hand on his leg like you did yours.

“Pretty much the same books everyone else had to read for school.” You paused and tapped your fingers trying to refresh your memory.

“To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, 1984, um.. a few Shakespeare books.” You answered with the few books you could remember.

“Which one did you like the most?”

“I’m not sure”, you sighed and thought about his question, wanting to give him a genuine answer. “Maybe.. Macbeth. I remember finding the story interesting and I did a group project on Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Like the scene where she’s hallucinating the blood on her hands.”

Your voice started to pick up speed and volume ever so slightly. He could tell you were getting more passionate the more you spoke. Subtly displaying how you could ramble once you opened up to someone. He smiled as you continued, happy to see that you felt comfortable enough around him to let a hidden part of yourself out into the open.

“I guess that kinda explains why I wanted to be a profiler and learn about psychology and forensics. I was interested in how Lady Macbeth's guilt manifested and caused her delusions. I wanted to understand why people did the things they did.”

“I can tell, you have this curiosity. You want to understand. Know the ‘why’. He mentally recalled the times you would express your curiosity during work.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

He pressed his lips in a line. “Is it- is it my turn to ask you something now?” He stuttered slightly.

“I mean you don’t have to. It’s nobody’s ‘turn’ but you can if you want.”

“I do.” He replied immediately. The corners of your mouth perked up into a small smile. He mirrored you.

“I may be stealing your previous question. Like you said you don’t read much. But I have noticed you listen to music a lot. I want to know a song you could listen to over and over again.”

He was right, you often listen to music. Mostly on your way into work or on the jet, you would be wearing your signature headphones and have some playlist on. It was your own way of coping with the stress of your job. You looked down at the ground as you recalled the songs in your favorite playlist.

“Dreams by The Cranberries.” You brought your eyes back up to face him. But what you saw was confusion in Spencer’s eyes. He tried to hide it but you knew better. “Have you heard that song?”

He did that little sideways pout you often saw him doing when he was in awkward situations.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. Spencer broke eye contact, embarrassed he didn’t know something from pop culture.

“It’s okay. Remind me next time I have my headphones and I’ll show you.” You spoke calmly to reassure him there was nothing to be embarrassed about.

He brought his attention back to you. Relieved to hear your gesture instead of a quip about his lack of pop culture knowledge like he was used to.

“I will.”

“Alright my turn.” You shifted your weight and brought your legs up to your side so your whole body could face him. “Um, it's kind of a personal question though. I’m curious about something.”

“Go ahead. What is it?” He asked, giving you his whole undivided attention.

“Does it ever bother you when people question your age when you say how educated you are?”

He was somewhat thrown off by your question, but something told him you've wanted to ask him this for a while.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t say it bothers me. Considering I have had such an extensive education so early in my life, it’s completely understandable that someone would question how I did it at a young age.”

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. He knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked before asking his real question. He appreciated your concerns about potentially pushing a boundary and he reciprocated it. He didn’t want to break this newfound friendship- if he could call it that- by making you uncomfortable.

You nodded your head, silently telling him it was okay.

He slightly fidgeted with his hands. “Did you ask me that because people question your age?”

“Yes,” you answered hesitantly. “I’ve never looked my age.”

He thought about his next question before asking. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just trying to understand. Why does that bother you?”

“It bothers me when people don’t take me seriously. I mean I’m in my late 20s and some people still think I look fresh out of college. It hasn’t happened as often since I joined the BAU but so many people in law enforcement don’t take me seriously. People tend to think I’m too innocent to have a job like this.” You confessed to him as you avoided looking him in the eyes.

"I wouldn't say you're innocent.” His comment brought your eyes back to him.

“But you do have a soft demeanor. It makes you approachable. If anything, those qualities are an incredible asset to this job whether it be when you're speaking to victims or their family members.”

Even though he would often throw snarky retorts to you in the past and try to get under your skin, he always admired how good you were at your job. Of course, you were an amazing profiler and had no trouble standing against dangerous unsubs. But the way you handled incredibly sensitive situations with such calmness and comfort with others was admirable. During cases with children, you were able to ease their worries and provide a safe space.

“While you are very sweet and shy, I would never call you innocent.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at his compliments. You felt understood hearing his affirmation. It also warmed your heart to hear that he thought so highly of you. Especially since the last few weeks, you thought he hated your guts. Although- his comment did make you more curious about how you were perceived. “Half the time I don’t realize how shy I am or how I present myself,” you weakly chuckled.

“There were actually a lot of ways to deduce that you're shy,” he matched your lighthearted tone but also kept a sense of seriousness to prove he was being genuine.

“Was it the fact that I was sitting by myself and scared to talk to them?” You half joked as you figured that’s what he was going to imply.

"That was part of it, yes. But besides that, it was the way you often avoid direct eye contact, and the tone of your voice. It's gentle and low, as if you're afraid of coming on too strong.” He was too caught up in his thoughts and observations to realize how much he was divulging. “You keep your distance and your words are always measured or not overly assertive. Almost like if you do come off assertive you will receive backlash."

When he met your eyes again, he noticed how frozen you were. On the outside you didn't reveal much, simply had a stoic expression. He knew you better than that. He knew that he had hit a nerve and started to panic that he went too far. He had finally wrecked this slowly growing friendship like he thought he would, by being himself.

“Wow, yeah that sounds pretty spot on,” you agreed. You sounded soft spoken and played with your hair again, of course without your knowledge.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He abruptly spattered in a panic.

“No it’s okay really,” you interrupted trying to reassure him. “I just didn’t expect you to be so ... correct.”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, relieved he didn't mess things up, but still slightly worried he had left you feeling exposed. "I guess I'm just good at noticing things about people,” he shrugged.

“You forget, we get paid to notice things about people,” you joked with him, trying to make him feel better by lightening the situation. Of course, it worked.

"That's true." He chuckled and paused for a moment to consider. Then he continued with his profile of you.

"It's just the way your voice softens whenever you become uncomfortable, almost whispering or lowering in tone. Or your nervous habits, like when you play with your hair." It was a gesture he was pretty keen on catching.

You suddenly were very aware of the fact you were playing with your hair. You quickly dropped your hands and crossed your arms.

"It's not bad that you do that, you know,” his voice had a slight crack in it. “It's just something you do subconsciously." He told her, trying to be comforting.

“Do you wanna know something you do subconsciously?” You asked, your voice with a hint of teasing. You decided that if he was going to profile you, you were going to profile him back.

He noticed your tone and that you had gained a bit more confidence. "Sure, hit me." He said as he awaited your reply with curiosity and interest.

“You poke your tongue out a lot or lick your lips. Most of the time when you’re concentrating or lost in thought. Which means you definitely need to start using chapstick. I’ve seen you do it a lot since we’ve been out here.” You explained.

"So, are you telling me my lips are dry?" He replied playfully, his grin widening.

“They probably are,” you lightly laughed at the silliness of his question. He laughed along with you and subconsciously went to lick his lips again, but caught himself.

“I'm gonna be thinking about this so much more now,” he confessed.

“Consider it payback for pointing out how much I play with my hair when I'm anxious. I don’t know what to do with my hands now,” you remarked as you dramatically waved your hands in the air.

“Sorry,” he awkwardly apologized.

“I already told you it’s alright. You're not the only one who analyzes behavior. I’ve noticed plenty of things you do and why you do it.”

“Like what?” He furrowed his eyebrows, curious what particular things about him you had profiled. He noticed something though. The confidence you once had, had washed away after you collected your thoughts.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you stated.

"You won’t make me uncomfortable,” he responded almost immediately. “I promise. I really want to know.”

You took a deep breath before explaining your observations. “You desperately want to be heard. You love to share the endless knowledge you have, but when someone walks away or cuts you off your reaction is almost that of deflating. And when someone does show a bit of interest in what you have to say your voice perks up and almost cracks with excitement. Then you talk a lot faster, probably a mixture of excitement and as a way to keep the other person engaged and to not lose their attention.”

Spencer carefully listened to every word you said. Not a single deduction was false. You had read him like a book in the short time you knew him. You noticed something about him that most of the team couldn’t pick up on.

"You're right about everything,” he said with a soft tone. Almost everyone interrupted him, you never did. This got him thinking. Of course everyone on the team made observations about each other, they’re profilers of course. However, he wondered why you had made so many about him.

"Are you always this observant about everyone? And I mean everyone. Or is it just me that gets the special treatment?" He asked his last question with a hint of a teasing tone.

You scoffed, “yeah right, like you get special treatment.” You thought about your response, not wanting to reveal too much.

“I guess I might have paid attention to you because you were the only one who was so closed off to me. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know who you were even if you weren’t going to tell me.”

He was right, you were paying him special attention. The fact that you wanted to know who he was despite his closed off nature revealed enough.

“So you admit it, I get special treatment?" He cheekily asked.

“Oh shut up,” you retorted.

“Make me.”

Your lips pursed, holding back a smile.

Spencer noticed you were trying to hold back a smile and found it endearing. He also noticed something else about your reaction. You were blushing. You blushed as a result of his taunting. He got lost in the thought of you blushing from him.

“Something you wanna share with the class?” You teased.

He didn't want to admit it, not yet at least. He wanted to make you sweat just a little bit and get a reaction out of you.

"I'm curious about something. Could you tell me what would cause someone's cheeks to flush?" He tried to seem genuine but of course he came off with a hint of cheekiness.

You furrowed your eyebrows. You were completely oblivious to your red face and were confused by his random inquiry.

“Are you questioning my profiling skills?” You lightly scoffed, not knowing what his true intentions were.

"No, not exactly. I just want to know what you think.”

Your expression changed to one of confusion but also amusement. You decided to play along with his little game.

“Well psychologically blushing could mean a multitude of things. Embarrassment, stress, anxiety, attraction.” While your voice stayed consistent, he noticed the change in your breath and how your eyes darted away from him. It was a brief expression, but he caught it. He got the answer he was looking for.

"And which one of those can explain why you’re blushing?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he leaned closer to you.

Your stomach dropped and eyes widened. You shifted your weight in your seat and touched your cheeks. “I’m not blushing..” You ignored his question.

"You are.”

You sighed and stood up, “Well if I am it’s probably because you just pointed it out and I’m embarrassed.”

"Oh, really?" He taunted and followed you. "I think that you might be blushing for a different reason."

You bit your lip out of frustration and crossed your arms. “Are you profiling me Spencer?”

"Maybe I am,” he smirked. "I would say that maybe you've been so interested in me that you've been paying a lot of attention. That's why you took note of so many of my habits and behavior."

Your face got redder and you started playing with your hair again. You huffed, “I told you before, the reason I paid attention to you was because I didn’t know you.”

"Sure, but you pointed out how you kept noticing I licked my lips. Why were you looking at my lips in the first place?"

You were caught between a rock and a hard place. “Why are you so interested in why I’m blushing or looking at your dumb face anyway? Why do you care so much?” You asked defensively.

He couldn’t respond, he froze up.

“I mean, you question why I pay so much attention to you but here you are doing the same thing to me. Trying to read me like a book,” you accused.

He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're both curious about each other."

“I guess we are,” you responded. You saw his cheeks turn pink in reaction to your questioning. “Look who’s red now.”

If his face could even get redder, it did. For a man that could probably say a thousand words a minute, it seemed like none of them could fall from his lips.

It was your turn to smirk. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to leave you speechless. Never thought that would happen.”

"Shut up,” he sheepishly scoffed.

“Make me.”

Spencer felt his stomach flutter, he smiled bashfully at your mimicking his own teasing. The seconds passed and neither of you spoke, neither of you had words. Both of you in your own heads. In your head, you got a stroke of confidence. You didn't know where it came from, maybe the teasing, maybe the fact that you had him speechless. But you took it and ran with it.

”Maybe the reason you wanted to know why I was blushing so badly, is the same exact reason I was blushing,” you mumbled.

The realization hit him in waves. You just admitted to the very thing he was trying to get out of you in the first place. He was speechless once again, but this was different. He stared at you with a stunned look, not knowing what to do.

You took his blank expression as a negative reaction, thinking you came off too strong. You slowly backed away from him, regretting putting yourself out there.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget it.” You turned around to go back inside but felt something on your wrist. You turned around and saw Spencer had grabbed your wrist to stop you. His eyes wide and breath heavy.

"No. Don’t,” he begged.

"Really?" You whispered softly.

He smiled, "yes. Please don't take it back."

You smiled back at him bashfully. Spencer’s reaction make your stomach do backflips, but it made you wonder.

"Can I ask, why did you pay such close attention to me?

He released his light grasp on your wrist and instead placed your hand in his. "I couldn't stop analyzing every single detail about you. I wanted to know you inside and out. There was something about you that felt intoxicating. After every time I spoke to you, even if it was just us bickering or arguing, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”

He looked down at your joined hands and started to rub his thumb over your hand. You looked up at him and smiled, glancing at his lips. “Well you definitely must be thinking about something now, you licked your lips.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You made him feel like he was on full display, like he was a book that only you could read.

He slightly blushed at your comment. “I am. Can you guess what I'm thinking about?"

You grabbed his other hand with yours as a smirk grew on your face, “How close we are. How it’s probably driving you crazy..” You nearly whispered the last part as you leaned closer to him, “how I’m making you crazy..”

"You do.” Spencer wrapped one of his arms around your waist and placed his hand on the small of your back. A shiver ran down your spine as his hand touched your back. Of course, he could tell and was light headed by the effect you had on him. He’d never felt so intoxicated by someone before. “You’ve made me a mad man ever since I met you.”

Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

“What about you?” He asked. “Do I make you crazy?”

You glanced between his eyes and his lips.

