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pastanest · 7 months

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Spencer Reid x she/her!reader

A/N: inspired by this post by @shy-taylorsversion !! hope you like it sweet! ♡

warnings: references to Maeve but nothing too specific

I Can See You

It was as though fate herself was playing the cruellest joke in human history, the day you joined the team. Spencer’s heart was beyond scarred, it had been locked away under every wall he knew how to craft within himself, for his own safety. And yet, with no more than a glance, you began to disarm him.

The team spotted the sparks almost before Spencer did, in the way they acknowledged that he reached to shake your head in greeting; a gesture he typically avoided at all cost. It was the wide eyes from his chosen family that made Spencer realize his body had acted on its own accord, without any consideration for his mind, or heart.

“Doctor Spencer Reid, uh, pleasure to meet you.” He had cleared his throat in his attempts to hold your gaze, a task he had not anticipated to be anywhere near as challenging as it turned out to be.

And the way you had smiled at him? That was the first splinter, in the very first wall that surrounded Spencer’s heart.

It was not drastic enough for Spencer to notice right away, and by the time that he did, it was too late. Anyone would think your moves to be calculated, but the worst part of it was that Spencer could see that your actions and words were completely without ulterior motive.

It is simply who you are, much to a genius’s absolute dismay.

Naturally, Spencer tried to deduce exactly what this immediate connection was on the very first meeting. He sat at his desk with a concentrated frown, and within 15 seconds, he had formed a hypothesis: it was a basic biological attraction, something found in primal creatures, not civilised beings, and certainly not ones with three PhD’s, but if he had to admit that he had animalistic desires on occasion, that was favored over this meaning anything more. With a satisfied nod, he rose from his desk and tried his very best to continue with his day.

He had ventured down the hall of the BAU office, with the intention of retrieving some files he needed to work on, and he was determined to not even remotely acknowledge that you were walking down the very same hallway, in the opposite direction. He did not notice your hair, or your eyes, or the way you walked, the softness found in your smile, and his eidetic memory had definitely not stored each and every detail.

Aaron Hotchner was giving you a tour of the office, Spencer surmised; he absolutely did not strain his every thought to tuning into the conversation in an effort to learn more about the wonder that was you. The width of the hallway allowed for you and Spencer to pass each other without any contact whatsoever, but when your gaze lifted to catch his, neither of you made any effort to increase the distance between you. Instead, you had smiled at him - again, his heart skipped a beat as it reminded him - and the two of you walked, neither one hearing Hotch’s continuing tour of the office as you neared each other. Then your sleeve brushed his. The contact was gone as quickly as it had arrived, but Spencer knew he had goosebumps beneath his suit jacket, and he couldn’t help wondering when he looked over his shoulder to find you doing the same, your eyes locking once again; did you feel it, too?

Only once safely behind the front door of his own apartment, could Spencer Reid regain the ability to think straight. It was foolish, he told himself. A workplace romance? He shook his head as he shrugged off his suit jacket, his gaze lingering momentarily on the sleeve you had brushed against. There was no substance to it, Spencer’s objective brain enforced, need you be reminded of the statistics surrounding workplace entanglements? It was simply the proximity; he had never worked with someone he found so physically attractive before, that was all this was. His mind just needed to adjust to your presence. His eyes were just latching onto the most attractive sight they could find, after forcibly reliving the loss of the love of his life. This was not love, Spencer concluded, it felt nothing like what he had felt for Maeve. The physical weight of the anxiety and stress he had experienced, the secrecy, the pain; all of that was missing, and that was what Spencer understood love to be.

This was foolish, he reminded himself. As of tomorrow, he would put a stop to this, whatever this was.

Spencer walked into the BAU office with newfound purpose the following morning, prepared to focus on his work and nothing else, which would not be a difficult task. Not in the slightest. He was a professional, after all, and you-

“Good morning, Spencer!”

You were already sitting at your desk, and you were smiling at him - the very same smile that Spencer had noticed you had not given anyone else on your first day.

And, like a fool, Doctor Spencer Reid’s eidetic memory jettisoned his previously formed plan of nipping whatever this was in the bud, and instead, he smiled right back at you.

It would be fair to say that he has been a lost cause ever since. His mind has crafted a permanent residence for you, where thoughts of you swirl at a constant rate, and he has allowed such a heinous development; shocking, really. The worst part? Spencer has managed to maintain professionalism, because everything between you is mostly unsaid. It is longing glances, lingering smiles, subtle touches that nobody else would notice; save for the team of profilers that you both happen to work with everyday. You have found your footing within said team and formed fast friends, almost like you had always been part of said team, but you were still such a new and pleasant sight to Spencer each and everyday. You had not seen him through any emotional turmoil, you saw him as he was from when you knew him, and you liked what you saw, in the same way that he liked what he saw in you. There was a mutual understanding, a reciprocated tension that you were equally, acutely aware of.

By now, Spencer knows that when he says something particularly clever, he need only glance at you from the corner of his eye to find you already looking at him with stars in your eyes. By now, you are accustomed to trying to beat Spencer into the office each and every morning, because whoever arrives first will prepare the other’s choice of beverage for the morning, which will be left on their desk in time for the other’s arrival, without a word, but with a complete understanding. By now, the rest of the team are used to sharing eyerolls and exasperated sighs as they watch you and Spencer dance around each other in such a ridiculous, but still undeniably sweet way.

You are something new to Spencer. He doesn’t have to overthink about your safety outside of dangerous cases, he doesn’t have to worry about where he stands with you, because one look is enough to reassure him. Whatever this is, it is something different. It brings about a relief to the stress of the job; the same peace a hot bath would provide, Spencer finds in every smile you give him.

But, at its core, this is unsaid. The layers to it are secret, even with what the team are able to infer from what they can see.

While his brain is focussed on the case at hand, that same little space in Spencer’s mind is alive with thoughts of you. Today, he has been tasked with working the geographical profile with Blake, who is obviously very aware of what is forming between you and Spencer, but elects to say very little about it, given how sensitive the topic could be to Spencer’s still raw heart. That said, she can’t help noticing or smiling at the way Spencer’s gaze continually drifts to the door of the small office within the local police department that they have been working all day, as though willing you to walk through it.

“I’m sure the interviews are going well.” Blake chooses her words carefully, referring to what you have been tasked with, rather than you directly, in an effort to perhaps allow Spencer to open up, just a little.

He frowns at this, trying to convey confusion as he refocusses his gaze on the maps in front of him, running his fingers over them.

“(Y/N) is very good. Knowing her, she’ll come in here in a few minutes saying ‘don’t worry, guys, case closed, we can all go home because there’s a rerun of Doctor Who that I can’t miss’.” Blake tries again, this time using a joke referencing a shared interest of yours and Spencer’s, which pulls the desired smile from him, though he doesn’t lift his eyes from the maps.

A moment of silence passes, in which Spencer considers his own words with equal care, before he decides to respond to what he feels is the most important section of Blake’s last sentence.

“She is…very good.”

Feeling somewhat reassured by Blake’s words in a strange way, in her validating the obvious chemistry between you and Spencer, he finds it easier to continue to working. Of course, he still glances at the door out of habit, wishing for no more than a glimpse of you walking past it, if that’s all he’s allowed for now, but he is focussed on his work. He is a professional, after all.

That is, until his ears - finely tuned to deciphering your voice even in a sea of others - pick up on a distressed tone from you. While the wall between you prevents him from being able to piece together any words, the discomfort he can hear is enough to bring Spencer up from his seat.

“I need to update Hotch on some details of the geographical profile that could assist with the interviews he’s conducting.” Spencer blurts out hurriedly, picking up a random case file without looking at it before rushing out of the room, once again not mentioning you by name, but making his intentions crystal clear to Blake.

She doesn’t question anything, but there’s a knowing smile on her face.

Spencer is out of the door in an instant, his eyes locking onto you a few feet down the hallway, seemingly caught in an uncomfortable exchange with a local police officer. The way your arms are crossed over your chest is enough for Spencer to understand exactly what is going on, and when your gaze gravitates to him, he sees you visibly relax, a soft smile spreading across your face. The local cop continues his attempts at sweet talking you, until he sees your expression and follows your gaze, seeing Spencer stood down the hall with a case file in hand and a frown that could challenge Aaron Hotchner’s. Clearing his throat awkwardly, the local police officer skulks off, and you breathe a sigh of relief, walking over to Spencer and smiling up at him.

“Find anything?” You ask him, gesturing to the case file in his hands, which is now crumpled in his almost white knuckles.

“What? Oh, no, I just- you sounded uncomfortable.” Spencer babbles, his mind shifting from a possessive fury that he’s never previously held for anyone, before settling into a peace that only the subject of that possessive streak can bring.

“I was. Thank you for saving the day, as always.” You smile up at him, and with a rush of confidence, you make a gesture of standing on your tiptoes to kiss Spencer’s cheek as you pass him, and his brain short-circuits.

It takes a whole three seconds for Spencer to regain his 187 IQ points, at which time he looks over his shoulder to find you at the other end of the hallway, mirroring his action with a beaming grin. He stays still - mainly because his brain has not recovered enough for him to trust his ability to walk - but his mind conjures up a beautiful daydream of him strolling right up to you, pushing you up against the wall and kissing you until both of you collapse from lack of oxygen. His hands holding your face, your hands in his hair, his body pressed against yours, holding you up against the wall as your knees attempt to buckle under the weight of what would be the most passionate kiss in human history, Spencer is more than certain of that.

“Are you coming, pretty boy?” You call out to him, abruptly forcing him back into the present.

An interesting choice of words, considering.

“Where?” Spencer asks you, in turn, a smile playing on his lips.

“Lunch!” You state, like it’s obvious.

Spencer glances at his watch, bemused. “It’s 3pm!”

You shrug, but your smile is widening as the amusement grows. “Yep, and I haven’t had lunch, so, you coming?”

Spencer rolls his eyes and refrains from giving you yet another lecture on remembering to take a scheduled lunch break to ensure you have the amount of energy required for maximum efficiency while on the job - which is, obviously, his way of reminding you to eat regularly because he cares about you, not because he cares about your ‘maximum efficiency on the job’.

He quickly pokes his head through the door to the little office, tossing the crumpled case file back on the table where he had previously been sitting.

“Just going to get lunch.” Spencer tells Blake, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Lunch? At 3pm?” She questions, much like he had, and that only makes him smile again.

It isn’t just a smile, though. It’s a bright, wide grin that takes up Spencer’s whole face, making the corners of his eyes crease, and then he disappears without a word, because his expression is explanation enough.

As silly, and as common as it is, after having lunch with you, Spencer’s smile is unwavering for the rest of the day. Yours is too, resulting in both of you receiving teasing remarks from the members of the team that you have been working with, away from each other in the hours that have passed since.

By the time Spencer shuts himself in his own hotel room for the night, his mind is fried, and as a consequence, he cannot withhold thoughts of you to that one corner of his brain. Instead, he sees you standing in the middle of his hotel room, walking up him with a smirk he’s seen time and time again in his dreams. He feels your palms on his chest through his shirt, loosening his tie as his lips ghost yours. His shoulders rolling as you help him take off his suit jacket, discarding it on the floor before his lips fall on yours. And he can see you waiting for him on his hotel room bed, as though you were really there, and had already been there a thousand other times, on a hundred other nights. Oh, how he wishes.

Shaking his head, Spencer forces himself back into the present, into the newly depressing sight of his otherwise empty hotel room. He removes his suit jacket with a bitter expression, knowing you would do it so much better, but alas.

Realizing there is absolutely no way he can sleep in this state, Spencer rolls up the long sleeves of his button-up shirt, kicks his shoes off, and settles in the armchair in the corner of his hotel room. He retrieves his favorite copy of ‘War And Peace’ and decides to reread it to unwind. Just a bit of light reading.

That is, until approximately 10 minutes - and just under halfway through the book - later, when there is an unexpected knock at the door.

Deciding to place ‘War And Peace’ on the physical bedside table and mental backburner, Spencer rises from the armchair and crosses the threshold of his hotel room. The moment he opens the door, his heart leaps right out of his chest.

There you are, in your pajamas, hugging your laptop close to your chest with a smile that Spencer wholeheartedly believes could persuade any man to do anything and everything for you.

“‘The Impossible Planet’ and ‘The Satan Pit’ were rerunning tonight, and we haven’t finished the case in time to watch them, so…” You lift your laptop in a wordless gesture, stars shining in your eyes, and Spencer Reid has to seriously consider whether this is a dream.

His perfect girl, arriving at his door because she wants to watch Doctor Who with him? Surely, fate jests.

“You are an impossible girl.” Is all Spencer can manage to say, a smirk on his face when he sees the recognition in your eyes at his own Doctor Who reference.

“Ooh, you can’t say things like that to a girl, Doctor!” You giggle, knowing you’ve got him right back with a reference of your own.

With that, Spencer invites you into his hotel room, and just like so many times before, you fall asleep with your head on his chest as the end credits roll on your laptop screen, an ever encouraging score from Murray Gold being the soundtrack to Spencer’s longing glance down at you as he brushes your hair away from your face. With a kiss to your forehead and one arm holding you in place, he turns off your laptop and sets it down beside the bed, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you to him in a gesture of affection that was foreign to him before you, but is now second nature.

Spencer never understood what it was to fall asleep with a smile on his face, until he started falling in love with you.

By the time the team is boarding the jet home, you are all beyond exhausted, but relieved in equal measure. Another case closed, another life saved, and another trip home. As opposed to the typical night flights you tend to catch, Penelope managed to secure the jet in time for everyone to be on their way home by midday. So, instead of a silent jet occupied by sleeping FBI agents, Hotch is living vicariously through Rossi and Derek’s latest tales of seduction, you are gossipping with JJ, and at the other end of the jet, perfectly in your line of sight, Spencer is sitting with Blake, unable to resist glancing over at you every so often.

Blake has that same knowing smile on her face, picking up on more than the rest of the team has, given the almost maternal bond she has formed with Spencer, and she decides that this time, she’s going to speak less carefully.

“Spencer, what is the statistical likelihood of history repeating itself?” She asks pointedly, but quietly.

Spencer frowns. “Well, that depends on a number of variables. Technically, it would be impossible to provide an exact statistic, because there are an infinite number of possibilities at every point in every sequence of events that there can ever be, but for history to repeat itself in a direct pattern, it would be incredibly unlikely. Why do you ask?” He rambles, very much enjoying this question, this challenge to his analytical mind.

“Have you ever asked a girl out before?” Blake answers Spencer’s own question with a question, something she has previously reprimanded him for.

And Blake’s question is enough to freeze a genius in his tracks.

He doesn’t have to think about it, he knows the answer, but his confusion and shock makes that one word difficult.

“No.” Spencer says after a moment’s pause.

“Then, to reduce your own anxieties surrounding history repeating itself, why don’t you change that and create an entirely new chain of events for yourself?” Blake suggests, giving him a small, encouraging smile.

As always, she knows exactly what advice he needs to hear. Blake is right, if Spencer does ask you out, what’s unfolding between you and him will truly be unlike anything he has ever experienced before, meaning it cannot possibly end in the same way, the same tragedy cannot befall him if he takes the path he has been so afraid of treading.

