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berryispunk · 3 days ago

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Counting Sheep

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: friends to ???, soft! Frankie, insomnia mention, anxiety mention, mental health talk, bad inside jokes, slow burn, comfort, unresolved tension

summary: Two insomniacs who met by chance share a late-night coffee, an almost kiss, and the quiet kind of connection that lingers long after the sun comes up.

word count: ~ 3k

Happy Frankie Friday, my loves <3

It was one of those nights where everything felt a little too loud inside your head. You were bone-deep exhausted, but your mind refused to quiet down. It kept looping through every worst-case scenario on repeat, like a broken record you couldn’t turn off.

You blew a few wild strands of hair out of your face and stared at the ceiling, hoping if you just looked long enough, something might change. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

You tossed and turned, from your back to your stomach, desperate for sleep that wouldn’t come. The digital clock on your nightstand glared back at you — 1:45 a.m., stuck somewhere between too early to be morning and too late to be midnight.

Your eyes were shut, but restlessness clung to you like a shadow.

Then your phone buzzed, the screen flooding the room with light.

Frankie: Tell me how many more sheep do I have to count before I can fall asleep? Because I’m at 633 and still wide awake 🥱

Your lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Typical him.

You: At 633, you’re probably part of the flock by now. Maybe you should stop counting and start naming them? 🤭

A moment later, his reply came, quick and cheeky:

Frankie: Naming sheep sounds like a full-time job. I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of commitment. But I could try naming one like you. Maybe it’ll help me drift off 😙

You rolled your eyes, but your heart did that little skip you weren’t entirely ready to admit.

You: Smooth. But don’t flatter yourself if you want to sleep, try imagining me kicking you off the couch at 6 a.m

Frankie: Ouch. Harsh, but fair. I’ll take my chances if it means one less sheep to count 🐑

You: Hey, if you fall asleep, you owe me a coffee tomorrow ☕️

Frankie: Deal. But only if you promise to be my personal barista 😉

You laughed, despite the heaviness in your chest.

You: Fine. But don’t expect any gourmet lattes. I’m more of a ‘stir and hope for the best’ kind of barista 😅

Frankie: Perfect. Imperfect coffee for two insomniacs 😴

You smiled again, feeling that little weight inside you ease just a bit, grateful for the quiet company in the middle of the night.

You: You’re good at distracting me, but the noise in my head doesn’t quit so easy. Feels like it’s always just one step ahead, no matter what I do

Frankie: I get that. Some nights it feels like your own brain is a wild animal you can’t calm down. But you’re not alone in it. I’m right here, in the middle of my own chaos

You: It’s crazy how much easier it feels just knowing someone else gets it. Like, you don’t have to pretend to be okay…

Frankie: Yeah, no pretending. No masks. Just… two wrecks trying to hold it together. I trust you with the messy parts. You ever feel like you can say that about anyone?

You: Not really. You’re the first person I haven’t felt like I had to hide behind words with. It’s weird, like we’ve only known each other a little while, but I already trust you more than some people I’ve known for years 🫣

Frankie: Same here. It’s like we found each other in the middle of the chaos. That kind of connection doesn’t come easy

You paused, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Maybe… maybe we should stop texting in the middle of the night and actually meet up? I mean, I know it’s late, but there’s that shitty 24-hour coffee place downtown. Could be nice to sit in a real chair instead of my bed

Frankie: You serious? I was thinking the same thing. Could use real caffeine and a break from my couch jail 🛋️

You: Only catch is you gotta pick me up. I’m not about to haul my exhausted self through the subway at 3 a.m, also I am pretty sure I’d get murdered 🔪

Frankie: Deal. I’ll be your designated driver for the night. No subway for you — I got you covered. Need you alive 😉

You: Okay, don’t expect much tho. Might look like a racoon on drugs. 🦝 But maybe some terrible coffee and even worse pastries can fix our insomnia ?

Frankie: Good thing I love racoons. Shitty coffee, questionable pastries, and zero judgment. Just two insomniacs trying to catch a break, got it

—

The city was hushed in that strange 3 a.m. way—dim street lights casting golden pools on the concrete, everything muted except the occasional car sweeping by. You heard the low hum of Frankie’s engine before you saw his headlights.

He pulled up to the curb like it wasn’t the middle of the night, like this wasn’t something a little ridiculous and a little intimate. You tugged the sleeves of your oversized pullover down over your hands and climbed into the passenger seat, the soft interior light flicking on the second you shut the door.

Frankie glanced at you, and you caught it—his expression soft as melted sugar, eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. You knew you looked a mess, hair up in a lazy bun, your favorite pajama pants covered in tiny constellations. But there was no judgment in his gaze. Just that quiet calm he always gave off when you needed it most.

“Nice look,” he murmured, lips twitching up in that boyish grin of his. “Didn’t know I was picking up a raccoon princess.”

You laughed, heat rising to your cheeks. “Royalty and insomnia. We’re full service over here.”

The light above dimmed out, plunging the car into a soft twilight glow from the dash. You realized you were still looking at him—eyes dragging over the slope of his jaw, the worn hoodie stretched across his chest, the way his hands looked so steady on the wheel. Too long. Definitely too long.

He arched his brow without turning his head. “See something you like, or just making sure I’m real?”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it off with a smirk. “Just wondering how you manage to look so annoyingly composed at this hour. Unfair, really.”

Frankie shrugged lightly. “Veteran of the night shift. Plus…” —his tone dropped slightly, just enough to make your breath catch— “kinda different when you’ve got good company.”

You tried to say something, maybe joke back, but it caught in your throat.

So instead, you buckled in.

“Where to, Captain?”

“24-hour coffee stop, as promised,” he said, pulling away from the curb with one hand on the wheel and the other tapping softly to whatever lo-fi track was playing low through the speakers.

You looked out the window, trying not to notice how your whole body had started to relax the moment you got in his car. And trying even harder not to notice how much you didn’t want this night—this feeling—to end.

—

The silence in the car wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy either. It was that in-between kind, like both of you were waiting to see who’d crack first.

Outside, the city rolled by—streetlights, shuttered stores, a few late-night wanderers bundled against the cold. Inside, the soft hum of the engine and lo-fi beats filled the space between you, and still neither of you spoke for the first few minutes.

Then Frankie cleared his throat.

“Okay,” he said, glancing at you with that sideways grin, “I gotta ask. Those pajama pants—are we talkin’ a celestial theme because you’re deep and mysterious, or because you were too tired to find the other pair?”

You snorted, grateful for the break in tension. “Excuse you. These pants are a lifestyle choice. I contain multitudes.”

He laughed, that warm, real laugh that made your chest flutter in ways you tried not to examine too closely. “My bad. I should’ve known I was in the presence of intergalactic fashion royalty.”

You smiled at your hands resting in your lap, then glanced at him. “Honestly? I just didn’t want to wear jeans.”

“Strong choice,” he said solemnly. “Jeans at 3 a.m. are a crime.”

Silence settled again after that, but something about it felt softer this time. You watched the glow from passing headlights move across his face. He looked different at night. Or maybe just more himself. Less guarded. Like the world was finally quiet enough for him to breathe.

He glanced over at you again, more tentative this time.

“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now, “can I ask you something kinda weird?”

You turned to him. “We’re on our way to drink bad coffee in our pajamas. I think weird’s fair game.”

He huffed out a laugh, rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, okay, true.” A beat. “Did you really mean it earlier? About trusting me?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. But then you nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

He nodded too, eyes on the road. “Good. Just… wanted to say same. You’re like. I don’t know. One of the only people I don’t feel like I have to wear the ‘everything’s fine’ face with.”

That pulled something in you—gentle and aching at the same time.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he murmured. “That’s what scares me.”

You turned your head toward the window again, pretending you didn’t hear the weight behind his words.

And then—

“So…” he added, playful again but softer, “if I ever spiral so hard I show up to your place in my own galaxy pajama pants, you won’t judge?”

You cracked a smile. “Only if you promise to wear matching socks. Raccoon royalty standards.”

“I’ll do my best,” he said. “But no promises. You know I live on the edge.”

—

A little while later, you pulled into the parking lot of the shitty 24-hour coffee shop. The flickering neon “OPEN” sign buzzed above the door like it was fighting for its last breath, and inside, the place was lit with the kind of cheap fluorescence that made everything look a little too honest.

The guy behind the counter didn’t even blink when you walked in. He looked like he’d seen every version of rock bottom come through that door. Just gave the two of you a lazy once-over and gruffed out, “What can I get for you?”

You glanced at Frankie, suddenly realizing—you didn’t actually know how he took his coffee. But you knew him well enough to make an educated guess. No fluff. No syrupy distractions. Just real.

You ordered a black coffee for him, a cappuccino for yourself.

While you waited, Frankie wandered into the sad little store section in the back—magazines, old candy, cheap trinkets. You watched him drift through the narrow aisles, squinting under the flickering lights, his brows knit like he was hunting for something important in a place that didn’t sell much worth finding. He looked entirely out of place, and at the same time, exactly where he needed to be.

You walked over, careful not to crowd him. “Hey,” you said softly, offering the cup. “Got you some coffee.”

He startled slightly, eyes flicking to the cup and then up to yours.

“How’d you know how I like it?” he asked, a smile curling the corner of his mouth.

“Took a wild guess,” you said, smirking. “Tell me if I got it right.”

He took a sip, paused—then raised his eyebrows like you’d just performed a magic trick.

“Are you a witch or something?”

You shook your head. “I wish. Just good at reading people.”

He gave you a look, one that lingered. “Well, guess I’m readable.”

You smiled and tilted your head toward the booth tucked in the corner, cracked plastic seats and all. “Come on, let’s sit.”

You slid into opposite sides, the table wobbling a little when Frankie leaned his elbows on it. Outside, the streetlights painted the windows in tired gold. Inside, the world felt paused—just the two of you, awake in the hour where everything quiets down and nothing pretends anymore.

—

At first, the conversation was all nonsense. You pointed out the absurd headlines in the magazines (“Apparently celery juice now cures loneliness?”), and Frankie lamented the loss of pretzels in the vending machine like it was a national tragedy.

It didn’t take long before you were laughing—real laughter, the kind that shook your shoulders and made you momentarily forget every shadow trailing your thoughts. And every time you laughed, you noticed how Frankie’s eyes softened. How the weight he carried seemed to lift, just a little, like your laughter helped him breathe.

He leaned back, stretching out in the booth, his coffee cup between his hands.

“You know,” he said eventually, glancing at you with a crooked grin, “this is still the weirdest way I’ve ever met someone.”

You mirrored the grin. “What, you don’t usually bond with strangers over mutual insomnia and spiraling anxiety at 3 a.m.?”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, not usually. But it worked out. I mean… what were the odds? Both of us just lurking in the comments of that anonymous thread about sleep deprivation and somehow ending up here.”

You smiled at the memory. That thread. Some stranger had posted something like "Why does 2:41 a.m. always feel like the loneliest minute in the world?" and the replies were flooded with people sharing half-awake confessions. Your comment had been dry and half-joking—“because 2:42 is booked solid with existential dread”—and his had come right after.

“Alright, you win. Let’s co-host a late-night radio show for the mentally unwell.”

And something about that had made you reply.

“I almost didn’t answer you, you know,” you said, nudging your cup between your hands.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I thought you were either a serial killer or some guy who’d try to impress me with unsolicited guitar covers of ‘Wonderwall.’”

He let out a laugh that startled even him, warm and genuine. “Wow. You really had low expectations.”

“I was being realistic,” you said with a shrug, then added, “but I’m glad I answered.”

Frankie looked at you over the rim of his coffee, his expression softening like you’d just said something important.

“I was real close to deleting everything that night,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, maybe a bit guarded. “Like... just done with people. But your dumb little radio comment? It made me laugh. And that was enough to keep me talking.”

His smile turned gentle, almost boyish. “Guess I’m glad I said something stupid, then.”

You raised your cup to him in a mock-toast. “To dumb jokes in the comments section.”

He clinked his coffee cup lightly against yours. “And to insomnia bringing weirdos together.”

You both smiled, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside that booth had fallen away.

—

The hours slipped by without either of you noticing.

At some point, the coffee went cold, the vending machine buzzed like it was haunted, and the sky outside started to shift—inky black softening into gray, then blue. A quiet kind of light began to creep across the city, brushing over the buildings like a secret. The world was waking up, but inside that booth, it still felt like night.

You didn’t talk much after that—not because there wasn’t more to say, but because everything that needed to be said was sitting in the air between you. Easy silence, soft glances, a shared kind of tired that wasn’t just from the hour.

Eventually, Frankie stood and stretched with a groan. “Alright, raccoon royalty,” he said, voice low and sleep-rough. “Let’s get you home before the sun fully exposes us to the judging public.”

You smiled, grabbed your empty cup, and followed him out to the car. The seats were cold when you slid in, but his presence warmed the small space fast.

The drive back was quiet again—comfortable, half-drowsy silence. The city looked different now in the early light. Less lonely, less haunted.

When he pulled up outside your place, he didn’t kill the engine right away. Neither of you moved at first.

You turned toward him. “Thanks for the coffee. And the kidnapping.”

He chuckled softly. “Anytime.”

You hesitated, then leaned over the center console, arms wrapping around him in a sleepy, lingering hug. His arms came around you just as gently—no tension, just warmth. Safe.

But when you pulled back, you didn’t go all the way.

You were close, too close. So close in fact that you could smell him, the faint trace of smoke, some cologne from a different day and slight sweat.

The shift in the air was instant, inevitable.

His eyes were on yours, wide and unsure but somehow hopeful. His breath was shallow, yours caught.

You could kiss him. Right now. You could close the space and see what this strange little thing between you really was.

But then your heart stuttered—too fast, too loud—and you panicked.

You blinked, mumbled something that wasn’t even words, and practically scrambled out of the car like it was on fire.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

—

A few days passed. Not a word from either of you about what almost happened.

It was a normal afternoon when your phone buzzed with his name—no late night, no shadows to hide in this time, which somehow made it all the more terrifying. Because in the bright light of day, the almost-kiss felt even more like a mistake. Like you’d nearly ruined the one steady, grounding thing you had right now. The thing that kept you tethered when the floor felt like it might open up and swallow you whole.

Frankie: Can I ask you something?

You stared at the screen, thumb hovering for a moment before you started typing.

You: Sure

There was a pause before he replied.

Frankie: Did I imagine it? The other night in my car. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe you wanted to kiss me

Your stomach dropped.

You: I did. I wanted to. I just got scared…

And then, almost immediately, his reply came.

Frankie: I would've loved to kiss you, just so you know.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you let it out.

The message sat there, glowing quietly on your screen, and your cheeks burned, pulse picking up.

You didn’t know what to say—not yet. But something in your chest ached in the sweetest way, like a door had been cracked open, just enough to let the light in.

thanks for reading 💌

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lazy-sushi · 2 days ago

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Addicted to the devil (Ronin x Reader)

Author's Note: I was forced to upload this by @6feathered6siren6, (who also helps me doing this post rn thank youuuuuuuu, bro literally gave me title and banner) help me, save me.

Trigger warning: Ronin's route (his last name), death, gore, insanity

Word count: 2335

You hear his breath, slow and steady as it hits your hair, swirling your loose hair strands up and down. His heartbeat pumping in rhythm, hitting your ear each second. He laid there, eyes closed, arm around your back, holding you tightly. One of his arms loosened and leaned over the bed, the exposed skin pale. To you, this creature looked beautiful, peaceful even. It was a force of nature, having you in its hands, pulling the strings when it wanted too. Your personal devil, your butcher, your everything.

You described it as a bliss and when he slept like this, so content and so…. peaceful. You almost wondered if you were the crazy one.

You love him. The devil. The butcher. Ronin Beaufort.

But he's a psychopath. A killer. Ronin Beaufort.

He's that type of guy that goes out in the middle of the night, crowbar clutched in hand, heavy steps halling through the streets. He'd wait for his victim, slowly stalking behind them and smashing the crowbar across their head. One blow, two blows, maybe a third. The victims would fall, blood pooling from their heads. Then the devil would proceed to do his work. It would vary, but everything ended in a grotesque scene. Slit throats, ripped guts, cut of limbs, carved symbols. He's a picture book serial killer. Whoever you'd ask to describe a serial killer, Ronin’s imagery would be the answer. A psycho that kills for pure pleasure, for the thrill, for his own sense of happiness.

Yet, was he really the bad guy? Of course he was! He had corrupted you, had threatened you, controlled you. He was the killer.

You were the saint, he was the sinner.

A saint. The same saint that played along. The same saint that has done as he pleased. You were an angel. The angel that shot the next person if the devil would ask too. The same angel that has awaited every single command. The story wasn’t over there, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want to admit it, but Ronin didn’t do a thing towards you.

No, he didn’t tell you to join the server, he didn’t tell you to make your proof real, he didn’t tell you to meet him, not ever and not in HIS alley. It was you who wanted it. You desired it.

Life had been tough, surely that was the fault. Friends had ignored you. You were lonely and that loneliness Ronin fulfilled fully. He gave you all that you needed. The attention, the love, the advice. Fuck he was what you had been longing for so long, something you desperately searched for. So what if he was a supposed killer? How can HE be yet more understanding than anyone you knew? You don’t need to fix him; He fixed you. He cured what you despised in your body. Saved you from your own feelings. Pulled you up when no one else could. Only he could do it. Only the devil.

Ronin Beaufort

Maybe you were insane, but wasn’t that worth it?

The thoughts you just clung onto like a lifeline disappeared as you heard a grunt. Eyes meeting one another and you saw almost a concerned expression on Ronin. His arm clutched you closer, the other that had been hanging down, now pulled up as his hand touched your cheek. The soft texture of his fingers swiped over your eyes. Had you been…crying? You feel the wet spots on your face. Not just tears, but sweat. For once you saw the devil, THE Ronin beaufort losing his smirk. For once you saw him wondering what may have gotten into your head. It was almost overwhelming. Everything felt overwhelming.

