Rya! 🧜‍♂️

he | 18 | sometimes a writter | always yapping about characters im in love with ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و

[unknownbl0ggerr]

His shirt

Chandler Bing x Fem! Reader

The group catches y/n wearing Chandlers shirt, y/n and chandler arent out as a couple yet. (Kinda based off of the “rach can i borrow your eyelash curler i think i lost mine”)

—————————————

“Hey Chandler, wheres that white shirt you always wear? I thought you were gonna wear it when we all go to my show.” Joey asked and the rest of the group turned to look at Chandler. Chandler didnt answer for a second, “uh in the washer! I need to run a load soon.” He stuttered through the sentence. Joey thought nothing of it and neither did the others. “Alright well lets go see if y/n is up yet, she needs to get ready too.” Ross said opening the door as everyone walked across the hall to the apartment.

“Y/n! You up yet?” Joey called out. She walked out of her room not paying any attention to what was going on, “give me five minutes to get dressed and i’ll be ready.” Some of the others gasped and Joey just nodded before looking at the others, “what?”

Joey looked back at y/n and eventually noticed her shirt, then gasped as well. Y/n looked confused then looked at the shirt she was wearing, Chandlers shirt. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Chandler who’s eyes were also widened. “In the washer huh Chandler?” Ross asked as the group looked at him. Chandler gave a sarcastic smile before speed walking over to y/n and practically dragging her back to her room.

“Well 1. I definitely need to see you wearing my clothes more often because.. wow.” Chandler started gesturing to her making her smile and blush, “and 2. I guess its time to tell them huh?” Y/n laughed and nodded, “i guess so. I’ll get dressed and then we’ll talk to them okay?” Chandler nodded and sat on her bed as she went and got dressed.

————

After she got dressed she walked out of her closet putting on her earrings, “okay ready?” She reached for the door but got pulled back, “one more thing.” Chandler smiled and pulled her to him, he cupped her face with one hand and kissed her. Once they pulled away she wiped the lipstick off his lips but kissed him on the cheek leaving a mark. “Now im ready.” He said smiling wide. She smiled back and nodded as she opened the door.

They were all in the same spot and immediately turned to the door. There was a minute of silence before everyone started talking, many “i knew it!” And “i called it!” And “you owe me that 20 bucks!” Were thrown around and Chandler wrapped an arm around your waist, “as much fun it was being a secret im definitely going to love this even more.” Chandler whispered quietly in her ear. She smiled and looked up at him as the others still argued with each other about their bets, “me too.”

Small one tonight as i finish the other one im working on. i had a dream about this last night actually about chandler and thought it wouldve been a cute prompt so i hope you all think so. Also I might start writing for Joey as well but we’ll see!

[velensky]

[whimsisoul4]

A home, with him:

Shane!Walsh x Fem!Reader

WC: 1,062

CW: mostly just fluff, established relationship, Shane being kinda whipped? I’m sorry if this is bad lol. I just wanted to write something with Shane during season two, but the timeline is loosely mentioned. I want to write a smutty PT.2, soooo, can’t think of anything else lol. 

Moving on from the group wasn't an easy choice; it was all you had known since the world's end. The safety and security kept you content, which seemed impossible given the state of the world. But ever since you met him, your world has started to piece itself back together slowly.

Shane Walsh was a complicated man, one you still didn't fully understand. Yet, after many moons spent together in a cramped tent or following him on runs, even though you had other ties to Lori and Carol, you didn't care. 

You wanted to be in his orbit, even though that was already drifting away. You could see how his anger and frustrations slowly built up; they started to bleed through with constant arguments with Rick, pushing you away, barely noticing Carl whenever he sought Shane's attention.

When Shane said he wanted to leave the group and go out on his own, you were terrified, scared for the shrinking world around you that seemed to be swallowing him whole, and he was leaning on that drifting board, relying on the chaos that was inevitable. He seemed to thrive on it.

It initially felt like abandonment. How could Shane leave you behind? How could he be so selfish? But then you understood why he had to leave; you recognized that your own perspective was selfish, especially considering how many people relied on his leadership. So, when he packed his minimal belongings into that silver Hyundai beater, you chose to follow.

He tried to argue with you, of course. Shane had no idea where the deserted roads would lead him or how he was going to survive on the small rations he brought, not to mention splitting them between the two of you. Still, somehow, it all worked out. You easily fit into the small routine Shane established for himself, and over the course of your travel, you settled down.

You seemed to travel endlessly, never finding a place good enough for you to settle down. It wasn't like you were searching for a new group; all you wanted was the stillness of the world's end and him. 

Shane agreed that solitude would suffice for him as long as he had you there. Your conversations compensated for the absence of others, and his deep voice and ongoing conspiracies kept you entertained during the long workdays of hunting for food and fighting off walkers whenever they lingered. 

Eventually, you found the perfect spot to settle.

You had stumbled upon the small shack purely by accident, as always; you didn't listen to Shane's orders and wandered too far into the forest. It all started to look the same after a while, and that thought alone was sickening. It had been three months since you left Rick's group, and Shane never let you get lost for long.

You pushed through the overgrown yard, the shack abandoned and nearly falling apart from neglect. The shack's door was almost broken off its hinges, allowing anyone to come in or go out. You take out your knife and step closer, pushing the door open to walk up the broken stone stairs. 

The shack was barely a one-room structure; it had an old kitchen and a bathroom with only a toilet and a tub.

The room contained an old bed in the middle, covered in a layer of dust. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the quiet fill the gaps of violence you've endured. A sound of a bird chirping in the distance drifts through the wind, and you chuckle softly. 

You wanted to make this a home; it was perfect for you and Shane, and you desperately wanted him to agree because you were exhausted. So tired of running away, sleeping the night in fear, wondering when the next time you two would eat, but you'd do it all over again if it meant you could have him to yourself.

You turn to leave and look for Shane when you hear frantic yelling, "Baby! Please, where are you?" Shane's voice echoes through the trees. You quickly head back, wanting him to see you're safe. "Shane! Through the trees," you call out, standing at the house entrance and waiting. His figure becomes visible soon, with his gun strapped to his chest, swinging roughly as he rushes toward your voice.

"Fuck, I couldn't find you. I thought the worst!" He curses as he pulls you close, your body relaxing against his. He takes deep breaths of your scent, his hands exploring to ensure your safety.

"I should spank your ass for not listening to me," he growls, then pulls back. You look into his dark eyes and kiss his stubble. "I'm sorry, Shane. I got lost," you sheepishly mumble. He scoffs, "Yeah, no kidding. Don't do that again." He gives your ass a warning tap, and you nod.

"What do you think?" You motion behind you, and he looks at the shack. A sneer of displeasure crosses his face. "That hell-hole? Looks like something out of a scary movie," he grumbles, and you slap his shoulder.

"Shane, the world has ended. Did you expect a damn mansion?" You roll your eyes, and he shakes his head. "Course not, but you deserve to stay somewhere better."

 Your eyes soften, and you hug him around his neck, which he gladly melts into, holding your waist. "I want to be wherever, with you." You reassure him, and he hums, caressing your hair. "You want to have this be our home?" You look around at the overgrown grass and plants, the broken stairs, and the withered walls of the house, and nod eagerly. 

"I want this, with you." Shane grips your chin. "Then you'll get it. Anything you want, I'll make happen. We can build a fence around it, you can have that garden you keep talking about, and at night, I can make you scream as loud as you want."

He nips your bottom lip, and you giggle. "Sounds perfect." "Sure does, sweetheart. Should we go christen our new home?" He bends down, picks you up, and tosses you over his shoulder. You squeal and hit his back. 

"We have work to do, Shane!" you scold between giggles, and his big palm comes down on your ass with a firm smack. Your legs kick, and he walks up to the door. "Later, women. You still need punishment for scaring me earlier." 

A/N: first time writing on here, so pls be gentle. I do have plans to make a part two a little after they fix up the house! I hope you enjoyed the sweet little fluff <3 also kinda want to write something abt john price from cod 🙈

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ LOST BOYS

visual is for vibes only, reader's appearance is nondescript!

pairing: season2!shane walsh x fem!reader

summary: the longer you’re out here, the more your husband slips away

warnings: marital conflict/heated argument, emotional neglect, mentions of canon-typical violence, death

word count: 1.6k

a/n: twd has really put me on a writing kick lately, everyone rejoice!!!

You hadn’t paid it any mind in the beginning.

Shane had always been your rock. He had always been the one to call the shots, even before the world had gone to pieces, so you hadn’t thought twice about it when his walls had started creeping higher after the outbreak.

He was a little shorter with people now. Quicker to snap. He counted every can of food that came into camp and divided it equally and insisted somebody was always on watch.

Sometimes he’d go hunting before sundown and wouldn’t come to bed sunrise.

But you never held it against him.

If anything, you admired him for it.

Somebody had to keep everyone alive. Somebody had to stop your little group from dissolving into fear and panic the second things went wrong.

Shane had never been afraid of making the hard calls.

Besides, no matter how rough the day had been, how many arguments you’d gotten into, you always found your way back to each other.

He still reached for your hand whenever you crossed the road, even though the only cars left on the road were your own.

And you still brought him something to drink every morning. Water now instead of the coffee he’d always preferred, but the gesture remained all the same.

Those things seemed so inconsequential but they were little reminders in themselves that no matter what happened, you were still his and he was still your Shane.

So, you told yourself that Shane was no different than anyone else. That he was learning to cope with a new world and grieving how things used to be, in his own way.

But after Otis, you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Whatever had happened out there had pushed him over the edge.

He never spoke to you about it but you could see the change in him clear as day.

He was quieter and he smiled less and less as days went by until they disappeared altogether.

Sometimes you’d catch him staring across the fields surrounding Hershel’s farm, and you’d have to call for him three times before he’d blink, and that distant veil lifted from his eyes when he looked at you, like he’d only just remembered where he was.

One evening, after he’d come in late, you’d heard the tent flap go and the soft grunt of your husband as he tied it shut again.

“Long hunt?” you mumbled from where you were already buried up to your neck in blankets.

“Something like that.”

The thud of his clothes hitting the floor as he stripped filled the tent.

You sat up on your elbows and had to stop your eyes from widening.

His head had been shaved so close to the scalp that he’d littered the sides of it with angry little nicks. Tiny speckles of red mingled amongst the remnants of his dark hair.

You’d held each other’s eyes for far too long.

He looked terrified, waiting for your reaction. You were just as terrified by what it had made you realise — it was only a matter of time before you lost him completely.

If you hadn’t already.

You wished you’d noticed sooner.

Maybe then things wouldn’t have become so hard.

The change had been so gradual that you couldn’t pinpoint where your husband had ended and this new version of him had begun. Every day he’d seemed that bit harder to reach, until one morning you’d woken up and realised you couldn’t remember the last time the two of you had had a real conversation.

Some days, in your darkest moments, you found yourself wishing he wouldn’t come back from a hunt.

That maybe the others would come back to camp, and he wouldn’t be with them.

Or maybe he’d fall ill and let himself be vulnerable for you, even if only when he was an inch from death.

Not because you actually wanted him dead.

God, never that.

But you were so tired and you weren’t sure how much more you could mourn a man who was still alive.

You felt sick every time you thought about it. You hated yourself for doing so. But you couldn’t help but feel it was the merciful choice.

It had all come to a head when Shane had stumbled in late one night.

It was well past supper time.

Everyone else had eaten hours ago. You hadn’t. You’d waited for him.

The plate in front of you had long since gone cold.

So had his opposite you.

And he’d just ducked through the tent flap without so much as looking your way. Too busy filing away his hat and boots.

