#things I find while researching other things | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reiderwriter · 18 hours

Text

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

419 notes · View notes

foone · 2 days

Text

weird thought: I think if I was a teenager now (or anytime in the last decade or so) I think I would have written (and read!) a lot more fanfic than I did in reality, where I was a teenager in the 90s.

See, I've never been hugely into fanfic. Never had anything against it exactly, but it just wasn't something I was into. But I think that has to do with an interesting combination of how my brain works and what time I was first really getting into being a fan.

I've got a "librarian" brain (I'm literally typing this from within a library, WHERE I WORK). It wants to know things like "what are all the works in this series/by this creator?" and "are they all accessible?" and "what info is available about how it was made?"

I'm the kind of person who will watch a show then go look it up on wikipedia to see how many seasons it has, who made it, if they're still making it, check tvtropes for any more info, etc. Or I hear a song I like by a band I've never heard of, so I go listen to their entire discography while researching them. I just focus on things I'm into that way, you know? I don't half-ass my interest. (this is probably related to my autism, of course)

So what does this have to do with fanfic? like, do I go read some fanfics as part of this process? No, and I think the reason for it is when I specifically first got into fandom, as a teen.

See, this sort of fandom-librarian was harder to do in 1997, you know? You couldn't just pull up the wikipedia for that new show and see how many episodes it had. You also couldn't just listen to the whole discography of that band! Forget Spotify or Google Music, even Napster didn't exist yet.

So my interest in fandom focused a lot more on very basic questions: How many episodes/albums/books/whatever are there? Where can I see/hear them all? Like, I remember getting excited because I found some fan magazine that had a list of all the Star Trek: The Next Generation episodes. Just a list! Not even descriptions or anything. I finally could take that list and see how many I'd seen, so I'd know when I saw them all in late-night reruns.

So I'm focusing on these very basic parts of being a fandom-librarian and I stumble across some fanfic. I'm like "oh, is this a transcript of an episode I haven't seen yet?" and I realize it's not, it's a story written by a fan, and I get a knee-jerk reaction of "that's not helpful to my quest to know and find all the episodes". It's like I am on a quest for the holy grail and I found a fake cup. It's not helpful to me, and at worst it's a distraction from my goal.

And the thing is, I think the fact I had that reaction is entirely due to the time and situation in which I first encountered fanfic. It was in that environment of "I can't even find a list of the episodes, let alone a way to watch them all!" and that anxiety that colored my response to finding fanfic.

I think if I instead was first introduced to fanfic NOW, where those fandom-librarian drives aren't so difficult to fulfill, I'd be way more positive about fanfic. If I could get a list of episodes with a quick google search, and watch them easily on netflix/prime/whatever, I'd be less "THIS DOESN'T HELP! I AM STRUGGLING WITH THE BASICS HERE!" and more "yay, more content for the fandom I'm obsessed with!"

Like I said, I'm not anti-fanfic, I never have been, I just never got into it. From the beginning I had this reaction that was "this is not useful" and I never developed any real interest in it. Which is a shame, honestly. Fanfic is great. It just never became one of my interests, and while I've written it and read it from time to time, I imagine I'd be way more into it if I didn't have the weird reaction to it due to the worries of the time in which I first encountered it.

I don't know how many other people have brains that work anything like mine, but if they exist, I'm glad they're now growing up in a world where they won't have these problems. They can get into fanfic without this weird baggage caused by a lack of information.

#fanfic meta

104 notes · View notes

faust-the-enjoyer · 9 hours

Text

Anonymous asked: Adoptive!dad!simon x adopted!kid!reader but it starts off with the reader being a foster kid whos lowkey kinda scared of simon

You Remember the First Time You Called Him "Dad"

Tags/warnings: gn!reader, kid!reader (mid teens), foster!father!simon turned into adoptive!dad!simon, sfw, familial, mentions of the military, mentions of therapy, mentions of mental health issues, implicit mentions of child murder, uk foster care system, a bit of angst, fluff, crying.

A/n: aaaaaaaah i loooved writing this!!! I did my research to write it too!!! Hope you like it anon!

-Divider by (@/saradika-graphics)!

After being discharged from the military due to his mental health, Simon got monthly compensation from the military, and started working as a butcher again, all while going to therapy at the same time. Since he's pretty much done from working as a soldier, he had to find other things to do, he had to learn to help himself, and find purpose, find a new life for himself.

After going to therapy for a good couple of months and being on medication, he found that his life became...repetitive and dull in a way. It's the same thing over and over again, work, therapy, and the times that he went out with his old teammates didn't change things that much, considering they were on missions on many occasions, dating didn't help either, that didn't work out, he's not one for that.

He'd talk about it with his therapist, he'd talk about with his friends, and he'd get a lot of advises, but none that appealed to him. He didn't know what to do, but sometimes, he'd see one of his co-workers at the butchery with his kid sometimes, seeing couples and single parents out with their own as well, and it all just reminded him of his nephew, that poor kid, Joseph. Although it opens up old wounds that never healed, he did think it over, and even asked his therapist for advice over it, and he finally decided to foster a kid after months of thinking about it and considering it.