“How?” Spencer asks, his voice barely above a whisper, because he’s vulnerable now. He needs help from a friend, a friend he trusts with a situation that is as precious to him as this.

Grateful that he’s taking her advice on board instead of dismissing it, Blake nods, leaning forward in her seat on the jet.

“Do whatever feels right to you, because it’s you, exactly as you are, that (Y/N) smiles at like that.” Blake says simply, sitting back in her seat and watching as Spencer’s gaze flickers to you again, knowing from the look in his eyes that he’s just received that very smile from you, and that is the only encouragement he needs.

Nodding to himself, Spencer stands up and rushes to the jet kitchen, walking past you and brushing your sleeve with his as he does.

From where you sit with JJ, you can’t help glancing over your shoulder at Spencer, curious as to what he’s doing in the jet kitchen and why he’s trying so very hard to hide whatever it is that he is doing.

No more than a few seconds later, Spencer walks past you again, returning to his own seat at the other end of the jet, but not without very discreetly dropping a small, folded piece of paper into your lap. With a smirk, JJ turns away to look out of the jet window, granting you some privacy as you unfold the piece of paper, your hands trembling ever so slightly as you scan over the page, and Spencer’s own shaky handwriting.

“Meet me tonight?”

Grinning, you lift your eyes from the note and to its sender, who is already staring at you with a mixture of hope and anticipation in varying shades of hazel. From across the jet, you nod at him, and he nods back at you, biting back a disbelieving chuckle as he looks down at his lap shyly, avoiding your eyes.

You want to ask when, where, and how he wants to meet you tonight, but the excitement within the unknown is even better. For the rest of the flight home, you and Spencer exchange expressions of yearning that exceed even your usual standards, and it’s very clear that whatever this is, it’s about to come to a head.

When the jet lands back in Quantico, the team rise from their seats and stretch their limbs, retrieving their overnight bags and heading for the door. You and Spencer fall back in a silent understanding, and he wraps his large hand around yours to take your bag and swing it over his shoulder, giving you one of his signature charming smiles and ridding you of every coherent thought you’ve ever had in the process. With his hand free once again, his fingertips graze yours as you step out of the jet and head back into the office, sparks flying to such a severity, Spencer considers alerting the pilot of a problem with the jet engine.

Much to your mutual dismay, the team is tasked with case reports the second they set foot into the office again, given it is not officially the end of a working day and there is no better time to complete a report than when the case is still fresh in your mind; not everyone has an eidetic memory. And so, your equally yearning glances continue, this time from across the office, as the hours tick by and the anticipation between you grows.

As the hours tick by, Spencer grows restless. He checks his watch, and debates with himself as to whether 6pm can be considered ‘tonight’, before he decides he no longer cares for such technicalities. With his legs bouncing beneath his desk, he quickly writes out another note, then picks up a case report and practically flies over to your desk, dropping the piece of paper on your keyboard before walking out of the glass doors and round the corner, down a hallway that takes him - begrudgingly - out of your sight.

Confused and excited once again, you open the scrunched up note and scream internally.

“Please follow me in 10 seconds and bring your case report - doesn’t matter if it’s finished.”

You stare up at the clock on the office wall, counting the slowest ten seconds of your life, and then the gravity of Spencer pulls you from your desk to fulfill your secret mission. Clutching your incomplete case report to your chest, you try to walk past your coworkers desks as casually as you can, but you can’t help feeling that the room of profilers that surround you are acutely aware of every little tell. You wouldn’t be surprised if they can hear the irregularity in your heartbeat right now.

With trembling hands, you reach for the handle of the glass door and push through it, rounding the corner and immediately freezing on the spot. Halfway down the hallway, Spencer leans against the wall, his case report hanging from his hand loosely at his side, his other hand in a tense fist in front of him as he frowns down at his watch.

As though sensing you, Spencer’s head turns, and when he sees you, he sighs deeply.

“12.5 seconds. I thought you might not be coming.” He says quietly, his words soft and his relief palpable.

An interesting choice of words, considering.

“Sorry, I tried to walk slowly, didn’t want to give anything away.” You explain, your voice as quiet as Spencer’s had been, the distance between you already closing on its own accord.

He shakes his head, but his eyes never leave yours. “No need to apologize. I’m certain they’ll know something’s going on, even with our efforts.”

You can’t help chuckling at that, nodding up at him as he walks closer and begins to tower over you, all words suddenly losing their meaning. In what can only be described as a silent, instinctual mating dance between two equally besotted creatures, with each step Spencer takes towards you, you take a step backwards until your back gently hits the wall, your gazes locked in an indescribable heat, lost in a tension that cannot be defined in any kind of eloquence.

Case report still hanging loosely between Spencer’s index finger and thumb, he closes the space between you until there are only centimeters separating your face and his. With each inhale, you taste each other, smell each other, feel each other closer than ever before, and the primal attraction that Spencer had been foolish enough to believe he was too rigidly sophisticated to ever experience slaps him in the face with a rather rude awakening, but it is a welcome one. His curls touch the skin of your forehead, and you bite your lip in an effort to restrain yourself, but when Spencer’s free hand moves between your bodies to uncurl one of your hands from its fierce grip on the incomplete case report you clutch to your chest, to place your palm flat against his shirt, over his heart, you forget your own name.

“You know, researchers from the University of Chicago analyzed people’s eye movements as they viewed black and white photos of both couples and attractive strangers to judge whether the people they saw were eliciting feelings of sexual desire or romantic love, and the results revealed an interesting pattern; when the subjects judged a stranger as depicting feelings or romantic love, their eyes stayed fixed on the stranger’s face. However, when the subjects felt the photo was exuding sexual desire, their eyes strayed over the rest of the stranger’s body. The co-author of the research said that by identifying eye patterns that are specific to love-related stimuli, the study may contribute to the development of a biomarker that differentiates feelings of romantic love versus sexual desire, and an eye-tracking model may offer a new avenue of diagnosis for routine clinical exams in psychiatry and/or couple therapy.” Spencer rambles, bringing an enamored smile from you that makes his heart sing. You are always so interested in every single thing he has to say; where others roll their eyes and cut him off, you listen, and you adore him for exactly who he is.

“The reason that I’m telling you this,” Spencer continues, “-is because scientists found that the subject’s judgment can occur in just half a second, suggesting the way we categorize whether we feel lust or love for new people is innately automated.” He wets his lips with his tongue.

“Is this your sciencey way of telling me that, despite it typically being perceived as illogical, you believe in love at first sight? That’s quite controversial for a man who is so often analytically inclined.” You muse thoughtfully, your smile unwavering as you look up at him.

“I didn’t. Not until three months, four days, 9 hours, 12 minutes and-” Spencer checks his watch before meeting your eyes again, “-27 seconds ago.”

You cannot believe Spencer is daring to ask your brain to perform what is nothing short of a miracle in the form of basic mathematics when his lips are almost touching yours.

“You mean…when I…” You can barely form words.

“At the exact moment when you walked into the office on your first day, yes.” Spencer nods, his forehead brushing yours.

The palm that is still pressed to Spencer’s chest through his shirt moves to feel his tie, as though holding onto something for support while the Earth beneath your feet shifts and he is the only thing keeping you here; which, in fairness, he very well might be.

Quite suddenly, the tension between you is suffocating, having long surpassed boiling point, and your breaths are as shallow as his.

The case report held between Spencer’s index finger and thumb is hanging by a metaphorical thread, his other hand lifting to tuck some of your hair behind your ear, his fingertips caressing your cheek as he drinks you in.

“Can I kiss you, (Y/N)?” He whispers, the boldest words he has ever spoken.

“Yes.” You breathe, without missing a beat, and Spencer does not waste another second.

In one swift motion, the case report falls to the floor, both of his hands coming to cup your face as his lips take yours, your hands holding his to keep him there. Spencer’s body presses into you, acting on a primal instinct that goes beyond his understanding, kissing you like a man starved of physical affection all his life, and there’s far more truth in that than he cares to admit. When one of your hands reaches for his messy curls, Spencer sighs into the kiss, lowering his hands to grab at your waist, squeezing your hips gently. The kiss is its own infinity lived and shared, the two of you only parting for air, but your bodies remaining intertwined, the sound of your heavy breaths echoing down the hallway until you’re both laughing, your foreheads pressed together and an insurmountable love in your eyes.

What this is, is different. You don’t know every detail of Spencer’s past or pain, in the same way that he is yet to know yours, but you have every intention to learn about each other, with this as your foundation. This, without the physical weight of anxiety and stress, with a different kind of secrecy, and free of pain; this is a mutual understanding, a reciprocated attraction beyond what Spencer thought was possible for someone like him. You are different, different to him, different to every person he has ever known, and he has no doubt that he is much the same when compared to the people in your life, too.

You are different, you are new. You are a breath of fresh air that he will never grow tired of breathing.

And he will always, always see you, in every conceivable way that you’ll allow him to.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #imagine #imagines #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #Spotify

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kumezyzo · 7 months

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could you do a bf!sapnap headcanons (sfw & nsfw) seeing reader for the first time? she’s a faceless streamer and they’ve been dating for around 6 months and sapnap really wants to see her face and is reeeaaalllyyyy attracted to her, like off the charts attracted to her? <3

also can I be 🎀 anon?

thank you for requesting! ofc you can be 🎀anon 💜💜 this is very spencer reid and maeve donovan vibes

okay, note after I've fully written this, and i interpreted the 'dating for six months' as not in a relationship but talking/not technically bf!sapnap yet but is still referred to as bf!sapnap.... im sorry if that throws it off for you... or if i didnt wrote this in a way that doesnt make sense... mb

anyway, enjoy! or dont :) m.list

bf!sapnap who loved hearing you speak when he didnt know what you looked like.

bf!sapnap who would send you voice messages to entice you to do the same.

bf!sapnap who hopes you get comfortable enough with him to show him your face

bf!sapnap feels his heart soar when he sees your face for the first time. he already had an image in his mind of what you looked like. but actually seeing you was ten times better.

bf!sapnap who wants to meet you as soon as he knows what you look like. not because he's superficial and wanted to wait until he saw what you looked like. but because he knows you're comfortable enough around him. he just wants to finally be able to hold you, feel you, kiss you.

bf!sapnap who just takes in your physical appearance the first time he sees you. he practically has heart eyes holding your face and hes examing everything about you from your lashes to the texture of your skin. hes seeing it for the first time in a way that isnt behind highly defined pixels.

bf!sapnap who kisses you for the first time. he feels butterflies in his stomach and his face turns bright red at the idea of being with someone as pretty as you. it makes him feel special.

bf!sapnap who thinks you look so much better in person. like the screen of his phone distorted your beauty.

bf!sapnap cant get over the way you style your clothes to fit your body, the way you hold yourself, the way you walk. he doesnt understand how someone could be so attractive.

bf!sapnap who can barely contain himself when hes around you. but he after all this time, he cant stand not being around you.

bf!sapnap who waits for you to initiate anything sexual with you. especially after experiencing you getting comfortable enough to even show him your face, he almost doesnt wait.

but he wants to be with you in such an intimate moment. his mind is wandering and he tries so hard to keep the ideas as just ideas.

bf!sapnap who tries to hold back the first time you have sex.

he's practically shaking by the time he's hovering over you, taking in your appearance in the way for the first time. he's restraining himself, keeping his head as clear as possible.

bf!sapnap who almost cums as soon as he's inside of you.

he has to think of anything else than your body, the way you moaned when he bottomed out, the way you're subconsciously squeezing him. his face is buried in your neck and taking deep breaths. but even your smell is making it hard for him.

bf!sapnap who starts fucking you slowly but doesnt change the pace. for his own sake.

"nick..." you moan softly, playing with the hair on the back of his head as he thrusts slowly. he hums into your neck. "nick... faster... please."

"shit... okay, baby..." he tells you, moving fast enough to feel different. but not enough for how long you've waited for this.

"babe... just fuck me," you whisper in his ear, hoping to get a reaction out of him. "i need you to fuck me..."

bf!sapnap who practically loses his mind at your words. It's like a switch inside of him flips. and your moans are what is fueling him to keep going.

"shit peach..." he says when he sees how your face is just as fucked out as he feels. his thighs are covered in a mixture of your cum and his. every thrust sounds wet and loud, sending butterflies straight to your core. "so fucking pretty.

bf!sapnap who has you sore and aching the next morning. but he will hold you with such a dopey smile on his face, kissing all over your soft face.

"you're so cute," he tells you when hes kissing the hickies he left on your chest. your keep whining in embarrassment, hiding your face from the way he looked up at you so lovingly.

"im sore," you tell him as he makes his way down to your thighs. he scoffs and spreads them softly, kissing your inner thighs. he smiles at how your flinch when he runs a finger through the folds of your pussy.

"youre so cute, peach."

lowkey hated my writing in this. im sorry its such ass. -nony

#sapnap #anon #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #dteam #sapnap x y/n #sapnap fluff #sapnap x streamer reader #sapnap smut #sapnap x streamer smut #smut #dream team smut #dteam smut #sapnap x reader smut #bf!sapnap #bf!sapnap smut

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rowaelinsdaughter · 6 months

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can i request a fic with fenrys where reader is super protective of him, especially after they’re freshly mated bc faes are protective and territorial. Imagine some general in doranelle says something about him being enslaved to maeves bedroom, fenrys gets sad snd disgusted with himself and reader literally jumps on the general and almost kills him bc she’s so protective and hates seeing fen in any kind of pain

author note: omg, I LOVED THIS!!!! fenrys is one of my fav tog characters and i love him. thank u so much for requesting this <33, i've changed a few things, and I hope it doesn't matter

𝕴 𝖘𝖊𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖉 ( 𝕱𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖞𝖘 𝖝 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗)

WARNINGS: PTSD, d@ggers, blood, angst and fluff, SPOILERS THRONE OF GLASS

You met Fenrys in Skull Bay.

Being the only two female assassins trained by Arobynn, you decided to form an alliance that became friendship. Thanks to a spell from before magic left, you were able to hide your fae features.

You knew Aelin's secret back then, and you swore to take it to the grave with you.

When he was in Endovier, you did everything you could to repay the debt to Arobynn. In the end, paid every single coin. After the tests to be the king's assassin, the trip to Wendlyn and the destruction of the crystal castle, you followed her and supported her through everything. What brought you to the Bay. Where you met Fenrys.

While Aelin and the others were in Rolfe's office, you stayed outside with Fenrys and Gavriel, this one trying to ignore your flirtations. You felt attracted to him. As if a thread came out of your heart, traveling through the universe until it reached it. But you didn't tell him, and after the fateful day on the beach and the war, the two of you decided to wait for each other, because you knew that the loss of one or the other would kill you.

It had been a month since the war ended and the bond was still fresh.

The constant desire to be together, the sleepless nights, were constant.

You knew everything he had been through and that only made your instincts activate in the face of any danger, like now.

Terrasen and Wendlyn still had their tensions, and right now the emissaries of the two nations were meeting in the meeting room of Orynth Castle.

Everyone knew the Cadre and envy and disgust appeared on each of their faces when they looked at Fenrys.

Sitting next to him and holding hands under the table, you tried to calm him down by caressing his hand and sending love through the bow.