He didn’t notice you at first.

He shrugged off his jacket, set his rifle carefully against the wall of the tent and rubbed a tired hand over the top of his raw scalp.

Only when he turned did his eyes finally land on you and the plates.

His expression softened, “Baby, you ain’t eaten?”

“Was waiting for you.”

He sighed, crossing the tent in two quick strides and shaking his head, “Why the hell would you do that?”

Your eyebrows snapped to your hairline, “Because you’re my husband.”

He shook his head again, never once meeting your eye, “You should’ve eaten.”

He gave your wrist a squeeze and leant over you to take your plate, “You’re gonna make yourself sick.”

“I wasn’t hungry.” you replied stubbornly.

“Bullshit. I know you,” he laughed bitterly, “When’ve you ever not been hungry?”

You didn’t answer.

He scoffed, already slipping into some shoes to make the trek up to the farmhouse, “I’ll warm this back up.”

“You don’t need to. It doesn’t matter.”

He stood up straighter, frowning at you.

“Course it matters. You haven’t eaten, baby.” he set the plate back down, instead letting his thumb brush absentmindedly over your knuckles.

You looked up at him, saw the worry behind his dark eyes, and could’ve cried.

For the tiniest second, you saw your husband.

The man who’d loved you since you were both kids, who used to make you breakfast on your days off because he knew you never bothered to, who’d drive halfway across town to get you an ice cream on a hot day.

And you couldn’t understand it.

How your husband was there, and then just as quickly, he wasn’t. He hadn’t looked at you like this in weeks.

“Stop that.” you shook your head.

He has the audacity to frown at you with concern. To make his voice go softer as he said, “Stop what, baby?”

You laughed bitterly, tears pricking at your eyes and wobbling your voice.

“Acting like everything’s alright!”

“Now, I ain’t-“

“Like you’re alright. When everything is…”

Your words died off as they left your throat.

Shane waited.

“Go on. When everything is what?”

“When everything is so… so fucked!” you groaned in frustration, gripping the sides of your head and willing yourself not to break down.

His eyes went cold.

“Fucked up?” he repeated, squinting at you like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, “You’re callin’ this, what we got here, fucked up?”

“Yes!” you sighed frustratedly, wiping your eyes with clenched fists.

“Far as I can see, you’re breathin’. You’re safe. Ain’t nobody in this camp gone hungry for days. Doesn’t seem fucked up to me.” he gestured around the tent, “We’re alive. That’s what matters.”

“No!”

The word leapt from your throat as you groaned. He still didn’t get it.

“No, Shane. That is not the only thing that matters! There is more to life, you-“

You threw your hands up helplessly.

“You’re never even here anymore!”

Shane barked out a humourless laugh, taking a step back and pointing his finger at you.

“Lemme ask you somethin’, then.”

His voice had grown a dangerous edge that you’d never heard directed at you before. You bowed your head.

“If I ain’t here…” he jabbed a finger against his own chest, “Then how’re you still alive?”

He took another step closer, “Who keeps this place in order?”

His breathing grew heavier.

“Who’s pullin’ watches when everybody else is asleep?”

He lowered his face until it was beside your and whispered;

“Who’s makin’ the supply runs?”

He snatched your plate up off the table.

“Who’s puttin’ this food on the damn table?” he roared.

His grip slipped.

The porcelain hit the floor and exploded into a hundred speckled shards. You flinched.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you crumpled in on yourself, turning away from him.

“Do you hear yourself?!” you screamed angrily through your sobs.

He was scaring you now.

He wasn’t in control.

“This ain’t you,” you sniffled, cradling your own head, “I don’t know what’s happening to you, but we can figure it out. We always figure things out.”

“Please.”

Your voice came out weak from where it was tucked beneath your knees.

“There ain’t nothin’ to figure out.”

You lifted your head, willing any God out there to let your husband hear your pleas.

“Shane…”

“This is the way things are. I’m just the only one who’s accepted it. I don’t need no fixing,” he spat, throwing his jacket over his shoulder.

“Shane, are you kidding?” you laughed weakly before your eyes widened, “You’re really just gonna ignore all of this… What are you-“

He pulled back the tent of the flap.

“Where are you going?” you tried to sound strong but it came out a whimper as you wiped your eyes, “Shane!”

“‘M going for a walk.” he muttered, shoving the flap back down.

All you could do was fall apart as you realised that the Shane you’d known was there, but he didn’t want saving.

And, he was never coming back.

[lokihiddleston]

KIKI'S DELIVERY SERVICE (1989)

[aurora-sadprose]

this is what i picture when somebody says “the fbi agent looking at me through my camera”

[mango-lovrr]

I think that we got very few glimpses into ‘the real Spencer Reid’ but the ones we did were him being soooo silly and goofy!!! Like I think at his core he’s a prankster and a goofball and he loves a giggle (think the scene where he does a cowboy impression for Garcia, the scene where he shows up in a Frankenstein mask to scare Morgan)!!! He definitely is still a chronic infodumper but I think we (myself included) forget to write him as truly properly himself when fully relaxed because like, imagine if they made a tv show of u and only showed u in ‘work mode’, it wouldn’t really represent u fully. Idk i love fun and happy Spencer Reid I wish he was allowed to have fun more but unfortunately he was to suffer the horrors first. Anyway shoutout to Spencer who cosplays, Spencer who I know damn well has some Lego sets displayed, Spencer who teehees at silly socks in the shop, Spencer who buzzes with excitement at Halloween and Spencer who loves to scare people!!!! My strange silly imaginary friend

[ellieheartreid]

I have this damn need to hug him all day and pepper him with kisses all over his face until his face's red and he stumbles over his words.

I need him to be real, NOW.

[psychoticbesties]

Screw blonde hair and blue eyes- give me an adorable neurodivergent geek any day please.

[snapeysister]

"I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind."

(Spencer Reid, Criminal Minds 2:11)

[b6rntosdiee]

[paisleypens]

statistically significant | s. reid x reader

second person, no use of y/n

~

Spencer Reid was distracted by you.

You were sprawled across his couch like you belonged there, your legs draped comfortably over his lap while you leaned back against the cushions. One hand held the remote, the other lazily picked at the takeout box balanced on your stomach.

Spencer had long since stopped pretending he was watching the TV.

He was watching the way your nose scrunched when the characters said something cheesy.

On the screen, two actors stood dramatically in the rain while violins swelled.

“Oh my god. This is perfect.”

Spencer tilted his head.

“Statistically speaking, it isn’t.”

You slowly turned to look at him.

“…Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, adjusting his glasses, “the probability of two strangers repeatedly encountering each other in a large metropolitan area until they eventually fall in love is extremely low.”

You paused the movie immediately. The dramatic music cut off mid-crescendo.

Spencer blinked.

You squinted.

“Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“You are not going to ruin my movie with math.”

“I’m not ruining it,” he said calmly. “I’m contextualizing it.”

You tossed a dumpling into your mouth and shifted slightly, your legs pressing more comfortably against his. Spencer’s hands instinctively steadied your ankle. He pretended that hadn’t affected him.

“Fine,” you said. “Mr. Statistics.”

“Doctor.”

You smiled and pointed the remote at him like it was a microphone.

“Explain love then.”

Spencer didn’t even hesitate.

“I already did.”

You frowned.

“…When?”

He gestured vaguely toward the coffee table.

“Two months ago.”

Your eyes narrowed.

“What?”

Spencer leaned back slightly into the couch, looking almost sheepish.

“I calculated it.”

You stared at him.

“…You calculated love.”

“Yes.”

You sat up a little, legs still across his lap.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

He reached for a napkin and absentmindedly began writing on it.

“You see, the probability of two people meeting in the first place depends on several environmental variables. Workplace proximity, social overlap, daily schedule alignment—”

You leaned forward, fascinated despite yourself, “You did this for us?”

Spencer nodded, still writing, “At first it was just curiosity.”

He slid the napkin toward you. It was covered in tiny numbers and arrows.

“You and I worked in the same building,” he continued. “But there were approximately four hundred employees. The probability of us interacting regularly was already fairly small.”

You glanced up at him.

“But we did.”

“Yes.” He tapped the paper. “Then there’s compatibility. Shared interests, similar humor patterns, conversational pacing. Those variables drastically reduce the population of viable partners.”

“You measured our humor patterns?”

“You laugh at eighty-two percent of my jokes.”

You stared.

“…I do?”

“Yes.”

Spencer looked almost proud of that statistic.

You laughed.

“There it is again,” he said softly, pointing. “Eighty-three.”

You shook your head, smiling, “You’re ridiculous.”

“Possibly.” He tapped the napkin again. “When you combine those factors, the probability of us becoming romantically involved becomes extremely small.”

You studied the messy calculations.

“So what’s the number?”

Spencer hesitated. Then he said quietly, “Approximately one in several million.”

Your eyes widened.

“…Seriously?”

“Yes.”

You leaned back into the couch again, processing that. Your legs shifted slightly against his, and Spencer’s hand automatically rested on your ankle again like it belonged there.

“So what you’re saying,” you said slowly, “is that we’re statistically impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Spencer corrected gently.

He looked at you.

Just you.

“Extremely unlikely.”

You smiled softly.

“Wow.”

Spencer glanced at the paused movie.

Then back at you.

“So when people say love is miraculous,” he said thoughtfully, “from a statistical standpoint… they’re not entirely wrong.”

Your heart did something warm and stupid.

You nudged his leg lightly. “So basically…” You gestured between the two of you, “We beat the odds.”

Spencer’s expression softened.

“Yes.”

You grabbed the remote again.

“Well,” you said, hitting play, “I like that explanation better than destiny.”

On the TV, the couple finally kissed in the rain. You sighed happily and leaned back again. Spencer watched the screen for a moment. Then he glanced down at you.

“Technically speaking,” he said quietly, “our probability just increased.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Oh?”

He nodded toward your legs resting comfortably across his lap.

“Physical proximity.”

You laughed, “You’re unbelievable.”

But you didn’t move your legs. Spencer didn’t move his hand from your ankle either.

And privately, he thought that out of every calculation he had ever done in his life, this one was his favorite result.

~

thank you for reading!! ttyl <3

[itzwillow]

Do you want me to teach you? | Spencer Reid

⊹₊⟡⋆

Pairing: s2!Spencer Reid x f!Reader

Summary: Spencer revealed that he's inexperienced in the field of making women feel good, so through a stupid drunk text, you let him know you're down to teach him. What you didn't expect was for him to happily take up your offer and do an amazing job in the process.

Warnings/tags: 18+ smut and fluff!! oral (f!receiving), inexperienced spencer, clit play, pussy play, praise kink, vaginal fingering, spencer loves ur pussy, mutual pining, clothed grinding, nipple play, kissing, yearning, overthinking, begging, dumb and in love, alcohol, no drunk sex tho, drunk texting, making out, down bad reader, pantie... play i guess?

Word count: 10.4k (oops...)

Author notes

╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ this fic was a lot longer than expected, but I didn't really know when to stop, still feel like it's not complete, so if you want more, just let me know, and I can whip up a part two or morning-after follow-up.

Important!! - I also just want to take the chance to say that if you like this fic, please, please reblog it as well as the likes you give, whilst I am really grateful for likes, they don't do much. reblogging on the other hand, does! I spent more than 30 hours on this, and reblogging would be really helpful for me in terms of sharing my work. much love x

⟶ masterlist

“Oh no, you absolutely did”, Morgan teases Spencer with a boyish grin. 

“I did not blush”, Spencer replies sheepishly, a red tint of embarrassment fleeting over his cheeks, speaking more than his words had with just a sheer colour change. 

