#and it's having a renaissance which is cool | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 1 month ago

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𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: knock knock knock in the middle of the night — two suitcases (plus a vanity case and a handbag) at the door, and not a request, but an announcement—you're moving in. when your dumb neighbor floods your apartment and the renovation will take at least two weeks, you find a very effective way to make it spencer reid’s problem.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, flatmates yay, lots of domestic scenes with them just watching movies etc, but they also talk about murdering each other once (just once, impressive for them), teasing so hard im not sure a single sentence goes by without it, reference to them getting married in vegas, CAT, reader wearing make up, spencer being a weirdo in one scene, spencer and nightmares...hope y'all not bored with one bed trope

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 6k

𝐚/𝐧: request | this has a chance to be my favorite fic from this WHOLE series PERIOD masterlist

Spencer wasn’t asleep when the sound of the doorbell rang.

The time on the clock showed such a late hour that he could almost, without any blame directed at himself, ignore it. He didn’t do that, though, because of a passing thought that it might be one of his friends. Maybe in trouble, maybe wanting to share some sudden terrible news (said his fatal side), or on the contrary, something truly wonderful (a weak trembling voice of optimism).

He put the book aside, got up from the bed, and after a moment, suspiciously yet inquisitively looked through the peephole. He held his eye to it for four seconds, then pulled his head back. A disbelieving snort from his mouth.

He was dreaming, and this dream was really starting to approach the border of absurdity. Lately, nightmares had been happening to him more and more often—that is, they had always accompanied him, but sometimes their frequency was rare, and sometimes they celebrated their renaissance in a truly sick and twisted form. He was currently in the era of such a renaissance, and he had plenty of reasons to suspect that the moment he opened that door, the woman standing behind it would grow fangs, turn into a monster-woman, and push him against one of the walls, in which he would grow like mold into a fresh fruit and remain in it forever, screaming for someone to free him, but no words would come out of his mouth, because it would turn out he didn’t have one.

He stepped a pace away from the door, ready to return to his bedroom.

That was a very sober thought for someone in the middle of a dream, right? Usually, one doesn’t have that much awareness in them — in most cases, one has none at all, is a video game character controlled by fears, but experiencing everything vividly.

He opposed the nightmare. Cool. But why, then, was something so strongly pushing him toward that door and making it impossible to walk away? The doorbell rang once more, and then again in short intervals, and Spencer already knew �� this wasn’t a dream. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his face and opened the door—only to come face to face with the woman’s fist, which had been just about to (firmly) knock on it. When his person appeared in the doorway, her hand froze in mid-air, then dropped onto the handle of one of the two suitcases with a leopard print.

And then, unfazed—despite the fact that she had just nearly punched him in the face—she spoke in an overly cheerful voice.

“Oh, you’re not asleep. How wonderful.”

Spencer briefly clenched his eyelids shut. Her facial expression, her tone of voice, and literally the suitcases at her feet made it obvious what this was about. A favor. One he would either agree to right away, feeling small about it, or agree to after several (dozen) minutes of her persuasive game, which he somehow never managed to resist despite being a profiler. Feeling even smaller in the process.

“I’m not asleep because someone is pounding on my door. There’s nothing wonderful about that.”

“Me visiting you at night. What about that isn’t wonderful?”

Spencer looked at her from under raised eyebrows, but she bore it with dignity. Silence had never been the cure for her brazen behavior—he had to approach it differently. He slightly relaxed his posture and nodded toward her suitcases.

“Quite a bit of luggage for a one-night visit,” he observed.

She shrugged.

“Just the essentials. What I managed to grab after my entire apartment got completely flooded by my stupid neighbor and now needs a deep renovation.”

He nodded with exaggerated, fake sympathy. He already knew what she was doing at his place at this hour, which didn’t mean he intended to be all meek about it. Besides, with people like her, sometimes it’s healthy to show them, to remind them, that you’re not at their beck and call.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What are you planning to do now?”

She gave the handle of her suitcase a casual pat.

“Stay in the home of my generous friend,” she said, giving him a meaningful look. “Who doesn’t mind me disturbing him just a tiny bit for the next…hmm, not sure, let’s say two weeks.”

With those words, she confidently stepped forward, as if he had at least invited her in. As if he had said go ahead, make yourself at home. But Spencer didn’t move an inch, still blocking the entrance with his body, causing her to bump into him and take a half-step back. Frustration flickered across her face, but she swallowed it quickly, looking at him with fake confusion, continuing their little silly game.

“Your friend,” Reid pointed out, now standing about half as close to her as before, which forced him to clear his throat slightly so that his voice would remain steady. “Sounds like a really nice guy.”

The corners of her lips really wanted to lift. Instead, she nodded with full agreement.

“He is a nice guy,” she confirmed, looking straight at his face, directly into his eyes. “Although, if I had to list his flaws, we’d probably be standing here for at least another fifteen minutes—which of course we don’t want. But deep down, he is a nice guy. And besides…”

She paused for a moment, leaning her face a little closer to his.

“He’s my husband. And it’s his civic duty to let me in.”

He didn’t blink under the force of her gaze, surprised she even chose that weapon in their argument. Their marriage which—oh, man—should’ve been annulled ages ago, but at this point they’d both kind of forgotten about it.

Anyway, focused on her lips as they slowly and precisely pronounced the word husband, he completely missed the moment she slipped swiftly under the arm he had resting against the doorframe, leaving all her luggage in the hallway.

The thought crossed his mind to leave it there, just to make a point. But then he remembered he’d never really trusted his neighbors, so with a loud sigh of protest he grabbed her two suitcases, what turned out to be a small trunk behind them, and a handbag resting on top—so tiny he genuinely wondered what could fit in there besides lipstick.

Even the plastic evidence bags from crime scenes were way more spacious.

He carried the bags inside—her silhouette had already vanished somewhere deep into the apartment, which was a little weird considering she’d never (okay, except for that one time ages ago) actually been here before. His brain slowed for a second as he felt the weight of her suitcases in his hands. There was no way she was settling in here for the next two weeks! The fact that they were a pair of idiots who’d gotten married in Vegas didn’t obligate him to anything! He had to find a way to get rid of her. He’d let her stay the night, sure, but after that…

“Oh, and my baby is here!” Her high, delighted voice rang out, and a moment later he found her in his living room, clutching a black cat tightly to her chest. “Mommy. Missed. You. So. Much.”

With each word, she planted a kiss on Marie’s tiny head.

Spencer generally avoided anthropomorphizing animals or assigning them emotions, but he could not shake the impression that the cat was staring at him in full-blown panic. And yet she stayed in her arms, even curling her tail up in contentment.

He shook his head, realizing he’d been standing still for too long, just staring at the scene. He cleared his throat to get her attention—not that it worked even in the slightest.She was still fully immersed in kissing their cat. Still, he decided to assume she was listening.

“How exactly do you see this playing out?” he asked, more seriously this time. “You’re planning to live on my couch for two weeks?”

She raised her brows at him, like he’d just said something worthy of divine punishment.

“Who said anything about the couch? You have a bed.”

“Just one.”

She sighed, like the whole conversation was exhausting.

“You know, I think savoir vivre has some thoughts about offering your bed to a guest.”

“Maybe it does. But a guest is usually someone you invite. Not someone who invites themselves.”

“I always thought you were a gentleman, Spencer. Don’t ruin that image.”

“Wait, seriously, you thought I—No. No, I’m not falling for that. You can call me whatever you want, I’m not giving up my bed. Listen, I’m tall, you have no idea how much my neck hurts after just one night on that couch…”

“In that case, we can take turns,” she said finally, with open displeasure in her voice. Spencer paused, genuinely surprised at the offer—and even more surprised it came from her. Then his eyes fell on her clothes, clearly the same ones she’d worn all day, and her makeup, still in place, suggesting she’d had a long—very long—day and probably just wanted to crash, no matter the terms. “My eternal need for comfort will be halfway satisfied. Your neck will be equally safe. Thoughts?”

He ran it through his head for a moment. He wasn’t used to compromising with her. Wow, sleep deprivation really did do unimaginable things to a (wo)man. Finally, he nodded—just a little. It actually sounded pretty fair. Besides, the idea of her sleeping on his couch for two weeks didn’t sit right with him.And it had nothing to do with her calling him a gentleman…

“But as for tonight… rock, paper, scissors?”

She shook her head quickly.

“No. No way. Not with you. You probably know the exact probability of me throwing paper and you’ll use it against me. So—no.”

Spencer stared at her for a beat, silently urging her to come up with a better tie-breaker. Not that they had straws in the apartment to draw from. Suddenly, the corner of her mouth tugged upward.