Until…

“I'm surprised to see you here Fenrys, tell me, are you warming the bed of the queen of Terrasen now?”

There was silence, every muscle in your body tenses and you only see red.

You notice the sadness and shame in your mate’s features and that is the trigger.

One moment you were at his side and the next you were on top of the emissary with a dagger at his neck.

Your knee digs into his chest and with your other foot you immobilize his hand. You get close to his face and loudly so that everyone can hear you, you say:

“Listen to me very well because I'm not going to repeat it twice.” A trickle of blood runs down his neck thanks to the pressure you exert. “I'm not going to allow you to talk like that about MY mate, so think twice, because next time I'll kill you, understand?”

Arms lift you up and, thanks to Fenrys' powers, in the blink of an eye you are in your room.

His hands cup your face and he pulls you closer to rest his forehead against yours.

You sigh, closing your eyes, relaxing thanks to his presence. Your hands also rest on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that are now running down his cheeks.

You open your eyes and Fenrys was already looking at you with so much adoration and love that your eyes filled with tears.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you, but every day I thank destiny for having found you.”

Unable to hold on and with your heart pounding at his words, you kiss him, transmitting all your love.

Fenrys had been through too much and you weren't going to let anyone or anything hurt him.

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 / 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆.

#sarah j maas #sjm books #throne of glass #throne of glass imagine #fenrys moonbeam #fanfic #fenrys x reader #throne of glass fanfiction #aelin galythinius #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #rowan whitethorn

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 8 months

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Hi, could you do a Fenrys fic where he and the reader are very attracted to one another but they have to stay away from each other because of Maeve but when they are sent to hunt Lorcan they finally get some alone time together. (It can be suggestive or not, you decide)

Wanna hold you

It was pure torture. Nothing felt more painful than watching the love of your life but not being able to touch them. Hold them. Shield them. Having to pull up a snarly mask. Bark insults at one another. Glaring instead of casting a loving gaze.

"Move", Fenrys would bark in the morning practice, "Oh, your ego is too big to step to the side now?", You leaned towards him, gritting your teeth. "Stop being a headache", he would growl the wolf inside him threatening to take over. "I have sharp nails too, pup", you would remind him. Black cat claws out on the show. "Come on, kids", Gavriel would call out from the other side of the training ground. But for that split second when you two were all up in one another's faces you could let your guards fall. Soaking in that desire that bubbled suppressed deep under.

No one could know. It was a death threat. Something Maeve would toy with till she got bored. It was already painful enough to watch her bed Fenrys as it was. You didn't want to imagine how often she would seek him out if she found out that you had fallen for the white wolf. You found yourself in a pleasure house just get that smell on you. To make lying about the males you bedded more believable. And to hide the smell of Fenrys on your skin.

This had been the longest you two had to be apart. Maeve was getting restless with Rowan running off with Aelin. Then Lorcan deciding that he too wanted to be the main character, leaving the rest of the cadre to pay the price. Fenrys was leaning against the taverna he and Gavriel were staying in. The hunt for Lorcan so far had led them nowhere but you were supposed to join them tonight. Maeve's orders. Just the hours went by but there was no sign of you.

Fenrys was growing restless. You all were far away to no longer feel Maeve's presence. Meaning that finally, he would be able to hold you close for a while. Just soak in your scent.

Fenrys suddenly feels himself being pushed back into the wall, too slow to reach for a dagger as the blade is being pressed against his neck. "Lost in a daydream?", and his knees are weak. You barely managed to move the blade away before he reached to yank you closer to his body. You wrap your arms around his neck. Breathing in his musky smell.

"Mother, strike me. You're actually here", Fenrys breaths out, "Let me look at you, let me...", he's pulling away, carefully shrugging off the hood of your cloak. Your sparkly eyes meet his. You two are grinning at each other like teenagers. "Missed me this much?", you tease him even if your own body is tingling with excitement. "Well the last time I held you was like a month ago", he breathed out, hands going all over your body. Too excited to just stick with one spot. "You mean you fucked me against a tree a month ago. And that's all you remember. Rude", you roll your eyes. But you know that he's not wrong. That truly was the last time you got to spend more time together. Not just settle for accidental brushes against one another.

"You look even more beautiful than I remember", Fenrys mutters, making you let out a giggle, "You're high on adrenaline, pup", you brush some of his blond hair away. Allowing your fingers to twirl one of the strands. "Are you here or am I seeing things?", Fenrys leans to nuzzle against the side of your face. "Listen to my heartbeat. My heart is beating so fast because of you", you say and Fenrys quickly scoops you up in his arms, twirling you around. The happiness pouring out of you like the late night moonlight.

#fenrys imagine #fenrys moonbeam #fenrys moonbeam x reader #fenrys moonbeam imagine #fenrys x reader #fenrys tog #tog imagine #tog x reader #tog x you #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass x reader #lorcan #gavriel #rowan whitethorn #the cadre

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lovelies-dream · 14 days

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Can I request how Hideaki, Elliot, and Maeve met Reader?

First meeting (Yandere ocs x reader)

I'm working on making headers for each of them so I don't have to use gifs as much, so look forward to that.

No warning other than reader doesn't have any tattoos, sorry.

---

Summer in New York sucked. It was hot, painfully so, to the point where it felt like your skin was constantly burning. It also stunk, like garbage and food and sweat. But more than the smell or the heat, summer sucked because of one person.

Maeve Leblanc.

Every summer he had auditions for new models. They'd flock from all over the world just for a chance to meet him. One of these models included your best friend and roommate, Jessica. She was obsessed with him, trying every year since first moving to New York to model for him.

"He's like...the best designers of our generation!" You remember her swooning one day during dinner. "Jay even works with him--you've seen him in stuff, right?" You nod your head.

"I've heard of him." You respond before taking a bite of your food. "But I don't think his shows really appeal to me..."

Jessica shakes her head "regardless, I just know this is the year." She nods her head, determined.

You believed in her just as much, you're honestly surprised she hasn't already been chosen to be one of his models. But if there was one thing holding her back, it was her forgetfulness.

Waking up in the morning to a barrage of texts for Jessica was not what you expected. It took you a few seconds to process what she needed, before signing. She forgot an outfit, apparently they needed to provide their own for the first few rounds of auditions.

So here you were, in front of the ginormous building, large letters displaying Fleur. You didn't know much about Maeve, but flowers were a common theme with him, if the rows and rows of them outside weren't already that much of a sign. You took a deep breath before entering, clothing bag gripped tightly purely out of nervousness.

The entrance was busy, model after model filling the room to the point where the noise was nearly unbearable. You tried looking around the room, finding someone who could tell you where auditions were being held, opting for one of the few front desks that weren't taken over by models.

"Excuse me--"

"If you're here for auditions, they're closed." The woman interrupted, looking you up and down very confused. You weren't exactly dressed to impress, in a baggy t-shirt and jeans with tennis shoes that were most likely a year old. "Come back tomorrow."

"I'm not here for auditions." You snapped back. "My friend forgot something and I need to give it to her, she's in the auditions."

The woman nodded, shifting on her feet a bit. "Okay well--I can't let you in if you're not auditioning so, sorry." You groan in disappointment, before nodding and leaving the desk.

This day couldn't get any worse, at this point you were planning on just texting Jessica and telling her to suck it up and try again next summer, before your plans were thwarted by someone rudely bumping into you.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry--are you okay?" The person, a man judging by his voice, asks you. His hands were gripping your arms tight to keep you from falling, so the only thing you could do was look up and nod at him.

He wasn't that tall, which was surprising due to how hard he crashed into you. His dark hands were covered in tattoos, and you could even see a few peaking onto his neck. He definitely was attractive, but he didn't look like one of the models, wearing just a hoodie and some baggy jeans.

"Are you here for the auditions?" He asks you once you calm down a bit, letting you go finally.

You shake your head. "No, I'm here for a friend, she's the one auditioning." You hold up the bag of clothes to him. He looks confused for a few seconds before nodding, holding out his hand towards you with a smile.

"Well, I'm Elliot." You shake his hand, it was surprisingly warm.

"I'm (Y/n)." You introduce yourself.

"I'm also looking for a friend." He says, eyes darting around the entrance. "He works here, maybe he can help you?" He tilts his head at you. You shrug, it was worth a shot.

"Great!" He smiles, taking your hand again.

---

You and Elliot spend about twenty minutes looking for his "friend", how he refused to give any more descriptors other than "tall loud idiot." It felt like he was making this harder for no reason.

Eventually, you two sat down on a tucked away seating area, Elliot attempting to call his friend for the sixth time now. You would call Jessica to tell her what was going on, but her phone was turned off, so you were out of luck.

"I'm sorry about all of this, I know he's here, it's just--" Elliot rubs the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

You shake your head, smiling a bit. "It's fine, don't worry about it." He laughs lightly, smiling wide. He had a very pretty smile, it would've made you nervous if it weren't for the situation you were in.

"(Y/n)." Elliot asks suddenly. "Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?" That was a strange question. You've honestly never thought about it that much, but a part of it scared you. Getting something permanently etched onto your body was a big commitment, you didn't know if you were ready for that yet.

"Uh--not really, I just don't think I'm brave enough to get one." You laugh awkwardly, a bit uncomfortable by the question.

"You definitely should." He responds. His eyes were locked onto you, making you feel small. "You have the skin for it." He says. "If you ever change your mind, I--"

"Elliot! Where have you been!" He's interrupted by someone behind you, causing you to turn around. In front of you was a tall, very upset man, storming towards you. He had fluffy black hair, very pale skin, and judging by his high end clothing, was one of the models here.

"What do you mean, Hideaki, I've been looking for you?!" Elliot shot up, forgetting the very strange conversation you were just having.

"I was in the upstairs dressing room, like always."

"I can't get to the higher floors, dumbass!"

"Wait--I thought I authorized you?"

"Authorization doesn't matter when there are auditions, we went over this, you have to be with me in person."

The entire time the two were arguing, you were trying to figure out where you'd seen the other guy before. He seemed so familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on it. Maybe he showed up at your work, or maybe you saw him online, like on instagram or something--

"Oh--you're Jay, man I knew I've seen you somewhere before." You gasp, interrupting their argument. Jay, or Hideaki as Elliot called him, furrowed his eyebrows. Elliot was holding back laughter as he peered at your satisfied face.

You should've recognized the actor and model immediately, Jessica watches nearly every show he's been in, she even managed to get his autograph at last year's auditions.

"Who is this?" Jay asks his friend.

"This is (Y/n), they're looking for their friend." Elliot smiled. "You're going to take us to the audition room as an apology for wasting our time." Jay looked annoyed, groaning as he rolled his eyes.

"Fineee--come on." He motioned for you to follow, moving towards the crowd of people. Elliot waited for you to stand up before taking your hand again.

"Thank you." You whisper to him. He doesn't respond, just smiling instead.

---

This was probably the biggest elevator you've ever been in. It was incredibly fancy with so many buttons, you're sure you would've gotten lost if it wasn't for Elliot and Jay.

Speaking of Jay, he's been on his phone the whole time you've been in this elevator, which has been a while due to the amount of people getting on and off. He seemed to be in his own world, which you didn't know was because of you or Elliot.

"(Y/n), you said your friend is auditioning, is this their first time?" Elliot speaks up in the quiet elevator. You can see Jay's eye shift over to you for a second, before going back to his phone.

"No, she's been auditioning now for about three years now." You answer. "I think she has a shot though, she's been working really hard."

Elliot nods "Well, tell her I wish her luck."

"She's gonna need it if this is her third year." Jay laughs from the side, causing you to look over at him with a raised eyebrow. "I'm just saying, it isn't easy to model for Maeve, trust me I know."

You decide not to mention that he never had to go through the auditioning process and was chosen by Maeve specifically, you didn't want to start drama, choosing to instead stay quiet.

Eventually, the elevator stops, opening up to a large open floor filled with models and clothes and makeup. It was crowded, but significantly quieter than the entrance. "Your friend should be in here." Jay says blankly. "Elliot come on." He calls.

"Give me a second--" Elliot looks over at you. "Sorry for all the trouble." He grabs your hand and places a small piece of paper in it. "My number--in case you change your mind about that tattoo. Or if you just want to talk." You looked at the paper for a second before looking back at him. He was smiling, wide and bright, and it made your heart jump in your chest.

"Yeah, will do." He nods, before heading back into the elevator with a wave.

As the elevator doors close, you can feel yourself becoming progressively more nervous. There were too many people, and you were starting to get more anxious around all these people.

"(Y/n)!" Thank god Jessica found you. You could see her stride over to you, engulfing you into a hug as she takes the bag from your hand. You're so happy she's here, that means you can leave soon.

"Thank you so much." She says. "I have to go and get changed--sorry to leave so soon."

You shake your head "It's fine, go try your best!" You shove her away playfully as you giggle.

The elevator felt like a breath of fresh air when you stepped into it. You wondered if you should message Elliot, or if it would be too sudden. How long should you even wait before talking to him? As you wrestled with this in your brain you barely even noticed when the door opened and someone walked in. You instinctively move to let him enter, eyes glued to your phone and the piece of paper.

The elevator was silent for the few moments after he entered, which you were perfectly fine with as you didn't feel like conversing with anyone.

"You're slouching." You look at the man, he was looking down at you already. "Don't do that."

The man's calm but powerful voice broke you out of your trance. You quickly fixed your posture before stuffing your phone in your pocket. You didn't dare look at the man, too embarrassed to see his face. It was like his presence was too overwhelming.

"Better." He says, his voice satisfied.

You stifle a confused groan before finding the small amount of courage in you to shift your gaze towards him. He was tall, extremely so. He was covered head to toe in designer clothing, with strawberry blond hair that framed his face perfectly.

You nearly choke on your own breath as you realize that you're in an elevator with Maeve Leblanc. One of the most famous people in the world, the whole reason thousands of people are here today, is in the same elevator as you and just told you to fix your posture. You don't know whether to be surprised or scared.

You waste no time shifting your gaze back to your feet, mentally praying that this elevator would hurry up. "Are you here to audition?" Why does he keep talking to you? You thought it was pretty obvious that you weren't auditioning, but apparently not.

"Uh--no, I was here for a friend." You answer quickly, eyes staying locked to the floor.

He hums lightly in understanding and you can feel his gaze shift onto you. Almost like something overtook you, you finally look at him completely, meeting his gaze for the first time.

His eyes were a deep blue, staring far into your soul. His face was captivating, even more so that it wasn't behind a t.v. screen. You felt bewitched by him, by his beauty, that you didn't notice the small amount of shock on his face. His eyebrows were furrowed as he looked back at you.

"You should." He said.

"Huh?" You gaped in confusion.

"Audition." He answers. "You should audition."

"Ha--" You laugh, trying to avoid the awkwardness. "Yeah--" Your voice draws out as you turn back to the ground, he couldn't be serious.

Eventually, the elevator dings, and you're greeted with the entrance and once again you can finally breathe. You leave the elevator, not failing to notice that Maeve doesn't leave, but his eye stays on you. He does, however, reach out his hand to stop the doors from closing.

"I'm serious" He says, making you turn and face him completely. "You should come tomorrow and audition." It didn't feel like a request, but more like a demand, like he was demanding you show up tomorrow. But even so, you just laugh while the door closed, sighing as he was finally out of view.