The childish bickering of Derek teasing Spencer had been going on since the plane took flight, a whole ten minutes ago. You had drowned out the conversation for a few minutes, spending the passing time reading the same page of your book, having to re-read it five times to soak in the information. Every time the sound of Derek and Elle giggling or laughing reached your ears, you were blown off focus, which resulted in you becoming completely unaware of anything you had just spent the past minute reading.  

You had given up on it when it got too moving your eyes up the page for the sixth time. Placing the book next to you, you decide you need some other form of entertainment. 

“What are we teasing Spencer about this time?” You ask, sliding into the seat next to Elle and opposite Derek.

You already had a good idea about what it was to do with, and you definitely wanted to participate in the teasing this time. You were on the way back to Quantico after finishing up a case in Los Angeles, following a string of rapes and murders around a few of the popular strip clubs and nightclubs. 

You weren’t with Derek and Spencer when they were interviewing the girls in the clubs, but you can only imagine what Spencer was like. 

Everyone knew Spencer was pretty inexperienced with females, and when he was required to talk to one his age, he got pretty flustered. Fumbling his words, doing his awkward smile that they usually thought was weird (you thought it was cute), busying his hands and blinking faster, everything out of a pre-pubescent teenage boy textbook.   

“The fact that genius boy here does not know anything about women”, Elle answers in a teasing tone aimed towards said genius. 

“That’s- that's not true, I’ve read things ab-”  Spencer retorts, fumbling over his words. 

“Oh my god, guys spencer reads porn!” Elle fakes a gasp with amusement.

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you try to keep your laughter in. The look on Spencer’s face is nearly enough to knock you overboard to the point of no return. His cheeks get redder, almost the colour of a ripe tomato during the heat of the summer, something you were sure was impossible. 

“Fifty Shades of Grey? Brigertons? J.D Ward?” You say with curiosity, a teasing smile finds home on your lips as the words spill from them. 

Doubt was a very vivid emotion when it came to the possibility of Spencer reading erotica; it was porn on paper, for god sakes, there’s no way he would-

“I’ve read Fifty Shades of Grey before, but it wasn't very good”, Spencer starts, sitting up, something he does before he starts explaining facts and talking statistics. “I finished it out of curiosity. From a literary standpoint, the character development is… limited. Also, the contract section is surprisingly unrealistic.” 

Oh my god 

“But when I purposely look for information on... women, it’s mostly blogs on how to- talk and other things.” 

“I’m sorry, blogs?” Morgan raises his eyebrow “You read blogs on how to have sex?” 

“Wha- I didn't say sex”, He squints his eyes, he speaks the word ‘sex’ as if it’s the most outrageous thing he’s ever spoken or possibly even been accused of. 

“Yeah, you didn’t have to”, Elle mutters behind her glass, which she brings to her lips. 

A small smile spreads over your lips at the picture this makes in front of you.  Inexperienced, shy, nerdy, scared of women, Spencer reading ‘how to’ blogs in the dark of his apartment, wondering how to make a woman feel good whilst so desperately needing someone to touch him. 

Holy shit. 

You don’t know why, but that thought causes a heat in the bottom of your stomach. As a small throb makes itself recognised between your legs, you clasp your thighs together in a motion you hope goes unnoticed. 

And for fucks sake, apparently you're ovulating because you’ve also just noticed how good Spencer looks when he’s flustered.  

He’s got those pretty puppy eyes, his dark brows are furrowed in such a way that you almost lean over to kiss them. What the fuck? 

“Look, pretty boy, if you want tips on how to get laid, just ask me” Derek shrugs his shoulders; he’s got such an ego when it comes to the topic of getting laid or hooking up, his smugness is evident on his face. He nudges his broad shoulder with Spencer's. 

“Yeah, everyone knows you’re run through Morgan”, Elle comments with a chuckle laced in her words, and Derek responds with a playful eyeroll that you're surprised doesn’t reach his frontal lobe.

“It’s not- It’s not that, I just want to make a woman feel-” Spencer sighs like he already regrets his next word before he speaks it, “good.”

Spencer looks at you as soon as the sentence leaves him, a silence forms between you, and you have to wonder why the silence feels so heavy, why it has that buzz to it, the one that rings in your ears and through your bones. He looks away quickly, but quickly isn’t the way you describe the buzzing leaving, because it doesn’t. 

It doesn’t leave. 

“What do you mean by good? You know, there are thousands of ways to make a woman feel good,” You inquire, your tone sounding a little too interested in the matter. “Oral, kissing, fingering, licking, sucking, uh- words i guess, dirty talk maybe” You count them off on your fingers, you can feel Spencer’s embarrassment rise with every word spoken, and yet you find that’s the reason you're doing it. 

“Money”, Elle adds.

“That too”

“Touching and.. Tasting,” Spencer says softly, but also like he had to force them out at the same time. 

He looks so pretty flustered. And those words coming from his mouth sound the equivalent of dirty talking, at least they sound dirty to you. Is that weird? 

“I already see it”, Elle nods her head, “Proper munch.” 

As if you all have a sixth sense, you and the others turn around at the same time and face the eyes burning into you from the jet's couch. You had felt it, the way it always felt, like a parent scolding their children for misbehaving.

“Let’s not talk about Spencer’s sex life on the jet”, Hotch chides, glancing up from the file he had been reading. He has one of those looks that only went to one of the team members (Elle) but felt like it was aimed at all of you, even Spencer, whose cheeks still burn like the sun shining through the plane windows.

As though you were dogs just told they’ve been bad, you turn around again. The jet goes awkwardly silent for a minute before Elle’s poor mistake of trying to hold her laughter fails. You let a chuckle out alongside her, and when you hear one slip from across the table where Spencer sits, you look up.

Again, meeting his eyes, holding eye contact for longer this time. It speaks louder than last time, the absence of words wither at the heat between your glances. He smiles softly, it's genuine and warm and matches like a perfect pair with his golden eyes, they both shine from unimaginable heights and knock the breath out of you just the same. 

The rest of the flight is filled with those heated glances between you and Spencer, words not spoken because even if they were… they wouldn’t live up to the feeling of catching his eyes from across the table. 

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After you and the team had gotten back to the BAU, Penelope had come up to you, Elle and JJ and asked if you could all go out for drinks.

 You knew you couldn’t say no; it was Penelope. 

Derek had also somehow managed to sneak himself into the plans to get pissed at the nearest bar, using his flirting tricks and good looks to sway Garcia. 

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When Garcia normally pulled you to the bar after a long case, you had some control over yourself when it came to drinking, but tonight was different. Tonight, you had things on your mind that you wanted to push back into the farthest parts of yourself, and nothing did that better than shitty alcohol in a bar that stunk of cheap liquor and sweaty bodies.

You had been sitting in the booth at the far end of the bar for a while now, just observing with your hazy eyes and dizzy head. Elle and Penelope had ditched you for an interesting conversation with a lone guy sitting at the bar, and JJ had headed home half an hour ago, so you were currently alone and wallowing in the unspoken feelings that had been eating away at you since the jet.

From the corner of your eye, you notice Derek being rubbed on by a group of three females who all look like they are trying very hard to get lucky tonight. You don't think their attempt at dancing did much for them, though, but you could tell that Derek wasn't paying much attention to their so-called moves and more to the cleavage that was being moved about in his line of sight. 

He was very noticeably enjoying the female attention, a wide grin is plastered over his face, and his chuckle rings out when one got close enough to his lips in a teasing motion that you were surprised they weren't full-on making out in the middle of the room.  

Your head buzzes like you were a million miles away, and your head sways to the speaker's music with a motion you swear you don’t control. You had a bad habit of doing things you weren't particularly in control of when you were more than four shots deep. 

The words that came out of Spencer's mouth earlier on the jet had been vivid in your mind since: his cheeks that warmed as his words became more revealing, the way his voice went up a pitch when Elle had lightheartedly accused him of reading porn. And the genuine laugh when he looked up at you, the pretty one that sounded like a melody coming from a vulnerable place in his chest.

You tighten your legs together as the presence of the vision and the sound of his voice from earlier dance in your head, slow, fast, quiet, loud and oh so good. You’ve felt that way about Spencer a few times on occasion, but you always brushed it off as needing to get laid after so long. This was different in a way you weren't accustomed to, and you had no descriptive words for it other than… want. Pure unfiltered want.    

You blame your actions on the stuffiness of the bar and the six empty shot glasses in front of you as you pick up your phone that had been left on the table and click on the contact you only ever really texted when it related to a case or something another to do with work.

You thought about how to word your text to him, but it wasn’t exactly up to you as the vodka in your system took the reins and sent a text that sober you would have paled over.  

(you) 11:02 pm: do yu wnat me to teach you?

(you) 11:20 pm: please 

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You didn’t want to see Spencer; your only thoughts whilst riding the elevator up to the BAU were the hopes that Spencer was off sick. Well, not sick exactly, you’d rather he wasn’t actually unwell, you weren't that cold-hearted. 

But you were delusional enough to hope that once you stepped out onto the floor where you worked, you would come across an empty desk where Spencer would normally sit.

Your manifestations had come out cold and were not of any use as you hesitantly stepped through the glass doors to the BAU and met the hazel eyes at the desk you had so desperately hoped was empty. You look away as quickly as you can manage and speed walk to your desk at the other end of the bullpen so fast you send out a hissed curse when your hip comes in contact with the edge of the wooden table. 

The dividers between the desks kept Spencer out of eyesight as you slump down on your seat and let out a groan when your elbows rest on the desk with your head in your hands. You had fucked up so bad when you sent that text last night that you couldn’t even come into work the next day without feeling like you were committing a crime. 

Your chest had a burning feeling you couldn’t quite differentiate between guilt or a soul-eating dread; you had a good feeling it was the latter. 

You had woken up early that morning with a pounding headache that was later soothed with painkillers and a burning hot embarrassment (that was not cured with painkillers) as you checked your phone and saw the two blue ticks next to your stupid, so fucking stupid text. 

You had gotten ready with the pace of a snail as you contemplated crawling back into bed and pretending you didn’t exist. You couldn’t, but you came to the conclusion that you could pretend Spencer didn’t exist and that last night didn’t happen. And whilst that is hard to do because it is not only hurting you, but you're sure Spencer will start to feel hurt too, you have manipulated yourself to think that it's the best thing you can do as an outcome to your fucking stupid, drunk, pussy ass, fuck ass text that drunk, horny you thought was genius to send, just fucking genius.

You had asked yourself a million questions on the way here with an angry tone to your thoughts, and you only had two answers to them that you had only just admitted to yourself. 

You were attracted to Spencer Reid.

You wanted to teach Spencer how to make a woman feel good, and you badly wanted that woman to be you.

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You had managed two hours of writing reports and going through old case files, ones that contained photo evidence that had made your stomach twist, before you started heavily craving caffeine as the effectiveness of your painkillers depleted when the seconds ticked by. 

It took some persuading from yourself, but you get up and make your way to the bullpens' corner kitchen that you and your team only used for the coffee machine. 

You remember the last time you opened the off-white mini fridge in the corner, and the putrid smell of well gone of food had you and JJ gagging, you decided to hold your nose when you planted the mouldy chinese on Gideon's desk and told him to never leave it that long again. You remember leaving his office and hearing the soft huff that sounded a lot like a chuckle seep out from the crack of the half-closed door.

You had joined the Behaviour Analysis Unit two weeks after Spencer had joined, and since that day two years ago, you have come to find yourself a family, one that didn’t just have that family feeling during working hours but all the time. 