At first, he agreed—hesitantly, but he did. She was already about to set the cat down at the far end of the room when a warning light suddenly went off in his brain.

“Marie will decide,” she announced, shifting her gaze to the cat in her arms.

“Whichever one of us she walks up to gets the bed tonight.”

“You’re not, by any chance, hiding cat treats in your pockets, don’t you?” he asked, suspicious.

He wasn’t teasing. He was genuinely considering the possibility.

She let out a disbelieving huff.

“I barely even have pockets in this outfit,” she declared.

Spencer didn’t change his expression. To him, that sounded suspiciously like a deflection.

She closed her eyes for a second, visibly holding herself back from yelling at him—then suddenly threw her arms out wide.

“You don’t believe me? Fine. Be my guest. You can search me. FBI style. I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice with that, don’t you?”

For a moment, he looked into her eyes—challenging, teasing.Then his gaze slid over her clothes, tightly clinging to her body, and the body itself—every curve highlighted by the fabric. Admittedly, there weren’t many places to hide anything in that outfit.

They managed to convince Marie to stay in one place while they both crouched on opposite sides of the room, each calling the cat to themselves. Her black paws went tap tap tap (a moment of hesitation) then tap tap tap ended in her arms. Spencer sighed, but he didn’t really have a reason to be annoyed, since he had agreed to the terms himself. The couch wasn’t that bad anyway, not as bad as he always claimed.

“Let’s not be ridiculous,” he suggested, finding it unexpectedly difficult to swallow.

He caught the mocking glint in her eyes and ignored it—just like he ignored the brief flicker of embarrassment that washed over him. “It’s late. Just…put Marie down and let’s see what happens.”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen each other in a while and she missed you,” he justified it.

What hurt him the most was the betrayal from his own child.

How could he have raised a Brutus?

“Mhm,” she nodded dismissively and adjusted the cat in her arms the way you’d shift a child on your hip, and a genuine smile, not part of any game, appeared on her lips. “Or maybe she just loves her mama more.”

🐾

That night when she decided to show up at his apartment and disturb him just a tiny bit for the next… hmm, not sure, let’s say two weeks, Spencer had assumed her moving in would be a lot more invasive. But somehow, they quickly fell into a rhythm that allowed them to mostly stay out of each other’s way.

The biggest differences were the chaos that overtook the bathroom (but more on that later), and the fact that every other night, he was forced to sleep on the couch. In that regard, when he agreed to her arrangement, he completely overlooked one surprisingly obvious thing. After just one night of her sleeping in his bed, it completely absorbed her scent.

He should’ve predicted it—it was pleasant, a blend of body lotion and other cosmetics, with a trace of her tying it all together. Because of his germophobia, he had always been a little more sensitive to smells than most, but this wasn’t germophobic Spencer talking, repulsed by her scent and finding it disruptive to the point of sleeplessness.

This was a different kind of Spencer. One who felt under some strange spell every time he laid his head on the pillow, his thoughts drifting in a direction he had no intention of exploring.

He couldn’t change the sheets every single night—she would notice, and he wouldn’t be able to explain himself. Not without completely combusting from embarrassment, assuming he even told her the truth.

So on the second night of her stay, when he was supposed to sleep in the bed marked by her presence and it all became too overwhelming…he accidentally spilled coffee on it, just to have an excuse to change the bedding.

He never drank coffee in bed. But they had never lived together before—she didn’t know his habits—so it went unnoticed. Still, just to make it more believable, he actually started drinking coffee in bed, even though he hated it.

But of course, he couldn’t keep doing that every time.

So eventually, he just forced himself to get used to it as quickly as possible.

It was a bit like the first time he let the cat sleep in his bed—foreign and strange at first, but over time, he even started to appreciate it. Especially when it began to ease his nightmares.

🐾

That night, it was his turn on the couch again, but he decided to delay falling asleep. Seriously delay it, dedicating the entire time to binge-watching several episodes of Doctor Who.

She was a bit of a night owl—it wasn’t unusual for her to come home very late—but that evening, she was around and constantly moving about the apartment.

He didn’t mind the sound of her footsteps (in fact, he found it rather endearing, especially when it was followed by a tap tap tap… the sound of tiny paws). He’d already gotten used to not living alone anymore, and besides, he was far too absorbed in the show.

He was pulled out of his absorption by a scoff from behind him. He turned around to see his flatmate, dressed in a satin pajama set with short shorts and a short-sleeved top. Her hair was freshly washed, and she was leaning on his kitchen island with her elbows, eyes fixed on the TV with a not-very-convinced expression.

“What is this supposed to be?” she asked.

“Doctor Who,” he replied shortly, not intending to get into a discussion about his favorite show—which was his favorite for reasons that were not up for debate.

“Easy there, Reid. I was just asking.”

“I can now subconsciously sense when one of your snide remarks is approaching. Thank yourself for moving in.”

“Snide remark right away? Maybe I just wanted to share my constructive criticism.”

“In your dictionary snide remark and constructive criticism are synonyms.”

“That all depends on your sensitivity level. For example, to me, saying this show is lame isn’t mean at all. It’s just how I feel.”

He rolled his eyes. She thought Doctor Who was lame, yet she kept cutting through the living room surprisingly often—just as often as she glanced toward the screen. And she was even engaged enough to form an opinion. Interesting.

He shook his head mockingly. “Good thing no one’s forcing you to watch. You have free will and can just…” he made a little walking-man gesture with his fingers.

She made a face that landed somewhere between a cynical smile and a grimace nonverbal way to say very funny. Then she pointed at the box of tea sitting right beneath her hand, which she must have forgotten about, so not at all focused on his lame show.

“There’s no other place I can make tea. So, in a way, I am being forced to watch and I can’t just…” She mimicked his earlier gesture to cap off her far-fetched explanation.

Spencer let out a dismissive laugh and turned back to watching. But it was hard to focus—there were constant noises coming from behind him: a mug being taken out, water being boiled. He caught himself glancing back discreetly more than once. Only to catch her staring at the TV screen.

Their eyes would usually meet then, and instead of looking away bashfully, she would just nod, as if doubling down on her opinion.

Uhm, lame.

Her large mug of green tea was ready, and he wondered what she would do next. Whether she would just head to her room or...

“I bought ice cream,” she announced, pulling a liter-sized tub from the freezer. She grabbed two spoons and walked over to the couch, handing him one over the backrest.

“No, I’ll pass,” he said.

She shoved the spoon into his hand and took a seat beside him on the couch, close enough that their shoulders brushed with each unsynced breath, and sharing one tub of ice cream became easier.

“You said you wouldn’t watch my show,” he noted, turning the spoon in his hands.

The surface of the ice cream was so frozen she had to stab it with force to get the spoon in.

“I’m not watching,” she said with a shrug. “I’m just enjoying my tea. And sharing ice cream with you, like a good flatmate should. Give me some blanket, I’m freezing ‘cause of that ice creams”

She lifted the tub slightly, giving him room to throw the blanket over her bare legs and smooth it down around her waist to keep the warmth in.

“Are you gaslighting me into thinking you’re not watching Doctor Who when you clearly haven’t taken your eyes off the screen since the episode started?” he asked, glancing up at her.

She didn’t answer—too focused on the screen, spoon resting against her bottom lip in total concentration. She might not have even heard him.

Spencer shook his head in disbelief. “You’re unbelievable.”

He watched her for a moment longer, trying to figure out whether the faint trace of a smile was truly forming on her lips or if he was just imagining it.

Two episodes of Doctor Who later, the ice cream tub was empty, so was her mug of tea, and her shoulder wasn’t just brushing against his anymore—it had fully settled there. His teasing about her hidden nerdy side and her totally-not-real fondness for the show had been met with the kind of patient silence only she could pull off, but that didn’t stop him from indulging in it with growing—by now no longer internal—satisfaction. Another episode ended and Spencer held off on starting the next one, the living room fell into a brief silence, broken only by his roommate’s yawn.

Sleepiness didn’t keep her from throwing him an expectant look toward the remote in his hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

“You’re out of tea and ice cream. What’s your excuse this time?”

Right on cue, their black cat jumped up onto her lap, curling into a nest. He gave the creature a look of betrayal. The woman let out a theatrical sigh and sank deeper into both the couch and his arm, sliding just slightly against them both. “I’m not heartless. I’m not going to make her move.”

"I’d argue with that," he muttered, referring to the first part of her statement. He reached for his traitorous cat, scratching behind her ear, only to find something else besides soft black fur—her fingers, brushing against his. His hand froze for a moment before he pulled it back, deciding that two people petting the cat at once might be a bit much. “All this just to avoid admitting that Doctor Who is actually a captivating show.”

“Oh my sweet baby loves when mama rubs her belly?” preoccupied with showering the cat with affection, she completely ignored his words.