"What the fuck--"

---

A/n: Hope you liked this.

#platonic yandere #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you

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leviswritingpage · 1 year

Text

An Unhealthy Obsession-Story synopsis and requests

Brief Description:

You’re just a college student, trying to get by. Between a job you don’t care about, and lack of any relationship, there’s next to know excitement in your day to day. That might change however, when you attract the attention of a mafia family. At first, you didn’t suspect anything. Sure, you were meeting a lot of cool people in a short span of time, but nothing suspicious about that...right?

-----

Suddenly, 9 yandere types become important parts of your life. And you? You’re their world. Reader will be pan in this story, and (spoiler alert) will end up with all of them. So heavy themes of polyamorous in this as well.

-----

This is my first piece of writing I’ll be publishing, and it’s ambitious but. Had this idea in mind for a while. Was originally going to write it as a completely original work, with an OC to date the mafia family, but I’ve been falling into reader inserts recently.

-----

What I’ll write for:

x reader stories with one or more of the characters, character interactions between multiple of these yanderes, how they met in the first place, and SFW scenes, violence, and different genres. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc, reader of any gender (please specify).

What I WON”T write for:

I will write NSFW eventually, but for now I plan to keep it SFW. Just until I get a better grasp of writing it, and do fully plan to have optional NSFW scenes for this series later.

Character descriptions, pictures, and roles in the mafia below.

Characters that will be involved in this and their picrew pictures:

Clingy:

Name-Finnian

Age-22

Gender-Male (He/Him)

Height-5’7

Role-Driver

Personality-Whiney, tends to pout and has a very “femboy” vibe. Can be pretty shy, and can fall a bit into the overprotective category. He dropped out of college, since he couldn’t find a field he wanted. Pretty indecisive in general, and has only fallen in love once…he doesn’t want to again. Can be blind to his own emotions, so when he starts getting clingy he’s the last to know it’s a crush/love thing.

Obsessive:

Name-Nile

Age-19

Gender-Gender Queer/Gender Fluid (He/they)

Height-5’8

Role-Student (College-Elementary School Education)

Personality-They are an aspiring teacher, but get in trouble for getting on their phone. They obsess easily, but fall out of that obsession even easier. Tends to hyperfocus on something for a few weeks to months, then abandons it entirely. They fall in love all the time. But again, they fall out of that love pretty quickly. And aren’t afraid to tell someone that.

Possessive:

Name-Ireena

Age-26

Gender-Female (She/her)

Height-5’2

Role-Vigilante

Personality-Very…very aggressive. Doesn’t know how to express emotions clearly, and she tends to sleep all day, then is awake “hunting” at night. The family is really the only people that see her. And she plans to keep it that way. Even her targets don’t see her often. Almost “assassin”-like. Gets angry at the littlest things, and takes it out on her targets. Most of her targets are people that are a threat to her family.

Manipulative:

Name-Cleo

Age-28

Gender-Female (She/her)

Height-5’9

Role-Godfather

Personality-Comes off as cold, or callous. Hides her emotions well, so no one REALLY knows what she’s thinking. Will smile and lie through her teeth to get what she wants. Even to the point of fake crying at will, if it meant getting her out of “trouble”. She’ll end up flirting, but who knows if she really means it.

Overprotective:

Name-Tatum

Age-25

Gender-Nonbinary (They/them)

Height-6’0

Role-Bodyguard

Personality-They’re deadpan. Rarely shows emotions on their face. Has a cute side, and that just so happens to be when they see small animals. Even big animals are called “cute”. They can see a wolf bigger than them, and still excitedly call out “PUPPY!”

Sadistic:

Name-Maeve

Age-26

Gender-Female (She/Her)

Height-5’6

Role-Cop/Mole

Personality-Acts really bubbly and kind. She’s always a “good cop” in that way. However…when she does “play” bad-cop? It’s downright scary. She’ll say threats that shouldn’t grace people’s ears, all the while having a chilling smile on her face. She can be rude to her family, and threaten to lock them up on the regular. Sometimes she’ll even pull over one of her siblings, just to see them squirm. But the second they see it’s her they leave. She lets them. Lets them.

Delusional:

Name-Hunter

Age-18

Gender-Male (He/Him)

Height-5’11

Role-Reporter

Personality-Can be overbearing, but he’s always looking for a new story. That’s how he comes across, that is. He’d rather a reporter than get bored and sit through classes in college. He interviews his family's next target, who are higher profile than that of others. He’ll put himself in danger for a story, but he knows he can fend for himself. Something. If anything else, he knows how limited someone’s time on earth is if his siblings figured out who hurt him.

Self-Indulgent:

Name-Blake

Age-21

Gender-Male (He/Him)

Height-6’2

Role-Informant

Personality-Constantly meeting/flirting with new people. He drinks a lot, goes to parties, and acts drunk as hell. But he’s really getting closer to targets. Finding out information to report back to his family, before doing it all again the next night. Even his family doesn’t know if he’s talking to targets or partying for real. Probably a little of both.

Impulsive:

Name-River

Age-22

Gender-Male (He/Him)

Height-5’3

Role-Mortician

Personality-He HATES his job. If he’s too bored he’ll not show up. Or leave early. He’ll go and gamble for hours, and return to work with his new wad of cash. He’s very…very good at gambling. Mostly because his family knows of his gambling, and pays the casinos to let him make the best bet. He doesn’t even NEED any of the money. It’s just fun. Might steal a car and kiss a stranger. Who knows with this one.

#yandere x reader #x reader #mafia x reader #yandere mafia #yandere mafia x reader #levi's ocs #an unhealthy obsession

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chentastic · 10 months

Text

Maeve the Venus

This is Maeve, one of my four pcs. She has almost all her body tattooed. She's like the second girl I first played with and the one who, therefore, went through the worst situations while I was learning to play lol. She loves Robin and would die for her without hesitation so she obviously has Robin's Protector trait.

On the other hand, he has a weakness for Whitney. Every time they meet there is so much sexual tension that it's unbearable BUT she ignores him, or tries to, it's hard to ignore that son of a bitch. Whitney is aware of that and likes to have fun teasing her, he's convinced that if he tortures her some more she'll finally give in and let him fuck her real good.

Sydney is her best friend and they have a pretty nice platonic relationship, he confessed a while back but she wanted them to remain friends, Maeve still thinks Sydney is innocent. He is secretly jealous of Robin and knows she is just a nice girl who can't satisfy Maeve, at least not alone. Sometimes he spends his time in the library thinking about how much he would like to tie her up and take her to the Prayer Room, he knows perfectly well what kind of things she likes because they work together in the Sexshop, he saw how she looks at the toys.

Her relationship with Kylar is a bit weird, sometimes she gets close to him because she honestly likes him and feels sorry for him because she knows he is very lonely, but she is traumatized by the things he does. The whole pillow thing and the kidnapping, yk.

Avery feels a very strong attraction to Maeve and her being a famous model gives him more of a reputation and he loves that, she is different from his previous companions, fitting in perfectly at his side, hugging his arm and putting on a nice mask. He knows he is able to buy her company but that is all he can get.

#degrees of lewdity pc #maeve the venus #sydney the fallen #whitney the bully #robin the orphan #kylar the loner #avery the businessman #its been a while since I posted something hi hello im not dead #im a little embarrassed about posting pc things but I really put everything on this drawing #dol fanart #my art

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blindmagdalena · 6 months

Note

What do you think Homelander’s attraction to Becca was? It’s not like at the Christmas party she was the only woman there, and by that point he had no idea who Butcher was. The actress that plays her is attractive, but the later scenes (season two and even just their initial introduction) between them suggest there’s something more to his attraction.

It’s obvious in the season two scenes that Homelander and Becca have, he has some lingering attraction. I think that’s primarily led by the fact that they have a son together and Homelander desperately wants a family, and also that Homelander is looking for a new woman to attach himself onto since Madelyn died. Perhaps he just wants what he can’t have especially knowing that she’s still in love with Butcher and he wants someone to love him that unconditionally. The main reason I thought of this is because in my opinion, Homelander isn’t the type of character to do something without a reason. Usually he has one even if it’s not a good reason.

ah yes, potentially one of the most contentious/controversial plot points in the fandom. canon gives us VERY little to go on here, so excuse me while I just ramble my take on the whole situation. i extrapolate a good amount. everyone you ask is going to have a different answer, and each one is as valid as any other. this is simply mine!

Homelander's greatest sin isn't wrath or pride. It's envy. He is a bottomless well of yearning for what he doesn't have, and he is viciously covetous. We see this play out most plainly in his one sided beef with a literal baby.

When he meets Becca, she's beautiful, quick witted, strong willed and independent. A career woman. Not only that, she's helping manage his career by handing his social media, which is part of his public perception. Very important to him! He already has a ton of wires crossed when it comes to the women in his life acting as both coworkers/Vought employees and emotional surrogates, i.e. Maeve, Madelyn and Vogelbaum. Plus who knows how many nanny mommies.

At this point, we don't know how long he's been with Maeve, but we have at least another 6 years before the pair breaks up. He's enjoying Maeve, but he wants more. He always wants more. Maybe he wants a wife, and she's refusing him that.

But Becca is a wife. He sees that ring on her finger and it boils his blood that he doesn't have that classic, romantic symbol of commitment. Of love. Worse yet when he meets her husband! The figurative boogeyman. The baby stealing his mommy and her milk. We're not there in the story yet, but we do see a trend here. It likely didn't start here: imagine what it was like for him to find out Vogelbaum had kids. Kids he loved. I bet that gutted Homelander. It should have been him.

Homelander, in his mind, can never win. Can never have enough. Anyone else having means they are directly taking away what should be his. It could be that it was never really about Becca specifically so much as the archetype she represented.

That carries us into season 2 where Becca takes on an additional archetype that Homelander is now lacking: mother. I think you're right on the money that a good amount of his attraction comes from the fact she's the mother of his son.

He falls pretty deep down the fantasy family rabbit hole with Becca, though. He not only inserts himself into their lives and routine, he takes a renewed interest in Becca. He snoops through her things, smells her clothes, and engages with her well beyond just interacting with Ryan. Then comes the scene where he finds her hidden stash of Billy merch, and the fantasy is shattered. She's still in love with another man. She's a wife, but she's not his wife. She's the mother to his son, but she's not someone who will fulfill those emotional needs for him. I've made this comparison before, but it's very reminiscent to the breakdown he has when he sees his baby blanket in his fake childhood home. He moves on VERY easily to Stormfront when she not only presents herself as a mother to her own child, but a potential mother for his child.

I'm backtracking a little here, but when Maeve called Homelander over from Billy and Becca at the party, I always got the vibe she was doing so quite purposefully. I wonder how much of their early relationship was Maeve feeling like she was performing damage control. Managing him, curbing his destructive behaviors. Did she see that covetous edge in his eye when he would look at Becca, at her ring? Did she try to tell him to leave her alone, play it like a joke?

We have the deleted scene where Maeve says the reason they broke up was because he couldn't keep it in his tights, but we don't really have any other explicit instances or even mentions of Homelander liberally sleeping around. Did she know about Becca, or at the very least did she make an educated guess when the woman disappeared? Maybe she felt like he did it to spite her. Did she know about Madelyn?

Ultimately we know Maeve becomes complicit in his crimes. She feels her hands are dirty with the same blood. She becomes jaded, she's no longer the hero. She's just an accessory. I definitely don't think it started that way, though.

anyways, I hope this somewhat answered your question! I have a tendency to jump around a lot and word vomit, but this generally covers my take on why that all went down the way it did.

Honestly, I would love to write a fic someday that digs more into my thoughts here. Becca deserves so much more than what she got from the narrative.

#the boys meta #homelander meta #becca butcher #homelander #queen maeve #darling anon #ask and you shall receive #god i rambled sooo much here i'm sorry lol

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amostimprobabledream · 1 year

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Colour in my dark side (Homelander x Goth!Reader)

Blame @blindmagdalena for this, ages ago we were discussing Homelander becoming attracted to a goth!Reader who is indifferent to him and this is what spawned. Enjoy!

It’s hellish hot.

The Con is swarming with people, and your all-black outfit isn’t helping at all. This is not your idea of a good time – it’s loud, bright, every fifth person stinks of B.O, and there’s always some kid shrieking somewhere and you’re hungry. Posters and clips of the Seven are playing everywhere – you’re sure if you did a three-hundred sixty degree spin, you’d be able to see a whole movie play out across the whole venue. Honestly, it’s too much. You’ve never really cared all that much about Supes, to be honest. Sure, saving people’s lives is admirable and they deserved every bit of credit and however much money one paid Supes for doing that. That all made sense.

But all this? The tacky clothing lines and toys and comics? The endless ad campaigns and shitty movies and TV shows? It was all just so much. You had no idea how any sane person could bear it, but then, you were pretty biased in that respect. And every one of the Seven except maybe Black Noir were so not your aesthetic – the cheesy grins and spangly suits made your eyes hurt.

So why are you here?

Because your friend Jen practically begged you to come with her. She’d had tickets for SupeCon for months. Apparently, her sister was originally going to come with her, but somewhere along the way, plans changed, things got confused and she couldn’t make it. Jen promised she didn’t expect you to pay for her sister’s ticket and that she’d treat you to lunch, just as long as she didn’t have to go alone. You’d dragged her to some weird events in your time, so you agreed, if slightly reluctantly.

But now you’re here, it’s exactly as bad as you thought it was going to be. And it’s about to get worse.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe the Seven are finally here!” Jen squeals and bounces up and down next to you, while you stand there watching her in befuddlement. No doubt you make an odd pair to anybody watching – she fits right in and you look like a crow amongst a flock of sparrows.

“I mean, yeah, they are scheduled to be.” You reply, in the most deadpan voice you can muster. Jen usually catches onto your sarcasm very quickly, you’ve perfected the art of saying it subtly, but today she’s too excited and it goes right over your head.

The Seven enter with screams of applause that makes you wince, wanting to clap your hands over your ears. Homelander is in the lead, of course, waving to the crowd and even giving a cheesy thumbs-up. Queen Maeve, A-Train, Black Noir and Starlight follow him, not as bombastic but each of them seem to have their fair share of fans too. You don’t know where The Deep is and it looks like they haven’t gotten around to replacing Translucent yet.

Jen is busy snapping pictures of them as they walk to their booths. Apparently there’s going to be a short Q&A later about whatever movie it is they’re supposed to be plugging at the moment. Apparently this one is a big deal because it’s the first one with Starlight in it, but Jen promised she wouldn’t make you stay for that, thank god.

“God, most people don’t look as good when you see them in person, but they’re all so good-looking!” Jen gushes, bouncing on her heels.

“I guess.” You offer neutrally, trying not to sound too critical because she’s here to have fun.

They look a little uncomfortable to you. Well, it’s hard to get any vibes from Black Noir, to be honest, but Maeve has a just-swallowed-a-lemon face and Starlight’s smile has a nervous edge to it. You read somewhere she used to be in beauty pageants as a kid and it shows when she’s in front of a crowd. A-Train and Homelander seem to be soaking in the attention, though, which doesn’t surprise you at all.