“Yes..”

It was like you both were on the exact same wavelength. You both dove in at the same time and slammed your lips together. Both of you just so desperate to get a taste of the other. The kiss was tender and passionate, with no single person in control. You both moved together in synced motions. All of the arguments, all the tension that had been slowly building up could be released.

When you finally parted, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. You felt his airy breath as he tried to come back down to earth. You placed a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he breathed.

“I can tell,” you chuckled. “what’s stopping you from doing it again?”

“Do you want me to?” He asked desperately.

You placed your other hand on the back of his neck, “I love hearing you talk.. but shut up and kiss me.

Before today he never liked the idea of you telling him what to do. But now, he was at your mercy. He didn’t hesitate and locked your lips with his once again. You both melted together like lovesick teenagers. But moments like these of course don’t last forever.

The sound of the patio door opening fell deaf on both your ears. It wasn’t until you heard Derek Morgan that you both pulled away from each other.

”What’s going on out here?” Derek questioned with a smirk.

You and Spencer couldn’t speak, too frozen to react.

His grin only grew, “My man,” he chuckled as he glanced at Spencer.

“Don’t kill each other while you're out here.” Derek left the way he came and closed the patio door.

You sighed, “He’s gonna tell someone isn’t he?”

“Yup”

He made his way back to his coworkers with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “What’s got you all happy?” Emily asked.

“Looks like our two angry birds are now two love birds,” he answered.

“What? What are you talking about?” Penelope sprinted over as fast as she could with her heels.

“How I just caught Reid and Y/N making out.”

The room exploded with chaos at the reactions to his news.

JJ, who was standing off to the side with Hotch, furrowed her eyebrows, “I thought they hated each other?”

Hotch glanced towards the patio door and saw the light shadow of two figures. “No they don't. Not really.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds headcanons #enemies to lovers

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smileymoth · 1 year

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Hello! I decided to do a research presentation on the "cannibalism" tag and it's relations to the MCYT communities on AO3! I looked into time frames, overall fandom data, individual character data and made a hopefully coherent conclusion on the information I gathered. I will be posting a link to my very messy excel file where I stored the base information via reblog, so check the notes.

I used canva for the statistics graphs and indesign to put this together... And a big big thank you and a shout out to my very good friend @theslyvoid9 who made 99% of the drawings used in this presentation and who also helped me look up data!!!

I hope you enjoy this little project of ours! Also please remember that this was made in pure fun, so please don't be rude to anyone. If there are typos or weird number errors, or if we missed out on some SMPs I am very sorry ^_^

Enjoy!

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chokchokk · 1 year

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𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽, 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎 | song mingi x fem!reader

an ao3 requested husband!mingi one-shot

"Are you trying to challenge me?"

𝚜𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 : You come home stressed, feeling like the world wants only the worst from you. Good thing that your husband wants the best, right? Right...

"Baby, I would never do such a thing."

𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎 : fluff, smut

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 : 7.3k

𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 : established relationship, girlboss office worker!reader, stay at home husband!mingi, praise kink, hand kink, size kink, service top!mingi, use of the pet-name “baby”, starts rougher but then gets really soft and gentle, cunnilingus, fingering, over-stimulation, passionate sex; reader and mingi are in their late 20s/early 30s, reader is a bit bratty but mingi is a brat as well, it pains writer mingi is not a sub in this FUCK, he puts reader in place just a tiny bit, but the dynamics are pretty even, reader and mingi love each other deeply

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎 : i wanted to make mingi wear a tanktop but when i digged for it THERE WAS NOTHING???? we never got tanktop!mingi selcas???? how do yall not die of hunger, no, THIRST?

anyhow. this was an ao3 request!!! i had lots of loving fun with it and i hope you do as well babes and bbies xoxo

masterlist link | join my taglist

Did you know married employees are respected more?

Well, that’s what statistics say, but you certainly have never had this observation be proven true. It’s been almost a year since the first time you’ve worn your ring at your work-place, but you still get weird looks for having settled down “too early in the relationship” at such a “young age”, as if they knew anything about your private life— so no, you don’t. You wouldn’t know anything about being respected more as a married employee, even if you’re a few working hours away from being promoted to General Manager.

You throw your keys into their respective tray and hold your nose-bridge, when you enter your house with the sound of your shoes immediately falling to the floor after you shake them off in frustration. Yes, you may have earned your money, but at what cost? To hear old people pick you out because “such a fragile thing can’t possibly handle life”, despite being their lead director, have their hairy fingers pointed towards you since “someone like Y/N needs extra checking” despite you never having missed a dead-line, and to be eyed by them while you’re just trying to get your papers— oh, fucking hell; that is, by definition, not respect, that is horror, and one more reason to finally just quit your job and—

“Baby, you’re home!”

You take deep breath.

“Here I am.”

“Allow me,” your husband hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his torso close to your back; he’s rubbing himself against you with the excuse that he’s helping you get that fucking bag from your hands, and you let out an exhale once the weight is removed from your grip and lands on the floor. He is masterfully not referring to the fact that you came a full hour later than the initial time you have texted him you would arrive, and rather focusing on the how your shoulders feel more tense than usual, massaging his strong thumbs into them.

“Thank you,” you sigh and lean the back of your head against his breast, for he’s towering over you like a guardian pressing gentle kisses onto your hair, making him one comfortable, cushioned wall. You feel a bit guilty for not having asked how his day went, but for all you know, he’s having a blast arranging his new studio that he wants to use in the future to produce with other music artists, but most importantly, help you earn money.

Your stay-at-home husband, Song Mingi. The man who makes it— the time, the work, the stress— all worth it.

“How do you feel, baby?”, he murmurs, kissing your temple while he’s at it. He brushed his teeth not too long ago, you can smell the remains of mint toothpaste at his lip. Is he being obvious? Yes, maybe. You're not complaining though. “Rough day?”

“Yeah,” you exhale and let yourself be touched by your husband, though it doesn’t make you as calm as it should in your heart. You’re not craving for any soft vicinity here, you want to smash something to the ground and stomp on it; you’ve spend the whole day surrounded by the loudest, noisy, dim-witted idiots who are certainly preying on your downfall if they don’t fucking—

“Tell me all about it, baby,” Mingi murmurs, his vocal chords vibrating against the back of your head, as he rests his chin on top of it. “I’m listening.”

Sometimes you ask yourself whether you would still be receiving the same comments, if your co-workers knew who Mingi was. Not because he’s some famous man to be afraid of, but because he is taller than all of them, has got a louder voice and could knock those douchebags out with his muscly arms— okay, maybe they should be afraid. Very afraid.

“No, it’s okay,” you breathe and turn around to get your arms around your husband’s waist and press your face into his collarbones that you didn’t realize were revealed. "Button up,” you murmur, almost annoyed that you can inhale Mingi’s comforting scent through the cleavage as well as you can. You wanted to stay angry for just a little bit longer, but your husband makes it nearly impossible. Not to say it doesn’t make feel you any less hot though.

“What do you mean?", Mingi pouts, "Is it not good? I showered! Just for you, baby.”

You chuckle and your lips graze his freshly-washed, freshly-lotioned baby-smooth skin. “No… It’s too good…”

Mingi gets his hands into your hair and rubs his finger tips across your scalp.

“What were you stressed about, baby?”, Mingi continues to ask you, applying a bit of pressure to his touch, his hand feeling like it’s ripping off the upper layer of your head in the best way possible.

“My co-workers hate me,” you murmur, teeth gritted. Your breast begins to slightly enflame at the thought of your co-workers’ faces, but your husband doesn’t seem to mind your tone as much, allowing your mind to roam freely.

“Hate you?”

“They, like, hate my existence.”

“What would they hate you for, baby?”, he asks, working his long fingers down to the lower side of your head, reaching for your neck to scratch it. His hand is well big enough to do all of it at the same time.

Preparing to answer his question, you inhale and exhale deeply, smelling the clothing and leaving it warm.

“They hate that… I’m already settled down at my age.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And that I am as confident about it and— and as hard-working as I am…”

Mingi chuckles and strokes your hair one time to get your hair in its right place after having mushed it. His touch expands warmly on your scalp and it spreads like a soothing wave of comfort.

“They hate that,” you inhale, and then —with revelation— exhale, “I’m such a strong, successful woman.”

“There you go. My strong,” Mingi murmurs, and he’s letting his hands glide down your back, “successful,” further down your ass, “wife.” Squeeze.

“Oh,” you chuckle, fully aware that nothing is on your husband’s mind rather than to persuade you to get into bed with him. Cleaning his teeth, showering, putting on fresh clothes— Did he even shave his beard by himself? Wow.

After almost a year of marriage, some clues become very self-explanatory.

His amazing hands work their amazing ways on your ass, and as it goes for Mingi, he always prides himself that he can make you melt under his touch, especially when you come home from work late on days like these.

“You should just let your anger out on them next time,” Mingi smiles, cupping your ass with the big surface of his hand and you can feel how he’s trying to figure out whether he can raise you up like this— spoiler: he can— and continues to encourage you. “Or on me.”

Were you implying your co-workers should be scared of Mingi? Yes, but also no. For someone your size, despite seemingly being ever-so tiny in your husband’s embrace, to make it so big in such a short time is astounding; ground-breaking, even. You may or may not know, but Mingi finds you are one cold-blooded woman whose blood only boils when she’s being provoked, and if there is one thing your husband wants you to prove to your co-workers, it’s that you won’t think twice once you’ve got the title of being their supervisor.

Too harsh? Maybe. But that’s something you can consider when they’re begging you to accept their apologies, no?

“Don’t edge me on, or I might actually turn into the Hulk or something,” you laugh hoarsely and raise your head up to him. Mingi looks down immediately and grins, continuously groping his hands into your butt.

“You can’t scare me,” he lulls and kisses your forehead, “because you’ll always be my little baby, Y/N.”

“Ohh, shut it,” you sneer and can’t deny that Mingi is the only one who can make you feel this small, “I wouldn’t be too sure I can’t scare you.”

“Do try, please,” Mingi insists with a cheeky smirk and gung-ho, you’re raised from the floor, being carried to the bedroom. Was that a challenge you heard?

“Be rough all you want tonight, alright? I don’t think your stress is gonna get away our traditional way today.”

“Really? ‘Traditional’?”, you huff and raise an eyebrow, Mingi kissing your cheek, as he opens the door to your bedroom.

“It’s almost our anniversary, let’s try something new, baby. I'll do anything you want. Don't care about me. I'll just be... you know. I don't know.”

“What? Is my husband getting bored of being in charge?”, you gasp theatrically, easing your hands into his shoulders, “Does hubby want me to order him around?”

“Let’s get rid of the terminology,” Mingi mutters, a bit sheepish, not wanting to admit that he read the term ‘service top’ somewhere in the deepest corners of the internet earlier this evening and had to ask you when you came home. You coming home an hour later just made him travel further the needy path, imagining how good he could make love to you, when his "own pleasure isn't the focus" (that's a quote from the website.)

“I just want my wonderful wife,” Mingi sighs, as he lets himself fall on the mattress backwards, with you landing on his hard-on, knees propped next to his hips, “And relieve you from all your stress.”

You’re still in your office attire, got your tie on tight around your neck, everything that screams ‘not ready for bed’, but Mingi doesn’t seem to care for your sheets to become dirty. In fact, he apparently wants you to be the dirtiest you’ve ever been, huh?

His long, slender fingers hold you by your jaw, as your husband roughly presses his lips into yours, immediately opening up his mouth to get a second taste with his tongue. While he tastes like mint toothpaste, you taste like bittersweet coffee, diligence and dedication; you are dancing heavenly on Mingi’s tastebuds, and his tongue laps over yours eagerly to not let any drop of your essence go to waste. He’s making you feel wanted, no, he wants you, and as Mingi takes your blazer off, your own desire to have him grows bigger with each passing second.

Your legs feel a bit tight due to the fabrics of your suit, but it doesn’t prevent you from grinding yourself into him, pants interrupting your greedy kiss. “Let’s get this off,” Mingi murmurs into your lips, hooking his finger into your tie, loosening it up, pulling it until he can wriggle your head through.

“Let’s get all of this off,” you reciprocate and his hands are on your waist, as Mingi watches you flawlessly open up the buttons of your blouse, tongue running over his lower lip. “Your co-workers don’t know you,” he chuckles, admiring you sitting on top of him with a look in your eyes that he could feast on for days, “But they should know that you are, fuck, breath-taking.”

You move your hips over his crotch, enjoying hearing your husband gutter out his thoughts.

“You are eye-candy in that, baby,” Mingi heaves, “I’m getting kinda jealous of your co-workers here.”

Cheeky, you let the blouse droop over your shoulders, revealing your lacy bra. Saying that you’re eye-candy doesn’t put it into words, Mingi thinks, and gulps at the sight of you stroking over your own torso and your breast that is just being so perfectly pushed by your lingerie, and— though it barely needs any convincing for him to swathe his tongue around your pretty nipples and get even more prettier sounds out of you— your slight gesture gets your husband’s head fuming with the things he wants to do to you to make you crumble and eat it all up deliciously, not leave anything behind.

“I bet they don’t get to see this though,” he grins and with a quick, studied flick of his fingers, the tightness around your torso is released and your tits are out for Mingi stare into. “Only I get to see this, don’t I?"

You nod and sigh, when he traces the red indents from your underwear with his thumbs and wets his lips; but before you think he's being too gentle, Mingi doesn't let you speak out the words 'yes, only you do' and interrupts you with his mouth, his hands holding you by your waist.