“Pretending you don’t hear me, huh?”

In the meantime, the next episode had already begun, and her eyelids looked heavy, lazily half-closed.

“But I think it’s time to clip those claws, look at yourself Marie, when was your last little mani-pedi?”

"A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?" he remarked, nodding toward her own long nails. He realized he wasn’t paying any attention to the episode that had just started and was barely aware a few minutes had already passed. What he was very aware of was how late it had gotten—and how much heavier her temple was pressing against his shoulder.

"Well, I’ve never accidentally scratched anyone, unlike this little missy. On purpose, once or twice, I’ll admit. Be a dear and lean further into the corner of the couch, I’m figuring out how to get comfy here..."

Spencer let out a quiet sigh.

"I don’t get it. You fought so hard for my bed, and now that it’s your turn, you’d rather fall asleep on me?"

Her gaze slowly settled on him, and there was something searching in it. And that’s when it hit Spencer—their closeness, the position they had somehow ended up in, and the surprising comfort that came with it, one neither of them had questioned for even a second. He swallowed nervously, and she nodded thoughtfully.

“You know what, you’re right,” she said slowly. “It would be a shame to waste my turn in the bed. Enjoy the episode.”

She kept her eyes on his face for a moment longer before setting the blanket aside, her bare feet carrying her toward his bedroom. Soft paw steps followed behind her, leaving him alone on the couch.

Spencer watched her go before fixing his gaze on his lame show. This was what he wanted, technically—catching up on a few episodes in peace. And yet, deep down, he really regretted not just keeping his mouth shut and letting her fall asleep.

🐾

A small excerpt from the bathroom chronicles.

It was the one room where Spencer always managed to maintain the greatest order, a near-sterile state. Mostly because he didn’t store books or documents there, and toilet paper and a toothbrush didn’t change their place on their own. Since she had moved in, the cosmetics cabinet looked more confusing than an overfilled bookshelf. Every morning he wondered how those shelves managed to withstand their weight. Once, he made a calculation in his head, added up the estimated weight of each of those cosmetics, assumed a certain shelf durability. He concluded that if he ever made a mistake and put the soap there instead of on the sink, everything would collapse.

A small assumption he had also made at the very beginning of their living together was that the woman would get up earlier than him. After all, she had to get the time to use all those cosmetics from somewhere, right? It turned out to be the opposite. They got out of bed at roughly the same time, and it always came down to an exciting race to the bathroom door, which she often won by resorting to tactics like grabbing the fabric of his shirt.

That morning, both of them had a solid chance of being late, so in response to one of his increasingly impatient knocks, she simply opened the bathroom door, letting him in while she finished doing her makeup.

The focus on her face as she traced the shape of her lips with a lip liner seemed sacred. While brushing his teeth, Spencer watched the process from the corner of his eye, considering two things in his mind. Why they hadn’t previously thought of simply sharing the bathroom instead of fighting over it, and why she even did that, since the shape of her lips was already so pretty. Then a silly comparison came to his mind — that as an occasional consumer who valued factory settings, he should only appreciate any enhancements.

Her fingers slowly lifted the lipstick and gently pressed its active side to her lower lip, spreading it. Oh, and now he probably understood the purpose of the lip liner — the two cosmetics created a very fitting combination on her bottom lip. Her eyes, focused on her reflection and her face, completely unexpectedly caught his, in the mirror.

Caught in such an inelegant act of staring, Spencer wanted to return to brushing his teeth, but he was doing that already, so he tried to do it more — which only resulted in his long arm with its long elbow knocking against the shelf and sending two creams tumbling down.

She smudged the lipstick outside the edge of her lips and turned toward him, ready to scream. Spencer was prepared to take a defensive stance and shift the blame onto—well, he didn’t know what yet—but it turned out the containers had landed on the floor intact. He quickly bent down to pick them up and set them back on the shelf, straightening up and raising a calming (yet simultaneously nervous) hand in her direction.

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it, it’s fine…”

“You’re lucky. You and your big clumsy paws are very lucky.”

“There’s no need to overreact, seriously.”

“Oh, I’m overreacting?” she raised her eyebrows at him, hands on her hips, and her serious expression looked absurd with that red lipstick going well beyond the edge of her lips. He tried to point it out to her somehow, but she silenced him with a look, so he gave up. “Should I remind you how you reacted when I almost broke your mug?” she asked.

He shook his head side to side, smoothly deflecting the argument.

“It had sentimental value. Did your cream?”

She just looked at him in silence, for a long moment.

“It cost $300.”

Spencer blinked. Okay, a totally justified crash out. He really should control his clumsiness better… he leapt back suddenly when both her hands moved toward his neck.

“What are you doing?” he almost squeaked.

She widened her eyes at him like he was a complete lunatic, even shook her head in disbelief.

“I was going to tie your tie, you idiot,” she snorted. He looked down, stunned. Sure enough, his tie was hanging loosely around his neck.“You thought what? That I was going to strangle you right away?”

“Well…yes?”

She shook her head again. In fact, she hadn’t really stopped.

“And I’m the one who overreacts,” she muttered to herself. Louder, she added, “This job is seriously messing with your head, you realize that, right?”

Still pulling himself together, he shrugged. It wasn’t exactly a new opinion. Before he could get any kind of response out, her hands — this time slower, more controlled — reached for the two ends of his tie hanging loosely on either side of his neck.

That required a step in his direction; her elbows brushed his chest once or twice in the process, and on her face, in her lowered gaze, Spencer saw the same concentration she’d had while putting on her lipstick.

”We literally spent two weeks on a case where a wife strangled her husband,” he offered. He just needed to say something — anything — to break the silence that had fallen over the bathroom and cover the intrusive sound of him swallowing a bit too loudly.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, eyebrows raised.

“I’d be tying my husband’s tie if I planned to kill him?” she asked. Her fingers were just now folding one end of the tie over the other; looking up at him made the knot uneven. Spencer noticed, but said nothing.

Instead, he gave a small shrug.

“Lulling him into a false sense of security?”

“First the tie, then cyanide in the coffee?”

“Exactly. Though, for future reference, maybe don’t say your plans out loud. Especially not around an FBI agent.”

“And the husband in question, while you’re at it. You can’t leave that part second.”

Spencer couldn’t stop the reply that slipped from his mouth.

“I’m starting to suspect you really enjoy bringing that up.”

“I do. ’Cause it’s funny,” she said, giving his tie a pat with something that looked suspiciously like pride. “Done.”

He’d almost forgotten she was tying it at all. She stepped back, watching his reaction as he finally looked down at the tie. He frowned. Moving past her to stand closer to the mirror, he checked his reflection, just in case his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Only then did he let out a short laugh.

“This is the worst tied tie I’ve ever seen.”

She crossed her arms with an offended scoff. “What exactly is wrong with it?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He turned to her, pointing at the crooked knot like it was offensive. “Just look at it.”

Spencer just huffed at her stubbornness and started undoing it. He hadn’t said it to be cruel—the knot really was terrible. She watched him retie it properly, something close to wounded pride flickering in her eyes.

She shook her head, completely unbothered.

“It’s a decently tied tie.”

“You should let me try again, then,” she said.

“I’d like to remind you we’re almost late.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

His fingers were still on the tie, about to let it fall loosely back against his shirt when her words made them pause. He glanced at her expression—no teasing this time. The first few sounds he made barely qualified as speech; he had to clear his throat to make the words come out properly.

“Tomorrow, then.”

🐾

He opened the door slowly, careful not to make too much noise. Not just because it was the middle of the night—or really, the early hours of the morning by now—but also to spare his aching, exhausted head from any sound that might make it throb harder. The apartment, of course, was silent and dark. Spencer turned on only as many lights as necessary to find his way to the bed.

First, though, he headed to the bathroom. He didn’t have the energy for a full shower—he’d take one after at least a short nap—but he had to wash his hands. He needed to rinse the entire day off them. The last few days, really. The whole case they’d finally managed to close. He had to make sure that none of it lingered on his skin or fingers when he touched his blankets, when he reached into the cupboard for his favorite mug to make coffee, or when he scratched the cat behind the ear.

Only after that small ritual drag his body to the bedroom. On autopilot, he approached the bed and was even ready to lie down when he suddenly froze in place.

There was already someone in his bed. And it wasn’t just his cat, who was normally curled up on the pillow like a single mom who works two jobs.

Spencer was so sleepy that he forgot he had a flatmate for almost two weeks now. A flatmate who first turned restlessly in her sleep, then her eyes lit up in the darkness, awakened. It didn’t have to be bright for him to notice that she flinched.