He wanted to do a short-fostering plan, just in case it doesn't work out for whatever reason. The application took a couple of months in order for him to become a foster parent, but he didn't mind, he worked on his mental health at the time, and even cleaned out a room in his apartment for the kid that'll be there. After making an inquiry at a local foster care agency, and after a social worker visited him and the process took place, he was given some parenting training, and finally matched up with a kid to take care of, that is, you.

Your first meeting was with him and your two's social worker in a small restaurant, he was a big guy, piercing brown eyes, some scars here and there, and a black surgical mask that he took off when he sat down and started talking to you. He was just a bit scary, just a bit though.

After the social worker introduced you two, Simon took the initiative and started talking to you. "R/N, you can just call me Simon, alright?", he asked in a calm tone, and you nodded, it made sense since you two just met, and he really just wants you to be comfortable. After you two chatted a little and he paid for the meal, the social worker walked you two to his car, and talked to you, you were more than willing to stay with him if that meant some stability in your life, even if he was a little scary, so you agreed to stay with him, and he agreed to foster you, and you said your goodbyes to the social worker.

You didn't want to sit in the front passenger seat, this was all too new to you, and Simon didn't make it any better either, all broody and quiet, with that somewhat harsh look on his face, though he doesn't mean to seem like this at all, he really just wants you to feel safe around him, so he lets you get into the backseat and sees you put your little bag of belongings on the seat next to you, "Put your seatbelt on R/N.", and that you do. Five minutes into the drive and he starts talking.

"So, your school's pretty close to where we will, and to be honest with you kid, I'd prefer to drive you every day there, but tell me, what do you prefer?", he asks, eyes on the road, he'd prefer to drive you because it's safer, and he honestly hopes you just choose that, "...I...ok, um, I don't wanna take the bus, so...", you trail off, you can't even talk about what you want, let alone address him by his first name. He lets out a sigh of relief, "Car it is then.". The rest of the drive is filled with him questioning you on the meals you like, and inquiring you about your hobbies.

As the days passed, you two slowly warmed up to each other, and his kindness would show; in the first couple of days of you settling in, he took you shopping, giving you a certain amount of money and telling to buy whatever clothes you needed, he also encouraged you to buy that plushie you had your eye on but didn't openly say you wanted because you're "too old" for it. He'd ask you to cook dinner with him as way as to spend time with you, letting you chop all the vegetables with your not-too sharp knife, and letting you add them and the spices into the pot.

Hell, it would even extend to other things as well, he wouldn't hug you unless you gave him the green light, nor would he enter your room without knocking or asking for your permission first. And in the first week of picking you up from school, he asked if you if anyone was bothering you, and if you made or already have any friends, if you needed any school supplies, or if you wanted a packed lunch. On the first weekend you stayed at his apartment, he ended asking Johnny to borrow that old gaming set he doesn't use anymore just so you (and him) can play on it.

But you were still scared a little, this new environment was too comfortable, too quiet, your mind kept telling you that something was wrong, when you knew there wasn't. Week by week, your fear would slowly melt away, though it was quite slow, yet the social worker was quite delighted during the check-ups that happened.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One night after brushing your teeth and getting into bed, it started raining, that was fine, relaxing even, until you were deeply asleep and got frighteningly woken up by the loud thunder, heart throbbing, body shaky, you needed water, you needed to calm down. You went into the kitchen, heavy breathing echoing throughout the room, you were so shaken up that you accidentally broke the glass of water you were trying to get out of the cabinet, shattering the glass all over the floor, and prompting Simon to wake up and run to the kitchen, only to find you shaking above the broken glass and breathing heavily, you looked like you were on the verge of tears from how overwhelmed you felt.

He carefully walked up to you quickly, "R/N? You alright? Did you step on the glass?", you look up at him, and the waterworks are on, he can't say anything to you in this state and he knows it, so all he does is usher you into a tight hug. "Shh...shh...it's alright, you're not hurt, you're fine kid...", after calming you down, he sits you on the couch and hands you a cup of water, covering you with a blanket and patting your head, "You can tell me what happened, I won't be mad, I promise.", he sighs, he doesn't know what happened, but he wants you to feel safe in this moment and just breath.

You drink from your cup and set it on the coffee table, breathing in and out, "I was just sleeping, but the thunder woke me up and I just...", "You got scared kid?", you nod, eyes still tired from having your sleep interrupted in such a horrifying manner. It's still thundering loudly outside. He sighs, "Alright, tell you what, since you don't have any school tomorrow, how 'bout you sleep on the couch, and I sit near you, yeah? How does that sound?", you think it over, at least he'll be there if you wake up scared again, "Ok.", he gets up and sits on the armchair next to the couch, letting you lay there and get comfy with the blanket and couch pillow. As you slowly close and rest your eyes, you suddenly open them wide, "Wait...you'll sleep on the chair?", "Yeah, what, you've never done that before?", he lets out a small chuckle, you smile a little and put your head back onto the pillow. After you fell asleep, he got up and quietly cleaned up the broken glass in the kitchen, then returned and sat back down, slowly falling asleep too.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As the months passed, you fell into the routine that you two had, it was a calm one, a comforting one that made your worries disappear. He tried his best to be a father to you, a parental figure to you. He'd pat away any creases in your school uniform, make you lunch boxes, and openly told you to rant to him about school and your friends, about what you wanted to do and be in the future. He wanted to know more about you, and if you ever had any issues, you knew to come to him for help, and you did. He never shamed you for it, never made fun of you, he always helped you out, even if your problem seemed "trivial".