"Mingi," you pant. He has pushed you over on your back to the mattress without warning, caging you in with his frame. "Sorry, baby," he grins, pulls off his tank-top, throws it on the floor, quickly— he's got things to do here!— and then zips open your pants, kissing you from your cheek down to your collarbones, covering your body with his fresh breath. "Works better this way."

Mingi hooks his fingers into your trousers and pulls it off until your panties are revealed to him, but before he's able to wriggle it down to your calves and finally have it off your body, he's having a moment to look at his wife laying in front of him; your glowing eyes are glancing up, waiting, no, teasing, urging him on to do what Mingi has been planning to do since the first time he asked you when you would arrive back home.

"Please don't mention 'work'," you hiss, pushing your tongue against the inner space of your mouth.

He knows. He has never been there at your work-place, and he never asks you more about it than he should, because Mingi does think that his distraction works way better than to rant for hours, and he sees it, feels it— your anger, your frustration, your stress— but does he... well, how should he say this... care for it?

No.

"Why not?", is what Mingi whispers into your skin to make you roll your eyes and border him in with your thighs, the pants that aren't off yet keeping him between your legs. Fuck, you're so hot when you're stressed.

Okay, wait, wait, wait— hear him out.

First, please forgive him. You really have to. Mingi would never say this out loud, not under any circumstance that doesn't include you directly asking for it, but shit, look at yourself right now. Enveloped by your open blouse, your perfect breasts hanging out of it like a window luring him to peek like the shameful man he is, your facial expression judging him for his fawning— you are a goddess in his eyes, Y/N. And gods get angry. And then, when they're angry, they're the most powerful they ever are.

So there you go; Mingi, even though he's a husband that has never, ever throughout your marriage or your relationship, made you angrier for more than 24 hours, kinda enjoys it when you come home stressed, gritting your teeth, panting, groaning— talking to him with umph. The stress makes you riled up, makes you breathe fire, shoot flames out of your eyes that seduce him to be even more ignited, just for you.

"Are you trying to challenge me?", you huff and Mingi makes himself comfortable, placing his elbows around the sides of your body, anchoring himself on your lower abdomen with his forearm.

"Baby," he grins, kissing the inner sides of your thighs, "I would never do such a thing."

Except he is. When you get— and your husband thinks he's a genius to think of this— 'worked up', you become demanding, slightly sassy, playful, and there is nothing Mingi loves more than his wife to tell him exactly what she wants, because he knows he can be a bit dense sometimes. He tries his best, always, to do things according to your liking, but usually, you just let him do his thing since sometimes you need nothing more than his presence.

"I would never tease you like that, my," he pesters, "baby." With his lips stuck at the last inch before he's able to get it near your clothed cunt, you scoff, pressing your thighs together to squeeze his face.

"You better fucking not tease me tonight," you warn him and Mingi bites his lip, feeling his already-very-hard cock twitch inside his joggers at the cause of your tone.

"I love you too much," your husband answers and moves his head around, his pointy nose grazing against your covered clit. Like an automatic reaction, you gulp and throw your face to the side, your hand intertwining with Mingi's long fingers that are resting at the seam of your panties.

"Oh, please," you taunt, “dare to give me your worst performance,” and you think you're safe, since his hands are occupied with yours, but when you are in bed with him, and proceed to tease Mingi like this, then you are never safe with your husband.

(Except the part that you are safe, and safe with the thought Mingi is indeed going to relieve you.) Pressing his tongue against the fabric, Mingi curves it into the band, pushing it with ease, without any type of struggle to— and you should've seen this coming— plunge his tongue into your folds. "Fuck, Mingi," you breathe and he's chuckling against your wet cunt, as he laps his wet muscle over your slickness to gather what has been collecting in your underwear, slow and sensually, though his heavy breathing tells you that he's going to feast on it in no time.

He ‘loves you’, you know that, but ‘too much'? — Can there ever be too much?

"Ohh, fuck, that's good, right fucking there," you groan, gripping into Mingi's hand. With your feedback, Mingi continues to purl over your clit, sucking the fluid so it can spread on his tongue and melt in his mouth.

No. There could never be too much.

You taste so delicious, and it goes without saying that Mingi finds it fascinating that you look even better from this angle; he can see every lash of yours flutter with the slow flicking of his tongue, adding speed as he goes. “Yes,” you whimper, “‘feels so good.”

His heart and mouth are cooperating wonderfully, as his lips are spelling words of awe into your labia; He’s pronouncing how good it feels so good to be your husband, how good it feels to do good— and oh, it is so good to be yours, Y/N. You can’t even believe. The sounds you let out tingle all of his senses and he’s definitely going to have to hurry with his studio, if he wants to eternalise them.

Mingi holds the eye-contact to not miss any of your expressions, laving at your cunt with bizarre flexibility that makes you twist here and there, but his forearm is pressing you down to keep you on your back. "Squirmy," he grins, babying you while you are unable to open move your legs, since your own set of trousers is keeping them closed together, "am I doing you that well?”

Panting because of how constrained you are despite wanting to move around so much, you throw your head down on the soft mattress. "Uh-huh," you exhale, feeling his tongue circle around your clit and tease itself into your entrance, "so well."

Mingi's head is spinning. He wants to make you cum so fast, but he also wants you to beg for your orgasm until your voice is hoarse from the moaning, just so he can see your ribcage move up and down the bed one more time, no, please so many times, and maybe he could get his fingers in so he can— fuck, didn't he plan this out?

He makes it look easy, but in your husband’s mind, he's puzzling and figuring out the ways to pleasure you the best way he can. Mingi heaves and laughs, noticing how he's been cutting himself short of breath, too excited to be pleasuring you. "You’re so beautiful, baby," he says, voice having become raspy and an octave lower than usual; it appears to you that he's drunk on your taste, "you're making me insane with that view."

You inhale through your mouth with your lip-corners pointing upwards, a bit shy with your husband's praise, but you have no other way around than to listen to Mingi's dreamy words. "Unnh-huh," you react, but once your husband is laving at your cunt again, talking amidst of it, you are becoming a mindlessly noisy mess.

"My pretty baby," Mingi murmurs, and as he does so, his mouth is flocking in your slick, tickling your clit repeatedly, "my prettiest, loveliest baby, so whiny for me, fuck."

"More, Mingi," you grunt, feeling like the blouse is keeping you tight, so you push yourself up and get it off your arms— Mingi uses his chance to pull your panties over your knees— and after that, the male digs deeper into your crevice, thighs pressing him in which makes him gasp for dear air, "please."

Your pleads are meaningful to him, make his heart jump, make his head click like he's a dog being asked to obey, and okay, Mingi doesn't think he wants to be a pet, let alone an animal, but— you know what? Your pleads not only show what a considerate wife you are, it also makes Mingi know how much you want him, and that’s the best feeling in the entire world, and he would do everything to chase your pleasure and praise.

“Oh, I got all night, baby,” your husband chuckles, he’s grinding himself against the bed, huffing and panting, tongue delving deep into you on your command.

He drags the intertwined hands of yours down the tiny bit it needs for his thumb to meet your clit, and as Mingi rubs extensively over it, your knuckles go white from how strongly you grip into his fingers.

Oh god, this is exactly what you wanted. His tongue, his lips, his hands, oh, his hands— his fingers; those ridiculously long fingers that cover your whole pelvic bone when extended— slender and rapid, frantically incautious over your cunt, so eager to push you over the edge, pull you back up and throw you over again and again; you love how they look against your body, on your head, on your neck, on your cunt, everywhere they travel during your desirous journeys.

"Aren't I so scarily good?", Mingi huffs, nervy and immodest, talking to get himself to breathe, clearly confident that you are feeling the best you've felt the whole day given the way your muscle was contracting around his tongue, when it was still in you; unfortunately you're unable to answer him with words, just letting out another gutsy "unnnh" as feedback.

"I know, oh, I know," he grins, his thumb rubbing over your clit like he's racing with your stuttered breath, but ultimately, he’s making you feel quite empty with the lack of his mouth at your cunt, and he’s making you feel that way on purpose, "I'm the best, I can do you the best—"

"Mingi! Your Tongue! Please."

After his pant, his mischievous little chuckle, you understand it, understand it all clearly: your naughty Mingi loves to be ordered around by his wife. Loves being ordered around knowing that, once his tongue is inside you, you'll do absolutely nothing to hold him back, and it does make you want to fuck him even more, doesn’t it? You love your husband, you feel so young with him, so undisturbedly yourself— and how loved you feel, too.

Humming a fond "I got you, baby", Mingi shuffles himself together one last time, your thighs sitting perfectly on his shoulders, and there he goes, driving his tongue into you, even more ecstatic than before; now, that you even begged him to, it's like your husband has taken enough of a back to duplicate the amount of vigor, exponentially getting faster and more impassioned. "Oh, fuck," you breathe out and with Mingi's tongue rubbing your inner walls wild and avidly, his thumb sprinting across your sensitive clit, you are heading straight to your first orgasm.

"Just like that," you whine, knowing very well that it gets your husband riled up well across his usual efforts, and you continue with it just to chase your high, "just like that, baby, just like—"

Hey now, did you just call him 'baby'? And how sneakily you did it, too! You know how crazy it gets him, you tease. Your husband’s tongue raves against your sweet spots and your slick gets combined with his saliva, his thumb using the moisture as lube to not miss any of the chances to make you squirm and spasm on his touches, but Mingi’s cock, his poor cock, twitches in the short moment his sweet, desirous pet-name is exhaled out of your pretty mouth he’s definitely going to need to kiss a thousand times until he can only taste the word “baby” on his lips.

His own pelvis is grinded deep into the mattress, and pearls of sweat form on both your foreheads, your eyes rolling to where you can’t see Mingi concentrating on your face, when it cums with a movement of your pelvis bucking up.

“… That!”, you moan, and Mingi pants, shovelling your come into his mouth, slurping it up so long until you physically have to wring with him to get his tongue off your pussy, but the trousers at your calves make it impossible. It’s Mingi’s choice here. And he’s not letting go.

“Ba—,” you squirm, rocking your body from side to side, “—by, please! Fuck!”

“Call me ‘baby’ one more time, just for me,” he lisps, laving his tongue against your throbbing, pulsating clit, all the while you try yank your ass down, overwhelmed by your prolonged pleasure.

“Baby! Baby, baby, baby—“, you whimper, and Mingi kisses your inner thigh, when he finally stops, satisfied by your calling. With one last peck on your clit, he lets go off your hands and slips out your chokehold, pulling off your pants by hooking his fingers in and sliding them off your feet. “Aww, look at you,” he beams, grinning, going through his hair and stroking his swollen lip, “all blushed away, reminds me of the older days, baby.”

“You are the worst,” you sob, and lay lax on the bed, legs once in for all extending and relaxing. Strangely enough, your head feels light, and your body that was straining and trying to get Mingi off of it, is now feeling warm and calming down from the high.

“Aw, you think so?” Mingi smiles, kissing up your leg, your hip-bone, pressing his lips on your abdomen, your tummy, your ribs, marking all of your body with his love-soaked mouth. "I adore you so much."

Having wrung with your husband, you got rid of some of the fighting needs, but— as you’re being smothered by him and his sweet antics— you sigh into the gentle, feathery contact with your skin, and play molten with his soft hair.

You remind yourself of his words, ‘don’t care about me’, but your husband would be a fool to assume that his wife doesn’t want to give him anything back. “Mingi,” you murmur— noticing that you’ve been closing your eyes due to the relaxation you are experiencing, and he immediately answers an attentive “yes, baby?” back, as he repeatedly kisses your jaw.

“Do you really want me to order you around?”, you hum.

“Haha, no, baby,” he chuckles, “it's just…”

Mingi harrumphes in his thoughts, wrapping his arms around your waist, laying his head on top of your tummy and looking up to you— whispering, "I want to do what's best for you. Especially on days like these."

Your heart throbs at the sight of your husband's hair being dishevelled, his already plump lips seemingly looking more peachy, rosy, kissable after he's eaten you out with more than greed and thirst; something that’s more valuable to a healthy marriage than the phrase ‘good sex, no ex’— Love. And the sweetest love there could ever be.

"You would do that for me, baby?", you ask him, your voice coming out sighed.

"Yes, of course," he insists, kissing you down your sternum, your ribcage moving up and down in a slow rhythm. “Baby, you work so much for us… I feel like this is something I can do for you in return, you know?”

“But what if I don’t make you cum?”

"Huh?"

Mingi stops kissing you and glances upwards. You grin. You wanted to catch him off-guard a little bit. (Though you don't know whether that's surprise in the white of his eyes or something like... intrigue.)

“… Uh,” he gutters, thinking about his words very carefully, but ultimately failing to find something good to say.

You smirk and go through his hair, gently grabbing a handful of it. “I think you’d find it hot."

"Really?", he asks, nervously huffing.

"Mingi, didn’t I edge you all during our early twenties?”

“Baby, don’t—“

“What? Well, I thought it was hot. I remember it being really hot.”

“Those were trying times.”

“We did try a lot of things during college.”

Reminiscing and visiting your rather youthful, spry days, Mingi pushes his head deeper into your hand and smiles, having calmed down from the rather exciting idea that you would suggest something so risqué to him. How long has it been? More than ten years, wow.

"Look at us now, baby," Mingi murmurs, sub-consciously wandering up the silhouette of your body with the backside of his hands, making you rather ticklish, but in a way that goosebumps find themselves on your skin, your breath feeling lighter with each stroke of his finger-tips, "Look at you." He inhales, and then exhales, your thumb resting at his ear, "You are trying to kill me, baby..."