You couldn’t remember what happened. Suddenly everything crashed. Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. Everything spinned in your head. Everything was so loud in your head. The images of what you read, of what you knew Ronin committed. You laid there with him, saw everything, witnessed it all. Yet you weren’t concerned about that. You were concerned about what HE thinks of you. Pathetic, alone, you barely meant a thing in the world. He was known. Hated, yes. But known. He meant something, even if that was for all the bad reasons. But you? What did you offer to him? Nothing. You could’ve been swapped out with anyone else. It wouldn’t have changed anything.

And once again, the thoughts, gone. You felt his lips. Felt his touch. The overwhelming feeling, gone. You held him close, if not the other way around being enough. His lips tasted like iron, you knew why, you simply couldn’t care less though. Arm so tight on your back, squeezing those thoughts away as if he knew what they were. Everything burned in your body, clothes clutched against you. Yet, him being there? It made these feelings lessen. Once again you ask yourself, why you? What was it within you that made him cling to you? Was it just a game to him? Maybe it was to humiliate you?

And there it was again. That feeling. That feeling that clutched into you, ripping your skin apart. That feeling that burns your insides, making them feel heavy. That feeling that made you twist and turn mentally. The feeling that made you breath heavy.

You held your body close, tears streaming freely now. You simply couldn't take it anymore. It was all so loud in your head. As if something was banging your head from the inside, slowly scratching your brain until it was bleeding, and now that noise was incarnated in you. His touch wouldn't do it anymore. It didn’t get you out of that space. It didn’t satisfy that lonely heart anymore. It desired more than that. It desired his love, his attention, his devotion to you and you only. If you could you would rip out your aorta by yourself and hand it to him, just so he could kiss it better. You needed him. You wanted him. You desired him and him only.

Ronin spoke up. It didn’t make the feeling stop like before, but it made you share your attention to him.

“What’s the matter, darling?” His voice was rough, raspy and filled with sleep. The slightest hint of worry and curiosity mixed within his words. You didn't believe him. His sudden kindness, his humain posture, his gentle smile.

This isn't Ronin Beaufort.

Not the Ronin Beaufort.

No, it was just some stranger. An imposer to what you didn't need. The pity. What pity do you want from the devil? Truly spoken sarcasm you could call it. And you hated yourself for it. The fact you couldn't trust him being nice. Like you needed his attitude. Like you needed his….hate? No, it wasn't hate. The word you searched for just didn't find itself. It was his…his control you need. When he breaks you so deeply. When he tells you to watch out, to be aware, to be….

“Darling?” The voice snapped you back, this time it wasn't as calm anymore, a sweet sound of impatience ran across it. That is what you wanted to hear.

Ronin Beaufort.

Your eyes fixated on his. They were small, looking sharply at you like the knife's he cut his victims open with. His smile turned slowly into a frown. He couldn't keep up his nice side for much longer than a small timespan and you already overstepped it. But you didn't mind. You wanted him, not them. Those who laugh in your face, cheer you up just to spit on it in the end. It made you realize something.

Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. You didn't think of him here. No. Your mind got it all wrong once again. You think of their words, how they shot you directly in your heart, letting it bleed out. Your screams at night for anything. For hope, for love, for a better life. Their laughter as they stare at you, judge you, hate you. You wished them to be dead. Dead in your head, dead in your life. Oh how much you would sacrifice to the devil for it.

But you didn't need to.

You gave him his proof already. You ended it on your own. You did it. You and you alone killed them.

It wasn't for you. It was for him. For him and him only. The devil, The butcher.

Ronin Beaufort.

You felt his hand tightly in between your neck and your back, scruffing you up like a vet with a cat to paralyze it. It worked a charm on you because there was no movement in your body any longer. Your body was stiff, hanging there like dead meat, your breathing temporarily stopped as he pressed tighter before releasing your skin ever so slightly again. His impatience ran out and you couldn't be happier. Yet, the thought crossed your mind. The thought that made you stand still. The thought that terrorizes you every day since you're the devil's helper. Your mouth was dry, burning even, unable to let out real words. But you needed to share it. Your ideas, your visuals. It's what he asked, no, what he demanded from you. It took a deep breath and all your strength to hit out a single tone. Soon it was followed by a letter, then a word.

“Why?”

It wasn't much. Three letters. One word. But the question was heavy. For Ronin it didn't take long to understand the context of his long awaited response. He remembered when you two got together right in his favorite alley. Him pinning you down, having expected to get stabbed the minute he started getting explicit. Instead you followed the dare, kissing him like the world dependent on it. It's been a week since then and you stayed with him. Stayed in his room, stayed in his clothes, stayed in his mind. Yet it appears to be that even the most messed up ‘normal’ human still gets damaged by the initial thought of staying together and especially close to a psychotic killer. The full question his favorite little helper wanted to ask was ‘Why did you pick me? Why not everyone else?’. He would remain silent every single time. There was nothing to say for him. The most obvious reason already laid there, pouty face, small eyes. But after an entire week all he could let out was a chuckle. It sounded so cocky, sarcastic even, as if you had answered with ‘3’ when he asked you what 1+1 equals to. Humiliation, that’s what it felt like, but you didn’t even know for what. You tried to leave his grasp only for him to tighten it back up, giving you no space to react. Like a dog he chewed tightly onto your body, teeth sinking in. The metaphor worked greatly since you can feel his fingernails practically poking into you, making you almost tear up from the pain. He stared at you with such an intense stare you’d swear he was gonna eat you alive here and now.

"Why not, Darling? You were given an apple, but it was you to bite it. Tasting the forbidden fruit.” (This came from @6feathered6siren6 btw)

His voice was low, filled with an undefined tone. Was it rage or was it reassurance? Love or despise? You were never sure but that’s what you loved in him, needed in him, wanted from him. Your devil, your butcher.

Ronin Beaufort

“I gave you a fucking place, gave you all the love and took you in, you took the devil's hand without any hesitation.”

He wasn't entirely wrong and you get what he was trying to say. Although you were just another human, you still were far from being the same. Who would willingly date a serial killer? Who would willingly stay in his house? Willingly shared his clothes, the same that he had covered in his victims blood? Who willingly ate the devil's meals without a care in the world about what it contained? No one but you. No one but his darling. No one but the devil's little helper. No one but someone as psychotic as you.

He wanted you, because you desired him like no other ever could. You and you only let yourself drop into his arms. Only someone like you trusted him fully. Only you sacrificed everything for him.

It made you feel comfortable, safe even. Every problem you had, just gone, as the devil pulled you back down, holding you against his body. He was warm, reassuring. It was something you missed out the entire time. His behaviour, his reactions, his breath. They were for you. Everything was for you, just like you were everything for him.

After all, he was your devil, your butcher.

Your Ronin Beaufort

Tears clinged onto your face as you held him back, the same way he used to do earlier. He was right, as always. Your hands grabbed his hair, feeling the soft texture. It always surprised you how this man kept his hair so soft with how much blood he tangled in it. Arms shaking so badly as you let yourself drop, practically naked right in front of the devil's eyes. You hated looking weak, it made you look pathetic, but he loved it. He loved when you let go, even if he’d never tell you the truth. It wasn’t the power he loved, it was the trust he had truly desired. His hands caressed your back slowly. No words were needed, he had you right here. Times passed by slowly for him, but he would wait. Wait till the thoughts disappear, wait till you can finally rest. He could feel your breath slowing down, your body slumbing as you started to drift off to sleep. Once he was sure you were fully asleep he leaned his head over, giving you a kiss on your forehead before laying back down, closing his own eyes again.

He loved you. Forever and always.

Ronin Beaufort

#killer chat #killerchat #fanfic #killer chat game #killer chat ronin #x reader #gender neutral reader #ronin beaufort #ronin killer chat #ronin x reader #reader insert

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dashuisofanubis · 9 hours ago

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I was going through some of my old fic drafts and found this one where Sibuna decides that since everyone in the house has a basic level of awareness of the mystery, they're not going to bother hiding it except from Victor/Trudy. Trouble is, Mick is a lot more oblivious than they assumed.

Anyway I'm dying a little so I had to share it

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Sibuna was definitely one of the worst-kept secrets of Anubis House. Sure, it was only the five of them that were active members, but everyone else had either been told (Joy), figured it out (Mara), or walked in on them at some point or other (Jerome). Mick had very definitely checked at least two off the list.

None of them seemed particularly committed to long sleepless nights running round the house, but since they knew, Sibuna figured as long as Victor was out of earshot, they could talk about the mysteries to their hearts content.

Of course, they hadn’t been expecting Mick to show up in the library during their final battle with Rufus and Senkhara. He stood wide-eyed, hardly able to take it all in, then Joy… He knelt down beside her, holding one of her hands while Eddie exorcised Nina.

After the smoke of battle cleared, and Joy was revived, he decided to break the uneasy silence.

“You guys sure know how to LARP, that was hardcore.”

If anything, the silence was even more deafening.

He frowned. "Okay, I mean, that part with Joy was a bit uncalled for, but I did not realise you were that good an actress Mercer! And all the effects and the fact you got Victor to join you-!”

“Mick…” Fabian began cautiously. “You- you do know this was all real, right?”

“…what.”

There was an explosion of sound as everyone started shouting over each other, though it quickly dissolved into hysterical laughter. None of them had the energy to deal with this, but the thought that Mick assumed everything they’d just witnessed, coupled with everything they’d said and done over the past few months, had been an elaborate roleplay was too much.

A few weeks earlier…

Mick stared into his bowl of cheerio’s, wishing they could spell out the answers to today’s physics test. He had revised, but Fabian bailed on their revision session last night to hang out with Nina, so instead Mick spent the evening watching clips from the Olympic Games on his laptop. Which was kind of physics, right? Momentum and angles of movement and…yeah this test wasn’t gonna go his way.

His traitorous roommate entered the room, deep in conversation with Nina and Amber. Mick’s ears pricked up, hoping to catch some insight into today’s test, or a way he could butt in to ask them about it.

“I’m just saying, why do these ghosts keep bothering you with all of their problems? Like, isn’t there ghostly therapy or something?” Amber asked as they sat down.

“I’m not sure Senkhara’s the therapy type.” Nina replied. “Besides, I’m the Chosen One, it’s kind of my deal to deal with this.”

“Really? It said that in the Chosen One handbook?”

Ah, so they were talking about their latest campaign, that made sense. It didn't help him much though

“What if we just found someone with like, the most irrational fear and got them to do the task?” Alfie asked.

Mick was sat at the table, looking over some maths homework. For once he was going to get it finished and handed in early, rather than scribbling some numbers down seconds before the teacher collected it. Or he was, if his housemates weren’t huddled round the coffee table, speaking in what they thought were low tones.

“If that was the case, Patricia would definitely be going in.” Amber laughed.

“Hey!” Patricia exclaimed, elbowing Amber.

“Sorry, I’m just saying. How many feet do you think are going to be in a tunnel?”

“Uhhh in an underground hand-dug tunnel, I’d say the chances are higher than you think.”

Amber conceded, shuddering. “Ugh, don’t make me think about that.”

“Okay so probably not Patricia and Alfie then.” Nina said, grimacing at the odds tipping in her favour.

Patricia turned round to peer over the sofa at the long-suffering maths student. “Hey Mick, what’s your worst fear?”

“Patricia!” Fabian hissed. “What are you doing?”

She shrugged. “Assessing local resources.”

“What?” Mick asked.

“What’s your worst fear?”

“Yeah I heard you, what’s it got to do with anything?”

“We’re trying to work out who has the most irrational fear, so what’s yours?”

Mick frowned. This was definitely a more complicated question than finding the square root of x. Failure, rejection, disappointing his father, there were plenty to choose from.

“Injury.” He decided.

“Injury?”

“Yeah, like a serious injury that means I can’t run or play football anymore. That’d really suck.”

The group considered this. Mick felt like he was on trial for something.

“I mean realistically he shouldn’t get hurt?”

“Yeah but knowing the tunnels? They could just collapse to prove a point. And then our football team would be down their star player!”

“Yeah and Sweetie does not want to lose another trophy this year.”

“Okay, so not Mick then?” Patricia asked.

The others shook their heads unanimously. She turned back to face Mick.

“Good news Mickolas, you’re not suitable for the task!”

“Thanks? I guess?” He replied.

Satisfied, the group turned back to their discussion, leaving Mick with several questions to ponder on. He shrugged. It must be part of their new DnD campaign. He was a little miffed they hadn’t asked him to join in, though he didn’t really go in for all that dice rolling, so he wasn’t surprised.

He helped himself to a piece of fruit and went back to his equations, leaving them to discuss Jerome’s fears.

#house of anubis #mick campbell #i love the idea of sibuna being the worst kept secret and mick somehow still missing all the signs

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johnnyshrine · 2 days ago

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Hello, just wanted to say I'm a huge fan, and your work has inspired me try out making a shrine of my own for a character. Do you have any tips and/or guides on what it takes to start a shrine like yours? Anything helps. Thank you ^^

I am glad I can inspire you! These are the five major tips I have for anyone who wants to start their own shrine. :]

★ FIND YOUR NORTH STAR

// The most crucial component to have a NORTH STAR; a fixed, guiding light you can always call upon, especially when things get difficult and you question why to keep going. Chances are the devoted character is North Star material; perhaps their personality is admirable, or they make you feel warm when you think about them, or maybe you've made a pact to keep on living so you can see the next part of their story release. It could be something else entirely, unrelated to fiction and perhaps taken from lived experiences. Anything can be noble and sacred, so it's up to you to decide your reasons to carry on, but it must mean something important to you personally, and you must be willing to grab it by the horns and sink your teeth into it. You must hunger.

★ CREATE WITH PURPOSE

// It helps to have PURPOSE for your offerings. The purposes can change day to day, but ideally when you make art, at least half of the time you draw there is an attempt to learn something or try something new, even if it's minor. Maybe you want to learn certain anatomy, or want to try out different brushes. Don't be afraid to shake things up or bend rules. I find that with having a daily challenge like this, you have the perfect opportunity to try a whole bunch of things; see what you like and what you don't. Even if you "fail" or don't like the outcome, there's always tomorrow to try again. I find that if I go too long drawing without PURPOSE, I get bored and lost.

★ MEET YOURSELF WHERE YOU'RE AT

// Not every day can be a win, and that's a pill best swallowed early. Some days I just want to sketch a headshot of Johnny looking to the left without thinking at all, and other times I want to plan a fully rendered multi panel comic; both are fine and valid offerings. Do what you can with the time and energy you have, refuse to beat yourself up for anything, because it'll just slow you down.

★ HAVE FUN, BE FREE

// The commitment might not always be easy, but remember this practice is by your choice. Since this is something you do for yourself, first and foremost: it should be fun. If it no longer is fun, something's gotta give. Either switch up how you draw, vent your frustrations, or make extra sure you're taking care of yourself in other life areas.

The way I run my shrine is with maximal levels of freedom; there's no restriction for what works I can make. To some this might be the ideal situation and I'd recommend following suit, some might need more restriction in place to keep the practice grounded. There are no hard rules, except whatever works for you. Impose time limits, restrict your tools, do what works. You might not figure out certain rules or limits until you're 50 days in, even that's fine. Just get started and see what works.

★ AND LASTLY... DO IT FOR YOU

// A shrine might seem like a celebration of a character, an idea, a light, but the real secret is that it's actually a celebration of yourself.

YOU show up every day, YOU create something of someone you love, YOU share it with others. Whether intentional or not, the shrine becomes a diary of daily living, proof that you existed each of these days. The best thing you can do is to follow your heart. Draw what you love, how you love, how you feel. Do everything for you. Love yourself as much as you love the character you're drawing. Become the very light you see in them. 🌟

#asks #My advice is pretty esoteric but hopefully it makes sense!

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drewmoll03 · 2 days ago

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Soo I finally got some time to read this and analyze a bit. I also used/worked with Chatgpt in the second part below to make sure I wasn’t missing anything since I never read these books.

1st thing I researched on was the room number *506* – here’s what I found:

“Angel number 506 provides you with a way out. It's an indicator that you will overcome your current circumstances as such. This is a symbol of balance, transformation, and new beginnings. "

"Angel number 506 means that you have to sacrifice your time and follow the right path as you commit yourself towards a great future. It encourages trusting the journey and maintaining focus, but also avoiding excessive attachment to material possessions."

"Breaking down 506 into its component digits (5, 0, and 6), numerology suggests that 5 represents change, freedom, and adaptability. 0 symbolizes potential and new beginnings, while 6 signifies balance and harmony.”

So obviously there’s a lot to uncover just for this bit, I'm not going to go into great detail…

But obviously the greater journey/right path could connect to her actually surviving and then reuniting with Team family and what not. No idea about the bit mentioning ‘excessive attachment to material possessions’, if someone else does please join the analysis lol.

This number analysis lowkey also connects to what you found in the book. Particularly the Wise Servant finding something better— hence trusting the journey.

2. I have yet to watch S2 of Dead City, but yes the bear parallel to the book seems pretty suspicious to say the least. ALSO! I didn’t know this, but apparently a very commonly used dog name is…. Bear!

3. The Glass Coffin bit of your analysis seems pretty interesting and there is definitely quite a lot of symbolism and parallels in there.. This is what I found about glass coffins: Argues that living in a glass coffin is like zombification; glass coffins were sometimes used for viewing the deceased; A glass coffin can symbolize being trapped or confined, unable to escape a situation or a state of being

Something that came to mind when I read zombification was maybe a cure or something, which is one of the most discussed theories around Beth, being on display and trapped could connect to her being left in the car.. but idk.

4. Also, the horse’s parallels are what intrigued me the most! It’s all so similar like you mentioned, to what happened with Beth, Dawn, and Noah. We also see a horse, a black one, shortly after Beth’s death. When Daryl is in Alexandria and they go out with Aron trying to look for people. “You used to be somebody’s huh? Now you’re just yours”. I’m sure someone already analyzed what that scene might mean. I mean he was obviously thinking about Beth, but yeah.

5. “After that they lived happily to the end of their lives,” (p. 28). A line also closely echoed in ‘The Glass Coffin’.

Sounds similar to something else, too.

“We can live here. We can live here for the rest of our lives.”

Yep that’s just super suspicious, I do not believe it’s a coincidence.