“Omg, hey, look this way!” Jen says, suddenly turning her phone the other way and leaning her head towards yours. “Picture!”

“Ugh, do we have to?” you ask, but you dutifully pose anyway, but you don’t smile. The flash stings your eyes and you blink, hard.

You blink several times, eyes watering a bit, but you manage to prevent them from leaking, which is good because you don’t want to fuck up your eyeliner. Now Jen is staring at the rapidly-forming queue, chewing her lip as she deliberates and you fish your phone out of your pocket and start scrolling through it, absent-mindedly.

“Fuck it, I’m going in.” she says, turning to you hopefully. “You wanna come? I know you don’t really like the Seven, but you could at least meet Black Noir yourself?”

"Yeah, I don't think so." you reply without looking up from your phone. "Standing in line for hours just so some Vought barbie doll can bare their teeth at me and give me an overpriced piece of junk with their name scrawled on it is not my idea of a good time."

What the fuck?

Okay, maybe that was a bit mean - the heat and hunger is making you snippy, but fortunately for you Jen doesn't mind when you're grouchy so she simply laughs at you.

"Say what you want, Morticia, but I'm going to catch 'em all!" she grins at you. "I can't wait to talk to Starlight, she's the only one of the Seven I don't have any hand-signed merch of yet!"

You glance over at where the girl in question is sitting. Homelander gets the end table, obviously, since they're saving the best for last and if there's an emergency, he needs to be able to get out quickly (he's been known to crash through roofs before, apparently, so he's right next to the emergency exit door), but Starlight's on the table next to his. Between all the other members of the Seven there's something fragile-looking about her, with her dainty white costume and the hair in soft blonde waves. You know that's not true; she has to be tough to have been let into the Seven at all.

But...for some reason you find yourself feeling sorry for her.

"She looks so young." is what you end up saying.

“Yeah, I guess? I just wish she’d ditch that hairband; I had one just like it in middle school,” Jen says, shrugging. “Still love her, though! I’m gonna go get in line now!”

You nod, not really paying attention anymore and glance around, wondering if you should bother buying a hotdog or something – can you last another couple of hours before Jen gets you lunch?

“Okay, I’m getting a slushie. Do you want one?”

She smiles and shakes her head, hitching the strap of her bag further up her shoulder.

“Nah, it’ll have melted by the time I’m finished getting autographs. Go on and listen to The Cure or something.”

“Fuck you,” you reply with a smirk and Jen laughs and trots off towards the back of the line, her hair swishing. You’re glad she drove here because she’s going to struggle walking anywhere with all the shit she’s buying.

The line is so long it’s snaking around the room, but the Seven are used to events like this so hopefully she should only be an hour or so. You sigh and dodge a family that nearly steamroll right over you, a mother and father arguing loudly while their kids whine and shriek behind them, the youngest one squeezing an A-Train toy that is already missing an eye. You make a disgusted face as you dodge them – you don’t want their gross sticky hands getting on your clothes.

After buying yourself a slushie that’s so big it’s slightly too large for you to hold one-handed, you dodge endless streams of people until you get to a wall and lean against it. You can’t see any chairs anywhere, which is a shame because your feet are really starting to hurt.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you mutter to yourself, stabbing your straw through the slushie and taking a long, refreshing gulp. A soft sigh leaves you; “Ah.”

At least it’s quieter over here. While you nurse your drink and distantly wish you’d brought a flask so you could put some alcohol in this (you feel like alcohol would make time go by quicker), you get this prickling feeling and glance up, wondering if Jen decided she was too tired to wait.

But no. It’s not her. Instead, Homelander is staring straight at you. At first you don’t register that he is, merely that he happened to glance up in your direction, but after a couple of seconds of his unwavering gaze, it occurs to you that he might actually be looking at you. You glance over your shoulder just in case and relax – there’s an enormous poster blown up to the size of a billboard on the wall a foot or so above your head. He must be staring at that.

Right?

A moment later some guy steps in front of him to get his comic book signed and you can’t see Homelander anymore. Realising you’re nearly finished with your drink, you jolt a bit in surprise – did you drink that really fast or did you just lose track of time for a bit?

Something else occurs to you as you slip away from your quiet spot by the wall and toss your drink.

You really, really want to smoke.

That sounds like a great idea, actually. It’ll get you out of this hellhole for a bit, give you a fix you need and there might be a wall or something to perch on and rest your aching feet. True, you’ll be out in the blazing hot sunshine in all black, but sacrifices must be made.

You send a quick text to Jen and disappear out of there – the venue is strictly no smoking but you’re pretty sure if you nip around the back, there won’t be a problem. You can guarantee some of the stall owners find somewhere to get a nicotine fix, running a stand in a crowded, noisy hellhole like this for nine hours straight.

What you don’t notice is eyes tracking you across the room, and you’ve already rounded the corner of the venue when Homelander stands up and claps his hands, announcing the Seven are taking a quick break and they’ll be right back to finish off the signing, folks!

Cheers and groans swell up in equal measure, but before anybody has any time to protest (though none of the Seven seem to mind this announcement), he’s already vanished through the emergency exit.

Blissfully, you stretch your legs out as you have another suck on your vape. Your instincts were right on the money – you didn’t find a handy wall, but there’s a staff-only door with a couple of stairs that you’ve sat down on. If anybody comes outside, it’ll probably be people working for SupeCon and god knows they probably need a cigarette break more than you do.

Anyway, it’s not like there are any signs back here that say “No Smoking”. An implication is not a concrete rule.

"Smoking's bad for your health, you know."

You jolt and look around, even though you already know who that voice belongs to.

They say famous people always look smaller up close, but in Homelander's case it's the exact opposite. He looks bigger if anything, perhaps it's the way his cape sways importantly behind him or the eagle epaulettes give his silhouette a severe, angular look, but while a few minutes ago you were alone, now it's like you're in a crowded room all over again. You lower your vape.

What the hell is he doing back here? Somehow you don’t think Homelander wanted to get away for a quick nicotine fix before he returns to his adoring public. You stand up, not wanting to be stuck crouching on the steps while he looms over you.

"So." Homelander says, popping his lips. "Not to sound too forward, but I couldn't help but notice you earlier. You, ah, stick out a bit in there, even brooding over there by the wall."

"They do say that, yeah." you deadpan, rubbing your lips together where there's still a lingering taste of your flavoured smoke.

He's looking at you strangely - though Homelander is smiling, there's something flat about it, like it's just something he does while on standby. There's no genuine feeling behind it at all - it doesn't match the look in his eyes, and somehow despite the warm sunshine bearing down on you, suddenly you feel a little chilly. Perhaps he doesn’t appreciate jokes.

His eyes pointedly run down your outfit, and you glance down reflexively too - you're not the only person wearing black in there, but most of the people who are are the ones dripping in Black Noir merch. You're the only person you've seen who isn't wearing any colour or even a hint of Supe gear. Plus you were standing directly in Homelander's line of vision, even if you figured the hundreds of people inbetween you and him would be more than sufficient to hide you. And he'd been so busy dramatically signing every Homelander-related item shoved under his nose that the notion he'd bother noticing a single person in such a big crowd was honestly baffling to you.

Is he coming onto me?

Yeah, right. Homelander, the most baseball games and apple pie person in existence, the All-American boy himself, hitting on a random goth chick?

"Oh?" you reply, wondering where he was going with this.

He tilts his head, looking down at you and you're reminded of a bird of prey staring down a mouse. It makes you straighten your back - you're free to do what you want, and if you don't want to drink the Vought Kool-Aid everybody else here seems to have, what difference does it make to him? It's almost like he's offended there isn't one person here desperate to bask in his presence. It's not as if you've ever disliked Homelander (though he isn't helping his case presently), it's just none of this is you.

"Not a fan of Supes?" he asks lightly, but there's a mocking note in his voice that surprises you. Normally he sounds as rehearsed as those action figures of his. "Does saving lives bore you? Hm? Is that why you came here, to show us all how different and unique you are? Tickets aren't cheap - seems a lot of money for a normal person to spend on not caring."

"My friend asked me to come." you reply, a little defensively, which is ridiculous. Why should you feel the need to explain yourself to Homelander? It's none of his fucking business. "Look, it’s not that I didn’t get in line because I don’t think saving lives matters or anything, I just-“

“You just don’t want to talk to…what was it? Oh, right, a ‘Vought Barbie-doll bearing their teeth at you’?” Homelander says, and shame prickles your skin to have your own words thrown back at you. He steps a little closer and you can smell him – some fancy cologne that probably costs more than your entire outfit put together, plus a sort of woodsy smell like pine trees. You can’t even detect a hint of sweat – apparently sweating is below such beings.

You make a sound, a sort of scoff of disbelief. This can’t really be happening, can it?

“Look, I’m not…I never said I don’t think what you actually do is important. But this?” you wave a hand in the general direction of the Con. “All the pomp and circumstance? Yeah, not my scene.”

“Too bright for your dark tastes, huh?” Homelander says, and is it you or is his voice pitched a little lower than before? It sounds rougher for sure, like stone scraping against stone.

You press your lips together, because can’t think of anything to say to that. It’s pretty obvious he’s not going to be mollified and you’re not apologising to him – if he can’t let go of a little comment made by a total stranger, that’s his burden to bear. You just want to go home. So, you stuff your vape back into your pocket and turn to leave, blowing tutti-frutti flavoured smoke out of the corner of your mouth. You’re tired and hungry and you just want to get out of here and go to lunch.

Unfortunately for you, Homelander seems to have other ideas.

His hand suddenly shoots out and grabs your wrist, tugging your arm out straight, making you stumble forwards – he damn near yanks you right off your feet. He does it so fast you don't have time to react at first, then your eyes narrow in bewilderment.

"Hey-!" you protest, and try to squirm free, but his fingers lock around your wrist. It's like trying to pull your arm out of a steel door and the most insulting thing of all is that Homelander isn't really trying - it's like somebody effortlessly pinching the neck of a kitten to make them go limp. He looks calmer now that he’s caught you off guard, shooting you an amused little smirk. You go still.

"Looks like you're a fan of ink," Homelander says, his eyes tracing up and down the tattoos on your body. Distantly you remember that he has X-ray vision and heat surges to your cheeks - is he-?

But his next words make you go still.

"Since you didn’t have anything for me to sign…I suppose I can make do.”

Easily holding you still just by one arm, he tugs out a Sharpie that was apparently nestling against his hip, held there by his belt, and whips it out, tugging the cap off with his teeth. You catch a glimpse of the side of the pen - it's permanent ink.

"What the fuck-?!"

He ignores your protests, no doubt your squirms are so ineffectual to him you might as well be trying to break down a door with a feather, and he begins writing on you. He's careful not to accidentally tear your fragile skin with the force of the pen, but a shiver goes shooting down your arm as the chilly tip of the pen glides across your forearm, breaking out in goosebumps. You feel like you’re watching this happen from far away, somehow, disengaged from the situation now that you know you can’t run away.

It doesn't take long, only a few seconds, but for you those moments stretch on, elastic as a rubber band being pulled tight before someone releases it. When he's finished, he lets go and you jerk your arm back like it's been burned.

Homelander's autograph is still wet with ink, but already you can see the darker spots being absorbed into your skin - it takes up the entirety of your forearm, written in huge, looping scrawl. You can only stare at it in disbelief - how long is this going to take to wash off? Probably weeks, even if you do scrub it every day with soap or a body scrub or whatever the fuck else you might have to use to get rid of it. You look back up at Homelander, who has already put the pen away. He's grinning at you broadly now, but his fangs are bared and you want to step back from him. You only don't because there's a wall right behind you and you have the perverse thought that looking like you want to run away might excite him.

"You know, I always thought tattoos looked a little…trashy." Homelander confides with a smirk, and his eyes travel up and down the length of your body in a way that would be indecent even without knowing he can see straight through your clothes if he so pleases. "Especially on pretty girls like you, even if you hide it under all that. But I guess it's all about finding ones that suit you best, isn't it? Maybe you can get that made into a real one."

Your jaw drops at the absolute fucking gall. If it were anyone else you probably would have thrown hands with him right now, because who the fuck does he think he is?

But you already know that. He's The Homelander. The best-case scenario is you'd break your hand on him. Worst case?

You don't want to think about what the worst-case scenario might be. You might like dark things, but this is different.

“Well?” Homelander nudges and you continue to stare at him, bewildered. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

The air seems to shiver with tension and you nervously lick your lips, uncaring that you’re still wearing lipstick. You’re stalling and he knows it.

“Homelander!”

Before you can even begin to formulate some kind of reply that fulfills the requirements without actually having to say the words, a woman in an absolutely hideous pantsuit comes running up to him and he rolls his eyes, turning to her.

“For fuck’s sake, Ashley, what is it now?” he says, and if he hadn’t just forcefully scribbled all over your skin and demanded you thank him for it ten seconds ago.

You recognise an opportunity when you see one and take that moment to beat it, trying not to run, but in the end you can’t help it, holding your arm to your body like you’ve broken it. You know Homelander is watching you – you can feel his eyes on your back, but you don’t turn around.

As you hurry back entrance hall, you spot Jen, who is now laden down with bags of stuff.

“There you are!” she says. “God, my legs are aching from standing around, but I’m all done! I’m thinking Applebee’s…are you okay? You look a bit clammy.”

“Yeah,” you say, dropping your arm and pressing it to your side. The signature is big, but it’s on the inside of your arm. If you take care to keep it hidden under a booth or against your side, hopefully Jen won’t see it. You don’t feel like explaining how you got it. “Just hungry.”

“Same here. Come on, I think I parked in Bay C…”

You follow Jen out, silently sending up a thanks to whoever might be listening that she’s happy to leave now, that she doesn’t think to ask you any further questions. She’s in her little Supe bubble and you’re not going to pop it. Especially not if you know Homelander can hear you.

Especially if you know he might still be watching you.

“Fuckin’ assholes.”

That was Homelander’s assessment of the day. Oh, he’d smiled for pictures, he’d signed the mass-produced bullshit people pushed at him and he’d answered questions about a silly movie he barely remembered making. Such trivialities that Vought deemed worthy of his time. But anything for the fans, right?

He popped the top off a carton of milk he had awaiting him in his apartment, not even bothering with a glass as he chugged the stuff down, cool and sweet and delicious against his parched throat. As he drank, the one spot of entertainment of the day floated to the surface of his mind.

Namely, the face of that little goth girl when he’d grabbed her arm, the way she immediately stilled when he started writing his name on her skin. For all the weary sighing and under-her-breath snark, there would be nothing she could do about his name branded across her skin like that. It would fade in time, of course, but he got a distinct fission of satisfaction knowing she’d be thinking of him, whether she wanted to or not, every time she looked down at it.

Even if she covered it with black clothes, they’d both know it was there. Like a little secret.

Lazily, almost absently, he started undoing the front of his suit, one-handed, fishing out his already hardening cock. Setting the milk aside, he braced himself against the wall as he started to jerk it in some frantic pumps of his hand, overcome with the memory of her, the whiff of her Vape and the hitching of breath when he touched her. Homelander moaned throatily and threw his head back, imagining how it might feel to put his name on the girl permanently, to ink himself on someone who thought they were o very removed from the world he inhabited – no, not inhabited – ruled. She was just as much something to amuse him as everyone else.