But out of everyone on the team who you held close to your heart and considered family, Spencer was your person, and he was like an extension of you most of the time. You suppose that's why you feel so much guilt about the text you sent him the night before; you didn’t want to fuck up the bond you both already cherished so deeply.

You knew you had always felt more with Spencer, but like, with pretty much everything in your life, you chose to ignore it. Until the results of your bottled-up feelings came out in a drunk text that had been weighing heavily on your heart since the morning.

You were so consumed in your own thoughts that you hadn’t been aware that you’d been stirring your coffee for at least a minute, that was, until you heard a honeyed voice behind you.

“You’ve been stirring for one minute and thirty-two seconds- and counting” 

It’s like your body short-circuits and stops working on you as you freeze up in response to Spencer's words. Turning around, you meet his gaze, and so many unsaid words drift in the space between you. 

You swear he looks more beautiful than the last time you saw him, but you can’t tell if it is your mind playing tricks on you, maybe it was the still-fading pain meds or just… just. Maybe it came down to the feelings you had only just admitted to yourself that were still new in your head.

He has a small wrinkle between his softly furrowed brows as he sets his eyes on you and then to the cup of ‘going cold by the second’ coffee on the counter behind you. 

“Yeah- yeah, I'm sure it's mixed by now” You turn back to your coffee and toss away the wooden stirrer into the trash can by your feet. You feel a warm heat travel up your neck, curl around your ears and settle like a blanket, a very heavy blanket, on your cheeks. You knew the whole ‘ignoring’ wasn’t going to last long, but three hours felt kind of feeble. You should have expected it wouldn't go on for long. Spencer had a habit of noticing when things were ugly or, more so, awkward in this case, between him and someone, and wanting to fix it as soon as he could, as soon as he found the courage for it.

“Did you- did you have fun last night?” Spencer says with a voice that made it obvious he was trying to hide the awkwardness that was surely settled deeply in him. 

“Yeah, it was good” You nod to your words and sip your coffee, trying to look at anything but him. 

“Derek told me you had a lot to drink and uh- showed me the video of the karaoke” 

You mentally groan so hard you accidentally let one slip out of your own throat that you don’t bother covering up. You only half remembered the poor attempt at singing to 22 by Taylor Swift after being dragged on stage by Penelope, but you find enough memory of it to know it involved drunken giggling, slurring and pure fumbling over your words that really wasn't attractive in any way.  

“I was way too out of my mind to even notice that he had been filming” 

“How out of your mind?” Spencer's voice was quieter than it had originally been, almost like he was getting his hopes up that you would give him the answer he wanted. 

Whatever that was.

“Spencer..” 

He takes a step closer, not a big one but one that shows he’s listening.

“Were you drunk enough that you’d say things?” he breathes out in soft frustration “, things that you didn’t mean”. His brows go up in question.  

You shake your head in disagreement as he takes another step closer; you had never witnessed Spencer so determined to get an answer from someone in such a way that he looked like he was holding onto every word said and every shaky breath you exhaled.

He looked at you through his thick lashes that you had always said you were jealous of, and you thought you might melt right there as a result of the tension swirling around the air.

“I need you to tell me what you're talking about so I don't say something stupid about a thing that's not even relevant to what you're on about” You ask gingerly.

Spencer was acting in a way you had never seen before, and you didn’t understand how you were meant to feel knowing it was the result of you, of something that you had caused.

“Well, last night you sent me a text-, do you remember?” Spencer questions as if he couldn’t actually decide whether you knew what he was on about, like the possibility of being too drunk to forget a text like that was a high chance. 

“Yeah, I remember- I know”. 

“Okay, then, tell me what you meant, " he remarks. 

You look down at the steaming mug in your hands, carefully moving your palms so the coffee would sway and malipulate small ripples across the surface ever so slightly. It was almost calming in a way, something so minuscule like the movement of your own hands was an enticing hypnosis. That was a habit you had had for a long time, moving whatever was in your hands as a way of distraction from the fact that you had to answer and were too flustered to even think of a right response. 

“That I wanted to teach you”

“I need more than that” 

“Do I really need to speak it out loud, because I'm starting to think this is a humiliation ritual” 

“I would prefer if you did” His pretty puppy dog eyes that he wore so well catch your eyes and hold contact as he waits for a response, " Please.” 

You exhale a sassy breath and look up to the water-stained ceiling above you so you wouldn’t have to hold eye contact and gauge his reaction in response to your answer. 

“You said on the jet that you wanted- this is so stupid- that you wanted to know how to make a woman feel good. It was all I could think about last night, so I sent you that text to let you know that I'm always here if you need… a lesson. A physical one” 

The prolonged silence rings out louder than any words ever could, and the burning behind your eyes starts with no grace or warning. Not with embarrassment or anxiety, but with an achy feeling commonly known as ‘I fucked up so bad, he hates me and thinks I'm a right weirdo, and why did I ever think he would want to go down on me, blah blah blah’.  

“Okay” 

Okay??

Tearing your eyes off the ceiling and blinking away your blurry vision, you take notice of Spencer's slicked back hair that you're sure looks more out of place than it had been before you looked up, as though he was running his hand through it absentmindedly. The tips of his curved ears are a shade darker on the blushed scale, and the pupils in the middle of his hazel eyes are a size bigger, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he looks more flushed and perhaps hungry in a way he wasn’t even certain he knew how to feel about. 

“Okay?” You repeat, trying to figure out what exactly he could mean by okay, okay was such a versatile word that could be taken any which way, depending on the tone of voice, but when the word drifted from Spencer’s pressed lips, he revealed nothing. 

“I- I’d like that, " he stutters, “If the offer is still up.” 

You stand there stunned for a while before you speak up, your voice wavering, “Actually?”  

“Unless the text was only a drunk thing- and you didn’t mean.”

“I meant it”, You say matter-of-factly, the previous unease within you flattens at the statement. 

You’d gone through all the possible outcomes of this conversation when he had come up to you a few minutes ago, and you didn’t have a single ounce of hope that Spencer would agree; in fact, it hadn't crossed your mind once that Spencer would be acquainted with the idea of a lesson between your legs.

“Good, good, well, I’ll Em- do you do Email?”

“Text me, Spencer” 

He nods, stepping away to walk back into the bullpen “Yeah- okay, I’ll do that”.

 A small smile graces his mouth before he walks away, and the contagiousness of the upturned lips passes onto you and lingers even after he’s sat down at his desk a few meters away and you start making your way to your own desk. Your desk that was covered in silly little figures that Penelope had planted there on your first day, she told you that the minute you had stepped into the bullpen, you had a look about you that came across to her as you needing some sparkle in your life. 

But the sparkle that had changed your life around for the good wasn’t the small unicorns that littered your desk, the pom pom pens in your tabby cat mug or the stickers decorating your name plaque, but instead it came in the form of bright hazel eyes, brown slick back hair, an IQ of 187 and a soft mouth grazed with frequent smiles that would soon find a place between your legs.

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You could swear you still felt a small curly hair tickle the soft skin of your upper thigh; you couldn’t exactly pluck out a pube in the middle of an apartment building hallway, so you could only hope that it was dark enough in Spencer's apartment that he wouldn't even notice the single hair on your otherwise smooth skin that you had shaved, scrubbed and moisterized more times than once. 

Every step closer to his apartment door had your heart beating faster in a way that was almost a cause for concern. 

You had received a text from him two hours ago, two days after the conversation in the BAU’s corner kitchen, and it only consisted of four words.

(reid >ᴗ<) 4:58 pm: Can you come over?

Shortly after reading it, you had sped into your bathroom and spent an hour under the warm rush of hot water whilst bending and stretching in awkward positions to shave the skin between your thighs, and when you were as satisfied as you could be, you had dried and moisturised with pure determination. 

Only as you had been ready to slip on your underwear had you replied to Spencer.

(you) 6:03 pm: black or white?

(reid >ᴗ<) 6:05 pm: Context? 

(you) 6:05 pm: doesn’t matter 

(you) 6:05 pm: just answer 

(reid >ᴗ<) 6:05 pm: Is this part of my learning?

(you) 6:05 pm: yeah, and it’s important

(reid  >ᴗ<) 6:06 pm: White.

(reid  >ᴗ<) 6:08 pm: And lace.

You gently rap your knuckles against the smooth wooden door, and on the final firm rap, you stop midway as you hear the unlocking behind the wood. The second you hear that small sound of the metal clicking out of place, your brain runs around frantically, overthinking every small thing you did whilst getting ready only a few minutes ago. 

Did you put enough deodorant on? Should you have drunk more of the sweet pomegranate juice that had been in the fridge for a couple of weeks that you knew would have its use at some point? Is the lace showing above your jeans slutty in a good way or a bad way? Is the black push-up bra that you got a size too small a bad fashion decision, or should you have matched it with your underwear? Is your pussy smooth enough? What if you didn’t exfoliate right? 

As the creak of the door opening sounds out, you meet the warmth of his gaze and the overthinking is reduced to a small buzz at the very bottom of your list of important things. He’s not wearing his usual work attire that normally consists of a tie and a kitted vest, but instead he’s traded it out for a loosely fitting long-sleeved grey t-shirt and a red, white and black plaid pair of trousers you recognise as pyjamas. 

You don't know why it feels so foreign to see him wearing his sleep clothes, and why the foreign feeling is quite a nice feeling that settles happily in your chest. You suppose not many people have the opportunity to see him in this state, so as you do now, you cherish it.

He opens the door up, and you turn one side of your mouth up in a half-smile as you walk through the door and into the warmth of his apartment. 

You’ve only stepped foot into his apartment once, one year ago, when you needed to sleep on his couch for the night, when the smell of wet paint churned your stomach so much you couldn’t stand sleeping in your own apartment until the renovations had been completed.

You found as much ease walking into the room as you did the first time; the feel of Spencer’s apartment had that effect on anyone who had the chance to visit. Since the last time you had been in the apartment, there were more spaces filled on the bookshelf and more worn books piled on top of the storage unit where his stereo sat against the far right wall in the open-plan living room.

Knowing Spencer, he’d probably read all the books he already had and needed to buy more or borrow some from the library to feed his reading addiction. 

“Would you like some coffee? Milk and three sugars?” Spencer asks from behind you; it’s very obvious he’s not got any idea how to create a sexually intense thread of tension between the two of you.

You had already told yourself that you would need to take charge and tell him what to do, to lead, but standing in the middle of his apartment with nothing in your palms to fiddle with, you didn’t actually know how to start something like this. With your previous relationships or hookups, you’d just lie there and let their mouth wander, and you’d never have to say or do anything but moan and look pretty as they tried their hardest to find the clit (they never did, and you ended up faking it 80% of the time). 

You couldn’t with Spencer; you had to teach, show him how to touch and taste and make you feel good so he would know how to in the future…for other women. That’s why you were doing this, you reminded yourself. So he would know how to make women feel good, not just you. 

“Just water”, your reply comes out softly. 

Spencer strides to the kitchen at the same time you sit yourself down on the brown leather couch facing the window. You hear the kettle boil as he makes his drink, and the turning of the sink as he pours yours. 

You reach behind the back of your head and undo the messy ponytail you put up in a rush on the drive here. Because you didn’t decide to bring a bag due to the fact that you had only brought your phone and keys, you slip it onto your wrist. You find yourself subconsciously flicking the black band on your wrist, not in a way that brings you pain or discomfort, but more so in a way your mind subconsciously finds soothing, a way to comfort the anxiety and dripping arousal.

As the sound of a cup being put down follows another, you watch the smooth movement of Spencer sitting down next to you, creating a small dip in the couch. The tension pulls between you, like a string being tugged or north pole and south pole magnets colliding. 

