#Truth Martini | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

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Red: Part One

Summary: Spencer, in need of a break, finds himself at a quiet bar where he meets you. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something deeper as the two of you fall for each other. Though your connection is undeniable, both of you struggle with opening up fully, each holding onto personal secrets that linger just beneath the surface. As you grow closer, the trust builds slowly but surely, but what truths are you both holding back? And how will they shape the relationship that’s blossoming between you?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, mild withholding of information, season 7 Spencer, this is just so fluffy

Word count: 23.5k

a/n: i am deeply obsessed with these two and i am sooo excited to continue writing for them !!! part two on the wayyy — unedited NEVER be afraid to call me out!!

also so silly but in this gif mgg has pen ink on his hand and that makes me happy

main masterlist part two

Additional warnings: handjob, fingering, grinding, mild breast play

Spencer had his eyes half-closed, nursing his second beer of the evening, the slight buzz in his head both surprising and, in a strange way, comforting. It wasn’t often that he sought out a bar, let alone one like this—a dimly lit, almost hidden speakeasy. The soft, jazzy notes of a piano floated through the air, merging with the quiet hum of voices around him. He liked that no one recognized him here, no one pried, no one asked questions. He could just be.

As he took another slow sip, he felt the weight of the stool next to him shift. Someone had slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t glance over immediately, his mind too cluttered to bother with pleasantries. The cases were piling up like unsorted files in his head, all demanding his attention. His mother’s health was deteriorating again, and the migraines that had haunted him for years had made a sudden, unwelcome return.

For a moment, he regretted not finishing the bottle of aspirin in his bag before entering the bar. But the alcohol was doing its job, numbing the edge just enough to make the night bearable. It wasn’t about getting drunk—he knew he wouldn’t let himself go that far—but it was about finding just enough peace to ease the constant pressure in his head, even if only for a few hours. Spencer closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath, the smell of wood and faint whiskey lingering in the air.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the woman beside him, unable to tear his eyes away just yet. She looked like she had walked straight out of another world, her style effortlessly unique, her red boots and gingham shorts standing out against the muted tones of the dimly lit bar. There was something about her that drew him in, despite her stoic expression—an air of mystery, as though she held a universe inside her that she wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone.

The bartender slid the espresso martini in front of her, and she barely acknowledged it, her mind clearly elsewhere. Spencer wondered what she was thinking about, what troubles weighed on her. He sympathized, his own mind heavy with stress and worry. He almost felt a kinship with her, like they were both sitting here, burdened by their own worlds, trying to find some fleeting solace in the bottom of a glass.

The scent of her—something sweet, with a hint of spice—drifted toward him. It was a calming scent, one that made him close his eyes for a second longer, hoping it would ease the pounding in his skull. He couldn't help but think that her smile, if she ever chose to reveal it, would be the kind of smile that would light up the darkest corners of a room.

He wondered if it might also help alleviate the growing tension in his mind, the tight grip of his migraine loosening just at the thought. For now, though, the smell of her perfume was enough to dull the ache, if only a little.

"Espresso martini, huh?" Spencer asked, his voice soft, not wanting to intrude too much but also not wanting to remain silent any longer. "Interesting choice for a Wednesday night."

The woman turned her head slightly, glancing at him with a raised brow, as though surprised anyone had spoken to her. For a second, Spencer worried he had overstepped, but then her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but enough to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, he had said something right.

"Not going to sleep anyway," you shrugged with a tired laugh, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion but also nonchalance. "Might as well get a drink I enjoy, right?" You wrapped your fingers around the stem of the glass, feeling the cool condensation against your skin, but your eyes flickered over to the man beside you.

Usually, you wouldn’t engage with random men at a bar, especially not on a Wednesday night when the world seemed to blur together in monotony. But something about this one had caught your attention. He wasn’t like the others who sometimes tried too hard or made themselves too loud. He was quiet, unassuming, and there was a weight in his eyes that matched your own.

He was handsome, yes—remarkably so. His sharp, angular features made him look almost statuesque, but there was a softness to him too, something that balanced out the hard edges. It wasn’t just in his face, though. It was in the way he held himself, a little slouched, as if the world rested on his shoulders. There was something vulnerable about him, and that vulnerability intrigued you.

You weren't the type to make conversation with a stranger, but maybe it was the exhaustion that made you let your guard down, or maybe it was the way his gaze had softened when he glanced at you, as if he understood something about you without needing to ask. Whatever it was, you found yourself more open to this brief encounter than you normally would be.

He smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to your casual remark, but you noticed. It was a small gesture, but you appreciated it—more than you had expected to.

"Fair enough," he finally replied, his voice low but gentle, as though he was trying not to disturb the delicate balance of the quiet between you two. He took a sip of his drink, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass, a subtle rhythm that seemed to mimic the thoughts racing through his mind.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, and you wondered if he, like you, had found some kind of unexpected solace in this quiet corner of the bar.

The man spoke again after a beat, his voice soft and almost hesitant, “Spencer.” He offered a small, almost boyish smile that contrasted with the sharp lines of his face.

You turned your body more toward him, your interest piqued by his somewhat awkward yet endearing demeanor. “Y/N,” you replied, returning the smile, though still guarded.

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer’s eyes lit up, as though something had clicked in his mind. “Did you know that your name, Y/N, has roots that trace back to—” He launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation of the origins and historical significance of your name, mentioning various cultures and meanings, weaving in obscure facts that you had never even thought about.

As he spoke, you felt a mix of emotions. On the one hand, it was oddly charming, the way he seemed so genuinely excited to share what he knew. He made you feel special, like your name was something worthy of deep analysis and thought, and you couldn't help but be flattered by it. But there was also something that put you a little on edge—the way he seemed to know so much, like he had all this information tucked away in his mind, ready to be shared at any given moment.

“I did not know that…” you admitted slowly, your voice a touch wary, even as you tried to keep your tone light. “Why do you?”

Spencer hesitated for a second, his smile faltering just slightly before he answered. “I, uh… I tend to remember things. I read a lot, so I guess some of it sticks.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Just ‘some’ of it?”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe more than some. I’m kind of a… well, I guess you could say I’m a bit of an overthinker.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said with a grin, feeling the tension ease slightly between you. “But it’s not a bad thing. Just… surprising.”

Spencer nodded, his posture relaxing a little, as if your comment reassured him. “Surprising in a good way, I hope.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning back slightly in your seat. “I’ll let you know.”

Spencer liked this. You were cautious, guarded in a way that suggested a sharp mind, the kind of intellect that naturally set boundaries when it came to engaging with strangers. Yet, despite your reservation, you kept your wits about you, maintaining a balance of good manners and a sense of humor that was both disarming and refreshing. It made you even more intriguing.

There was something undeniably endearing about the way you interacted—enigmatic and charming, with a touch of playfulness that made him want to keep the conversation going. Spencer found himself wanting to know more, to understand what made you tick in the same way he often tried to solve the puzzles in his own head.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Spencer said during a brief lull in conversation, his tone gentle yet curious, “what brings you to a bar in the middle of the week?”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, the corner of your lips quirking up in amusement. “I could ask you the same.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your response, appreciating how easily you turned the question back on him, challenging him to reveal his reasons first. It was a fair trade, after all.

"Touché," he conceded, leaning back slightly, considering his answer for a moment. "I guess I just needed a break… from everything. Sometimes it feels like things are piling up and... well, it was either come here or keep staring at the ceiling of my apartment."

You nodded in understanding, your expression softening just a bit. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need to step away from everything and just… exist for a little while, right?”

"Exactly," Spencer replied, relieved that you seemed to understand without him having to explain too much. "And you?"

You tapped your fingers thoughtfully on the bar for a moment before answering, your eyes drifting toward the half-finished martini in front of you. “Same, I guess. Life’s complicated, and sometimes you just want to sit in a quiet corner and let the world pass you by for a while. Maybe with a drink that makes it a little easier to forget."

Spencer nodded, the quiet between you settling into something more comfortable. There was no need for either of you to dive too deeply into your respective reasons for being here. The understanding was enough for now. Two strangers, sitting side by side, momentarily finding solace in each other’s presence without demanding too much.

“I’m glad I picked this bar,” Spencer said quietly, after a pause. “It’s… different. Quiet.”

You smiled softly, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, me too. Good choice.”

“Have you... have you been here before?” Spencer asked, his curiosity evident as he glanced at you, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass.

You shook your head, setting down your now-empty glass and signaling the bartender for another drink. “No, actually. I saw it when I moved here, figured tonight was as good a time as any to check it out.”

Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence. He wasn’t a man who often gave weight to fate or spiritual ideas—his mind preferred the concrete, the logical—but the fact that both of you ended up here on a quiet Wednesday night, for the first time, sharing an unspoken sense of heaviness... It felt like one of those rare moments that made him pause, as though something bigger was at play.

He smiled again, this time a little more openly. “I haven’t been here either. A friend told me about it. He, uh, likes to come here to meet women—said they’re more sophisticated than the ones he usually meets at clubs.”

You raised an eyebrow, your amusement clear as you leaned in slightly, your tone playful. “Are you, too, here to meet women?”

Spencer felt his face flush instantly, his eyes widening as he waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. “No! No, that’s not—” He cleared his throat, regaining a bit of composure, though the faint blush remained. “That’s not why I’m here. I just... needed a break, like I said.”

“Right... and that's why you're talking to the only single woman here,” you teased, gesturing around the dimly lit room with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer, caught off guard by the comment, blinked and glanced around for the first time since he’d sat down.

To his surprise—and slight embarrassment—you were right. The bar, small and intimate as it was, seemed to be filled mostly with couples. A few groups of friends sat scattered around, but there wasn’t another woman sitting alone at the bar. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own thoughts, and of course, in you.

A flush of pink crept up his neck again, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he faced you once more. “I—uh... that wasn’t... I didn’t even notice,” he stammered, clearly flustered, his eyes darting to his half-finished beer in front of him.

You laughed softly, amused by how easily Spencer was thrown off by your teasing. There was something so endearing about the way he fumbled through conversations like this, so unlike most men you’d met before. He wasn’t trying to be smooth or overly confident, just... honest.

“Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” you said with a grin.

“Thank you,” he sighed. There was a beat of silence before Spencer added, “But, uh, for the record... I’m not here to meet women. You just happened to be... well... someone worth talking to.”

Your smile softened at his admission, feeling the sincerity in his words. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of candidness from someone so quickly. "Well, aren't I lucky?" you teased lightly, though your tone had a hint of warmth behind it.

Spencer’s chuckle had a softness to it, but his next words seemed to strike a different chord. "Luck is relative," he mused, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Then he glanced up at you, his eyes searching your face with that same genuine curiosity. "Do you feel lucky?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His question seemed layered, and though you could sense the sincerity in his tone, the implication sounded... different to your ears. The way he asked it, with a certain intensity, made your mind wander to a more flirtatious place, a suggestion hanging between the lines. You had met men who approached conversations like this before, but there was something about Spencer’s awkward charm that made you hesitate to dismiss it outright.

For a moment, you thought about how you'd respond. You weren’t opposed to the idea of letting this man take you home, not at all. There was something about his presence that felt comforting, something about his awkward nature that drew you in. But you weren’t going to make it that easy. You enjoyed the chase, the cat-and-mouse game that kept things interesting.

You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes just enough to add a playful edge to your expression. "Lucky, huh?" You swirled the last of your martini in its glass, watching the liquid shift before locking eyes with him. “Depends on what kind of luck we’re talking about.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, clearly misunderstanding the subtle shift in your tone. "Oh," he stammered, clearly flustered. "I didn’t mean—uh, I wasn’t implying—"

You bit back a grin, enjoying watching him try to backtrack from what he thought was a misstep. "Relax, Spencer," you said softly, your tone more teasing now. "I know what you meant."

Spencer visibly exhaled, relief washing over his face. He wasn’t used to playing these kinds of games, that much was clear. But there was something about how genuine he was that made you want to keep him on his toes just a little longer.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat. "I guess I’m still figuring out whether I feel lucky tonight." You raised your glass slightly toward him, your eyes twinkling. “Maybe we’ll see.”

Spencer had relaxed as the two of you joked and bantered, and you noticed how much more comfortable he seemed, especially when he started showing you some of his magic tricks. It was charming, really—how this incredibly intelligent, slightly awkward man had such a whimsical side. You watched with genuine curiosity as he produced and shuffled a deck of cards with ease, his long fingers moving expertly.

But it was when he asked if you had a business card that really caught your attention. You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “No, but I do have a scrap piece of paper,” you said, pulling a folded-up slip from your bag.

Spencer took the paper with a playful smile, and with a quick flourish of his hands, it disappeared as if it had never existed at all. You blinked, leaning forward, impressed despite yourself. "Okay, I have to admit, that was good. Where’d it go?"

He grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A good magician never reveals their secrets.”

You laughed, thinking how absolutely adorable he was. There was something boyish and pure about the way he took joy in the simple act of performing a trick, like he’d just made your night a little brighter.

Absently, you went to brush a hand over the necklace around your neck, a habit you hadn’t even realized you had. But when your fingers grazed the pendant, you felt something unfamiliar—something other than the smooth metal of your necklace.