“God, you scared me,” she said. Her voice still sleepy, hoarse. There was a chance that if he had left without a word, she would’ve fallen asleep again and wouldn’t remember the interaction in the morning, or that she had even been woken up. “I didn’t expect you guys to be back so soon,” she added.

Spencer nodded slightly, barely able to make any use of his mouth and form a sentence. He wiped his face with his hand, trying to shake himself out of that state.

“Me neither,” he mumbled.

Silence between them. He realized he’d have to go to the couch. That wasn’t a problem for him, all he cared about was sleep.

“I-I’ll move Marie, okay? I just want to take the pillow and go to the couch.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

Confused, he didn’t understand what she meant, and silently watched as she moved the cat to her side of the bed and pulled the blanket back on the other side.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch tonight,” her voice, though quiet and gentle, had a lot of command in it.

“I’m not?” he repeated uncertainly.

Only then did it register, and he scratched his nose, shaking his head.

“No, seriously. Just give me the pillow—”

“Just lie down.”

He was probably too tired to insist, so he just sighed softly and rolled onto the mattress. He didn’t even manage to grab the edge of the blanket to cover himself when her hand did it for him, pushing it up almost to his nose.

A quiet snort escaped Spencer, and he adjusted the fabric so it ended just below his ribs.

There was a soft sound of impact — he recognized it instantly as the thump of cat paws hitting the floor as she jumped off the bed.

“She’s probably mad I took her spot,” he muttered.

“Mhm, likely. But her sulks don’t last long. You’ll wake up with her tail on your face,” she said, and Spencer liked how her voice adapted to the surroundings and the quiet. Even though she was lying right next to him, on her side, he didn’t feel like she was speaking directly into his ear. She fell silent for a moment, but didn’t fall asleep. “What kind of case was it?”

In the way he immediately shook his head, there was a surprising amount of force.

“Not something you’d want to hear about right now,” he assured her. “At night. In bed. Before sleep. Trust me on this one.”

She exhaled through her nose.

“Maybe you’re right,” she murmured in agreement. “Goodnight then.”

He replied, but without even a hint of conviction in the words. Suddenly, slides of all the nightmares that had been keeping him company the past few nights flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes, trying to push them away, but it only made them more vivid. Suddenly, it felt like something was pressing down on his chest, making it harder to take the next breath.

“Goodnight,” he repeated, though it felt a little strange.

Just to say something. The words left his mouth, so did the air, at least partially imitating a regular, healthy breath. It didn’t help lift the weight off his chest, but at least he didn’t look like his whole body was slowly being flattened.

He squeezed his eyelids shut too tightly, then tried to relax them, ready to fall asleep with that unpleasant feeling. I mean, it wasn’t like he hadn’t done that before.

Only then did he feel a certain weight actually settle on his chest. Not imagined, not vague, and not ominous.It was real, in the shape of a hand, resting on him softly— connecting him to the person lying next to him, and making him aware of her presence, and of her calm—unlike his—breathing.

Both the sound and the feeling were grounding in their own way, making him relax his tightly shut eyelids.

He woke up with a cat’s tail on his face and the slow realization dawning on him that he hadn’t had a nightmare that night.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #criminal minds fluff #diva reader ♱#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n

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sprenthecreator · 3 months ago

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D.A | NEW MAGIC WAND

Male reader x Sohyun

word count: 5.2k

tags: the wolf ears are still on, i couldn't find a decent picture of her with that outfit so there's a gif, she's lowkey upset

🔙 Previous update | 📄 NEW MAGIC WAND

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"Rory, honey, I've told you a thousand times that you can't come with me to Italy," you told your cat, who was lying inside your empty suitcase, staring at you. "You have to stay here taking care of Helios. And Sohyun will take care of both of you."

Of course, the rebellious kitten didn't listen to you. You didn't blame her. Whenever you were going to be away from home for a while, she sensed it and acted that way, as if trying to convince you to either stay or take her with you. A touch of yours under her chin made her rub her head against your hand. She was too cute to scold.

"Okay, you can stay there for a bit," you relented, standing up. "But only until I finish folding my clothes."

You were inside your walking closet, packing all the clothes you were going to take on your three-week trip to Europe. It wasn't a vacation, by any means; your plans included some IRL streams, and you'd also contacted one of your friends in Milan to buy you a computer so you could settle in comfortably and do your usual streams.

But the reason was that, for the first time, you were traveling to your hometown for business, as the new official ambassador for Prada, no less.

When the offer arrived in your email last month, you couldn't believe it. A streamer being an ambassador for an Italian haute couture brand? It sounded ridiculous. Unnatural. People in your profession didn't usually venture into that world; it was like water and oil. But when you thought about it with a cool head and looking back, it made perfect sense.

For starters, you were Italian. It might not seem like it, but it was a plus. Second, you were at the peak of your popularity and constantly on the rise (you had recently reached 10 million followers on Instagram and had close to 2 million followers on Twitch), with an audience that, while mostly casual, you knew many appreciated your tastes as much as you did. Third, your Instagram was like that of a model, since you loved fashion and your photos were perfect. And fourth, but not least, you were devoted to art. In general. You constantly talked about music, literature, films, and even painting. Besides, you already had successful collaborations in that field, such as your speaker line with Sony or your recent commercials with Sennheiser and Samsung.

So yes, you had earned that with blood, sweat, and tears. You deserved it more than anyone. Maybe your profession and the way you constantly made a fool of yourself in front of a camera didn't make much sense with that direction of your life. But the real you certainly did. The man with dreams and aspirations.

On the other hand, that trip also meant you'd see and be with the two women who ruled your world. Rina was also attending Milan Fashion Week as a Prada ambassador, and Wony was attending Paris Fashion Week as a Miu Miu ambassador. You, now a Prada ambassador, had also been appointed as a friend of the house, so you were invited to attend as well.

However, before going to Milan, you had to make a little ‘touristy’ stop in Florence, the birthplace of the Renaissance. At first it wasn't in your plans, but a certain Aussie girl with the same taste as you for art and fashion had told you she wanted to go there to have a little fun and get to know the city. And in her words, who better than you to be her tour guide? You had done the same thing last year, when in a fit of extravagance, you, her, Hanni, and Minji went to Rome. The thing is, of course, those two nights had been... eventful, to say the least.

Dani was scheduled to arrive a day after you, which was perfect, as it gave you time to book a nice place for the two of you and make a little itinerary to offer her when she arrived. Your flight was in two days, and there you were, deciding what the hell to pack from all the clothes in your closet, which wasn't exactly a small amount. In fact, you had a feeling you were going to need an extra suitcase. What a pain in the ass.

The sound of a call on your phone made you shift your attention away from your clothes for a moment. When you took it out of your pocket, you saw it was Sohyun. You answered it and brought the phone to your ear.

"Hi Nup..."

"Are you home?!" Sohyun said on the other end of the line. She sounded upset.

"Uhm... are you okay?"

"Are you home or not?!" she insisted. You rarely heard her like that. It sounded like she was talking through gritted teeth.

"Y-yeah, but I'm a little..." you looked down at your folded clothes.

"I don't care! I'm on my way!"

Then she hung up on you. You stared blankly, still holding the phone to your ear, not understanding what the hell had just happened. Sohyun had a fansign today, from what you understood. Had she already left? Was she mad at you? It wouldn't be the first time; sometimes she behaved like your mother, and loved to scold you for every little thing. But no, you had the feeling it was something else. The approach wasn't the same. A theory circulated in your mind based on past experiences, but you hoped you were wrong.

While waiting for Sohyun to arrive, you continued pulling clothes out of your closet: trousers, t-shirts, coats, and just about anything else you liked. It was a selective and meticulous process, since you liked almost everything, and it was like choosing between all your children at once. In the end, you thought you'd made a good selection, but the process of starting to put things in the suitcase was interrupted by the ringing of your apartment doorbell.

Praying to all the apostles, you went outside and then to the door. As you opened it, a pair of berry balm-flavored lips crashed against yours before you could say anything. Sohyun had your face cradled in her hands and forced you back inside. You instinctively grabbed her waist, exposed that day by the outfit she was wearing. She closed the door behind her with her foot and pulled away to look you in the eyes.

"I hate that damn bitch! Ugh!" Sohyun growled, and without giving you a chance to speak, she kissed you again fiercely, using her tongue to attack yours.

The theory circulating in your mind, unfortunately, turned out to be true. ‘That damn bitch’ was Xinyu. Who knows what the hell she's done now?

Sohyun stumbled forward with you, causing your lower back to hit the edge of your kitchen island. You wrapped your arms around her waist, pressing her firmly against you. Her big tits pressed against your chest. She was breathing hard and deep, either very horny or very angry. Maybe both.