Spencer’s gaze flickers down to your lips in a motion far from subtle. You watch his chest rise and fall with a steady rhythm, a movement that shows he’s feeling something like need, like it’s a pure hunger flowing through his veins. 

“You know, if you're having your tongue on my pussy soon, it’s reasonable to kiss me” 

Your words have him moving his eyes from your lips. He nods nervously as he agrees, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense”.

Getting ready to flutter your eyes closed, you pause midway to closing them, and then you fully open them again. You had half expected Spencer to take charge of the kiss, but you were mistaken; he looked like he didn’t have the slightest clue about how to lean in and what was right. 

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” You question softly, shuffling closer to him. 

“Once in high school, but we got our braces caught together” 

You huff out a chuckle and shuffle even closer to him, watching his face for the emotions that fleet across his face, whether fast or slow. Accidentally bumping your knee with his thigh, Spencer’s finger tips graze over the top of your leg in a soft caress before settling his hand down like he wasn’t sure if you were about to tell him to take it off or press down even more. 

You don’t say anything, but look him in the eyes as you move your body so you're straddling his lap and pressing your chest to his. His hips buck up slightly at the sudden movement, but like it’s almost natural, and he’s gone through his head practising this. He moves his hand up your body, sending shivers up your spine with every touch of your atoms meeting.

He seems to know what to do this time, driven by desire, desire evident from the growing bulge beneath you, strained by the layers of clothes. It’s quick but not rushed as he plants his other warm palm on the side of your neck, ever so gently and tugs you towards him. 

The hand still resting on the side of your clothed waist squeezes gently as the rest of his body eases when your lips gently meet his in a way only described as euphoric. 

Your brain transcends into mush as you find yourself melting into the soft lips of your co-worker, the same co-worker who sends a thrill up your spine as he pushes on your waist, moving you forward and then pushing you back. He tries to chase the friction between both of you by manually moving your hips with his grip on you and grinding you down on him; he does it so gently, never gripping too hard.

He makes a small gasp into your mouth as your lips move together; there’s no tongue yet added into the mix, but the softness of each other's lips and the unfiltered lust drive you both enough as it is. 

When you do add tongue to the mix, Spencer is the one to initiate it as he opens his mouth and probes his tongue against your lips, swiping it against the slit in a question. 

Your answer comes as opening your mouth and accepting his tongue; you moan against his mouth as you meet halfway. He tastes like black coffee (or sugar with a side of coffee, you suppose) and desperation, both things you love when served by Spencer. 

Everything Spencer gives you, when he lets out a whimper, when he bucks up against you, when he pulls back and breaths heavily against your half-open mouth while looking up at you through his lashes, you take it. You take everything he gives you, and you make it yours.

His touch moves from where it resides and comes up to the hem of your ruffled shirt; it has you pulling back and looking at him.

“Can I?”

You nod. 

You feel the hot exhale against your bare collarbone after he slides your shirt off and drops it on the floor behind you. Your body shivers from where his fingers narrowly skim across the sensitive skin of your waist.

You feel intoxicated with every touch or breathy gasp exchanged, your mind is set at a current setting that only lets you think of touch, taste and the lust that's filtered through every expanse of your being.

Spencer is definitely an inexperienced kisser, and you can tell when he has the occasional slip-up or when he accidentally clashes his teeth against yours, but the sexual desire coming from a pit within him controls the movements of his mouth and body, and that is more attractive than any slip-up he could make. 

“I want to take you to the bedroom, I want to make you feel good”, He begs you, his voice sounding needy. 

You only had to whisper a plea, and he had stood up, you around him, without much effort. It surprised you that he did it with that much ease; he wasn’t exactly fit. He wasn’t unhealthy by any means; you just assumed that without the muscle building him up, that he wasn’t exactly capable of heavy lifting, but he had proven you wrong.

It was a short distance to his bedroom, and you have your head buried into the warm skin between his shoulder and neck as he walks with you in his hold. You feel safe in a way you have never felt before. 

He drops you down onto the softness of the mattress in such a gentle way that you feel like a treasured artefact. He positions you so your back is against the mattress, but your legs are half on the bed. You take your shoes off by pushing them against each other, and they fall to the floor by Spencer with a small thump. 

With only your socks covering your feet, you place them on the edge of the bed, bending your legs at the knee. Spencer stands before you, admiring the sight of you splayed out on the bed, not yet fully undressed but beautiful, with regard. The tent in his pants is visible, and the imagined vision of what was under the layers, just by guessing based on the imprint, was an intoxicating picture displayed in the front of your mind. 

He leans down, bracing a hand to the side of his head. He presses a quick kiss to your lips, the first kiss that didn't feel like lust or sexual desire but instead something unspoken, something that has you widening your eyes and feeling a precious warmth settle in your chest. 

You were doing this for Spencer, you were teaching him how to make a woman feel good, and yet your personal attraction to Spencer that you had become accustomed to recently was causing a hot wire in your head. You were allured by him with a captivating charm you had never experienced. 

His mouth was about to find home on your pussy, and you had to pretend like you weren’t falling for him even more every time he touched you. 

When he pulls away from the soft peck, you lay a hand on his jaw and turn him back towards your lips and turn the softness of his kiss to a needier sweep of your tongues. 

“Can- can you tell me what to do?” He catches his breath as he pulls away reluctantly and focuses on your face, his eyes moving from your lips. 

“Take my bra off” 

His dark eyes flicker down from your face and land on the black bra you had decided wasn’t as bad as you had thought earlier, because from your angle, your boobs looked amazing. 

The small pulse that came from the bulge resting on your leg told you he thought so to.  

You prop yourself up with your elbows, giving Spencer more space to move his hand behind your back. With one palm planted on the mattress beside your head, he uses his free hand to reach behind your back, trying and failing to unclasp the back of the bra. 

You admire the way he bites his bottom lip in concentration, his fingers fiddling with the metal clasps in an effort to strip your breasts bare. You feel the skin of his knuckles gently graze against your back; it sends pulses of arousal through your body, pulses that travel slowly to your lower stomach. 

“Spencer, do you want me-”

“No, I-” 

You feel the fabric behind you loosen. 

“Got it” 

His eyes hold a captivating look that spreads like glitter everywhere his glance settles on your silky skin. With the way you're propped up, the straps that were sitting on your shoulders now slip down your arms and rest at the crooks of your inner elbows. The cups of the bra still hold your breasts, no more skin shown except the strip of your shoulder that the straps were covering before they fell. 

Lying down again, the bra cups finally slip, and you pull it off the rest of the way, discarding it next to you, exposing the swell of your breasts and the rose coloured nipples that were perked up so beautifully.

Your body arches up in a wordless question, a wordless beg for touch. 

“Spencer, touch me” 

His eyes are stuck on your breasts, admiring them like they were the most gorgeous thing he had ever laid eyes on, like they were deserving of worship. 

“I- here?” He doesn’t take his eyes off your tits.

Gently holding his wrist, you move his hand to cup your breast closest to him. The first touch of his palm sends a thrill through your nipple, and a little gasp escapes from the confines of your mouth. 

“I- oh god- I don't know how” Spencer gently squeezes your tit with his hand before removing it. 

“Put your mouth on my nipple”

“Yeah, I know that- I just don’t know how to use it”

“Then watch me, look for reactions, and you’ll know what I like” You breathe out, desperation's presence is known. 

He watches you for a few seconds, just as though he was looking for permission, even though you had already solicited the act. 

He looked so innocent like this, unaware of what to do and on edge about the possibility of doing the wrong thing. It gave you a small thrill knowing it was you he was doing this with, that despite it being a lesson, you were still his first. 

Through half-lidded eyes, your attention forms on the shift of Spencer as he hesitantly flattens his tongue against your hard nipple; he licks a stripe along the peak, soaking the skin where his dripple lands. He moves so he’s lying on his side more than leaning, so he can get a better angle as he takes your nipple into your mouth. 

The first feel of the inside of his mouth feels like something equivalent to heaven, your eyes roll back, and your nipple gets impossibly harder on the soft bed of his tongue. You squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to calm down the throbbing of your ever-so-needy clit that was begging for attention. 

For someone who had never sucked a girl's tit, he was impressively good at it, combined with the magnetic pull that you already felt for him was the cause for the wildness you felt so deeply as he sucked and licked your sensitive flesh. 

Opening your eyes, you notice Spencer looking up at you through hungry eyes that also some way or another, still looked pure, even in the act of being the cause of such pleasure, that your sure was evident on your face. 

He examined every small gasp you made and every shiver that wracked your body. And when he sucked in the way that had you moaning his name, he drank it in and learnt how to draw out as much pleasure as he could using his mouth on one nipple and his fingers on the other. 

He learnt how to pinch and twist using his hand, and when on the occasion it was too hard that you’d wince, he pulled back and kissed your lips with a whispered apology. 

Both nipples were dripping with his spit, and the redness from pinching the peaks was stark against your skin. Spencer looks boob drunk when he pulls away, his lips pink and swollen, drool running down his chin, something you never classified as hot until this moment. 

With newfound confidence, he reaches down to the waistband of your washed-out jeans and undoes the single button with one hand. Following his movements, he moves off the bed and again stands up before you. He leans down and unzips your jeans slowly, a small inhale slips through him as he moves his hands down to trace a finger against the lace of your panties that show through the opening of your jeans.

“Can I take your jeans off?” He asks.

“Please”, A small whimper slips out of you at the mere thought that you were only a couple of minutes away from having him settled over the throbbing wetness between your thighs. 

He doesn’t watch his own movements as he shimmies your jeans down your legs with your help and plops them on the floor, where your discarded shoes sit. All of his attention is on you as he observes the desire written over your face in the most enticing colour he could ever imagine.  

You bring the heels of your feet against the edge of the bed again, bending your legs at the knees; this time, you spread wider, giving Spencer more of a view. You can feel the wetness soaking your white underwear so much that it sticks to your pussy like a mould. 

Without question, he kneels, his knees lightly hitting the hardwood floor beneath him. The sight is enough for you to prop yourself up again, just to view him on his knees at a better angle. 

He experimentally brings his hand closer to the heat radiating in the middle of your thighs, stroking two steady fingers along the dampness seeping through the cotton. The gentle sweep over your covered clit has you opening your mouth on a silent moan, the bud his fingers are settled over throbs with hunger. 

“You wore them”, Spencer addresses, looking up at you through his dark lashes. His voice is still nervous, almost boyish. 

Spencer refers to the lacy underwear he had spoken about over text. You’d never told him what you had referred to when you asked him the question, ‘black or white’, but you guessed his IQ had come in handy when it came to the understanding of what you were on about. 

You only owned two pairs of white lace underwear, and one pair had holes that your ex had been the reason for, so the options were narrowed down easily. The pair that you are currently wearing are your newest addition to your sexy underwear. You didn’t have many, so you had decided a few weeks ago that you should save up and treat yourself to a few more. 

One of the best ideas you've ever had. 

“I like them”, he says softly, cherished.

He moves his slender fingers towards the lace decorating your panties, tracing the delicate, floral openwork that you wore so well. Every touch against your skin brings electricity through your nerves; it feels like he’s painting a graceful lightning strike across your skin that can only be admired through feeling.    

“You can keep them as long as you don’t rip them”  You exchange eye contact with him. 

“-keep them? I- why would I do that?”

You shrug as much as you can in the position you're in. “Smell them, wrap them around your cock?”

“People actually do that?” His eyes wide, and his voice is husky. 

You nod, and Spencer's eyes furrow lightly like he’s contemplating the idea; you're sure a pros and cons list is being visually drawn through his eyes. 