"Ohh, Mingi, I'm not!", you giggle, and you may not know what your husband is talking about, but through his lenses— though you would be right to assume that these lenses are painted a deep, deep red— he's seeing his wife be tempered, moderate, relaxed. If he finds you so hot when you're fuming, Mingi finds you enthralling, when your eyes are barely open, the slightest of smile decorating your lips, and an even more hidden pink daubed on your cheeks... You're his wife, Mingi repeats to himself, and his heart grows double its size because of it.

"I love you," he murmurs, and for the moment, he doesn't even know he said that out loud, “I love you so much”, and means it more the second time.

And there you lay, on the mattress, your husband beginning to kiss you again, his hands cupping your head, your fingers interlaced in his hair. "I love you too," you whisper, and as Mingi grabs you by your back, inviting you to get your body up, you're right in the zone again.

Soft, smitten contact— it’s your lips this time to cover Mingi’s neck with kisses, down to his shoulders, his collarbones, your knee working against his crotch, arms swung behind his head.

“I want to take care of you, baby,” Mingi whispers, his thumb caressing your jawbone, as you peck away the sweat on his skin, he will need another shower. “I want to make love to you.”

You smile in awe of your husband lulling the loveliest of words into your ear, soft rustling from your sheets accompanying his voice. The room you decorated together, the home you fill, and even sooner, you'll start a family— with Mingi as a father to be proud of. Who has done so much to keep you happy.

"But sometimes I think—”

“No, baby,” you interrupt him, his voice was dropping and you know you are preventing Mingi from talking bad about himself. He feels guilty, though you've told him uncountable times that you don't feel like you're the only one under this roof.

"But—"

“Baby, no.”

"Okay... I guess I just love you, then." Mingi chuckles, when your fingernails trail down his breast, drawing a line along his muscle definition, “what did you think I was gonna say?”

“Something that’s gonna take me off my mood,” you hum, hooking yourself at his joggers. Mingi sighs, loudly, not yet relieved, but still at peace somehow.

“Make love to me, Mingi.”

A slight gasp leaves his mouth. Oh…

“Y/N… You can’t say things like that.”

With a smirk, your hand disappears in his joggers, and then in his boxers; his thick, throbbing, struggling cock slicking in your grip, as you wrap your fingers around it.

“I can, baby, and I will,” you sneer, “I thought you wanted the best for me?”

He grits his teeth, but Mingi smiles, finding himself at your service. “Am I the best?”, he asks you, leaning forwards to rest his head against your shoulder, pushing you down again.

“You’re the absolute best, Mingi.”

You slowly glide your hand up and down his length nibbling at his ear, exhaling, seducing him. “You’re the best husband,” you purr, “with the most handsome face,” kissing his temple, “and”, with your other finger hooked at the waist band of his joggers, you reveal “the best cock.”

Mingi is touched. A bit embarrassed, yes, it’s been a while since he’s heard you talk like this, but to hear from the best wife that he is deemed the best husband is the highest compliment he could have gotten. What, his face still charms you? His cock is still alluring to you? Don’t judge him, but even after ten years he will be moved by your words.

Moved.

“Come on, Mingi,” you coo, feeling your cunt pulsate between your legs, his cock twitch between your fingers; your husband gulps and, with your command, roams against your body, "let's get you to work."

Maybe he's really revisiting things from the past, after all the talk about your college endeavours, because you definitely recognise his canine teeth ever-so slightly sunken into your shoulder, as Mingi grabs you by your thighs and spreads your legs gently. Your body remembers, and his cock surely does as well, glistening in pre-cum as it is positioned at your cunt. "God, baby," Mingi grunts, and you lick over your lips in anticipation.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pouts, and in an almost reverent tone, Mingi brushes away a sweaty strand of hair from your face, “you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

“Not even your mom?”, you giggle, and while you think of your mother in law with utmost respect, your husband smiles, unfazed; “She’ll agree.”

And with that, Mingi is inside you, all of his length gliding into you with utmost caution; he’s driving in his pelvis unhurriedly, slow and deliberate, just so you can feel every inch of you inside expand for his girth, stretch for his entrance. "Fuck," you gutter and grab Mingi by his hair, pulling him close to you just as he begins to move, your moan coming out muffled against his lip.

"Never growing tired of it, are you?", Mingi grins into the kiss, and he's right, he's so, totally right, but your face is strained together in ecstasy, lascivious— aphrodisical to your husband. He's throbbing and he can feel how warm his own cock is, as Mingi pulls himself out of your tightness in his entirety and then, "fuck," pushes himself right back in inside you to experience it all again.

"I could never grow tired of my hubby," you chuckle and fuck, feel him, physically feel how he's getting excited about your words, something so enrapturingly hot boiling inside him; but while your personal heat ends up being your devilish little voice encouraging you to tease him, Mingi's does nothing more than to whisper him the most delicate ways of loving.

If he sucks on the spot right here at your pretty, graceful collarbone, will you sigh out an even more graceful breath? (Yes!) If he slides his tongue across your neck, just until your sensitive jaw, will you pull his hair with some type of feistiness? (Oh, god yes!) If Mingi, looking at you with sunken eyes, catches you off-guard and pistons his pelvis in at this exact moment, will you— "Fuck, baby!"

Oh, he didn't even need a voice for that one. Your husband slithers his arms under your armpits, one hand holding you by your back, the other resting on top of your head, so you don't hit the bedframe and hurt yourself, as it falls to the back with his thrust.

"Want me to say sorry?", he hums, again slowly driving himself out, knowing very well that once Mingi changes the direction, he will hit your sweet-spot again, and you shake your head rather weakly, drunken on the feeling of him filling you out.

"Good," Mingi confirms your answer, peppering kisses all around your forehead, as he quickens up his pace, breathing throughout it all. "Y/N," he sighs, you sighing with him for all the same reasons, "you feel so good."

You get used to the rhythm and let loose of the sheets, lightly scratching his skin at his waist. "You feel so good, baby," Mingi repeats himself and his eyebrows are pushed together, his grunts vibrating down your cunt. "Do you feel good, baby?"

Nodding, whispering a wispy string of a lot of 'yes'es, Mingi flashes his eye-smile and digs his face deep into the nook of your neck. He doesn't say it, because he's too busy panting, moaning, breathing out to his own thrusts, but your husband is overjoyed. You feel so tiny under his body— and maybe it's because you are, and yet the place you have reserved in his even bigger heart— which even in this moment, is beating for you and nobody else— is inexplainably huge. He wants to be yours as much as he wants you to be him, be with him, have all his life painted in your pretty colours until his canvas drivels over.

His cock is slipping in and out of you at fast speed now, your whiny moans encouraging Mingi to hold this angle since you're not stopping with it; "Are you close?", he asks and gets one arm of his out to rest his hand on the bedframe, towering over you, hair falling in front of his eyes.

"Yes, I'm close," you answer and search for another kiss, raising your hand to his cheek, Mingi immediately plunging his face into yours. He's close too, has been for a while now, but he had to get your confirmation that he was finally able to release himself into you— and then, when you nibble at his lip while a heavenly note of a moan leaves your opened mouth, Mingi's pelvis moves by itself.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck," he cusses, having to install one hand at your hips so he doesn't rock you around too much, voice becoming high and needy, greed messing with the practiced way he thrusts into you, becoming sloppy and all the while passionate, chasing the speed it takes to make you feel the best and even better. His other hand slides onto your clit, and it does so by muscle memory, knowing exactly where to rub so you clench around him, scream out his name.

"I love you so much, baby, I want you so bad, and I'm— fuck," he heaves, his voice catching up with his movement, "I'm going to love you until we grow old, baby, I want to be with you until the end of our days— I," and Mingi is rambling his free mind here, his whole body, mind and soul at your service, "I want you to have me forever, Y/N."

"Mingi," you whine, and his cock doesn't stop hitting your soft-spot, your clit tingling from his thumb, making you dopey, skipping you through time, to a future where you lay with Mingi in bed at the same late hour, both heads fuming from work, trying to your steam off together now, worried that your kids will hear your words, grunting silently into each other's ears, the words being, "I'm gonna cum!"

Oh, what good days await you two, and how straight you're heading for it, too— with Mingi's breathing being cut short, coming out stuttered from how fast he's ramming himself into you, not too rough, but fluidly and ceaselessly until you are gasping for air, feeling the string be stretched further and further, pulled for release, spiralled by your husband's vigor and his panting; "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum so fucking bad, fuck!"

Mingi soaks sweatily in your words, his hair chaotic, his abs glistening from the heat of it all— you yank your hand out his mouth, your lower body curling up— "Fuck, baby!"

And with your tightened cunt Mingi lets out a deep, whole-hearted grumble, falling flat on your body, as he spasms; his hot, thick semen shot seeps through along the tip of his cock out your cunt, needing to be fucked right back into you so it doesn’t get lost on your sheets— you seeing absolute bliss, as he pistons into you one last time, eyes focused on your husband.

“Baby,” Mingi pants, and with your gazes meeting, his lips rush over to your cheek, pecking you one, two, three times— and then, on your lips one, two— no, holding one long kiss with you, his plump, rosy softness making your body melt into the mattress, as it falls deeper in slumber. “I love you,” he whispers into your kiss, tucking some of your hair behind your ear, “my baby.”

He pulls out, infamously slow, making you heave on his length even after you both finished. “Mingi,” you exhale, feeling your eyelids close by themselves, your husband slightly chuckling.

“Sorry, baby,” he says, caressing your waist and cheek, “you need anything?”

“Oh, Mingi,” you laugh; Mingi can't help himself, can he? Will always ask for your wishes, wishing to grant them, like he's some wizard, a magician, a devoted believer of your enjoyment and happiness— "You did all you could have done, baby."

"Really?"

"Come on, Mingi, you big baby, c'mere."

He huffs, a bit sulky maybe, your silly husband, getting the blanket from the bed to throw it over his shoulder and wham, over you— cuddling you in, for now ignoring that the both of you need a hot, steamy shower, just breathing in and out your presence, your sweet, dulcet presence, which caramelizes in his warmth, against his body, melting.

"Thank you for being there for me, baby," you smile, voice dampened by the blanket, but Mingi understands you just well enough.

You don't need to thank him. Mingi knows you know that. He's obsessed with you, and though you could try and say you're just as obsessed, your husband will try everything to your favour to prove otherwise.

As Mingi throws his arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to his breast, making you listen to his heartbeat, beating just for you, you hear him whisper all kinds of affirmations. 'I'll never leave your side, I'll never make you feel lonely, I'll be yours forever.”

A career? A family? A happy life?

It's all waiting for you, patiently, each day and night you leave and come back home— in office clothes and a chaotic mind— watching, admiring, hoping to get the weight of responsibility off your shoulders, get you a taste of freedom, a taste of the fruits of your labour.

"Are you asleep?", he asks and you groan silently, pressing your face deeper down his armpit. "Baby..."

Mingi chuckles. You need this sleep, totally, but you also need to be cleaned up, which gives him the challenge to grab you by your leg the most gentle way he can, lift you up— and, when you lie in his embrace, head snuggled into his breast— he’s careful to not wake you up with the sounds of water splashing down his hand, as he soaps you in.

It’s difficult, this is difficult, it will all be so difficult— but Mingi, being your husband, your soul-mate, your everything, he’s putting his all on it to make it work.

(Work you up, make you work for it; until your voice is hoarse, until your body shakes, until your head is light and you can do it, all over again, the next day, evening and night.

“Happy wife, happy life!”

(Maybe Mingi embraces his new role as the father of your children too much.))

#song mingi smut #song mingi fluff #song mingi x reader #song mingi x y/n #song mingi scenarios #song mingi imagine #ateez x reader #ateez smut #chokkiwa #chokko

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thevioletcaptain · 4 months

Text

Almost a decade ago, in November of 2014, I became so exhausted by seeing people throw around the absurd claim that Dean/Cas fans made up only 1% of SPN fandom that I decided to prove how wrong it was. The most readily available data which didn't rely on conducting a survey or poll -- and was therefore a more accurate representation of actual fandom activity rather than just whoever happened to respond to a survey -- came from fic numbers on Ao3.

I made a post about it at the time (the pertinent figures are included below, or you can see the original post here) and then completely forgot about the entire thing. Until now.

Why? Well, largely thanks to a sudden resurgence of the same old nonsense this week, mostly cropping up in the comment sections of a couple of polls that crossed my dash. The temptation to check if there had been any significant changes to the fandom's activity since I last looked ten years ago was too strong to ignore.

Friends. Things have proven to be shockingly consistent.

With the same caveat from last time -- that this is only showing trends in the subset of fandom who actively uses Ao3, and therefore obviously doesn't take into account the "general audience" subset of fandom who don't participate beyond watching the show and occasionally liking a social media post -- here are the numbers:

Old count | November 9th, 2014 | 4 episodes into S10

Total SPN fics posted - 86,352 Fics listed as gen - 22,718 (26.3%) Fics with Dean/Cas - 33,762 (39.0%) Fics with Sam/Dean - 12,286 (14.2%) Fics with Sam/Cas - 1,634 (1.8%) Fics with Sam/Dean/Cas - 787 (0.9%)

The remaining 18.6% of SPN fics were non-gen fics featuring other character pairings, including reader inserts and original characters.

New count | May 28th, 2024 | 3.5 years after finale

Total SPN fics posted - 290,707 Fics listed as gen - 61,343 (21.1%) Fics with Dean/Cas - 116,925 (40.2%) Fics with Sam/Dean - 34,673 (11.9%) Fics with Sam/Cas - 5,548 (1.9%) Fics with Sam/Dean/Cas - 1,957 (0.6%)

The remaining 24.3% of SPN fics are non-gen fics featuring other character pairings, including reader inserts and original characters.

