#i guess its about time i made a tag specifically for this? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bits-and-babs · 8 months

Text

✦ 𝐏𝐈𝐗𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 ✦

– KINKTOBER DAY 1: CAMGIRL!READER

simon riley x camgirl!reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words

summary: a new client sends a request for a solo-cam performance. his lack of detail and scarce details leave you unprepared.

cw: f!reader, sexwork, dirty talk, breast-play, m & f masturbation, use of sex toy, use of honorific 'sir' but no real power dynamic.

⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 2: TOUCH STARVED ⇾

❝On Deployment. Don’t be afraid.❞

Cryptic in its context, the message that popped up from your new client in the lower right corner of your computer screen made you smirk at the time. However, gazing at the skull-faced mask that materialised on the pixelated video screen when you answered the video call that swiftly followed, your amusement slips from your lips. Username ‘Ghost’ hadn’t been making some kind of arcane joke about the size of his dick being too much for you…

“Oh,” you let out a weak laugh, eyes slipping over the grainy footage as ‘Ghost’ leaned back in his seat, immense, bulging arms crossing over the plane of his chest, “When you said… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Can’t take off the mask,” the gruff, northern accent that rumbles through the computer speakers sends a ripple down your spine– a concoction of a nervous chill and delighted arousal. It metastasises in your guts when you watch him spread his legs, the blackness in the eye sockets of the skull burning through you even behind a screen. “The URA don’t take kindly t’people contactin’ cam-girls.”

URA. United Republic of Adal.

“You’re– On a military base?” The question passes your lips before you have the opportunity to think better. The plain black t-shirt stretched across his humongous frame gives little away, but the khaki-camo pants and the silver dog tags glinting in the low light of the room seem to corroborate his claims.

“Can’t divulge that information.”

Of course he couldn’t. Obviously.

“Y’can call me sir.” ‘Ghost’ clearly had experience contacting cam-girls, leading with his preferred address. It’s impossible to ignore that tingling arousal creeping into the pit of your stomach again, knowing you were in for a ride– so to speak.

“Yes sir,” you answer to his demand, watching as ‘Ghost’ rubbed his palms over the top of his camo-clad thighs. You note the grainy blackness across the back of his hands; a tattoo. Most clients were secretive in their own camera-exposure, focusing the frame on their head and shoulders while pleasuring themselves off camera. ‘Ghost’s’ whole body was on display, offering just as much of a show for yourself.

It was thrilling.

“Lose the bra.”

“Yes sir,” you nod, compliant to his demands. Reaching behind your back, you unclasp the lacy bra you’d chosen specifically for this cam-session. Your contact with ‘Ghost’ had been minimal, limited in the information he would reveal to you. It was entertaining this way, guessing at what you should wear like taking a crack at an enigma code. A shot in the dark; you’d gone for simple black. Slowly slipping the unadorned bra from your arms, you made a note of your victory when you hear–

“Fuck, that’s it,” ‘Ghost' mumbles beneath his breath, and you’re unsure if he was unaware of the sensitivity of his microphone, or if he’d meant for you to hear his whispered praise. You can’t find it in yourself to warn him when his palm settles over his crotch, inhaling sharply as he lifts his hips up to grind into it.

Cupping your breasts in your hands, you squeeze the supple flesh so it bulges slightly between your fingers. It’s as natural as breathing now, a learnt behaviour after months of cam-work. Nothing special, but it gets ‘Ghost’s’ attention.

“Hmm, fuckin’ ‘ell,” he groans softly, quick to work himself out of the khaki uniform trousers. You have half a mind to inform his superior that one of his soldiers had stolen a weapon from the armoury, watching him wrap his hand around his throbbing cock in a tight fist. “Get real close to the camera. Wanna see you fuck yourself, love.”

You remember his initial request, much like his communications with you; simple and lacking detail. ‘Fuck urself w/ ur largest toy. Panties on’. Though, gazing at the image of him on your computer screen through heavy lids, you weren’t sure even your largest dildo compared to the girth he held in his hand. The ruddy tip is shiny, and you can just barely make out the shadows of bulging veins where his palm couldn’t reach.

“Fuckkk,” ‘Ghost’ groans when you ease the tip of the toy in, camera angled just right to see you clench around the silicone but also to show your eyes rolling back. “That’s it. Greedy cunt’s swallowin’ it all. Look at you creamin’ around it–”

For a man so unwilling to talk much in any other set of circumstances, ‘Ghost’ was particularly mouthy now. Even as the head of the toy touches something mind-numbing inside of you, a delirious, breathy giggle escapes you at the thought.

Beginning to push the toy in and out of your cunt, you watch ‘Ghost’ begin to fist his cock with a grunt. His eyes stay glued to the screen, enraptured by the way your walls squeeze the toy so tightly. It’s hard to miss the way his lungs rattle with unsteady breaths, the sheer size of him making a slight tremble appear like a shudder so violent it could trigger an avalanche.

“Christ, I’d fuckin’ ruin you. Fuckin’ split you open and flood that cunt with my cum,” he moans, the sound wanton and wholely unmatching his intimidating size. It takes you a moment for your vision to focus before you note the slow, methodical rise of his fist, matching the strokes of the toy inside of you.

Like he was imagining fucking you.

Your own arousal spiking with the realisation, you thrust the toy inside of you quicker, more eagerly. It's ecstasy, the head of the toy spearing something inside of you that has your legs quaking. “Ugh– hhahah, ohmygod, oh fuck–”

‘Ghost’ continues to talk you through your squeals of delight, his gruff voice particularly throaty now as he matches the violent thrusts of the toy. “Good fuckin’ girl, love. If you were here I’d fuckin’ paint your face with it– fuck!”

It’s like a chain reaction, the usually stoic man’s filthy comments causing a visible clench of your cunt when you cum around the toy. It makes ‘Ghost’ cum. White floods your vision, but the static sound in your ears can’t drown out the gruff, choked sounds that play from your speakers.

When your blurred vision finally centres, ‘Ghost’s’ fingers are drenched with thick ropes of cum, the creamy spend dropping from his knuckles onto the khaki of his trousers. Leaning his head over the back of the chair with a shaky exhale, the black hem of the ski-mask rides up slightly, exposing the bulging veins beneath the pale, rosy skin of his neck. It’s a tantalising glimpse of the man behind the obscure username, underneath the skeleton-veil. Instantaneously, you’re like an addict– desperate for more, one hit isn’t enough to satiate the screaming need inside of you for another inch of skin.

It’s why you leap out of bed at 04:27am when you receive a message weeks after you’d hit ‘end call’, the promise of your next fix delivered in a cryptic message deposited in a private messaging chat that had lay dormant since the footage went black.

‘Want u on ur knees this time. Panties in ur mouth, fingers in ur cunt.’

Biting on a grin, you rush to answer. He was still in the URA, the digits on the clock in the top right of your phone evidence of a timezone difference. It was still relatively early there– like he’d finished his shift and immediately contacted you. Like he couldn’t wait to jack off to the image of you stuffing your cunt with your fingers and whining his name.

Fuck the four figure amount he’d deposited into your bank as thanks for the last video call, the thought alone is enough to urge your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, circling your clit as you clumsily type with one hand to respond to his demand.