Frowning, you looked down. And there, dangling from your pendant, was the very same scrap of paper Spencer had taken. Your eyes widened in surprise, a burst of giddy laughter escaping your lips as you grabbed the piece of paper, utterly amazed.

You turned to Spencer, wide-eyed and full of wonder. “How did you—?!” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your head shaking in disbelief, giggles bubbling up uncontrollably. He really had caught you off guard, and it felt... magical.

Spencer, looking very proud of himself, leaned back with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. He glanced pointedly at the scrap of paper in your hand, raising an eyebrow as if to say, take a closer look.

Curious, you followed his gaze and unfolded the small piece of paper. Scrawled across it in Spencer's neat handwriting was a number. His number.

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk and a flutter of excitement. "So... was this part of the trick too?"

Spencer shrugged, his smile a little bashful now.

“How many times have you used that trick on women?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, your voice soft and teasing. “And how many times has it worked?”

Spencer blushed again, the pink flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He shifted in his seat, clearly flustered by your question but still holding your gaze. “I... I used it one other time,” he admitted, his voice a bit shaky. “And it worked... sort of. But, um, it never led to anything.”

You smiled, leaning back slightly, enjoying how disarmed he was by your teasing. There was something so genuine about the way he interacted, like he wasn’t used to these kinds of moments—at least not often. He wasn’t the type to use smooth lines or rehearsed tricks to impress women, and that made him stand out even more.

“Well, I’m glad I could be the second one,” you said with a wink, letting the playful tension between you simmer. “But something tells me you’re hoping it leads to more this time.”

Spencer swallowed, clearly thrown off by your forwardness, but you could see the slight shift in his posture, the way his confidence grew just a little as he realized you were genuinely interested. “I, uh... I wouldn’t mind that,” he admitted, his eyes flickering from yours to the glass in front of him, then back again. “But I didn’t show you the trick just for that. I wanted to... impress you.”

Your heart fluttered at his honesty. It was so rare to meet someone who was so upfront, so unguarded in moments like this. You couldn’t help but find it endearing, and you leaned in once more, your smile softening.

“Well, you definitely impressed me, Spencer,” you said, your voice low and sincere. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you show me another trick later.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a little at that, and for a moment, you could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating, thinking, but also clearly intrigued by the promise hidden in your words. He gave a small, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess we’ll see how lucky I get tonight,” he murmured, the blush still lingering on his face but his smile growing more confident now.

You grinned, knowing full well that he didn’t realize just how lucky he was about to get.

As the bar's lights dimmed and the final patrons shuffled out, you already knew you weren’t going home tonight. The air between you and Spencer had been crackling all evening, and the decision seemed inevitable, even as you lingered at the bar for just a moment longer.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, graciously paid for both of your tabs without hesitation. The bartender, who had seemed less than impressed by your modest drinking habits, shot him a look that Spencer either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. After all, this night was about more than just drinks.

Walking out into the brisk night air, you and Spencer moved shoulder to shoulder, your steps naturally falling in sync as if you'd been walking together for much longer than a few hours. The quiet of the evening surrounded you, the distant hum of the city softening the world around you, and the moment felt intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. You could feel the warmth of his presence next to you, the subtle brush of his arm against yours sending sparks up your skin.

Feeling bold, Spencer glanced over at you, his usual shyness tempered by something else—perhaps the electricity that had been building between you all night, or maybe just the quiet courage that sometimes came with these fleeting, late-night encounters. "Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, his voice softer now, as though he didn’t want to shatter the stillness of the moment.

You smiled up at him, a knowing look in your eyes as you accepted. Spencer’s posture straightened slightly, his eyes lighting up as he guided you toward his car. True to his nature, he opened the door for you, his touch gentle as he gestured for you to climb in. You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, watching as he quickly walked around to the driver’s side and slid into his seat.

He fidgeted for a moment behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as he glanced at you, clearly waiting for directions. “Where should I take you?” he asked, his voice still carrying that sweet, earnest tone.

You met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with both amusement and intent. "Wherever you're going," you replied, your words hanging in the air, full of unspoken promise.

Spencer blinked, taken aback for just a split second, but then understanding settled over him. He glanced down, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips, and you could see the faintest hint of color creeping into his cheeks. There was a brief pause as he weighed his options, but the decision was already made—you could feel it.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. "My place it is."

Spencer was a bundle of nerves. The whole drive back, he had rambled—nervous energy pouring out of him in the form of random facts, mostly about the risks of going home with strangers. He’d listed statistics about crime rates, recounted famous cases of mishaps, and even delved into behavioral patterns associated with dangerous encounters. It was almost endearing, the way he was so clearly overthinking the situation.

"Are you going to kill me?" you had asked him at one point, half-joking, hoping to lighten the mood.

His response had been immediate and emphatic. "No, absolutely not! I—I would never do anything like that," he stammered, his eyes wide and sincere. "Statistically, it’s much safer—"

You laughed, cutting him off gently. "I believe you, Spencer."

His relief was palpable, though he still hadn’t fully relaxed, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. And now, as he fumbled with his keys at the front door, you saw how his fingers trembled slightly as he tried to get the lock open. His nervousness was so genuine, so utterly sweet, that you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom inside you.

It was obvious he didn’t do this sort of thing often, and that made you feel... special. He was just himself—nervous, brilliant, and genuine—and that vulnerability drew you in even more.

Finally, after a moment of fumbling, the door clicked open, and Spencer gestured for you to step inside, his cheeks still slightly flushed. "Sorry about that," he murmured, a small, sheepish smile on his lips. "I don’t usually have... company."

When Spencer led you through the front door, the first thing that hit you was the cozy, dark atmosphere of his apartment. Books lined almost every available surface, stacked neatly on shelves and piled in corners in a way that suggested they were well-loved and frequently revisited. The space had an old-world charm, a lived-in feeling that instantly put you at ease. The warm lighting and the faint smell of coffee mixed with old pages added to the inviting ambiance. It was unmistakably his—a reflection of the man you’d spent the evening getting to know, both brilliant and a little awkward.

You couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the intimate, intellectual space he called home. It was entirely different from the sleek, modern apartments of other men you’d been with, and that difference made you like it even more.

You smiled softly, stepping into the warmth of his home. "It’s fine," you assured him. "I like it here. It’s... very you."

Spencer’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, as though he hadn’t expected you to say something so kind. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little, and he gave you a nervous but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his smile sweet but clearly nervous as his hands fumbled slightly in front of him. He took a breath, trying to compose himself, but the words tumbled out anyway. “So... um, I know what usually happens in these scenarios, but I don’t want to be presumptuous—not that I’m expecting anything from you either, but I guess, I’m wondering what, uh... what you want here?”

You could see how flustered he was, the way his uncertainty mixed with his genuine desire to be respectful. It made your heart swell, your affection for him deepening in that moment. His awkward honesty was refreshing, and you adored the way he was so transparently himself, not hiding behind bravado or assumptions.

Stepping closer to him, you reached out, your hands moving up his chest slowly, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. You let your fingers trail lightly over him before wrapping them around the back of his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer. Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he looked down at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering in his gaze.

“Well, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice gentle but teasing, “I would like to do what usually happens in these scenarios...”

His eyes searched yours, his body tense with uncertainty and excitement, but before he could speak, you added, “But we don’t have to do anything.”

Spencer blinked, processing your words. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt just a little as he realized that the choice was mutual, that there was no pressure, no expectations. You were giving him the space to decide, and that made all the difference.

He swallowed, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “I... I’d like that too. But only if you're sure.”

You smiled up at him, your thumb gently stroking the back of his neck. “I’m sure, Spencer. But if you’re not ready or don’t want to—”

“No,” he said quickly, then softened his tone. “No, I want to. I just... I didn’t want to assume and I–well, I haven’t done a lot before.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in a little closer, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but he smiled, more comfortable now as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t hear that often,” he admitted softly.

“Well, you should,” you murmured, before closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though Spencer was still processing that this was really happening. But then his grip around you tightened slightly, and you could feel him relax into it, his lips moving with yours, the kiss deepening as the warmth between you two grew.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his apartment, the world outside forgotten. And in that moment, everything felt perfectly right.

You gently pulled back from the kiss, feeling the way Spencer’s lips lingered for just a moment, his eyes still shut as though he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He followed your movement with a soft, almost unconscious pout, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“Easy,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection, as your fingers trailed up into his soft hair, stroking it gently. You wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. He was clearly nervous, but the way he responded to you, how earnest he was in everything he did, made you want to handle him with the care he deserved.

“What are you comfortable with, Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone reassuring, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I don’t want to push you too far, or do anything you’re not ready for.”

Spencer took a deep, grounding breath, his chest rising and falling as he gathered the courage to speak. His blush deepened, his cheeks flushing a bright pink as he met your eyes. “Um… I haven’t had anything, uh, penetrative,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper as if admitting something deeply personal. He swallowed, clearly feeling the weight of the moment. “But… I have been touched. And I have touched.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerability, and you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. He was sharing something intimate, and the way he trusted you enough to be honest about it made you want to hold him even closer.

“That’s okay, Spencer,” you said gently, your thumb brushing against his jawline in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can take things as slow as you need.”

He nodded, looking relieved that you weren’t pressuring him. “I… I want to try,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate, allowing him to guide the pace. Spencer responded, his lips moving with yours, his hands resting tentatively on your hips as he began to relax into the moment.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered against his lips, reassuring him once more. “And you tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes meeting yours with gratitude and something else—something more. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his hands tightened just slightly around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Take me to your bedroom, Spencer,” you whispered against his lips, the warmth of your breath sending shivers down his spine. He nodded, his lips still brushing against yours as he took your hand and led you toward his room. The eagerness in his movements was evident as you both bumped into walls and knocked over small tables along the way, which made you giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, stud,” you teased, your voice playful but laced with affection. “I like how eager you are. It makes me feel desired.”

Spencer flicked on the bedside lamp, the soft glow filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the walls. The light bathed you in a way that made you look even more radiant, as though the glow itself was drawn to your beauty. Spencer paused for a moment, standing there in awe of you, his eyes wide with admiration.

“You are desired,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. “So gorgeous, Y/N.”

His words made your heart swell. You could hear how much he meant it, how genuine his feelings were. Spencer wasn’t trying to impress you; he was simply telling you the truth as he saw it. And in that moment, you found yourself falling just a little for him.

“Sweet, sweet Spencer…” you whispered, smiling softly at the endearing man before you. Your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. As the fabric parted, you kissed the newly exposed skin—his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest—your lips leaving a trail of warmth with each touch.

You could feel Spencer’s stomach rising and falling rapidly beneath your fingertips, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he struggled to keep his composure. He was nervous, that much was clear, but you could also see the way his body responded to your touch, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

“Relax,” you sighed gently against his skin, your lips brushing softly over his collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment made him freeze for a moment, and you could tell it wasn’t something he was used to hearing. His breath hitched as you kissed his chest, your hands sliding the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he raised them to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. “I… I just don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “We’re just here, together. That’s all that matters.”

His eyes softened at your words, and slowly, the tension in his body seemed to ebb away, replaced by a quiet confidence. He reached up, his hands moving more purposefully now as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice steadying as he leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a little more certainty, a little more control.

And in the quiet of his room, surrounded by nothing but the soft light and the gentle hum of your shared breaths, you felt completely and utterly desired.

"Do you want to take my shirt off, Spencer?" you whispered softly against his ear, letting your tongue graze the sensitive skin just beneath it. You felt the shudder run through his body as he nodded quickly, his breathing heavy, eyes still tightly shut as if the weight of the moment was too much to handle.

You giggled softly, charmed by his inexperience and how deeply he seemed affected by every touch, every breath. Gently, you took his large hands in yours, guiding them to the hem of your shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, but you could feel his eagerness beneath that nervous exterior. Slowly, he gripped the fabric, carefully lifting it up, still with his eyes squeezed shut, even as he let the garment drop to the floor beside you.

"Spencer..." you whispered, your voice sweet but laced with a hint of amusement. You couldn’t help but notice how his hands had frozen in mid-air, his fingers hovering, unsure of what to do next. His body was clearly responding to the moment, but his mind was racing, overwhelmed.

"You can open your eyes," you encouraged, leaning forward just slightly to nudge him out of his hesitation, your lips brushing his jawline.

Very slowly, Spencer cracked his eyelids open, his breath hitching as he adjusted to the reality of the situation. But the moment he caught sight of your bare chest, his eyes flew open wide, surprise and awe etched across his face.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your chest, as though he were trying to process everything all at once. His expression was a mix of innocence and desire, and it was clear that this moment was overwhelming him in the best way possible.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, and the way his hands, still trembling slightly, hovered just inches from your skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly, guiding his hands to your sides, encouraging him to touch you. “You can touch me, Spencer.”

His breath caught in his throat, but this time, he didn’t pull back. His hands, once hesitant, now slid up your sides, gently grasping your breasts in his hands. His touch was reverent, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening as he ran his thumbs over your nipples. There was something so pure, so unguarded about the way he looked at you, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re...” he started, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re stunning.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in his words. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly, pressing your body against his. "So are you, Spencer."

