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nereidprinc3ss · 2 days

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do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

part one | part two | bonus chapter | part three

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him.

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.

You look at it.

And then you set your phone down.

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.

He looks good. Almost too good.

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head.

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him.

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully.

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.”

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body.

You cover his hand with your own.

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense.

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm.

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful.

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.

“Yes, please.”

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for.

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings.

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster.

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him.

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again.

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame.

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK.

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.

He knows.

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before.

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it?

Maybe you have it all wrong.

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you.

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.

24 hours go by.

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up.

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off.

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking.

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said.

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while.

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble.

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no.

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence.

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans.

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure. After a pause, he sighs in defeat.

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown.

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones. It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic.

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand.

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter.

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it.

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing.

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?”

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?”

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that.

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before.

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft.

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows.

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration.

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit.

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making.

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now.

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that.

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute.

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready��” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.”

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk.

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment.

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry.

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!”

He knows.

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist.

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding.

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease.

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more.

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone.

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here.

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?”

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous.

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out.

“You regret your first time?”

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash.

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same.

You want to scream bloody murder.

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse.

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back.

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me.

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help.

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right.

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.

“Goodnight.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic

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vodika-vibes · 2 days

Note

Hey I was wondering if you could write a crosshair x reader where they have a lazy morning maybe with batcher too.

Lazy Morning

Summary: You decide to sleep in on your day off. It leads to a very relaxing day with the love of your life.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader

Word Count: 1087

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: I started writing this ages ago and then put it on pause, before continuing it today and I have no idea where I was originally going with the story, so I'm sorry if the vibes changes midstory. The only problem now is that I want to lounge by the pool. Alas, there is no pool.

It’s early, though not so early that the sun isn’t high in the sky, and you groan in annoyance when the bright morning sun hits your face, waking you from your very nice sleep.

Wait.

You’re fairly certain that you shut the curtain before you fell asleep last night.

You crack open a singular eye just as something large and heavy lands on the bed, and then you yelp as the solid mass of muscle flops next to you. “Batcher-?”

The lurca hound releases a happy little noise and buries her head under your pillows and blankets.

You groan and roll onto your back, flinging your arm over your eyes, “Crosshair? Why is your dog in my bed?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s our bed, angel.” Crosshair replies from somewhere on the other side of the room, near the door. He’s probably the one who opened the curtain too.

“You don’t live here, leech.” You counter without any heat in your voice.

“Rude, and I went through all of the trouble of making caf and breakfast for you. But, since you aren’t interested-”

“I hate you. What did you make?” You ask as you slowly sit up and squint at the man leaning against the door frame, “And how’d you get in anyway?”

“I made a quiche-” You shoot him a look, and he rolls his eyes, “Believe it or not, I am capable of following instructions from a recipe.”

“Yeah, but normally people start with, like, pancakes. They don’t tend to jump to quiches.” You reply as you swing your legs off the bed and stretch your arms over your head, “And you didn’t answer how you got in the house.”

“I picked the lock.”

“Cross!”

“Hey, you don’t want me to pick the lock, then give me a key.”

“Ugh, I haven’t had a copy made yet. I’m working on it.” You pad over to him, yawning widely, and then you thump your head against his chest, “Why’re you and Batcher over here anyway.”

“My brothers are annoying.” Crosshair replies as he sets his hand between your shoulder blades, “I needed some quiet.”

“Mm,” You slide your arms around his waist, “And you decided to make breakfast for me while enjoying the quiet?”

You feel him shrug, “You deserve to be spoiled. Maybe.” He says, his hand sliding up to rest lightly at the back of your neck.

“Maybe?” You ask with a laugh.

“I do have a reputation, kitten.”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember.” You rub your nose against his chest, allowing the sharp scent of Crosshair to fill your lungs, and then you pull back slightly, “Thank you for making breakfast, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” He lightly rubs the back of your neck with his thumb, a small, slightly crooked, smile on his lips. “It still needs to cook for a bit, so you have time enough to shower and wake up.”

You hum thoughtfully, “Yeah, I might do that.” You lean in to brush your lips against his jaw, only to giggle as he ducks his head to kiss you properly. You lightly trail your fingers against his jawline, “Good morning, Crosshair.”

“Mm, it is a good morning now,” He murmurs, before he drops one more kiss against your lips, “Go take your shower, I’m going back to the kitchen. Batcher, off!” The dog whines but jumps off your bed, dragging your comforter with her.

You sigh, and Crosshair chuckles, “I’ll handle it, kitten. I’m planning on spending the day lounging by your pool, so maybe grab a swimsuit.”