‘Yes sir x’

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@bloodmoon-bites @wiltedwonderland @doggydale @limegreenbabx @namelesshumanperson @ninahhh-brahh

1K notes · View notes

auckie · 18 days

Text

I think the things that offend me most nowadays in like, smaller interpersonal interactions rather than grand, sweeping trends in culture, are when people chose to not partake in a wide set of things. Like musical close mindedness, or refusal to try different foods from different cultures. Not watching an entire subset of films bc they’re ‘french’. Avoiding reading bc you say you have adhd and it’s too hard. Like dude I get it, I’m busy. I can be picky. Everyone can. But the willful ignorance of closing yourself off to those VAST portions of the human experience, and not having curiosity and a lust to learn and explore art that was made by someone worlds apart from you either in terms of their culture, era, whatever. I dunno man it just pisses me off so bad. I think it’s arrogant. Like oh you’re comfortable in your safe little bubble huh? And you’re enforcing its barriers with the excuse that you’re autistic and have sensory issues. With music made by black people?? lol okay. It is pretty presumptuous for me to assume malicious intent but I think those prejudices are borne from either the comfort of being someone who’s wealthy and probably white not feeling the need to learn past what they think is enough, or it’s a reflection of a society that’s taught you to prioritize what it shills— popular, current (white, depending where you live ig) artists who are making streamlined, easy to digest content. Often when I meet people with these issues they’ll have one particular ‘niche’, and it tends to be like. 70s music. Victorian literature. Anime and Japanese games. But they’re still not really investing beyond the media presented. Like there’s so much more to Japanese culture than liking some cartoons put out between 2010-2020. You don’t gotta become some sorta Einstein who learns the background of every little freak in FGO yeah. But don’t you wanna aim higher? Aren’t you interested in any of the historical figures? And nothings wrong with hopping onto a trend. You read Dracula bc of that Dracula daily thing. Cool! Read more. Some people will say they’re chronically ill or disabled and can’t get outside. That’s okay. The internet is full of things you can read other than fanfiction, YouTube has a shit ton of free music. There’s Wikipedia and free articles online if you have questions about things. Yeah nobody is spending four hours a day looking at the national archives website and studying art history but it’s imbued in the things around you, and youll absorb it ambiently as you go along. you dont have to be a jack of all trades and cover every major genre of every major medium, but it never hurts to try! I really love seeing ppl ask too. Bc it can be kind of humiliating to admit to what seems like some jackass hipster that you’ve never delved into, idk, Serbian films (lol not that one). And hopefully if whoever you’re asking will give you honest good recommendations and not berate you. I’m kind of berate a straw man rn I guess. The hostile tone def doesn’t lend to an atmosphere of sharing but I cannot tell you how many times I’ve rbed anything involving specifically jazz only to see someone rb and add the stupidest comment on the post, or in the tags, or go into my inbox to be like waaah I don’t like jazz bc it’s boring and old and for pretentious hypocrites who hate neurodivergent people! Like what are you TALKING about. Fine if you don’t like it but don’t try and rationalize that as a moral standing you shit lark. And just as they’re allowed to dislike jazz I’m allowed to not really enjoy people who don’t like jazz. Or country. Nautical knots. Knit wear. Watching urbex YouTubers get their shit rocked by squatters. Korean food. Pachuco fashion and stupid ugly low riders. Bollywood films. and they don’t want to try any of those things either yknow? The next thing I’m getting into is circuit bending.

#sorry this is probably a bit whiny I just got mad remembering

210 notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 6 months

Text

erotomania [ s.r ]

01 - exhortations

Summary:

You’d found yourself with a stalker, one who seemingly had a romantic obsession with you, and you had no idea what to do, except maybe confide in one of your team members.

WARNINGS: Signs of stalking, mentions of break-ins, fears of violence, mentions of panic attacks

pairing: spencer reid x gn!bau!reader

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, mild fluff

wc: 6.8k

main masterlist!!

a/n: so… i decided to start a series- considering chapter length it’ll probably only be three parts and i hope to have them out once a week but knowing my college schedule i’m not sure about that 😭

thank you guys for all the love on my other uploads <33

series masterlist!!

01-exhortations, 02-avoidance, 03-revelations, 04-confession

It started with a rose.

A single white rose left haphazardly on your doorstep.

You didn’t really think much of it, your neighbours had a white rose bush they regularly pruned, and you figured the wind must have blown one of the loose roses cut from it over to your porch.

You’d often find scattered petals and wilting rose heads on your lawn, blown over by the wind to no fault of the old couple living next door. Although you did have to admit that a full rose was something that had never blown over before.

But hey, sometimes these things happen right?

That was the same rhetorical question you asked yourself two weeks later when a blank envelope was posted through your letter box alongside your regular mail. It looked like a birthday card, the envelope a pale yellow and closed shut with a small white sticker in the shape of a rose. Curious.

You debated on whether to open it at first, not wanting to accidentally intrude on somebody else’s private business, but after a few days of deliberating you came to the conclusion that reading what’s inside might help you find the intended recipient.

You didn’t find anything of note in the envelope, just a folded piece of white paper with a typed out romantic poem imprinted on its inner side. It was odd for sure, but it wasn’t anything to worry about.

You ended up throwing the envelope away. As much as you would’ve liked to have delivered it to its rightful recipient there just wasn’t enough information for you to do so. You just guessed that it was a teenager trying to romance one of their classmates and had posted their efforts through the wrong door.

It was harder to brush off the new succulent lining your kitchen windowsill.

You’d come home to your house after four days spend in Iowa on a case, absolutely exhausted. So much so it took you three separate trips in and out of your kitchen to realise that the three succulents usually lining your window had now been increased to four.

At first you just thought it was your exhaustion getting to you, but you knew for a fact that you’d only bought three. Garcia had made you pick them out specifically. And this new fourth one didn’t fit in.

You examined the new succulent closely, trying to figure out where it came from. It was a vibrant green colour, with small, round leaves that formed a rosette shape. Unlike your other succulents, this one had delicate white flowers blooming from its centre. It was a beautiful addition to your collection, but you couldn't help but wonder who had put it there and why.

You carefully examined the plant for any clues. There were no tags or labels indicating its origin, and it seemed to blend in seamlessly with the rest of your succulents, as if it had always been there. The thought of someone entering your home while you were away sent a shiver down your spine, but there were no signs of forced entry or any other evidence to suggest foul play.

You unfortunately didn’t have much time to mull over this new addition to your plant collection as the team were whisked away on another case, less than 24 hours after your last case finished.

Still, you couldn’t seem to get the small white flowers of the plant sat upon your windowsill out of your mind, and you were starting to question your sanity a little. Were you sure that you hadn’t bought four? Maybe you had. Maybe it’d been there the whole time.

“If it isn’t my favourite profiler, don’t tell Derek that,” Garcia almost immediately backtracked as she picked up the phone. “What can I do you for my sweet?”

“Hey Penny, just a random question, you remember when we went plant shopping a while back?” You held the phone up to your ear with your left hand, using your right to continue jotting down notes on the portable whiteboard the Montanna Police Department had provided your team with for the case you were working on.

“Oh of course I do my love. Why, Looking for a professional suggestion for your next addition?” You could practically hear Garcia’s smile through the phone as she spoke.

“No Pen, I just wanted to check something,” You let out a small chuckle at her exaggerated confidence in her knowledge of plants. ”Did I end up buying three succulents or four?”

“Three my love, two Chinese Jades and one Opalina I believe. Why’s that?”

“Oh no nothing, I was just checking which ones I’d bought with you and which ones I’d bought myself, thanks Pen,” You didn’t know why you felt the impulse to lie. Maybe it was your subconscious telling you that it was in fact you who had put the plant there. That you’d just been so busy that you’d forgotten about it. Either way you didn’t want to stir up the pot if you couldn’t prove anything was actually wrong.

But you also couldn’t rid of that feeling in the pit of your stomach that rose when Garcia confirmed you hadn’t bought the plant when out with her.

“Alrighty, anything else you need from her majesty of all knowledge?”

You give another small laugh at Garcia’s manner of speech. “No Pen, thank you.”

”Well then my dear, this lady’s got other fish you fry, I’ll catch you later,”

You hear the end dial through your phone before you can respond, a usual end to a phone call with Garcia, and whilst her little quips and jokes left you with a small smile on your face, it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

A pale yellow envelope.

You feel a sense of deja vu when you pick it up from the floor on the inside of your front door, seemingly slotted through your letterbox just like the former had been, white rose sticker holding it closed and all.

The difference this time however, was that when you turned the envelope in your hand it had your name inked on the front, scrawled out in a messy cursive that stained parts of coloured paper black, the ink having bled as the name was written from the sheer amount of pressure used.

That’s the moment that you started to panic.

You could put the signs together by now. A perfectly de-thorned rose on your doorstep. Messages posted through your door. A new succulent left in your kitchen after you’d expressed interest in them. It wasn’t just a series of coincidences, they were signs. Signs of something you didn’t particularly want to think about.

The last one was the worst. It meant that whoever had taken it upon themselves to form a fascination with you had somehow managed to get inside of your house whilst you weren’t there.

You triple checked the locks on your doors that night, leaving the new envelope unopened on your kitchen counter.

You ended up taking it to work the next day, tucked away in your messenger bag and left under your desk as you tried to distract yourself through with your files.

You tried to convince yourself that you were just overthinking. Maybe the indented recipient of the letter just happened to have the same name as you. Maybe this was just the last two weeks of continuous stress was just taking it’s toll on you and making you paranoid. You tried to convince yourself. But you knew.