Notes on data:

All data was collected while logged in on Ao3 to ensure no incorrect counts were caused by hidden works.

There is some overlap within these numbers due to fics which are tagged with multiple pairings. This might be possible to account for if someone felt like doing more intensive data collection, but I've already spent about an hour and a half on this and that's already a lot more time than I'd like to be doing voluntary math. I enjoy statistics as a point of interest, but goddamn do I hate actually crunching the numbers.

It bears mentioning that Sam/Gabriel (5.1%), Sam/Jess (2.2%), & Dean/Reader (2.5%) all have higher counts than Sam/Cas (1.9%) & Sam/Dean/Cas (0.6%), however I didn't make note of those pairings in 2014, so I'm unsure if there has been any change.

I shouldn't have to say this, but literally all of us are just smashing our fave characters together like dolls, so as interesting as these numbers are this post is not intended to suggest that any ship is "better" than any other ship. This post is intended to do nothing more than show the available data which disproves a baseless claim about the size of Dean/Cas fandom within the larger SPN fandom.

TLDR; the percentage of active Supernatural fans on Ao3 who are interested in Dean/Cas as a pairing is significantly higher than 1%, and that has been a consistent pattern within the fandom for the past ten years.

#cass says things #fandom: supernatural #a post in which i get irritated enough by disinformation that i voluntarily do math #i wasn't planning on posting this anywhere tbh #but it was interesting to me and i figure someone else out there might also find it interesting #plus it gave me an excuse to make a couple of pie charts #also if you're about to start wank about this in my notes please consider... not doing that

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amywritesthings · 8 months

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silver underground. / chapter 20.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 6k Summary: flashback ten - also known as the final mission Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - graphic violence, minor character deaths, titan deaths, bloodshed, graphic depictions of injury, despair, peril

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 20 - FLASHBACK: TEN

Eighty to forty.

Slashed in half.

On paper, the tactical statistics sound nothing short of a miracle.

In a division plagued by endless casualties, any hope of saving lives rather than destroying them should (and will) sanction blind approval from higher command.

For the commandant, for the king, for the people behind those Walls relying on this team to succeed in breaching the forest to pursue the mission of the Scout Regiment, it’s the best idea curated to date—

And it’s all thanks to Commander Erwin and his right-hand man, Captain Levi.

Levi Ackerman insists he can take on any Abnormal single-handedly.

Commander Erwin insists his Special Operations squad can and will find a way through the thick of it, once and for all.

A triumphant success for humanity, no matter the cost.

— but that was on paper.

When you wake, Levi isn’t beside you in your bed.

His disappearing act in the morning isn’t unusual nor is it disappointing.

By now you're used to waking up without him, though you only find yourself sleeping thanks to him.

(He's admitted that, if he doesn't slip out earlier than when you wake, then he may never leave.)

Although your relationship is the worst kept secret within the Special Ops squad, it’s still just that:

A secret.

What is not a secret, however, is the trajectory of what’s to come.

Not every day in the regiment is a nightmare, but this is the type of day the average cadet dreads when they pledge their allegiance to the Survey Corps.

So you ready for the day with noticeable weight on your shoulders.

A determination to see this through.

A promise to show up for your fellow man.

(An oath to Levi that the two of you will make it out of this alive and see another sunrise.)

Today will be brutal, but you can prevail.

Stepping out of your quarters in full Scout gear, you hear the whinnies and whines of nearing horses as they gallop toward headquarters.

You fix the collar of your cropped tan jacket in time with your footsteps descending down the stairwell, mind elsewhere.

Bodies hurry in and out of the open front door. Gear clinks. Blades sheath.

“Lieutenant James!”

That voice belongs to no soul you know.

You stop dead in your tracks right in front of the open double doors. Turning to the sunlight, you raise a hand to shield the rays to locate who may have spoken your name.

Before you stands an entirely new group of Scouts that you’ve never seen before. Fresh-faced and determined, if not a little terrified — there is a large array of them standing around in a semicircle at the mouth of headquarters.

All adorn the Wings of Freedom.

All press their fist backwards to their heart, denting the emblem.

You realize some of their faces look familiar.

Albeit it was a brief stint as a cadet in the training corps, recognition flutters over your face as you spy some of the hopefuls that slept not so far from your bunk in the barracks.

It's been years. What were once youthful faces now age well before their time.

“Lieutenant, sir!”

The one in the center, a short-haired woman with glasses, barks once more.

“We’re pleased to make your acquaintance and to serve under the command of Humanity’s Strongest.”

At first you say nothing, dazed at the sheer number of this squad.

Seven people hold steadily onto seven individual horses, their shoulders shrouded by emerald green cloaks. Some keep their hoods adorned to the crowns of their heads. Others bare their nervous but brave faces to you.

“At ease,” you murmur, and they lower their fists. “I wasn’t aware another squad was joining us this morning.”

“Miro Squad, sir, at your service,” the short-haired person greets, bowing. “I received Commander Erwin’s urgent letter for additional soldiers in the pursuit of breaching the forest.”

They take a half-step back and gestures to their team, pointing out every soul on their squad.

Miro, their leader; Trina, their second-in-command with wild fiery hair; and Scouts Orin, Max, Penelope, Cesca, and Rini.

Seven additional Scouts.

Fourteen Scouts in full for this Hail Mary of a mission.

Then it hits:

Proposing half of the original projected damage was bold, even for someone as shameless as Commander Erwin.

He had no qualms with setting this mission up with the new layout provided by Levi, ensuring as much of an air-tight plan as possible.

Eighty to forty percent is nothing short of a miracle.

But miracles do not exist in the Scouts.

Your stomach drops into the dirt with the sickening realization of what Commander Erwin’s grandiose solution really meant.

Miro Squad is the forty percent reduction.

A cruel and inhumane buffer of surefire casualties in order to keep the Special Ops squad intact during the breach.

You’re staring at a group of devoured bodies before you even reach the trees.

“It’s…”

You struggle with your words before slamming your backward fist to your heart, raising your chin.

Some of the younger Scouts stare in awe at your blatant display of honor.

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Miro Squad.”

You bow, though you feel dirty for doing so.

“I trust Commander Erwin made you aware of today’s efforts?”

Miro nods. “We intend to serve however we can.”

They don’t know.

They need to know.

They need to make an informed decision before—

“Lieutenant,” a deep voice sounds behind you, and your skin crawls.

Turning your chin, you stare eye to eye with the blue-eyed man boring down on you.

Commander Erwin appears somber.

Stoic.

“Yes, Commander?”

The question is small, but it drips with a knowing venom.

Erwin is not fazed. “Captain Levi is tending to the horses at the stables. Can you aid him in preparation before departure?”

To you, you conjure what appears to be a clear answer woven between the lines:

Do not interfere. Do not disobey.

You hold rank to an extent in the Scouts, but what the Commander says, goes.

Continuing to hold his icy blue stare, you try to convey the question you cannot say out loud.

(Do they know what is about to happen?)

Erwin continues to stare right back, not the least bit fazed by the conflict in your brow.

He is confident. He is headstrong.

An answer.

They're going to dedicate their hearts.

(Just like you, too, promised years ago.)

Without another word, you turn on a heel and beeline straight to the stables.

Anger.

Why do you feel so much anger?

Is it because the outcome feels bleak well before mission has started?

Are the odds truly this stacked against humanity?

When you reach the parted doors of the stables, he's there — Levi Ackerman stands in front of his black stallion, gliding a gentle hand down its muzzle.

He senses your presence well before you even say a word.

He turns easily to you, but his eyes sharpen a fraction when he picks up how pinched your shoulders are.

“James,” he greets neutrally, brow knitting. “What’s—”

“Miro Squad just showed up.”

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you snip, making your way to your own horse — she has a white coat with speckled gray spots all along her body.

She makes a small chortle noise when you near and you serve your flattened palm to her for a nuzzle.

(Behind the pen doors, you note she already has her gear in place. Levi must have already saddled her up for you while you were getting ready.)

The dark-haired man to your left sighs in a huff.

“Not playing dumb, James. I was genuinely asking.”

“It’s the squad Erwin’s setting up for slaughter,” you decide to elaborate hotly.

A pause passes.

You don't turn to see Levi's expression, but you can sense how tense the space between the two of you has become.

“If it’s Miro Squad he called to action, then they’ve fared well in comparison to the other squadrons," he argues with little fire. "Did he personally request them?"

"Allegedly."

"Allegedly?" Levi repeats, sharper in tone. "Either he did or he didn't."

"According to Miro, yes, he sent an urgent letter requesting aid."

Finally you turn a cheek towards him, forcing your eyes to meet.

You know that look he gives you sidelong.

Don’t start.

(Neither of you need to fight again, not before this mission.)

"Then Erwin didn't pick a random crop of Scouts to shit the bed and die on us," Levi reasons, softer. Conspiratorial. "I know you think he’s a bastard, but—”

“Worst case scenario,” you interrupt, “at least his Special Ops team won’t die?”

“If my strategy goes well, then no one dies." He counters with the certainty that’s entirely Levi. “You forget my name is on the damn ledger, too, unless this is you trying to tell me something.”

White-hot embarrassment courses your veins as your childhood friend waits for you to challenge his statement — to call him an equal-part premeditated murderer sat right beside the commander.

You can’t.

You won’t.

Instead you cool off by slowly petting your horse, willing your bad feeling to wither away.

After a moment, Levi wills his voice to soften again. “We need as many Scouts as we can—”

“I know.”

“—and even then, if we all kick the bucket, it's on me."

Levi finishes with a heavy sigh. He turns away, dropping his chin to his chest.

“I'll take whatever punishment fits the crime if it goes to shit."

A beat passes.

Blinking several times, you turn your body to him and drop the attitude.

“...and I'll do everything in my power to make sure we stay alive," you whisper softly. "That everyone comes home."

Levi’s head hangs, cascading his wispy black hair as a curtain over his face.

“That's not supposed to be your burden."

"Where you go, I go, remember?" you tell him. "For better or worse, I don't care."

"Wanna workshop vows, huh?" he mumbles. "Right now?"

This seems to ease the air about the stables.

Centimeter by centimeter, twin pairs of shoulders release in their tension.

You can't help but smile, even if the moment is tense.

"I think the Commander would find the dramatics funny."

"Oh, sure, proposing to your ass right before the single-biggest mission in Scout history would really tickle his funny bone," he sarcastically replies.

"It'd sure tickle Hange's."

"Hange doesn't need more ammunition, not after catching our asses that one time—"

"That one time that was your fault, you mean?" You grin as he glares. Still, his scowl is playful. "Loud Mouth Ackerman—"

"Shut up, Lieutenant."

Levi lets go of his horse and raises his hand, palm outstretched.

“Get the hell over here before anyone catches us a second time, alright?”

Albeit small, he smiles.

It's forced, like he wants to remember this — to focus on this.

The final moments before the point of no return.

Like a moth to a flame, you step away from your horse to step towards the short, dark-haired man.

Once you’re close enough, he pulls you in from the nape of your neck and drags your forehead to his, pressing them together.

His eyes squeeze shut.

You stare, memorizing his face.

“I love you,” he murmurs. “Don’t die.”

All the anger in your body melts away.

“I love you, too,” you reply just as softly. “I won’t—”

The stable door creaks.

You leap off of the captain to pretend like you’re picking up the bucket of water at his boots.

Levi stays put, dropping his arm like dead weight.

“Captain. Lieutenant.”

You don’t need to see the face to know it’s Erwin’s voice echoing through the stables.

“It’s time to move out.”

You both reply in unison, two different octaves.

“Yes, sir.”

The formation is simple:

Captain Levi leads the charge into the forbidden forest with Lieutenant James at his side.

Behind them in a diamond formation are the Special Operation Scouts Petra, Oluo, Gunther, and Eld.

Command Erwin, Section Commander Hange, and Moblit remain at headquarters for the recon and debrief.

At the rear of the formation are Miro Squad to specifically call out nearing and flanking titans that the first squad may miss.

They shadow the Special Operations unit as back-ups, no matter the cost.

And at first? It's easy.

Deceiving easy.

The mouth of the forest gives little trouble.

Both squadrons of Scouts breach the thick grove of towering trees without incident.

Thirty minutes into this mission, in the belly of this beast, not a single Abnormal has been spotted.

There aren't any typical titans, either.

It’s quiet.

Serene.

“Alright, listen up!”

With his hands tightly wound around leather reigns, Captain Levi finally calls to the Scouts behind him.

“Keep your eyes peeled. Abnormals do not move like other titans. These shitheads can be fast and appear at a moment’s notice.”

“Right!” Several of the Miro squad shouts back.

The Special Operations squad is too focused to reply.

Whenever you glance over at Levi, he’s smooth as stone.

He refuses to allow any emotion cloud his judgment on a mission, and you can imagine it won’t be any different this go-around.

Because this mission cannot fail.

The Scouts must push forward, no matter the cost.

(Even if the irrevocable cost makes you sick to your stomach.)

The sun shines bright over a canopy of trees.

Your cloak is too warm in this type of weather.

As you push further into the thick of the terrain, nearing what is assumed to be the halfway point of the forest, birds chirp less and less.

Eerie silence overtakes the pounding of hooves into the dirt.

Then, as fast as an inhale, you see it:

Directly ahead trudges a nine-meter titan, peering around a thick tree trunk.

"Captain!" Gunther shouts. "Ahead at our twelve!"

"I see the piece of shit," Levi calls back. "We keep moving. I'll take care of it."

You don't doubt that he will.

As it continues to slowly advance on your formation, you can tell the team is a little more tense.