The pulsing of your clit only gets angrier with every awareness of time passing, every second Spencer is stuck in his thoughts and absentmindedly moving his fingers across the details on your panties and not on your clit like you desperately want them to be. 

“Spencer, please do something”, You whine, drawing him from his thoughts. 

“Hm? I'm sorry, so sorry,” he shakes his head like he's trying to clear his earlier thoughts out of his mind, a blush settles across his cheeks again, a sight you love to see. 

He pokes his tongue out slightly, dragging it across his top lip when his attention falls back to your weeping pussy in front of him, the soaked white fabric not doing much to cover your flesh. His blink is slow, as though he’s entranced with the sight before him. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, ready to do anything you ask of him with a simple word from your lips, “How should I make you feel good?”

“Most girls would want tongue first and then, whilst your mouth is on the clit add a finger, if you pull my panties down and-”

Your name falls out of his lips, and your eyes meet his as they glance up through a half-lidded gaze, “I don’t - I don’t want to know what other girls want, I want to know what you want” 

Your body tenses, goosebumps rise over your arms at the devotion slips from Spencer's lips. So much for the ‘lesson’.  

Holy fuck, that was so attractive. 

You almost squeeze your thighs together with the pleasure that travels up your spine, but at last it’s probably not a good idea to suffocate Spencer with them before his mouth is even on you.  

“What do I want?”

He nods, “What should I say and do to make you feel... good. Or the best I can make you feel, I suppose.” 

You hesitate. 

“Pull my panties down” 

His fingers come to the waistband of the lace decorating your hips. 

“Kiss my thighs and then my clit… if you find it”, You tease. 

“I’ll find it, I’ve looked at enough anatomy books” 

You huff out a laugh at his confidence. “Then put your mouth on me, suck, use your tongue, whatever and then spit on your finger and slip it inside of me”  

You close your eyes as you speak, heightening the sense of touch, the feel of his fingers holding your underwear in his grip, and grazing them against the inside of your thighs as he slips the fabric down your thighs, and then as he gets you to close your legs together so he can bring them over your knees and slip them off fully. 

Once he nudges his hand against your thighs and gets you to open your legs as wide as they were previously, he presses a soft kiss on the inside of your thigh, close to your knee. He hasn’t looked at your bare pussy yet, something he will cherish enough when he gets to it, you're sure. 

“And what do I say to you?” he whispers, his heated exhales making your skin jump with every meeting. 

“Praise me”

He nods and presses another kiss against your thighs, every press of his lips leading up higher than the last until you feel the smoothness of his lips press where it aches. 

You divulge a sound stuck between a gasp and a whimper, and the silk bedding finds itself tangled up in your hand by cause of your grip. Such a small contact between your clit and his lips has you wanting more; your mind only speaks in desire, it speaks in a language only Spencer knows how to talk in. 

He presses an open-mouth kiss right over your clit, and hollows his cheeks as he sucks gently. You respond by throwing your head back in pleasure, a gasp falling from your lips, one that edges him on.

‘There we go,” He smirks against you, proud of his achievements.   

His tongue spreads across your clit, and his mouth moves in a dance of sucking, licking and kissing so sweet you almost find it affectionate if it wasn't such a dirty activity. He takes his time dragging the pleasure out of you; he plants his hands just below your ass, gripping for hold as he feasts on the sweet arousal dripping from every moment his mouth makes on you.

He whimpers against your pussy, and the sound has you pressing your hips further against him in an attempt to get more of him, as much as he is willing to give you. 

For a man who’s never done this before, he sure is fucking incredible at knowing exactly how much pressure you want and when you want it, how long you want him to kiss for or what sounds he can make that have you shivering when they murmur against your clit. 

You look down at him, devouring you thoroughly, and the blissed out eyes that meet yours are those of a starving man who has just had his first taste of real food in as long as forever. 

He pulls back for only a second to mutter a few words, “You taste so sweet.” 

“Need your fingers”, you beg, you're so fucked out at this point that there is no embarrassment resting in any part of you, all you know is that you need him so bad that if you don’t, you might cry, so you're prepared to beg as much as you have too to get what makes your legs shake and your head buzz. 

“Yeah?” he teases. 

You eye him as he spits on a single digit and runs it across your entrance before gradually pressing it inside you, dragging out your pleasure. You feel every motion he makes, to the press of the finger at your entrance to the curl that presses against the spongy part of you. 

When Spencer reads at work, and his long fingers flick through the pages with velocity, you always find yourself watching the act in awe at how someone could do something so attractively with just a movement from their hands. His fingers were slender and long, something you had always admired. 

But the difference of having one inside you was that it wasn’t just long, but it was filling. 

You whimper loudly as he hits that precious spot inside of you that you can only reach on good days, the squelch of your wetness being played with stops, and so does the thrust of his finger.

“Is that a bad sound? Did I hurt you?” Worry is palpable in his tone, and it has your eyes softening at just how concerned he sounds.

“No, no, it’s good, really good”, You assure him, your fingers coming to thread in his hair, you push his head with encouragement to go back to the task at hand. He has an understanding of your wants; his finger brushes against your tight walls with a thrust, and he accommodates the feeling by sucking your clit between his lips and into the comfort of his mouth. 

He works you with his finger until he knows you're ready, and follows along by drenching another finger with your slick and pressing it into you with gentle ease. You flutter your eyes closed and exhale a whimper. He’s exactly where you want him, and he's doing exactly what you want of him. 

“Good girl” 

His words cause a splutter of white-hot pleasure deep in your abdomen, and your pussy clenches around him with eagerness. His fingers fuck deeper into you; he’s obvious about how his words made you feel by the flushed look in your eyes and the grip your pussy has on him. 

You can tell he wants more reactions like that from you because his fingers are suddenly moving with more speed, and praises fall from him like prayer; every word he speaks is made against your clit, and it sends a vibration through you every time. 

He stops swirling his tongue around your sensitive, swollen bud, pulling off with a pop and exchanges it for kissing your stomach. He pecks along the fat at the base of your stomach; every peck feels like a comfort, something so soft and gentle compared to the ruin he was in the process of making you. The soft ‘mwah’ sounds he makes as he kisses you are a melody alongside your wimpers, moans and gasps that he drags out of you with determination. 

You start to feel a coil tighten in your stomach. 

“I'm close”, You manage to gasp out, wanting to give Spencer enough warning so you don’t just start spasming around him without him having any notice beforehand. 

His fingers start thrusting faster, and you shake your head, “No, No, same pace, means- mh- means you're doing right” You gasp out.

His movement slows down to the pace it was when you had told him you were close, the coil comes back, this time tighter. You look at him, his lips are no longer resident on your skin, just hovering over your belly, his eyes are glancing down and watching you greedily suck in his fingers. 

“Spencer- baby, kiss me” You beg and grip the back of his neck at the same time he perks up at your words, the heat coiling in your stomach burns hotter with every thrust of his finger. 

His lips clap around yours, full of desperation. It’s a hot and heavy kiss; there’s nothing kind about the way your tongue fights with his as his fingers encourage the orgasm building up inside.

“This doesn’t feel like just a lesson anymore”, He says.

Your orgasm comes before you can decipher his words properly.   

The coil snaps, and you pull your lips from the feisty makeout, pressing your forehead to his. Your orgasm washes over you in pulses, his fingers wring out every drop of release you have to give. Your vision goes fuzzy, and the self-control when it comes to the noises leaving your mouth was nonexistent. You gasp, moan and whimper as the charge of the orgasm reaches everywhere, every nerve ending in your body is not left untouched. 

His eyes move quickly between your face and the sight of his fingers plunging into you between your legs. No matter where his eyes glance, it’s still the same look, an awed observation. 

Once all the pleasure is wrung out from you, and Spencer's fingers retract from your soaked walls, you collapse for a better word. Your chest heaves as you gulp down all the air you can manage,your head hits the mattress, your body unable to keep holding you up.

Sweat tickles every where is runs, as though it’s teasing you with its fingertips.

“Are you okay?” Spencer's voice rings out, sounding as if he, too, is trying to get his heart rate down with the ragged breathing he expels. 

You nod weakly, “mhm” 

“Are you sure?” His voice is tense and on edge, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Yeah, just- give me a- give- a second” 

                                  ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

You start coming back to yourself, becoming more aware of your senses. You don’t know how much time has passed, but the faint buzz behind your ears tells you not too long. 

It smells like black coffee, sex mixed with sweat, and old books.

You taste Spencer, you don’t know how to describe it other than ‘Spencer’. 

And it feels.. Cold. Your forehead feels cold. Why does just your forehead feel cold?

You become cognizant of the pressure against your head, just above your eyebrows. Where it feels cold. 

“You said you were okay” 

You move your attention to your left, where Spencer sits beside you on the mattress, holding a damp cloth to your forehead. Worry is unmistakable; you notice the signs straight away. Tight lips, knitted brows and an increased blinking rate. 

“Did I pass out?” You question, concern lays itself heavy. 

“No-no, you just were a little out of it” He shakes his head. 

You sit up, noting the fact that you were still naked and sitting down in the same place you had been when his fingers had been giving you attention. It comes back to you without any flashes or pictures, just memories of a few moments ago, before you lost your sense of who you were. 

Your orgasm, his fingers leaving your heat, the kiss he pressed on your temple and then the quick rush of motion he made when he felt you burning up under his touch. He had left the room and came back with your discarded glass of water and a damp towel that was now resting against your forehead. 

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean for my mind to go somewhere else” You softly apologise. 

“It’s alright- I was just scared I hurt you”

“You didn’t” 

“Yeah, I know that now”, he whispers. 

A beat of vulnerable silence passes. 

“Would you be okay with staying the night?” His voice breaks the quiet. 

Maybe the silent prayers you had sent up whilst getting ready earlier had worked; this seemed like a pretty good sign they had, considering one of the things you had pondered in your prayer had been whether you could have him longer than just a lesson went on for. 

“Like with you?” 

“In bed- sleeping. If that's okay” 

You hear the unspoken words behind it, the real intent. He was just like you, having the same thoughts about whether you could share a moment like this longer, longer than the hour his hands and mouth had been on you. You both wanted more than just sex.

You lean towards him and take him by surprise by pressing your lips to his; it speaks kindness and affection. He melts against your lips and deepens the kiss, his tongue finds home in your mouth, joining yours and tangling together, only breaking apart when either of you needs to catch your breath. 

When you pull back, Spencer chases the kiss and presses his lips against yours for as long as he can until you speak up.

“Yeah”, You smile with joy, just thinking about the non-sexual intimate act of sharing a bed is causing a warmth to line your cheeks.  

“Good because I’d like that alot” 

“A lot?” 

“Mhm, I also quite like your lips against mine”, Spencer says against your lips after he leans towards you to catch you in a kiss again. 

“Mhh, maybe I should give you a lesson on it” 

“I’d like that” 

“A lot?”

If you want to be added to the tag list for part 2, go here

⤷ taglist!

[vamp666s]

[morguegrl89]

Find yourself a Valentine ♡

Word count: 3,812

Pairing: Adrian Chase x female!Reader

Summary: Adrian seeks help to the 11th Street Kids to ask a certain someone in the team out for Valentine’s Day… But their advices fail one after the other. What could Adrian do to ask you, his devastatingly huge crush out?! Little did he know that being himself was the answer…

Author’s note: No TW, is a tiny bit angsty but ends in a teeth rotting fluff. Reader is kinda oblivious, but so is Adrian. Reader rants facts like Adrian (and like me). Use of [name] cuz I don’t wanna use y/n or not refer to a name. English isn’t my first language, and that may be bad or good… depending on your criteria. And this is the first fic I wrote to publish cuz I got ocxcanon w/ Adrian on my drafts and I’m too self conscious to publish it, yet. Once I get support, idk. If there’s any errors feel free to notify me! Anyways, enjoy yourself! I wish you had a lovely Valentine’s either with a partner, friends or family, or on your own 💗🧜‍♂️

Adrian wasn’t one for holidays. Even more once he became an adult. Back when he was a kid he’d spend Halloween trying to escape from his older brother’s nasty pranks while dressed up in costumes his mom made. On Christmas, he at least got to spend the holiday twice, one with his mom and one with his dad, but compared to other kids, it wasn’t the kind of “happy Christmas” you’d imagine.