“You just want to watch me parade around for you in a bikini.”

“Yeah, of course.”

You huff, though there’s no heat, and you lightly kiss him one more time before you meander over to your dresser to dig out your swimsuit, “Why do you want to use the pool when we live on an island?”

“Uh, there are people at the beach, and there aren’t people here. Besides, you’re the one who owns a pool in spite of living on a tropical island.”

You scowl at him as you pull out your bathing suit, “I didn’t build the pool, the house came with it.”

“You still bought it.”

“Inherited it.”

“Same difference.” He walks over to you and tugs your bikini out of your hands, before pulling a different one out of your dresser, “Wear this one.”

“...this is white.”

“I know what I’m about, kitten.”

“You’re such a man sometimes,” You take the bikini though and turn towards the bathroom, “I’ll be down shortly.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Fifteen minutes later, you step into the kitchen, clad in the white bikini and a sarong hung low around your hips. Crosshair offers you an appreciative whistle, before he tosses a ball out the back door for Batcher to chase.

“Prettier than a sunset,” He praises, a small smirk on his lips.

“Only because I’m wearing this thing,” You counter as you walk over to him and lightly pluck his toothpick out of his mouth.

“You could take it off, I won’t complain.” He drawls with an appreciative drag of his eyes down your body.

You point at him with his toothpick, “Pervert.”

“Guilty as charged.” He pushes your hand away and stands so he’s able to catch your lips in a kiss, “I opened the umbrella and put your breakfast on the table outside already. I also put out towels for us, as well as the sunblock.”

“Well, you have everything in hand, don’t you?”

“All that’s left to finish the perfect morning, is you sprawled out in the sun.” Crosshair replies.

You laugh softly, “Well then, who am I to deny you?” His arms snake around your waist and he tugs at the knot holding the sarong in place.

“You’re not going to need this, kitten. It’ll just get dirty.”

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with wanting to see my legs.”

“Of course not.”

“Uh-huh.” You slide your hands up his chest and then wrap your arms around his neck, “It’s a good thing that I actually like your attention.”

“Oh, how much do you like my attention?” Crosshair asks as he bumps his forehead against yours.

“Enough that I’m considering inviting you to spend the night.”

He chuckles, “Well then, I’d better behave so you don’t change your mind.”

And you laugh one more time, before you pull him down into a kiss, leaning your weight against him. He’s right about one thing, this is definitely the perfect morning.

#star wars #tbb #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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seventeenficsformalereader · 1 day

Text

Falling ; Hyunjin

M/N moves to a new apartment, but soon notices that weird things start to happen, and even more weird people began to appear in the apartment building

Warnings: Bad language, mentions blood

Genre: Fluff

Probably a part 1, but idk if I will ever write a part 2 😔🫶

===============

November 13, 9:20 AM

M/N sighed as he set his luggage down on the ground and pulled out his phone. He had to check if this was the right address before opening snapchat to check the pin code to the door. M/N typed the code in the tiny silver box and it made a ping sound before the door opened for itself. M/N took his suitcase and stepped into the building. The door closed behind him and based on the sound, it locked.

M/N walked to the reception and looked around to see if there was anyone to give him the key. He had found this apartment through some random person on snapchat. M/N was in need of a new place after his ex kicked M/N out of their "shared apartment". M/N wasn't even upset anymore about it.

Anyway, M/N was now pretty happy with his life. No disgusting and toxic partner, no annoying or bossy parents, no nothing. Just himself and no one to tell him what to do anymore.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by a man clearing his throat. The man has glasses with chains hanging from them. He is dressed rather fancily and he has black gloves on and some piercing eyes. M/N was pretty intimidated by his sharp eyes, but tried to not let it bother him. M/N saw a name tag on the mans clothing. 'Christopher Bang'.

"May I help you?" He asked and waved a hand in front of M/N's face to get his attention.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I need my apartments key. I was told that I could get it from you" M/N said politely and smiled softly. The man stared at him for a long time before turning to his computer "Name?" He asked "M/N L/N"

The man seemed to type something on his computer before nodding "Alright. Welcome to my building. Remember to behave well and have the best time living here" He announced as he gave the key to M/N. He thanked and took his suitcase and then left to find his apartment. He didn't have any furniture, but he was also told that it would be furnished already. M/N can just decorate on his own when he gets enough money to actually do so.

M/N found his apartment. "218" M/N said to himself and inserted the key in the keyhole. Suddenly someone grabbed M/N's arm, making him jump and drop the key accidentally "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I was on my way to go downstairs when I saw you. Are you a new neighbor? Or are you trying to rob this place? Where did you get a key? Is this an ambush? Are the aliens finally taking over the planet?? I knew it!" The man kept asking and rambling and M/N had no idea what was happening "I'm sorry, what?" M/N said and picked up the key.