You kept kissing him, your lips moving against his with just enough pressure to hopefully distract him from whatever whirlwind of thoughts his brilliant mind was racing through. You were learning he tended to overthink, and you wanted to help him focus on the moment, on the way your bodies were reacting to one another rather than on whatever internal dialogue was playing out in his head.

Your hands moved down to his belt, working on the buckle with ease. You could feel his breathing pick up as you undid it, but instead of pulling away or tensing up, his hands stayed on your breasts. His fingers squeezed you, almost like he was using you to ground himself, holding you tighter than before, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. The sensation sent a wave of pleasure through you, and without hesitation, you moaned softly into his mouth.

The sound surprised Spencer, his entire body responding to it. He froze for just a second, his mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that had gotten to him—it was the realization that he had made you feel that way. The knowledge seemed to set something off inside him, a surge of wonder and hunger, like he was teetering on the edge of something completely new.

As you undid the button of his pants, letting them fall to the floor, you gently nudged him to step out of his loafers and slacks, which he did, albeit a little awkwardly. Spencer pulled back slightly, glancing down at himself, standing in nothing but his tented purple boxers. He shifted on his feet, clearly still feeling self-conscious despite everything.

“I’m feeling a clothing disparity here,” he tried to joke, though his voice came out more nervous than playful.

You giggled softly at his attempt to lighten the moment, appreciating how vulnerable he was being, even in his nervousness. "I can fix that," you teased, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bottoms. With a fluid motion, you slipped off your boots, followed by the rest of your clothes, leaving the small pile of fabric on the floor as you stood fully bare before him.

The room seemed to grow quieter for a second, the air thick with anticipation. Spencer’s gaze moved over your body slowly, taking in every inch of your skin with an almost reverent look. His breath hitched again, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do next.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, your fingers trailing lightly along his chest, leaning in to press your body against his, feeling the heat between you intensify. "Now... let's see what else we can do about that disparity."

Your hands slid lower, brushing against the waistband of Spencer’s boxers as you tried to ease them down, but there was a bit of resistance—a clear obstruction that made the two of you stumble into a fit of giggles. Some of the nervous tension between you both lifted in that moment, replaced by the kind of playful energy that made everything feel lighter, more natural.

“Well, sir,” you said in an exaggerated, mock-serious voice, stepping back slightly to assess the situation, “it seems as if something has blocked my path.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a full, hearty sound that spilled out of him, the kind that seemed to release the last of his nervousness. His shoulders shook with amusement as he looked at you, shaking his head. “My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he replied, playing along with a grin that stretched across his face. “Allow me to be of service.”

You watched as he reached down, fumbling a bit with his boxers before finally managing to remove them, kicking them aside with a sheepish smile. His face was still flushed, but now it was more from laughter than nerves, and the atmosphere between you shifted again, becoming more comfortable, more intimate.

“Better,” you teased, your playful tone returning, stepping close enough for your bare skin to brush against his. You placed your hands on his chest, your fingers spreading out to feel the warmth of his body beneath your touch. Spencer’s breath caught in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t out of anxiety—it was pure desire.

You noticed the subtle shift in Spencer’s eyes—something deeper, more focused. The playful energy between you had served its purpose, helping him relax, but now you knew it was time to stop teasing and really show him how much you wanted him. The way he looked at you, still unsure but no longer nervous, told you he was ready to explore this new territory, even if he didn’t quite know where it was going.

With a gentle but deliberate push, you guided him back onto the bed, watching the way he looked up at you, his breath quickening. You moved after him with purpose, your movements slow and deliberate as you crawled toward him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Spencer scooted back to the pillows, his eyes locked on yours, his uncertainty fading into quiet anticipation.

His gaze flickered as you settled in closer, your knees on either side of his hips. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, his hands resting by his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. You could see he was still processing everything, still trusting you to lead him through this.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you said softly, your voice a quiet promise. You let your hands trail up his thighs, your fingers brushing through the soft hair there, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Is that okay?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, but he nodded, his voice barely a whisper as he responded, “Yeah.”

Everything you had done so far, he liked. He wasn’t sure what came next, but there was no hesitation in his trust—he knew he would like whatever you did. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he felt your touch move higher, and he let out a small breath, almost as if he had been holding it in for far too long.

You took your time, wanting him to savor every moment. Your hands moved with gentle care, exploring his hips and stomach as you leaned in closer, your lips grazing his neck, your breath warm against his skin. Spencer shivered beneath you, his hands finally finding the courage to rest on your waist, his fingers gripping you just enough to anchor himself in the moment.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you whispered against his ear, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, one filled with pure, unfiltered arousal. He hadn’t known until this moment how much he liked being praised, but the way your words washed over him—telling him he was doing good, that he was making you happy—lit something inside him. A fire burned in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his entire body, and he couldn’t contain the way his body responded to you.

But then, when you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, the heat exploded. It was as if you had poured gasoline onto that fire, and Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His back arched off the bed, his mouth falling open as a raw, guttural groan escaped him. His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as the sensation overwhelmed him, taking him by surprise.

He hadn’t been touched like this in a long, long time. It had been just him, his own hands and his own thoughts, but now—now it was you, and the difference was intoxicating. Every nerve in his body felt like it was alive, buzzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. He was losing himself to the moment, to you.

"God... Y/N..." he gasped, his voice low and rough, full of need. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped him as your hand moved expertly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.

You smiled softly, watching the way Spencer's body reacted to your touch as you gripped him tighter, the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. He looked so beautiful like this—vulnerable and completely immersed in the pleasure you were giving him.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered again, your voice low and soothing as your hand continued to move, squeezing extra on his head and drawing more of those delicious sounds from him. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Spencer nodded weakly, his head falling back onto the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations. His mind, usually so busy and full of thoughts, was blissfully quiet now, his entire focus on the feel of your hands, your body, and your voice guiding him through this.

"Y/N..." he groaned again, his voice trembling with need, his hands reaching out to grasp your hips, wanting to feel more of you, to be closer to you. He was completely lost in you now, and he didn’t want it to end.

You smiled down at him, feeling a surge of affection and desire for the man who had so easily surrendered to you, his pleasure so raw and vulnerable. “Oh, you poor thing,” you whispered, your voice soft and teasing as your hand sped up its movements, stopping every once in a while to rub your thumb under his head. “You just needed someone to look after you, didn’t you?”

Spencer nodded quickly, his body responding to your words before he could even form a coherent thought. His head pressed back into the pillows, his chest heaving as the sounds of his pleasure spilled from his open mouth, completely uncontrollable. He was lost in the moment, lost in you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and tenderness as you watched him.

He looked so beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, and entirely open. His eyes, when they did open, were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. There was something pure about the way he gave himself to the moment, trusting you completely to take him somewhere he hadn’t been in a long time.

And you were honored to be the one to make him feel like this, to be the person who could show him such tenderness and care. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your lips as you whispered, “I’ve got you, Spencer.”

His response was another shaky moan, his hands returning to your hips as if to anchor himself to you, his grip both needy and gentle. His body was trembling now, his breaths coming faster and more erratically, and you knew he was close, teetering on the edge of release.

You let your free hand reach down to grasp and roll Spencer’s balls, his entire body jolted at the contact and he let out a sound akin to a scream. You could feel the tension building in him, his body reacting to every touch, every word. “You’re doing so good,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “Just let go for me, okay?”

Spencer’s breathing hitched, and you could feel him start to unravel beneath you. He nodded again, unable to speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. He was ready to let go, ready to give himself completely to the moment, and you were more than ready to guide him through it.

And when he finally did—when he let himself go with a guttural moan that shook through his entire body—it felt like you were witnessing something truly beautiful. You held him close, stroking him through his high as he spurted over your hand and stomach, your touch never wavering, your voice a constant, reassuring presence.

Spencer’s body finally relaxed beneath you and you removed both of your hands, his breaths coming in deep, ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. His hands, still resting on your hips, loosened their grip, and he blinked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and affection.

"Can... can I touch you?" Spencer asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of exhaustion was too heavy for him to speak any louder.

You smiled down at him, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Gently, you brushed the strands from his forehead, your touch tender. "Not tonight," you whispered back, watching as a small pout formed on his lips.

Before he could say anything else, you leaned down and kissed the pout away, your lips soft against his. "You're tired," you said softly, your fingers tracing his cheek, "and that was plenty for me."

Spencer sighed, the tension in his body giving way to exhaustion as he relaxed into your touch. He didn’t protest further, knowing you were right, but the way his arms tightened slightly around your waist let you know that he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion.

You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “What are you thanking me for?”

Spencer gazed up at you, still catching his breath, his face flushed from both exertion and emotion. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hips, the touch absent-minded but tender.

“For... everything,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. “For talking to me, being kind to me, patient with me. For... understanding.” His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching, almost vulnerable. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing your hand through his hair again, letting your touch soothe him. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Spencer. I wanted this as much as you did.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat working through the remnants of tension. “Still... it means a lot. You make me feel... safe.”

His words stirred something warm and protective in you, and your heart swelled at the realization of how much this moment meant to him. It wasn’t just the physicality; it was the connection, the trust. He had let down his walls for you, and in that vulnerability, you started to see the depths of who Spencer really was—someone deeply deserving of care and tenderness.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you feel that way. You deserve to be cared for, Spencer.”

His lips curved into a small smile, the tension in his body fully gone now, replaced with quiet contentment. “I’m really lucky,” he murmured, his voice still filled with awe.

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “No, we’re both lucky.”

And in the warmth of that moment, you both knew that this was more than just a fleeting connection—it was something special, something real. Something neither of you had been expecting, but both of you had needed.

—

Spencer stirred, slowly waking up to the comforting warmth of your body, his head resting against your soft stomach, your fingers gently stroking him. The feeling was intimate, tender, and it brought a sleepy, blissful smile to his face. He could feel your fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled closer to you, feeling completely safe, completely at peace.

When he finally cracked one eye open, he saw you sitting up, wearing your shirt and underwear, looking down at him with a soft, almost shy expression—a side of you he hadn’t yet seen. It was endearing, and for a moment, he just wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in the warmth of your presence.

“Good morning,” you said softly, your voice timid, a tone that felt so different from the playful, confident energy you’d had last night. Spencer noticed the way you seemed slightly unsure, as if you weren’t certain what the morning would bring, and it made his heart ache with affection for you.

He opened both eyes fully, blinking up at you in a way that was so sweet and sleepy it melted your heart. “Hi,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face, his voice still laced with drowsiness. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, as though waking up to you was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You grinned shyly in response, the soft morning light making everything feel gentle and new. “I hope it’s okay that I’m still here,” you said quietly, your fingers still moving softly through his hair.

Spencer’s smile widened as he shifted slightly, his head still resting against your stomach. “More than okay,” he murmured. “I... I didn’t want you to leave.”

His honesty made your heart swell, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I didn’t want to leave either.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, his body relaxing further as he closed his eyes again, soaking in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if to make sure you were really there, that this wasn’t just a dream.

“You’re still here,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet wonder. “And that makes me really happy.”

You continued to stroke his hair, your fingers gentle as you whispered back, “I’m happy too, Spencer. Really happy.”

And in the quiet of the morning, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, it felt like the beginning of something special—something neither of you could deny.

Eventually, the cozy bubble the two of you had created was interrupted by the sharp sound of Spencer's alarm blaring, signaling that it was time to get ready for work. The moment felt bittersweet, and Spencer, clearly not ready to break the warmth of your embrace, pouted grumpily as he reluctantly pulled himself from your arms to head toward the shower.

He paused at the edge of the bed, turning back to you with a hopeful look, still shy but clearly not wanting this to end. “Will you wait for me to get out?” he asked, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear the moment he stepped out of the room.

You giggled, shaking your head dramatically with a playful smirk. “Nope,” you teased, your tone light and full of humor. “This is when I’ll make my grand exit—after you’ve already seen me, of course.”

Spencer laughed at your playful antics, the sound filling the room as he smiled to himself. Despite the teasing, he appreciated how lighthearted and easy everything felt with you. Still, he quickly got up from the bed, scampering to the bathroom with a newfound urgency, his naked form catching your attention.

Before you could stop yourself, you called out, “Woo! The sun is out but the moon is full! How come I didn’t get to see your ass last night?”

Spencer immediately blushed, his face turning a deep shade of pink as he covered his behind with his hands and sped up his pace, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway.

Your laughter rang out, the joyful sound filling the space and making Spencer smile to himself as he entered the bathroom. It was the only response he needed, the perfect note to start his day on.

After Spencer disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, you took the opportunity to give yourself a quick tour of his apartment. It was just as charming as you expected—full of books, eclectic trinkets, and signs of his quirky, intellectual nature. When you found the kitchen, you spotted the coffee supplies and decided to make a quick pot. The smell of freshly brewing coffee soon filled the air, and you figured a simple breakfast would be a nice touch, so you whipped up some eggs and toast, humming softly as you worked.

By the time Spencer emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the aroma of coffee and warm food had reached him. His heart swelled at the simple, thoughtful gesture. He had never imagined waking up to something like this. Rushing to get dressed as quickly as possible, he joined you in the kitchen, where you were casually sipping coffee and waiting for him.