And then there was Valentine’s Day…

He never really celebrated Valentine’s Day. He never got cards in school, and never went on a date on Valentine’s Day, or ever for that matter. He was comfortable with that, he wouldn’t spend lots of money on silly, superficial things on a relationship that would probably end eventually. It was other couples’ loss.

Adrian never planned on celebrating Valentine’s Day, never crossed his mind at all. Until he met you.

Sweet, badass, talented you. You were there from the start, since Task X Force had the Project Butterfly. At first he didn’t think much of you, just another soldier for A.R.G.U.S that worked with his bff Peacemaker. But as time went by, you became part of his days during the alien butterfly alien mission, and after it too. The whole group kept in touch, and after all the events with the doppelgänger nazi universe, Checkmate was formed, and you become, how could I say it… a necessity for his everyday.

As soon as he walked in the office, you were there, and either if you were smiling at him or looking like you had the worst morning ever, he’d see you as the highlight of his day. You talked to him, actually talked to him voluntarily, defended him whenever Harcourt, Economos or Chris were mean to him. Whatever happened, you always remembered him. Sometimes you bring him a coffee from a nearby cafeteria in the morning, you always teamed up with him in missions, and you sometimes bring him stuff like a knife or some trinket saying “They had one in teal, so I thought you’d like it”. And you quizzed him whenever he wanted! You never complained, you were always an eager learner like him.

It was some months after Checkmate, right in mid January when the thought crossed his mind when he was talking with Chris.

“Hey bro, what’s with you and [name]?” They were both in the break room, having a coffee first thing in the morning.

“What do you mean? Is she mad at me?” Adrian is quick to ask back. What was with you and him? Last time he talked to you, which was yesterday, on the phone, you two talked until midnight and it was great. Maybe he talked about spiders a bit too much? Could that be it?

“No no, I meant what’s up between you two. You always ogle at her and you’re basically attached by the hip, and I’ve never, once, seen her snap out at you.” Chris stands in front of him, talking more seriously.

“Well… we get along really well.”

“Yeaaah, really well, huh?” Chris extended the really in a very unnecessary way. “C’mon man, are you two… y’know, fucking? ‘Cause I thought you weren’t into se-”

“What?! What makes you think that! We’re not fucking!”

Chris leaned in, like he was analyzing Adrian’s face.

“Well then, why do you always look at her like she hung the moon and the stars? That’s not exactly a look you give friends.”

“I-I don’t- We just get along really well!”

“Ohhh yeaaah, for sure. Anyways, got stuff to do. Bye.”

Adrian stays still for some seconds. Was he really attached to the hip by you? He always thought being around you that much was completely normal, so why does Chris think it’s because you two have something? Sure, he wasn’t always around Adebayo or Harcourt or Economos like that. Harcourt and Economos weren’t as nice as you… or as interesting, or as pretty…

“Wait, were you being sarcastic?!”

“Adrian! Are you okay? You’ve been spaced out for a while now, you’ve barely said a word… Is everything okay?”

Your yelling took his head back to reality. You two were having takeout together at your place, something you two do every now and then after a hard mission. But today his mind was elsewhere.

“Y-yeah, sorry. I’m okay, just thinking about something.”

“Okay… You sure you’re okay?” You asked one last time, your hand moving to rest on top of his knee. You were both at your couch, eating while Discovery Chanel was on your TV.

He felt his skin warming up as you touched his knee, and a bothering feeling was on his stomach. But not in the way when something touches him and it icks him, it was different. It wasn’t even skin to skin, he was wearing sweatpants. Your voice was soft, as always. You asked for a last time if he was okay, and his words got stuck on his throat.

“Yes- hm, yes. I’m okay, it was nothing.” His voice got a bit hoarse, but he decided to just brush it off. Your gaze returned to the screen, but his eyes kept looking at you.

It was definitely not “nothing”.

February was getting near, and Adrian became certain of something now. He liked you. He like liked you. If in a day he didn’t see, he’d check his phone every five seconds looking like maniac, because talking to you made him feel things. Not only talking, just being in your presence, it was like you got a spell on him or something, because he couldn’t find any other explanation other than he liked you.

Now the knowledge of February 14th getting closer and closer was like torture. He wanted you to be his Valentine, there was no way he’d let that chance slip! What if next year you get a cool boyfriend or you move out of the city? He wasn’t going to lose this opportunity that was served to him in silver platter. There was just one thing he needed to do…

Actually ask you out.

He didn’t have a plan, his brain couldn’t come up with one. This opportunity was too damn perfect so he had to come up with something equally perfect. If only he could ask someone else for advice.

That was it! Let one of his awesome friends decide the fate of his friendship with you! Everyone else was pretty sure more familiar with the Valentine’s Day field than he was, so that seemed like the only alternative.

જ⁀➴ ♡ January 30th

“Chris! Dude! There you are!” Adrian ran behind Chris as he was going inside the break room. Adrian quickly shot the door behind him and Chris stood staring at him.

“What’s your matter, man?” Chris raised his hands defensively, Adrian was panting and his glasses were askew on his nose.

“Valentine’s Day!” Adrian yelled out, making Chris wince at him. He then cleared his throat. “Valentine’s Day, I wanna ask [name] to be my Valentine.”

“WOOH! Fucking finally! You finally accepted you liked her, huh?” Chris elbowed Adrian. “Yup, I did…” Adrian rubbed his rib where Chris practically hit him.

“And you came to the expert? Don’t worry, I’ll get you that hot date!” Chris wraps his arm around Adrian’s shoulder, guiding him to the break room’s table.

“If you really wanna impress her, you always gotta act tough. Girls dig the mysterious, but also something teasing, some spice, y’know? Say something like ‘Oh, yeah, I don’t need Valentine’s Day to show someone I care. I can do that any day of the week.’ You get me?” Chris was talking very… passionately. So who was Adrian to tell him otherwise? If his bff said this would work, it should work. Right?

-`♡´-

Adrian was walking around Checkmate, looking for someone. That someone being you. The he spotted you standing in front of the copier, and following Chris’ instructions, he walked calmly and coolly towards you.

“Hey.” He said nonchalantly, resting an elbow on top of a counter besides the copier. “Hey Adrian, how’s it going?” Oh her smile, it was warmer today, and he eyes, squinted as she was grinning. His brain short-circuited.

“Adrian?” You waved your hand in front of his eyes, and he shock his while leaning more to the counter. “Ehh… Y’know, Valentine’s Day is so dumb, like, couples can show affection any day of the whole year. It kinda makes it a waste of time. What!s the holiday even about? To make people have dates and spend money?” Was that what Chris told him to say? Damn him for not rehearsing in front of the mirror. He just hoped you wouldn’t think anything weird.

“Do you know about the origin of Valentine’s Day?” Your eyes brightened up, something he’d notice you did whenever you remembered a very interesting fact about something. And he was more than glad to hear it.

After about five minutes talking and now learning that the holiday is behind a Roman priest wedding soldiers to their partners in secret and then being executed in February 14th, he walked back to his desk only to realize… he didn’t get to ask you out.

જ⁀➴ ♡ February 3rd

Was it his fault that the last attempt didn’t work out? Kinda. Did that mean that he had to look for help from Harcourt? It did, he just couldn’t go back to Chris now, he had to look for another perspective. Including Harcourt’s.

“So you wanna ask [name] to be your Valentine…” Adrian nodded, standing right next to Harcourt’s desk. She began rubbing the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t a good sign.

“Then just do it. Why do you have to come and bother me with that? Be straightforward, man up! She’s either into you or not! Get out of my sight, Adrian!”

-`♡´-

Adrian really couldn’t handle getting yelled at, less by Harcourt. Long story short, he went to you for comfort, and absolutely forgot to ask you out, again.

“We already talked about this, Harcourt doesn’t like you asking her things. What did you even ask her?” You consoled him while he was sitting in your couch.

“…Nothing.”

જ⁀➴ ♡ February 6th

Time was running short, and so were his possibilities. Was the advice he got bad, or was he bad at asking his crush out? He hoped it was the first. So for the third try, he went to another person in the team.

“Y’know I never celebrated Valentine!s Day, right?” Economos ate his sandwich in the break room, Adrian sitting in front of him with the most concerned expression.

“I know, I just need whatever advice you have, pleaaaaase! I’d literally do anything!” Adrian clasped his hands together and petted out the most pathetic whine that anyone that’d hear would pity him.

“Okay okay! How about you just send her an email? If you can’t do it face to face, we have computers for something.”

“John, you’re a genius!” Adrian ran out of the break room so quickly he almost threw his chair back.

“Finally some quiet…”

-`♡´-

“Adrian, why did you sent the whole office an email saying ‘Hey, how are you? I’m free on the 14th, how about we have a date then? 🧜‍♂️’ Wanna explain that Adrian?” Adebayo was standing besides him with her arms crossed, looking disappointed but also absolutely confused.

Shoot. Turns out it was him who was bad at ask his crush out. “It’s for my dentist.”

“You’re going to see your dentist the 14th? And you sent it to everyone in this office?” She raised her eyebrow at him, looking skeptical.

“Yeah… it was a typo…”

જ⁀➴ ♡ February 11th

Day and day went by, and Adrian was beginning to think he was actually cursed to never be able to land a date. Maybe he should’ve gone to the only one in Checkmate that is actually married. Even if they’re currently in a break up.

“Hey Ads… about the email thing last Friday…The email was meant for [name]. I wanna ask her out for Valentine’s, and I literally tried everything! I need your help!” Adrian was with Adebayo in the break room, he was speaking in a hushed, ashamed voice. Who wouldn’t after that situation?

Adebayo immediately took Adrian’s shoulders. “Oh my god! Really?! I knew it! Don’t you worry, I’m going to give you the best advice! I’ll be your cupid and we’ll get you that date!”

A huge smile immediately draws on Adrian’s face. He finally felt some hope that this would go well!

“So you’re saying nothing worked, right?” Ads leads him to sit down on one of the chairs, then sitting in front of him. “Absolutely everything.” Adrian said.

“Okay, and have you tried…making something yourself? Like… pastries, or cookies?” Adebayo suggested, and Adrian was left with his jaw hanging like it was a mind blowing idea.

“No I haven’t! I’ll make something tonight and give it to her tomorrow! It’ll be perfect! Thanks Ads!” Adrian spoke so quickly that he almost went out of air, and then he rushed out of the break room.

-`♡´-

Kitchen utensils were everywhere, the countertop was dirty with spilled eggs and flour. Things didn’t look that bad, aside from Adrian’s mom trying to get inside and see what he was doing, he’d yelled out her like five times by now. But none of that mattered, because in every stir, and every chocolate chip he mixed into the batter, his only motivation and only worry was you. If this could actually turn out to be as perfect as you, and to be perfect for you.

જ⁀➴ ♡ February 12th

Adrian hurried to Adebayo’s desk first thing in the morning, clutching his backpack to his chest.

“Pshh, Ads… I made it!” Adrian sneaked up besides her, rummaging through his backpack.