"Nupy, what the fuck is going on...?" you managed to mutter, but Sohyun didn't respond. Instead, she lowered one hand to your cock and gave it a firm squeeze through your fleece shorts before massaging it, knowing you'd get hard in no time. In response, you lowered both hands to her cute, firm ass and squeezed it. Those jeans definitely did justice to that beautiful piece of cake.

When Sohyun felt the outline of your hard cock beneath her hand, she pulled away and took your hand, pulling you with her across the apartment, toward the living room, taking brisk, swift strides.

"Sohyun-ah..." you looked at her from behind, sensing that she was about to explode with anger. No answers again. She was so angry that she didn't even take off her wolf ears. They looked so damn hot on her, though.

As you arrived in front of the main couch, Sohyun sat right in the middle and pulled you down by your hoodie. She didn't move you, but from the way she glared at you, you knew she wanted you to kneel. You did, and while you opened your knees slightly to lower yourself further, Sohyun quickly worked on her jeans, pulling them and her panties off her legs after taking off her shoes. Then she spread her legs, sat further on the edge of the couch, grabbed your hair, and pulled you straight towards her pretty, freshly shaved, and noticeably wet pussy.

"Mmgh..." Sohyun groaned as you stuck out your tongue and began to eat that silky, tender flesh, delicious to your taste buds.

It was strange that Sohyun would grab your hair like that. Her fingers were tangled and gripped in strands of your hair, at scalp level to make it tight. She wasn't going to let you catch a break. She didn't seem to care. When you looked up seconds later, you noticed her eyes closed, stifling moans against her puckered lips. Chances were she was sexually frustrated by something the Chinese princess had done. Poor thing.

But if your best friend needed relief, you were happy to give it to her. Especially when her pussy was so delicious, and her thighs so soft and creamy, and her face so stupidly sexy when she was horny. Hell, even those damn wolf ears were a gigantic plus that were turning you on just as much as she was.

Knowing that doing a good job would be rewarded, you put your subby skills to the test and let Sohyun do whatever she wanted with you while you ate her out. Did she pull you too hard? It was nothing. Pale, fleshy thighs now squishing into your head on both sides, making you question how much oxygen you really needed to live? You were thrilled by it.

Sohyun moaned louder, still with her eyes closed, constantly pulling you against her pussy. Her thighs had you deafened, both pressing hard, and her hips bucked up and down, grinding against your mouth and nose as you moved your tongue in ways you didn't even know you were capable of. Seconds later, her moans grew higher and longer. Until, suddenly, she lifted her hips and exploded into your mouth.

"Mmmgh, yes!" Sohyun whimpered, trembling. Her thighs were about to crush your head like a soft watermelon. "Fuck yesss!!"

Her pussy dripped with those delicious juices that your tongue collected, while you felt your scalp teetering on the fine line between staying in place and being ripped off. You were gripping her thighs, which were tense and trembling until the moment they released your head.

As soon as you moved away from her pussy, Sohyun grabbed the collar of your hoodie and pulled it up.

"Come here," Sohyun urged, her cheeks flushed and her mouth slightly ajar.

You stood up and sat on the couch, sinking as deep into the seat as possible. At the same time, Sohyun stood between your knees, yanking your fleece shorts and boxers off in one fell swoop. Then she straddled you, planted her feet on the couch, and grabbed your throbbing cock to slowly impale herself on it.

"Oh fuck..." Sohyun groaned, her hands on your abdomen beneath your hoodie as she took every inch of your cock inside her. "Just what I needed."

When she completely lowered herself and your shaft disappeared inside her pussy, you both moaned, you a little louder than her, perhaps. Her walls felt soft and overwhelmingly warm, hugging your cock from every direction and driving you crazy with the sensation. You placed your hands under her thighs, and Sohyun moved her hands up to clasp her ten fingers around your neck and begin moving them up and down.

"Do you like how that feels?" Sohyun asked through gritted teeth, squeezing her fingers in a way that was uncharacteristic of hers. She was usually quite dominant when you two fucked, but not like that. It didn't bother you either. "Do you like it, bitch?"

What the fuck. Never in your entire friendship had she ever called you that, not even when she was mad at you. It was almost as if she were talking to...

Jesus Christ. What did Xinyu do?

"Y-yes," you managed with a nod, even though Sohyun was squeezing hard enough that your words didn't come out so easily. "I fucking love it."

"Oh yeah? What if I go harder?" Sohyun did, making the acoustic space of the apartment fill with clapping sounds as she bounced faster on your cock. "What if I leave you with pelvic pain? Wouldn't that bother you?"

You wanted to say no in the slightest, but you couldn't speak. Sohyun had you pinned, silent, and giving you a ride that was leaving you breathless. You didn't even remember that you were supposed to be able to use your hands, and that you had them still under her thighs. So you raised them a bit and gripped those firm buttocks as they slammed into you.

"God, this cock feels so good," Sohyun groaned, dropping her head back. She let go of your neck to place her hands on your chest. "So good!!"

Sohyun gave a sudden downward thrust and ground against you the moment she came, in a series of violent tremors in her lower body that made you think she was going to disassemble like a LEGO brick. Her squeals echoed through the quiet living room, delighting your ears.

"Fuck," Sohyun moaned, and leaned forward to cup your face in her hands and kiss you. "Give me more, give me more!" she whimpered against your lips.

No visible exhaustion from her recent orgasm, Sohyun continued bouncing on your cock, somehow going even harder now and making you think that leaving you with pelvic pain wasn't even a joke. You moved your hands to her waist, moaning against her lips between deep breaths, trying not to run out of air with each slam of her ass against you.

Sohyun came again not long after, sinking her teeth into your lower lip as she bounced slowly but strongly. She held your face firmly, holding it still so she could kiss you comfortably and muffle her moans against your lips. When her orgasm passed, she straightened, got off you, and knelt beside you to take your cock in her hand and begin to stroke it rapidly.

"Cum, you little whore," Sohyun hissed, staring into your eyes with fire behind her gaze.

"S-Sohyun?" You frowned, confused, but strangely too horny to give it much thought.

"Didn't you hear me or something?" Sohyun raised an eyebrow, jerking you off furiously. "I said cum."

Like a submissive little bitch, you started to moan, clenching your buttocks and lifting your hips slightly. Sohyun wouldn't let you take your eyes off her, and you didn't even dare try to infuriate her more than she already was. So, with your eyes on hers, it took you a little less than a minute to cum all over her hand. But she kept going.

"S-Sohyun!" You writhed desperately as Sohyun overstimulated you, making your cock hurt like hell itself. "Stop! P-Please! Sohyun-ah!!"

Sohyun abruptly released your cock, and you were finally able to relax your hips and buttocks. Her hand was covered in your cum, and the rest had fallen on your lower abdomen and pubic area. A mess she took care of by bending forward to clean every wet area with her tongue, collecting your load in her mouth. You wanted her to suck your cock, but she ignored it and sat back on her heels, now licking her hand, an image that, combined with those damn wolf ears, drove you crazy.

You jumped up and pushed Sohyun back. She fell back across the couch, and you quickly got on top of her. Sohyun frowned and tried to wriggle away, but you grabbed her hands and pulled them above her head. After a little struggle, she stayed still. She was looking at you like she wanted to kill you, but still.

"Calm the fuck down, Park Sohyun," you said, looking into her eyes. Your crotches were touching, but that wasn't the point. "I'm serious."

"Don't tell me to...!" Sohyun tried to protest, but you leaned a little closer to glare at her. "Ugh!!" she growled, frustrated, and finally looked away.

"Are you going to tell me what's wrong or what?" You raised an eyebrow.

Sohyun's gaze blazed again, perhaps having remembered why she was there in the first place. But she wasn't looking at you like you were the scapegoat anymore.

"It's just that bitch crossed the damn line this time!" Sohyun squealed. You were supposed to take her seriously, but now those wolf ears were melting your heart. "You know how she is. One day she says she loves me, the next day she barely seems to care about me, it's so fucking confusing!"

"So...?" You urged her to continue, slowly letting go of her wrists since you knew she had calmed down.

"This morning she promised me we'd spend time together. In private. And she teased me like only she knows how all day long. All for what? So she could act distant right after the fan meeting, as if I had to beg on my knees for her damn attention!"

"And you did it, didn't you?"

"Of course I did! You know I'm weak for her."

"Aha."

"When I finally got her damn attention, we kissed," Sohyun continued, while you fixed her wolf ears on her head and smoothed down her hair. "And that bitch turned me on in less than ten seconds with her damn groping!"

"And she walked away, saying it wasn't the time and she had to do something?"

"Exactly fucking that! Ugh!"

Sohyun slammed her hand on the couch, and suddenly her eyes filled with tears. A drop fell down her cheek as her pouting lips trembled.