You spent the next half hour in easy conversation, talking about simple, everyday things—where you grew up, how many siblings you had, whether or not you had any pets. Spencer seemed eager to learn all that he could about you, firing off question after question. You hardly noticed that he didn’t volunteer much about himself, his curiosity directed solely at getting to know you. You found it endearing, the way he leaned into every answer, his eyes lighting up with each new detail you shared.

Eventually, though, time started to slip away, and the soft glow of morning meant Spencer needed to leave for work. As he grabbed his bag, ready to head out, his shy demeanor returned, his eyes avoiding yours as he fumbled with his words.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearly flustered, “I don’t have time to take you home. I lost track of time.”

You were already sliding on your boots, unfazed by the rush. "That’s fine! I took a cab last night anyway, I can fetch another one," you replied with a smile, waving off his apology.

Spencer sighed in relief, though his brows furrowed with lingering guilt. “Can I pay for the fee at least?”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Spencer. This wasn’t an exchange of goods," you teased with a playful wink.

Spencer flushed, chuckling at himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. Then his expression softened, his voice quieter, more sincere. “Can I see you again? Take you on a proper date?”

Your smile brightened at his request, your heart warming at the thought. “I would really like that.”

With that, the two of you officially exchanged numbers, the moment feeling more intimate than it had any right to. Spencer kissed you once, then again, as if he couldn’t help himself, savoring every second before he finally had to leave for work.

As he walked out the door, you called a car, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This was definitely just the beginning of something worth exploring.

—

Spencer walked into the BAU that Thursday with an extra pep in his step, his usually focused and somewhat intense demeanor softened by a secret smile that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. He barely noticed the way his colleagues, Derek and Emily, glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, instantly picking up on his unusual cheerfulness.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity, was the first to speak up as Spencer passed by his desk. "Whoa, whoa, hold up, pretty boy," he called out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "What’s with the smile? Did you crack some unsolvable puzzle overnight or something?"

Spencer blinked, the smile still lingering, though he quickly tried to rein it in. "What? No, I didn’t... I mean, no puzzles," he said, fumbling slightly as he continued toward his desk.

Emily raised an eyebrow and leaned against Derek’s desk, crossing her arms as she smirked at Spencer. "Are you sure? Because you’re practically glowing, Reid. Come on, spill it."

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he realized he wasn’t doing a great job hiding his good mood. He sat down at his desk, avoiding their teasing stares. "It’s nothing," he mumbled, but his attempt to brush it off only made Derek and Emily more determined.

"Uh-huh, sure," Derek repeated, his grin widening as he leaned forward. "Come on, man, you don’t look like this for no reason. You’re practically walking on air. What happened? Did you learn a new language or something?"

Spencer, unable to resist the opportunity to lean into the joke, shrugged, deciding to give Derek a little win. "Sure, Derek. I technically did begin studying a new language recently," he replied, trying to keep a straight face, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Emily, sensing that they weren’t going to get the juicy details they were hoping for, sighed dramatically, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah, quel gâchis," she muttered, her voice laced with playful disappointment.

Spencer immediately glared in her direction, having caught the meaning of her words. "What a waste?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I’m standing right here, you know."

Emily smirked, clearly enjoying how easily she’d ruffled his feathers. "Well, we were hoping for something more exciting than a study session, Reid," she teased, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "But I guess we’ll just have to live with our imaginations."

Derek chuckled, crossing his arms. "Don’t let her get to you, pretty boy. Just know we’ve got our eye on you."

The teasing didn’t let up throughout the day. Derek and Emily, delighted by Spencer’s unusual behavior, had made sure word got around that Spencer was “studying” something new—something that had him grinning like an idiot at random moments.

When JJ and Penelope heard the news, they joined in on the fun, leaving their own playful comments. JJ had passed by his desk, nudging him lightly. "Studying something new, huh? I’ve never seen someone so excited over homework, Spence."

Penelope, ever the drama queen, had dramatically swooned in front of him. "Oh my stars, who knew Spencer Reid could look so refreshed and glowing? It must be some incredible study material," she teased, winking as she fluttered away, her laughter trailing behind her.

Even Hotch, who was usually more reserved about office banter, had joined in. “It’s good to see you more focused and refreshed, Reid,” he commented during a briefing, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his tone was as professional as ever.

But it wasn’t until Rossi chimed in that Spencer really realized how obvious he was being. Rossi had been watching Spencer with a knowing look for most of the day. After catching Spencer glancing at his phone for what must have been the hundredth time, he couldn’t resist.

“You’ve touched your phone an awful lot today, Reid,” Rossi mused as he walked by Spencer’s desk. "Waiting for something important?"

Spencer jolted slightly, startled out of his focus. He had, once again, been staring at the text he had prepared to send you but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to hit send yet. He glanced up at Rossi, trying and failing to hide the sheepish grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, something like that," Spencer replied, his voice softer, betraying the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms. "Ah, I see. Must be some important 'study material' then, huh?"

Spencer flushed, realizing that Rossi was in on the joke too. “It’s... very interesting,” he said, glancing down at his phone again, but the small smile remained firmly in place.

Rossi chuckled knowingly. "Just make sure you don’t fail whatever test you’re preparing for," he teased, clapping Spencer on the back as he walked away, leaving the young doctor blushing and still holding his phone.

Finally, Spencer shook his head and, after a deep breath, hit "send" on the text to you, feeling a flutter of excitement as he anticipated your reply.

The end of the workday was a welcome relief for most of the team, and everyone was packing up their things, preparing to head out. Conversations were light, the usual post-case fatigue settling in. But as everyone moved about, the sound of a notification buzzed from Spencer’s pocket, drawing all eyes to him.

It was as if the entire team had collectively paused, waiting with bated breath as Spencer reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He hadn’t said much about whatever—or whoever—had been keeping that secret smile on his face, but they all knew something was up. And now, they watched him, each pretending not to care, but clearly all invested in this "mystery" that had made their boy genius so giddy.

Spencer took a quick glance at the screen, and almost immediately, his eyes widened. The smile that bloomed on his face was unmistakable, pure, and full of excitement. Without thinking, he tapped his hands on the desk, unable to keep still. Then, in a burst of happiness, he spun in his office chair—twice.

Emily, who had been pretending to pack her bag, exchanged a smirk with JJ. Derek raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to tease right then and there, while Penelope was practically bursting with curiosity, trying not to let out a squeal.

After Spencer’s excited spins, he paused, staring at his phone again, as if confirming what he had just seen.

Hi Spencer :) I’m glad you texted, I would love to see you again. How’s Saturday?

Spencer stared at the message for a moment, his heart racing, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. Saturday. Yes. Saturday was perfect. He could already feel the rush of anticipation building up inside him.

Across the room, Derek couldn’t hold back any longer. "Alright, man, spill it. What’s got you doing a victory lap in your chair like you just won the lottery?"

Spencer, still smiling, looked up at his friends and teammates, feeling a little embarrassed by how obvious his excitement had been, but he couldn’t hide it anymore.

"I, um... I have a date on Saturday," he admitted, his voice quieter but filled with unmistakable happiness.

“Oh, boy wonder, please tell me this isn’t a date with more studying,” Penelope sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if she couldn’t handle the thought of Spencer’s version of a romantic evening being spent in a library.

Spencer’s blush deepened as he shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no studying,” he assured her, still smiling. “It’s just... dinner. You know, a normal date.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Dinner? Normal? Spencer Reid, going on a normal date?” She placed both hands on her cheeks in exaggerated shock. “Be still my heart, I’m not sure I’m ready for this new chapter of your life!”

Emily grinned, leaning on her desk. “What’s next? Dancing?” she teased, clearly enjoying how flustered Spencer was getting.

Spencer waved them off, though the smile never left his face. “I’m just... excited to see where it goes,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Derek raised a brow, folding his arms. “Well, don’t keep us hanging, man. You’re gonna let us know how it goes, right?”

Spencer chuckled nervously. “We’ll see.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I am living for this! I expect a full report, Reid. Leave nothing out!” she added, already imagining the romantic possibilities.

Spencer just shook his head with a sheepish grin, knowing that after Saturday, he wouldn’t be able to escape their questions—but for now, he was just content with the thought of seeing you again.

—

Spencer spent all of Thursday evening through Saturday morning in a nervous wreck, spiraling between excitement and dread. The excitement stemmed from the memory of you—the way you looked at him, the way you had made him feel seen and wanted in a way no one ever had. But the dread… well, that came from his mind’s tendency to overanalyze, to question every little detail until it didn’t make sense anymore.

He had almost convinced himself that he had hallucinated the entire night—that perhaps he’d somehow gotten drunk at the bar and imagined everything. You were too good to be true, after all. You were beautiful, smart, and funny. And the way you had treated him with such care… it felt like something out of a dream. Spencer was nearly positive that it hadn’t really happened.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that after confirming the time and place for your Saturday date, your conversation had ended abruptly. No back-and-forth, no playful banter. Just... silence. He had been waiting, glancing at his phone far too often, hoping for another text that never came.

Maybe the magic had only lasted for that one night and morning. Maybe you had woken up and realized that Spencer wasn’t what you wanted after all. What if the moment had passed and the reality of who he was had set in for you? What if, after thinking it over, you decided he wasn’t worth seeing again?

Then there was the physical aspect—the fact that you had seen him. All of him. You had touched him, and though you had stayed afterward, making breakfast and laughing with him, the irrational part of his brain couldn’t stop replaying the possibilities. What if you hadn’t liked what you saw but had been too kind to say anything in the moment? What if you were regretting the entire thing now?

Rationally, Spencer knew these thoughts didn’t make sense. If you hadn’t been interested, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to see him again. You definitely wouldn’t have stayed the morning, made him breakfast, and kissed him so sweetly before leaving. But his nerves were gnawing at him, relentless and persistent.

Spencer wasn’t just nervous. He was terrified. In all his 30 years of life, he had never met someone who made his heart race so much in a good way. Someone who made him feel this vulnerable yet eager to dive deeper.

He spent Friday night tossing and turning, replaying every moment he’d spent with you, both wonderful and anxiety-inducing. By Saturday morning, he was an absolute bundle of nerves, wondering if maybe he should’ve done something differently, said something better, or been more... someone else.

But then, just as the clock hit mid-morning, his phone buzzed. Heart racing, Spencer grabbed it from the nightstand. A message from you.

Looking forward to tonight :) See you soon!

He stared at the screen, a wave of relief washing over him so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. You were still interested. You hadn’t changed your mind. You wanted to see him again.

For a moment, he just sat there, the nerves easing away as he reread the message. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

As Spencer got ready for the date, the nerves returned. Despite dressing the same way he always did—his usual button-up shirt, vest, slacks, his familiar aftershave, and cologne—there was a sense of urgency in his movements. He didn’t know why he was so anxious; after all, he hadn’t changed anything. But this was different. You were different. He just hoped that you would like him as he was.

You had offered to meet him at the restaurant, which, at first, he wasn’t sure about. He’d wanted to pick you up, to make the evening as special as possible, but when you suggested meeting there, he hadn’t pressed. Maybe it was nerves on your part too, or maybe you just liked the independence of arriving on your own terms.

When he arrived and spotted you chatting with the hostess, his heart swelled, almost too big for his chest. You looked effortlessly beautiful, standing there in a red dress that hugged your form perfectly. It was simple, yet elegant, and the way it contrasted against your skin made you stand out even more in the dimly lit atmosphere of the restaurant.

You were laughing, completely at ease, talking with the hostess as if you hadn’t a care in the world. The sound of your voice carried over the light murmur of the restaurant, and Spencer was instantly reminded of when he’d first seen you. The way you had drawn him in so effortlessly. There was no pretense about you—just an infectious warmth and natural beauty.

He stood frozen for a moment, just watching, trying to gather the courage to walk up to you. But when you turned your head and caught sight of him, your face broke into the most radiant smile, and Spencer felt his nerves disappear all at once. It was like everything fell into place.

“Hey,” you greeted him as he approached, your eyes lighting up with excitement. “You made it.”

“Yeah, I—wow, you look... amazing,” Spencer smiled, feeling the last remnants of his awkwardness melt away as you grinned at him, doing a playful little twirl in your red dress. The movement was graceful yet lighthearted, making him laugh, a sound full of genuine joy.

“I’m sensing a pattern,” Spencer teased, his eyes gleaming with affection as he took in how the red dress suited you so perfectly, just as your red boots and shorts had. “Do you like red?”

You stepped in closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, the warmth of your touch sending a subtle shiver down his spine. “I do,” you admitted with a sweet smile. “My, uh, my aunt always called me Red. Like Little Red Riding Hood.”

Spencer’s heart melted at the story, his eyes softening as he looked at you with pure adoration. “That’s so sweet,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t contain how endearing he found the thought of you being called “Red.”

You chuckled, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, she said I was always wandering off on my own adventures, and she had to remind me not to get eaten by wolves.”

Spencer’s smile grew even softer, his hands instinctively resting at your waist. “Well,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with admiration, “I think Little Red turned out just fine.”