“Yes, I told you that you could!” When Adrian took out the topper, Adebayo’s smile got smaller and smaller.

“Adrian… What are those?” She pointed at the topper. Inside were irregularly shaped… brownies? They looked like brownies because they very, very brown.

“What do you mean? They’re cookies.” Adrian looked confused, but that smile of his was still present, wide and proud.

“Adrian, did you do the recipe I sent you?”

“What recipe?” The worst part of all, is that he still looked confused about what was wrong. “Oh god… I don’t think you can give her this.”

“Really? Man! I worked so hard I-“ Adebayo quickly put her hand on his shoulder, stopping him on his tracks.

“Hey guys! Adrian, I didn’t see you come in the office.” You were standing right behind Adrian, beginning to look past his shoulder and at what he hand in his hands.

“Whatcha got there?” Innocent, sweet you… You didn’t know how much he was wishing to be swallowed by the earth right now.

“Are those brownies?” Adrian had to immediately stand up to try and keep the topper out of your sight. But it was just too late now.

“No, they’re supposed to be cookies…” ‘Don’t tell her they were meant for her, she’ll be immediately disgusted and never talk to you and you will die a virgin.’

You just chuckled at him, a warm, heart-throbbing chuckle. “They probably aren’t that bad.” You reached out for the topper and took it from his hands before he could react.

You took one of the cookies, and he watched attentively, ready for whatever might come. But he didn’t really expect you to make such a disgusted face.

“Why are they so salty?” You frowned as you returned the half eating cookie to the topper. Adrian’s brain went to emergency mode, he just froze in place while looking at you. But he eventually snapped out of it.

“Oh shit, my mom doesn’t label the sugar and salt, which is so not cool, they’re completely identical! I messed it up, I’m so-“

“It’s okay, Adrian. I just- I need to get some water.” You know extended the topper to him and he received it with weak arms, watching you walk away to the break room.

“Oh my god, Adrian. How can you mistake salt from sugar?!” Ads covered her face with her hands, her words muffled but still carrying the disappointment in them.

“I messed it up reaaal good now…”

જ⁀➴ ♡ February 13th

Adrian has been quiet the whole day, not once has he stopped at your desk to chat with you, or drop random facts, or asking you to quiz him! It was rather strange. Really strange.

“Hey, Adrian… Are you okay?” You approached his desk. His gaze was concentrated on his computer, actually filling out a report of some sort.

“Huh? Oh, yeah yeah. I’m okay.” Adrian said while lowering his head and giving you a slight nod. That answer obviously didn’t convince you, but he seemed in a strange mood you’ve never seen him before. You were unsure on how to react, he meant so much to you… and the lingering thought that it could possibly, possibly be your fault was withering you from the inside. But there wasn’t much you could do in this situation, but only hope he’d open up.

“Alright… If there’s anything- anything I could help you with, just tell me… okay?” You hesitated for a second, but finally placed your hand on top of his shoulder, giving him a soft squeeze. He barely moved, only giving her another short nod.

“Okay… Bye.” She eased her hand away and walked back to her desk.

“Adrian… What’s happening to you?” Ads approached him from behind, having watched the whole situation. She leaned on his desk, a concerned expression on her face.

“It’s over, Ads… I’ll never get to ask her out.” Adrian buried his face on his hands. “C’mon, Adrian… don’t say that. Valentine’s Day is still tomorrow, you still have time to ask her.”

“Would it even work? I’ve ran out of ideas, I need something that won’t leave me in the friend zone and completely humiliated!” Adrian said it a hushed voice, clearly looking in despair.

“Wow wow, calm down, we’ll find something…” Adebayo moved her rolling chair to sit next to Adrian, helping him settle down and sit straight again. Even though his face was still with a huge, exaggerated pout.

“What have you tried?”

Adrian took a breath to try and ease his mind, just like you always encourage him to do. “I first asked Chris and he told me to act really manly ‘cause girls like that, but it didn’t work. Harcourt just yelled me out, and Economos gave me the idea of the email, and as you know…”

“It didn’t work.” Adebayo looked at him with a downturned smile. She was starting to see the problem.

“Adrian, I think the problem with all your attempts are… that they weren’t your plans. Do you want to ask her out? Do what you think she’ll like, what would you like to do?” Ads opened Adrian’s eyes to what was the problem.

“I got it! Thankyouthankyouthankyou, Ads!” Adrian I’m immediately stood up, taking his backpack and his keys from his desk, carelessly turning off his computer and running off.

-`♡´-

જ⁀➴ ♡ 6:49 PM

In Friday’s like this you’d usually be home by now, but no. You’d somehow ended up having to finish all of Adrian’s work. Why? You didn’t know, you didn’t see him since the morning

You weren’t angry at him, just confused, ‘cause why would he disappear in the middle of the day? Even when you texted him asking him about it, he didn’t answer. He usually answered in about five minutes. You were genuinely getting concerned by now.

You were finally leaving the Checkmate building, only few of the team were still inside, and you tiredly walked to your car getting the keys out of your pocket when you heard a honk behind you. You looked behind and even in the twilight lighting you could make out the grey Sebling, hastily parking and getting out of his car.

“Adrian, where were you?! Hey!” You yelled but he didn’t hear you, he opened his back seat and took something out and ran, ran towards you.

“Hi [name]… I- um…“ In his hands he held a bouquet of red roses, but some were crooked and missing petals. And he was also holding a pink teddy bear, a red ribbon around its neck, and it was holding a heart that said ‘Be My Valentine.’

“Adrian… what’s all this?” You were left deeply confused, and you would need a little explanation before reaching to any conclusion.

Adrian’s heart is pumping through his chest and he’s having a whirlwind of emotions all at once. “[Name]… I need to confess you something. I-… I like you. I really like you, [name] and- this past days have been a hell for me because I wanted to ask you if you would be my Valentine, but I wanted to make it right.” He confessed, messily, stumbling over his words. But the feeling in them were vulnerable and you could realize how overwhelming it was for him. So you waited for him to finish.

“I had to drive to a shop for almost 20 minutes because a lot of store were closing or had really lame things, and I didn’t want to get you something lame, it had to be perfect! But then I needed to come back before you finished your shift or else it would’ve been too late so I ended up grabbing the first thing I saw.” Adrian finished talking as he finally ran out of air from saying all that in just two breaths.

“Are you done?” You asked, all of this made you feel flustered and really amused too. “Yeah…” Adrian nodded, squinting his eyes as if he was expecting a punch or something.

“I’d love to be your Valentine, Adrian.” You reached out to hold his hands, placing them on top of his while he was still holding his two gifts. And before he could say or do anything, your hands quickly found his cheeks and you kissed him. Softly, gently and full of feelings of joy and relief. Adrian nearly dropped the things from his hands, his knees also wobbled a bit, but you pulled away just in time before he could faint.

“You could’ve just gave me a pretty rock and I still would’ve said yes. I like you too, Adrian. I like you a lot.” You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling his curls and brushing some that were sticked to his sweaty forehead.

“I would’ve gotten you the prettiest rock on earth.” His eyes were lost in your face, in your smile. He was drowning in bliss right now and he would refuse to being rescued.

“Would you like to go to my place? Then we’d spend Valentine’s together.” You jingled your car keys in front of his face.

“Don’t even ask me twice.”

[heluf]

me core ིྀ

c.c: c4ssiehwrd on tik tok!!

[sweetpogue]

TRAUMATIC SIGH .ᐟ james cook x fem!reader ⟡˖ ࣪

warnings .ᐟ slight smut, jj walking on them having sex 😓, exhibitionism, degradation kinks, dacryphilia, unprotected sex.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Your back was already sticking to the mess of Cook’s sheets, your breath ragged, hair sticking to your temples. You weren’t even sure how the two of you had ended up tangled like this—well, you knew exactly how, but with Cook it always felt like whiplash.

One moment you were laughing, straddling him half-dressed while he whispered filth in your ear, and the next he had you spread out beneath him, the weight of his body pressing you deliciously into the mattress.

“Fuck, love,” he groaned, hips grinding into you as his lips nipped along your jaw. “Always so wet for me, yeah? Can’t get enough of it.”

Your thighs trembled as he slid in deeper, and your fingers dug into his shoulders. “Cook—” you gasped, but your voice broke on a moan when he snapped his hips forward.

He smirked at the sound, that trademark grin of his that was half-cocky, half-deranged, like he was proud of reducing you to a mess under him. His hand slipped between your thighs, thumb circling where you needed it most.

“Look at you,” he rasped, blue eyes dark and wild. “My pretty girl—fuckin’ takin’ me so good, like you’re made for it.”

Your head fell back against the pillow, whimpers spilling from your lips uncontrollably. You tried to answer him, to say something—anything—but all that came out were broken cries that only made him laugh.

“Can’t even speak, can ya?” Cook taunted, kissing you sloppily, biting at your lower lip. “I’ll do all the talkin’, then. You just keep squeezin’ me like that.”

Your nails dragged down his back as he thrusted harder, faster, the bedframe rattling against the wall. He had you exactly where he wanted you, falling apart, your legs tightening around his waist to keep him close.

“Cook, please—” you begged, voice high and shaky.

He growled into your neck, teeth scraping the sensitive skin. “Yeah? What’re you beggin’ for, hm? Want me to ruin you, yeah? Properly fuck you stupid?”

Your answer was a choked moan, and that was all he needed. He adjusted his angle, hitting deeper, rougher, until tears pricked at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation. Cook lapped them up like a dog, kissing your temple.

“That’s it. Cry for me. Love seein’ you like this.”

The room was thick with the sound of skin against skin, your soft cries mixing with his groans.

You were so close, teetering on the edge... when the door flew open.

“Cook! You won’t believe—”

JJ stood in the doorway, eyes going impossibly wide as he took in the scene. His hands flailed uselessly in the air, as if he could swat the sight away. “WHAT THE FUCK!”

You let out a strangled scream, trying to shove Cook off you and grab at the sheets, mortified. “JJ!”

Cook didn’t stop. If anything, his grin grew wider, like this was the funniest shit in the world. He slowed his thrusts just enough to look over his shoulder. “Oi, mate—ever heard of knockin’?”

“Cook, oh my god, stop!” you hissed, face burning as you tried to squirm away.

But Cook pinned you down easily, laughing breathlessly. “What? He’s already seen it, love. Nothin’ left to hide, yeah?” He punctuated the statement with another deep thrust that made you whimper into his chest.

JJ slapped both hands over his eyes. “I DIDN’T NEED TO SEE THAT! BLOODY HELL, COOK!” He spun around in a panic, nearly tripping over himself as he backed toward the door.

Cook threw his head back, cackling. “Oi, JJ, admit it—best fuckin’ view you’ve had in your life!”

“YOU’RE SICK!” JJ yelled, voice cracking, fumbling with the doorknob. “You’re both—deranged! I’m blind now, completely blind!”

The door slammed shut behind him, his horrified muttering echoing down the hallway.

You buried your burning face in Cook’s neck, utterly humiliated. “I hate you,” you whispered, voice shaky.

He kissed your cheek, still grinning like a devil. “Nah, you love me. Don’t lie.”

You hit his chest weakly. “He saw everything—”

“Good for him,” Cook cut you off, pulling your chin up so you’d look at him. “Now, where were we, gorgeous? Oh, right—” His hips rolled into yours again, drawing another moan from your lips despite yourself.

“Cook—”

“Shh,” he smirked, kissing you hard. “Forget JJ. Only thing you need to think about is me fuckin’ you until you can’t remember your own name.”

And just like that, the world narrowed back down to him, his weight, his heat, his voice. JJ’s horrified shriek was already a memory.