Ready —

Except no one was prepared, not really.

The titan ahead is an army of one, but it is not the only titan here.

It was just the only one right in front of you.

Behind you sounds a scream so bloodcurdling that you nearly lock up on your horse.

You turn despite yourself.

Within seconds, you see Max get ripped clear off of his horse with the sheer force of otherworldly strength.

(...a hand?)

Then, a gust of wind sweeps and swirls the dirt into a lackluster tornado.

His horse narrowly escapes.

It rolls over and over, kicking up a thick dust cloud.

Max speeds through the air at breakneck speed like a human arrow —

Until he abruptly crashes into a thick tree trunk, dislocating his spine from his head.

The crunch is like ripping a stalk of ripe lettuce in half.

He simply crumples against the tree, limbs peacefully blowing in the wind like a leaf.

His Scout cloak billows over his shocked face, forever frozen in belated surprise.

Gone.

Just like that.

Then from the shadows, as if waiting for its prey, a five-meter titan stumbles around a tree to chomp on the recently deceased body.

It gnaws off his legs as they dangle in the air, spattering blood all over the forest floor.

Your horse gallops on.

You can't look away.

Then someone screams, forcing your eyes to rip away from the horror.

“Cesca!” A blonde girl shrieks to the right of the formation — Penelope, you think her name is. “Don’t!”

“It's devouring him!” Cesca wails at the top of her lungs. “We have to go back for him!”

“He’s already dead!” Trina calls with experienced calm. “There's no use, soldiers! Keep your eyes forward. We keep moving!”

“James—”

Your head turns when Levi calls to you.

Wide eyes meet a narrowed gaze.

“—that means you, too.”

Your eyes round with the realization that everything is happening so fast yet moving in slow motion.

What was that thing?

Was that a... ?

You were so busy watching Max get eaten that you didn’t realize three more titans appeared on the northeast corner, awakened by the screams of Miro Squad.

Shit.

This isn’t good.

This is not good.

“Levi,” you begin slowly, but he shakes his head.

"Don't hesitate. We push forward no matter what."

He's right.

Max is dead.

You just have to hope the rest of Miro squad keeps their wits about them.

You turn your head to make eye contact with Miro.

“Faster!”

“Roger, Lieutenant,” Miro tells you before shouting to their team. “Keep going, Scouts! We should be halfway through the clearing.”

“Miro,” Trina alerts them sharply, "three more titans are crowding from the right."

“Shit, what does that make it now? Seven of them!?” Miro hisses.

(Seven?)

Your eyes connect with Petra who appears equal parts shocked at just how quickly this mission has dissolved.

“I— there's a whole bunch of them in the back!”

Penelope calls frantically, staring behind her.

"They're surrounding us!"

Three to the east.

Another three to the northwest.

A couple to the south, and another...

Something entirely unlike anything you'd ever seen before.

“Captain, we’re going to need to ditch the horses,” you tell Levi in a hushed voice.

“Not yet,” he replies, smooth and certain.

“Not yet?" you repeat. "Levi, we have an entire army of goddamn titans on our—”

“I said not yet,” he coolly bites. “I’ll handle them.”

You know he will.

You just don’t want him to go up against them on his own.

Suddenly someone from the right side of the formation ignites their ODM gear, and they swoop overhead.

Blonde hair whooshes straight by the team and into the forest thick.

Penelope is the first to pull the trigger.

“I’m gonna get ahead of the curve and attack!” she calls, zipping through the trees towards some of the smaller titans.

Levi says nothing, but Miro shouts to their own squad:

“That wasn’t the plan! Damn it, Penelope!”

Her body rounds one of the tree trunks and heads right, disappearing.

Say something.

Say anything.

If that thing that killed Max is how an Abnormal moves, then Penelope doesn't stand a chance on her own.

You speak to him again. "Captain—”

“Not yet, James.”

“Penelope is going to get killed!” you argue, your grip on the reigns tightening.

“That’s the choice she made,” Captain Levi argues in return, sounding a little too much like Commander Erwin in the moment. “Remain steady and wait for my signal.”

Twigs fold and crackle under new weight to your right.

Then a thud shakes the straight through the horses and into you.

Penelope must have taken down at least one normal titan.

“Captain!”

Miro shouts in the middle of the squad.

“Should we engage? My squad can take care of the titans and carve a path forward!”

There is a tense, pregnant pause.

Everyone waits for Levi's instruction.

Two smaller titans walk directly towards the horses.

The dark-haired man's nostrils flare with decision.

“I’m going to take down the two ahead,” Levi shouts, effortlessly swinging a boot to the saddle of his horse.

With the muscles of his thigh he pushes until both boots are surfing against his running horse.

His black hair blows wildly in the wind. Like a well-oiled machine, he pushes back his cloaks to reveal his ODM gear, readying for deployment.

"Miro, take your squad and eliminate the enemies flanking us. You can come back to us once you're finished."

“What about the rest of us, sir?” calls Oluo.

Levi’s eyes narrow at the enemies ahead.

“My squad will keep the horses going. We need to make it to the end of this forest, for humanity's sake."

"And Captain, what about Penelope?" you quickly ask.

"She's a lost cause, Lieutenant."

He speaks with that coldness he's been forced to adopt ever since your days in the Underground.

"We can't go back for her."

You turn to watch as Miro squad disengages formation and turns around, charging bravely towards the crowd of titans forming behind.

An array of shapes and sizes await their swords.

(Or their flesh.)

Any minute now and it could be a bloodbath.

Any minute—

Levi flies off of his horse, trapezing through the trees.

A gas trail from how hard his gear is working is your only indicator for where he is at such a height.

He twirls with the shine of his unsheathed swords, slashing the napes of the two large titans ahead.

A victory.

Except it's a short-lived victory, because you hear it behind you—

Miro squad.

They're in trouble.

Even from this distances you hear Cesca, Rini, and Orin scream and panic.

Scouts fly between tree branches with smoke trailing behind. ODM gear ignites and retracts without any real clear sense of direction.

They're drowning back there.

You see the silhouette of someone falling to the forest floor.

"One of us needs to help them," you tell Eld, and he shakes his head sharply.

"You heard Captain Levi."

"They're two fucking Scouts down, Eld!" you snap at your comrade. "We'll lose seven whole people!"

"We can't go against captain's orders, Lieutenant!" Petra calls to you, and Oluo nods beside her.

Scanning your squad still soldiering ahead with the plan, you feel something grip your heart.

Yet another gut-wrenching shriek sounds from the forest.

Maybe it's Penelope.

Maybe it's Cesca.

The voices reverberate and echo through the forest that it's hard to tell.

You don't even realize that you're moving your hands over your cloak to push it out of the way.

Eighty to forty.

"The hell are you doing!?"

The clipped tone of Levi Ackerman as he drops back onto his stallion rips you back into focus.

His knee drops to the saddle, facing his soldiers rather than what's ahead.

Your eyes meet narrowed gray.

"I can help," you tell him calmly. "They're going to die."

"Stay."

"They're going to die, Le—"

"Stay, Lieutenant." Levi's nostril's flare. "That's an order."

Miro squad's screams continue to haunt your subconscious.

You promised.

You said you'd stay by his side.

But isn't this what the Scout Regiment is for?

To save humanity, to give them hope.

It used to be something you felt was such a crock of shit, but you can't ignore the screams back there.

You can't let them die.

"I'm going to help them," you tell him without a tremor. "You know I can do it."

Levi's eyes flash with an indiscernible emotion.

"We'll all come back in one piece. I'll guide them to the horses."

"No."

"And we'll make it to the end of this fucking forest."

You stare back at him, pleading a forgiveness you haven't asked for yet.

(You saved me once. Let me save them.)

"If you go," he growls, "James, if you go, I'll—"

"I'll take whatever punishment fits my crime," you cut him off, "but I can't let them all die."

His pupils shrink, sharpening the whites of his eyes.

The wheeze of ODM gear bursts into life as it lifts you off of your saddle and into the forest sky.

Without thinking, you twist at the hip and take off—

You head south towards the screaming squad as they fight to break free from the titan hoard holding them hostage.

Wind freezes your cheeks.

The outlines of their bodies grow more pronounced the closer you become.

Soon you see five Scouts flying around, swinging their swords to destroy the last remaining titan.

Below are a cluster of smaller dead ones decaying by the second.

Trina, Miro's second-in-command, screams at the top of her lungs as she reaches out to her comrades.

"Help! Please, I don't want to be eaten! Please!"

She's stuck in the clutches of a ten-meter titan, slowly bringing her closer and closer to its open mouth.

They’re everywhere.

(How did everything go so wrong so fast?)

You don't think about dying. You don't worry about how upset Levi will be when you return. You don't stop to second guess your actions.

You don’t.

You just do.

Yelling at the top of your lungs, you rip both blades from their metallic sheaths at your hips.

Spinning from the momentum of your swing, you slice straight through the wrist of the titan holding Trina hostage.

She falls with enough smarts to break her fall with her own gear.

“James!” Trina cries out with equal parts despair and relief. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I came to make sure you were all okay," you tell them, shaking your head. "I guess you didn't really need back-up. We still have your horses..."

But you trail off, confused.

They should be relieved.

They killed every last titan back here.

Yet the Miro squad cling to the trees, skin as translucent as ghosts.

"Something big ate Penelope!" Cesca sobs, swinging her sword frantically to keep invisible outstretched fingers at bay. Her eyes are a window to nothing. As if she's curled into herself as she screams to you. "You need to—"

You're about to ask what the hell she's talking about.

But then you see it:

Climbing.

No, crawling through the trees, running like a rabid dog through the branches to eye up its prey.

A titan.

In comparison to other titans, it's practically a sun spot.

And it's so fast.

Eleven meters tall. Maybe thirteen.

You can't tell when its crouched like that.

Deformed.

Curled in on itself.

Then it halts when it sees you, blocking you from the rest of Miro squad.

A chill runs up your spine.

You stop to balance against the side of a tree trunk, staring face-to-face with your first Abnormal.

Its grin is something straight out a nightmare.

Its eyes track you, as if it...

As if it hopes you’ll flinch and begin the chase.

Shit.

You can't get around it.

You're stuck here — but the other five aren't.

“Trina, Miro, find Captain Levi,” you force yourself to speak, unable to look away from the Abnormal. “Take your squad north. Tell them you found an Abnormal."

“But—”

“I said go north, damn it,” you growl, clenching your teeth.

"What about you?" Miro asks.

“I'll be right behind you," you promise, though you damn well know you can't run straight through with your gear.

Why isn’t this titan attacking you?

Is it just waiting for you to run first?

Dedicate your heart.

No — this thing isn't going to kill you.

Max is dead. Penelope is dead.

But you came just in time to save five others.

You can save them, yourself, and this mission.

No, you won't die.

Not today.

“Go!”

Shouting at the top of your lungs, the Abnormal finally dives to attack you.

Only when you swing past it do you realize it was waiting — not for you, no, but for an eight-meter and ten-meter with blood all over its mouth to catch up.

Not one, but three Abnormals.

Shit.

Miro and Trina gather Orin, Cesca, and Rini.

All five swing through the trees back towards where you just came from.

In the meantime, you exhaust your efforts through intense ODM defensive maneuvers to avoid getting caught in the clutches — or teeth — of the three titans.

They chase after you, using the trees to their advantage.

It's no use.

You can't outrun all three.

So you'll have to fight these assholes to find a way out.

Turning abruptly, you side-step the lurching ten-meter reaching out towards you.

With a battle cry from the gut, you scream and slice straight through the nape of its neck.

Steam emits as it gurgles and stumbles, effectively dying on the forest floor.

One down.

Three to go.

You set your sights on the smaller titan first, gliding and sliding through the trees.

(The eleven-meter titan will be your greatest problem. You choose to make it your final priority.)

When you flip in the air, crown pointed to the ground and feet in the air, you can no longer see the bodies of Miro squad.

Only a faint trail of their gas fumes linger.

It’s just you, and the things that want to kill you.

But you won't die today.

No, you are not dying in this fucking forest.

Because you promised him.

Skating across a large tree trunk, you swan dive in the air and reattach your gear to opposite tree trunks, sights locked on the eight-meter titan.

The eight-meter monster stares directly at you, but you use its shoulder to lodge your spike directly into its flesh.

The momentum of the swing offers enough brutality to effectively rip into the nape of its neck, causing titan blood to splatter all over your body.

It stumbles, falling to the forest floor. You remain perched on its shoulder, sword extended.

Two down.

You can do this.

You can finish these titans off and meet up with the team before the mission is over.

It isn’t a lost cause.

Determined to see it through, you turn on the heel of your boot—

With a might crack of its arm, the eleven-meter knocks you clear off of the eight-meter’s shoulder and straight into the tree your gear is already attached to.

Your head hits.

The world turns into stars right before your eyes.

And before you can find yours wits and attack back—

Its fiery palm seizes your body from the tree trunk and squeezes.

The momentum nearly rips your spine in half when the Abnormal grabs you.

You gasp for air, knocked clear from your lungs.

Because you didn’t disengage your ODM line latched into the nearby tree, the sheer force of its grip on you bends your gear, forcing you to ragdoll between the points.

Shit.

The grapple of your gear won’t budge.

It won’t detract.

The jerking movements between the manhandling of the Abnormal and your jammed gear create a perfect storm of injuries.

Pops and crunches trickle up your body, breaking bones upon bones upon bones—

You see white.

The titan cannot get you loose from the tree, and you cannot get loose from it, so you act on pure instinct — with what little strength you have left, it stretches out and around to swipe your sword through the titans hand, narrowly missing your own chest.