“Excuse me,”

Your internal monologue was cut off by a soft voice, and your mind was momentarily wiped of your dilemma as you looked up towards the source of the noise, the small receptionist from the front of your floor.

“This was dropped off last night, I believe it was for you.”

In her hand was a small rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper, and she held it out to you with a small smile.

“Oh, thank you,” You return her smile with one of your own, taking the package from her hand and watching her retreat back to her desk. You weren’t expecting anything delivered, were you?

Unwrapping the package only left you more confused. It was a leather bound copy of Romeo and Juliet, the cover a deep red and embossed with with gold roses and an intricate border, the book’s name embossed in a similar fashion in the cover’s centre, although flaking in some areas from the wear of the book.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned the book over in your hands, but as you opened the front cover that expression fell straight back into concern. A small rose, etched into the inside over in a black ink pen, fit with a single letter, ‘R.’

“Hey Spencer, uh- can I- borrow you for a sec?” You stand from your desk, walking around the cluster in the bullpen to stand behind Spencer’s, head buried in the files he was working on.

“Of course, what’s up?” Spencer took a second to look up, folding the folder closed and leaving his pen inside to mark the page. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah uh- I uh- Were you expecting a book delivery?”

You held the book out towards him, eyes silently pleading for him to say yes. A part of your brain still denied the inevitable, that it wasn’t some outside person who had been leaving things around for you to find. That there wasn’t someone who knew where you lived, and now where you worked, sending you eerily creepy ‘gifts’.

Spencer inspected the book in his hands, examining it closely with narrowed eyes.

“Not that I know of...” He looked up at you, eyebrow slightly raised as he handed the book back to you. “I already have this copy at home,”

Your stomach dropped a little when he confirmed it wasn’t his.

“Right, sorry,” You take the book back from him with a pursed smile, holding it in both of your hands and tapping your nails against the back cover.

You logically knew it wasn’t for him, Spencer was all for buying things second hand, but he would never pick up a book with this much wear and tear unless was a first edition owned by some prolific scholar, the spine damaged and the pages folded and scrawled with annotations that you weren’t sure you wanted to read, but hearing the confirmation just made it sink in a little further.

“Are you alright? You seem a little tense.” Spencer’s voice cut you out of another internal spiral, and you gave him a quick nod.

“Hm? Oh yeah i’m alright, thanks anyway Spence,” You give him a small smile and a half wave as you retreat back to your own desk with the book in hand.

Spencer stared at you for a moment longer, watching as you sat back down at your desk, discarding the book behind your stack of files as if you couldn’t bare to look at it any longer.

Something seemed very off with you.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

My fire, my flame,

My one and the same.

Swiftly swinging from life to end,

Through the times, we meet again.

My lover, my friend,

My mirror, my mend.

My fire, my flame,

No darkness can tame.

Ochre to blue, two as one.

Never unbroken, never undone.

Healing the hurt, flame dims down.

Fire prevails, doubt it drowns.

Forever and true, I am your blue,

The one you felt, the one you knew.

Drunken to sober, you are my ochre,

The one who inspires all my desires.

Over and over, we dance again,

Swiftly swinging from life to end.

It was nearly midnight, and yet you felt wide awake.

A part of you wanted to sleep, lay in bed and pretend that nothing was happening, but you knew that your mind wasn’t going to let you.

You’d sucked up the resolve to open the envelope you’d stored away in your bag, another poem left inside. Except this time instead of being typed out and printed, it was written in the same ink that had adorned its sleeve.

Some of it was barely legible, but you found the words ingrained in your mind almost as soon as you read them. They were sweet from a surface level, a message of true and eternal love, but under your circumstances the only emotions that it evoked from you was a mix of dread and fear.

Your mind soon flickered over to the book you’d left on your nightstand, and you soon found yourself curled up under your duvet with the book in hand, lamp left on both to aid your reading and provide you with a small sense of security in the warm light it cast over the walls of your bedroom.

The narrative of the story was what you’d expect, the traditional tale of Romeo and Juliet, but that wasn’t what you were interested in, it was the annotations, written in the same handwriting as the poem left discarded on your coffee table.

It seemed like a lot of references to love, mainly to the female protagonist in Romeo and Juliet, and you noticed that your initials and “R.” were written a lot.

It seemed that whoever had taken a liking to you really liked you... a little too much.

There were references to your personality, how much you loved things like animals, reading books and eating dark chocolate. They had even written that your favourite colour was burgundy.

You were starting to find this rather unnerving.

The part that really sent you over the edge into a panic was one line in particular, underlined so many times that there was a small rip in the page.

These violent delights have violent ends.

The book in your hand was soon replaced with your phone, held up to your ear as took in slow breaths through your nose.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You heard Spencer’s voice ring through your phone.

“Hey uh, I’m so sorry to call you so late but uh- Can I ask you for a favour?” The tone of your voice wavered slightly as you spoke, not at all aided by the small tremble of your hand.

“Yeah of course, anything for you, what is it?”

“Can I uh,” You hesitate for a second. “Can I come over?”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer responded quickly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah I just, don’t want to be on my own right now,” It wasn’t exactly a revelation. There had been a few instances where tough cases left the team feeling more comfortable spending the time after in the company of someone else.

Most of them had family or lovers as their comfort, but in the case of Spencer, not having any contact with his father and his mother institutionalised, and your parents living across the country, you often found comfort in each other instead.

“Thank you,”

It seemed like you wouldn’t get any sleep tonight.

“It’s no problem at all, I’ll see you soon?” Spencer’s voice was soft and understanding, and you found yourself increasingly grateful for his insomniatic nature.

“Yeah, see you soon…”

You let out a small breath of relief as you hang up the phone, piling some things into a backpack, tattered book included, before locking up the house and driving to Spencer’s apartment

The drive there seemed to be one of the longest drives of your life, constantly deliberating with yourself on whether to confide in Spencer about your theory. Part of you wanted to tell him, you knew with an outside objective view alongside his intelligence that he’d be able to find you a solution, but you also didn’t want to burden him.

When you reach his apartment, you knock on the door twice. “Spence?”

The door unlocked almost before you’re finished knocking, and Spencer stands on the other side, dressed in tardis pyjama pants and a black t-shirt, his brown hair a little flattened, presumably from tossing around in bed trying to get comfortable.

“Hey,” He stepped aside to let you in, adjusting the crooked glasses sat over his nose.

“I’m so sorry for bothering you so late, thank you for letting me come over-“ You blurt out a hasty apology for your intrusion as you take your shoes off at the door and slump down on Spencer’s couch, dropping your bag on the floor next to you.

Spencer followed you with his eyes as he closed and locked the door behind you. “It’s totally fine, it doesn’t matter if it’s 2pm or 2am, you’re always welcome, you know that,”

Spencer smiles at you before asking, “So, what’s going on?”

“I think I’m being stalked-"

The words almost melded together with how fast you spoke them, and it’s only after the whole sentence leaves your mouth you realise that you’d blurted out the thing you’d been mentally fighting over telling him or not.

Well, so much for dealing with it on your own.

Spencer’s smile immediately disappears, being replaced with a look of concern. “Stalked? What do you mean? What’s been happening?”

You sigh softly at Spencer’s expression. There was no backtracking from this now. So you start right from the beginning.

“Well, a few weeks ago I found this perfectly pruned rose on my doorstep,"

Spencer listens to your explanation with a small nod. “Right…”

“But I wasn’t like concerned or anything because my neighbours have a rose bush, and I figured it was just the wind or something. You know, sometimes that kind of stuff happens right? But then over the last few weeks things keep turning up and I know that it’s not normal you know?”

Spencer’s look of concern only grows as you begin explaining, and he took a seat next to you on the couch. “What kind of things have been showing up? Apart from the rose?”

“Like two-ish weeks after the rose thing, there was an envelope posted through my door alongside the rest of my mail, and I ended up opening it because it didn’t have a name on the front and I wanted to to figure out who it was for right?”

Spencer gives you a small nod as a gesture for you to continue.

“I thought it was a birthday card at first, but I’m pretty sure it was a poem, it was just typed out and stuck in the envelope, no names or addresses or anything. So I just threw it out and moved on. I figured it was some teenager who’d posted a love note through the wrong door.”

You use your hands to gesture your explanation, your right leg bouncing absentmindedly as the nervous tension builds up in your body.