He wanted to know what you liked to do, where you liked to eat. On some weekends after you'd do your homework, he'd take you to a small amusement park then to try a new restaurant, and once he even let you have that sundae you've always wanted to try. On some weekdays, he'd help you with your homework after dinner, telling you how proud he was of you, and after, you'd help him with the dishes. He gave you a monthly allowance ever since you started living with him, letting you buy whatever you wanted (within reason), and you wanted to help him with the house, so you started doing some chores, it was perfect, cozy, loving, what you've both wanted. What he offered and gave you was what every child deserves and should have, you both know that, but neither of you ever had that.

You found someone you can lovingly call your parent, and he found a kid he could proudly say was his. It's been a good year since he fostered you, and now he's sat on your bed, talking to you, "R/N, I...would you like me to adopt you? It's possible you know, just some paperwork, I've just...been thinking it over.", your eyes glimmer with joy and content, and a smile is painted on your lips, "Yes!". A man of his word, after discussing it with the social worker and getting the paperwork done, he ended up adopting you out of the foster care system, now having you as his child, permanently. You were so happy, so so so happy.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A couple of days after the adoption process was done, you sat next to him on the couch as he was reading the newspaper. "Simon.", "Hm?", "Can I call you "dad"?", his eyes widen a little, and he has to hold back some of his emotions, or else he'll cry in front of you, "Yeah, yeah can call me "dad" if you want to kid.", he lets out a small chuckle, ruffling your hair. You laugh, "Thanks dad.", it's a much more comfortable term than his first name, one that suits him.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gaz: So how's everything with the kid?

Simon: Dead good, they're happy.

Gaz: I told you you'd be a good father, you didn't need to worry so much man.

---------------------------------------------------

He sets his phone down and looks at you studying for your exams in the living room, a small content smile on his face. He's glad that he can start anew, and he's glad that he's able to give you what he never had; stability, and a loving parent.

#faust speaks #cod x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader

81 notes · View notes

tarot-archives · 2 days

Note

Can I get a uhhhhhh laios with a guy/gn reader who has an equally autistic special interest in general biology and ecosystems that would 100% encompass monsters as well? Asking for a friend that just happens to be me (stg idk if I wanna smooch laios or be him tbh lmao)

an: though i haven’t written for an autistic yn, i’ll try to make it realistic. if i’d done something wrong, please tell me. i focused more on general dungeon ecology for y/n.

if marcille is studying about dungeon ecosystems while laios is more interested in monsters you would be the best of both worlds.

there’s just something thrilling about dungeon ecology, how it all interacts, every thing that fall under it and so on and so forth.

you’re a tall-man researcher, using every bit of your time to find out more about dungeons, and not just the ones in melini. it would have been good to join the magic academy, but since you don’t posses any talent for magic, you can’t enter.

it made you sad since they had a dungeon making class.

nevertheless, it won’t stomp your dreams of researching! you’ve read and copied countless of books you can get your hands on. eventually you settled in meleni where a newly discovered dungeon was found.

your room was filled with countless of journals, trinkets from dungeons and volumes of books you read many time before.

and on your first dungeon party, you were very ecstatic. too bad you had to leave because they’d only go to the easier upper floors. you wanted to head to the lowest level after all!

and that’s where you meet up with the touden party!

you will love marcille’s vast dungeon knowledge. she would love to teach you new things. much to chilchuck’s dismay, you have boosted her ego. endless praises for marcille and simply doting around her because she’s filled with knowledge.

“ah, long lifespans are so great. i’d spend all my life dedicating to dungeon ecology if i could” -y/n after every lecture apparently.

then monster facts with laios will be endless. he lent you his dungeon food guide and you surprisingly have a copy too! you took notes from the things he had written in the margin. much to chilchuck’s demise (again) both you and laios keep on talking and he can’t sleep :((

“eating monsters? can’t say i have thought about it, but do you ever think about their nutritional values? the high level of mana concentration must vary from non-dungeon born same species! This needed to be compared and studied!” -y/n when laios introduced his monster eating thoughts.

toshiro will have another person to ask about his life in the east. but he likes how you keep more time to yourself writing in the journals. he finds your drawing to be artistic. after seeing your difficulties with papers, toshiro will teach you about yotsume toji—a book binding process from his country. he’s happy to see you using it after he taught you.

though you won’t talk with namari much, you admire he strength as a dwarf. she keeps her past to herself, which you at least respect. but you’d talk about the different weapons used and other things she did as a blacksmith. her knowledge on materials is very handy. you write about the different dungeon materials on your journal along with the best weapons against monsters.

chilchuck, our lock expert, and the most unknown member of your party… you admire his knowledge on traps and have written about his experiences with various dungeon traps and ways of disarming them.

falin, she joins you as you ask questions to marcille or laios. she listens to you talk about your dungeon experiences and she tells you about her’s. you let her read the journals you made along the way.