"No, silly, please don't cry," You cupped her cheek with your hand and wiped her tears away with your thumb. "Hey, do you want me to make you something delicious to eat? Whatever you want."

"No..." Sohyun gently shook her head. "Just cuddle me, okay?"

"Aight. Shall I get you your pants? Or do you want some of my shorts?"

"Just cuddle me like this, Ezio."

Sohyun shifted onto her side, leaving you a space between her and the back of the couch you took. You slipped your right arm under her head and wrapped your other arm around her voluptuous body to snuggle her back against your chest. Her ass was pressed against your cock, which, against your will, became rock hard again within a few minutes. Rather than being annoyed, Sohyun enjoyed it and pushed her hips back to make the contact even tighter.

"Hey, I'm just supposed to cuddle you," you said softly, your face buried in the back of her neck. "What are you doing?"

"Letting you cuddle me," Sohyun replied. "But I never said you couldn't fuck me while cuddling me."

"Do you want to...?"

"We're already naked from the waist down. We have nothing to lose."

Perfect, then. There was no way you could deny your baby wolf what she wanted, especially when what she needed was your cuddles and affection. So, after grabbing your cock, you guided it between her buttocks and rubbed it against her folds a few times before taking every inch inside her, in a single smooth motion that made her moan and grip your right forearm.

Sohyun twisted her hips slightly, making sure you were as deep inside her as possible. Her warm pussy made you moan again. You moved your left hand from her waist to one of her breasts, squeezing it over her long-sleeved crop top as you began to slowly pump your hips.

"Time to take this off, huh?" you asked in her ear, referring to her top. "It's already bothering me."

"Help me then," Sohyun gasped, and propped herself up on one elbow as you lifted the long-sleeved top over her body and off her arms. Underneath, she was still wearing a tight tank top, which you also removed, leaving her in a beige bra that was the last piece to fall to the floor before revealing those soft, perfect tits.

With Sohyun now completely naked—except for her wolf ears. They were essential—you took off the scarlet hoodie you were wearing to be on equal terms with her. Then you buried your face in the side of her neck, peppering it with wet, sensual kisses complemented by equally sensual hip movements that drove every inch of your shaft in and out of her pussy.

Sohyun took your hand and brought it to her breast for you to squeeze and massage. With your right arm, you held her close to you, gradually building up to a rhythm that wasn't too strong, but fast enough to make her body jiggle with each pump. She turned her head in search of your lips, and when they met, you kissed again.

After a few seconds, you couldn't help but go faster and faster, your left hand on Sohyun's waist and your right hand across her collarbone, squeezing both of her tits. Sohyun muffled moans against your lips, holding onto your wrist and the back of your neck until she thrust her hips back and came, fucking herself against your cock as her muscles contracted and trembled. You held her close the whole time, holding her against you to feel the warmth of each other's bodies as much as possible.

"Enough cuddling, you'll do it later," Sohyun moaned into the kiss. "Fuck me from behind."

You pulled out of her and knelt as she positioned herself on her hands and knees. From behind, the view of her with those wolf ears was even better than you'd thought. Sohyun parted her knees and arched her back, stretching her arms out in front of her head to look at you over her shoulder. She bit her lip and frowned as you thrust back into her pussy.

Holding onto her waist with both hands, you continued to move your hips at a strong, steady pace. Sohyun grabbed a pillow and hugged it beneath her head, moaning against it. You squeezed both of her buttocks and moved your hands up her back to rest on the nape of her neck, leaning forward to press her head against the pillow. Inevitably, she ended up lowering her hips, remaining in a prone bone position until she came again.

As her thighs trembled and she moaned against the pillow, you lowered yourself toward her and covered her with your upper body, then grabbed her chin and made her look at you.

"Feeling better?" you asked, looking into her teary eyes.

"Not until you cum too," Sohyun replied.

"Why?"

"Because it makes me feel good that you feel good too," her expression changed. "Wait a minute, have you had dinner?"

You chuckled and kissed her forehead.

"No, I haven't had dinner, Nupy," you shook your head. "After this we can order food if you want. I don't feel like cooking right now."

"Sounds good to me," she nodded.

That matter settled, you pulled out of her and had her lie on her back to continue fucking her pussy, with her left thigh pressed against her body with your hand and her other leg resting against the back of the couch. Now you were making her tits bounce. Sohyun took the pillow from under her head and placed it over her mouth to bite it, watching you pound her. You leaned forward again, your hands on either side of her head and your body holding her thigh in position.

Sohyun came one last time, but as you too felt yourself on the verge of climax, you continued fucking her through her orgasm. Seconds later, you quickly pulled out of her, straddled her body, and grabbed the back of her head to press the tip of your cock against her tongue, masturbating until you exploded inside her mouth.

Sohyun closed her lips around your cock as you unloaded inside her, your hands on either side of her head, careful not to knock her wolf ears off. She took every drop, and you watched as her throat forced each spurt down until there was nothing left in your balls.

After your climax had passed, you pulled out of her mouth and gently grabbed her chin.

"And now?" you gasped. "Better?"

Sohyun wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and leaned her head back onto the pillow. She crossed her hands over her chest.

"Much better," she nodded and looked up at the ceiling. "I still don't want to see her damn face, but I guess that won't go away for a while."

"I don't blame you." You reached to your left and took your phone out of your shorts pocket on the floor, then lay down next to Sohyun. She shifted onto her side to curl up against you with her arms in front of her. "What do you want to eat?"

"Hmmm," Sohyun looked at the contents of Baemin's app, where you always ordered food. "Fried chicken?"

"Aight."

You placed the order with her in less than two minutes: half-and-half fried chicken (half crispy, half with sweet and spicy sauce), garlic fries with cheese, fried rice cakes, four cans of beer, and for dessert, vanilla ice cream with honey and cornflakes. While you waited, you lay still naked on the couch playing Balatro until you received the call.

"Are you going or am I?" Sohyun asked. "Well, we both better go."

Sohyun made a move to get up, but you stopped her and shook your head.

"You stay here, silly," you said, sitting up and leaving her your phone with Balatro open. "I'll go. If you get Hanging Chad, take it without hesitation."

"And if The Wall shows up?"

"We're screwed."

You quickly dressed and went to the door to pick up what the delivery guy had brought. After thanking him, you went back inside with Sohyun, who had put on her panties and bra.

"Oh, I'll get you a sweater," you said, leaving all the bags on the coffee table for her to unpack.

Sohyun nodded and sat up, focused on your phone screen. You quickly went to your room, grabbed one of the sweaters you weren't going to bring on the trip, and handed it to her. Then, you sat down to eat while chatting about anything that came to mind. An hour later, when you'd finished everything you'd ordered, you were stuffed. The only thing left half-eaten was the ice cream, which you'd decided to save for later.

"Do you want a ride?" you asked, slumped on the couch with your hoodie up and your fingers interlaced over your stomach.

Sohyun was lying on your right, her feet up on your lap. She grimaced.

"Well, I was going to ask if I could stay here from today on," she said. "I know I was supposed to come stay in two days, but I really don't want to go to the dorm and see her."

"No, no, it's fine," you patted her calf and left your hand there. "I don't mind."

"Are you sure?"

"When have I ever said no to you?"

"I don't know, you're such a sourpuss sometimes."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"I'm sure not. Anyway, I think the only problem is that I didn't bring any clothes."

"I can lend you money to buy things, if you want."

"Don't even think about it," Sohyun glared at you. "I'll have Yooyeon bring me my things."

"Whatever you want," you shrugged. "Hey, will you help me pack?"

"Yeah, but let me rest the food. I feel like I'm going to explode."

Sohyun and you rested on the couch, each doing your own things but enjoying each other's company. About ten minutes later, you went to your room and into the dressing room to pack your clothes with the help of your bestie. Between all the things you had to do, it took you about two hours to finish, and when you did, you took turns taking a shower and then going to bed.

The next day, you didn't get to spend as much time with her as you would have liked since you had to stream for about seven hours and she had a busy schedule, so you didn't see each other until 9 PM. That night, you made dinner together and watched a movie before going to sleep right away since your flight left early in the morning.

The next morning, Sohyun accompanied you to the Incheon Airport, wearing a loose-fitting outfit, a face mask, and a cap, just as a precaution. She carried the extra suitcase you'd ended up needing, and you carried your backpack, your main suitcase in one hand and your grained black leather Tom Ford briefcase, where you kept your personal belongings, in the other. It was 6am. Your flight was leaving at 9am.

"Remind me again how often your cats eat?" Sohyun asked as you were about to go to the counter to check in.

"Uhm..." You scratched your temple. "When they get unbearable and demand food until they're exhausted. I've spoiled them."