The exchange left the both of you wrapped in a quiet moment of warmth, the kind of connection that made the rest of the world seem to fade into the background. With a soft smile, you took his hand, ready to start the evening, knowing that it was already off to a perfect start.

After being seated, the conversation flowed easily as you both eagerly dug into the appetizers. The tension and nerves from earlier seemed to melt away entirely as you shared bites of food and laughed at small jokes. The restaurant had a cozy atmosphere, with soft lighting that gave the table an intimate glow, making everything feel even more relaxed.

You giggled, trying to hold in your laughter as you chewed, but it was no use. Spencer had said something funny just as you took a bite, and now you were covering your mouth with your hand, laughing through the food. Spencer immediately looked apologetic, his eyes wide as he realized his timing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, chuckling nervously, his hand halfway raised like he was ready to help in some way. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh while you were eating!”

You waved him off with your free hand, still laughing softly as you swallowed your food. “It’s okay, really,” you assured him once you could speak, your voice light with amusement. “It was worth it.”

Spencer grinned, a little sheepishly but clearly relieved that you weren’t bothered. “I’ll have to work on my comedic timing,” he said playfully, leaning back in his chair as he watched you, clearly enjoying the easy flow of your conversation.

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. It was the kind of dinner where nothing had to be perfect for it to feel just right. Everything between you and Spencer felt natural—funny, even in the smallest moments.

You stretched your legs out under the table, completely unaware of Spencer’s position, and grazed his shin with your foot. Spencer jolted slightly, his body reacting immediately to the unexpected touch. His brow quirked up, and he gave you a playful look.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me?" he asked, pretending to sound scandalized, though the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips gave him away.

You burst into laughter, immediately throwing your hands up in mock surrender. "I promise I wasn’t!" you said, still giggling. "I was just stretching my legs!"

Spencer narrowed his eyes at you in mock suspicion, pretending to glare as if he didn’t believe a word of it. "Likely story, Red," he teased, using your intimate nickname with ease.

Hearing him call you "Red" sent a warmth straight to your heart. It had been so long since anyone other than your aunt had used that name, and the way Spencer said it felt special, like a quiet understanding between the two of you. You grinned, feeling that warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m innocent, I swear!" you laughed, leaning forward slightly, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Spencer held your gaze for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. "I’ll let it slide this time," he said, his voice light but filled with a quiet fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

The dinner had gone off without a hitch, and Spencer, walking beside you under the soft glow of the streetlights, couldn’t even remember why he had been so nervous in the first place. The evening had been perfect—easy, comfortable, and filled with laughter. He found himself entirely at ease around you, more than he had been with anyone in a long time.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, your arm occasionally brushing against his, you made small talk, keeping the conversation light and fun. Spencer listened intently, smiling at your stories, hanging on to every word, though you noticed that he still hadn’t shared all that much about himself. You figured he had his reasons, and you weren’t going to push. He seemed too genuine, too kind-hearted, for it to be anything more than him needing time.

For now, you were content to share bits of your life with him—telling stories about your childhood, your adventures in college, and the silly moments that had shaped you. You spoke about your aunt, and how much she had meant to you growing up. Spencer’s eyes softened as he listened, clearly enjoying every word you spoke.

"You sound like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Spencer said with a smile as you finished a story about sneaking into your college library late at night for secret study sessions with your friends.

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. "Adventurous might be a bit of an overstatement, but I definitely wasn’t the most well-behaved."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can’t imagine you being anything but well-behaved."

You grinned at him, loving the way he teased you with that gentle humor of his. "You’d be surprised."

He seemed content to let you lead the conversation, and though he didn’t say much about his own past, you could tell that he was listening to every detail you shared. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it felt as though he was genuinely absorbing everything about you, like he wanted to know you better, but in his own quiet way.

When the two of you finally made your way back to the restaurant, where Spencer’s car was parked, he offered you a ride home. His thoughtfulness made you smile, but once again, you politely declined, explaining that you didn’t mind walking.

However, Spencer’s expression immediately shifted, his brow furrowing in concern as he quickly launched into crime statistics about women walking alone at night. His detailed knowledge on the subject was impressive, but it also sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You couldn’t help but ask, "Why do you know so much about that?"

His response came with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I, uh, I work for the FBI. I deal with a lot of crimes.” His words were quick, almost bashful, as though he wasn’t used to dropping that kind of bombshell in casual conversation.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the pieces clicked into place—the secrecy, the knowledge, it all made sense now. "Oh!" you exclaimed, relief washing over you. "Thank god, I was afraid you had experience in kidnapping or something."

Spencer laughed, clearly caught off guard by your reaction. He was so used to people being either overly impressed or intensely curious when they learned about his job, but your response was different—humorous, almost relieved.

"No, no," he assured you, pulling out his badge to prove his innocence, still chuckling. "Nothing like that."

You leaned in to get a better look at the badge, your fingers briefly brushing over the picture. Your eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh my goodness," you said, grinning up at him. "You look like a little baby in this!"

Spencer flushed slightly, laughing awkwardly. "Well, I was 22 when that was taken," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I’m 30 now… maybe I should retake it."

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "No," you said, your voice affectionate. "I like it. It still looks like you, just more… innocent."

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your expression so warm and kind. He wasn’t used to being seen like that, not after years of working in the field, seeing the worst of humanity. But in that moment, you saw him—not as a brilliant FBI agent, but as Spencer, the person. And he liked that more than he could put into words.

He gave you a shy smile in return, slipping the badge back into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said softly, genuinely appreciating your words.

You nodded slightly, unsure of how to navigate the next moment. It seemed like the night was coming to a natural end, and you didn’t quite know how to say goodbye without feeling like you were cutting it short.

“Wait, Y/N,” Spencer said suddenly, his hand gently catching your arm. There was a soft urgency in his voice, like he wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end either. “I can’t let you walk home alone. Please, at least let me walk you.”

You laughed, partly at the irony and partly at his genuine concern. “Oh, well, you see,” you began, biting your lip as you explained, “I didn’t want you to know where I lived, you know, just in case you were dangerous.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by your honesty, but you quickly followed it up with a lighthearted smile.

“But,” you continued, glancing down at your shoes with a playful sigh, “seeing as you’re probably my safest option, I would love a ride home. These shoes are starting to hurt.”

Spencer’s expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and amusement. “Oh,” he smiled, clearly trying not to laugh at the situation. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I passed the safety test.”

You chuckled, grateful for Spencer’s warmth and understanding as he quickly unlocked his car, holding the door open for you like the gentleman he was. “I promise I’m just your FBI chauffeur for the evening,” he said with a playful grin. “No funny business involved.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you felt more comfortable now, letting yourself sink into the soft interior of the car. “I should hope there will be some funny business,” you teased back with a grin.

Spencer laughed as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat, his smile still lingering as he started the engine. “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” he shot back, a hint of playful banter in his voice.

You smiled to yourself, remembering the playful back-and-forth from the first night at the bar. “Oh, I’m lucky, alright,” you teased, letting your words hang in the air.

The conversation during the drive was light and easy, flowing naturally as you both learned more about each other. Spencer shared bits about his life—how he was from Las Vegas, how he’d been a child prodigy, finishing school at an age when most were still navigating adolescence. You revealed more about yourself too, that you were 25 and had just moved to Quantico a month ago. It was the most you’d learned about him so far, and your heart soared with the thought that maybe he was starting to feel more comfortable with you, letting those initial walls down just a little.

When the conversation turned to your age, Spencer let out a visible sigh of relief, as you had teasingly implied you were only 18 when he initially brought up his own youth. You giggled at his obvious relief, knowing he had been worried.

As you both stepped out of the car, Spencer opened the door for you once more, a habit that hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was then that you saw your cat, Poof, sitting in the window, his eyes staring down at the scene below.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his eyes following your gaze.

You smiled, proud as always of your feline friend. “That’s Poof,” you said, your voice warm. “My boy.”

Spencer turned to face you, and for the first time, he seemed to muster the courage to place his hands on your waist, the touch gentle but deliberate. His fingertips pressed lightly against your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a playful, sultry look. “I hope it’s not time for that funny business,” you said softly, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Poof is watching.”

Spencer’s soft laugh filled the quiet evening air, his voice slightly teasing as he said, “Can you ask him to look away? I’d like to kiss you.”

You rubbed your chin, pretending to think it over, drawing out the moment. “Hmm, I guess I could try.” You turned your head over your shoulder and called up to your cat, “Hey, Poof?”

Poof perked up in the open window, his eyes locking onto yours, and he let out a questioning meow.

“Can you look away, baby?” you continued, your voice playful. “Mommy’s going to do something naughty.”

Spencer immediately flushed at your words, his cheeks turning a deep pink as he laughed nervously, clearly caught off guard by your teasing. Poof, seemingly understanding the moment, let out one more meow before hopping down from the windowsill, likely heading toward the front door to meet you inside. Whether he truly understood or just wanted to meet you, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same: the two of you now had privacy.

You turned back to Spencer with a smile, feeling the playful energy shift into something more intimate. With Poof gone, the evening air felt still, and you reached your hands into Spencer’s hair. Spencer, still slightly flustered but unable to hide his excitement, leaned in. His hands remained gently on your waist, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your heart race.

Slowly, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the world seeming to quiet around you as everything else faded. It was gentle, tentative, and cozy, his lips pillow soft and sweet. Spencer kissed you like he was savoring every second, as if this moment meant more than he could put into words.

When you finally pulled back from the kiss, your noses still brushing lightly, the moment reminded you of a scene straight out of Lady and the Tramp. Spencer’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips still curved in a soft smile, clearly affected by the kiss. He exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, “I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

The sincerity of his words hit you like a warm breeze, melting your heart into a puddle. But as much as you felt overwhelmed with happiness, your expression must not have mirrored what you were feeling inside, because Spencer’s smile faltered slightly. He was quick to backtrack, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

“Oh no, was that too much? Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry,” he stammered, his nervousness suddenly replacing the confidence he'd gained earlier. He was clearly afraid he had said something to ruin the perfect moment, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You shook your head gently, biting your lip as you looked up at him. There was a newfound shyness in your gaze, an almost vulnerable expression that hadn’t been there before. "Just... please mean it," you whispered, your voice soft, your heart racing as you waited for his response.

Spencer’s eyes softened instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, like a silent reminder he wasn’t going anywhere. “I do,” he said, his voice low but firm.

Hearing those words, a slow, sweet smile spread across your face, and the warmth in your chest bloomed into something even bigger. You felt seen, appreciated, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were in your own little world—just you, Spencer, and the quiet glow of the night.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

Spencer’s nervousness melted away in that instant, replaced by pure relief and something that felt like hope. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and everything felt right. No more hesitation, no more second-guessing—just the feeling of being exactly where you both wanted to be.

—

Spencer Reid had never truly been in love before—not in the way people described it, that overwhelming rush of emotions, the constant thoughts about someone else filling your mind. But as he sat in his apartment later that night, thinking about you, he was almost certain that this—whatever he was feeling—was love. The way his heart skipped a beat just thinking about your smile, how his palms had been sweaty before your kiss, how you had effortlessly made him feel like the most important person in the world.

Still, Spencer was Spencer—his mind always searching for logical explanations, grounded in facts and science. He knew that love was largely chemical, that the brain released dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, making people feel giddy and euphoric. And he also knew, from one of the countless facts stored in his mind, that both chocolate—and oddly enough, peas—could stimulate the release of similar hormones, mimicking the sensation of love.

So, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he decided to conduct an experiment.

The next day, he went out to buy both chocolate and peas—determined to see if those foods could recreate even a fraction of the feelings you stirred in him. He figured that if it was purely chemical, those foods should make him feel the same warmth, the same fluttering excitement in his chest.

He got home, spread out the chocolate and peas on his kitchen table, and hesitated for a moment. Was he really doing this? Testing whether his feelings for you were real or just his brain tricking him? He almost laughed at how absurd it all seemed.

But, he pushed forward, nibbling on some chocolate first. He waited, focusing on his body’s reactions. There was a slight rush—sweet and satisfying—but no butterflies, no pounding heart. Then he moved on to the peas, knowing they were supposed to have similar effects on the brain's chemistry. But after a handful of peas, he only felt... like someone who had just eaten peas. There was no spark, no overwhelming sense of joy.

Spencer sat back in his chair, staring at the empty plates, and let out a soft laugh. The experiment, while amusing, had proven what he already suspected: his feelings for you weren’t something he could replicate with food. They were something much deeper—something entirely unique to you.

The thought filled him with a sense of peace, and in that moment, he realized that what he was feeling was real. He didn’t need science or logic to confirm it—he just knew.

And as he closed his eyes, picturing your smile, he knew that love was the only thing that could explain the way he felt when he was around you.

—

"Alright, pretty boy, let’s hear it!" Derek clapped his hands together, rubbing them with an exaggerated sense of excitement as Spencer returned from the break room, coffee in hand.

Spencer paused mid-sip, his wide eyes blinking behind his cup, brows raised as if he hadn’t the faintest idea what Derek was referring to. “Hear it?”