On the day falin was eaten by the dragon, your journal wasn’t transported with you. So now, you join laios to rescue his sister and to save you journals!!

Request? Open!

#laios touden x reader #dungeon meshi x reader #laios x reader #torta talks

63 notes · View notes

heaven-s-black-box · 3 days

Text

No Second Chances- Al Haitham x Azar's daughter! wife!Reader

Return to File

Recovery date: April 26th, 2024

Description: Hello sorry if I'm bothering you but I got an idea from this video. (https://youtu.be/ZcMI-CQcZ_c?si=Ri1SQU-0DO6PMtIV) What if the reader is the biological daughter of Azar and is currently married to Alhaitham and they have a toddler who's almost two years old and the reader wants nothing to do with Azar because of what he did though she was willing to try and keep a somewhat healthy relationship with him because at the end of the day Azar was still her father and her child's grandfather, the reader is a gentle, humble and soft-spoken woman who does try to avoid confrontation.

Notes: This work was recovered in conjunction with an anonymous researcher, we thank them for their contributions. This one was a little hard to write, so I'm sorry if it's not very good.

Word count: 640

Back to directory

Al Haitham is not known for his empathy. He comes off as cold, he is calculating, and he doesn’t care for other people's bullshit. Those traits serve him well, they keep him out of trouble and on time, and they make it abundantly clear what he thinks of people.

He can count on one hand the people he tolerates excess complaining and illogical arguments from.

“You don’t have to see him,” Al Haitham whispers into the quiet room, tightening his hold on his wife.

She stops squirming, finally, but he knows she’s not done. He’s proven right when she fights against his hold to turn towards him and he opens his eyes to find her staring into his. Y/n places her hands on his chest, above his heart, and takes a deep breath. He can feel the pounding of her heart.

“I want Ehsan to know his grandfather.”

“He will.”

“Beyond what the history books will say,” Y/n sighed.

Al Haitham bit back a sigh. He couldn’t say he agreed with her, Azar hadn’t even been particularly present in her youth, but he understood what she was trying to do. When Azar had come to their wedding, she’d been ecstatic. When Ehsan had been born and he’d sent flowers, she’d started planning a day to bring him by the Academia. To her, Azar’s absence had always been explained and was never malicious so she was willing to give him a chance in her life.

That illusion she’d created, that her father carried, was now teetering after the recent events with the Akasha terminal. It was always so fragile, and now she was looking for a way to break it completely.

“It’s making you anxious,” Al Haitham said instead, resting his chin on her head and rubbing a hand up and down her back. “You hardly ate today.”

“I want my father to meet his grandson at least once, and you and Cyno went through all that trouble-”

“Y/n. We don’t care.”

She lowered her gaze, staring at her hands as she drummed her fingers against his chest. Al Haitham slid his hands around her waist to hold hers and placed a gentle kiss against her ring.

“Ehsan has a wonderful family already.” He nudges her chin up. “And if you tell any of them I said that I will put salt in your coffee.”

Y/n cracked a smile, and Al Haitham put his chin back on her head while wrapping his arms back around her.

“Get some sleep,” he whispered. “You can decide in the morning.”

---

Y/n took a deep breath before nodding at Cyno who opened the interrogation room door and let her in. She stepped in, fiddling with her fingers, and stared at the floor as she made her way to the empty chair. Azar watched her with stern eyes, hands folded on the table.

“I hear you’re being sent to Avidya forest.”

“Yes.”

Taking another deep breath, Y/n pressed her palms flat against the table and squeezed her eyes closed before meeting Azar’s eyes.

“Good luck.”

She got up from the chair and headed back towards the door.

“Is that all?” Azar asked, frowning.

“That’s all.”

“How’s Ehsan?”

Y/n stopped with her hand raised to knock for Cyno.

“He’s good, very smart… like his father. I think it would be better if maybe you take some time to think about things and then, if you want, we’ll come visit.”

“But he’s my grandson,” Azar snapped, making Y/n tense up and dig her nails into the palm of her hand.

“You’ve never met him, and the idea of seeing you makes me so nervous that he gets worried. So, for my son’s sake, goodbye,” she breathed, the shaky exhale causing her shoulders to relax as she knocked on the door.