“And then after the case we had in Iowa I came home and instead of three plants on my kitchen windowsill there was four. And that was when I was like ‘okay something’s not right here’, and I even rang Penny to check and she confirmed that I’d only bought three,”

Spencer raises a brow, his expression furrowing further if that was possible. “Wait, it turned up in your house?”

You give him a small nod. “I checked all the doors and windows and everything but there was no evidence that anyone had broken in, and by this point I’m like genuinely questioning my sanity over whether I’d actually just bought this stupid plant myself and was freaking myself out over it, but then yesterday evening after I got home from the Airport I found another envelope by my front door, same colour, shape and everything, they even both had the same sticker keeping them closed, but this one had my name written on the front of it,”

By this point, your explanation had turned into more of a ramble, and by the time you had reached a comfortable place to stop, you were feeling short on breath.

“And you opened it?”

You respond to Spencer’s question with a nod, brushing a piece of hair from your eye. “I opened it an hour ago maybe?”

“And it was another poem?”

You give Spencer another small nod in affirmation at his prediction.

“Okay, what else? Did anything else happen?” Spencer’s hand reaches out towards the curve of your knee, effectively halting the nervous tic you’re using to release your tension.

“Well, I showed you this earlier-”

You bend forward to pull your backpack up onto your lap, rifling through it to pull out the worn copy of Romeo and Juliet to present him with it once more.

“it was left at the office’s front desk which half makes me want to believe that it’s not related, but I was reading the annotations earlier and they’re really specific and I freaked myself out which is why I called you in the first place-“

Spencer’s brows crease under the rims of his glasses as his eyes pour over the book’s cover again. “Who left it for you?“

“I don’t know Spencer that’s my issue," You sigh softly as you turn the book over in my hands. “Can you just read through this for me please? I didn’t finish it because I freaked myself out and then immediately came over here so-“

You over-explain your reasoning for wanting him to read through the book for you, figuring that if you could give him a valid reason then you would feel less guilty about asking him to do it in the first place.

Spencer takes the book from you hands whilst you’re still explaining yourself, beginning to flick through the pages one by one, pulling his middle and ring fingers down the page as he scans over the writing.

It’s times like these you’re thankful that Spencer’s reading speed is 85 times faster than the average person’s, and you find your eyes following his fingers as he traces them over the pages, taking note of how he bends his middle finger ever so slightly so that his fingertips are level with each other and how he keeps his index finger raised away from the paper’s surface. It was oddly distracting to watch.

It takes him little more than five minutes to have read through the whole thing, with him stopping a few times along the way to make a couple of comments as he does.

“Well he makes reference to your favourite colour, and your birthday...”

“....your job...”

“...and of course your name.”

“Jesus, the guy’s really obsessed with you isn’t he.”

You furrow your face as Spencer confirms your concerns, rubbing your hands over your legs as a self-soothing technique.

Spencer thinks again for a moment as he shuts the book in his lap. “I think you should spend the night here.”

You can see his gears are turning, the same cogs turning when he’s deep in a profile. He’s gone from being concerned to calculated. “No way in hell am I leaving you alone tonight.”

“I don’t wanna burden you this is a me problem-“ You immediately shut down his suggestion despite you having stayed at his apartment on multiple occasions in the past.

You’d gotten an objective opinion on the situation. That was all you wanted. You didn’t need to drag him any further into your personal issues.

“Hey no,” Spencer shakes his head as he places the book down on the small oak coffee table in front of you. “You’re not burdening me, okay? You don’t have to be alone tonight, you can sleep here.”

“I’m not letting you leave now,” Spencer adds with finality. “You’re clearly anxious, and you look like you need to get some proper sleep.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at Spencer’s insistence, flickering your eyes over to the book on the table, its embossing glinting slightly under the warm overhead light.

He might not exercise it often, but Spencer definitely knew how to put his foot down when he needed to.

“Thank you…”

“Hey, look at me?” Spencer waits until you look at him, then he offers you a soft, reassuring smile. “...Everything’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

You give him a short nod with a pursed smile, not entirely convinced of his assurance but wanting to go along with it anyway for the sake of being able to calm down enough to at least get some sleep. “Okay,“

“Let’s get you set up for the night. We’ll talk this through in the morning.”

Spencer stands up, pushing himself up from the sofa with his hands and leaving into the bedroom. “Get as comfy as you’d like okay? I’ll be back.”

He turns to leave then stops at the door and looks at you one more time. “Oh, and... do you want to borrow one of my T-shirts?”

The invitation was obvious. “Uh yeah if you don’t mind…”

He gives you a small nod as he retreats into his bedroom, re-emerging a few minutes later with a fleece blanket, one of the pillows from his bed, and a black T-Shirt identical to the one he was wearing. “Here, my couch probably isn’t the comfiest place to sleep but-”

He hands the T-shirt over to you with a small smile, stacking the blanket and the pillow on the end of the sofa.

“Don’t be silly Spencer, I’m grateful for you even letting me in let alone letting me stay over on such short notice,” You return his smile with one of your own as you take the shirt from him, retreating into the bathroom to change into it.

You feel the soft cotton against your bare skin as you pull the fabric over your head, noticing that it’s been washed recently, and it still has a slight smell of Spencer’s cologne. It falls quite low, Spencer having to have bought a bigger size than he realistically needed due to the length of his torso.

Your mind continues to run rampant as you exit the bathroom, a mix of the overwhelming stress of your situation and the conflicting feeling of serenity from the solicitude radiating from Spencer.

It was a lot to process for it to be just 1am.

You basically collapse onto Spencer’s couch, burying your head into his pillow with a groan and unfolding the blanket to throw it over yourself.

“If you need anything, anything at all just wake me up okay?” Spencer continued to express that kind compassion that made your chest tingle a little, definitely not helped by the faint scent of his cologne radiating from his pillow, joined by a trace of lavender, most likely an essential oil he’d been using in the hope it would help him sleep better.

“Yeah, thank you again Spencer, it really means a lot.” Your voice is half muffled by the angle of your head against the pillow as you crane your neck to look at him.

“It’s really no problem. You’re always welcome,” He switched off the small lamp keeping the living room, dimly lit, allowing it to fall into a comfortable darkness. “Get some sleep okay?”

“Yeah, thank you Spence…” Spencer gives you one last smile, joined by a half wave that you found more endearing than awkward, before leaving for his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.

For the next half hour or so you lie awake on his couch, trying in vain to sleep despite the rampaging thoughts running through your head. It was only when you heard Spencer open the door and quietly enter the room that you finally turned your head to look at him.

The surprise on his face told you that he hadn’t expected you to be still awake. “Why are you still up?”

“My mind’s running a million miles a minute, why are you up?” Your voice is partially hoarse from tiredness, and you shift around on the couch until you are lying facing in his direction.

“Just wanted to get a glass of water…” Spencer purses his lips slightly as his eyes trail over the position you’re lying in, clearly feeling a sad-sympathy at your mind’s insistence at you staying awake. “Hey, can I try something?”

Spencer slowly makes his way over to where you’re lying, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table in front of you.

“Sure?” You raise an eyebrow slightly, rubbing one of your knuckles over your eyelid. Spencer smiles at your reaction, extending his hand palm-up.. “Alright... can I have your hand please?”

“Should I sit up?” You extend your right hand towards him, using your left to prop yourself up onto your elbow.

Spencer shakes his head. “No, no, keep being comfortable... I think I know how to fix your problem.”

Spencer then reaches out and takes your hand firmly in his, holding it between both of his hands with your palm facing the ceiling. “Ready?”

You give him a short nod in expectancy, eyes flickering between the way his hands hold yours and his eyes as you lie on your back.

His hands were frigidly cold compared to the warmth of his apartment, but you couldn’t say that it was uncomfortable, it was actually quite soothing, a nice contrast from the small cocoon of warmth under the blanket.

Spencer slowly rubs his fingers on the inside of your palm, adding a gentle pressure first to the bases of your fingers and working his way down slowly, pressing the pads of his fingertips into your skin in small circles. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

You follow his guidance with no hesitation, relaxing back into the pillow beneath your head and closing your eyes as you focus on the feeling of Spencer’s fingers dancing over the palm of your hand.

“Just breathe in and out....” You can hear the confidence in his voice as he continues to move the pressure downwards, pressing his thumb against your wrist and gently massaging it.

“A lack of sleep is usually the cause of delayed melatonin production, and studies have shown that certain pressure points on our bodies can help speed up the process.” Spencer begins to explain the reasoning and process behind the gentle hand massage he’s giving you, his voice soft and quiet.