So maybe I’m very much delulu, but I looked up the significance for the number 28..

''This number can represent a journey guided by intuition and the belief that everything works out as it should, even if it's not the expected outcome.''

''Matthew 28 follows the dark events of the crucifixion in the previous chapter and brings Matthew's story of Jesus to a close. An angel descends from heaven and rolls back the stone. The guards faint. The angel tells two women Jesus is risen and then Jesus meets them.''

So that’s what I got so far, now I’ll copy and paste what Chatgpt thought, and some connections it made:

Possession: A Romance” is a *literary mystery novel* about two modern scholars investigating the secret love affair between two fictional Victorian poets. Themes in Possession include:

Hidden love and forbidden relationships

Loss and resurrection (emotionally and metaphorically)

Dual timelines (past/present mirroring each other)

The power of *literature, letters, and artifacts* to reveal truth

Now, here’s how some of these could possibly connect to *Beth Greene* and *Team Delusional*:

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🔗 *Potential Beth Greene & Daryl Dixon Parallels*

1. *Hidden Affection / Unspoken Love*

In Possession, the main romantic relationship is hidden for years and only revealed through letters and clues. Many Bethyl fans argue that Daryl and Beth’s connection was *deep but unspoken* — a slow-building emotional bond that was cut off abruptly, never resolved.

This could parallel the Victorian lovers in Possession whose feelings were strong but separated by time, war, illness — or in Beth’s case, *death?* (or disappearance, per TD theories).

2. *The Search for the Truth*

In Possession, the modern scholars go down a rabbit hole of letters and clues. *Team Delusional* has literally done this — hunting through *editing inconsistencies, interviews, symbolism, lyrics, and more — all in an effort to uncover a hidden truth: *Beth’s fate.

Just like the scholars in the novel, TD is saying: "There’s more to this story."

3. *Themes of Resurrection*

Beth's last scene involves being “lost” or “gone” — but not definitively shown dead (no burial, no aftershock). In Possession, there’s an element of emotional resurrection through discovery — *bringing the past to light. Many TD theories hinge on the idea that Beth could *resurface — through memory, twist, or literal return.

5. *Butterflies and Symbolism*

The novel Possession uses *natural and poetic symbolism* heavily (like flowers, insects, books). Team Delusional is famous for tracking *butterfly imagery, **keys, **clocks, and **songs* used in Beth scenes. Both groups look for *symbolic threads to untangle deeper truths*.

A.S. Byatt’s Possession unfolds as a layered narrative of discovery — At its heart lies the tension between what is seen and what is hidden, between *ephemeral moments of human connection* and the enduring silence that often follows them. This dynamic resonates profoundly when placed against the muted, emotionally charged arc of Beth Greene and her evolving bond with Daryl Dixon in The Walking Dead.

Beth, a character initially framed as fragile and peripheral, grows into someone defined by a quiet resilience. Her journey from despair to self-assurance mirrors, in many ways, the transformation of Byatt’s Christabel LaMotte — a poet who wrestles with voice, identity, and the limitations placed on her by external forces. Much like Christabel, Beth’s development is marked by the internalization of strength: in song, in caregiving, in moments of painful but necessary solitude. She becomes *an emotional anchor* during a time of fragmentation in the group — not through dominance or defiance, but through compassion, clarity, and calm defiance of nihilism.

In Possession, the two poets — Christabel and Randolph Ash — share a bond forged in brief encounters, letters, and the emotional weight of what is left unsaid. Likewise, Beth and Daryl's relationship is sculpted not by overt declarations, but by *subtext*: shared looks, moments of vulnerability, and rare, fleeting laughter in a world bereft of joy. Their connection is arguably the most emotionally intimate of Beth’s narrative — two survivors, each emotionally isolated in distinct ways, finding solace in each other’s presence without fully articulating its meaning.

In both Possession and The Walking Dead, there exists a narrative vacuum: a loss of female voice, a rupture in relational development, and a lingering sense that *absence does not negate impact. Beth’s exit, like Christabel’s disappearance, is not an ending in the traditional sense, but an **interruption* — a pause that invites reflection, reinterpretation, and, perhaps, a reassembly of meaning.

In this way, Beth Greene's arc can be seen not just as a tragic loss, but as a *fragmented narrative*, one that mirrors Byatt’s thematic preoccupation with the lost voices of women, the fragility of human connection, and the enduring hope that what is buried — emotionally or narratively — might yet be brought to light.

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There is quite a lot to uncover lol but yes there's definitely some great symbolism and parallels!

Grimms’ Tales, Team Delusional, A.S. Byatt

Forgive the mistakes, these are my notes for the rabbit hole I fell into.

Beth Greene is Snow White

I was clued into the parallel between the close up frame of Beth’s hand and the gun mirroring Disney’s Snow White’s limp hand and the poisoned apple after diving into Team Delusional (TD) research. A comparison you cannot unsee.

I had a copy of Grimms’ Tales from college, so I decided to read the original fairy tale of ‘Snow White’ (pp. 184-191). Unsurprisingly, tons of Beth symbolism. A huntsman sacrifices a boar, seven dwarves, three attempts on her life by the evil queen, falling down ‘seemingly dead’, and finally being put into a glass coffin only to be resurrected later.

Beth’s body being left in a car = glass coffin.

The glass coffin holds a character that is seemingly dead but not truly deceased. A theme reinforced throughout the flagship show and spinoffs with walkers in cars.

This was all happening while I was rewatching The Walking Dead (TWD), Coda (S5, E8), and I noticed they paused on Beth’s side of the hall before the exchange of hostages, and the room number next to them was clearly visible.

Room 506.

Thinking, what the heck, TD says numbers are important, I flipped my copy of Grimms’ Tales to page 506…

The page is shared between the end of ‘Snow White and Rose Red’ (pp. 501-506), and the beginning of ‘The Wise Servant’ (pp. 506-507), followed directly by ‘The Glass Coffin’ (pp. 507-512).

Well, all righty then. Coincidence. Why would TWD match a room number on screen to a book of fairy tales? 👀

Initial Notes:

Snow White and Rose Red

Snow White and Rose Red are two sisters who live with their mother in a hut. A bear, who is really a cursed prince, comes into their hut and ends up spending his nights by their hearth during the winter. A fire lit by Snow White. She will go on to marry the prince once the curse is broken.

The bear is a big symbol in TD, as far as I am aware, and @twdmusicboxmystery noted in her video about Dead City, S2, E7, how a bear made it’s way into the room with Maggie and Hershel. Then, during the action that followed, a knife was thrown, hitting the bear where Beth was shot. If Beth is Snow White, Maggie is Rose Red. There were more parallels, but I digress.

The Wise Servant

‘The Wise Servant’ is about a man who sends his wise servant, Hans, to find a lost cow. It takes forever—no Hans, no cow, so bossman goes looking for him. I found the dialogue interesting. But then, what really caught my attention, was when Hans said he didn’t look for the cow, and he found something better, “Three blackbirds,” said the servant. “And where are they?” said the master. The wise servant replied: “I see one, I hear one, and I’m chasing the third,” (p. 507).

Three Wise Monkeys reference. See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

Emily Kinney’s three stuffed monkeys tweet during S5 secret filming.

The Glass Coffin

And finally, ‘The Glass Coffin’.

A tailor traveling in the wild finds shelter in an old man’s hut. A commotion between a bull (disguised old man/bad guy) and a stag wake the tailor, the stag kills the bull, then takes the tailor into the wilds, away from the world of men. He is taken to a tall wall of stone with a secret entrance at the base. When opened by the stag, the “flames poured from the doorway, followed by clouds of smoke that hid the stag from view (pp. 508-509).

Inside, the tailor comes upon two glass cases. One holds a castle, surrounded by farmhouses, stables, and barns. The other holds a beautiful maiden.

“She lay as though asleep, her long golden hair wrapped around her like a precious cloak. Her eyes were closed tight but the freshness of her face and a ribbon that moved to and fro as she breathed left no doubt that she was alive,” (p. 509).

The maiden’s eyes open, the tailor opens the case, and she uses words like prison and savior. She tells him her story.

The maiden lived in a castle with her brother. They loved each other so tenderly and were “so much alike in our thoughts and inclinations” (p. 510), they would not marry but stay together.

The maiden is Beth, but it could symbolize Carol, too, depending on the context. For Carol, the brother could then be Daryl, which is one part of my A.S. Byatt link.

A stranger comes along and was treated as a guest by the siblings. Things happen. So. Much. Symbolism. The stranger wants the girl, she says no, the stranger uses magic to turn her brother into a stag during a hunting trip.

Scared for her brother, the maiden rides out with a servant to find him, but the servant’s horse fell and broke its leg (thought immediately of Noah’s leg), and she was forced to leave him behind. She finds the stranger and learns what happened to her brother. The maiden flew into a rage “drew a pistol, and fired it at the monster, but the bullet bounced back from his chest” (p. 511), and into her horse’s head.

This is Beth and Dawn’s final confrontation. Scissors in Dawn’s chest backfired and Beth was shot in the head.

The horses’ fates parallel those of Noah and Beth.

“I fell to the ground, and the stranger mumbled a few words that made me lose consciousness. When I came to, I was in a glass coffin in this underground vault,” (p. 511).

TD’s car and resurrection theory.

With the tailor’s help, the maiden frees her home, her people, and is reunited with her brother. The girl marries the tailor.

A.S. Byatt

A.S. Byatt used Grimms’ ‘The Glass Coffin’ in Possession (1999) and The Djinn in the Nightingale's Eye (1994). These stories have really great imagery. In the old man’s hut there is a great grey dog, in Byatt’s version for example.

In Possession, two of the characters, Randolph Henry Ash and Christabel LaMotte, become intertwined to say the least. Without revealing spoilers, it could be argued that Ash and LaMotte mirror the tailor and the maiden.

In Daryl Dixon: The Book of Carol, S2, who helped Carol? Ash. His name is interesting for several reasons. Maybe Ash, in the part of the tailor, is the outside variable needed for Carol to confront her demons (to set them free so she can move on) and reunite with Daryl, ‘her brother’.

More analysis to come.

Faithful Johannes

‘The Wise Servant’ is not about Snow White but it is bookmarked between two stories related to Snow White. This led me to look up another story in the Grimms’ Tales, ‘Faithful Johannes’ (pp. 22-28). This story expands on the theme in ‘The Wise Servant’. I liked the last sentence. It ends with, “After that they lived happily to the end of their lives,” (p. 28). A line also closely echoed in ‘The Glass Coffin’.

Sounds similar to something else, too.

“We can live here. We can live here for the rest of our lives.”

-Beth Greene

Thank you for taking the time to read my post. Let me know your thoughts on my spiral into madness.

@galadrieljones @twdmusicboxmystery @wdway @frangipanilove @drewmoll03 @bookqueenrules @emsee22

#bethyl #team delusional #td #beth and daryl #beth is alive #beth is coming #beth greene

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gremlinshatephilosophers · 3 months ago

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I’m not gonna get emotionally attached but I did really enjoy watching them play Split Fiction. I am definitely not a gamer but I do appreciate any game that when I watch makes me think “hmmm i wish i could try playing that” (even though I Do Not have the skills to do so). Also it looks very cool.

#rip it takes two #preemptively rip to this as well #in life… never presume a sequel #also was reminded while watching that there is no release date for beyond the spider verse #don’t even wanna get into the book sequels that never happened #so I’m going for zero expectations #there are games from like 2016 I wish they’d bring back as well #look I get why they don’t commit to series #because they are definitely hit or miss #and they do suck if you don’t like a specific game so I get it #but mfs been on that godawful sims they don’t know how to play for ten fucking years #so like surely they could commit to something else too?#(no expectations. definitely none.)#dan and phil #dnp #phan

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kindacreepy-kindaugly · 1 year ago

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haven't been sad like this in a long time

#doll #did i get lovebombed again #it's been ages since he last even tried that w/ me...#but. the more i think abt it the more it makes sense.#the others were suspicious from the start but we couldn't figure out what the ulterior motive could possibly be #cause it was so out of character for him. suddenly wantin to make us more official when he'll usually avoid any trace of actual commitment #i guess he knows i dream about a more....traditional relationship. exclusive for both instead of just one way.#white picket fence etc #so it was easy to spin it into that when rly he just wanted to stake his claim in a more visible way #(not a proposal just a promise ring type of thing on a necklace so i thought it was him tryin to compromise)#so now i just feel stupid cause i bought into all the stuff he said. bout the way he wants this to be forever.#when it rly was just another way to mark me.#i'd be fine w/ it if he just said that's what he wants! he knows i don't mind wearin his name or w/e even though i don't rly get it #but tryin to mask it as smth else that he knows i want but would never ask for cause he doesn't do that stuff #it's not ok #everything he does we deal w/ as it comes but. not the fucking mind games again. he can't/doesn't wanna force me to do things (anymore)#so now he's tryin to trick me into em instead?#i don't feel like i can trust anything he's said now #n if i try to have an actual adult conversation about it he's just gonna talk circles around me til i'm dizzy again #i was rly startin to trust him. i don't understand. what happened?#did i do something? have i been so flaky he feels he needs to do this stuff to keep me in check?#he just told me that he's happy if i even just drop by for a little while but. i'm not sure i believe that now either.#i mean i shoulda realized cause it'd only affect me anyway. i don't think he even mentioned wearing one himself.#i've been so happy ring shopping for days n now i just feel sick. messing w/ consent is a whole Thing for him so #chances are he wanted to keep me content w/ an empty show of commitment while he gets off on what it really means #i shoulda known it was too sudden n came out too easy for him. he never talks about feelings stuff so easily it's always a struggle #i think it's all bc he's afraid of losin me but....i rly thought we were past this stuff. i rly thought i could trust him now.#i'm just rly rly upset n sad n disappointed #spdrvent

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abandoned-as-mustard · 5 months ago

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my latest hyperfixation: armchair diagnosing my peers. oh, you thought you could just exist around me. sorry. here's a nice seat on this round disk, it's totally not a petri dish or anything. can you hear electricity?

#so did you know that being overly 'mysterious' is a masking tactic. guess what he's like when he doesn't know you that well/distancing #and guess what he's like when you get to know him in a closer setting? a quirky weirdo #so i liked the same guy for years and never knew why #it was TOO EASY to adopt his mannerisms and sense of humour #because i thought being a bit weird GOT him friends #post rejection but before my dx he would continue to baffle and frustrate me. and then i realised that we BOTH committed the same faux pas #autism/adhd would explain literally everything i've ever seen him do and why we continue to be so similar #adhd #asd #actually autistic #audhd #i often wonder if it's not just his rejection of me that makes him avoid me. but the unconscious sense that i'm too observant #i mean look at the tags of this post. i can't stop editing them. im obsessed #not so much with a crush as with an endless book of wonders #the same way he could be completely absorbed in one in the middle of a crowded social gathering...#he literally said he 'spirals' at night #hon...#i genuinely have no idea if he knows. if anyone else knows #if you know someone so long you're like 'no that's just how he is' but what if how they were was always like this.#i would say he's hardly the same person he was 8 years ago. he's even weirder. but i theorise it could be either one of two things #1. the mask is coming off from: a) burnout b) now in a situation where he subconsciously knows he doesn't have to mask or #c).... potential dx??? but no surely not. that would be too funny if we got dx at the same time #even his leadership style. he often favoured spontaneity. often let discussion get off topic. but he could accurately pick up the point you #were trying to say #he often stares at things as if he's not seeing them #so you wonder if he's eavesdropping when it could really be either that or being lost in thought #and then the kinds of questions and comments he would come out with. you wondered how THAT got through the filter #not to mention i get the sense that his parents recognise that *i'm* weird as well #and you know what the kicker is. HIS NIECE LINES UP TOY TRAINS AT AGE 2/3 #SOMETHING RUNS THROUGH THAT FAMILY

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alphalesbian · 1 year ago

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Youll just be minding your own business when all of a sudden the inherant intimacy of solo instrumental music is realized upon you. Like youre just supposed to proceed normally after

#that being said the 'ill write an ep' to 'too much songs ill make it an album' pipeline extremely utterly too real. im in too deep #sexy and hilarious of me to be so committed to letting my first Big Serious Personal musical endeavour be such a Big Serious Personal thing #like my plan about it of course will probably keep changing but im like 99% sure of what i will do to a point #a lot of fully complete songs that i love!!!!! and a lot of unfinished projects n ideas recorded snippets things written down !!!!!!!#much to consider as always but the clarity ive been able to have with shaping it and working it has been. welcome #grateful to be attracting such spaces and people to be learning and relearning whats been in front of me lately #grateful to have the space and time i have to do what i do with it and myself #extremely grateful to be inspired in an otherwise negative at best time in my life above all else.#i needed that weird painful clarity to become inspired and know i want to actually do this i guess #as sure as ive ever been and now even just. reinforced not just by the space and the world around me but the people around me as well that:#make music how you want to and music you want to hear and make it at your own pace #i know i need to trust this process in full and honest faith i need to trust it like i have been to even get this far #and then some to make my thing and put it out and keep doing that musically really #of all the facets of my own and the time i have and resources to make things happen i know in my heart of hearts really that i could do it #forever and im a whole force when it comes to it all if i let myself go in it with no inhibition. shedding years and years of these negativ #ities purposefully and exclusively and thoroughly finally leaving some understanding in my soul i can even pridefully say is there #and with enough confidence in myself to know its something i will do forever and want to be a thing i put into the world always #and to do it how i want is.... exciting and the fruits of that labor excite me and i must say i cannot wait to be sharing this with everyon #cant wait to be sharing truly myself like i do with myself with every one i know could appreciate me like i want to be

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enhani-ki · 4 months ago

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fuckboy!ni-ki x reader

warnings : smut, nsfw, cursing, mentions of killing, etc.

read part two

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki likes to lie and waste time.

a game player, smooth talker, and a liar when it suited him.

ni-ki knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted. he'd tell a girl she was the only one, that she was special, that he couldn't stop thinking about her, only to turn around and send the same message to someone else.

when he got what he wanted? he gets bored.

it was always the same: a few weeks, maybe a month if they were lucky, then he'd just start pulling away. no more sweet words, no more playful texts, it's dry responses and distance until they finally took the hint.

girls will cry, get angry, some even tried to plot revenge... but ni-ki? he never felt guilty.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki doesn't believe in love.

he won't date and won't do relationships. he wasn't interested doing those late-night calls or good-morning texts, and the thought of commitment made him want to laugh.

he just likes a little flirting, a little fun, love songs, fucking then moving on before things got too serious.

they liked the chase, thinking they could be the one to change him, and the idea of being the exception.

but there are no exceptions. he'd rather catch a body than catch feelings for somebody he barely knows.

ni-ki was always clear about what he wanted, even if they refused to believe him.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki was impatient.

he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and tight jaw. his fuck buddy is late and he hates waiting. it's not his style to sit around for anyone.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. then, he spotted a familiar silhouette approaching.

finally.

and without hesitation, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the shadows.