#researcher s's recovery #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #genshin impact al haitham #alhaitham #al haitham #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x reader #x reader #female reader #oneshot #genshin impact oneshot #rating unavailable

49 notes · View notes

llyfrenfys · 2 days

Text

In which I try not to be That Guy TM when it comes to Irish ancestors: An exploration of ancestry, diaspora and culture

Because of The Horrors TM in my life atm I've been looking into my biological family tree. I'm adopted but estranged from my adoptive family and I never met my biological family since I was adopted just short of my 2nd birthday. I've been tracing my ancestry for about 3 years now and it's genuinely quite stress relieving to me. It's also fun and challenging from a research standpoint - putting together my own family tree gave me the skills to write articles like this one I wrote in 2022 about historical Welsh queer people, for example.

Lately, I've been finding out more about my Irish ancestors while an adoptee (and thus not knowing any of my biological family) - but also doing this as a Celticist and tired of people doing the 'my sister's friend's cousin's father's mother was Irish' thing. This has created an almost unbearable tension between curiosity at my own ancestry while trying not to be That Guy who finds out about one (1) Irish ancestor hundreds of years ago and is weird about it.

Especially since mine are quite distant ancestors - my great, great, great grandparents were born in Dublin and in a tiny village in County Down called Dunnaman (near Kilkeel). However, they were Irish Catholics and emigrated to Liverpool in the 1870s - all of their subsequent children and grandchildren were born in Liverpool and all of the above + great grandchildren were raised Catholic - including my grandmother (who died before I was born). So there was an obvious attempt to maintain that heritage. There's even evidence my great, great, great grandmother at least spoke Irish (which, as she was born in County Down, would have been Ulster Irish).

The problems with uncritically throwing oneself at an ancestor's nationality:

Now, not all North Americans of Irish (or Welsh, Scottish, Italian, Scandinavian, German etc.) descent do this - but there's a very vocal set of North Americans of Irish descent who find awe and interest in their ancestry - which is actually quite a positive thing! - however, due to either temporal or cultural disconnect, they may end up doing or saying things (and not necessarily with bad intentions) which can have a negative impact on the Irish and the Irish language (or [nationality] and [language(s) associated with that nationality].

I'm reminded of the time an American commented on a Welsh language rights post I made in support of Welsh speakers, but they accidentally ended up using a white nationalist slogan by mistake. It can be a minefield - and with regards to Ireland specifically, mistakes like that can be so much worse. To literally give my own (mild) example, today I decided to relearn Irish (since I haven't spoken any in years since being taught basics at undergrad) and picked up a blank notebook I bought at Tesco the other week, while completely forgetting the inside cover of the notebook was orange. I was planning on decorating the notebook anyway and painted it a different colour. While I know that nobody would really hold it against me if I didn't change the colour, I just know that walking around with an orange notebook filled with Irish I'm relearning because of interest in my Catholic ancestors could be a confusing set of messages, at the very least. If you don't understand why this is, look up the meanings of the colours on the flag of Ireland.

Which is to say, even those of us in Northern Europe who have significantly greater physical proximity to Ireland than North America (and therefore should know better) still can and do get things wrong. And not just benignly wrong like in my case.

The tendency for some North Americans of Irish descent (Canada isn't exempt from this) to conflate Irish ancestry with a contemporary connection to the modern countries located on the island of Ireland as a whole can have results ranging from 'a bit weird' to 'jesus fucking christ'. As a Celticist, I've seen far, far too many Americans of Irish descent try to weigh in on modern Irish politics without any background knowledge or tact at all - and naturally they stake their claim on modern Irish politics entirely on the premise of having distant Irish ancestors. Or, even worse, things start to get all phrenological.

'Irish blood' and the nonexistence thereof:

'Irish blood' is continually evoked by some to validate their sense of 'Irishness' and the obsession with '[insert nationality] blood' is a distinctly North American phenomenon- likely related to or an offshoot of the concept of 'blood quantum', in which enrolment into some Native American nations and tribes is determined by how much 'Native blood' a person has. Notably, many people who would ostensibly have been described under this system as 'full blood' were registered by the US as 'half blood'. This is a method of genocide intended to wipe out tribes and nations by imposing strict measures of who does or does not qualify to enrol into a tribe or nation. This concept seems to have been extrapolated over time (in a North American context at least) into the idea of descent from other nationalities' being measured in a similar or adjacent way. This is how you end up with some North Americans declaring they are '1/8 Italian and 1/4 Irish' on their dad's side etc. While in Europe (where these nationalities hail from, crucially) this practice is seen as a really weird way to describe your ancestry. In general, it's simply 'my 4 times grandfather came from Spain' or 'my great great grandfather on my dad's side came from Finland' etc. if it comes up at all. For various political reasons, many Europeans with descent from multiple other European nationalities may choose to omit to mention descent from certain nationalities, especially if in recent history there has been conflict between their birth nation and an ancestor's nation. The most famous example of this is literally the British royal family changing their surname from the German Saxe-Coburg and Gotha to the more 'British sounding' Windsor in 1917 due to the onset of the First World War.