“It was traditionally used in China as a part of acupressure, with six identified pressure points on our bodies that encouraged the production of serotonin and melatonin to help with relaxation and reduce chronic pain, but in the present day it’s been adapted into a massaging technique to help people fall asleep.”

The softness of his voice paired with the gentle massaging of his fingers on your wrist quickly left you feeling more relaxed.

“There are two pressure points on different points of your ankles, one point on each foot, one between your eyebrows, one behind each of your ears, and one on each of your wrists.” You find yourself nodding along to his explanation absentmindedly as you enjoy the gentle pressure of his fingers.

“Although, the only pressure points that have been reliably linked to melatonin production are those on your wrists and behind your ears, here, lie on your side for me.” Spencer gives your wrist a gentle pull to encourage you to turn over, which you very gladly oblige to, humming a soft agreement as you turn to lie of your side facing him with your eyes still closed.

He gently slides his hand up the side of your neck, the coldness of his fingers sending a small shudder up your back, and he presses his thumb into the small gap between your jaw and the rest of your skull, rubbing it in slow circles.

You let out a small, almost inaudible sigh at the gentle pressure he’s applying, and Spencer can tell that you’re quickly falling into full relaxation. “The best results from acupressure occur after 3 - 5 minutes of continuous pressure and…”

His voice trails off slowly as he feels the tension in your jaw release, and he glances down towards your face, a small smile adorning his features at your relaxed expression. “…is best done in a comfortable environment…”

He continues to rub gentle circles into your skin for the next few minutes before gently removing his hand from you, standing up from where he was sat on the coffee table with a soft smile still gracing his features.

“Sleep well..” He whispers the words under his breath as he slowly retreats back to his bedroom, the glass of water he originally sought after completely forgotten about.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

It’d been a few days since you’d confided in Spencer about the stalking situation and stayed the night with him, and fit with a new set of locks on your doors, you’d gone back home to stay on your own.

You walk into the BAU office expecting to see Spencer at his desk like always, ready to talk through your next steps forward with him, except he wasn’t there. You check the watch on your wrist. 7:45. He should’ve arrived by now. Why wasn’t he here?

"Hey uh, do you know where Spencer is?" You approach Morgan over at the kitchenette, leaning against the counter top with your elbow.

“Good morning to you too lover.” Morgan gives a half-laugh at your lack of your usual greetings, making sure to throw in a tease about how the first thing you talk about is Spencer’s whereabouts, not something entirely unfounded considering how close you and Spencer had been getting over the last week or so.

“Ha ha very funny, do you know where he is?” You respond to his quip with a slight roll of your eyes.

Morgan shrugs his shoulder slightly, taking a sip of his freshly made coffee. “Maybe he slept in,”

“Spencer Reid? The man with four wake up alarms?” You furrow your expression slightly. Something about Spencer not already being in the office didn’t sit right with you.

“Okay okay, maybe that was a bad guess, but I don’t know, who knows what he might be doing,” Morgan remains nonchalant if not a little heedless. “Maybe he stumbled on an antique Russian novel collection on the way to work or something,”

“He’s never late for work-“ You mutter to yourself under your breath, half-ignoring Morgan’s attempts at explaining Spencer’s lateness, and you pull your phone out of your pocket, dialling Spencer’s number and holding up the phone to your ear, the consecutive rings echoing out of your phone’s speaker.

Pick up Spencer.

If anyone on the BAU team would know Spencer’s whereabouts, it should be the two of you. And yet neither of you had any clue where he was.

The phone continues to ring until it reaches his voicemail. there’s no answer.

Something was wrong.

You try to call him again. Nothing. This was not like Spencer at all.

Your anxiety spikes as your subconscious links his lack of answering back to your stalking situation, What if Spencer was in danger? What if this stalker had followed you to Spencer’s apartment that night you stayed with him and now knew where he lived?

The minute your brain made the connection you were turning on your heels to exit the office, grabbing your car keys from your desk as you did so.

“Hey-” Morgan follows you over to your desk, putting an arm out as you try to walk past him. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Spencer’s apartment.” You try to push Morgan’s arm out of the way, only for him to block you with his entire body instead.

“Slow your roll there turbo, everyone is late every now and again, that doesn’t mean we have to turn up to their house out of nowhere.” Morgan’s explanation would be logical under normal circumstances, but he didn’t know that you were being stalked. Nor did he know that this stalker had possibly found Spencer’s address due to your own stupidity leaving him in potential danger.

“Listen Morgan I appreciate your apprehension but I do not have time for this right now.” You manage to swerve your way around Morgan and push your way out of the glass doors of the BAU office, bee-lining it down the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator.

“Hey! Wait up!” Morgan’s voice echoes down the stairwell as he runs out of the office after you, only managing to catch up to you as you stop to unlock your car, and he blocks the door from opening with his hand. “What is going on?”

“Morgan, if you want to ask me questions, get in the car.” The tone of your voice leaves no room for argument, and Morgan can tell be this point taht you’re not alright, so he gives you a short nod and goes around the front of the car to get in the passenger’s side.

Please be okay, please be okay...

That’s what’s going through your mind as you leave the BAU building, running the speed limit as you drive towards Spencer’s apartment with an awful feeling in your stomach.

“So are you going to tell me what’s going on or what?” Morgan begins his questioning as soon as you hit the main road.

“I think Spencer is in danger.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, both hands braced against the steering wheel as you turn a roundabout.

“Okay, listen.... I’m with you in the fact that this is very out of character for Spencer... but there’s no use in jumping to conclusions, okay?” He puts a hand on your shoulder, clearly concerned at how fast your mind linked Spencer being late with him being in danger. “Let’s just approach this calmly and rationally.”

“I am being rational.”

“No you’re not, you’re panicking,” Morgan gives your shoulder a squeeze before letting his hand fall back into his lap. “Just take a deep breath and a second to think.” Morgan’s voice was full of a calm, soothing reassurance even as you were clearly anxious. “You’re gonna give yourself a panic attack if you don’t.”

“I know I know I’m fine-“

You open your palms against the steering wheel as if to emphasise your point, exhaling heavily through your nose as you pull into the parking lot of Spencer’s Apartment building, leaving your car parked at an angle across two parking spaces.

You’re thankful in this moment that Spencer lives so close to the office building, and you shut off the car quickly, exiting it with the same haste.

Morgan follows closely behind you as you jog across the concrete towards the entrance of the building, locking your car remotely as you pushed the outside door open and started your ascent of the stairs.

“Come on, calm down you don’t need to run-” Morgan called after you as he followed you up the stairs, continuing to try in vein to get you to take a step back and just calm down a little.

You didn’t listen of course, and you only come to a halt once you’ve reached Spencer’s apartment door.

You reach out your right hand to knock as Morgan reaches your side, but as your knuckles come into contact with the wood of the door it creaks open, the hinge pin of the door not fully closed.

Oh no.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #criminal minds x reader #mgg #spencer reid angst #erotomania

684 notes · View notes

spookberry · 2 months

Text

Shadow High series 3 my new beloved

I didnt even like most of em until i saw them in person, but the knowledge that they'll probably never be in the show has my brain in a "well its free realestate" kinda mood

Random list of information cuz ive been plotting out friend dynamics and background lore

-i like to pretend Rainbow High/Shadow High are actually Rainbow University/Shadow University cuz im in art college Right Now and i think it makes more sense with the whole dorm room situation. And also major makes more sense than focus IMO

-I changed Pinkie's major from film to just undeclared. I think she eventually does land on Film. She just has a lot of interests! Her dream has always been to one day direct films, and I think she comes to love them even more while developing ideas her with the group as she winds up in a Director/Producer position for most of them. BUT also every time she takes a class in a different program she cant help but fall in love with that way of making art too. So she has a hard time picking for a while and changed her major a couple times before landing on Film.

-Pinkie and Berrie bond a lot over a shared interest in vocal synths (tho Berrie knows more about them than her).

-The two made Pinkie's vtuber model together!

-the fandom wiki says PJ is from germany?? Idk how canon that is tbh but ive decided to embrace it i guess

-Rooney's canon name is Scarlet Rose, but i thought it was kinda lame especially when Rosie Redwood is also in this line sooo I renamed her! Stuck to the color name puns tho. Mar Rooney. Maroon. Haha

-Speaking on her though i love that shes from texas and likes writing scifi mystery type stuff and that being said i just Know deep in my bones that she was a Voltron Legendary Defender fan and Keith was/is 100% her favorite. She has a continued fondness for mothman specifically cuz of this.