"Yeah, it shows," Sohyun extended her palm toward you. You looked at her.

"What?"

"Am I going to walk to Seoul or something? The car remote, idiot."

"Ah. Sorry, just habit."

Without realizing it, you'd put the car remote in your hoodie pocket. You took it out and placed it in her palm. It was painful to entrust your Purosangue to someone else, but if there was anyone you'd trust with it with your eyes closed and the certainty that they wouldn't crash it into some random streetlight, it was her.

"Please take care of yourself," Sohyun said, grabbing your wrist. "Don't skip meals, and please get a good night's sleep. Oh, and send me pictures."

"I will, thanks, Nupy," you pulled her towards you, into a warm hug that gave you all the strength you needed to face the day. "And you take some time and cut off contact with Xinyu. You need it."

"I'll try, but you know how she is," she replied, her chin resting on your shoulder. "Can I use your computer?"

"As long as you don't do anything stupid, yes," you said, moving away from her. "The camera lens is covered anyway."

"Aight. See you later, Leone," Sohyun handed you the suitcase.

"See you later, Nupy."

You blew her a kiss, took your suitcases in each hand, and went straight to check-in, leaving her behind. After presenting your passport, grabbing your boarding pass, and handing over your luggage, you went to security to have your backpack and briefcase checked, then went to immigration to have your passport stamped. After that, there was nothing left for you to do but go to the boarding area to wait.

A couple of hours later, you had boarded and were on your way to Florence.

#sohyun smut #triples smut #kpop smut #male reader smut #x male reader smut #x male reader #smut

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sunarryn · 3 months ago

Text

DP X Marvel #21

Tony Stark had a lot of regrets in life. Most of them involved tequila, a few bad tattoos he had paid to laser off before Pepper found out, and one especially haunted incident involving a mechanical bull, a congressman’s wife, and the phrase “I dare you.” But none—not even Ultron—could have prepared him for the living, brooding, wall-punching cryptid that was Dante “Dan” Masters.

Dan was technically human. Probably. No one was brave enough to check. He stood 6’7”, made of nothing but scarred muscle and menace, had jawlines sharp enough to commit tax fraud, and wore an expression that screamed “I bench press semi-trucks for therapy.” His hair was raven black and permanently tousled like he’d just walked away from an explosion—which, considering the fact he had actually walked away from an explosion that morning, tracked. His eyes were the kind of ice-blue that made AI go glitchy and interns cry.

Also, he was Tony’s bodyguard.

“I didn’t hire him,” Tony said the first time the Avengers saw Dan.

“You absolutely did,” Pepper replied, not even looking up from her tablet. “You drunkenly told Happy to ‘get me someone who looks like a Greek tragedy and hits like daddy issues.’”

And so Happy had found Dan. Or, more accurately, Dan had found Happy—by appearing in his passenger seat uninvited while Happy was getting a cheeseburger.

Dan never explained how he got there.

“Didn’t open the door. Didn’t break the lock. Just was there,” Happy muttered for the next three weeks. “I looked down to grab fries, looked up, boom. Bodyguard. Demon. Something. He just nodded and said, ‘I eat souls of cowards.’ Then asked for curly fries.”

Tony loved him instantly.

“Look at him,” Tony whispered one night, wine drunk and emotionally vulnerable. “He’s like my own personal murder puppy.”

Steve thought he was horrifying. Natasha called him “the Babadook with a gym membership.” Bruce kept trying to blood test him, but the last time he tried, Dan snapped the needle with his eyelid.

No one knew much about Dan, other than that he was the estranged heir to DALV.CO, the global tech giant run by Vlad Masters, a man whose Wikipedia page had to be locked due to repeated edits claiming he was “the literal Antichrist.”

“Why don’t you go back to your dad’s company?” Tony asked once, halfway through their fourth bottle of scotch, lounging on the penthouse balcony like rich, emotionally constipated divorcees. “You’d be the richest guy in the world.”

“I’d rather castrate myself with a melon baller,” Dan replied.

“Hot.”

Dan just grunted and stared moodily into the skyline, brooding like Batman’s taller, angrier cousin.

There were… signs that Dan wasn’t quite normal. Like the way he phased through walls when he thought no one was looking. Or the time someone tried to stab Tony during a charity gala and Dan grabbed the knife mid-thrust, crushed it into dust with his bare hand, and said, “You missed his heart. Want a second try?”

Tony had to excuse himself for five minutes and blame it on the shrimp cocktail.

Also: Dan never slept. Ever. Tony caught him once at 3 a.m., levitating midair in a meditative pose above the workshop floor, glowing faintly green and whispering what sounded like Latin but angrier.

“Cool trick,” Tony said, filming it for Instagram.

Dan’s eyes snapped open, glowed neon, and he growled, “Delete that or I’ll haunt your teeth.”

Tony deleted it. Reluctantly. But saved a copy in a secret drive labeled “hotboy_shit_DO_NOT_OPEN.”

The first time Dan met Thor, he sized him up for half a second and muttered, “Nice hair, Renaissance frat boy.”

Thor blinked. Then grinned. “I like this one.”

The first time Dan met Loki, he pinned him to the wall with one hand, sniffed once, and said, “You smell like lies and lavender. I don’t trust you.”

“I’m flattered,” Loki purred.

“I wasn’t complimenting you.”

Loki avoided him for two weeks. Claimed it was allergy season.

Dan did not talk. He growled. He glared. He loomed like a death omen in leather jackets. And still—still—every villain who tried to attack Tony ended up launched through a wall, disarmed in under two seconds, or knocked unconscious with a flick of the wrist.

“Are you sure he’s not a meta, or like, a ghost, or something?” Sam asked one day.

Tony blinked. “Ghost? That’s oddly specific.”

“I’m just saying. I saw him walk through a vending machine yesterday and pull out a pack of gum.”

“Maybe it was broken.”

“He reached in, grabbed the gum through the glass, and said, ‘I don’t pay for artificial happiness.’”

“…Okay, that’s just poetry.”

Dan, as it turned out, was a ghost. Sort of. Not the Casper kind. More like the “cursed anomaly spawned from grief and rage after a catastrophic supernatural meltdown in a parallel dimension” kind.

But he didn’t talk about that. Ever. Unless it was to threaten someone into shutting up. Which he did often.

Tony once asked if “Dan” was short for something other than Dante. Dan deadpanned and said, “Damnation.”

Tony laughed. Dan didn’t.

The Avengers all had bets on what Dan really was. Bruce thought he was a failed gamma experiment. Natasha swore he was an eldritch entity in disguise. Steve thought he was “just a really intense guy with trauma.” (Steve was wrong.)

The truth came out, as these things do, during an alien invasion. A random Tuesday. Buildings were exploding, civilians were screaming, and Tony—stupidly, heroically, idiotic as always—got cornered by a space hydra in a burning alley.

“Dan!” he shouted through comms, panicking. “I need backup! Big slimy bastard, eight mouths, hates sarcasm!”

The hydra lunged.

Then Dan exploded out of nowhere in a swirl of black and green fire, his body wreathed in spectral energy, eyes glowing like apocalypse lanterns. He opened his mouth—and screamed.

Not like a human scream. No. Like a banshee from the ninth ring of hell having a breakdown.

The hydra disintegrated. Vaporized into cosmic ash.

Dan turned to Tony, eyes still glowing, hair on fire, his voice doubled and demonic: “You okay?”

Tony, covered in alien guts and halfway to fainting, whispered, “Okay? Okay? I think I just came.”

Dan dropped him.

“Deserved.”

From then on, everything was chaos.

SHIELD tried to recruit him. He burned their files.

HYDRA tried to kidnap him. They didn’t survive the attempt.

Someone from a ghost-hunting organization named G.I.W. showed up once, claiming he was a danger to the world. Dan stared them down and said, “I’ve killed gods for fun. You think I’m scared of a man in khakis?”

They ran screaming.

Tony, of course, was obsessed.

“You’re my new favorite thing,” he declared one night, flopping dramatically onto the couch while Dan watched reruns of Iron Chef in silence. “Like, my favorite. Sorry, Pepper.”

“Don’t drag me into your kinks,” Pepper replied from the hallway.

Dan never officially moved in. But his things started appearing—a toothbrush here, a punching bag in the gym, a fridge filled with nothing but protein shakes and hot sauce. Eventually, Tony just gave him a keycard.

And maybe a second suit in case he ever wanted to try flying. Dan declined. He could already fly. Casually. Like it was no big deal.

Also: he could turn invisible. Tony found this out when he walked into his lab naked at 2 a.m. and muttered, “If there’s anyone here, speak now or forever hold your—”

“I’m here.”

Tony screamed. Dan was perched on the ceiling.