Where it gets really weird (and also very offensive and rude) is when cultural stereotypes get invoked alongside the whole 'blood' thing in usually quite damaging and/or disparaging ways. I've seen way too many North Americans of Irish descent claim they're alcoholics because they have 'Irish blood' or even worse, claim it's normal to domestically abuse their spouses because of it!! (Genuine thing I have seen btw). Same goes for claiming to be a naturally good chef because of 'Italian blood' and so on. As a general rule, people from the place where your ancestors were from don't generally like to be inherently be considered drunks or prone to violence due to their nationality. Or have weird and inaccurate idealisms projected onto their language or cuisine.

Aren't there any positives?

It wouldn't be fair to make a post like this without mentioning some of the positives that can come from interest in an Irish ancestor. Like I mentioned at the start of this post, I myself felt inspired to relearn Irish because of my own Irish ancestors. I was taught the Connacht dialect at undergrad, however, since my ancestor was from County Down, I'm going to try and learn Ulster Irish instead. One doesn't need Irish ancestors to learn Irish of course - when I learned I wasn't aware I had any Irish ancestors. But being inspired to learn Irish because of an ancestor can't hurt and directly increases the number of Irish speakers in the world (provided you keep at it). This is a net positive for the language as a whole.

Similarly, people who have educated themselves on Irish politics because of their ancestry and genuinely learned something are also a positive thing to come out of discovering Irish ancestors. In my experience, these people are the kind of people I enjoy talking to about being a Celticist because they actively want to learn and respect the cultures being talked about. Which is huge to me!

Conclusion:

As a Welsh speaker whose national identity is more-or-less Jan Morris-esque, my Irish ancestry is an interesting facet of my ancestry I simply didn't know about before. And being an adopted person, I can sympathise with the general sentiment of a lot of white North Americans of feeling disconnected or alienated from any ancestral heritage. The conditions which create That Guy TM as described above rely on that sense of alienation to propagate a very ineffective, tactless and often very insensitive approach to Irish and other European cultures. But the important thing is that that approach can be challenged by people genuinely interested in their ancestry who are also conscientious of the living versions of the cultures their ancestors hailed from.

For me, that means learning Irish in a dialect my ancestors are likely to have spoken. I also visited the library today to check out some books on the Irish emigration to England and the sociopolitical reasons behind that emigration. I know the broad strokes, but the details are desirable to know to get a better idea of the why and how the country of my birth had a hand in creating the conditions which led my ancestors to emigrate in the first place. I think the world would be a better place if people took the time to understand the history and politics of ancestors which don't share their nationality.

As always, reblogs and thoughts are welcomed and encouraged!

Thank you for reading to the end - and if you'd like to support me, please see my pinned post. Diolch!

#long post #Ireland #Irish #Gaelige #Celtic Studies #Celticist #Irish diaspora #Irish americans #blood quantum cw #racism cw #(just in case)#ancestry #geneology #family history #I've probably made typos but it's 11:40pm and I need to go to sleep

49 notes · View notes

bring-backup-99 · 1 day

Text

First Time’s The Charm

Read on Ao3

PAIRING: Tech x Phee

SUMMARY: Some sweet smut about Tech and Phee’s first time together

WORDS COUNT: 2501

RATING + WARNINGS: 18+, very spicy, porn with feelings, PiV, fluff, kissing

NOTES: When I’m not working on my Batch reverse harem “Bad Choices” smutlet series on Ao3, I occasionally write other stuff. I have a long form WIP that will probably never be finished, so you all might as well have the smut from it.

And yes, this is virgin Tech (which is basically the opposite of him in Bad Choices), though I will fight people if they suggest that he couldn’t still be good at sex from the start. The man loves research. He knows what and where a clitoris is. I will die on this hill.

The first night Tech had stayed with Phee, it had simply been a matter of them talking too late and falling asleep on her couch. When they’d woken up in the soft morning light, both had felt sheepish. She’d laughed it off.

“You’ll fall asleep anywhere, Brown Eyes.” He didn’t deny it.

A few days later, they were in her little workshop, telling each other stories, true stories, while she cataloged and he tinkered. As he walked her home, their hands brushed together until finally their fingers slowly intertwined. He didn’t come in, but they stood in the moonlight outside her door holding hands and talked about everything but what was happening between them.

When they had first met, so many rotations ago, she had liked him immediately, primarily because he was handsome, and then later because he was kind, brilliant, intense, and strong. He was so different from the other men she knew. Bringing them all to Pabu was impulsive, but she’d never regret doing it, giving them a safe space where they were appreciated for their kindness and desire to help, where they flourished, where Omega could have a home.

He began walking her home every night, and they would stand outside holding hands, until finally, one night, she leaned into him and he put his arm around her.

“This is nice, Tech,” she’d said, using his real name to show how serious she was. He’d looked down at her.

“Yes. I would use that descriptor as well.”

Impulsively, she’d risen onto her toes and pressed her lips to his. For a moment, she was afraid she’d gone too far. His body had stiffened abruptly, but just as quickly it relaxed. The kiss was sweet and soft, close-mouthed. He’d pulled away slightly.

“I have never kissed anyone before.”

The words overwhelmed Phee. She had thought it was possible his life hadn’t allowed such things, and she wanted to be careful.