-PJ and Rooney actually talk about fandom and shows/movies ALL the time. They dont have a ton of overlapping interests, but where they do? The two literally never shut up.

-Rosie is such a random character, like outside of her design she feels very poorly considered. So I scrapped the cosmetology thing and made her an illustrator instead! I think it works better with her love of making art in nature. I can see her being really into illustrated guide books. I think shes a bit snooty when it comes to art too. It takes being friends with other artists to become more open minded.

-I like the idea that Rosie is mainly friends with Rooney and Berrie ontop of that. The three of them often tag team storylines and how theyd interpret them into different mediums. Rosie will draw up a bunch of concept stuff while Rooney writes up a pitch bible and Berrie will start making shit move and throwing in her own ideas on camera angles and character designs.

-as an animation major Berrie was required to take a sound design class early on, which is where she met Oliver! Hes very laid back, and likes to go with the flow, but functions a little like the "mom" of the group. Often reminding the girls to take breaks, drink water, stop looking at their screens lest they get eye strain etc. He's multi-talented tbh but Music is his one true passion and he likes how the girls are always giving him collaboration opportunities.

-Oliver and Rosie like to talk sports a lot, both having played a bunch when they were younger and throughout high school.

-Lavender Lynn is Oliver's number one "person who needs constant reminders to settle down" she is in a constant buzz of trying to get the best shots and is utterly obsessed with the process of artistic documentation. Everything must be documented.

-the whole school loves her for this actually, she has a whole side gig where other students hire her to help photograph their projects. She saves everything she earns from this for her future dream plans to visit paris. She has it set really, many of the artists who she helps photograph now will remain steadfast clients of hers forever onward.

-PJ and Lynn actually took a print media class together at one point. Which didnt at the time spark an everlasting friendship. But it did give PJ an easier in to ask for Lynn's help documenting a project the group was working on. One of Lynn's first times photographing them work happened to fall on a day where Rosie had planned to trick everyone into going on a nature walk sans devices... Lynn wound up really appreciating this outing and decided to continue hanging around the group even after that project had ended.

#shadow high #rainbow high #my art #fanart #i had to write down all my ideas just to get them outta my head #now im free

204 notes · View notes

the-kr8tor · 4 months

Note

Ok, it’s a bit early for this type of request but hobie brown on Valentine’s Day with reader. Even though he hates the capitalist part of it, reader convinces him it’s all about the love and they celebrate together. (They make each other homemade gifts, and if they want something from the store hobie would steal it) <3

-🪩

Thank you for the adorable request!! Ly 🫶 (uploaded early bc i tend to forget abt valentine's day lol)

Pairing: Hobie Brown x gn! Reader/ Spider-Punk x gn! Reader

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader, CW food mentions, FLUFF.

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The loud music blares right inside your eardrums, chocolate aroma filtering through the entire flat, there's dried bits of it in your hair, apron and hands. You hum while putting the melted chocolate in its heart shaped molds.

Hobie's initials are freshly painted using icing on the prototypes or what you called ‘the rejected batch’ after you dumped more cocoa powder in it, making it lumpy and in turn making the hearts look wonky.

Stretching your aching neck, you place the tray of chocolate inside the freezer to cool, nodding to yourself at how you've practically perfected the last batch; now you just have to wait for it to freeze over so you could paint his initials and cartoon versions of you two on the chocolate. After that you can finally box them up and gift them to Hobie's as a valentine's gift—

“What's all this then?” A chin plops atop your shoulder, fingers taking off your earbuds for you.

You jump in your skin, back hitting the fridge door in surprise. “Fucking fuck!”

Hobie grins at your reaction, his hand hidden behind his back. “Cute apron. You look bloody fit in it.”

You clutch your imaginary pearls. “You're such an ass.” calming your racing heart, you flick his forehead. “You're early.”

“Time is a construct.”

“I'm not done with your gift.”

“Valentine's day is a sham holiday that capitalists invented so you could buy shit your partner doesn't need.” He raises a brow at you.

You loop your arms around his neck, smile widening at every word he utters. “What's that behind you then?”

“Flowers,” he sighs, revealing a bouquet of flowers from behind, the colorful paper crinkles, a thin red ribbon tying it all together. You're sure you've seen the flowers somewhere. “Before you say anythin’ it's from my garden.”

“You're an absolute sweetheart, Hobie brown.” eyes sparkling, you lean to press numerous kisses on his whole face, he scrunches up, feigning offense at your comment, but the way he subtly chases your lips says otherwise.

“My big punk sweetheart got me flowers!” You can't help but squeeze his cheeks. “From his beloved garden no less!” Pressing kisses in quick succession, he surrenders to you, sighing with every smooch you give him.

You lean away, affection satiated. He looks properly smooched with his face relaxed and lips smiling lopsidedly. His eyes are the same shape as the chocolates you've been making.

“The holiday's still a bloody cash grab.” He huffs, not an annoyed huff but a content one as you wipe the sheen you've left on his skin.

“I know it is.” You chuckle, busying yourself on cleaning his face. Your movements remind him of a cat grooming another cat; tender and soothing for the one they love. “It's about the thought, the love that comes with the gifts. Purchased or made there's love underneath it all.” Voice soft, lashes fluttering, you look at him like you've got the whole world in your hands.

“Or stolen from a multi million store that doesn't pay their employees fairly?” Hobie holds you by your middle, spare hand still clutched around the precious bouquet.

“Oh especially then!” you take his gift, smelling the petals. Your heart is full.

Smiling, you embrace him that he welcomes wholeheartedly. Nose nuzzling the crook of his neck, you leave a soft kiss on his jaw for good measure.

“Based on the chocolates on the walls, 'm guessing you got me a new guitar?” Hobie jokes, voice muffled by your temple that he's currently pecking like a man deprived of kisses. (He isn't)

“Wait a few more hours to get your gift?” You lean away to look at him, he's eyeing the prototypes on the counter.

“Stay with you for the rest of the day, getting snogged by you every second?” You nod, giggling. “Sounds like pants.” Before you could say something witty, he crashes his lips to yours.

Hobie tastes chocolates in your lips, making him kiss you deeper. Hands gliding along your lower back, he finds penchant on your hips, molding the soft skin in his hands.

He leans back, watching your flustered face gawp at him. “Tastes good, love.” His voice is deep and saccharine. You're absolutely melting in his arms, the bouquet almost slipping from your clammy hands.

“Let me get another taste.”

#request done #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #the kr8tor's creations #hobie brown #atsv fanfiction #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #valentine's fic #hobie brown x gn! reader #spider punk x gn! reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x you #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie fluff #cw food mention #fanfic #🪩 anon

165 notes · View notes

pepsiconcoction · 1 year

Text

Discounted Cookies | Han Jisung x Reader

pairing: barista!han jisung x gn!reaer

tags: coffee shop au, a little bit of angst, minor language, jisung is a lil flirt, reader doesn't wanna put up with it, fluff, no smut

requested? yes! by anon xox

an: i actually don't know how i feel about this, but it's cute regardless, anon i hope i captured what u meant, i tried my best to get reader to be Annoyed but i love jisung too much, sorry ;-;

wc: 3,890

4 times Jisung flirted with you + 1 time you flirted with him.

The first time you see him.

It’s a few minutes past midnight and you think this might be your end. You’re going to pass out, for sure. You had been studying at the library for the past 7 hours straight for an exam worth 60% of your grade. Studying Law was definitely a choice. Specifically, it was the choice you made two and a half years ago, resulting in you, at this moment, halfway through your third year and on the brink of a breakdown. The breakdown? Partially caused by your ex-boyfriend, who had just broken up with you no more than five days ago. You’re fine. People keep asking. You really wish they would stop.

In the distance, you spot a flood of warm, yellow light flooding out of a shop window. As you get closer, you recognise it’s a coffee shop, you think it may even be the one your friend had told you about, saying it was her favourite place to study as it’s open 24 hours. It seems tonight is the night you’re finally going to check it out.

It’s kind of snowy at your feet, thanks to the early month of the year, but you wish it was more picturesque and not just the grey slush that you think you can feel leaking through your boots. At least it’ll be nice to get some warmth for a few minutes.

You push open the door, a small bell jingling above your head, and the warmth hits you like a wall, suffocating in its intensity. There’s only one other person in here: an old trucker-looking guy, face held over a steaming cup of coffee.