“Why are you like this?!”

“Because I hate peace.”

Eventually, the world found out. A viral video. A fight gone wrong. Dan going full phantom mode on live TV and decapitating an alien with a manhole cover.

Headlines exploded.

“Heir to DALV.CO Is a Literal Ghost.”

“Tony Stark’s Bodyguard Is an Interdimensional Specter, and Honestly, Same.”

“Dante Masters: Hot, Haunted, and Horrifying.”

Vlad Masters showed up. Tried to reclaim Dan.

Dan answered the door shirtless, covered in blood, holding a spatula. “I’m cooking pancakes. Leave before I use you as syrup.”

Tony peeked from behind him. “He means it.”

Dan shut the door in Vlad’s face.

“I hate that man,” he muttered.

Tony smiled dreamily. “I love you.”

“…Stop.”

“Nope. Too late. Suffering together forever.”

Dan groaned. But he didn’t leave.

He never did.

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anim-ttrpgs · 2 months ago

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Question about deathbed: i havent seen much about it yet but what ive seen doesnt make it sound very...fun to be alive in that world and that its like influenced by practices of the christian church during the middle ages and stuff like that, so im wondering how that would affect being able to even really play a woman being badass in that game?

Is it basically hardmode difficulty if you wanna play a woman?

I have two answers to this.

First is that in Death Bed, a woman can be badass. I’ll demonstrate by making Herr Rike, an old literary and AD&D character of mine, in Death Bed. @thepleasuregoblin @ashweather and @umbraldame can attest that she is just about the most believably badass person there is. (Despite the title of “Herr,” she is a woman and always has been. Well she’s female, technically she isn’t human and in her setting “woman” is a human-specific term while other sapient species have their own terms for genders but you get the point.)

(art by @chaospyromancy)

I’m not gonna go through this very granularly because in Death Bed most stats are rolled, start out very low, and then are upgraded one at a time by level-ups. But over the course of building her stats up to where they should be to represent her I would focus on Agility, Scripture, Dexterity, Vigor, Strength, Endurance, Arcane, and Attunement from highest to lowest in that order.

For Traits, I would get her

(this is a men-only Trait, and also one I will probably nerf before final release, but a female character can still take it, at a price.)

(she isn't actually humble, but the effect of this Trait fits her personality.)

(note the sidebars in this one)

(in no particular order)

I might also consider giving her Gentleman (Men only.) but at the moment in the game’s unfinished state that Trait has an unclear interaction with Lady.

Yes, she does have both men-only and women-only Traits, that’s allowed, it just reduces her Social Status. I rolled it and at the end of all those Traits she still has a Social Status of 27, which is fairly high.

Social Status is a stat representing how respectable the character is by the standards of 1400s society. It determines who gets to talk down to and degrade who. What the higher Social Status character says goes, and if this pecking order is challenged, that tends to distress people.

Characters who have Traits which fall outside their perceived gender suffer a debuff to Social Status, because that’s just how it was back then. Hell, that’s how it is today.

So she could kill monsters and shit with a sword just fine, the worst she would get is maybe the occasional weird look, especially since, in the Middle Ages, it was irregular but not strictly forbidden for women to practice martial arts. The super strict sex-segregation of martial arts was way more of a Renaissance and onward thing.

Now for the second answer.

A lot of what our cultural idea of what is “cool” and “badass” is extremely masculine-favoring. And while yes, swords and armor and violence are cool and badass, (I’m not immune to thinking that the things knights do is cooler than the things their wives do.) a lot of “feminist” or “egalitarian” or otherwise “pro-women” media that is historically set ends up having the message “This woman is badass and cool because she’s.. like a man, unlike those other lameass women who are like women.”

It ends up being the medieval version of that action movie trope that goes like

Male Lead: (pleasantly surprised) “You know how to fight and be badass?”

Female Lead: *racks shotgun* “I grew up with 7 brothers and so I had to learn how to play rough and played army instead of Barbie dolls and I didn’t have a mother and my ex-special-forces dad taught me how to fight starting at a young age. All that masculinity helped me grow up to be cool and tough woman instead of a boring helpless stupid woman.”

instead of, like, celebrating the other 99% of women in that time period who just did woman stuff.

Death Bed allows you to make a character that is a woman but effectively fills the social roles of a man such as killing stuff with a sword*(which is something just about every other TTRPG on the planet also allows), and it allows you to make a character that is a woman and fills all the more normal social roles of a woman while still being a very valuable asset to the party both in and out of combat (and Death Bed has a lot of “out of combat” stuff going on. It’s a classic dungeon crawler, which involves a good amount of combat, but is not purely combat and a party needs plenty of characters who are focused on other things if they want to survive.)

*and again, this wasn’t even something women were strictly barred from doing at the time.

Fencing Master: (Men only. +1 Social Status.) This struggler has +1 Scripture, +1 Strength, +1 Dexterity, and +1 Agility. Additionally, upon gaining this Trait, give him any three Weapon Special Attribute Masteries, selected at random from those he does not already have. Additionally, reduce his Hollowness by 1 each time he gains a new Special Weapon Attribute Mastery. However, this struggler must make a Despair roll any time his martial technique is called into question or disrespected, unless he proves himself. If he attempts to prove himself and fails, he must take an added instance of disadvantage to this Despair roll. He must also make a Despair roll each time his weapon is reduced in Maintenance Rating as a result of a failed attack roll.

Additionally, this struggler gains 2x the EXP from engagements in which he fights alone without allies.

Frightening Demeanor: (+1 Social Status.) So long as this struggler is not a non-combatant, apply a -1 to this struggler’s Attention each time their Attention is increased. However, apply an added instance of disadvantage to their reaction rolls.

Humble: (+0 Social Status.) This struggler’s good nature is a bulwark to disrespect. They gain an added instance of Advantage to any despair rolls related to disrespect. They gain an additional added instance of advantage to any despair roll related to disrespect from characters of lower Social Status.

Lady: (Women only. +3 Social Status.) This struggler has an added +3 to Scripture,[1] and an instance of advantage on reaction rolls. However, she must take an added instance of disadvantage to any Despair roll resulting from being disrespected by a man or woman of lower social standing, and must make a Despair roll up to once per Scene in which she is not wearing fine women’s clothing.[2][3]

[1. Sidebar] Literacy was considered the domain of noblewomen, clergy, and scribes.

[2. Sidebar] This Trait does not require the struggler to be a non-combatant. Though it was unorthodox for them to participate directly in battle, women of noble standing were not barred from martial training. In fact, a nobleman’s wife was expected to command his levies in battle should their home be attacked while he is away.

[3. Sidebar] Wearing fine women’s clothing does not preclude the wearing of most armor, so long as the visibly feminine elements are preserved.

Additionally, up to once per Scene, this struggler gains 100 EXP if she goes the entire Scene without getting her shoes or dress muddy, wet, or otherwise dirty. [gains EXP from reading literature or eating fine food and drinking fine wine? Figure this out.]

Paranoid: (-1 Social Status.) This struggler has an added instance of advantage to Agility rolls to avoid triggered traps, and, once per Hourglass, the player of this struggler can ask that the Narrator reveal to their struggler any and all traps in a room or general surrounding area and the Narrator will do so. However, they must make a Despair roll if they ever accidentally trigger a trap, or if anyone ever startles them such as by walking up behind them or waking them from their sleep.

Also, when the Narrator makes a wandering monster roll, the player of this struggler may ask that the result be revealed to them, but if they do so, this struggler makes a Despair roll.

Up to once per Scene, this struggler gains 10 EXP for being right about the dangers that lurk nearby.

Sharp Tongue: (+0 Social Status.) This struggler’s quick tongue and quicker wit allow them to wind around any social slight with the agility of a skilled fencer. At this struggler’s choice, they can cause the object of their ridicule either an added instance of advantage or an added instance of disadvantage to any Despair rolls related to disrespect from this struggler. Either advantage or disadvantage is doubled if their words are actually said in dialogue or at least summarized and the Narrator deems their remark sufficiently clever.

Tactician: (+1 Social Status.) Once per engagement, this struggler can bark out a specific order to an ally with a Social Status up to 3 degrees higher than their own, or any degree lower.[1] If the ally they are ordering complies, that ally gains an instance of Advantage to the next 3 rolls that carrying out that order may entail. However, if the ally refuses or fails to carry out this order, then this struggler must make a Despair roll. If the ally dies as a result of attempting to carry out this order, then this struggler must make a Despair roll with an instance of Disadvantage.

[1. Sidebar] This can be done even if this struggler is a non-combatant.

Additionally, this struggler gains 5 EXP for each successful roll on the aforementioned next 3 rolls made by their ally complying with their orders.

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