"I'm Yang Jeongin" The man said and reached out his hand to shake M/N's hand. Before M/N even had the chance to shake Jeongin's hand, he had already pulled it away and began to talk at the speed of light again. M/N had no idea what he was saying so M/N just nodded along.

Jeongin began to walk away, probably downstairs as he said while talking to himself and M/N sighed in relief and opened his apartments door. He stepped in and closed the door behind him to prevent weird people like Jeongin getting in his apartment. M/N looked around and saw a tiny room that appeared to be a living room and a kitchen in the same room. M/N looked into another room and saw a small bedroom with a bed, bedside table and a closet. M/N found the bathroom and thought it looked pretty nice. M/N set his bag and suitcase down and sat on the couch. "Not bad." He thought.

M/N felt kinda hungry, but since he didn't have any food yet, he decided to set all his things down and try to find a store nearby where he could possibly get food from. He was hungry for some ramen and beef. M/N stood up and opened his suitcase. He left it open on his bed and quickly emptied his backpack that he was carrying around on his back all this time. He was planning on taking it with him so he doesn't have to carry the food he brings in his hands.

M/N took his key and left his apartment, making sure the door is locked firmly before leaving. As he walked to the elevator that he was now allowed to use due to actually living there, someone else walked in too. A man who was pretty short compared to M/N, but he looked buff. Probably goes to the gym. His height is somewhat ridiculous compared to M/N's. No doubt he could beat the shit out of M/N. "Why am I so interested in this strangers life? I have my own now. Focus, M/N" He thought to himself. The man looked at M/N.

"You're not from here, are you?" He asked and M/N got a bit straddled at the man speaking. Um, No. I'm from (choose a random place)" M/N answered quietly, hoping that this man wouldn't be as weird as the other one he met in the hallway. Jeongin, was it? Doesn't matter. "I'm Changbin" He said and shook M/N's hand in a friendly way. M/N was shocked that there was actually a normal human being in this place.

Of course this conversation didn't last long due to the elevator stopping at the second floor. "Why did it stop here? Is someone else coming here?" M/N thought. The elevator door opened and a silence fell over the whole elevator as a man stepped in. He was dressed like he would attend a traditional wedding soon. One problem, this man smelled like a corpse, and M/N had to hold his breath so he wouldn't gag, or even worse, puke from the smell. "Fucking hell" M/N thought but soon the elevator stopped at the first floor and M/N ran out the elevator as fast as possible.

November 13, 4:55 PM

M/N had finished eating his ramen and he had bought dessert from the store. He was now eating ice cream and watching TV from the small TV in the living room. M/N was caught up in a TV show so much that he didn't notice the time passing so quickly. It would soon be 5 PM and M/N hasn't even started unpacking his suitcase at all. M/N decided to turn off the TV and get to work. He stood up and went to his bedroom where he found his suitcase still open and all his clothes and some other stuff were still in place.

It took Johan an hour to unpack everything and it would take another hour for him to put the bed sheets on, organize his clothes in the closet and more stuff he has to do. M/N sighed and began to work.

~TIME SKIP~

M/N had fallen asleep at some point. He wasn't sure how or when but he found himself laying on the bed with a video playing on his phone next to him. It was some long stream where someone plays Minecraft. M/N wasn't sure who the streamer was, but he couldn't care any less than he already did. M/N yawned and looked at the time. 3:33 AM. M/N groaned in frustration, knowing that he wouldn't be able to get any sleep anymore.

He stood up and went to the kitchen and turned on the lights on the way there, not wanting to be in the darkness at this hour. M/N went to the window and was about to shut the blinds, when suddenly something caught his attention. A red haired man was seen from his window, and he was standing behind M/N. He got scared and quickly turned around, but saw nobody. M/N took a deep breath and quickly turned back around, not seeing the man in the window anymore either. M/N sighed, thinking it was his imagination.

He shut the blinds and went to the kitchen to get some water for himself, when he suddenly heard a loud noise coming from the hallway. He flinched and turned his head towards the door. He was now breathing heavier and he was more scared than ever.

M/N slowly approached the door and began to unlock it. M/N opened the door slowly, only to be met by something completely different than the place he remembered. The walls were twisted and painted with different colors, the floor was unstable and curvy and the doors were on the roof and on the walls upside down and even on the floor. M/N got scared, but decided to step out of his apartment.