“I’ll be out in a second!” You hear a man shout from behind the counter, you guess he’s even further in the back than you can see. You hear a small commotion that sounds a bit like someone stamping on a cardboard box. A few seconds later, a guy appears, slightly dishevelled and running his hands through his hair as he exhales. His hair parts in the middle and brushes his eyebrows, slightly longer around the edges, as if gone uncut for a few months. A friendly face with round cheeks looks at you, a grin appearing on his face. He brushes down his apron and makes his way to the counter.

“Sorry about that, what can I get ya?” he asks.

“Just an Americano to go, please,” You smile back at him.

“Can I offer you any discounted sweet treats?” He gestures to an almost empty cake counter. “They’re discounted because it’s so late, not because they’re bad.” He quickly adds on. You spot a singular chocolate cookie looking very lonely.

“Sure, I’ll take the cookie,” you say, gesturing to it.

“Good choice, madam.” He nods his head, punching it into the register.

“Can I take a name?”

“Do you need it?” You ask, looking around at the empty store.

“Not really, but I’d like it.” He shrugs.

“Y/n,” you sigh. This isn’t what you were looking for at the moment, but you decide to just let it go.

“Not having a good day?” he asks, seemingly concerned.

“Not having a good week,” you say flatly, hoping to communicate your disinterest.

“Well, Y/n, feel free to take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you once it’s done.” He grins again and spins around, getting to work on the coffee machine. God, who even has this much energy this late at night? Crazy people, that’s who.

You sit down at one of the tables, taking out your phone and it reads 12:17am. It feels like it’s mocking you. You scroll through your socials, attempting to keep what small semblance of a social life you think you have together, but a few minutes later, a familiar barista comes into your view. You stand up, accepting the coffee from him and he hands you the cookie which is now in a brown, paper bag.

“One Americano, and one discounted cookie.” He hands you each and you stand up, thanking him.

“And maybe a little extra something, since you’re having a bad week and all,” he adds quietly, shuffling on his feet slightly. You peek inside the bag and notice a candy bar, something chocolatey.

“Thank you,” You stutter, not expecting the kind gesture.

“Come back again soon!” He says, already heading back to the counter where he starts to mess with something, in a clear attempt to look busy. You turn and

leave. Despite the cold air outside, there is an unfamiliar warmth in your body.

The second time you see him.

You wake up the next day, surprisingly on time despite the lack of alarm. It’s only 10am and you mentally prepare yourself for the day ahead of you. The exam is in 5 days. Thankfully you’re studying at home today, not needing the library for today’s subjects. The state of your flat reflects your mind, it’s a mess, dishes in the sink, clothes piling up next to the dryer. After an hour or so of quick chores, it’s in a slightly better state, good enough to study in, you think.

And study, you do. Day turns to night and you find yourself closing the last page of a textbook, letting out a deep breath. You could feel your anxiety beginning to fizzle around your body, not fully convinced you’ve properly ingested all the revision you’ve done. You need some food. The second half of a pizza is sitting untouched from earlier and you kinda feel bad for it, poor thing. Your eyes flicker towards the candy bar sitting on your desk, where it was abandoned last night and you think about the guy from the coffee shop. You throw on a slightly warmer outfit and you definitely don’t spend the walk to the coffee shop thinking about whether he might be working. To your surprise, he is.

You can see him behind the counter from outside, he’s pouring frothed milk into a cup, presumably for the customer standing at the counter. It’s slightly busier at this time, you’re not surprised considering it’s only just coming up to 8pm. You push open the door and the bell jingles like it did the night before. He looks up, looking past the customer in front and his mouth quirks up into a smile, recognising you instantly. You look around him, at the large menu boards, you don’t want to give him an ego.

The customer in front pays for their drink and leaves, and the man’s smile finally points directly at you.

“Hello again, Y/n, what can I get you today?” He grins at you, eyes crinkling. You’re surprised he remembers your name.

“A latte, please,” you say, glancing up at the menu.

“To go, or sit in?” His eyebrow quirks.

“Oh, uh-”

“You’re sitting in,” he answers for you, already punching it into the register.

“Fine.” Your roll your eyes.

“Take a seat.” He gestures to the barstool-type seating a little further down the counter. You’re not really sure why you actually sit down.

“Is your week any better?” He looks over his shoulder as he makes your drink.

“Not really, no.” You respond. He pauses in his actions, looking at you expectingly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?”

“We don’t know each other,” you said, eyebrows furrowing.

“Okay, so my name is Jisung, Han Jisung, and today, I’m your barista. Tomorrow, maybe more!” He winks as he turns back to the machine which is spewing out your drink.

“Well, Han Jisung, if you must know, I’m stressed the fuck out for my exam next Monday, I’ve got a practical in two days, and my boyfriend broke up with me a few days ago because I was too much for him. He was just a pathetic, weak little man, I really don’t know how I lasted that long with him.” You found yourself ranting, releasing some of the pent-up frustration you’ve been feeling for the past few days.

“Well,” Jisung starts. “that’s very fair.” He goes quiet for the remainder of the time he is making the drink, leaving a slightly awkward air around you. You focus your eyes on the counter in front of you in an attempt to ignore the stress coming back to you. All of a sudden a drink is slid across the counter.

“Is that a… squirrel?” You look from the cute latte art to the man standing across the counter from you. He looks sheepishly up at you.

“Yeah, looks like me, doesn’t it?” His grin is back, and you can feel a smile creeping onto your face.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Your eyes linger on his for a few moments, until a group of people enter the small cafe and his attention is brought away from you. You discreetly watch him as he works, greeting the customers with a big smile, and using his charisma to get an extra cake sale. You think maybe you fell for the same charisma yesterday, but you don’t really mind because the cookie was pretty good. A few minutes pass, and you sip on your drink, trying to keep the art as intact as possible. Once the last customer had been served he side steps back towards you.

“How is it? Has it fixed your week yet?” He raises his eyebrows, smirking slightly.

“I’m not sure a drink can fix my week,” you respond, letting out a small sigh.

“Nonsense! Of course, it can. Take a sip.” he gestures to you to lift the mug to your lips. You reluctantly take a sip.

“See? It’s working, no?” he chuckles. You put the cup down and try your best not to laugh.

“There’s that pretty smile!” he grins, earning a roll of your eyes. Your phone buzzes with an incoming email from your university, it’s just a random send-to-all type of email but it does remind you of your looming academic responsibilities.

“Thank you, for the squirrel,” you tell him while standing up from the stool.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, round eyes looking suddenly lost.

“I’ve got work to do, I’ll see you around.”

“You better.” His grin is wide as he watches you leave, hoping you do come back soon.

The third time you see him.

“We crushed it!” You celebrate with your best friend, the two of you have just partaken in a mock legal trial as part of an assessment. Your Professor had wanted to challenge the class, setting up fake suspects and witnesses, and had even arranged for a court stenographer to be present. Your group had won the case, despite the opposing team putting up a pretty tough fight.

“Did you see the look on the judged face when you caught out the lying witness? I was trying so hard not to say something.” Your friend gushes, talking faster than you could keep up with.

“I know!” You laugh but break into a yawn as the previous nights studying catches up with you once the excitement is over.

“Coffee?” She asks.

“Absolutely.”

You’re so engrossed in the conversation as the two of you walk that you don’t even realise you’ve made it all the way to the familiar coffee shop. You stop in your tracks a few feet from the door.

“Not here,” you groan.

“Why not? This place does the best coffee on campus.” She looks confused as she turns back to you.

“I always see the same barista, and he always hits on me, I just can’t be bothered today.” You whine a little, trying to convince her.

“Well, is he working right now?”

You take a step further, enough to look through the window and see the counter. There is a man, but it’s not Jisung.

“I don’t see him.” You trail off, scanning the rest of the shop as much as you can see.

“Alright then, we’re getting coffee here.” Your friend grabs you by the hand and practically pulls you into the small cafe. There is a surprising queue, so you continue to just make conversation with her until you’re next at the counter. The barista who serves you has curly, black hair and biceps that honestly look like they’re about to burst his sleeves. He greets both of you with a smile and begins to punch your orders into the register.

“Changbin! Catch!” You hear a familiar voice. Your heart sinks to your ass. The barista serving you, Changbin, turns back and looks towards the door into the back. Peeking around the cake stand, you catch a glimpse of Jisung. He’s hanging onto the door with a container of what looks like soya milk. He throws it, and Changbin catches it.