One chance, and you took it.

Because not only did the sword cut through the titan, but it split the ODM line keeping you eleven meters in the air.

When you realize you can’t even breathe when the titan lets you go, you know what’s coming.

Weightless and numb of your own pain, you can feel the wind on your face, but your lungs refuse to expand.

They’re trapped from a cracked rib, and you’re out of time.

Something as bittersweet as foolish bravery crawls through your skin, burning it alive:

No one is coming.

You told Miro squad to run.

You defied orders.

—but you promised Levi you wouldn’t die.

(Is this the end of all things, right here?)

The screams and shouts echoing through your mind are not of Levi and Miro squad, no, but of your lost comrades — the ones who experienced the very same hopeless, fleeting feeling of fear right before they went.

You think of ash-blonde hair. Ginger locks.

Were Furlan and Isobel afraid?

When they couldn’t survive the Scouts, when they fought titans, did they look up at the sky just like you?

Did they know it was the end?

Were they worried they disappointed Levi?

Did they think of you, too, the way you're thinking about them?

Would they hate you for what you've done to Levi?

Four pairs of hopeful eyes walked up those Underground City stairs and into this world, yet only one will remain.

I promised.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

No screams.

No sobs.

You reach for the branches, watching the glittering sun through the canopy of trees, but you cannot touch them.

There is nothing you can do.

I’m sorry.

You continue to reach for the sky like you’ll catch on something without strength.

Your adrenaline-addled mind runs through so many memories—

The fighting rings of the Underground City;

The dream of leaving this place;

The feeling of the sun on bare skin;

Him.

Levi Ackerman.

Captain of the Scout Regiment. Humanity’s Strongest.

Your best friend.

The love of your life.

The boy who saved you, over and over, until—

“James!”

Suddenly your body reacts with a pained, strangled gasp.

The beauty of the sun disappears when a dark, oval silhouette overtakes it.

A brilliant shimmer of emerald billows around it.

It twirls and slashes the nape of the eleven-meters neck before pivoting south.

Towards you.

The silhouette nears at supernatural speeds, a trail of gas zipping in its wake—

It’s a man.

His gaze is overtaken by the whites of his eyes.

With how fast he’s descending from the tree tops, it’s a miracle he ducks and dodges every rogue branch.

His black hair is pinned to the sides of his head. The terror is written all over his face.

That face…

Levi.

You can’t speak, but you instinctively reach for his hand.

He grits his teeth, willing his body to fall faster. He breaks a barrier and soars closer to your orbit.

“Stay with me!” Levi shouts, voice determined and strong. “I’ll catch you!”

But you’ve been falling for what feels like hours, and he’s caught you so many times in the past.

When you struggled with ODM gear training, Levi would be the one to spot your fall. Every time, without failure.

But it wasn't his duty to catch you.

It wasn't his duty to come back for you.

He reaches out a hand, teeth clenched, but his fingertips just barely miss yours.

"Shit. C'mon, James, reach!"

He's getting desperate.

You've never seen him desperate.

The ground must be close.

Is it close?

(I’m sorry.)

You wish you could tell him.

You wish you had the strength, the breath, to do so.

(I'm sorry.)

You failed him.

You didn’t listen.

You should have listened.

With what little strength is left in your both, you roll your shoulder forward to send your hand towards his.

Your fingertips touch again, but he can’t quite grasp you.

(But then so many others would have died. An entire squad of seven in a formation of fourteen instead of just three. Isn’t that what the Scouts are supposed to fight for, Levi? Isn’t that why we work so damn hard to achieve this dream for humanity?)

His breath hitches.

His eyes explode.

Because he knows what’s coming, too.

“James!”

A sorrowful breath that should be his name exits your mouth.

(Levi, I’m so sorry. I love—)

The back of your head slams into the ground.

A sickening thud.

A lost gasp of air.

The world goes black.

Why did you do it?

Do what?

“James!”

A baritone voice shouts your name.

It’s guttural, echoing with desperation. Fear.

You gave me a second chance.

The man dives through the trees at an otherworldly pace.

Arms pressed tight to his sides, he expertly zig-zags through an array of branches, propelling his body forward.

His emerald cloak billows from behind in an angelic halo.

As he nears, you can make out the whites of his widened eyes.

Instinctively, your hand reaches for him—

A certain sort of deja vu—

Then it hits.

. Because where you go, I follow.

Something heavy crashes straight into your body.

Two strong arms envelope you.

A palm cradles the back of your head.

Metallic gear wheezes, straining against its mechanics when your side hits solid ground.

Over and over, you spin at lightning speed.

Whatever holds you does not let go.

— then you collide with something solid, and everything just stops.

Silence.

Dirt kicks up around you in a cloud.

Twin hearts beat against each other.

Slowly you raise your hand to your shoulder—

Reaching—

Until you find his hand.

Your shaking fingers curl over his.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #attack on titan fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman x female reader #aot fanfic #aot fanfiction #aot fic #snk fic #snk fanfic #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman fic #attack on titan fanfic #attack on titan fic #levi x you #levi x reader #silver underground #amywritesthings

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anonpolls · 5 days

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Thanks, Anon!

-submit your poll!-

#poll #polls #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 author #archive of our own #thanks anon!#submitted August 28 #anonymous #submitted by anonymous #anonpolls #poll blog #tumblr polls #random polls

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veltana · 9 months

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Mafia AU prequels - Bucky's break-up

✦ Pairing: Stucky/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~1.7k ✦ Rating: Mature ✦ Warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, mild swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol consumption, lots of fluff and feels, platonic cuddling, sharing a bed, Bucky is a dramatic drunk, unrequited love/crush, mention of loki/reader. ✦ Summary: The thing with roommates is that you will hear them during sex occasionally, it can’t be avoided with thin walls in an old building. But since that Wednesday Bucky never once slept alone and the rest of the time he was hardly in the apartment. ✦ Note: This is a prequel to No one as sweet as you set while they were living together in college, which focuses on their growing relationship and how Bucky and Steve started to develop feelings for Sweets as more than just their best friend. You don't need to read No one as sweet as you to get this but I recommend it. (Also posted on AO3)

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Masterlist | AO3

Bucky and Dot broke up on a Wednesday around lunch. On Wednesday night Bucky had a new girl in his bed and you and Steve shrugged, put on your headphones, and waited for it to blow over.

The thing with roommates is that you will hear them during sex occasionally, it can’t be avoided with thin walls in an old building. But since that Wednesday Bucky never once slept alone and the rest of the time he was hardly in the apartment.

With your room right in between Steve and Bucky’s, you took the brunt of the sounds and on Friday morning you decided to take shelter in Steve’s room because the girl was a screamer and you had barely slept for two days.

Now it’s Tuesday, around one am and both Steve and you are awake, listening to the moans and sounds making their way through your room and into Steve’s.

"How does he even do it?" Steve sounds a little amazed as you both lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. "Drugs?" you ask. "Honestly, it has to be, how else is he going at it all the time like that?" "Maybe they're all faking it?" you suggest.

"I've never heard anyone complain about him," Steve shrugs. "But I mean statistically he can’t get it right for everyone every time." "If he does, he is one of a kind," you decide. "Tempted to go for a ride?" You hear the smile in Steve's voice without even looking. "No, not really," you grimace. "We should do something, I’m not sure it’s healthy anymore."

"Yeah I know, Sweets, but if I try and grab him like he did with me when I was sad about Peggy he is probably going to punch me," Steve sounds concerned too.

Sweets, that dorky nickname they both have decided to call you because you happen to like all things sweet. Somehow it had stuck, even though you protested. "I can try and talk to him," you pause before continuing. "If he is ever alone again."

Suddenly the front door slams and you realize that the sounds have stopped. Sharing a look both of you rush out of bed, finding Bucky in the kitchen, downing a gallon of juice.

"Want some?" He holds it out when he sees you. The smell of alcohol on his breath is strong, even when you’re a few feet away, pulling out a chair to sit down across from where he’s standing. "No thank you," you answer while Steve leans against the fridge. "So, who was that?" you ask.

Bucky shrugs. "Don't know, met her at a bar." "Are you using protection?" Steve asks with a raised eyebrow. Bucky straightens up, putting the open juice jug down hard on the counter, making liquid slosh out, looking at Steve with black eyes that you’ve never seen before.

"Of course I am, do you think I'm fucking dumb or somethin'," he snarls. Bucky tends to be a little dramatic when he's drunk. In an effort to calm him down you reach out to him. "Hey, Bucky, it's okay, he wasn't-" The moment your fingers touch his arm, he turns and moves his hand. "Don't fucking touch me," he says and the palm of his hand connects with your underarm.

Out of surprise and not because it hurts, you yelp and look up at Bucky, a little confused because he’s never reacted like that before. He stares back at you with horrified eyes, realization dawning on him. Slowly, without another word, he backs away and hurries over to his room, slamming the door behind him like a teenager in a fit.

Steve moves forward and grabs your arm, turning it over to see if you’re hurt. "What the fuck is wrong with him," he murmurs. "It's nothing, I was just surprised," you shrug. "I've hurt myself worse by bumping into tables." "That is no fucking excuse." Steve lets go and starts towards Bucky's door. Before he can knock, Bucky opens it with a bag over his shoulder. He's changed into new clothes and his cap is pulled down low over his eyes.

Steve blocks the doorway and crosses his arms, asking "Where the fuck are you going?" "Heading out, move," Bucky mumbles and tries to duck past Steve but the other won't let him. "The fuck your not, you're gonna stay here and face whatever it is that you’re feeling," Steve's voice is laced with restrained anger. "And you're gonna apologize to Sweets."

You’re about to protest that you're not really hurt, but Steve shoots a look over his shoulder and you clamp your mouth shut. "We understand that you're sad about Dot," Steve is softer now and he leans on the doorframe, giving Bucky a way out but he doesn't take it, he just stands there, looking at the ground.

"You don't understand shit, Steve," Bucky mutter. "Have you even cried?" Steve asks and that makes Bucky’s head snap up, his mouth a thin line. "Real men don't fucking cry," he hisses. They stare at each other for a long while, then Steve points to you. "Can real men apologize when they're being a fucking ass?" Steve asks with poorly hidden disdain.

This is a sore spot for both of them and has been the grounds for arguments before. Bucky has some views on what it means to be a man that neither Steve nor you share. It has gotten better over the years according to Steve but you have not seen Bucky cry once, not to sad movies or when he’s been injured, or even had his heart broken. It's concerning, but maybe you and Steve can help him with that one day.

The bag lands on the floor with a thump and he walks past Steve to where you're sitting on the chair. Without a word he gets down on his knees in front of you and gently grabs your arm, pressing his lips against your skin murmuring "I'm sorry," repeatedly.

Steve has turned to look at you and you meet his eyes that are still hard and annoyed. You use your free hand to remove the cap and run your fingers through Bucky's hair, whispering, "It's okay."

When you do, Bucky stiffens and stops moving for a moment, then he lets go of your arm and buries his face in your pajama-clad lap, his voice trembling when he says, "I'll move out, I swear. I'm so sorry! I'm sorry, Sweets! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I love you so much."

Steve softens immediately and pushes off the door to settle on the floor beside him, rubbing his back. “No need for that Buck,” he says softly and you echo him. “I don’t want you to leave Bucky,” you grab one of his hands and gently press a kiss to the top of it before placing it back again.

After several minutes of silence, Bucky asks angrily into your legs, "Why the fuck does it have to hurt this much.” "I don't know," you answer truthfully. "I wish I never met her, never fucked her, never fucking loved her,” Bucky continues. "No, you don't," Steve argues. "I know it might feel like you will never be happy again but it will get better." Bucky lifts his head and Steve cups his face and brushes his cheeks, even though there are no tears there.

"We love you, and we will help you with anything you need," you promise. Bucky nods and lays his head down against your legs again with Steve's hand still on his cheek.

Eventually, Steve stands up and Bucky looks at him a little worried. "Not leaving, just gonna get another blanket for the bed," he reassures him. While Steve is gone Bucky says, "I'm sorry I hurt you, I love you, Sweets, more than you could ever know." And you smile because even though you know he’s exaggerating, it’s still nice to hear him say it. "I know Bucky, I know," you whisper.

When Steve comes back he pulls Bucky to his feet and guides him into the bedroom. You check the front door before turning all the lights out, then padding over to Steve's room too. They're cuddled together, Bucky's head pressed into Steve's shoulder and you move to slide in behind Bucky, but he grabs you around the waist and pulls you down between them. It makes you giggle and there is a weak smile answering on Bucky's face before you all settle in.

There is not even a light bruise left behind on your arm the next day, but you've never seen Bucky so remorseful. In the following weeks, he accompanies you around to classes, carries your stuff, and has sworn off drinking. Both you and Steve are skeptical because Bucky is famous for his partying but in the months that follow he often goes out but always comes home sober.

One day when you're having lunch at home together on the couch, you ask him about it.

First, he puts his food down before taking hold of your utensils and placing them on the table. Then he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, hugging you so tightly you can hardly breathe.

"I never want to put you in that situation again," he explains. "What if I get angry and do something worse, to you, or Steve, or anyone else." Hugging him back as best you can you say "Maybe you should talk to a professional about it?" "I'm on a waiting list," he replies.

You cuddle into him, really trying to show him that you mean it when you say, "Bucky I'm not afraid of you, I know you didn't mean to hurt me." "Don't make excuses for me," he says and picks up a strand of your hair, twirling it between his fingers.

The moment is cut off by your phone chiming and you wiggle out of his hold. When you pull it out a smile splits your face. "Have to go," you grab another spoonful of fried rice then get up. "Who was that?" Bucky asks.