November 15 8:35 AM

I haven't been sleeping nor eating. I don't what has happened. All I've been doing is stare at my hands that were covered in a red substance. I was crying, my hands shaking, my clothes dirty and stained with the red blood. My legs had given up on me, I couldn't stand even if I wanted to. I was breathing heavily and I could swear that I hear my breathing getting louder every second I take a deep breath. I looked away from my hands and at the floor. I wasn't in my apartment for sure. II looked around and saw a clock on the wall. There were no numbers on it, just a blank white clock that ticked louder and louder. I hear footsteps from behind me.

It was that same man from before. Changbin? Maybe. He stopped and stared at me. "Welcome. You are one of us now." He whispered before continuing to walk into the dark abyss. I wasn't sure what was at the other end of the long and dark hallway in font of me, but I didn't want to know. Some things are just better to remain unknown. I got up. With some power left in my body I began to walk to the other direction until I fell. I caught myself with my hands right before I hit the ground and then stood up, feeling a bit embarrassed, because the receptionist saw it. "Are you okay?" He asked, and I nodded.

The blood on my hands and clothes had vanished, but I wasn't wearing my clothes anymore. I was wearing fully white. It was a suit. I looked around and saw the same old lobby of my apartment building that I saw before when I came here in the first place.

I was thinking that I am going crazy. Until I saw the same red haired man. He was sitting still, eating an apple and just staring at me with empty eyes. I stared back, not knowing what else to do. He smiled and set his arms down and stood up, the apple falling from his hands and rolling down the stairs and stopping right in front of me.

The man began to walk down the stairs too and when I tried to back away, My back hit a wall that definitely wasn't this close to me before. I took a deep breath and got ready for anything that the man might do. But he didn't do anything bad, he just took the apple, blew on it and then ate more. He looked at me and smiled. "Are you the new one?" He asked with a hot and deep, sexy voice. I couldn't help but to nod only, my ability to speak long gone.

The man smiled and introduced himself. "My name is Hwang Hyunjin. Pleasure to meet you, M/N" He said and I was shocked. "How do you know my name?" I asked, a bit scared about the situation. "I know every little thing about you." He whispered and smiled mischievously. I felt something slip into my pocket and I reached my hand to get it. I took out a note and opened it. It said "Come to the roof tonight" And at the end of it was a winky face. I sighed and looked up, only to see the man being gone.

I was so confused. Where is the blood from earlier? Where are my keys? Where's my apartment? What is this place? Is this a dream or a reality? I didn't have answers to any of these questions and I felt frustrated by it. I looked at Christopher. The man from the reception. I walked to him "What is happening?" I yelled at him and took him by the collar. I felt an aggressive need to yell at something and he just looked like one to yell at. However, he just smiled and stood up, pushing my hands softly away "You're one of us now. You can't really explain it. You can't even begin to understand it yet." He said and smiled "Why can't I get out?" I asked and began to calm down

"You're not allowed to. He'll get mad if you try." Christopher explained and I was dumbfounded "He? Who's he?" I asked but Christopher shut down the reception and I got annoyed "What the hell".

November 15, 1.00 AM

I looked at the note that the red haired man had left me before. I looked at yhe staircase after. The staircase that would take me to the rooftop. I sigh and begin to walk up the stairs. I got to the door and sighed. I opened the door and saw the same red haired man standing at the edge. He seemed to be in his own thoughts. I decided to just look at him and not make a sound. Maybe I could get away from this. I thought that maybe I should just go until I heard him talk.

"Rude for you to not talk to me when you see me" He said and turned around. He walked to me and I looked up at him "What do you want me to do? This whole place is full of lunatics." I said annoyed and Hyunjin smiled "You've become one" He said and took my hand. "Let me show you something" Hyunjin added and began to walk at the edge of the building. I followed him and when we made it to the edge, I felt him pull me up on the railing. I got frightened and immediately tried to get down "This is dangerous!" I said and grasped his arm tightly, scared that if I let go i'll fall down. Hyunjin just chuckled and took a step forward. He didn't fall. He stayed floating. I look at Hyunjin and my eyes widen "H-How are you- w-what..." I look at Hyunjin and let out a scream as he pulled me with him. But I didn't fall either. I was floating. It felt so weird to stand without standing on anything literally.

"P-Put me down. This is so freaky" I said and tried to pull myself away from Hyunjin but he kept holding me close "You're special... You know that, right?" Hyunjin said and I looked up at him "What do you mean?" I asjed and looked up at him. That's when I saw him smiling. His smile is pretty but also kind of scary since he himself is pretty scary. I took a deep breath and looked ahead at the beautiful scenery of the city full of lights. People walking down at the ground in groups and some alone. It looked beautiful. I took in the scenery and then looked back at Hyunjin who still hasn't responded. Why am I special?

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