“Sorry about that, our delivery was late this morning and only just arrived, so it’s a bit crazy right now,” Changbin explains, replacing an empty soya milk container.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” You shrug. He finishes taking your order and the two of you move to the side to wait.

“He’s kind of fit,” your friend leans into you to say, once you’re both out of earshot.

“In more ways than one.” you giggle.

Your attention is quickly averted towards the door to the backroom, particularly to Jisung who is rushing out of it and towards the counter, tying his apron at the same time.

“Sorry Bin, it’s a nightmare back there.” He says, getting to work on coffee orders.

“No worries, we’re not too busy anymore, the rush seems to be over.” You realise that you and your friend were the last in the queue and the cafe has died down a little since you first entered. Jisung also takes a quick glance around, and that’s when he spots you.

“Y/n,” he says. “Back to see me so soon?” His lips turn up into a small smirk.

“You wish.” You roll your eyes. He just laughs and turns back to the coffee machine. You look at your friend and give her a look, the look you get in return translates to 'message received'.

“He’s kinda cute,” she whispers to you, thankfully you were far away enough for her not to be heard. You sighed. He is kind of cute but that’s not what you’re looking for right now. You’re in a weird enough head space as it is with all the stress of law school and the breakup, not even two weeks ago! You can’t seriously be thinking about dating so soon. Right…?

You’re ripped from your thoughts by the very same man that caused them.

“A white hot chocolate?” Jisung announces to the two of you, but he’s looking at you.

“Yeah, that’s me.” You step up to the counter and begin to take it.

“You’re looking very fancy today, big plans?” he asks, smiling.

“I had a mock trial this morning.” You say and he looks at you with wide eyes, kind of like a deer in headlights.

“You know, like a court trial?” you ask.

“Law! That’s what you’re studying.” He finally realises.

“I didn’t say?” You’re now the one who’s confused.

“No, you never, I’ve been trying to figure it out, trying to guess.” he laughs. Changbin appears next to him and slides an espresso onto the counter, your friend stepping over to take it.

“Bin, they’re a lawyer! Isn’t that cool?” Jisung gushes a little, looking back at you with big eyes.

“They won their trial this morning.” Your friend interrupts before you can say anything. You shoot her a look.

“Really?” The big, sparkling doe eyes are back as he leans against the counter.

“I, uh, yeah,” you stutter a little.

“Wow, that’s so cool.”

“Sung, I don’t pay you to stand around and flirt with our customers.” Changbin walks back towards the coffee machine and he begins prepping another order.

“You don’t pay me at all, you’re not even a manager!” Jisung starts whining as he stands up properly. He turns back to you.

“Enjoy your drinks!” He says. You take this as your queue to leave and make a beeline out of the coffee shop, drink in hand. Your friend follows behind you, honestly a little confused.

Once you’re a safe distance from the shop, you finally feel able to breathe again.

The fourth time you see him.

Beep… beep… beep…

Your alarm. You reach over and turn it off, groaning as you roll back over, the feeling of dread already seeping into your bones. It’s the morning of the exam. The exam you’ve been dreading. The exam that is responsible for 60% of your grade. You groan again.

You feel heavy as you walk around your flat, attempting to get ready for the day ahead of you. It doesn’t help that you broke the fundamental exam rule of getting a good night’s sleep, tossing and turning until eventually passing out. So many textbooks have been haunting your thoughts that you barely noticed you’ve also been thinking about something else. Or rather someone else.

You can’t stop, he keeps popping up in your mind. His round face, and big smile. You feel yourself smiling just thinking about it. But fuck, it feels wrong. You shouldn’t be thinking about him. You don’t have time! You have a big exam, which conveniently starts in just over an hour.

You need a coffee.

You get to the familiar coffee shop at 11:31am. Your exam starts at noon. It takes 20 minutes to walk to the campus building it’s being held at. You probably don’t have time for this.

You see him. He’s behind the counter. You think your head hurts.

“Hey,” he greets you with that smile again. You feel sick. “What can I getcha?”

“Just a black coffee, to go.” Your voice croaks a little from its lack of use.

“You’re not staying with me?” He smirks, punching it into the register.

“No.”

You see him falter a little at your cold tone. His eyebrows quirk down a little.

“Are you alright?” he asks as you swipe your phone to pay.

“Stop it, Jisung. Can’t you just leave me alone today, God,” you say exasperated, and step away from the counter. You try to ignore the hurt look in his eye and you really try to ignore the way he shrunk in on himself. A different member of staff you’ve never seen before hands you the drink and you leave the coffee shop without looking back at him.

The exam goes terribly. At least it feels like it goes terribly. Your head is a mess, the guilt chewing at you the entire time. You do your best, writing everything you recall but by the end of it you have a decent headache and the pit in your gut has grown. You leave the exam and go home, collapsing in your bed and you fall asleep telling yourself you’ll feel better when you wake up.

The fifth time you see him.

You wake up in the afternoon the next day.

You don’t feel much better. Not after binging on a pizza and your favourite chocolate. Not after watching that movie that makes you cry every time. Not even after you’ve journaled about it. You think that particular journal entry is mostly scrambled nonsense. It probably is.

You decide to go for a walk to clear your head. Maybe the cold, winter air will freshen you up, and make you feel a bit better. With a big coat and a warm scarf wrapped around you, you walk into the evening air, it’s already past 11pm so you mostly see young people out drinking despite the weather. You have no destination but of course, you end up there.

The warm, yellow-toned light pours from the window as usual. The bell above the door is jarring to your fragile little heart.

He’s there.

He has his back to you, cleaning some sort of container in the sink.

“Two seconds!” he sing-songs. You don’t respond. A few seconds later he’s done and spins around to you. His eyes widen a little and then drop.

“Hi.” He steps towards the register.

“Hi,” you respond.

“Would you like something to drink?” his tone is passive, despite his words being polite.

“A hot chocolate, please, to sit in.” You try to smile at him, he focuses on the register. He nudges the card reader towards you as he steps away to get started on your drink. You move towards the bar-stool seating you sat on previously.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” you ask. He looks back to you.

“Go ahead,” he glances back at you. You take a seat and look around, and you realise for the first time that you’re the only person in here, apart from Jisung. You look back towards him just as he put the cup down in front of you.

“Thank you,” you smile again, he gives you a small one but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns away and starts fiddling with the coffee machine.

“Jisung, can I talk to you?” you ask.

“I thought you wanted me to leave you alone.” He says without turning around.

“Please.”

That gets him to turn around at least, even if he is still looking at anything but you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. I was just a mess, and that’s not an excuse but I need you to know I didn’t mean it,” you trail off, picking up your drink and taking a sip, appreciating its sweetness.

“And to be honest, I kind of miss the flirty Jisung. I was beginning to like him.” You take another sip of your hot chocolate, smirking to yourself when you see his head shoot up toward you.

“You do?” His eyes soften a little when you nod.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s okay. Well, it’s not okay. But it’s okay. To be honest, I probably was coming on weirdly strong, huh?” He scratches the back of his neck while you chuckle.

There is a moment of silence as you look down at your hot chocolate. Until a thought sparks in your head.

“Why do you flirt with me?”

“What?” His eyes widen and the poor guy looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“Why do you flirt with me? Or do you just flirt with anyone?” You raise an eyebrow.

“No! I don’t, it’s really just you, and I don’t know why, I just kinda… liked you? I mean, you seemed cool and nice and definitely my type.” He catches himself rambling.

“I’m your type?” You ask, smirking.

“Well, yeah.” he chuckles. You laugh too.

“Han Jisung, I think we should go on a date.” You say, definitively.

“Really?!” He stands up from where he was leaning against the back counter and crosses towards you.

“Actually, never mind.” You roll your eyes, chuckling.

“Do not play with my heart like this, I’m sensitive!” he clutches at his chest dramatically, making you laugh louder.

“Fine, but I get to pick where we’re going.”

“Deal! Just tell me a time and I’ll be there.” His grin tells you that he will live up to that. You fall into another silence as you hold each other’s gaze, just smiling.

“Hey, Y/n, you want a discounted cookie?”

“I’d love one.”

taglist - @lethallyprotected

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #skz #skz x reader #skz imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids smut #han jisung #jisung #skz fluff #skz smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung smut #han jisung imagines #skz drabbles #skz fanfic #stray kids hard thoughts

618 notes · View notes