"you took your sweet time." he muttered, his lips already brushing against your ear. "i should make you pay for making me wait, don't you think?" then ni-ki started talking dirty.

your body stiffened in his grasp.

ni-ki smirked. he loves it when someone gets shy because of him but something was off.

there's no giggle or eager hands slipping on his body... only silence.

ni-ki pulled back, his eyes locked on your wide, terrified eyes.

you're a face he had never seen before.

"who the fuck are you?!" he blurted out.

"i- i'm sorry!" you stammered, breathing heavily in shock.

ni-ki's mouth opened to say something but before he could, you ran away, you ran so fast that your belongings spilled onto the floor in your rush to escape.

ni-ki cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face.

fuck.

not only he's not gonna have sex but he also accidentally just harassed a complete stranger.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki got mad, completely ghosting and blocked his fuck buddy's number.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki wasn't the type to dwell on things. if he ever made a mistake, he moved on. he's that simple.

but what happened with you? that bothered him.

maybe it was the way your eyes looked at him, it was pure fear, like he was some kind of monster... or maybe it was because he had never been the kind of guy to force himself onto someone.

he's cocky, sure. shameless, absolutely. but he never needed to resort to shit like that and now, he just left a random girl traumatized.

great.

ni-ki took your abandoned things from his bag, staring at them in irritation. he could've just tossed this somewhere and let you deal with it but it's the least he could do, right?

he looked for you everywhere and when he finally spotted you walking down the hall, he didn't hesitate to approach.

"hey."

your body stiffened instantly when you saw him, you gulped and turned, ready to leave.

ni-ki rolled his eyes and reached out, catching your wrist before you could escape. "relax," he sighed. "i'm just here to give you these…"

you hesitated but quickly grabbed your things and muttered, "thanks."

he let go but he's also expecting you to run again and he's not letting you off easily.

his fingers wrapped around your wrist again, "i'm not done..." he said. "why are you in such a hurry?"

"i gotta go…"

"oh, really?" ni-ki scoffed but released his grip. "fine. look, i'm sorry about earlier. i thought you were someone else."

"your girlfriend?"

ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "no, i don't do girlfriends." he teased but it wasn't meant to joke or seduce. "you forgive me?"

you smiled slightly before nodding but then you tilted your head, curious. "...but why would you say something like that to someone who isn't your girlfriend?"

he smirked and leaned in again, so close you could smell his cologne.

"mind your own business, won't you?" he said and walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki found you at his playground.

parties were all the same. loud music, flashing lights, people pressed up against each other like they forgot what personal space was.

ni-ki was used to it, it's his playground.

he's sitting with his friends. there's a smirk on his face while some girl clung to his arm, twirling her hair and giggling at everything he said even though he wasn't even trying to be funny.

"so, ni-ki..." she purred, leaning in close, "when are we getting out of here?"

ni-ki exhaled, he's not in the mood yet and he's ready to give a half-assed answer until his eyes flickered to the entrance where you walked in.

"huh."

you walked in, looking... insanely good wearing a dress that hugged all the right places that it made ni-ki's fuck boy brain short-circuit for a second.

the girl beside him was still talking but he wasn't listening anymore, his interest became completely derailed.

"wait here..." ni-ki muttered, removing the girl's arms off of him without another word.

she sputtered in protest but ni-ki was already gone, slipping through the crowd, with eyes locked on you.

he "accidentally" bumped into you, almost knocking you off balance then his hands instinctively gripped your waist to steady you.

"wow… you're-"

you covered yourself quickly, you crossed your arms over your chest and sent him a glare before he could even think about finishing that sentence

"what do you want?" you asked, unimpressed.

he blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"nothing." he recovered quickly, slipping his hands into his pockets.

you sighed. "have you seen my friend, f/n?"

ni-ki shook his head. "i have no idea who that is," he replied, then quickly added, "i'll help you look."

his hand landed on your shoulder but you instantly shrugged it. ni-ki scoffed at your unfriendly action, "seriously?" he asked, rolling his eyes but followed anyway, trailing beside you like he's trying to find his friend too.

his eyes kept drifting back to you. the way your hips swayed slightly as you walked, the way your hair swung when you turned your head... it was so distracting and ni-ki found himself grinning.

he was enjoying himself, honestly and he wasn't even gonna try to flirt anymore, he was just already thrilled to be by your side.

you stopped in a less crowded part of the house, scanning the room then you were pulling at your dress subtly, adjusting the hem like you're clearly uncomfortable.

ni-ki clicked his tongue "w- why are you wearing that if you're uncomfortable?"

you turned to him sharply, eyes narrowing. "why do you care?!"

"why are you so mad at me?"

"'cause i don't know what you're trying to do."

"i'm not trying do do anything to you!"

you glared at him again, adjusting your dress.

"tch." ni-ki removed his jacket and threw it at your face.

"what the hell-"

ni-ki rolled his eyes, already regretting being nice. "wear that, idiot."

you hesitated.

he sighed and turned away, "do whatever you want."

you slipped the jacket over your shoulders then ni-ki peeked at you from the corner of his eyes where he saw you practically drowning in his jacket. you looked so tiny in it, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

you finally spotted your friend near the drinks table, "f/n!" you called out, relieved.

your friend turned with a smile then her eyes immediately widened when she saw who was standing beside you.

"oh. my. God." she gasped, barely even acknowledging you because she's looking at ni-ki.

ni-ki smirked at her reaction, clearly used to it. "hi. what's up?"

you friend actually looked starstruck for a second before shaking herself out of it.

"why are you with him?" she whisper-yelled at you, leaning in like you just brought home a stray cat but the dangerous kind.

"he just helped me find you." you replied and without another word, you grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the exit.

"bye, ni-ki!" your friend waved at him.

ni-ki chuckled, grinning while watching the two of you rush off.

as soon as you and your friend stepped outside, she immediately started her interrogation with gleaming eyes.

"okay," she breathed, grabbing your shoulders. "do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?!"

you groaned. "it's not what you think!"

she gasped, dramatically covering her mouth. "wait… did you do it?"

you blinked. "what do you mean by it?"

she wiggled her eyebrows and giggled, playfully slapping your arm. "you know what I mean~"

you eyes widened in disgust. "i would never do it with anyone!"

she laughed as you pushed her lightly, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

"okay, okay, i believe you..." she teased. "but still, damn. ni-ki even gave you his jacket?"

she said, snatching the sleeve of the jacket and sniffed it.

you grabbed it back.

she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "it smells expensive… sexy, actually."

you gave her a disgusted look again and tightened the jacket around you, trying to ignore the fact that, yeah, it did smell good.

"don't get so weird about this." you warned.

she only laughed, linking her arm through yours. "now tell me more about you and ni-ki."

"there is no me and ni-ki!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki suddenly wants to prove that he wasn't actually the asshole you thought he was but ended messing it up.

he told himself it was over. he gave back your stuff, apologized (which, honestly, he never did for anyone), even gave you his jacket, and that should've been the end of it.

he tried not to be pushy 'cause he knew better now, but he still found ways to be around you. if he saw you at school, he'd just give a casual nod. if you were in the cafeteria, he'd sit nearby, pretending it was a coincidence. and if you caught him looking, you'd glare and he would quickly look away.

he was used to people chasing him, used to girls who always wants something from him, not someone who wanted nothing to do with him. and when you made it clear, he said "you really think the worst of me, huh?"

you crossed your arms. "can you blame me?"

ni-ki huffed a laugh. "i don't even do shit to you."

but then, you might just be playing hard to get, right?

he smirked, grabbing your phone and held it high.

"ni-ki, i swear- give it back!"

you jumped, reaching for it, but he was way taller. he tilted his head, watching you struggle, and then...

fuck it.

because he's ni-ki, he's reckless, stupid and didn't think things through... he kissed you.

it was quick, barely even a brush of lips.

he pulled back, expecting a reaction, but not the one he got.

your face twisted in disbelief before you hit him.

you smacked his chest repeatedly, pushing him, "what is wrong with you?! that was my first kiss, stupid!"

ni-ki's eyes widened. "wait- what? seriously?"

you fought back your tears, shoving him one last time before storming off. "don't talk to me ever again!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki is doing something completely out of character.

he didn't plan to kiss you. it just happened like some dumb, impulsive thought he acted on before his brain could catch up.

he wanted to reach out but what the hell was he even supposed to say?

"hey, my bad for stealing your first kiss lol?"

"i didn't think it'd be that big of a deal."

"wait, you really never kissed anyone before?"

shit, no. that was all dumb as hell.

for the next few days, ni-ki is not being himself.

he forgot his usual girls, he hadn't even been with anyone ever since he met you.

"dude, what's up with you?" one of his friends asked.

ni-ki just shrugged, flipping his phone in his hands. "nothing."

you were avoiding him like he was some virus. you look the other way when he walked past or really refusing to even glance in his direction.

so, fine. he swallowed his pride and showed up at your house.

you opened the door, immediately frowning when you saw him. "what do you want?"

ni-ki exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry, alright?" he said quickly. "i was being an idiot, i didn't think, and..."

"you're apologizing?"

ni-ki groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "yeah..."

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. "took you long enough."

he sighed, stepping closer. "i didn't know it was your first kiss..."

you rolled your eyes, "whatever."

then ni-ki hugged you.

you gasped, trying to make him let go. "what- what are you doing?!"

ni-ki just chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "saying sorry?"

"by hugging me?!"

"would you rather i kiss you again?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

he laughed again, pulling back slightly to look at your flustered expression.

you scowled. "you're such a pervert."

his smirk returned, teasing. "you liked being hugged though."

you smacked his chest hard. "GO HOME, NI-KI."

he grinned, backing away "but we're good now, right?"

you didn't answer, just slammed the door in his face.

ni-ki chuckled to himself, breathing in relief as he walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki is trying his best to please you... and hold himself back from being a fuck boy.

ni-ki has a serious problem. these days, he found himself doing things that were completely out of character.

like waiting outside your classroom when he swore he was just going to pass by, remembering your usual order at the café near school and handing it to you in front of everyone like it was no big deal, then making sure you got home safe after study sessions.

he wasn't even trying to get anything out of it because for once in his life, he actually wanted to do things the right way. he wanted to get a girlfr- girl friend. a friend that's a girl. that's all.

totally normal. nothing weird.

but it's so frustrating because you weren't even making it easy for him.

you still roll your eyes at him when he tried to be nice. you still gave him unimpressed looks when he offered to carry your things. and the other day, when he casually said you looked cute, you hit him with a deadpan, "what do you want?"

like, damn. he was actually trying here.

then… you'll also do things that completely messed him up.

your cheeks puff out whenever you concentrate, making him desperately want to bite them.

or how we would notice your tits slightly jiggle and move whenever you're running or simply writing. suddenly, he would have to leave the room for fresh air.

when you got mad at him, all fiery and stubborn, he had the worst urge to just shut you up, not in a way that was appropriate for a friend.

ni-ki groaned, running a hand down his face.

his first thought?

"God, i wanna touch."

his second thought?

"i need help."

you left something at school. suddenly, he showed up at your door, handing your things back along with a bottle of your favorite drink.

you looked at him confused, ni-ki rolled his eyes, pushing the bag into your hands.

"you… bought this for me?"

"don't be weird!" he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "just take it."

you stared at him for a long moment before stepping aside. "you wanna come in?"

ni-ki shook his head, he knew himself. he knew that the second he got too comfortable, his usual instincts would kick in... he would start flirting, the way he always found a way to get what he wanted.

instead of smirking and stepping inside like he usually would, he just shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling.

"nah," he said. "i'll just see you tomorrow, okay?"

a small smile formed at your lips. "thanks, ni-ki."

he turned away quickly, waving a hand over his shoulder while his heart raced so fast. "welcome."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki can't figure out if you're just a damsel in distress or actually bossing him around

ni-ki likes to think he's a pretty capable guy. he's used to girls needing him for things... carrying their bags, opening their drinks, giving them rides home. he didn't mind. it boosted his ego.

but every time you asked for his help, he couldn't tell if you were actually helpless or if you're just treating him like some personal assistant.

you handed him your backpack without a word while texting on your phone.

ni-ki blinked. "uh… am i supposed to carry this?"

"yeah." you replied without even looking at him.

"…please?"

you gave him a look. "i could say please, but you're already holding it."

then later you stared at a vending machine like it had personally offended you.

"what, it didn't give you your snack?"

"no..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "it won't take my bill."

ni-ki sighed, pulling out his own money and sliding in a new bill. the machine beeped, and he pressed your selection.

then the snack dropped, you grabbed it, turned on your heel, and walked away.

the way you pouted when you struggled with something, how your brows furrowed in concentration, the tiny pleased smile you gave when things worked out in your favor... it pleased him too.

so when you showed up next to him one day, shaking your phone with an exaggerated sigh, ni-ki already knew what was coming.

"my phone is dead," you said.

he smiled "finally."

you glared, "give me your charger."

ni-ki scoffed in disbelief. "you don't even pretend to be polite anymore!"

you pouted. "please?"

his eye twitched. you're so annoying. cute but mostly annoying.

ni-ki pulled out his charger and handed it to you. "i swear, don't lose it."

"i never lose things." you said, already plugging it in.

"liar." he shook his head. "you lost your AirPods case last week."

you laughed and waved him off. "that was one time."

ni-ki smiled, he felt that stupid warmth creep up his neck again when he heard your laugh.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki asked you to work out with him.

you regret this.

you had never worked out before but when ni-ki said, "come on, i'll go easy on you." you refused to back down.

big mistake.

now, here you are, struggling to breathe properly while ni-ki, just finished another set of weights, stood there looking like some Greek god.

sweat clung to his skin, his black shirt sticking slightly to his toned torso. his hair was pushed back from his forehead and sharp jawline got even more defined.

you gulped.

then he caught you staring. his lips curled into a grin. "like what you see?"

you quickly looked away. "shut up."

he only laughed.

later, back in your room, you are dying.

your muscles ached in places you didn't even know existed. you lay on your bed, groaning while ni-ki sat next to you, arms crossed.

"you're overreacting." he said.

"you tricked me," you accused. "you said you'd go easy."

"i did!" he defended, snickering.

you groaned again, moving slightly only to wince at the soreness in your legs.

ni-ki smiled. "want a massage?"

you looked at him. "you give massages?"

he smirked. "i'm really good with my hands."

you squinted and he laughed. ni-ki began to straddle your back, hands pressing into your tense shoulders.

the moment he started kneading your muscles, your body melted.

"oh… that's so good…" you whispered, voice airy.

ni-ki chuckled. "i am good, huh?"

"ah, ye- yeah, it feels so good." you mumbled, already slipping into a relaxed haze.

ni-ki's hands stilled for a second.

your voice sounded… weirdly suggestive.

he bit back a laugh. he knew you were just tired, but hearing you say that in such a soft, breathy tone? hmm.

he kept massaging, feeling the tension slowly leave your body. it wasn't long before your breathing evened out.

"…did you just fall asleep?" he muttered.

silence.

ni-ki shook his head, you looked so peaceful, face slightly turned to the side, lips were slightly parted.

his eyes trailed to your exposed neck, heart pounding while reaching out to gently brush your hair aside.

and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing soft, featherlight kisses along the curve of your nape up to your neck.

your body reacted on instinct, tilting slightly, like giving him more access.

a soft, sleepy moan escaped your lips.

ni-ki's eyes widened, heart slamming against his ribs.

"…a- are you awake?" he asked.

silence.

panic surged through him. he quickly grabbed the blanket and draped it over you, standing up so fast he nearly tripped.

ni-ki ran home and the second his front door swung open, he stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. his fingers went straight to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging at it while his mind still clouded with you.

the soft moan you let out, the way your body naturally tilted into his touch, the warmth of your skin beneath his lips.

his jaw clenched as he glanced down at his cock, his sweatpants doing a poor job at hiding the evidence of just how badly he was losing control.

ni-ki groaned, balling his fists, fighting the instinct to just take care of it.

he grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

the phone barely rang before a familiar, flirty voice answered.

"hey, ni-"

"how fast can you get here?"

the girl on the other end giggled. "mhm, about 30, 40 minutes-"

click. that's too late.

ni-ki exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed. his hand ran through his hair, feeling the frustration throughout his body. he pulled his sweatpants back up, shaking off the temptation.

and even though he had just worked out, he grabbed another set of weights and dropped to the floor, blasting music at full volume.

push-ups. sit-ups. anything to burn the tension off.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki looked like shit the next day.

you burst out laughing the moment you saw him.

he looked rough. dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, slouched in his chair like he barely made it out of bed.

"what happened to you?" you grinned, poking his arm.

ni-ki groaned, brushing you off. "it's your fault."

"wha- my fault? what did i do?"

he turned his head away, eyes shutting like he couldn't even look at you right now. "just… drop it."

you leaned in, pushing him playfully. "come on, tell meee." you pouted. "fine, then at least let me make it up to you! what can I do?"

ni-ki scoffed, tilting his head back against the chair. "there's nothing you can do."

when class ended and you followed him towards the gym storage room.

"ni-ki!" you called, slipping inside right behind him.

he turned around just as the door slammed shut. the click of the lock echoed through the small space.