“Is this okay? We don’t have to.” Tech stopped her by lifting her chin so they could kiss again. She pulled him in, and they stayed on her couch while she taught him something new. He was a fast learner.

He stayed with her almost every night, slowly divesting himself of the various layers that he wore as the evenings passed. First, his utility belt and pouches. The night he took off his gloves, and she had felt his bare hands on her own, against her face and neck, had made her giddy. She spent the next day mooning over him like she was a schoolgirl. She chided herself for it; she was too old and wise for this nonsense, but Phee couldn’t stop.

And it was the night he took off his goggles because their kissing had knocked them askew for the umpteenth time that she knew she’d truly fallen for him. Someone’s eyes shouldn’t have that power over her, yet she’d never met anyone so absolutely honest that it reflected perfectly in their gaze. Phee’d been with other people, of course, but she’d never let them into her life the way she let Tech in.

Because she trusted him, and she knew this gesture from him was because he trusted her too.

“Can this come off tonight?” she whispered, running her hands over the chest of his blacks. Their embrace tonight had been particularly passionate and she wanted him as close to her as possible.

“Yes, I would find that acceptable.”

"Let me know if you feel uncomfortable, Brown Eyes."

"Just...proceed slowly."

Phee was trying to do just that. She’d imagined the first time they had sex, that she’d take him to a field of flowers or a beach at sunset…or the back of a library. But now she knew none of those was going to happen.

She circled him, her hand never breaking contact as she felt the contours of his body under the fabric. Finally, she faced him and slowly pulled up the shirt. She ran the back of her hand against his skin, noted that he was hardly breathing. She waited for him to relax, then pulled the shirt off, leaving his torso fully bare. She could feel his tension as he lay back on the bed, his eyes slightly glazed.

“Are you okay?” she asked as she lay beside him.

“Yes,” but the word was almost inaudible.

Tentatively, she stroked his chest, waiting for his breathing to return to normal. She didn’t know what she expected, but his slim, muscular frame fulfilled any fantasy she had had. Her fingers fluttered over a scar on his shoulder.

"Droid," he said. Another scar on his side. "Knife wound. Not from Hunter," he smiled. He turned slightly and showed her one on his hip. "Shrapnel, only partially because of Wrecker." She leaned over, kissing each of them. Hungry for him, she kissed a trail from his hip to his chest. Impulsively, she licked his nipple, and he cried out in shock. Phee drew back quickly.

“I'm sorry."

"No, no. That felt...intense. I was not expecting it.” He drew her to him, kissed her, then whispered, "Do it again."

Hungrily, her lips moved along his neck, drinking in every reaction he had to her touch, then down to his other nipple. Tentatively, she licked it, feeling the hitch in his breathing, then gently raked it with her teeth. He moaned. She did the same on the other side, reveling in his response to her.

His hands began to roam around her body, finding their way under her shirt. On fire, she pulled it off and let him explore her at his own pace. She was desperate to feel his skin against her own, but she did not want to overwhelm him. As she had explored him, his hands did the same to her; caressing the small of her back, the nape of her neck, the curve of her breasts. She gasped at his touch, inflamed, desperate for more. He pulled her closer, and she pressed her body against his, chest to chest. He rolled on top of her, lips locked together, one of his legs between her own. All her control was gone.

She let her hand slide down to the growing bulge in his pants.

"I want to touch you," she said, giving him time to stop her, but he was as inflamed as she was. He groaned and arched his back as her hand cupped him. His responses to her were unbelievable, feeding the flames of her desire.

“Please, take this off.” She fumbled at his pants. “Please, if you are ready.”

He stood and pulled them off, as she slipped out of the rest of her clothes. Standing next to him, looking into his eyes, she took his erection in her hand. It took every ounce of his self control not to climax right then, the sensations were so overwhelming. She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him. She leaned forward to kiss him and look into his beautiful eyes. She took his hand, and together they guided his length into her as she lowered herself onto him.

He cried out as he entered her. She moved slowly, never breaking eye contact, until he was fully inside her.

“Tech, if you become uncomfortable or need us to stop—”

“I can manage,” he said, his jaw clenched, his eyes focused on her, fingers intertwined. She waited a few moments, letting their bodies acclimate to the new sensations, then together they slowly began moving, finding a rhythm that suited them both.

He held her hips and pushed his pelvis up to be as deep inside her as he could. Her gasps and cries excited him in a way he had never felt, his body responding on instinct as she rocked against him more insistently.

He could see her eyes losing focus, even as he could sense the same in himself, as he felt the build up in his body, a pressure he had never experienced and did not fully understand. This was so different from the furtive, utilitarian fumblings he managed in the ‘fresher when the need arose.

In a move that took her breath away, he pressed himself up, put his arm around her waist, and rotated both of them so he was on top of her. The absolutely feral cry she gave him as her limbs wrapped around his body nearly sent him over the edge. He held her close, trying to slow down, to make this last longer, this sweet, intense, incredible feeling.

She refused to let it happen. She rocked her pelvis against him, desperate for him to lose control, to match her passion. He gasped.