As few more frantic jerks made him come, a hot, pleasing flush after a long, boring day of pageantry and ennui.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself, with a smile, lashes casting shadows across his cheeks with his eyes closed in bliss.

Perhaps there was something to be said about tattoos after all.

The water hisses as you scrub and scrub and scrub, foamy white bubbles dribbling down your arm and splashing back into the sink.

Nothing. The Homelander signature is still there, gleaming starkly in the dim lighting of your bathroom. You’ve been working away at it for hours now, but whatever pen he used is apparently an excellent quality one. You're just thankful Jen was too hyper from meeting her idols to notice you were suddenly doing everything one-handed.

But an idea comes to you as you stare resentfully at your reflection, gingerly patting your arm (which is sore now from hours of scrubbing and soaking it) – if you can’t get it off you and you’ll have to live with it for a couple of weeks, the best thing to do seems obvious.

Namely, improve it.

So you hurry into your room and start fishing through your desk drawers until you find it – another Sharpie, one you have ironically brought to gigs with you before for bands to sign if you can get them alone for a minute. But it will serve another purpose tonight.

Tugging the cap off with your teeth, you lie your arm flat on your desk and hover the pen over Homelander’s name.

Very carefully you make your adjustment, grinning around the cap as you do.

A second later and it’s done. The word Homelander is still there – except that the ‘m’ is blocked out with a black star, so now it actually reads “Ho★elander.”

“How’s that one for trashy, asshole?” you mutter to yourself, a surge of petty glee rising up in you like sap oozing forth from a tree, savagely pleased with your handiwork.

As you flop onto your bed, a line pops into your head, and despite what a long, bizarre day it’s been, you laugh and say out loud;

“I went to SupeCon, and all I got was this lousy autograph.”

#Homelander x Reader #Homelander x You #Blogging #Writings #The Boys (2019)#Homelander being Homelander #Mild smut

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fortheloveofwonderland · 2 years

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Lessons in Deviance | S.R (Part 1/2)

Not my gif

Part Two

Summary - you were more than smart enough to know that playing dumb to get more help from your incredibly attractive professor was a bad idea. And now you’ve found yourself caught up in an extremely sexy, yet dangerous game of cat and mouse with Doctor Spencer Reid, that neither of you are prepared to lose.

A/N - a two parter as it got away from me a little! Thank you as always to the wonderful @andiebeaword and @smurphyse for reading and brainstorming this with me!

Pairing - Professor! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - absolute filth, seriously (minors DNI) angst in second part with a happy ending.

Content Warnings - age gap between consenting adults, professor x student relationship, very, very brief mentions of prison, Maeve and Hankel, lots of sexual tension, lots of flirtation, swearing, masturbation (male and female), drinking, use of “whore”, use of “good girl”, dirty talk, sexting (yes Doctor Reid sexting), lots of teasing, perv Spencer, slight exhibitionism.

Word Count - 9.4K

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Right, who can give me an example of a psychological stressor?” Spencer looked around the room at the faces in his criminology class.

He already learnt that at least half the class was just here for auditing purposes. A classroom full of beautiful women who had nothing better to do than audit his class? Go figure.

There was one face in his class however that stuck out above the rest. He looked forward to this class more than most because you were in it.

On the first day of the semester you had strolled into his classroom and taken the seat two in from the aisle on the third from last row where you had sat every week since. You’d caught his eye straight away with your skimpy summer dress and you’d kept his attention with your warm eyes and friendly smile.

You always listened so intently to every word from his lips, nodding and chewing your lip as you took notes on your laptop, your fingers flying across the keys without even glancing down.

He’d read your transcript, he had read everyone in his class’ but yours he took a little more interest in.

Your name was Y/N Y/L/N, you were twenty three years old (much too young for the perverse thoughts he’d had about you) and you were incredibly smart. Your transcript lit up like a Christmas tree. Your grades were phenomenal.

But that’s where the problem lies. Because thus far, you were failing his class terribly.

He didn’t understand it. He’d read your transcript again and again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything but of course he hadn’t. For all intents and purposes you should have been passing his class with flying colours. It just didn’t make any sense.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he pointed to you, catching you off guard.

“Uh,” you chewed your lip “Sorry I don’t know.” you shook your head with a small shrug.

He frowned a little trying to read your expression. You didn’t look all that sorry. Definitely embarrassed, not so sorry.

He glanced at his watch, seeing it was time to wrap up class for another week.

“Ok, looks like we’re out of time. See you all next week.” he dismissed the class. “Uh, Y/N, could you stay behind for a moment please?”

You felt your cheeks burning and you tried to hide it by focusing on packing your laptop away. You waited until the rest of the class had emptied out before you slowly padded down the stairs to the front of the class.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as you approached your incredibly attractive professor.

“Doctor Reid,” you tried to keep your voice level as you spoke.

“Y/N, hi.” he gave you one of his awkward waves that you found adorable. “You seem to be...struggling a little with the material.”

You chewed on your bottom lip with a small nod.

“I am.” You confessed.

“Why do you think that is?” He sat on the edge of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

“I’m...I’m not sure.” You offered him a pathetic shrug.

“I’ve read your transcript Y/N, it’s very impressive.”

Your cheeks burned at his words. It was an impressive transcript. You knew that. But hearing your incredibly attractive professor tell you so made you shy.

“Which is why I find it so hard to understand why you’re failing the class. Clearly you’re exceptionally smart, so what is it that is causing you an issue?”

You were still gnawing your lip in embarrassment.

“I really don’t know Doctor Reid. Something just isn’t clicking.”

“Is it me?” He unfolded his arms, a wave of insecurity washed over his features. “Am I not...maybe I’m not a good teacher.”

“What? No! You’re a great teacher!” You were quick to counter, too quick probably.

“It must be something.”

“I’m not sure.” You shrugged again.

“Do you think you’d maybe benefit from one on one sessions?”

Oh god why did that sound so sexy?

You swallowed, trying to remind yourself he did not mean what you wanted him to mean.

“Uh yeah, that could be really helpful actually.”

“Ok great.” He smiled a little. “I have office hours tomorrow and Friday’s between five and seven PM. Maybe if we can dig down on the areas you’re struggling with I can help make sense of it for you.”

“That sounds great, thank you Doctor Reid.” You nodded with a smile. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Can’t wait.” You muttered under your breath before you turned and walked away.

Spencer watched you leave, mesmerised by the way your backside moved as you walked, the graceful swing of your hips.

He was determined to turn your grades around. He was going to help you pass his class. And if he got to be alone with you while he did it, all the better.

***

The following evening you had tried to look as though you hadn’t spent three hours getting ready for Doctor Reid’s office hours.

You wanted to look nice but not as though you were trying to impress him even though you were most certainly were.

You settled on your favourite pair of black jeans that accentuates your curves, hugging you in all the right places and paired them with a short sleeved lace blouse.

Your bra was just visible beneath the fabric. Enough that Doctor Reid would surely see it but not enough to make it look deliberate. You’d added some subtle make-up and spent a long time on your hair before you left your apartment and headed to campus.

You tentatively knocked on his office door, feeling a wave of nerves crash over you as you thought about being alone with the beautiful doctor. It was unfair really how gorgeous he was, how could anyone be expected to learn when he was the one teaching?

“Come in!” his voice carried through the door and after taking a few deep breaths you entered.

His office was much as you’d pictured it to be, dark wood furniture, bursting bookshelves and a desk littered with paper and yet more books.

Spencer sat behind the desk. He was smiling at you as you entered.

“Y/N hi, come in.” he motioned you into the office. You closed the door behind you and stepped towards the desk.

“I brought coffee.” you set the takeaway cups down on the desk, sliding one closer to Doctor Reid.

“Oh wow, thank you.” he smiled brightly, taking the cup. “I’ve been busy grading papers, I haven’t had a chance to get a fresh cup in hours.”

His smile drew your eyes to his lips. It was such a wonderful smile and you loved that you could be the one to elicit it from him.

You slid into the chair on the other side of the desk.

“Thanks again for helping me Doctor Reid. I’m sure I’ll get it, I just need a little assistance.”

“It’s not a problem really.” He smiled again, so genuinely that you believed he didn’t mind helping you. “Shall we start with what we were covering in yesterday’s class?”

He reached for a book on the corner of the desk and opened it at a pre-marked page.

“Stressors,” he took a sip of coffee. “A stressor is…” he looked at you, hoping you’d field the rest.

A chemical or biological agent, environmental condition, external stimulus or an event causing stress on an organism, you spoke in your head.

“Uh…” you chewed your lip. “The event that makes someone a killer.” You shrugged.

“Well kind of. But I was looking for a little more.

A stressor is a chemical or biological agent, environmental condition, external stimulus or an event causing stress on an organism. So psychologically speaking, stressors can be events or environments that individuals might perceive to be demanding, challenging or threatening. Do you want to take notes?”

You tore your eyes away from him nodding. You grabbed your bag, sliding your laptop out and opening it on the desk.

Your fingers danced across the keys.

“Do you remember the two psychological stress tests we discussed in class?”

Perceived Stress Scale and the Social Readjustment Rating Scale.

“No sorry.” You chewed your lip shyly. “I think PSS was one but I can’t quite remember what it stands for.” You pretended as though you were looking through your notes.

Spencer let out a small sigh.

“We might have our work cut out for us.” He sipped his coffee.

“I’m sorry Doctor Reid.”

“It’s ok.” He smiled. “It’s fine really. I’m going to help you. Together we can do this ok?”

You smiled at him with a nod. The look of determination in his eyes had you feeling a little guilty.

Maybe this hadn’t been the most ideal way to get close to your professor. Maybe given how smart you actually were you should have known playing dumb wasn’t a good idea. Surely it was only going to come back to bite you in the ass one day.

But for now having Doctor Reid think you were failing class and giving you extra help seemed like the only way to have an excuse to spend time with him outside of class.

So you smiled, nodded and said, “thank you Doctor Reid, I really appreciate it.”

***

“I’m so fucked.” Spencer muttered to himself as he stared down at the desk in his office the following morning. He couldn’t even bring himself to sit down because it had felt so real.

Last night the two of you had been here way past his office hours, in fact it was nearing ten PM by the time Spencer checked his watch the first time.

You spent the first few hours going over class notes, leaning towards topics that would be covered on the final. You hung off his every word much like you did in class which was why he was failing to understand why you weren’t grasping the material.

After a while the conversation turned lighter. You’d started asking him about himself. At first he’d been cautious with his words, not wanting to give too much away about his personal self to one of his students.

“What was it like working for the BAU? I can only imagine.” You smiled at him over your laptop, your eyes dancing with intrigue.

“It was fascinating.”

“Oh come on, give me more than that Doctor.” You laughed, such a magnificent sound it sounded as though it had been crafted in heaven.

He’d been called Doctor his whole adult life by all variety of people, but hearing his honorific spoken from your lips had a completely different effect on him. He hoped you didn’t notice the shudder that passed up his spine.

“It was the best years of my life.” he confessed. “I got to work with some really remarkable profilers and help catch the most prolific serial killers.” keep it vague, don’t get sucked in by a pair of pretty eyes.

“Why did you leave?”

Now that was the million dollar question. Was it because he’d spent three months in a maximum security prison? Had that been the beginning of the end for his career at the BAU? It was safe to say he’d certainly never been the same since.

Or was it Everett Lynch that had pushed him over the edge? Getting blown up and nearly dying? Cat Addams destroying his relationship with Max? It could have been any number of things or a combination of all of them.

“It was time for a change.” he said instead.

“You’re an enigma, has anyone ever told you that before Doctor Reid?” you smirked at him a little.

He knew what was happening. You were flirting with him. A few years ago Spencer wouldn’t have picked up on the signs.

“I have a good poker face.”

“Very.” you narrowed your eyes on him. “Did it have anything to do with The Chameleon? You left soon after that case did you not?”

Ah, so she’d Googled him. Well played he thought.

“He might have been a contributing factor.” he simply shrugged. “I was just ready for a change of pace.”

If you’d Googled him, what else did you know? Did you know about prison? Did you know about Hankel? Maeve? He’d never Googled himself so he didn’t know what was written about him on the internet.

“Teaching is certainly that.”

After that you’d dropped the personal questions. His walls had shot up and he pushed you back at arm's length.

He’d gone home and crawled into bed and when he’d closed his eyes he’d seen you. Your large expressive eyes, warm and playful smile. He’d seen the bra peeking out from under your blouse.

His dream last night had been a sordid one, one that had left him tentative to approach his own desk this morning.

There was no way to sugarcoat it. Spencer had dreamt of fucking you over his desk. He’d dreamt of bending you over the wooden furniture and pounding you into oblivion. He’d imagined how tight and warm you would feel wrapped around his hard dick as he made you scream his name.

“Doctor Reid, oh god that feels so good.”

He’d woken up painfully hard and panting. He’d jumped straight into a cold shower but that had done very little to subside his arousal. Reluctantly he’d had to do something about it or he knew it would be in the back of his mind all day.

So standing under the heavy flow of water he had wrapped his hand around his shaft and pumped. His eyes had immediately fluttered closed and he couldn’t help but be transported back to his dream. He imagined your hand moving up and down his length instead of his own while he sucked on your sensitive nipples.

It took almost no time at all for him to climax, spilling his load on his hand and the shower basin. He’d hoped that would be the end of it but now in his office all he could think of was that dream and his subsequent shower session with his hand.

He’d tried to tell himself it was ok, you were young sure, but you were in your twenties so it wasn’t completely inappropriate. But you were his student so really it didn’t matter that you were old enough because it was still so wrong.

But the truth of the matter was, Spencer had never felt like this before about a woman. He’d never found himself so turned on by physical appearance. But you were otherworldly, ethereal, too good to be real. It was as though you’d been sent to test him.

And test him you were.

He’d thought leaving the BAU would remove the dangerous aspect from his life but this felt like the most dangerous situation he’d encountered yet. And a badge and a gun weren’t going to get him out of this one.

***

Friday evenings would not normally be a time you’d want to spend with your professor. Unless that is, said professor was Doctor Spencer Reid.

Today you’d opted for a denim skirt, tights and chunky Doc Marten boots and a band t-shirt, having to explain to Doctor Reid who exactly the Arctic Monkeys were.

You’d bought coffee again and dove straight into the class material.

It was hard work, pretending to be dumb. You had an IQ of nearly a hundred and thirty, so trying to dumb yourself down in front of Doctor Reid was difficult to say the least.

You knew the material well enough you could probably teach the class. But this seemed like the only way you could find to keep up your one-on-one sessions.

“Tell me something that happened on one of your cases with the BAU.” You asked him out of the blue, sitting back in the chair and crossing one leg over the other.

You weren’t a profiler by any stretch of the imagination and to his credit, Doctor Reid had an excellent poker face. But you could tell when you asked him questions outside of the curricular he faltered.

You could tell he was hesitant about opening up to one of his students and he wanted desperately to keep things professional. But you were determined to break his walls down.

“Like what?” he took your bait, leaning forward on the desk.

“I don’t know.” you shrugged. “Have you ever been shot?”

He chuckled dryly.

“Yes twice.”