"…are you kidding me?" ni-ki muttered.

you tried the handle. locked.

ni-ki groaned, he sat and started rubbing his face. "i really don't have the energy for this right now."

you stepped in front of him, with hands on your hips. "you seriously won't tell me what's wrong?"

and instead of answering, ni-ki suddenly reached out, gripping your waist and pulling you close.

you froze as he rested his head against your stomach, arms wrapped around you.

"just shut up, will you?" he murmured, voice muffled against your shirt.

you brought your hand to his hair, your fingers brushing the strands. you began to comb through them slowly, your touch gentle and rhythmic.

his body relaxed against you, the tension in his grip softening. ni-ki hummed.

you began to smile while playing with his hair, twirling a few strands between your fingers before smoothing them out.

it's sweet... but your legs were starting to ache.

"okay... maybe just a little longer." you thought, shifting your weight slightly to ease the pressure on your feet.

ni-ki didn't move. if anything, his grip on your hips tightened, like a sleepy child clutching a favorite pillow.

your legs began to tremble faintly, you hoped ni-ki would notice.

but nothing, he was like a cat curled up in the perfect sunbeam.

you sighed quietly, glancing down at him. your hands still in his hair as you debated your options. "maybe if i lean a little, he'll..."

ni-ki let out a low hum, his grip loosening just slightly as he shifted his head. for a split second, you thought your prayer had been answered, until he wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you down to his lap.

"ni-ki!" you hissed, barely catching yourself with your hands as you stumble forward.

his eyes cracked open, a sleepy smirk tugging at his lips. "why are you so tense?"

"because you're treating me like a body pillow!"

"you're comfy."

you groaned, glaring at the top of his head. ni-ki added "you should've leave me alone." the smirk of his returned as his arms tightened around you once more.

"you know..." he began, "let's just skip class, you wanna sleep with me?"

your eyes widened, your brain short-circuiting at his words. "wha-what do you mean sleep with you?" you stuttered, leaning back instinctively.

ni-ki flicked your forehead lightly, his smirk growing. "not like that, you idiot." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "i meant just sleeping. me, you, sleeping here. eyes closed. that's it."

you laughed awkwardly. "right..."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki realized that he doesn't want to be your friend.

ni-ki got annoyed the second you started talking about jungwon. he had just introduced him but he noticed the way your eyes stared at his friend.

ni-ki subtly stepped in front of your view, blocking jungwon from your sight.

"hey! move!" you hissed, trying to peer around him.

and instead of budging, ni-ki covered your eyes with his hands.

"what the?!" you immediately grabbed at his wrists, struggling.

he kept his hands firmly in place, waiting until his jungwon hyung was completely out of sight.

and when he finally let go, you blinked, looking around. "where is he?"

ni-ki smirked. "i killed him."

you smacked his arm.

later, he was sitting on his bed while you lounged across from him, "he was really nice," you said, kicking your feet. "and kinda cute too, like a cat don't you think?"

"who do you like better, me or him?"

you blinked, confused. "what kind of question is that?"

"just answer."

"i like you," you said casually. "as my friend."

ni-ki scoffed. maybe he did want to be your friend before but that isn't the case anymore.

"i'm not your friend."

"yes, you are."

ni-ki grabbed your face with both hands, tilting your head up before slamming his lips onto yours, aggressively like he was trying to erase every thought you had of jungwon. "friends don't do this."

rough and desperate, his fingers pressed into your cheeks as he devoured your mouth, refusing to let you breathe while angling your head exactly how he wanted..

you gripped his shoulders, a muffled gasp escaping your lips as he deepened the kiss.

but ni-ki wasn't just kissing you, he was already claiming you.

he groaned against your lips, hands sliding to the back of your neck. holding you in place like he didn't want you slipping away and the second your lips parted slightly, he will deepen the kiss even more, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to ruin you.

and when ni-ki finally pulled away, his lips were already swollen.

"you were saying?" ni-ki muttered, still holding your face.

you stared at him, breathless, lips tingling.

"…huh?"

he smirked, wiping his thumb over your lower lip before leaning in again.

"that's what i thought."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki can't keep his hands off you.

you used to slap his hands away.

his arm over your shoulder? gone.

sneaking his hands around your waist? not happening.

grabbing your wrist to pull you closer? absolutely not.

but after the kiss, you started letting him and ni-ki noticed... of course, he did.

the first time you didn't push him away when he rested an arm around your shoulders, he almost did a double take.

you also didn't immediately escape when he pulled you onto his lap and when he linked his fingers with yours? he was expecting you to smack his hands, but you didn't.

"you're getting too comfortable," you muttered, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

ni-ki only smirked, giving your hand a squeeze.

"you're spoiling me, you know." he murmured against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "if you keep this up, i'll start thinking you actually like me."

you scoffed, pushing his face half-heartedly.

ni-ki chuckled, leaning in like he was about to kiss you again. you froze, expecting the warmth of his lips- but he only brushed his nose against yours.

he pulled back, satisfied at the way you reacted. "see?"

your cheeks burned, frustration bubbling in your chest. you freed yourself from his grip and walked away, annoyed.

ni-ki watched you go with amusement. "where are you going?"

"far away from you."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki ready to be yours.

"go put on a nice dress." ni-ki said over the phone.

you raised a brow. "why?"

he grinned. "because we're going to a restaurant."

you narrowed your eyes. "we are?"

"yeah." replied. "i made a reservation."

you got ready anyway. and when you stepped out in your dress, ni-ki scanned you up and down, "pretty." he murmured, before grabbing your hand and leading you outside.

before you both enter the restaurant, he suddenly intertwined his fingers with yours, "this is a date, okay?" he said, watching your reaction.

you blinked, caught off guard. "a what?"

ni-ki just grinned and dragged you inside.

your eyes widened as you looked around the table. all your favorite foods were there, plated beautifully under the dim, warm lights.

you turned to him, speechless.

ni-ki simply pulled out a chair for you, nodding at the seat.

the dinner was nice. way more than nice. he talked, he listened, and laughed with you.

"is this real? are you actually asking me out?"

"yes," ni-ki said, nodding. "i'm serious."

your chest tightened. you wanted to believe him but a part of you was scared.

what if he change his mind? what if you let yourself fall, only for him to break your heart once you bit into it?

ni-ki noticed your hesitation. he hated that you had to doubt him but he can't also blame why, though he wasn't just playing around.

he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. "just a bit more of your trust, okay?" he whispered against your skin.

you stared at him for a moment before finally leaning in to hug him.

he held you close, his lips curving against your shoulder. "you were mine the first time i kissed you."

you pulled back and laughed, playfully slapping his arm as you remembered how he stole your first kiss.

at his house, ni-ki captured your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. his mouth moved against yours, savoring every moment. he then pressed soft kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

he found that sensitive spot that made you moan, he latched on and sucked harder, relishing the sound of your pleasure.

ni-ki started guiding you towards his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. once inside, he gently laid you down the bed, his body still pressed against yours.

he looked up at you with intense desire in his eyes, he asked breathlessly, "can i?" his eyes flicked down to your heaving chest.

you nodded, granting him permission. ni-ki didn't hesitate, slipping his hands under your shirt to fondle and tease your sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

you arched into his touch, panting softly. he swallowed down your needy moans as he devoured your lips again, his tongue delving deep to clash against yours.

"friends won't do this, right?" ni-ki gasped between heated kisses. he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. his mouth moved, licking and sucking at your bare breasts.

your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against you as he lavished all attention on your tits.

then ni-ki trailed kisses down to your stomach. hooking his fingers in your panties, he groaned at feeling soaked folds. "fuck, you're so wet for me already," he murmured, tracing his finger along your slit.

he buried his face between your thighs and began eating you out with your panties on. the fabric added delicious friction when his mouth sucked the sensitive bud, lapping at your clit.

you cried out, ni-ki removed your panties. the first swipe of his tongue directly on your pussy made you both moan. you taste even better than he imagined.

ni-ki growled. diving in for more like a starving man. his talented mouth had you writhing and gasping within moments.

he couldn't help but picture how tightly your virgin pussy would squeeze his cock when he finally got to slide inside you. he just know he wouldn't last long once he felt your walls gripping him.

his tongue darted in and out of your slick folds, making you to tug on his hair harshly.

ni-ki's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he licked and sucked your clit with sloppy, desperate motions. sounds of your moans and gasps only served to fuel his own growing arousal with every passing second.

but he promised himself he could wait, for now, he was content to focus solely on pleasuring you, determined to make you feel as good as possible.

he sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard, pressing two fingers inside as listened to the squelching sounds of your tight cunt.

you cried out, your back arching off the bed as he pumped them in and out. "ni-ki, i...i think I'm going to...ahhh!" your words dissolved into a wordless moan as he curled his fingers just right.

soon, your thighs clamped around his head as you came, your pussy clenching down on his fingers in rhythm.

ni-ki crawled up your trembling body to capture your lips in a deep kiss. "you taste so good," he murmured against your mouth. "i can't wait to be inside you." he said as he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the thick head of his cock at your wet folds "i'll be gentle, baby."

"tell me if it hurts too much." he added, slowly pushing forward when he felt your walls relaxed slightly.

you let out whimpers and sharp gasps, the sting of pain clouded your eyes with tears. ni-ki paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the new feeling of being filled inside completely.

the sensation of your pussy squeezing him was unlike anything else. he wanted to fuck the shit out of you, claim you so thoroughly that you'd never forget your first time but he loves you so he has to be patient and gentle with your innocent body.

your whimpers and moans filled the room, ni-ki's heart swelled seeing you like this, breathless, desperate... he can't believe that your body is his for the taking.

your cunt began to welcome him inch by inch.

"fuck, you feel amazing." he groaned, fighting the urge to hammer into you wildly.

starting with shallow thrusts, he gradually increased his pace, still mindful of your pain. and as ni-ki doing it deeper, he leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. "you're taking my cock so well..." he praised. "so fucking sexy."

your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head back in bliss, lost to the new pleasure and pressure building inside you. ni-ki felt your walls fluttering around him erratically. "ni-ki, i think- i'm- again..."

he knew you were close.

he increased his pace, deep strokes hitting that special spot inside you with every thrust. his hands gripped your hips enough to bruise as he fucked his dick into you, grunting with the effort of holding himself back from his own release.

and with a strangled cry, you came undone beneath him. ni-ki followed soon after with a moan of your name, pulling out before spilling his cum all over your thighs.

after cleaning up, ni-ki crawled back into bed and pulled you to his chest, kissing your face and neck but you moved and positioned yourself in his hips, where his hardening cock already poking on your sensitive, beaten entrance. "ready again?" he chuckled, wrapping his arms on your waist, his face nuzzling on your neck.

you giggled and sank down on him with a gasp. ni-ki groaned at the slick heat enveloping him again, making love with more confidence this time around.

rounds later, you're all sweaty and tired. ni-ki wondered dazedly if he'd turned his sweet, innocent girl into a sex addict. "you're so good, ni-ki..." you said, kissing him. to ni-ki, you looked like a sex god, your lips kiss-swollen, chest full of hickeys, your hair is a mess...

completely wrecked by him.

he wrapped his arms around your limp form and rolled to the side, careful not to dislodge from where he was still buried inside you.

and you're there thinking about worshipping ni-ki's body for the rest of your life.

"i'm going to fuck you all over again in the shower." he declared with a wicked grin. you answered with a moan that tells him it sounds like the perfect plan.

never knew sex could hit this different when it was out of love.

a/n: this is too long lol! enjoy <3 read part two

similar: Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend & Nishimura Riki as your classmate

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

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blackmesa-vr · 1 year ago

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🥊🏆

#I hate making textposts because it feels like a big statement. A commitment of sorts. And that's not what I'm going for.#I don't expect anything I write to be read and they are not made with that purpose.#I write to let it out. Get it out of me. Make sure it's somewhere so at least I know I won't carry with me until my death.#So‚ with that said‚ I've been thinking a lot lately.#About fighting. About the curse of being the underdog by design. About how that only ever meant I was set up for failure.#In my games. In my ring. It was designed so despite it all‚ I could find a way to win.#Because it otherwise wouldn't be *fair* to the player. Despite the lack of rules. Despite the disparity in power and abilities.#It was still at least slightly *fair*. I always had a way to get close. Had an opening I could exploit.#We were still‚ despite everything‚ playing the same sport.#Smash is not like that. Nothing else is like that.#Only ever in the ring. Only ever in that small part of my life could I manage to be *more*.#It makes me think it was never me that did all that. I never had the capacity to win. I was never given the tools to survive.#I onlh just managed to get lucky with my environment.#There's something about trying your very best‚ working yourself to the bone‚ using every tool you have and all the strength you can muster.#And still be the weakest. I never stood a chance. There's no way the man designed to always be too small and too disadvantaged #could've ever truly pulled through.#Sigh!#At least I'll always be World Champiom. If only for a short while.#🥊🏆#I wonder if anyone else in the roster thinks about it. I wonder if it matters as much to them as it does to me.#Then again‚ most of their lives are not defined by fighting. So. I think my perspecfove may just be skewed.#Do they even know how much I resent them for the tools they were given... For the fact they were allowed to play an easier game than me...#rambling #Joker Persona 5. Hit me up. I have opinions about you you couldn't even begin to imagine.

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libingan · 5 months ago

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—no questions asked.

you’ve always been his, even before the words were ever said—no labels needed when everything else speaks for itself.

i remember candace and jeremy's relationship in phineas and ferb. i liked how jeremy assumed they were already dating and thought to myself "simon riley" so here it is.

it’s always been this way with simon.

the little things you’ve shared, those moments that nobody else gets to see, have slowly built up over time. long drives where the silence is comfortable, quiet moments when you’re wrapped up in a blanket together, his arm draped around your shoulders. you’ve shared soft kisses in the early morning light, whispered words when you think no one’s listening, and occasional touches that linger just a second too long to be deemed innocent. his gruff voice calling you his—just “his,” as if you’re already a part of something bigger, something unspoken.

but the question always lingers in the back of your mind: what are we?

because in your head, you’re not his girlfriend. you never really were. sure, you’ve done couple things—spent hours together, laughed over inside jokes, shared moments that feel like they belong to only the two of you. but whenever you think about it, you can’t quite place a label on what you are. you never had that conversation, the one where he asks you out, where you define what this thing between you is.

and deep down, you’ve always known. maybe it’s not meant to last. maybe simon’s just passing through your life like a storm, wild and unpredictable, leaving you wondering if you’ll ever feel whole again once the dust settles. you’ve never asked for a commitment. it was enough for you to just be close, to keep things easy and fluid, without any promises that might eventually break.

but then, everything changes the moment you decide to confront him.

it’s a quiet night, the kind where the world outside seems to stop, and you’re sitting in the living room, the only sound being the soft hum of the kitchen light. simon’s sprawled across the couch, eyes half-lidded as he scrolls through his phone. you’re sitting on the floor in front of him, leaning your back against the coffee table, and you can’t stop your thoughts from swirling.

the truth has been eating at you for weeks now, months maybe. you have to ask. you need to know if this is really what you want, and more importantly, if it’s what simon wants. so, you let the question slip, unsure of how it’ll come out, but it tumbles from your lips all the same.

“simon,” you begin, your voice quiet but firm, “what are we?”

he doesn’t immediately look up from his phone. it’s as if the question barely registers, but you know he’s heard it. you can feel his attention slowly turning your way, as if his brain needs a second to process the weight of your words.

he puts the phone down, tilting his head slightly to get a better look at you, his gaze soft but intense. he doesn’t say anything at first. instead, his lips curl into a small, knowing smirk.

“what do you mean?” his voice is low, almost like he’s testing the waters.

you swallow, feeling a tightness in your chest, and you try to make your words come out right. “i mean… we do all this stuff, simon. you call me yours, and i… i don’t even know where i stand. we’ve never really talked about what this is. are we… are we dating, or what?”

he blinks at you for a moment, clearly taken aback by your words. it’s almost funny, how much you’ve thought about it, how much you’ve analyzed your every interaction, while simon has likely never questioned it. it’s simple to him. and that’s when it hits you—he’s never even considered that this could be anything other than what it is.

he sighs, a deep, exasperated sound, and leans back into the couch, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes lock onto yours, unwavering. “what are you on about, woman? you’re my girlfriend.”

the words hang in the air, and for a moment, you can’t quite process them. you blink, unsure if you’ve heard him right. it almost sounds like he’s stating a fact, like it’s something as simple as breathing. his voice is firm, unwavering, as if this was always meant to be the case.

you feel your breath catch, the weight of his words sinking in, and then—just like that—all your worries melt away. you don’t even know why you were so worried in the first place. the uncertainty, the anxiety, it all seems so silly now. you’re not sure whether to laugh or roll your eyes at the absurdity of it all. simon is, as always, so simon about it. there’s no drama, no overthinking, no need for big conversations or declarations.

you’re his. you’re his girlfriend. and there’s no debate.

the relief hits first, followed closely by a mix of amusement and a small flash of annoyance. you try to hold back the grin tugging at your lips. “wait... just like that? no question, no ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ just… you’re my girlfriend?”

he meets your gaze, nonchalant, and shrugs. “that’s right. you’re mine. no need for any of that nonsense. i’ve already decided.”

you stare at him, feeling a warmth spread through you that has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. it’s the way he speaks, like he’s already certain, already claimed you. and it feels… good. reassuring, even. but also, just a little bit frustrating. because, honestly, how do you even argue with that?

“god, you’re impossible,” you mutter, a grin breaking through as you roll your eyes. “seriously. you’re so damn sure about everything.”

he just smirks back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “you should be glad i am, sweetheart. now, come here.”

he pats his lap, and before you can protest, you’re already moving toward him, the tension from moments before completely gone. his arms pull you close, and you settle against him, feeling his familiar warmth. you don’t even need the words anymore. somehow, just being with him like this is enough.

and that, you realize, is exactly what simon’s always known.