Since you’re halfway to the door you don't pick up on his tone. "Just someone I've been seeing," "What's his name?" "Loki, he's from Europe!" You turn around with a smile and throw him a kiss before you're out the door.

Bucky feels his heart break, again, only this time he has no excuse to be sad about it because you aren't his.

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tamlinweek · 5 months

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Tamlin Week 2024 Master List

Once again, we want to thank each and every one of you for making this event so successful! If you would like to do us one more favor, please fill out this anonymous feedback form to let the mods know what you thought of Tamlin Week. Last year's survey was super helpful, especially in letting us know how to improve the event.

This post is the Super Mega Ultra Tamlin Week 2024 Master List! It has links to all the master lists for each day of Tamlin Week, with every single submission. At the bottom are links to more of the fun/helpful posts we've made in the lead up to Tamlin Week. Enjoy!

Tamlin Week 2024 Master Lists

Day 1: Heir of Spring/Human Tamlin

Day 2: Poet/Warrior

Day 3: Mates/Flower Language

Day 4: Calanmai/Happily Ever After

Day 5: Shapeshifter/Masquerade

Day 6: Dreams/Fairy Tale AU

Day 7: Free Day

Additional Links

Tamlin Week 2024 AO3 Collection (Instructions here)

Tamlin Week Statistics

Tamlin Creator Appreciation Posts

Tamlin Coloring Pages

The Language of Flowers

How to Participate in an Event

Tamlin vs. Tam Lin: A Brief Retelling

Tamlin Week 2024 Prompts, FAQ, and Rules

Tagging all the event's participants so everyone knows this is up!

@achaotichuman @alizangc @arson-09 @b0xerdancer-writes @balladoffeylin @bettdraws @booksnwriting @climbthemountain2020 @copypastus @dopeartisanprincess @duaghterofstories @elliemarchetti @feyres-divorce-lawyer @fieldofdaisiies @fourteentrout @foxcort @goddessofwisdom18 @goforth-ladymidnight @justatouristhere @loonyloomy @lorcandidlucienwill @lordofhaterism @mathiwrites @mirandasidefics @nocasdatsgay @northern-polaris @ohnyxlin @positivelyruined @praetorqueenreyna @queercontrarian @readychilledwine @rin-u-pos @shi-daisy @simmanin @songofthesibyl @sonics-atelier @szalonykasztan00 @tadpolesonalgae @tamlinfairchild @taymartiart @teddyhoneybear @the-new-mandalor @thelov3lybookworm @thisblogisaboutabook @thrumugnyr @umthisistheonlyusernamenottaken @vivictory-draws @wingsdippedingold

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bluekidchaos · 1 year

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Kinktober day 3 - Spencer Reid

for once keeping under 1k words woho! also i originally forgot i was doing the praise kink so i had to add that after i was already done lmao

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Prompt: Praise kink

Warnings: 18+, Sub!spence, praise, pet names (baby boy, bunny), cream pie, unprotected sex, season 3 spencer hair, the mommy kink snuck up on me i-

Words: 700

Can also be read on AO3!

Kinktober masterlist. Regular masterlist.

Being a BAU agent came with a heavy burden, you could see it in Spencer on rough days. He would slump together on the couch and just stare into space, you'd try and comfort him the best you could but sometimes he just needed some time.

You made sure to pamper him when he was home, cooking dinner together, cuddling, and sex. Really just anything you could do together. He craved intimacy and was highly touch-starved, you didn't mind though as touching him was your favorite thing.

You loved how you could get him so riled up with just a couple of words and small touches. Having him on top of you yet you were in charge, making him whimper from your praise.

He would be begging you to let him move once he was inside you. Head resting on your shoulder and barely holding himself up by his forearms. "Please, baby, god, please. Need to fuck you so bad."

Cooing at him and his desperation, "Hold on baby boy, let me just feel you for a second. You're so good for me, bunny." You raked your fingernails over his back and down his sides, leaving red marks in their path. Hearing him groan at the pain made your cunt clench in return. "So big and it's all mine."

Spencer tried to steady his breath, thinking of something else that wasn't his dick in your perfect pussy. He was going through any and all statistics he could remember at the moment in his head, anything to keep still and not just have his way with you.

"Okay, Spence. You can move now, but slow, baby." He whined into your neck as he finally could move his hips. Gently pulling out of you and pushing back in, Spencer was moaning right into your ear at the pleasure.

Your hand pushed away some of his hair that had fallen in his face, putting it behind his ear. "Th- thank you, mommy, God thank you for letting me fuck you." You could feel his hips speed up a little on their own volition and you tugged a few strands signaling to slow down again.

"Doing so good for me, baby. You're my good boy right?" He nodded quickly, keeping the pace slow. Languidly thrusting against you. You're planting kisses on his throat, sucking hickeys onto his collarbone.

"Do you wanna cum, bunny? Wanna fill mommy up like a good boy?" Fingers digging into his cheeks, forcing him to look into your eyes. His gaze was hazy with pleasure and glassy from unshed tears. "Make mommy come first and you can come inside me."

Spencer's eyes widened and in a matter of seconds, he was thrusting into you at full speed. His hand snaking down to play with your clit. "Yes, thank you, I'll be good. I'll make you come."

His hand was making quick work at bringing you right to that delicious edge, feeling it become tighter and tighter in your stomach while he pounded into you like a wild beast. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, the angle making him hit that magical spot inside you every time.

You're moaning unrestrained into his ear, no doubt garnering noise complaints again, but you couldn't care less. "Spence, yes just like that! You fuck me so good, always so good. So big inside me." You're chanting his name like a prayer as he pinched your clit one last time before you fell over the edge, your end bringing his own.

Feeling you clench down on him hard and pulse around him. A strangled "Oh, shit, I-" before you feel him fill you up completely. He pumped into you a few more times before stilling and laying down on you, careful not to put all of his weight on you.

You could feel his seed trickle out of you, making a mess on the sheets under you. You stroked Spncer's hair and planted big wet kisses all over his face and neck, anywhere you could reach. "I love you so much, baby."

Spencer is smiling down at you, that big goofy smile that you loved so much. "I love you too, and thank you."

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #spencer reid #spender reid x reader #spencer reid smut

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dodgebolts · 1 year

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the moment that absolutely no one has been waiting for... here are the results of the dtblr survey that went out last week! Thank you to the 650 people who responded, easily eclipsing the 598 responses that were submitted in September :]

Open the read more to see the results!

Starting out, we have a newcomer to our top 8, welcome Awesamdude, who stole a spot from Quackity (20.7% -> 3.1%). Since the last survey, more people say they main all 3 Dream Team members and less people are maining their friends, most of them slipping under 10% of respondents saying they mained them save for the lovely Foolish Gamers.

Next, there was an increase in people who came for and still are here for the Dream Team—with a decrease in the proportion of respondents for nearly every other category. Dream team forever!

While most people (85%) have been around before 2022, we have a greater proportion of newer people around now! In the last survey, that number was even greater at 93%. So don't feel bad for being new, it's actually way more likely than you think, and a very warm welcome to the 5% of people who joined after the face reveal/meetup <3

Next is a question that I think is really interesting: has watching the Dream team influenced how people play Minecraft? More people now don't play as much, which tracks considering that they play Minecraft a lot less than they used to.

Now for a rather sore subject for a lot of people, since there's been quite a shift in who plays in MCC since the last time. In the last poll, 60.8% of people said they watched Dream. Now, those viewers have dispersed across creators or just stopped watching altogether, with both George and Sapnap gaining 10% from their numbers in the fall. However, 25% of people said that they don't watch anymore, a huge jump from the 4.5% in the fall. RIP MCC Dream, you're missed severely by the community <3

Next up, Trust Issues has managed to nearly catch up to some of Dream's released music, gaining 8 percentage points from the last survey. Dream if you're out there your fans want it really badly. Release it just for us?

Since the fall, we've seen the official end of the DSMP, so this is more of a legacy question, which is reflected pretty well in the statistics shifting towards people who either don't watch or are very casual about it, our lorehead population shrinking by 4 percentage points from the first survey.

These statistics haven't moved too much since the first one, the trends going pretty much as predicted with following decreasing from main -> alt -> priv (with the exception of Dream whose alt is often confused for his main) and with George and Sapnap having fewer people following them than Dream.

The statistics shift from this question is really interesting, especially given all the shit that's gone down on Twitter since the first survey. The percentage of dtblr who joined the fandom on there increased 7.7%, a gain that knocked down nearly every other platform's percentages. AO3 also makes its debut in the top 6, tying with Reddit exactly.

Much like the twitter following question, these statistics didn't shift too much, with the YouTube algorithm and word of mouth from other people/creators doing most of the heavy lifting of marketing for the Dream Team. Shoutout to the people who found out through either Heat Waves or MrBeast, you guys are on like 2 ends of a horrific spectrum y'all are strong as hell LOL

Now for some shared fandom trauma, these results also didn't change too much from the first survey. However, for this iteration I added Supernatural, as I probably should've done the first time considering this IS the SPN website after all. I managed to grab a few more people than last time out of the 'none of the above' category with its inclusion, so hi all my former and current SPN bloggers o/ <- has never seen the show before

A vast majority of us have watched gaming content in some form before, and fewer people this time have never watched gaming content before. From those who specified which games they'd watched, the titles ranged far and wide, so it's really cool to see all of us under the dtblr umbrella :)

Once again, this question showcases how lurkers truly carry the community on their backs—there's a small decrease in lurkers from last time and an increase in blogging answers, so it seems like some of our lurkers started posting which is awesome :D

Over half of us don't really watch any other MC servers, but there's still a ton of people who like watching them! From the last time I ran the survey, most of the servers—save for Empires and Karmaland—now have fewer dtblr watchers. The QSMP makes a strong debut on the board though, eclipsing half of the other options.

This was a really interesting question, though it seems like the vast majority of people either continued posting on the same blog or took a break and just jumped back into the fray! Also a late welcome to the ~15% of people who either weren't here or started posting after <3

The answers to this question showed some of the most interesting shifts from last fall's data. Fewer people seem to be listening regularly, and the proportion of people who responded no is nearly doubled from the fall's 21%.

These data points were also really interesting to see shift from the fall! Of note, fewer people like and tolerate Jackbox, and more people seem to have warmed up to FPS games—Fortnite, CS:GO, and Valorant all have fewer people in the "don't like & won't watch" category. Still, Valorant is easily the most hated game of the 6 while Geoguessr is still almost universally loved/tolerated.

As expected in the shipping category, DNF dominates any other ships, with Karlnap easily taking the second place. The proportion of Toosh enjoyers has doubled since the fall, up from 14.7%, while the number of non-shippers has halved. Additionally, the proportion of Karlnapity enjoyers has plummeted from 25.4% to less than 10%. Otherwise, most ships have stayed within 3-4 percentage points of their fall numbers!

Once again, Dream seems to have forced the hands of nearly half of us, turning non-RPF shippers into the RPF fandom we are today. Interestingly, the number of "yes" respondents has nearly doubled from the fall, while fewer people responded that they still don't ship RPF. As would make Dream happy probably, the pie chart is colored blue and green.

Now onto some of the demographic questions, we've continued to be very heavily biased towards North America and Europe, with nearly 85% of us coming from those two continents. Compared to the fall, we've gotten proportionally more South American and Oceanian rep. Hey to the Asians/Australians who are probably going to see this when it's first posted! o/

Once again, the majority of us seem to be around the same age as our streamers, with 80% of us falling between the ages of 18 and 30. Don't fret, though! From the fall, the proportion of respondents in both the <18 and >30 age brackets have increased. All in all, nothing too surprising.

The pride parade is still running from last fall, with approximately the same percentage of people identifying as LGBTQIA+ or unsure. Just in time for pride month in a day or so!

I'm not sure if I was just miscounting but I could not for the life of me get all of these little squares into a proper rectangle, so just bear with my weird organization here. Regardless, the majority of us rep the blue and green as our favorite colors, with multiple people specifying the hex code of George's minecraft shirt or a classic teal.

It's been about a month since this has been out, and we still unfortunately haven't gotten It Takes Two back. We're still in the phase 42% of people believe that we're going to stay in for a while, getting bounced back and forth between Dream and George hoping that they can get the other wrangled for it. #I_BELIEVE!

This was kind of a cruel question for most of us, but to the 11 people who answered that have met any of them, know that you're in a very select group of users. I'm jealous!

Now to answer the age-old question of the dtblr 1%, it constitutes those of you with around or over 5,000 followers, while a majority of people have less than 50 followers or just no blog at all. As with most other follower polls I've seen floating around, the responses were heavier towards the bottom, but as is the common advice/adage, follower count means very little here—just start chatting and posting!

For the final question, I thought it'd be interesting to see what dtblr's academic interests are, and also to reaffirm or break my belief that George is like a flame to the moths of CS/Engineering-focused people, which was at least initially supported by the data from the fall. We've got people from all across the diversity of academic fields, with the most people indicating that they're interested in the arts and humanities.

As for my hypothesis: among non-George mains, the proportion of CS/Engineering people is about 5.5%, whereas 18.3% of George mains indicated that they're interested in CS/Engineering. In fact, I took a closer look at all the people who noted their interest in CS/Engineering, and nearly 70% of them said that they mained George. Like I said, moths to a flame. or something. I'm right there with y'all 🫡

That's all! Thanks so much to everyone for responding and waiting for me to get through all of this data, it's always a big task but I love seeing the results. Until next time!

#lyss analyzes #dtblr general survey #idk what else to tag this LOL #sorry it took so long dskgjhdlsjfg #hope it was worth the wait!

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