"I need to...Phee, if you do not stop…I am too close," he groaned.

"We'll do this again," she whispered. "I want you. I want you inside me. I want to feel you." She felt incoherent, but she also felt him let go. He lifted one of her legs, hooking it over his arm, giving him an angle to somehow be deeper inside her. His body took over, his thrusts stronger, wilder. Her hands pressed on his lower back, encouraging him.

Her moans of, "Yes, please, yes. Tech. Yes," finally put him over the edge. The absolute bliss of the orgasm was almost too much for him. He buried his head in her neck, drowning himself in her essence, as it pulsed over his body. He lay still on top of her for what he thought was an eternity as the sensation slowly drifted away, leaving him tingling all over like exposed nerves.

Cautiously, she stroked her hand down his back. He shuddered a bit but didn't say anything, then slowly slid out of her as he rolled next to her.

"That was amazing," she whispered.

“I…quite agree.” He lifted his head and looked at her, "But you did not..." His voice trailed off.

She smiled, kissed him, "That's not always the most important part of sex. The...intimacy...this closeness I feel with you, right now. This is better. But also, that was still incredible. You're a natural."

"I did do some research before this encounter…Though it did not prepare me for the intensity of the physical stimulation." She laughed.

"Why is that funny? As I do not have any experience in this area, I wanted to be prepared."

"The idea of you doing research about this on your datapad is very funny, but I'm not going to complain about the results." She rolled out of bed to clean up.

"It will take a little time before I can physically do this again, but.." For a moment he seemed almost shy, "...would you want to when I am ready?"

She got back into the bed, snuggling next to him.

"Yes," she said huskily.

“You were correct,” he said, pulling her close against him, “This was... special. More than just a physical act.” He felt foolish for ever having suggested otherwise in one of their long conversations. His voice drifted off, and she thought he might fall asleep, but instead they lay in wakeful silence, intertwined.

“What is going on in there?" she asked.

In reply, his hands again began roaming over her body. Lightly, his fingertips raised goosebumps on her arms and down her back. She shivered but felt herself opening again for him. His fingers caressed her breasts, tracing a path around them until he moved and his mouth found her hard nipples. He gently stimulated one, then the other, with his tongue.

Now that his mind had cleared, he was studying her carefully. Every action and response was filed away. His hand stroked down her side, then to her already parted legs. He kissed her as his fingers explored between her legs, and he drank up her moans. He slid a wet finger up until he found her clit and just barely made contact with it, feeling her body tighten at the touch. He rubbed against it and was rewarded with a deep gasp. He slid two fingers inside of her, leaving his thumb to work against her sensitive nub. Her reaction was instant. Her thighs closed around his hand, and she groaned as his long fingers reached deeper into her.

"Tech," she whispered. "I need you...I need you inside me."

"Yes, but this type of stimulation will help you to orgasm. I want to ensure that first."

She shook her head, "Oh it feels so good, but I...I don't finish like that. I need..." In her state, words were hard to come by, "...the internal stimulation."

It took only a moment for him to process this, and then, "It does seem as if I am ready to fulfill this need." Her hand had been stroking him to hardness, but he was so focused on her he had barely noticed.

He pressed into her, slowly, each stroke entering her only a little more than the last, until one had a very pronounced reaction. Then he came up slightly on his knees, lifting her legs with him, sure that this angle would allow him better access to this most important spot. He began with short thrusts and was rewarded by her immediate cries.

"Yes, oh, Tech, yes, right there," thought her physical reaction would have been enough for him to know he had gotten it right. Her hands had grabbed onto the covers, clawing at the sheets. He timed himself to match the crescendo of her moans and whimpers, varying his strokes, sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, then returning to stimulate this more sensitive area, watching the build up of tension in her body, noting how her arms moved in spasms, her eyes closed tight, her mouth whispering incoherently.

Suddenly her fingers were digging into his forearm, her cries a higher pitched staccato than what had come before, and he watched the orgasm overtake her body. She writhed under him, his thrusts against her sensitive inner wall bringing wave after wave of pleasure. As her reaction finally subsided, he lay over the top of her, kissing her deeply, drinking in everything about her, feeling almost more satisfied now than when he had had his own orgasm. He rocked into her gently, feeling the length of himself enclosed in her, enjoying this unimagined intimacy and reveling in the whole of her.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as she could, breathing him into her. He pressed his forehead to hers as he let the second orgasm flow through his body, kissing her, needing her, wanting her.

“Good job, Brown Eyes,” she smiled. “Hard to believe that was your first time.” She liked seeing that satisfied glint in his eyes that came from praise.

“Yes, well, there is always room for improvement, especially since there seem to be an infinite variety of positions, techniques, and implements that can be used to enhance—”

She silenced him with her lips. “Slow down. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

And they did.

#tech x phee #pheetech #techphee #techphee smut #phee genoa #tbb tech #tech bad batch #bad batch #bad batch tech #clone trooper tech #tech the bad batch #bad batch phee #tbb phee #phee tbb #the bad batch smut #tech smut #the bad batch

27 notes · View notes