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod mw2 #cod #cod mwii #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader fluff #cod fluff #simon riley x reader

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it-was-summer · 1 month ago

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Busy Woman

A/N: I do not wanna see ANY Minors in this bitch. Seriously. Like you'll get it when you get older I promise. This worm has been wiggling around in my brain for MONTHS. Things have been so busy that it's been a real struggle trying to write. I really hope you all like my excuse to write porn. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the border/dividers used. Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @alsofoundinpeas and practically the WHOLE discord server for letting me send this google docs to you and yapping with me about logistics (positions at one point I'm sure). Enjoy!

Link to the AO3: Busy Woman -> Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Smut with plot. Reader is a maneater, some she/her pronouns at one point or another, PinV sex yall, wrap it up!!!! condoms my beloved (they are not used here, reader and the team go out drinking, spencer reid yapping, reader is a dommy mommy idc Spencer Reid would have a mommy kink, he’s a whiner, SUB SUB SUB SUB Spencer, nothing too crazy sexually (in my eyes), i forget something else this is porn, no creampie for you!!! (I know... i know..).

Genre: Smut w/ Plot. Pairing: ManeaterBAUFem!Reader x Season4!SpencerReid

Plot: After spending countless months watching you break men's hearts, Spencer is surprised when you call a sudden dating hiatus. Amid your 'break,' you confide in your lanky coworker how much you miss certain physical intimacies. Spencer is quick to offer a solution.

Word count: 11,827

A man-eater… by definition, is a woman who uses men to have a series of sexual relationships but does not love the men. The thought of being one of those men has been lingering in the back of Spencer’s mind for the past eight months.

He knows, of course, that you’re more nuanced than that feeble definition. The team never misses the opportunity to tease you; your dating habits are an ongoing joke and mystery within the bureau. Derek often jokes that the two of you are peas in a pod, which, in turn, makes you respond that he’s the one with commitment issues, not you. You insist that you’re just picky.

You’d give any guy a chance until they disappoint you, and then you’re gone. You knew what you wanted from them, and if they couldn’t fulfill those ‘duties’ (as Emily jokingly puts it), then it wasn’t worth it. Spencer hates to admit it —to you or anyone else— but he loves how you detach from them.

He likes how you lure them in with honey and how they drop like flies at your feet— that trap of yours working effortlessly. It feels strangely voyeuristic, which makes him feel like a creep, but he swears it isn’t like that. If he could describe it better, he’d say it was more like a form of admiration. He likes that you know what you want out of your relationships. The way you don’t stick around and accept bad behavior. It’s exceptional and incredibly intimidating. Maybe femme fatale would be a better title, though he doubts you’ve ever destroyed a man’s life, as that definition suggests. Distress? Most definitely.

His eyes are glued to you now as you brush a stray hair behind your ear, how your brows knit together when you’re concentrating, watching as your left hand plays with the chain of your necklace. Tearing his eyes away from you, he focuses on the map on his desk, circling the location of the recent body discovered earlier that morning. JJ leans over his right shoulder, her blue eyes looking at the work-in-progress geographical profile with silent intrigue.

She leans away from him, folding her arms across her chest, getting lost in thought until her gaze lands on you. You were so focused a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking at one of the officers across the station. He was young, about the same age as Spencer, if she had to guess. His uniform is a little loose on him, the material around his arms droops, and his shirt hangs off his body in a way that makes it obvious he’s wearing a size too big for him.

She watches with you as he tucks it into his pants nervously, his fingers adjusting his collar as he mutters something under his breath. He’s handsome, boyish, with decently styled brunette hair. His dimples pop when he gives one of his fellow officers a slight grin— just your average prey. “Don’t give him that look.”

Your eyes are on her in seconds, and she holds back a laugh when she sees your offended expression. “What look?” You sound shocked, glancing at the young officer. “I was just people-watching.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hunting.” JJ counters as Emily walks in with a coffee in hand.

“Oh? She’s on the prowl away from home? Down girl, down!”

You frown, eyes narrowed as you look between the two women taunting you. “I’m not a dog. A girl can’t make an observation anymore?”

Emily shakes her head as she pulls her coffee cup away from her lips, “Not when the girl is you.”

Your frown deepens, looking at Spencer with a look that silently pleads for help. He can never resist that look— it’s one he knows well. He looks over his shoulder at JJ and gives her a light pout, “I don’t think that’s a fair assumption of her character.”

JJ’s eyes shine with amusement. This is how the dance usually went. You’d be selecting some poor gentleman as your next meal, they’d tease you about it, and then Spencer would come rushing in to protect your honor— assuming you had any, to begin with. “Spencer the Valiant enters into the arena, ladies and gentlemen.” Her hand comes up to playfully ruffle his hair.

Spencer fails to dodge her efforts. “Don’t,” he grumbles as he swats at her hand as it touches his already messy curls. “Do that.” He can never catch a break when it comes to being teased by the team.

You grin, watching Spencer flatten out his hair carefully, rearranging it until it’s slightly neat and wavy. You silently motion to him that part of his hair is still sticking up and watch as he blindly tries to fix it. Watching him struggle with his hair, you break the usual respect you show for his personal space, leaning over and smoothing down the cowlick with a soft chuckle.

His cheeks are red, watching you lean away from him, his gaze awkwardly avoiding yours. “Besides,” You begin, looking at the young officer with a charming smile. “You and Will make it work, don’t you?” You ask, talking to JJ without looking at her.

JJ scoffs a little, watching as the young officer looks up from his desk and across the station— he won’t last. You give him a little wave and flirty smile combo before looking at JJ. “Don’t even think about it,” JJ warns, but you technically don’t have to do anything. You shrug a little, looking down at the evidence pile on your desk.

Not while the young officer stands up, smoothing out his too-big uniform and taking large strides over to you. You don’t have to look to know he’s coming. JJ shakes her head with Emily when he arrives at your side. When he clears his throat, you don’t look up from your task, twirling a pen around your fingers.

The way you look up with gentle doe eyes and a polite smile on your lips as you turn to face him has Emily holding back a giggle. You blink a little, eyes reading the name tag on his uniform— David Miller. “Can we help you with something, Mister…” You trail off, acting as though you hadn’t just read his name tag.

“Miller and I don’t need help from all of you, maybe just you.” His voice is slightly deeper than you expected, and he sounds confident— which is fine— you just thought he’d be the shy type.

You let out a soft ‘ah,’ nodding slowly like the idea just occurred to you. “Well, as sweet as that is,” you don’t even let the poor guy officially ask you out. You just openly assume. “I’m afraid we’re all swamped working on this case— myself included.” You watch his broad shoulders slump slightly— the action doesn’t even last a full second— and you sigh like you’re contemplating something. “But maybe we could get a coffee in the break room?”

His demeanor brightens, eyebrows raising as he asks, “Now?”

You shrug, looking at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes.” Standing, you brush off your jeans, as if this sudden coffee date weighs heavily on you. “You coming?” As you walk towards the breakroom, the question hangs in the air, and you don’t even bother looking back to see if he’s following you.

Three days later, Spencer watches you frown at David. Words can not describe how much he hates David. Well, many words could describe how much he dislikes David, but Spencer Reid is not a man to spit petty remarks at a man undeserving of them (though some may disagree). In truth, he only dislikes David because he envies him a little… he’s lying to himself. Spencer Reid envies that man with an intensity that rivals forest fires.

Spencer watches as David’s lips form words he cannot hear— words he’s sure you know all too well— Stay. He watches as you give David a small, sympathetic smile. His gaze lingers on your plump lips as you lean in to press a chaste kiss to another man’s lips, and he can imagine the sticky, sweet tone of your voice as you tell him that you have to leave.

Once you’re in the backseat, you relax your shoulders with a huff. Derek shakes his head at you in the front seat, staying quiet as the black SUV drives off towards the airport in this small Maryland town. Spencer knows that he should stop watching you, but it’s like he’s bewitched.

Your lip gloss is a faint pink— messy. You probably left some of David’s lips. Spencer wonders if it has a taste; he’s seen you use a cherry lip balm a handful of times. He can imagine kissing you, slow and sweet to start, if he had the time, getting hungrier and hungrier with each press of your lips on his. He wonders if you’d let him drag his tongue on your bottom lip and let him get a taste of cherries and skin. Could he pull on that full bottom lip with his teeth– “Spencer!”

He blinks, hazel eyes focus on yours. You chuckle, airy and slightly concerned, “Are you okay? You’re staring.”

Derek barks out a laugh from the driver’s seat, “When isn’t he?”

Spencer shakes his head, mainly at Derek’s idea of a joke, but also because he doesn’t want you to think something is wrong with him. His smile is unconvincing and quick: “I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Just thinking about you and David. H-He seems nice.”

You shrug, hair falling into your face, “I guess he’s nice, yeah.” Then you lift a hand, waving the idea off like it’s bothersome. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”

Derek groans out, “Surprise, surprise.”

Spencer manages to keep the smile off his face, but his voice gives him away: “Why not?” he sounds elated.

You move with your hands, throwing them up before letting them rest on your outer thighs, slumping a little in the seat. Your eyes search the car’s floor, as if it’ll help you find a good enough answer. Why not? He’s not what you envisioned in a romantic partner. He wasn’t gentle, well-spoken, or even stimulating.

He seemed like a good conversationalist during that ten-minute coffee break, but he kept pushing for a late dinner with you. When you finally relented, you found he lacked any real substance. He was… dull, hot, but bland. He didn’t have strong beliefs like you, lacked wit, and seemed entitled.

Sure, you could have let him take you home and given him something to remember you by. But, considering how dull he was over dinner, you doubted he could impress you in the bedroom. Why go looking for disappointment?

You force a small smile, gentle eyes leaving the SUV’s flooring to look at Spencer. “Didn’t pass the benchmark, I’m afraid.” It’s meant to be a joke, but your delivery is slightly off. You sound somewhat saddened by the fact, and Spencer debates asking you what’s wrong. However, discussing your dating life is not his strong suit. Instead, he simply delivers a curt nod, lips drawn into a tight line as the car falls silent on the way to the tarmac.

A week later, it’s one of those rare days when the BAU team stays in DC. Indeed, this week is a way to make up for lost time. Spencer has heard about two coffee dates, one dinner date, and how you’re going on a lunch date this upcoming Saturday. Not that you’re telling him necessarily; he tries his hardest not to ask about your dating habits out of fear that you’ll eventually catch on to his hopeless crush on you and break his heart before he’s mentally prepared for such a tragedy.

No, he hears about your escapades from Penelope, Emily, or JJ. Mostly in passing gossip sessions, he hears when he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He’s not the biggest fan of gossip, especially when said gossip is about a coworker, but he can’t stop listening when it’s about you.

The second he hears your name leave one of their lips, he pours his coffee a little slower in the break room or takes smaller bites of his lunch. He even held the elevator doors for the group of women on a handful of occasions so he could silently listen in. Morgan says he’s whipped (and after Spencer gets clarification on what that terminology entails, he nervously disagrees).

He’s just a naturally curious person. His high IQ can be blamed here— you’re a constant question on his mind. He cannot solve you, and every time he thinks he’s close, you switch it up on him.

Penelope is trying to be discreet—genuinely— she’s walking at a normal pace, a rested smile on her face, and the feathered flower pinned into her blonde curls shakes slightly as she approaches Emily’s desk. Her eyes look towards your desk, glad to find you lost in conversation with Anderson. Spencer watches her anyway.

Emily’s eyebrows raise as Penelope leans down and whispers something into the small space between them, which is effective because Spencer can’t hear anything (much to his dismay). Emily reels her head back, shocked as she mutters in disbelief, “No way.”

Penelope beams, nodding quickly and letting out a drawn-out “Mhm!”

Spencer wonders if it has anything to do with Anderson. Could they be alluding to the two of you getting together? Spencer would feel nervous about the idea, but you never dated coworkers. Besides, Anderson didn’t have that boyish charm you so adore. Spencer thinks he can mark him as safe.

But what else could it be? He’s trying his hardest not to stare at Penelope and Emily as they whisper to each other a few feet away, his eyes darting around the case file in his hands as his mind runs away with him. His gaze occasionally flits over to your desk, taking note of that polite smile you’re sporting. Yeah, you’re definitely not into Anderson.

Something work-related? No, that sounds ridiculous the second he thinks it. He blinks, forcing himself to set down the case file and mull over all the probabilities. He feels like it’s too obvious to be a date. You go on those all the time. And he doubts it's a second date update because those never end well for you. However, there is a slight chance that this time, it did.

He’s still in the process of analyzing every bit of information related to you when he hears an open laugh from Penelope as she follows Emily over to your desk. Anderson is nowhere to be seen as you settle back into your desk chair, barely looking up when Emily asks, “You’re taking a break from dating?”

“Derek is such a gossip.”

“Don’t blame him, he can’t resist me.” Penelope sighs out.

Emily dismisses the comment with a slight wave, “For how long?”

You shrug, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I don’t know. Until I feel like talking to a man again?”

“Oh my god, an indefinite hiatus!”

You chuckle a little, “Why do you care so much?” You couldn’t imagine your dating life being that interesting. Then again, you have dated some questionable people.

Penelope gasps, hands reaching her chest, “Why do we care? You’re the only thing that saves us from boredom. You’re water in this gossip dessert. Don’t let us dehydrate, please, please.” Her palms press together as she begs you.

A strange laugh escapes you, your shoulders shaking as you giggle. “Listen, I really need—” You gently swat at Penelope’s still clasped hands, “I need a break from all the disingenuous compliments and ploys to get into my pants—” you scoff. Spencer’s heart stutters in his chest; he’s empathetic towards your feelings. He wants what’s best for you, of course (that and this could be his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you be wholly unattached, his chance). “I need to be alone and work on some things before I date again, simple as that.” Well, so much for his chance.

“She’s so wise.” Emily turns to Penelope, her tone mocking. “Isn’t she so wise?”

“Oh, on par with Buddha.”

Your eyes shine with amusement, though you keep your tone serious, “Yes, laugh at me all you want for being a healthy person.”

Two months later, your hiatus is still going strong. Spencer has not seen or heard of any flirty endeavors surrounding you, much to the other’s dismay. It’s true in a way, gossip is drier during your dry spell. There’s been no mention of terrible dates nor any mention of bad kisses on first dates, or worse, lousy lays.

Spencer has never had any issues talking to you, but lately, he’s noticed you’re prone to daydreaming. You’ll stare off sometimes during a lull or mutter to yourself in the breakroom. He wants to ask how you're feeling amidst your break from dating, but it feels like such an intimate topic that he’s hesitant to approach it.

So now, he’s watching you watch Emily flirt with some stranger at the bar. This week has been grueling, with case after case. It never gets easier, but moments like these—the whole team spending time together—make it less painful at the end of the day. Spencer’s nursing his whiskey, always a slow drinker, but his attentions are on you as you roll the straw of your mojito between your fingers.

Eventually, after a quick sip of whisky, he gains the courage to ask, “Everything alright?”

You jump at the sound of his voice beside you, but you still smile at him when you turn to look at him. You open your mouth for a moment, then close it again, then open it again, “Yes.” You say in a strange voice— a twisted mixture of confident and drained.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, his expression letting you know that he doesn’t truly believe you. You laugh a little at that look of disbelief before your shoulders slump, and you mutter a soft, “I sort of miss dating.”

“Sort of?” It's more confident, more teasing than he’d like, but it just slips out of him. His cheeks are tinted the prettiest shade of pink, and you try your hardest not to stare at him.

Your eyes shift to the drink in your hands, fingers leaving the straw as you elaborate on the topic. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would miss the flirty conversations or feeling wanted.” You trail off for a moment, eyes not meeting his for a moment. “Does that make me sound,” Your eyes finally reach his, “Conceited?” Your gaze is so full of worry that he has to stop himself from shouting his answer upon impact.

Instead, he swallows down a shocked breath, shaking his head. “No! No, you’re not conceited. That’s normal, considering all the attention you…well, attract.”

“Great,” You murmur, frowning. “You think that I’m some shameless, attention-seeking seductress,” gazing downcast at your mojito.

Spencer laughs nervously, “What?” He can’t deny that the seductress part might be true— you could seduce a saint, he’s sure. “I think a lot of things about you when I think about you, but shameless, attention-seeking seductress is not one of them.”

He’s melting at the look you give him. Head slightly bowed, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, full lips in a slight pout. “Really?”

“Really.” He squeaks, much to your delight— the alcohol is messing with your head.

You sit a little straighter at that, sighing, “So, what do you think about when you think about me?” You ask, teasing Spencer wasn’t something you did often. The team teases him so much that you feel bad joining in. But you can’t help yourself, not when he’s looking at you with his gorgeous, honey eyes. All wide and deer-like, fuck, he’s pretty.

You would feel bad for thinking about your coworker like this, but in the dim lighting of this bar, you find that you don’t mind. Truth be told, if Spencer Reid weren’t your coworker, you would have worked some charms on him a long time ago. He was so pretty, so receptive to new ideas, a genius, a man of his word. God, he was so sincere. Why is that such a turn-on?

You drag your tongue along your bottom lip, lost in thought, a movement not lost on Spencer as he can’t seem to take his eyes off your lips. His mouth is dry, and his voice is caught in his throat as he stammers out a gentle, “What–” he clears his throat, trying to stop his voice from sounding so high, “What do I think about?”

That slow smile makes his heartbeat skip a beat, he’s seen that smile before, and he’s screwed if you decide to do anything more than teasing him. “Yeah, you said you think lots of things when you think about me. I’m curious.”

“Well, I, uhm,” He swallows, his tongue feels like sandpaper. His eyes shift down to his whiskey, his gaze shifting between you, his drink, and the table. “ I think you’re kind. You’re always willing to help a friend, like when you made all those meals for Penelope after she got shot.” Your expression softens at that, your teasing smile melting into something warmer. He takes this as a sign to keep going, “You’re considerate. I think you could make Hotch smile, I’m sure you have, all because of your sense of humor. You rarely judge people; you’ve never judged me. You’re empathetic, seeing you connect with people so easily, it’s— you have this gift for shifting your perspective, and I—”

“Spencer,” You cut him off with a gentle touch of your hand on his. You’re quiet for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for some kind of sign of deception, but finding none. Your gaze warms him to his core, melting away anything cold residing within him. “Thank you.”