“Twice?” you gasped making him chuckled again.

“Yes, once in the leg and once in the neck. I’ve been held hostage, I was involved in an explosion. Never a dull moment at the BAU.”

“Wow.” your eyes were wide. “And you gave that all up for this boring life?” you laughed.

“Yes, yes I did.” he smiled softly at you, a look in his eye you couldn’t read.

It felt like he was scrutinizing you.

“Are you profiling me?” you raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not deliberately.” he told you honestly. “It’s hard to turn it off.”

“So what do you profile about me then Doctor Reid?” you challenged him. Once again he took the bait.

“Honestly I’m struggling to read too much. You keep your cards very close to your chest. You’ve built up some big walls around yourself, mostly likely because you got hurt and you’re scared to let people in. You're outwardly flirtatious and confident but I think that’s a way of hiding your insecurities.

You have a caring nature though, that much is evident in the way you bring me coffee. It’s such a small gesture but it gives away more than you’d think. I get the impression you’re a big sister and there’s a large age gap between you and your younger sibling. One or both of your parents weren’t around much when you were growing up so you had to care for them. You had to grow up while you were still a child.”

Damn, he was good.

“Wow, they must miss you at the BAU.” you laughed. “That was kind of scary. I have a fourteen year old sister. My mom left when she was three and I was twelve. Our dad worked two jobs just to keep up with the bills and it meant I was left to look after her.”

He took a sip of coffee as if as a reward to himself.

“I’ve very rarely wrong.” he smiled a little smugly.

“You might be good but I can do that too. See when I mentioned my mom leaving your expression wavered ever so slightly. I think you had a parent leave when you were young too.”

He chewed his lip, mulling over how much he was willing to confide in you. He tried to remind himself you were his student but for the life of him he wanted to talk to you about anything and everything.

“My dad. I was ten.”

“And you didn’t have a reaction when I spoke about my sister so that tells me you’re an only child.”

“Well done Y/N. I am an only child. It baffles me how you are failing my class.” the look he was giving you told you he was onto you and you couldn’t help but swallow hard under his gaze.

Suddenly your phone went off in your pocket with an incoming message so you didn’t have to respond to him.

“Oh gosh, it’s nearly nine thirty. I was supposed to meet some friends.”

“Oh,” Spencer stood up from his chair. “I am so sorry to have kept you this late Y/N.”

“Don’t be sorry.” You stood, slipping your laptop back in your bag. “It’s been a nice evening.”

You tried not to blush as you spoke.

“It has.” He sighed almost dreamily and suddenly you weren’t ready to part ways.

“Are you a poetry fan Doctor Reid?”

“Uh yeah?” He frowned, confused as to why you would suddenly ask such a thing.

“I’m going to a poetry slam. Do you want to come?” It might be wildly inappropriate to even ask but you really didn’t want to leave him.

“Uh…” he swallowed. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I don’t know that I should be out with people of your age.”

“I’m twenty three not sixteen.” You giggled and the sound sent shockwaves through Spencer.

“Still a lot younger than me.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty five.” You winked at him and he felt his dick twitch in his pants.

“You’re my student.”

“I’m just asking you to come to a poetry slam, Doctor Reid it’s not a date.” You rolled your eyes a little. “Have a good weekend Doctor.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he spoke as you reached for the door handle.

You turned back to see him chewing his lip.

“Poetry slams are kind of cool.” He shrugged.

You couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread to your features.

“They are.”

He sighed and picked up his messenger bag.

“My cars out front, I’ll drive.”

“Perfect.”

You left his office together and headed outside to the parking lot. There were very few cars left at this time of night.

He led you over to a cream coloured 1965 Volvo 122S Amazon and unlocked the door.

“Why am I not surprised this is your car?” You laughed a little sliding into the passenger seat.

“I like the classics.”

You both buckled yourselves in before Spencer started the engine and pulled out of the parking space.

“It seems to run pretty well for an older model.” you observed as he drove.

“I try to take good care of her. I usually get the metro but every once in a while she needs her cobwebs blowing off.”

“She? Why do men always gender their cars?” you shuffled a little in your seat so you could look at him.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye but kept his attention on the road.

“She’s a classic,” his lip turned up in a smile. “Sleek and beautiful. Of course it’s a she.”

“Tell me Doctor,” you smirked to yourself. “Do you make her purr like a kitten for you?”

Your voice was dripping with seduction and you knew Spencer heard it because you saw his Adam's apple dip below his soft flesh as he swallowed.

“Uh…” he didn’t want to let you trip him up, so he tried to pull at his confidence to respond to you. “They always purr like a kitten for me.”

His words shot straight between your legs, making you instantly wet. God you’d like to see that.

“Doctor Reid,” you pressed your thighs together. “Are you flirting with me?”

He swallowed again, licking his bottom lip.

“Uh…” yes, yes he was. And he knew how wrong that was.

Thankfully he didn’t have to answer as suddenly your phone was ringing.

“Hey,” you said once you put the device to your ear. “About ten minutes. Ok see you soon.”

As quickly as you answered you hung up again.

You thought about pushing Doctor Reid for an answer because you were sure he had been flirting with you and you loved it.

Maybe you’d have to try and be more flirtatious in the hopes he would return the gesture.

The rest of the journey was travelled in silence but it wasn’t too long before he pulled the car to a stop outside the bar you had told him to go to, a little place downtown called The Brighton.

You let yourself out of the car and Spencer locked up before joining you on the sidewalk.

“Just a thought,” you spoke before you headed inside. “It might be best we don’t say you’re my professor. You know how people talk.”

“Good idea.” He agreed although this was starting to feel a little sordid.

“I’ll just say you're in my criminology class, that way it isn’t a lie.”

“You should probably call me Spencer then.” He offered meekly. It was a slippery slope if you started calling him by his first name, he knew that.

“Ok...Spencer.” You tried it out, liking the way it sounded on your tongue.

Spencer liked it too, probably a little too much.

You headed into the bar, Spencer following behind you, trying but failing not to look at you ass as you walked.

You spotted your friends at a booth in the corner and made a beeline for them.

“Y/N, you made it, finally.” Jen stood and embraced you.

“Sorry, study session ran over.”

“Oh is this the study sessions with the ever so handsome Doctor Reid we keep hearing all about?” Steve raised his eyebrows suggestively at you.

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Uh yeah,” you tried to shrug it off and hope Spencer hadn’t been listening. “Anyway, this is my friend Spencer. We have criminology together.” you motioned to him, catching a hint of a smirk from his lips. “Spencer, this is Jen, Steve, Nila and Martina.” you motioned to the faces around the table.

“Nice to meet you all.” Spencer gave them all one of his awkward waves.

“Dude you look more like a professor than a student.” Steve laughed, pointing at Spencer’s tie and blazer combo.

“Uh...yeah.” Spencer rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “Can I get anyone a drink?”

“Ohh please!” Jen spoke up for the group. “A pitcher of margaritas!”

You rolled your eyes.

“They’ll have beers.” you told him.

“Coming right up.” he leant closer to you making sure only you could hear his next words. “They are all over twenty one right?”

You chuckled.

“Yes Doctor.” you whispered. “Why, are you going to card them?”

“I just wanted to make sure. I trust you. Would you also like a beer?”

“Please. I’ll come give you a hand.”

Why did that make his cock throb?

“O-ok.” he stuttered a little, turning towards the bar.

You followed him and watched as he caught the attention of the bartender quickly, probably because of his tall stature.

“Five beers and a black coffee please.”

“Coffee?” you scoffed.

“Yeah, is that ok?” he laughed.

“No! He’ll have a beer. Six beers.” you told the bartender and before Spencer had a chance to argue he was already gone.

“I don’t like beer.”

“Tough.” you smirked.

“And in case you’ve forgotten how we got here, I have to drive home.”

You waved a dismissive hand at him.

“You said you were a dab hand at the metro. Your car will still be here tomorrow.”

“You’re a bad influence, do you know that?”

“Heard it once or twice. It didn’t exactly take a lot of convincing.” Your eyes sparkled and his cock throbbed again.

He was half way to standing at full attention just by the look you were giving him. You were surely going to be the death of him.

Your drinks were brought over soon after and Spencer paid before you both carried them back over to your table.

You slid in next to Jen and Spencer slid in next to you at the end. It was a tight squeeze and he found his thigh pressed up against yours and tried to ignore the forced proximity it put you in.

“So, Y/N,” Nila leant forward on the table, eyes full of mischief. “How was your study session with the incredibly attractive professor you can’t shut up about?”

God fucking damn.

Maybe you should have thought through bringing Spencer here.

“Uh…good.” You sipped your beer, practically feeling the smirk on Spencer’s lips from beside you.

“You’re in his class too?” Nila turned to Spencer. “Is the hype about this guy really all she cracks it up to be?”

Spencer tried to hide the amusement from his face and swallowed before answering.

“Well, he’s not my type.” He nudged your leg with his. “But I’d love to hear more about what Y/N thinks of him.”

“Trust me,” you glared at him. “You don’t.”

His eyes were full of playfulness and his lips tugged at the corner in a delighted smile.

You didn’t know if you wanted to slap him or kiss him more.

Thankfully the lights dimmed then and a scruffy looking college student took to the small stage and all your attention fell on him.

But all night you felt Spencer’s gaze on the side of your face. As the night went on you were convinced his thigh was pressing up against yours with more and more force.

There were even a couple of instances when his fingers ghosted over your knee, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

Several more drinks flowed and during an interval you excused yourself to use the bathroom.

Once you were gone, your friends turned to Spencer.

“Do you think Doctor Reid is buying it?” Martina smirked at him.

“Buying what?” Spencer sipped his beer curiously.

“Her playing dumb.” Steve chuckled. “Personally I don’t think she can pull it off. But their study sessions seem to contradict that.”

Spencer smirked around his beer.

He knew there was no possible way someone as smart as you was struggling as much as you claimed to be.

He should be annoyed. You were lying to him, monopolising his time when it could be spent on students who really needed his time.

But Spencer wasn’t annoyed. Far from it. He was actually incredibly turned on by your devious little scheme.

“I uh…I guess he must be.” Spencer shrugged. “Excuse me for a moment.”

He slid out of the booth, amusement written all over his face. Just as he was approaching the narrow corridor that led to the bathrooms, you stepped out of the womens.

The slender corridor wasn’t wide enough for you to pass by each other without one of you moving aside. But as Spencer approached you, he showed no signs of moving out of the way.

You tried to duck past him but he remained in the centre of the corridor, shoulders squared off so you couldn’t pass him.

“Is there a password I don’t know about?” You chuckled lightly, trying to ignore how dark his eyes were.

You gasped a little when he took you by the shoulders and guided you against one of the walls.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” He whispered with a delicious smirk on his lips.

“How so?” You cocked your eyebrow at him.

Spencer could have told you he knew all about your ploy to spend time with him by acting dumb. He could have told you the game was up and he knew exactly what you were doing.

But if you could play games, Spencer didn’t want to miss out on the fun.

“I’m much too old for you.” His hands left your shoulders and he placed them flush against the wall either side of your face.

“Oh please.” You scoffed. “I’m not a kid. And despite your love of classic cars, I know you like your women younger, Doctor Reid.”

An involuntary hiss left his mouth at the way you said his name.

“You’re my student.” He changed tacts, although his close proximity to you didn’t seem at all as though he cared.

“So?” You huffed, ensuring the action caused your breasts to heave.

Spencer’s eyes briefly flicked down your chest and you saw him mentally scold himself before he looked back at your face.

“Once I pass your class at the end of the semester, I’m not your student anymore.”

“Once you pass it?” He smirked at you.

Fuck, you swallowed.

“If. If I pass it.”

“I think you’re a lot smarter than you’re coming across, Y/N. And I won't be able to look you in the eyes in class if I were to do to you what I’ve been imagining doing to you.”

You whimpered a little, his words causing a heat to spread through your legs.

“I don’t want you to look me in the eyes.” You dared bring your hands up and rest on his shoulders.

“Maybe it will give you an incentive to pass my class.” He inched a little closer to you, voice low and breathy.

He had the upper hand here and you didn’t like it at all. You needed to grasp back some of that power.

“You’re a tease, Doctor.” Your eyes darkened. “But two can play that game.”

You trailed one hand from his shoulder and down his chest. His breathing became heavier the lower your hand got.

When you palmed his erection through his slacks he moaned deeply, biting down on his lip.

“If you’re such a good teacher, it should be a piece of cake to help me pass your class.” You got up on your tiptoes and came close to his ear. “Maybe as a thank you I’ll get down on my knees and worship you with my mouth.”

His hips bucked against your hand and his face was turning red.

“Or we could just get it over with and I could do it right here, right now.” You lapped your tongue over his ear lobe and he shuddered.

“You’re sinful.” He panted a little, hips rolling back and forth against your hand.

Suddenly you let go of him and let your hands fall back to your sides.

“I’ll be anything you want me to be, Doctor.”

Out of nowhere his hand came to your neck and his long fingers wrapped around your throat. He thrust his hips against you, eyes dark as he glared at you.

“I’ve got half a mind to take you in that bathroom and fuck you over the sink like the whore you are.”

A strangled moan escaped your mouth, his grip firm on your throat.

“You certainly wouldn’t regret it.” You goaded him.

Spencer laughed dryly, letting go of your neck and stepping back from you.

“I most certainly wouldn’t.” He agreed. “But I want to watch you squirm. By the time you finally get to have me, I want you to be desperate for me. I have amazing willpower, Y/N and I’ve gotten used to the company of my own hand. I can wait. The question is, can you?”

“Now who’s playing a dangerous game, Doctor Reid?” You folded your arms in frustration, trying hopelessly not to imagine the thought of him and his own hand he’d put in your head.

“You don’t work for the FBI for fifteen years without growing a little accustomed to danger, angel.” He looked smug, too pleased with himself.

You wanted to knock him down a peg or two. And you would. Not just yet, but you would.

You didn’t say anymore, deciding to just leave him guessing.

You turned on your heels and sauntered away, knowing full well he was watching you go.

***

It was two days later on Sunday night when you decided to start having some fun.

You dug out the original syllabus Doctor Reid had handed out at the start of the semester, the one he’d included his email address and phone number on.

You picked out your most sinful pair of lingerie, a deep purple coloured two piece which showcased your assets in the most sublime way and would surely turn Spencer into a fucking puddle.

You laid on your bed and snapped a few photos, keeping your face out of frame in case any one found the photo in his phone.

You pushed your breasts together with your arms, practically spilling over the top of your bra.

You chose the best one, one where your nipples were ever so slightly peeking out of the sheer fabric and brought a new text conversation, sending the photo along with the message: thinking of you, Danny.

Spencer would see right through you. He was too smart to fall for the implication you’d accidentally sent it to him.

But you had to at least try and pretend you weren’t deliberately sending your professor lewd photographs.

Your phone buzzed with a reply less than a minute later.

📱Doctor Spencer Reid: I’m sorry I think you have the wrong number.

You chewed your lip on contemplation. It was possible with your face out of frame he didn’t know it was you. But it was also possible he was trying to play you at your own game.

📲 Oh, this isn’t Danny? This is Y/N, we met at the bar last night?

That ought to do it.