Of course, he knew exactly what Derek meant. The date. But a small part of him—maybe a larger part than he cared to admit—wanted to keep you to himself, at least for a little while longer. His team already knew so much about him, and this, well, this was different. This was special.

Derek wasn’t having any of it. He narrowed his eyes, giving Spencer a mock-glare. “Don’t play with me, kid. You went on that date, right?”

Before Spencer could even respond, Emily perked up from her desk, always eager for gossip when it came to her favorite awkward genius. “Oh yeah! How did it go?” she asked, leaning in, her face full of curiosity.

Spencer sighed, setting his coffee down on his desk with a soft clink. He wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. He tried to keep his face neutral, his body language calm, but the memories of the evening—the walk under the streetlights, your playful banter, and that kiss—flooded his mind, making it hard not to smile.

"It went... very well," he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Derek wasn’t convinced by Spencer’s attempt at subtlety. “That’s it? Very well?" he repeated, mocking Spencer’s impassive tone. "Come on, man. You’ve gotta give us more than that.”

Emily leaned forward even more, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, spill! Did she like you? Did you kiss her?"

Spencer could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to show in his cheeks. He could lie, brush it off, or keep it vague, but he knew his team better than that. They wouldn’t let it go. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to give them every detail.

"Yes, we kissed," he said, avoiding their wide-eyed stares. He could practically feel Emily and Derek’s eyes burning into him. "And yes, I think she liked me."

"Whoa!" Derek exclaimed, slapping his hand on the desk in excitement. "Look at you, Romeo!"

Emily was grinning now, clearly thrilled with this development. “Oh my God, you’re finally seeing someone. I knew this was going to be good!”

Spencer shifted in his chair, trying to avoid the attention while hiding his smile behind his coffee. "It’s... still early," he said cautiously. "We’re going to see each other again, but I don’t want to rush things."

Derek chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No rush, man. Just enjoy it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling both overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and touched by their genuine happiness for him. As much as he had wanted to keep it to himself, there was something nice about sharing even this small piece of happiness with his team—his friends.

Still, in his mind, the best parts of the date were tucked away, memories meant just for him and you.

Just as Spencer was about to respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the bullpen. “Briefing room, five minutes,” he called, his tone all business as usual. But then, with a rare hint of amusement in his voice, Hotch added, “Congrats, Reid,” flashing a brief, smug smile before disappearing back into his office.

The team erupted into cheers and playful whops, their laughter filling the room. Derek gave Spencer a knowing nudge, grinning ear to ear, while Emily clapped her hands together in excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head at how quickly news spread in the BAU. He gathered his files, his coffee, and his thoughts, preparing for the case briefing.

As they made their way to the briefing room, Spencer found his thoughts drifting back to you. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, especially at work, but today, there was a lightness in his step, a quiet happiness that followed him.

No matter what the next case would bring, you were there in the back of his mind, a constant, sweet reminder of the night before. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer felt like he was allowed to have something personal, something good, to look forward to.

—

It had been a few days since your date with Spencer, and though you hadn’t seen each other since then, the excitement hadn’t faded. Every day, you and Spencer shared brief phone calls after work, recounting your days, each conversation leaving you both with a sense of comfort and anticipation. It was enough for now, enough to tide you over until the next time you could be together in person.

Spencer, however, had been cautious about texting you first. He was afraid of coming on too strong, not wanting to push if you weren’t ready. He longed to see you again, and he was planning to ask if you were free this weekend. But the fear of always making the first move held him back, making him hesitate. He wanted to know that you were just as invested, that you’d reach out too.

Before he could summon the courage to ask you out again, the BAU caught a case that took them out of town. Spencer wasn’t sure what the protocol was for this kind of thing—how much should he let you know? It wasn’t like you were officially together, but at the same time, he didn’t want to just disappear without a word.

He decided to wait for your usual nightly call and tell you then, hoping the timing wouldn’t be off, worried that he might miss the window if things got too chaotic. A part of him secretly hoped you’d make the first move and call him tonight—an assurance that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

As the day stretched into evening, the team found themselves in a stuffy precinct in Arizona, dealing with an uncooperative local police department. The frustration levels were high, and Spencer was barely holding onto his patience with an especially difficult sheriff. Just as he was about to lose his cool, his phone rang.

Relieved for the distraction, Spencer pulled it out without thinking, assuming it was Garcia checking in with some intel. He answered with a weary sigh. “What’s up, Garcia?”

There was a brief pause before your voice came through the line, hesitant and uncertain. “Um, hi?”

Spencer’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His heart leaped in his chest, excitement bubbling up at the fact that you had called him. But it was quickly followed by a wave of embarrassment as he realized his mistake. “Y/N! Hi!” he blurted out, his voice filled with a mix of apology and enthusiasm.

“Expecting someone else?” you teased, but he could hear the slight edge of insecurity in your voice, making his stomach twist with guilt.

“No, no, I’m so sorry,” Spencer rushed to explain, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall of the precinct, trying to escape the noise and tension around him. “I’ve been dealing with this case, and I just—well, I thought it was a work call. I didn’t look at the caller ID. But I’m really glad you called.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Spencer held his breath, hoping he hadn’t ruined this. He desperately wanted you to know that you calling meant more to him than he could say.

After a moment, you spoke again, your tone softening. “It’s okay, I figured you were busy.”

“I am,” Spencer admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I would never be too busy to talk to you.”

Rossi happened to overhear the exchange between Spencer and you. Though the older agent smiled with quiet amusement and joy for the young genius, he refrained from teasing him. This was a rare moment for Spencer, and Rossi respected that.

On the other end of the line, you giggled softly, your voice light and teasing. “Never too busy for me?” you repeated, playfully emphasizing the words. “That’s quite the line, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his face warm even more, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Mhm, you know me, smooth talker extraordinaire," he replied, his voice soft but playful.

Your laughter echoed through the phone, sending a wave of warmth over Spencer. He couldn't help the huge smile that spread across his face. There was something about making you laugh that filled him with an indescribable joy.

On the other side of the room, Hotch overheard the exchange. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over at Rossi. “Did Reid just use sarcasm?”

Rossi nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "I think the kid’s in love."

While they observed, you continued telling Spencer a story about Poof. "Oh, and today Poof scared a little kid into dropping their ice cream when he meowed from the window," you said with a giggle. "The poor thing was so startled. I ended up running downstairs with a popsicle from my freezer to make up for it."

As you laughed, recounting the moment, Spencer's heart swelled at the thought of your kindness. His mind briefly wandered to the idea of you as a mother, imagining you with a little one on your hip, comforting them with that same gentle warmth. And, to his own surprise, the thought of you being the mother of his children crossed his mind, and it didn’t scare him—it made his heart race in the best way possible.

He shook the thought away, trying to focus on the present, but it lingered, a sweet hope tucked away for the future.

"That's... really sweet of you," he said softly, his voice full of admiration. "That kid’s lucky you were there. I’m sure Poof didn’t feel too guilty, though."

You laughed again, the sound sending Spencer into another moment of quiet happiness. "Nope, he was pretty proud of himself."

Spencer chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days despite the tension of the case. Just hearing your voice, your stories, made everything feel a little easier.

—

After the team wrapped up the case and stepped off the jet, Spencer’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw your name lighting up the screen. A soft smile spread across his face as he read the message.

Fly safe :) Come around to mine after you’re settled? I have a surprise!

His heart fluttered at the thought of you preparing something special for him. After the tension and exhaustion of the last few days, knowing that you had gone out of your way to plan a cozy night in for him made his chest warm with appreciation. He could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up his pace, eager to see you.

As he sped through the BAU offices, Derek’s voice echoed behind him, laced with amusement. “Got somewhere important to be, pretty boy?”

Spencer didn’t even slow down, not bothering to stop by his desk or respond to Derek’s teasing. He was too focused on getting home, quickly freshening up, and heading straight to you. He had been looking forward to seeing you since the moment your text had come through. The idea of spending the evening unwinding in your presence—feeling the comfort you always brought—was all he wanted after this stressful case.

Once home, he quickly showered and changed into something more relaxed but still nice. The thought of you, the surprise you had planned, fueled his every movement. His mind buzzed with anticipation, wondering what you could possibly have in store.

Soon enough, he found himself standing outside your door, the night air cool but carrying a sense of warmth knowing you were just on the other side. Spencer took a deep breath, knocked softly, and smiled to himself. Whatever the surprise, he knew this night would be perfect just because he’d get to spend it with you.

As you opened the door, your heart swelled with affection the moment you laid eyes on Spencer. He looked so relaxed, dressed down in a casual red sweatshirt, something you hadn't seen him wear before. It made him look more approachable, more... himself. And to top it all off, he was wearing red—a color you were more than familiar with.

“Trying to steal my look?” you teased with a playful grin, your tone lighthearted.

Spencer, however, found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to shoot back a quick, witty reply—keep up with your usual banter—but the sight of you in those shorts, your legs fully exposed, completely derailed his train of thought. His brain short-circuited for a moment, distracted by how stunning you looked in such a casual outfit.

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, trying to regain his composure. "I—uh—yeah, I guess great minds think alike," he finally managed to say, though his voice was a little breathless.

You caught the way his gaze lingered a bit longer than usual, and it only fueled your affection for him. There was something incredibly endearing about the way Spencer, usually so articulate and brilliant, could be rendered speechless by the simplest things about you.

“Well, I think you look cute,” you added, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to focus on your words rather than how much he wanted to reach out and touch you. “You look... amazing,” he said, his voice genuine, the distraction momentarily fading as his gaze softened.

“Come on, space-cadet, step inside the spaceship,” you teased, giggling as you made room for Spencer to step inside your cozy, inviting home.

Spencer smiled, still somewhat in awe of you and how effortlessly comfortable you made him feel. He let you take his hand, your fingers lacing together as you guided him through the charming kitchen and into the warm, welcoming living room. The soft glow of the lamps, the greenery, and the sense of warmth that filled the space made it feel like a perfect sanctuary after the long, stressful days he’d had.

"So… I hope it’s not too much," you began, swinging your linked hands back and forth gently, clearly a little nervous. "But I, uh, rented some movies and made some food." Your voice softened as you continued, your gaze meeting his with a hopeful glint. "I thought we could just cuddle and hang out?"

Spencer's heart swelled at your thoughtfulness. The idea of a simple, cozy night in with you, far away from the chaos of work, was exactly what he needed. He could already feel the tension from the case melting away as he stood in your warm, peaceful space. The fact that you had gone out of your way to make him feel cared for, even without saying much, meant everything.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "That sounds perfect," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “Thank you… for doing all this. You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged with a playful smile, pulling Spencer toward the couch. “I wanted to. You deserve a break. And... selfishly, I really wanted to see you.”

Spencer’s heart swelled in his chest, and he had to wonder if it was healthy for his heart to be beating this rapidly, this often. “Thank god,” he said dramatically, bending at the knees a bit for comedic effect, enhancing his performance. “Because I was really starting to miss you.”

You crinkled your nose in affection, finding his antics utterly adorable. Leaning up, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “We’re going to be that disgusting couple everyone hates to be around, aren’t we?” you teased, a playful gleam in your eyes.

That’s when Spencer swore his heart stopped altogether. His brain short-circuited as he replayed your words in his mind. Couple? Could this be real? His pulse quickened, and he suddenly felt like his chest was too small for his heart.

“Couple?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement and just a hint of disbelief. He looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out without much thought. For a moment, you panicked, unsure of whether you had moved too fast or if Spencer was even ready for that. “I—uh... I didn’t mean to say that,” you stammered, feeling the nerves bubbling up. “But... is that okay?”

Spencer’s expression softened instantly. His eyes were still wide, but now filled with something warm, something deeper than mere excitement. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tender hug, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It’s more than okay,” he whispered, his voice slightly shaky from the rush of emotions flooding through him. “I… I’d really like that.”

You laughed softly, relief washing over you as you melted into his arms. “Me too,” you whispered back, your hands wrapping around his back, holding him close. The tension that had built up between you moments ago dissolved into something tender, something warm and reassuring.

After a few beats, Spencer pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his smile small but full of meaning. “So… we’re that disgusting couple now, huh?”

You giggled, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “Looks like it,” you teased, your voice light, yet filled with affection.

Spencer chuckled, unable to stop smiling, the realization of what this meant finally settling into his mind. This was real—you were real—and the connection between the two of you was deepening in ways he hadn’t even anticipated.

And there, in that cozy living room, something beautiful had started to bloom, and neither of you could be happier.

Of course, that was until you playfully pushed Spencer down onto the couch, the unexpected movement making him let out a surprised laugh. You leaned over him, your lips finding his, and kissed him with a fervor that made his heart skip several beats. His hands instinctively found your waist, holding onto you as you kissed him silly.

Every time your lips met, Spencer’s mind grew foggier, lost in the warmth and softness of your touch. His usual articulate thoughts were reduced to nothing more than pure sensation, and in that moment, he was utterly and completely yours.

But then, when you shifted, your hips settling down on his lap, and ground yourself against him, a low gasp escaped his lips. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and he swore he was through the roof with happiness. His pulse was racing, his mind spinning, and yet, all he could think about was how perfect this felt—how perfect you felt.