He lets out a soft stammer of confusion, about to ask you why you’re thanking him, but instead, he regains some of his composure and nods. “Anytime.” He hates how cold his hand feels when your fingers leave his skin. Everything about you is so warm: your smile, your laugh, your touch— and against all reason— he’s sure he could survive frigid winters as long as he spends them by your side.

An hour later, you’ve ditched the idea of feeling sorry for yourself. You were seemingly determined to make your own fun. And you were. Penelope had bought a second round of drinks, and you chose something a little stronger than the mojito from before, and drank it fast. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but it did give you a slight buzz, feeling looser now as you spun around the dance floor with Penelope.

Penelope’s sure that your voice will be gone from how loud you’re singing to the song the DJ just started playing, laughing harder as you place a finger to her lips, grab hold of both of her shoulders, and dance to the beat.

Spencer isn’t a dancer, well, he can slow dance, but he doubts he could keep up with you right now. So, he lingers on the sidelines of the bar. He —like many of the men at this bar— can’t take his eyes off of you as you spin around in a sloppy circle. The way you move your hips in a circle has his head cocking to the side, focusing on the slope of your lower—

A chuckle can be heard beside him, making Spencer stand up straight, turning to look at Derek. Derek, who has the biggest grin on his face, is shaking his finger at Spencer. Spencer rears back his head, giving his friend an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing.” Okay, so he’s lying. Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, acting aloof as Spencer stares him down. Derek, however, has his attention on you and Penelope. “You know,” there it is, “She’s gonna need someone to walk her home.”

“Who?” For a genius, Spencer can be incredibly dense at times.

Derek sends a deadpanned look his way, eyebrows raising, waiting for Spencer to catch on. Spencer blinks, his brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to what Derek is saying. Derek groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down his face.

He then points over to you, Spencer’s gaze following his finger. “Ms. Vixen, Pretty Girl, the Man-eater of the BAU, the temptress of the —” Spencer holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“I get it, okay?” Even though he knows that Derek’s joking, Spencer’s tone still comes out clipped. He forces his shoulders to relax.

“She’s going to need someone to walk her home,” Derek says in a calmer tone, his shoulders shrugging slightly.

Spencer stammers, flustered with the idea of walking you home. To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wouldn’t let it. His imagination runs wild when it comes to you, and he daydreams about the oddest things— the taste of your skin, his palm on your lower back. “Didn’t she come with you and Penelope?”

Derek clicks his tongue, “Nope, she lives two blocks over, walked here.”

“Oh,” He responds lamely, his arms crossing over his chest. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thinking it over. He had his whiskey over an hour ago and had been nursing a water, but it didn’t matter much, considering he, too, walked here. “Well, I mean, I can’t assume, wouldn’t it be rude to think she’d,” He bounces around before he drops his arms at his sides. “You think she‘d say yes?”

“What makes you think she’d say no?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer tries to think of a good reason as to why he’s worried you’d turn him down, but finds nothing but his own insecurities. He knows that you’re kind; he knows if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t. Spencer finds that very reassuring. “Just don’t want her to think I’m weird.”

Derek barks out a sharp laugh as if he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer wants to ask why, but Derek looks away from him before he gets the chance. Spencer steals a glance over to the dance floor, watching as Penelope and you giggle yourselves away from the crowd.

Your pupils are dilated, and Spencer is sure that if he pressed a hand to your cheek, your skin would be warm, either from the alcohol or light giggles still leaving your lips. He feels his lips twitch upwards at the sound of them, broken up with soft gasps of air as you and Penelope hold onto each other in front of them. His heart clenches in his chest as he hears your giggles die away, and your gaze meets his. He wishes he could keep you this giddy all the time.

Your face relaxes into a gentle smile, and you let out a slow sigh. “Hi,” you motioned between Derek and Spencer with a wave of your hand. “What are we talking about?”

Derek cuts Spencer off before he has the chance to embarrass himself. “We were actually discussing leaving,” Derek says, much to Penelope’s dismay.

She’s frowning, and Derek knows he can’t tell the blonde his plan to get these two together, not yet, anyway. Spencer’s pining is evident to anyone with eyes, and you aren’t exactly smooth either, always choosing men who look strikingly similar to your lanky coworker.

“It is getting pretty late,” You mutter, sobering up a little at the idea of walking yourself home at this late hour.

Worry must be written across your face because Spencer is softly clearing his throat. “I can walk you home,” he offers in a soft voice. You don’t even question how he knew that you walked here. Instead, you can feel your cheeks flush. The idea is tempting, but it feels somewhat… intimate.

“That’s okay,” You begin, “You don’t have to go out of your way–”

“I don’t mind!” He’s leaning into you, nodding his head slowly. “I’d sleep better knowing you got home safe.”

A little tiny voice inside of you is shrieking with delight at that, but you answer him in a reasonably calm voice. “Well,” you tsk, “if it’ll help you sleep better.” Your tone is flirtier than you’d like it to be. You’ll be the first to admit it: It’s hard controlling yourself around him, and being dehydrated and tipsy isn’t helping. “Let me grab my things.”

Spencer is nodding, discarding his plastic cup of water and ensuring he has everything on his person before he looks at Derek, who has very clearly filled Penelope in by now in fast whispers. Derek gently taps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Breathe. You’re just walking her home. Remember, you’re already friends with her. She won’t bite… hopefully.”

Spencer prepares to shoot back that he doesn’t need the pep talk because nothing is going to happen, but his mouth snaps shut as you materialize by Penelope’s side. “Ready?” You rock back and forth on your heels, eyes shining.

Spencer’s brows raise, smiling nervously as he hums a shaky-sounding, “Mhm.”

The night air smells fresh and clean with the promise of summer, warm and refreshing. You dragged in a slow inhale through the nose and hummed. A cool breeze brushed over your shoulders for a moment, and you felt awake again, your slight from earlier replaced with a second wind of energy. You glance over at Spencer, who is still holding the bar’s exit door for Penelope and Derek.

He doesn’t look bored or annoyed by the task, and though it’s the tiniest act of kindness, it makes you smile. You hug Penelope, tight and secure around her middle, muttering gentle goodbyes to her in a playful tone. Derek laughs when you bid him farewell in the same style, pulling away from the hug, smiling widely, and shaking his head. He then points at Spencer, “Stay safe,” his gaze moving to you. “Both of you.”

You wave his worries off, nodding, “Dr. Reid, lead the way.”

Spencer lets out a tiny scoff, waving his friends goodbye before doing exactly as you say. You seem incredibly awake, despite the last hour. His eyes are so focused on you as the two of you begin the short walk back to your respective apartments that he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk, not even ten minutes in, and he’s already making a fool of himself.

You pause your movements, hands raising in the air as if you’re preparing to catch him, “Everything okay?” Your tone gives away your amusement.

He nods, “Yeah, yes, just distracted.”

“How out of character for you.” You tease lightly, sighing out as you lower your hands. You let out a soft hum, thinking about a tune they played at the bar, when you see two bodies pressed up against a wall in the not-so-far distance.

Your shoulders feel tense as you try your hardest not to stare at the couple as they kiss, soft sighs and moans of pleasure leaving one lover’s lips as you force your eyes straight ahead. Spencer, however, is staring. His eyes don’t stay on the couple long as he hears a frustrated sounding exhale from you.

His lips quirk up when he sees you walking with a rigid posture. “Does PDA bother you?” He asks curiously, keeping his voice low as he passes the couple to his right.

You shake your head, cheeks feeling warm at the sound of his voice. “What? No. I just,” You pause, unsure about how much you should be sharing with him anyway. Would he want to hear about how much you missed it, dating, kissing, sex, the touch of someone’s hand in your hair? Your eyes nervously glance at him, then the sidewalk, a soft laugh leaving you. “It’s going to sound so pathetic.”

Spencer finds that highly unlikely, “Try me.”

You bite your lower lip, considering it for a moment. It had only been two months, how could you be so… needy? You can feel the edges of your ears grow warm as the night air— you were so pathetic. How could someone become so touch-starved in such a short amount of time? How could you tell that to him? Then again, Spencer Reid was not quick to judge… though maybe he would be if he knew what you were thinking about right now.

You're slow to smile, and your face looks a little shy and awkward. You speak in a hushed tone, “I think I miss it.”

“Kissing?”

“No, I mean yes, but more than kissing. Touching, heavy-petting, dates,” You dare not glance at him, “Sex.” You can’t stop yourself now, the words leaving you against your will. “I’ve just been stressed, irritable lately, and I think sex… took my mind off things.”

Spencer’s throat fills with cotton, and he tries to swallow normally, going shockingly quiet for someone who always seems to have something to say. It doesn’t last long as he feels the growing silence crawl under his skin— he can’t stand it. “That’s normal, for someone— well, anyone who hasn’t had it, sex, I mean, in a while.” He stops himself from asking how long it has been before continuing. “Regular sex can boost your immune system, am-among other things.”

You grin, “Of course, it does.” You feel lighter hearing Spencer nervously ramble about sex, less judged, more listened to. You glance to your side, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw, the ends of his brown hair curling against his smooth skin. “Don’t stop on my account; I love learning.”

Of course, you do.

It seems to be Spencer’s turn to stare daggers into the distance, following you as you take a left turn. “In some women, sex can lower the risk of heart attacks. Which is funny, Men’s likelihood of a heart attack goes up with continuous sexual activity.” He chuckles lightly, sparing a glance over his left shoulder at you.

His knees feel weak seeing the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze occasionally glances at the sidewalk, but your eyes shine with curiosity. He’s always liked that about you. You’re always willing to listen to his random rants, never poking fun at him. No, it's not like you to laugh at someone for something as direct as knowledge, but you still smile at him.

He keeps going, his hazel eyes focused on you. “Rhythmic stimulation,” He should not look at you as he says this, “During an orgasm, has similar brain activity to dancing.” Your eyebrows raise at that, mouthing a gentle ‘huh’.

“So, what, like birds?”

“Yes! Dancing has been a long-standing method of seduction, so I suppose it stands to reason that muscular stimulation, in that way, would make our brain activity act that way.”

Your head tilts, trying to get the mental image of Spencer’s hands on your waist as you dance against him out of your mind. “I suppose it would. Though I wouldn’t consider orgasmic pulsing to have a steady rhythm.”

Spencer feels his heart stutter against his ribcage, his jaw clenching as his mind graces him with the mental image of you under him, shaking, hips stuttering against his roughly. He blinks, the tips of his ears turning red as he struggles to find something interesting to say. “W-Well,” he squeaks, and he feels panic flood his system, watching your grin widen when you hear such an embarrassing sound. He coughs, fixing his shirt collar, “Oxytocin— endorphins really— are released when dancing, same with uh,” His mouth hangs open for a second as his gaze dips down to your lips, “Climax.”

He’s your coworker, he’s your coworker, coworker, cowork— “Would you consider orgasms to have a steady rhythm?” Honestly? Not the worst question you could ask right now. You just hope that it comes off as you being curious instead of desperately horny.

Spencer needs someone to put him out of misery, cheeks hot as he answers you, “I suppose that maybe, possibly, they could, yes.”

Your chin tilts upwards, and a soft “Uh-huh” leaves you before the two of you are swept up in a slightly charged, albeit awkward, silence. You try to talk down the little voice in your head that seems to be screaming at you for making things so uncomfortable.

Why did you ask him that? What did you expect? Was Spencer supposed to drag you into an alleyway and immediately make you cum? Well, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea— enough! You try to think of a possible escape from this silence, but all your dirty mind can think about are more inappropriate questions and remarks— just your luck.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Spencer’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea––” He clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up, “Having sex, to help with your, uhm, stress problem.” He holds his breath, waiting for your reactions. Morgan told him that the worst thing a person can do is say no, but Spencer disagrees. Said person could scream at him, slap him for being brazen, or stop talking to him altogether. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Why did he have to say that? Why would he suggest something like that so openly—

Your laughter makes his brain short-circuit. What kind of reaction is that? Did you think he was joking, or did you find his suggestion so funny that you’re laughing at him? His laughter escapes him in a nervous attempt at self-preservation. If he can play this as a joke, maybe you won’t tell Penelope, and then Penelope won’t tell Derek, and Spencer can live another day free of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, “Is the Doctor Spencer Reid suggesting that we sleep together for a dopamine boost?”

He doesn’t know how to save himself from that; his poker face is not a good one, not when it comes to you. His emotions almost always show on his face; there’s no way you’d believe him if he lied. So, he mentally prepares himself for rejection. “Not necessarily, strictly, suggesting anything. I’m just saying that it could be beneficial to you— both of us— if you needed some help with your irritability, since you’re free.”

“Are you saying that I have nothing better going on, so I might as well have sex with you?” He’s not exactly wrong, but you don’t need to admit it.

His cheeks feel hot, burning as he rasps out a shrill, “No! No, speaking from a scientific standpoint, biologically it is one solution to your problem.”

You let out a soft chuckle, breathy and short-lived. He can’t be serious, there’s no way he’s serious. Not Spencer Reid. And if he wasn’t joking, what would you even say? Sure, sounds like a great plan. Do you have a condom, or should we stop at the store? Better yet! Let’s do it raw to reap the full biological benefits of sex together.

It’s not realistic.

Spencer says odd things all the time. Once, he told you about how the spread of ringworms between animals and humans works, solely because of one off-handed comment. Not that you mind, you do enjoy learning, that was no lie. Spencer was a plethora of knowledge, and you trusted every little word that came out of that pretty mouth of his.

He’s grown to be more than just your favorite walking, talking, human encyclopedia. Spencer Reid had the biggest heart, the best laugh, and the softest hazel eyes. He cares about other people intensely, is always willing to go out of his way to listen and help others, and is borderline selfless sometimes. Sure, that was part of the job, but Spencer made it into something more, something raw.

So, no, he couldn’t be suggesting such a thing. Not your Spencer Reid. “You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Reid.” You mutter, your feet falling into sync beside him. You can see your apartment building coming into view and feel your body beginning to long for your bed.

The rest of the walk is quiet, with soft mentions of summer plans and idle chatter. Spencer shouldn’t be so disappointed. You’re still talking to him, still laughing at his jokes, listening to his random facts mid-conversation. You’re willing to make everything go back to normal, ignore his odd suggestion, and go to bed. He should be grateful, and maybe a small part of him is, but the rest of him? The rest of him is so disappointed.

Not because you ignored him, but because you didn’t give him a proper yes or no. Even without a direct answer, he feels rejected, and he’s kicking himself for not being able to make a move like a normal person.

He walks you up to your door, staring at the number four on the outside of your apartment door for longer than necessary as you dig through your bag to find your keys. When you find them, you hold them up with a proud smile. “They materialize.” You muse, your back facing him as you push the key into the lock.

The last thing he wants tonight is for him to walk home regretting something. He could go home lamenting the fact that he didn’t make a move, or he could go home regretting the fact that he did. For him, one of those options is far worse than the other.

Pushing your apartment door open, you begin to turn back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home, Spence, I appreciate it—” A jolt of energy zips through you as Spencer’s lanky fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking your body closer to him. You barely have time to look down at your wrist before he’s inching closer, pressing his lips against yours in one swift movement.

The kiss is timid and far too quick for your liking, and when he pulls away from your lips, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have asked you first, but I got so nervous with everything I said earlier and—” The rest of his rushed apology is tuned out as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

In complete amazement, you stare at him like that for what feels like forever. You’d blame it on the alcohol for the way that you find his pathetic ramblings adorable, or for the way you’re reevaluating your conversation from earlier, when you laughed him off. And then there was that little, insistent voice in your head that demanded another kiss, claiming the feeling of a dim spark.

And who were you to deny it?

Spencer’s hands are moving with him as he talks, finger trembling as he explains that he “....couldn’t go home ruminating on the what-ifs and I needed to do something, and Morgan says that confidence is key and I was trying—” Your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level with a rough yank.

Your lips meet his in a sloppy kiss for just a moment before he kisses you back, and when his head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side, it becomes something else entirely. His lips are softer than you expected, hungrily meeting yours. Spencer kisses like he’s starved for attention, for touch. His hands find purchase on your hips, holding you in place with both hands, like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

The way the palms of his hands squeeze at your waist makes you weak at the knees. The kiss has seemingly shifted from tender to needy in a matter of seconds, his lips pressing against yours with a delicious roughness. When you pull away, you can feel your bottom lip tingling, a feeling that leaves you a little lightheaded.

The soft pink of Spencer’s lips is the first thing you’re looking at before pushing him deeper into your apartment. His feet stumble as you force him into your apartment, the flat of your palms on his chest. When the door shuts behind you, the two of you are left in the dark of your apartment. Moonlight seeps through your living room curtains, illuminating the room with a softness so close to ethereal that it leaves Spencer wondering if he’s dreaming.

He’s sure you’re about to tell him that this is a bad idea and send him home, before you let out a frustrated groan and ask him, “Are you sure this is alright?”

Holy shit.

He can feel a faint squeeze in his lower abdomen, licking his lips as he tries to think clearly, for your sake and his. “I want this.” He’s clear with his feelings for once. “And I can promise you I want this and much more.”

As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can see the shine in your eyes. You're staring up at him with the eyes of a woman lost between admiration and awe. You nod slowly, your left hand grabbing his right, “Then don’t keep me waiting.” And while your tone is playful, he can’t help but take it to heart, letting you guide him toward your bedroom.

A soft giggle can be heard from you as you press a quick kiss to his lips, then another, and another, until the back of his knees are hitting the edge of your bed. You lean in slower now, with the tempting promise of a sweeter, sensual kiss—one where Spencer can enjoy the taste of your lips in full. Your lips brush against his as your hands press against his chest, his balance wavering, and then he’s pushed down on the edge of your bed with a light groan of disappointment.

His head is spinning from the teasing brush of your lips, his eyes lingering on them as you smile down at him, the look of innocence. “Did you think I’d make this easy for you?” Your teasing words shoot an electric shiver down his spine, a breathless laugh leaving him as your hands rub his shoulders.

“I don’t believe easy is in your vocabulary.”