📱 Doctor Spencer Reid: oh I know who it is. Childish, of you really, Y/N.

And you thought that was the end of it. You huffed to yourself, maybe he had better willpower than you gave him credit for.

Almost five minutes passed while you tried to think of your next move but then your phone buzzed again, this time a picture message.

📲 Doctor Spencer Reid: thinking of you, “Delilah”.

The photo accompanying it spread a heat between your legs instantly.

The image displayed Spencer’s very hard cock sheathed in a pair of black boxers, his swollen head just peeking out of the top of the fabric.

You moaned as a shudder wracked your body and your hand quickly found its way between your legs.

You were drenched just from the sight of him and you started rubbing your clit as you stared at the photograph.

When an incoming call displayed on your screen you smirked to yourself and quickly answered it with your free hand and put the device on speaker.

“Hi Danny,” your breath hitched as you spoke.

“You’re touching yourself aren’t you, Delilah?”

“Aren’t you?” You moaned a little.

“Fuck of course I am.” His voice was breathy. “I wish I could see your hand between your legs though.”

Feeling completely brazen, you angled your camera towards where your fingers rubbed against your core and snapped a photo before sending it.

You knew the exact moment Spencer received it as he moaned animalistically down the phone.

“Jesus Christ.” He whined, gripping the base of his cock to stop himself from blowing his load over that photo.

“Tit for tat, Doctor.” You hummed, picturing his long slender fingers between your legs.

You weren’t sure he was going to comply as for a few minutes all you heard was his heavy panting.

And then a notification popped up on your screen.

The noise that left your mouth could only be described as feral as you took in the sight of his large hand wrapped around the base of his even larger dick.

He was so hard his vein looked like it was pulsing even in a still picture and his head was slicked with precome.

“Oh my fuck.” You closed your eyes, keeping that image at the forefront of your mind.

“Good god what I would do to you, angel. You have no idea the things I could do to you.”

“Tell me.” You whined.

Spencer laughed but it turned into a moan as he increased the speed of his strokes.

“We wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise would we?”

“I hate surprises.” You huffed a little.

“Trust me when I say you wouldn’t hate mine.”

“Are you looking at my picture, Doctor?”

“I don’t need to, it’s burned into my brain angel. Tell me how good you’re making yourself feel.” He moaned as he spoke, clearly working himself up well.

“I’m pretty masterful with my own fingers.” Your toes curled. “But your fucking obscene hands would make me come so much faster, I’m sure.”

He chuckled a little.

“Your beautiful dainty little hand wouldn’t know what to do with a cock as big as mine.”

“Oh I’m sure I’d be up for the challenge. And if not, my pussy would be more than willing to accommodate you.“

“Fuck.” He hissed, his stomach tightening. “I would rip your delicious cunt to shreds angel.”

“Oh god.” You back arched as your orgasm started to ripple through you. “Rip me apart, Doctor. Fuck, I need you to…need you to…”

“Come for me angel.” He panted and you were dumb to do anything but.

The sounds of you coming undone sent Spencer spiralling to his own release and he grunted loudly as his orgasm shook his whole body.

You didn’t speak for a while, just laid in silence listening to the others heavy breathing as you both came down from your highs.

His breathing was punctuated with muttered swears, the occasional fuck and shit leaving his lips.

You imagined his fluffy hair sticking to his forehead, his face red as he nuzzled into your neck and you placed sleepy kisses in his hair.

God how you wished he was in your bed and not his own.

After a while his breathing started to level out and he whispered a simple “goodnight” before he hung up the phone.

You picked up your phone and quickly renamed his contact, you couldn’t risk anyone seeing who really sent you those photos.

Before you gave over to sleep, you snapped one last picture to send to him.

You drew your fingers that had just been between your legs to your lips and cropped the photo so he could only see the way your digits nestled between your lips.

📱Doctor Danny: Goodnight, Doctor.

As you’d hoped, a couple of minutes later a text came through, an image of his stomach and that little trail of hair leading down below his waistband. But it was the splattering of come covering his skin that caused your toes to curl again.

📲 Doctor Danny: sleep well, angel. I know I will.

Smiling a little dopily to yourself you fell asleep clutching your phone to your chest, wishing Spencer was there to hold you.

***

Monday meant no Criminology class but thankfully Tuesday rolled round fast enough.

Doctor Reid’s class was your first of the day and you set your alarm hours early to ensure you looked your best.

You took a long time perfecting your make-up with swooping eyeliner and a dark red lip. Your hair got just as much attention, as did your outfit.

You settled on a cute sundress, one that barely covered your ass and gave a great view of your cleavage spilling over the top. Your legs were sun kissed from the recent spate of good weather and you knew Spencer wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off them.

A lot of heads turned when you entered the lecture hall that morning but there was only one you paid any attention to.

Spencer had been unpacking his satchel on the desk and as though sensing your presence, glanced up as you sashayed in.

You saw his hands grip the edge of the desk and his jaw clenched momentarily, so brief you barely noticed.

You watched his eyes graze down from your perfectly painted face, linger on your chest and continue down your bare legs.

You took your seat in your usual spot, two in from the aisle on the third from last row and kept your eyes on him while you fished your laptop out of your bag.

You set the laptop slightly off to the side so it wouldn’t obscure Spencer’s view of your chest.

He felt dizzy. The second you strolled in all the blood had flowed away from his brain and he was rendered completely dumb.

While the rest of his class filtered in, he sat behind his desk to hide what would be an extremely noticeable erection.

He focused on the wooden desk and just concentrated on breathing, getting his blood flowing to other parts of his body instead of his cock.

You were being so unfair. Well, he could play that game too.

He found his phone in his satchel and located one of the photographs he’d taken last night. He’d planned to send it to you but refrained and he was glad of that now.

He brought up your contact information, the one he’d changed the name of to Delilah to avoid anyone ever finding out who he was really texting.

He hit send and glanced up at you and waited.

He saw the exact moment you opened the text. Your face immediately flushed pink and your teeth dug into your bottom lip to stop from making a sound.

He smiled to himself as he watched you adjust yourself in your seat, pressing your thighs together.

You closed your eyes a few times feeling that familiar heat flow through you as you stared at the photo.

You would assume it was taken in a shower but you could only see the lower half of his body.

His hand was wrapped around his hard dick and his skin was covered in water droplets. Beneath his feet looked to be the porcelain of a shower tub.

You had to lock your phone before you got too excited and glanced back at him only now he was standing with his back to you as he wrote something on the white board.

How the fuck were you supposed to concentrate now?

“Today we’re going to be discussing the four primary perspectives on the sociological theories of crime.” He turned back to face the class but he didn’t look at you again.

Wise move, Doctor.

“The four primary perspectives we’ll be covering are structural functionalism, social strain typology, conflict theory and labelling theory. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but this will be on the final so if there was ever a time to take notes…”

You let his voice caress you, melting into his dulcet tones.

You knew all about the four perspectives so you didn’t focus on his words, instead on his changing tone and intonation as he spoke.

You could still hear his moans and heavy breathing as he came down to the phone the other night.

You mind wandered, dancing over fantasies of him pulling you up to the front of the class and fucking you over his desk in front of everyone.

After class while he was occupied talking to a couple of other students, you snuck down to the front and left the brown paper bag on his desk, disappearing before he even had a chance to notice.

***

The red lipstick mark on the bag was the first sign of who had left it and he stuffed it in his satchel until he was alone in his office at lunchtime.

He locked his office door because he already knew whatever was inside the paper bag was going to be something for his eyes only.

The first thing inside the bag was a simple sandwich wrapped in cellophane with a little post it stuck to the top.

Make sure you remember to eat, Doctor ;)

Another lipstick mark signed off the note.

His hand was shaking a little as he reached inside the bag again, this time pulling out the pair of dark purple panties you’d been wearing during your phone escapades the other night.

Without meaning to, Spencer brought the fabric to his nose and inhaled. He moaned when the smell of your arousal flooded his senses.

He was hard in an instant, painfully throbbing inside his pants.

He checked his watch, he had a half hour until his next class and nowhere else to be.

So with your panties still under his nose, he freed his aching cock and started stroking himself.

It was sordid, he knew that. You were dragging him into an extremely dangerous game and he felt like a pawn in your own amusement.

He was going to get you back for this. He was going to regain his control and take back the upper hand.

Just as soon as he was done masturbating over the smell of you.

He came over his shirt, cursing himself for wearing black today as the stain was exceedingly noticeable. He’d have to button his jacket all day to hide it.

He hid the panties away in his satchel and tidied himself up. He consumed the sandwich you’d made him and calmed himself down just in time for his next class.

***

Spencer knew if the two of you were to have your study session in his office that evening, he would not be able to keep his hands to himself.

There was no outcome where you’d flounce in here in your slutty little summer dress and he wouldn’t pound you over his desk.

So he’d text you to meet him at a late night coffee house instead. At least if there were people around you’d both be forced to be on your best behaviours.

Or so he thought anyway.

Spencer knew that realistically, he’d already crossed the line. You photographs weren’t exactly innocent but he kept trying to tell himself it was another thing entirely if he actually fucked one of his students.

He was determined to keep a level head around you, at least until the end of the semester. But once you weren’t his student anymore, the things he planned on doing to you were beyond sinful.

You arrived late as he expected you to, deliberately keeping him waiting. He’d already ordered you a coffee which you smiled in thanks for as you slid in opposite him.

“Can’t trust yourself to be alone with me, Doctor?” You leant forward on the table, giving him the perfect view right down the front of your dress.

“You’re in over your head. I don’t think you can handle being alone with me.” He leant forward too, smirking at you. “I’m not some young, inexperienced college kid you’re used to spending your time with, Y/N. I know exactly how to pleasure a woman until she’s putty in my hands. I would ruin you for anyone else.”

He watched as you sat back, a shudder passing down your spine. He could tell you would be pressing your thighs together under the table.

“To be ruined by you, Doctor Reid, would be a fucking pleasure.” You quickly corrected yourself, not letting Spencer beat you at your own game.

He narrowed his eyes on you before leaning further across the table.

“Come here.” He curled his finger to motion you towards him. “Sit with me.”

You chewed your lip and took a few shaky breaths before pushing yourself up and rounding the table.

You slid in next to him and his hand immediately clamped around your thigh.

“What are the four primary perspectives we talked about in class?” He knew you knew the answer and now he knew you were just playing dumb, he was curious to see how far you would take it.

His hand on your bare thigh was causing your brain to short circuit. At that moment you didn’t need to play dumb, you were dumb.

“S-structural fun-functionalism.” You kept your eyes on his, his fingertips lightly grazing your inner thigh.

“Good girl.” He praised you.

“S-social strain t-typology.”

“Very good.” His hand inched ever so slightly higher and you whimpered pathetically.

You were already soaked and you wondered if it would be possible for him to make you come just touching your leg.

“Con-conflict theory.” Your cheeks were turning pink.

“That’s it, good girl. One more.” He inched his hand higher still, so close to your core he must be able to feel the heat emanating from you.

“Labelling t-theory.”

“See, such a smart girl.” His fingers grazed the outside of your lace panties and it was absurd how close you felt to coming.

His eyes were dark as he watched you squirm, trying desperately to keep your composure.

The idea of coming here was so he would keep his hands off of you, but clearly that had been a fruitless idea.

He could feel how wet you were through your underwear and it caused him to grow hard. You were so warm and damp and he wanted nothing more than to dive his fingers beneath the fabric and finger you under the table.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Tell me about structural functionalism.” He whispered, fingers still grazing between your legs and you had never wanted someone to touch you more in your entire life.

“S-structural functionalism argues that dev-deviant behaviour plays a constructive part in s-society as it brings together diff-different parts of the population within society.”

“Hmmm. So smart. Tell me more.”

“F-fuck.” You stuttered out a shaky breath. “It’s the t-theory that deviant behaviour can contribute to social stability in the l-long term because it challenges norms while promoting social co-cohesion.”

“Why am I not surprised you know all about deviant behaviour?” He smirked, pressing his digits right against your clit.

You had tears gathering in the corners of your eyes and it was killing you not to let your moan rip through you.

“One would argue,” you swallowed. “You are the one with the pen-penchant for deviant behaviour, D-Doctor.”

“You’re close aren’t you, angel?” He smirked, ignoring your comment.

“Yes.” Embarrassingly so.

“Don’t fight it, sweetheart.” He leant in close to your ear so you could feel his breath fanning across your face. “Why don’t you come for me? My little deviant.”

You mewled, biting down hard on your lower lip to silence yourself.

He pressed against your clit again, rubbing you through your panties. The friction from the lace fabric was adding to your arousal and when Spencer placed the softest kiss to your temple, it pushed you over the edge.

You pressed your thighs together, clamping his hand between your legs and coming silently while he watched you.

Your chest heaved with your heavy breaths and Spencer felt fucking dizzy.

“Oh angel, you are so good.” He slowly dragged his fingers back down your thighs and brought his hand to rest on the table.

You stared at him in complete awe as he sipped his coffee as though nothing had happened.

Your heart was hammering hard against your rib cage, and your head felt like it was full of cotton wool.

“Everything ok?” He smirked at you around his mug.

“You’re evil.” You panted a little.

“You started this game, angel. If you can’t stand the heat…”

“Oh I can stand the heat.” You insisted. “I’m just wondering how many people would notice if I snuck under this table and sucked you off, Doctor.”

Spencer moaned, louder than was appropriate in the current setting.

He knew if you actually were to drop to your knees beneath the table he would be powerless to stop you. But he also knew you wouldn’t actually do it because teasing him was far more fun.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Y/N.”

“It’s only fair of me, right, Doctor? You made me come after all.”

“The noises you would make choking on my cock would give you away, sweetheart.” He ran his finger over your jaw. “And when you do suck my cock, I want to hear all your pretty little noises loud and clear.”

You hissed and Spencer smiled to himself, sitting back in his chair.

“Now you’re going to get up and go and sit back opposite me. And we’re going to discuss social strain typology.”

You were dumb to deny him so you did as you were told and stood up, feeling your arousal soaking your panties as you made your way to the other side of the booth.

“Got a good view there?” You leant on the table and pressed your breasts together.

“Social strain theory.” He ignored you. “And now we know how smart you can be when there’s pleasure in it for you, don’t you dare sit there and pretend you don’t know.”

He sipped his coffee, waiting for your response.

“Social strain theory proposes that deviant behaviour can be classified by typology that’s based on a person's motivations or goals. For example, some people turn to crime for the socially accepted value of seeking to lead a wealthy life.

Another example would be a straight laced professor using sexual deviance to advance his students learning.”

Spencer chuckled at you, shaking his head.

“My dear, dear girl.” He placed his mug on the table. “If you think I’m straight laced, you don’t know me at all.”

“But that’s how you like to come across. In your sweater vests and your sweet doe eyes like butter wouldn’t melt. But really, you’re the biggest deviant of all.”

His smirk grew, stretching all the way across his face in amusement at your assessment of him.

“You’d make a good profiler.” He mused.

“I’d make a great profiler.” You scoffed.

“Tell me about conflict theory.” He picked up his mug again, turning the conversation back to your learning.

And you humoured him for a while, letting him think he was in control.

But it was all a power play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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