A breathless laugh escaped him between kisses as he looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes. “I think,” he said, his voice ragged from the emotions swirling inside him, “this might actually kill me.”

You giggled against his lips, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Good,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him again, your movements deliberate and full of affection. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you survive.”

When your tongue traced along Spencer’s bottom lip, he knew he was in trouble—there was no way he was going to survive this, and, really, he was okay with that. But as the intensity of the moment grew, something shifted inside him. He didn’t want you doing all the work, didn’t want to just be the one melting under your touch. No, he wanted to return the favor.

“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice low and filled with need as you sucked on his tongue, causing him to let out a deep, involuntary moan. The sound echoed in the room, making the moment feel even more electric.

Before you could continue, Spencer gently pushed you back, his hands still steady on your waist. “I want—” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath, his heart racing. “I want to… please you this time.” His voice trembled slightly, the desire in his words clear.

You paused, gazing down at him with surprise and affection, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, feeling the shift in the air between you. There was something deeply intimate in Spencer’s request, in the way he wanted to take care of you.

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers tracing light, almost reverent patterns along your skin as he held your gaze. “Please,” he added softly, his voice now filled with a quiet determination.

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sincerity of his words made your heart race in response. You smiled down at him, leaning in close so your lips barely brushed his. “Okay,” you whispered, giving him a soft, reassuring kiss. “Whatever you want, Spencer.”

Spencer gently shifted your positions, moving you onto your back as he settled between your legs, his body hovering just above yours. You giggled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you wiggled your eyebrows playfully. “Hello, handsome.”

Spencer smiled down at you, a warmth blooming in his chest at how effortlessly playful and sweet you always were. “Hey, gorgeous,” he breathed out, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to kiss you again, slow and deep, savoring every moment.

This time, his hands were braced beside your head, supporting his weight as he kissed you. Your fingers traced soft, lazy patterns along his back, the gentleness of your touch contrasting with the intensity building between you.

But then, Spencer lowered his hips, grinding down into yours, and the sensation sent a shockwave through you. You couldn’t stop the high-pitched keen that escaped your throat, your fingers instantly digging deeper into his back, your body responding to him with a need that left you breathless.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his gaze heated as he looked down at you, his breathing ragged. “Did you like that?” he asked, his voice husky, thick with a genuine curiosity—but the way he asked it, the rough edge in his tone, made your heart race and your blood pressure spike.

You nodded, your breaths coming out in shallow, excited gasps. “Y-yeah,” you managed to breathe out, the simple action of speaking feeling overwhelming with the way he was looking at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him right now.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, but this time his hips didn’t stop moving, rolling into yours with deliberate, teasing pressure that made you arch up into him, craving more.

With each roll of his hips, Spencer was more determined to make sure you felt everything, his quiet confidence growing as he watched the way your body responded to him. The playful teasing from earlier had transformed into something much deeper, more intimate, and as his hands roamed your body, he knew that this—being with you like this—was something he wanted to experience again and again.

“Spence, ungh,” you whined, your voice shaky as pleasure coursed through you. “Spencer, this—this feels so good.” Your words stuttered out as Spencer’s lips trailed warm kisses down the length of your neck, making you arch into him, but something inside you told you it could feel even better. “Can I… move you?”

Spencer paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Move me?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

You nodded, your breath still coming out in shallow bursts. “If you were situated a little more to the left… you’d hit perfectly.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, the realization dawning on him. “Oh!” He laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and understanding, as his face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Of course.”

He braced himself as your hand went into his pants, repositioning just the way you needed, his hands still braced on either side of your head as his body moved into place. And when he pressed down into you again, the sensation hit in a way that had your back arching and a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“That better?” he asked, his voice low, and though the question was genuine, there was an underlying heat in his tone that sent sparks flying through your veins.

Your only response was a breathless nod, your hands clinging to his back, your nails digging into Spencer’s back as he moved just the way you had asked. The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and it was all you could do to nod frantically, your breath catching in your throat as he pressed deeper.

"That’s it," Spencer murmured, his voice laced with both awe and desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good." His words only heightened the moment, sending a shiver down your spine as his hips continued their slow, deliberate movement against yours.

The tension in your body built with each roll of his hips, and every breathless whimper you made only spurred him on. Spencer's usually calm, thoughtful demeanor had melted away, replaced by something more primal, more intense. Yet, there was still something so gentle about him, like he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

You tilted your head back, giving him more access to your neck as he resumed placing kisses there, each one sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Spencer," you gasped out his name, your voice trembling with need. "Don’t stop."

His lips curved into a small, pleased smile against your skin. “I won’t,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. Spencer moved again, his body aligned with yours in perfect harmony now, and the sensation made you gasp out loud, your back arching off the couch as his name fell from your lips in a desperate moan.

He watched your every reaction with fascination, his gaze full of warmth and desire. “Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with the same yearning coursing through him. “I’ll give it to you.”

The intensity of his words, combined with the way his body moved against yours, was overwhelming in the best possible way. You felt your grip tighten on his back, nails dragging lightly against his skin as the pressure built between you both.

Your breath hitched again, every nerve in your body sparking with sensation. "Just like that, Spence," you managed to gasp out, your body trembling with anticipation.

And Spencer, ever attentive, ever caring, gave you exactly what you needed, his movements steady and sure as he took you closer and closer to the edge.

Spencer’s eyes were filled with awe as he watched you, the intensity of your expression sending a rush of pride and arousal through him. "Are you going to finish?" he asked deeply, his voice tinged with both excitement and lust, clearly captivated by the way you were responding to him.

But as much as you loved the feeling of him against you, you knew that you needed something more to actually reach that peak. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing anything wrong, because he wasn’t—everything felt amazing. You just needed a little extra.

Shaking your head slightly, you met his gaze, feeling a little shy but determined to be honest. "Um, no," you admitted, your voice soft but clear. "Spence, I’m going to need something more..."

His eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on him, and he immediately slowed down, his expression one of care and attentiveness. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of nothing but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted. Spencer was nothing if not eager to please, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t giving you what you deserved.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but you pushed through the nervousness. "I just need more… contact," you said, your voice trembling a little, but you held his gaze, knowing that Spencer was the kind of person who wouldn’t judge you for asking. "Maybe your hands... or your mouth?"

The moment you said it, Spencer’s eyes darkened with understanding and desire, and he nodded quickly. "I can do that," he said, his voice now rougher, the edge of excitement clear in his tone. Without hesitation, he adjusted himself, his hands sliding down your body with deliberate care, his fingertips brushing lightly over your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Tell me how," he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure it feels good."

You nodded quickly, your lips brushing against Spencer’s as you whispered, “Touch me, please.” The desperation in your voice sent a rush of heat through him, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at how the roles had reversed. You were the one who was a mess now, needing his touch, and he found it both endearing and exciting.

But Spencer wasn’t one to leave you waiting—he was far too much of a gentleman for that. He wanted to make sure you felt every bit of pleasure you deserved. His hands moved with purpose, pushing your tiny shorts and underwear down as far as they could go in your current position, the fabric bunching up around your thighs.

His fingers hesitated just for a second, brushing lightly over the coarse hair, testing the waters as he sought your reaction. The moment his fingertips made contact with your lips, you let out a soft gasp, your body arching slightly, seeking more of his touch.

Spencer’s gaze flicked back to your face, watching your reaction closely, a mixture of curiosity and admiration in his eyes. He loved how responsive you were to him, how honest your body was in its need. Slowly, gently, his fingers traced lower, gliding through the wet heat of your skin, exploring with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Like this?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath as his fingers found your most sensitive spot, circling your clit with deliberate care and pressure. He wanted to make sure he was doing it just right, watching for every little tell that told him you were enjoying this.

Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you nodded, unable to form words in that moment. Spencer, always attentive, took your reaction as the encouragement he needed and continued, his movements slow but precise, building the tension inside you with every stroke of his hand.

As your body responded to his touch, the quiet sounds of your pleasure filled the space between you, and Spencer’s heart swelled with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours with a renewed sense of purpose as his fingers continued their steady rhythm, determined to give you exactly what you needed.

You were quickly becoming undone beneath him, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you. Spencer could feel it too, the way your breathing quickened, the way your hips subtly lifted to meet his hand. And in that moment, all that mattered was making sure you felt as good as you possibly could.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips, his voice soft but full of awe. "Just let go, Y/N. I've got you."

Spencer's deep voice, laced with desire and tenderness, sent waves of heat coursing through you, and when you whined, your voice high and breathless, "Harder, faster, I'm so close," it was all he needed to hear.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as his fingers immediately responded to your plea, pressing harder, moving faster. His focus was entirely on you, on making sure you got exactly what you needed. His lips brushed against your temple as his fingers worked you over, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing lightly.

"Like this?" he murmured, his voice rough with concentration, the husky edge to it sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched as you gasped out, barely able to hold yourself together. "Yes, yes, right there!" The sensation built inside you with a blinding intensity, every nerve in your body alight as Spencer's fingers moved expertly, just how you needed.

He watched your face, utterly captivated by how you were unraveling beneath him, your body trembling with need, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His fingers pressed even harder, his movements precise and relentless as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," he whispered softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Let go for me, Y/N."

That was all it took. Spencer’s deep voice, the way his fingers worked your body, the tension that had been building—it all came crashing down at once. You let out a sharp cry, your body arching into his as the overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over you, your muscles tightening, then releasing in sweet relief.

Spencer slowed his movements as you rode out the high, his hand still gently moving against you, guiding you through the aftershocks. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft words of praise and affection as you came down from the blissful peak.

"That's it," Spencer whispered, his voice low and tender, filled with awe as he looked down at you. "Wow. You’re so beautiful."

He sat back on his knees, needing to take in the full sight of you beneath him, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of admiration. What he saw made his heart race—your flushed face, damp with sweat, your hair slightly stuck to your forehead, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. The rolls of your tummy from the way you lay on the couch only made you more irresistible to him.

But what really caught Spencer’s attention was the wet spot beneath you, a clear indication of just how much you had enjoyed yourself. His eyes trailed up slowly, following the evidence of your release until they landed on the source of that wetness, the sight making something primal stir inside him.

He couldn’t help himself—his hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch you again, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive, soaked skin. The temptation was too strong, and before he could think about it, his fingers slipped inside you.

You flinched, your body jerking in a mix of oversensitivity and surprise. "S-Spence, wait—" you gasped, your hands grabbing onto his forearm, trying to find something to hold onto as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Spencer froze immediately, his wide eyes snapping up to meet yours. "Sorry!" he blurted out, his voice filled with concern. "I didn’t mean to—are you okay?"

You nodded quickly, your breath still catching in your throat. "Yeah, yeah... just sensitive." You smiled at him softly, appreciating his eagerness and concern, though your body was still recovering from the intensity of the high he had just given you.

Spencer smiled down at you, his lips soft and warm as he leaned in to kiss you gently. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and husky, though there was a hint of teasing in his tone.

You took a few more deep breaths, your chest rising and falling quickly as your body calmed, but there was no way in hell you’d ever ask him to stop—not when he was making you feel like this. Shaking your head, you looked up at him, a playful glint in your eyes despite the lingering sensitivity. "Absolutely not," you whispered breathlessly.

Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfaction and mischief dancing across his features. "Didn’t think so," he murmured, clearly pleased with your response. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips felt against his fingers resumed their mission.

His touch was gentler now, coaxing rather than demanding, and the feeling of his fingers moving slowly inside you after you just finished made you shudder, your body responding instantly despite the intensity you had just experienced.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Spencer whispered against your lips, his voice a soft promise, but there was an unmistakable eagerness in his tone. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep making you feel this way, but only if you were ready.

You nodded, your heart racing again as you gave him the permission he was looking for. "I will," you promised, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, holding onto him as his touch sent more sparks of pleasure through you.

And with that, Spencer’s fingers picked up their rhythm again, slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

“I—I won’t come like this,” you managed to gasp out as Spencer’s fingers sped up once again, the sensation intense but not quite enough to push you over the edge.

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes locked on where his hand was working its magic between your legs. The sound of his voice, low and comforting, sent another wave of warmth through you. “That’s okay, darling,” he said, his words dripping with affection and adoration. “I just wanted to feel you.”

The way he said it—so sincere, so captivated by you—made your breath catch, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers. You groaned, the sensation shooting straight through your core, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t expected.

Spencer noticed your reaction, his smirk growing as his fingers continued to move, sliding in and out of you with steady precision. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I love the way you feel around me,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

His words, the way his fingers kept you on edge without letting you tip over—it was driving you wild. Even if you couldn’t reach your release like this, the sheer pleasure of having him touch you, of knowing how much he wanted to feel you, was enough to keep you completely captivated in the moment.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered back, “Keep going, please.”

Spencer grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he quickened the pace of his fingers just a little more, continuing to enjoy the way your body reacted to his every movement.

After Spencer had taken his fill, and you were far too sensitive to continue, you giggled, gently pushing him off as you sat up. You reached towards his waistband with a playful smile, teasing, “I can help the next customer now.”