“Oh?” You muse, your hands stopping the gentle massage of his shoulders, your left hand leaves a trail of fire up his neck to his chin, tilting it up slowly. Your head cocks to the side, he’s never seen you this smug. Were you like this with everyone else? Or is this just for him? He’s too scared to ask. “Care to elaborate?”

Spencer swallows slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You like the challenge. You like having to work for it. I used to think it was because you wanted to be intellectually stimulated, but seeing you like this makes me think that you get off on it. ”

You try to hide your smile, the grip on his chin slacking as your thumb traces a soft pattern on his lower jaw. “God forbid a girl has a bit of fun.” He cracks a smile with that, letting out a low hum as he raises his hands to pull you closer towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the bed that lies between his thighs.

Spencer’s pleading eyes almost make you cave, those soft chocolate pools of desire almost too alluring to resist. Almost. Although you guess he deserves a little treat before the night begins. You lean down, cupping both cheeks to press a slow kiss to his lips. Spencer matches your energy, not taking the kiss up a notch until you do, one of your hands straying to the root of his hair and pulling lightly at his brown curls while your tongue slowly slides against his bottom lip.

Fighting back a groan, Spencer eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue drags against his, exploring his mouth at a torturous pace. Spencer can feel his cock, begging for some friction, jump inside his pants as you softly suck on his bottom lip. He’s breathing hard, your mouth swallowing most of his groans and sighs, until your teeth pull at his bottom lip and he lets out a sweet, quiet whimper.

You pull away, and Spencer can feel himself spiraling before you push his hair back and whisper a breathy, “So good, baby.” His genius mind is out of commission after that, and whatever energy, whatever brain cells he has left over are now yours to use as you like. “Lean against the headboard.”

It’s a direct order that he immediately follows. He’s kicking off his shoes as fast as possible, moving around on your bed until his back hits the headboard.

His enthusiasm both excites you and amuses you, your eyes rolling with a playful shake of your head. He watches as you crawl over to him on the bed, swallowing hard as his eyes take you in. He’s waiting for his alarm to go off and for him to wake up in bed, without you, alone, and painfully hard.

You let out a short laugh, seeing his wide-eyed expression, “You’re sure you still want this?” You ask as you reach him, your eyes on his.

Spencer’s answer is a quick, “Yes!” which makes you smile wide at him, “Are you?” His fingers are itching to touch you, but he keeps them in his lap, fidgeting.

You let out a playful hum as you swing a leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. “Yes," you answer, looking down at him. You lean in, teasing his lips with a light brush, leaning away whenever Spencer tilts his head up in a vain attempt to kiss you thoroughly.

“Patience is a virtue.” Your lips brush against his as you whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, much to his dismay.

Spencer would say he’s not usually this needy, but he doesn't have ample experience to draw from anyway. He can only blame his neediness on you. You who is grinning from ear-to-ear as you kiss his cheek, you who is hovering over his lap, you who is laughing when you see his pleading expression. You mutter something that Spencer can vaguely make out as disappointed, “Greedy.” Before your lips press firmly onto his.

He could spend hours kissing you. In fact, if nothing else happens tonight, he’d walk home happy knowing he kissed you like this. Your languid kisses easily turn hungry as Spencer slides his hands to your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap. He can feel a ghost of a smile against his lips, his hands squeezing gently at your sides as you resume your earlier task of exploring his mouth with your tongue.

You swallow a groan from Spencer as you take a moment to suck on his tongue, his hand gripping your waist tighter. Letting out a muffled hum of pleasure, you grind your hips down on his with almost perfect precision.

Spencer’s back goes rigid, feeling the way your hips grind against his, unsure if it’s okay for a moment before lust wins out against logic. His large hands tighten around your clothed hips, pulling your hips down against his until he’s rutting his hips against yours like a dog in heat. He can feel your grin against his lips again, and he’s already whining by the time you pull away from him. Your hips lean away from his, sitting up on your knees.

His eyes look dazed, lust and confusion dancing in them as he tries his best not to come off as anxious, “Why’d you stop?” His breathy voice sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core.

“You want to take my clothes off, don’t you?” You leave his lap, moving to the side of his outer right thigh to properly strip.

His parted lips snap shut, nodding as fast as he can, immediately playing to your whims. You raise an eyebrow, “You need to learn to let a girl have her fun with you.” You muse as your hands reach for the edge of your top. Spencer’s heart rate doubles as he watches your fingers curl around the bottom hem.

His gaze darts between your fingers and your face, but his brows knit together, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” You’re pulling your top off painfully slow, and he’s debating asking you if he can do it for you.

Your top is passing your midriff. “If I’m on top,” His breath catches in his throat as he sees the bottom swell of your breast, “And if I want to tease you, learn how to take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” He shifts under you, your words reminding him how his erection is going ignored. “I’m going to need a good teacher.” It’s meant to be witty, but his tone sounds so strained that he’s surprised that you aren’t laughing at him right now. His eyes, not knowing what to stare at, barely meet yours before the sight of your lace-covered breasts enthralls him.

His strained, whiny voice has your body feeling hot all over. Making a mental note to make this man whine some more, you throw your top off to the side of the bed, hands making a beeline for your pants. “Oh, how exciting.” You slide out of them, leaving you in your bra and panties. “Your first lesson.”

Spencer, feeling awkward that he’s still fully clothed, begins to pull his shirt off. But when he goes to undo his pants, your fingers cover his. Your fingers are quick to pull his pants down to his thighs, and Spencer kicks them off without needing to be told.

You were a professional; you didn’t sleep with coworkers, no matter how tempting. Spencer Reid, however, is your forbidden fruit. His hazel eyes, wide and soft with need, make your chest clench with affection. You can feel some part of you salivating for another taste of him, knowing you’re too far gone to listen to reason.

Your gaze is slow to drop to his lap, eyes flickering across his bare chest, then down to the bulging outline of his cock against the thin material of his boxers. You hesitate, just for a moment, hand hovering in the air before you gently trace the outline of his cock through his boxers— undeniably pretty.

“Just for me?” Your head is bowed, eyes looking up through your lashes. Spencer lets out a shaky sigh, nodding a wordless response. You drag your index fingers roughly against the tip of his clothed dick. “Words, Spence.”

“Yes,” He whines, groaning as your hands pull down his boxers. “It’s all for you.”

“Very good.” Then, you're pulling his boxers down, gaze hungry as you expose Spencer’s hard cock inch by inch. You shift slightly to help him pull his boxers off, but your eyes are locked onto his cock. Red, hot tip with a slight curve towards his stomach, thick and twitching. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth slowly, and millions of ways to tease him immediately come to mind.

He tries to stop himself from feeling hot under your intense gaze, fighting the urge to beg you not to stare. He’s about to cave when you reach your left hand into your panties. A gentle groan leaves your lips as you swipe your fingers along the entrance of your warm cunt, “I can do that—” Spencer begins, but you’ve already stopped touching yourself, pulling your left hand away from your heat, fingers covered in your slick. You wrap your hands around his length, and Spencer has to stop his hips from immediately bucking at the feeling of your slick-covered hand.

“What was that, pretty boy?” Your hand slowly begins to move up and down the length of his cock.

Usually, Spencer would say something in rebuttal to that nickname, but the only thing you can hear right now is the sounds of him letting out tiny moans. He sputters, trying to reply, but your grip grows tighter as your hands move down his length, and all you get is a pathetic-sounding whine.

Leaning in to press a wet kiss to his shoulder, you watch as Spencer’s hips jolt when your index finger does a quick sweep over the pretty pink head of his cock. “Feels so much better than your hand, huh?” You read his mind, looking up at him.

Spencer’s head nods, breathing picking up as your lips suck on the sensitive skin of his neck as your hand steadily strokes him. “I–” You pick up the pace, teeth dragging against his pulse point. “Mmm, I’ve fantasized about you touching me like this.” He has no reason to lie, not now. He has pictured what it could feel like to have your fingers wrapped around his cock instead of his own, how you’d spread the pre-cum around the head of his cock, how you’d look licking his cum off of your hand.

His breathy admission earns him a soft groan, “Often?” You sound excited as you pull away from his neck. The idea of fulfilling one of his fantasies leaves you with an oddly triumphant sense of pride. Truth be told, he was fulfilling your fantasy: having Spencer Reid whining and moaning at your touch—a guilty pleasure on lonely nights.

Spencer doesn’t want to look you in the eyes when he answers, but he does anyway, your lustful gaze making it hard for him to look away. “Yes.”

You let out a satisfied sounding hum, looking away from him to lean down closer to his cock, for a second he’s sure you’re about to take him into your mouth. But, he isn’t disappointed when he sees a long trail of spit leaving your lips and coating the head of his cock.

Your hands helps coat your spit all around his cock and he’s in heaven. His head leaning back against the headboard as your hand brings him closer to the best orgasm he’s ever had. “ I-I’m, oh god,” He pants out, head rolling to the side to catch your gaze. “I won’t last very long if you keep this up. I’m not as experienced as,” His mouth falls open mid-sentence as you move your hand faster, letting out a cry of pleasure.

“I’m not, shit—” He swallows hard, “I’m not as experienced as I’d like to be, can–can’t last that long with you doing that!” He practically shouts at the end of his sentence.

“With a cock this pretty,” You give his length one last pump, “I find that hard to believe.” Carefully letting go of his cock, after all you want to have fun too. If Spencer thought his cock was being ignored before, he wasn’t expecting this. He whines, feeling the warmth of your hand leave him, his breathing heavy.

Your hand, covered in remnants of spit, dips into your underwear where you haphazardly smear the spit against your folds. Spencer’s heart skips a beat, enjoying the show you make of pulling your panties off your body. He almost sobs when you straddle his lap again, carefully sitting with your dripping core pressed directly onto his aching cock.

You let out a shaky groan when Spencer’s hips buck into yours, a wild look in his eyes that makes him seem more animalistic than needy. You can feel your walls squeeze around nothing as the head of his cock slowly grinds up into your clit. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a low moan, shuddering above him.

Your lips part, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as Spencer’s brows furrow and eyes flutter shut with every needy rock of his hips. His hands grab at your hips, pushing and guiding you down to meet his. It’s not nearly enough and the both of you know it, the desperate urge to fill your sopping cunt to his heart's content growing with every pleasured sigh that leaves your lips.

“Please,” Spencer’s hands move to swell of your ass, gripping the skin hard as he uses your pussy lips as his personal toy. His breath is hot against your chest, lips leaving sloppy kisses below your collarbone. To him, you’re ethereal, a seraph, as you grind your pussy lips against his length and he desperately needs to be inside you. He needs to know how the cunt of an angel feels as soon as possible. “Let me fuck you.”

Fuck. It’s not a question, nor a demand, but a plea. His wording makes you groan, the idea that he has to beg to fuck you like this, that you have control over him like this. You’ve imagined Spencer in bed a handful of times, assuming that he’d be timid, yes, but fantasies are nothing compared to hearing that desperate plea.

You reposition your knees, pressing your chest into his face as you reach between your legs to guide him to your entrance. Spencer’s hands knead against the plump skin of your ass as you slowly sink down on him, a shaky exhale can be heard from the both of you. The fact that you haven’t been stretched out on his fingers dawns on you as you struggle to relax around the girth of his cock.

And Spencer seems to have the same thought, his hands snaking up your back to unlatch your bra. Once off, his lips sucking and nipping at the skin around your right nipple before his lips latch around its aroused bud. Your discomfort is partially forgotten as the flat of his tongue drags against the sensitive bud. A gasp, followed by a small, “Mhmm, that’s it.” Your hands leave his shoulders to push his hair back and away from his face as he focuses on his task, threading your fingers into his brown locks.

Your core swallows the rest of him whole, and you experimentally grind your hips down on his cock. His eyes, previously half-lidded, widen for a second before looking up at you. His lips still attached to your breast, eyes silently pleading for more, for anything, he has you teasing him with a light clench of your walls around him.

“Remember what I told you, Reid,” Spencer remembers… well, practically everything. But memories are hard to conjure when he’s buried deep inside you, velvet walls pulsing around him. Leaning away from your breast, a trail of spit still connects your skin to his tongue. “Learn how to take it.” You playfully scold, right thumb trailing down from his hair to swipe at the spit on his lips. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a soft smile, your thumb tracing a soft pattern against his bottom lip. “I can do that.” He confirms with a gentle tone, eyes searching yours. The man beneath you looks lovesick, drunk on your touch, perfectly content to spend his days doing whatever you tell him, obedient.

The thought that he’ll do anything you say. The first move from you is a gentle roll of your hips, followed by a slow exhale. The sting of discomfort readily gets replaced with pleasure as you begin to ride him. Your palms move to grip the headboard behind Spencer’s shoulders, tilting your head to the side to carefully observe him, getting off on every little reaction he shows you.

A quick, lust-filled smile graces your lips as you move your hips up and down at a slow and steady pace. Spencer’s head tilts back slightly, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his parted lips everytime your hips sink down on his cock. “Is that good?”

You're teasing him, and he’d be dumb not to notice it; he knows that you can see—feel— how much he’s enjoying this, hear it even. Nevertheless, his head nods quickly as he rasps a mewl of a “Yes, so good.”

Canting your hips closer, you pick up the pace. The slight change in your position has his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you shivering ontop of him, electricity coursing down your spine. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing after that feeling, panting as you use Spencer’s cock to bring yourself closer to your climax.

Spencer’s hips meet yours now as you ride him faster, the slapping and squelching of skin meeting skin can be heard alongside a cacophony of sinful-sounding moans and pants. Spencer’s head is thrown back, brows drawn together as he staves off his orgasm, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. “Oh, god,” your name falls from his mouth in a string of pathetic-sounding moans, “Oh, Mommy—” He squeaks as he realizes the words that have escaped the dirtiest parts of his mind. His rosy cheeks turn slightly pale, eyes peering open to see your reaction.

Your cunt squeezes him tighter when his worried eyes reach yours. Your gaze isn’t filled with disgust, but darkened with desire. “What was that baby?” You gasp out, hips expertly snapping down onto his. Spencer’s mouth falls open to shamelessly repeat himself, but it’s too much for him. His words choking in the back of his throat as cries of pleasure replace them.

Pouting, you snap your hips down onto his with an abrupt stop. Spencer lets out a strangled sounding sob as you tilt his chin up, “Oh, Spencer, baby, do you need to say something?” You’re breathless and so, so, so, so close, but you need to hear him repeat those words before you cum.

Spencer’s chest softly heaves, blinking away the confusion in his eyes as you squeeze your tight walls around him, his hips struggling against yours. It’s hard to tease him properly as the head of his cock keeps grinding into your g-spot, your mind becoming hazy with pleasure. But you can’t risk stopping, not when you’re this close. Your lips part, a whine threatening to leave them as you speak, “I’m so s’close, you can handle a little more. Just a-a little longer.” Your voice trembles for a second, but it coaxes a gentle moan out of him nonetheless.

His cock feels desperate to empty into you as you deny him his orgasm with another sharp, “Not yet.” He feels he must obey your demand, his head becoming lightheaded whenever you order him around. He can feel tightening around him, walls fluttering against him with every second you get closer to your climax.

Spencer can feel his eyes prickle with tears, his bottom lip trembling, “I need to cum. Need to cum, let me cum, Mommy.”

You let out a broken laugh as he finally says the words you were so desperately waiting for, “You’re the one who asked for this, Spence.” You managing to speak so coldly to him while vigorously bouncing on his cock has him letting out another weak sob, “Look at you, you can barely handle it.” Your moans are becoming louder and slightly animalistic. “Let me use you while I can.”

You do exactly that, using him as you feel your orgasm crashing on you, your hands move to his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you loudly cry out for him. When your hips stutter against his, your body shuddering and melting into pleasure, Spencer is quick to buck his hips erratically up to yours, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest.

Spencer is quick to follow, grabbing your hips tightly to pull himself out of you with a curse, his seed coating your pussy lips and inner thighs. “I’m sorry,” He pants out, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m–”

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You exhale, panting lightly as you look down at him with a lazy grin.

He’s quiet after that, his grip of your hips loosening as you dip your head to look at him, forehead slowly pressing against his. You let out a little laugh, exhausted and giddy, “You good?”

He lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that tells that all his energy has left him. You can’t judge him; your body is suspiciously close to crashing. You can hear him mumble your name, and you move your head away from his, “Yes?”

“Are you—” He stops, licking his lips, “I’d like it if we could be—” He struggles to find the right words, anxiety and exhaustion making him into a simpering fool.

But you’re grinning, so he must be doing something right. He’s about to attempt his messy request to be the only man in your love life when you mutter a soft, whisper-like, “I’d love to be exclusive with you, Dr. Reid. On one condition.”

You smooth his hair back, out of his face, “We keep this between us until we’re ready to tell the team, I don’t need a team of profilers in my love life— not while we’re together.”

Spencer can feel his chest tighten, watching as you move to hold your pinkie finger towards him. He links his pinkie around yours, “Deal,” He laughs. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Spencer finds acting normal around you increasingly difficult, especially when you keep leaving flirty notes telling him to meet you in the supply closet in ten minutes on his desk (for the fourth time this week). Ever challenging when you insist that your ‘innocent’ little rendezvous won’t lead anywhere, but your plump lips kiss his so hard that they’re swollen in seconds.

He knows the team knows something is amiss, but he can’t think to worry about it as his head finds a place between your hips, your fingers threading into his hair as you bite your swollen bottom lip in a weak attempt to quiet yourself.

JJ and Emily note your absence this fine Wednesday morning, something Derek doesn’t find too interesting until he sees that Spencer is also missing. But who is he to ruin it for Spencer? He’s sure the boy genius has you on a mini-coffee date at some café across the street.

Well, he was sure, until he rounded the corner to see you stumble out of a supply closet, your hair ruffled and makeup smudged. He almost calls out your name when he notices Spencer tailing behind you, his cardigan ruffled and hair equally tousled. Derek’s jaw drops open, waiting and standing in awe as you blow Spencer a kiss and head in the opposite direction toward the bathrooms.

The second Spencer turns to see his friend, the smile drops away from his face, and the color leaves his cheeks. Morgan’s smile is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s as he draws out a proud “My man!” and Spencer feels dread fill his soul. He’s never going to live this down.

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