But before you could get far, his hands caught yours, stopping you. When you looked up at him, you saw his face flushing pink, an adorably sheepish expression crossing his features. “I—uh, finished a long time ago,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost shy.

You blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. “What?” you asked, incredulous but deeply amused. “When?”

Spencer groaned, his face turning even redder as he leaned in, hiding in the crook of your neck. “When you did,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

Your eyes widened at the confession, a rush of heat pooling in your stomach as you processed what he said. "Fuck, that’s hot," you murmured, the thought of him finishing just from pleasuring you sending a fresh wave of excitement through your already sensitive body.

Spencer pulled back just enough to peek at you, his face still flushed, a mixture of surprise and bashful pride written across his features. “Really?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe that you’d find that sexy.

You nodded eagerly, your hands gently running up his chest as you leaned in closer. “Really,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Spencer exhaled a small laugh, clearly relieved and a little proud, the tension easing from his shoulders as he kissed you softly. Even though he had been shy about it, your reaction had made him feel comfortable.

After the intensity of the moment, you both excused yourselves to clean up, laughing softly as Spencer ended up borrowing a pair of your sweatpants. He wore them with a grin, clearly feeling more comfortable now. The two of you tidied up quickly, putting everything in order before settling back into the perfect evening you'd planned.

Before you knew it, your cozy movie night was underway, the two of you curled up on the couch together. The living room was warm and inviting, the soft glow from the screen casting gentle shadows around the room. Spencer's arms were wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest as you absentmindedly played with his curls. The sound of his breathing, steady and peaceful, combined with the soft hum of the movie in the background, made the entire evening feel even more intimate.

It wasn’t long before you felt the subtle weight of Spencer's body relaxing against yours, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. You smiled to yourself, your heart full as you gazed down at him. His face was peaceful, his usually intense expression softened by sleep, and you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have moments like this with him.

Gently, you nudged him awake just enough to move to your bedroom, guiding him carefully as he stirred. Spencer mumbled sleepily, still half-asleep as he followed you, reclaiming his hold on you as soon as you both slipped under the covers. His arms wrapped around you again, his body curling into yours instinctively as you both settled in for the night.

With his warmth surrounding you and the peaceful rhythm of his breathing lulling you, you quickly drifted off, the perfect ending to a night full of closeness and connection.

—

Spencer was incredibly content when he woke up to find his head once again pillowed by your chest. The quiet comfort of the moment filled him with warmth, his body relaxed and his mind at ease for what felt like the first time in ages. You were still asleep, your breathing soft and even, giving him a chance to truly admire your beauty without distraction.

He gently stroked your hair, letting his fingers run through the soft strands as he watched the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. Your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I am so lucky," he whispered softly to himself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

But then, he noticed a small, sleepy smile forming on your lips. Spencer paused, realizing you were pretending to be asleep. He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation as he gazed down at you. “I just hope she doesn’t look me up on the internet… she'd find my porno…”

Your eyes popped open immediately, and you sat up with a start, your voice full of shock and amusement. "What?!"

Spencer couldn’t hold back his laugh, his cheeks flushing a bit as he tried to stifle it with his hand. "I’m kidding!" he said quickly, grinning at the horrified look on your face. "It’s just a joke."

You stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter yourself, smacking his chest playfully. "Don’t scare me like that! I almost believed you!"

Spencer chuckled, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Sorry, sorry. You were just too cute pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing, but you couldn’t help the warm feeling in your chest at how playful and lighthearted Spencer was with you. “I’ll have to keep my guard up now,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Good idea,” Spencer said, smiling into the kiss. “Though I promise, no more fake confessions. Just real ones.”

"Better not," you warned playfully, your smile soft as you settled back into the warmth of his embrace, the both of you falling back into that easy, affectionate comfort.

You traced lazy patterns on Spencer’s chest, your fingertips lightly grazing his skin as you asked, “What would I find if I looked you up, really?”

Spencer sighed softly, clearly thinking it over for a moment before answering. "Some peer reviews, research articles, child prodigy stuff, and, uh… probably some news stories from the BAU."

The mention of the BAU caught you off guard. “BAU?” you asked, your voice holding a slight edge of nervousness. You knew Spencer worked for the FBI, but he hadn’t gone into much detail about it.

Spencer, misinterpreting the nervous tone in your voice, mistook it for confusion. “Oh, sorry, the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he explained casually, not yet realizing the weight of what he was revealing. “It’s the part of the FBI where I work. We profile and catch serial killers, violent criminals, kidnappers… you know, things like that.”

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sounds scary.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers lightly brushing through your hair. “But it’s really rewarding too. It’s sweet that you seem concerned.”

You laughed lightly, trying to shake off the lingering nerves. “Yeah,” you said, your tone warmer now as you tried to ease the tension. “Don’t want my boyfriend being in danger.”

The word had slipped out so naturally, but as soon as Spencer picked up on it, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “Boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice practically buzzing with joy. “You called me your boyfriend.”

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth of his reaction settle your nerves. “Well, aren’t you?” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

Spencer’s face lit up, his expression one of pure adoration. “God, I hope so,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and happiness. His arms wrapped around you a little tighter as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening but didn’t want to let go of the moment.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the soft hum of affection that flowed between you both. “Then kiss me,” you murmured against his lips. “Boyfriend.”

Spencer chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it.” His voice was filled with genuine emotion, as though this moment meant more to him than he could fully express.

You smiled, nuzzling into him, feeling more at home than ever.

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wolverigrl · 3 months ago

Text

Party (1)

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

A/N: Sooo this part was written right after clubbing, and I may got carried away, which why I divided it into two parts. The next part should be online on Monday or Tuesday! So stay tuned! :)

Warnings: smut (not completely detailed), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), mentions of alcohol, some swearing, mentions of pregnancy

Not proofread!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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It's happening. I'm officially a year older today. Honestly, I don't even feel the change. Except for maybe the overwhelming sense of everything right now - the music, the laughter, the champagne that seems to be in my hand all the time - and him. Especially him. Hugh.

The night feels like a dream, but it's real - my birthday, my party. I rented this entire club for the occasion, and it's filled to the brim with friends, the people I care about, the ones who've been there through everything. Some are people I used to only see on screens, in magazines, but now they're real, they're here, and they're celebrating me. It's surreal.

The cast of The Greatest Showman showed up early, and I've barely had amoment to myself. Zac and Zendaya are dancing like they don't have a care in the world. Keala's by the bar, harmonizing with the DJ's set like only she can. Everywhere I turn, someone new is pulling me in for a hug, giving me a gift, toasting to me and wishing me all the best.

"Happy birthday, y/n!" Another friend comes up to me - one of the faces I vaguely recognize through the blur of champagne and flashing lights. They hand me a beautifully wrapped gift, and I accept it with a smile, although my mind is elsewhere. I'm grateful, of course, but the attention, the noise, the constant flow of people - it's overwhelming.

But my eyes always drift back to him. Hugh.

I catch a glimpse of him near the bar, his tall, broad frame leaning casually as he sips martini, talking to Ryan. The way the dim lights catch his features - sharp jawline, eyes that sparkle with a mischievous glint - it's like time slows down when I see him. My heart speeds up, a familiar heat spreading through me. It's not the alcohol. It's him.

I can't stop thinking about him, not tonight. There's something about the way he looks, how he moves in that perfectly tailored suit that drives me crazy. Maybe it's because I've had one too many glasses of champagne, or maybe it's just that he's Hugh and he's everything I want right now. I'm feeling it, that hormonal pull that still won't quit. It's like I'm on fire, and he's the only one who can put it out.

Our eyes meet across the room. A slow, easy smile spreads across his lips, and I feel a rush of heat flood through me. God, he's gorgeous. I feel myself gravitating toward him before I even realize what I'm doing weaving through the crowd.

"Enjoying your party, love?" His voice is low when I reach him, the deep itmbre sending shivers down my spine. He leans in, his breath warm against my ear, and I inhale the familiar scent of him - something earthy, masculine, mixed with the faintest hint of martini.

"I would be enjoying it a lot more if you weren't all the way over here." I murmur, my fingers finding the lapels of his jacket, tugging him closer.

Hugh laughs softly, his hand sliding around my waist with such ease it feels like second nature.

"Oh, I see. Is the birthday girl feeling a little. neglected?"

"Maybe." I tease, but the truth is, it's not just that. It's everything. I feel wound up, my body buzzing from the alcohol, the excitement, and from him. The way his hand rests so possessively on my waist. The way his eyes darken just a bit when I lean in closer and my chest brushing against his.

He's trying to play it cool, but I know him too well. He feels it too, this spark between us that's been burning hotter as the night goes on. And right now, I can't think of anything but us.

I press my body against his, my lips just grazing his ear as I whisper.

"You know, I've been thinking about you all night."

His grip tightens on my waist, his thumb brushing my hip in a way that makes me bite my lip.

"Oh is that so?" His voice is teasing, but there's an edge to it now, something darker and more primal.

"Mmhmm" I hum, letting my hands drift up his chest, feeling the firmness of his body beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. My fingers toy with his collar, brushing against his skin.

"I can't stop thinking about how good you look in this suit."

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound hat vibrates through my body.

"You're playing with fire, baby."

"Oh I like the burn." I grin.

For a moment, we're just standing here, locked in this invisible dance of tension and desire, the noise of he party fading into the background. My fingers slip into his hair, tugging lightly, and I can feel the way his breath catches in response. He doesn't move, just looks at me with that slow smoldering gaze that makes my knees feel weak.

"Y/n.." he murmurs, his voice a little rough now, like he's barely holding himself back. "We're at your birthday party. You do realize that?"

I grin, pressing my hips against him as I lean up to whisper in his ear, "And what do you wanna do about that?"

His hand grips my waist tighter pulling me even closer, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath against my lips.

"You're trouble, you know that?"

"Only for you, baby."

Before I can say anything else, the music changes, and I feel the beat thrum through my body, pulling me onto the dance floor. Hugh follows, his hands on my hips as we move together.

Dancing with him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Every sway of my hips, every turn, it's like our bodies are in sync, perfectly attuned to each other. I can feel the heat of his hands on my skin, even through the fabric of my dress, and it makes me ache for more.

I turn in his arms, pressing my back against his chest and grinding against him as the music pulses around us. His hands tighten on my hips pulling me back harder against him, and I can feel his breath on my neck, hot and heavy.

"Y/n.." he whispers in my ear, voice strained but playful.

"You're making it very hard to be a gentleman right now."

A wicked smile curves my lips. I glance over my shoulder, giving him a sultry look. "Who said I want you to be a gentleman?"

His eyes darken, the playful glint replaced by something more primal. He presses a kiss to my neck, just below my ear, sending goosebumps down my arms. I turn in his arms, facing him fully, and pull him into another kiss, this one deeper, more intense, oblivious to the crowd dancing around us

He groans softly into the kiss, his hands sliding down my sides and his fingers gripping my hips like he's trying to keep some semblance of control. But I can feel him losing it, just as much as I am. The way his body presses into mine, the heat between us - it's almost unbearable.

The music blurs into the background, and all I can think about is the feel of him behind me. His body moving with mine, the way his hands seem to leave trails of fire on my skin. I look up, our lips just inches apart.

"We should stop.." he murmurs though his grip on me doesn't loosen. If anything, he pulls me closer.

I tilt my head up, brushing my lips against his in the barest of touches, teasing.

"Do you really want to?"

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, his mouth crashes against mine, and I lose myself in the taste of him. My hands are in his hair, tugging him closer, and I can feel the way his body tenses against mine, like he's holding back everything he wants to do.

I know we're still in the middle of the dance floor, but I don't care. Right now, it's just him and me, lost in the heat of the moment. I deepen the kiss, letting my tongue slide against hus, and he groans into my mouth, pulling me even closer, if that's even possible.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally pull away from the dance floor. My head is spinning, but not only from the champagne. I grab his hand, pulling him toward the photobooth in the corner of the club.

"Come on, let's do something fun!" I say with a playful grin, tugging him inside.

He laughs, following me into the cramped space. The curtain closes pehind us, and I waste no time climbing onto his lap, my legs straddling his.

"Smile for the camera!" I say, sticking my tongue out at him just as the first flash goes off.

We make silly faces for the next few shots - sticking our tongues out crossing our eyes - but I can feel the tension building between us again. My body is still humming from the dancing, the closeness, the way his hands feel on my thighs, even through the fabric of my dress.

I lean in for the next shot, kissing his cheek, but it doesn't stop there. The kiss lingers, my lips trailing down to his jaw, his neck, and I can feel the way his breath hitches beneath me.

"Love.." he breathes, his hands sliding up my thighs, gripping them tightly. "You're really trying to drive me crazy tonight, aren't you?"

smile against his skin, my lips brushing his ear as I whisper, "Maybe."

The camera flashes again, but we're not paying attention anymore. My mouth finds his, and the kiss quickly turns heated, desperate. His hands slide up my sides, pulling me closer until there's no space left between us. I can feel him hard against me, and it only makes me want him more.

I grind against him, and he groans softly, his hands gripping my hips so tightly I know I'II have bruises tomorrow. But I don't care. All I care about is the feel of him beneath me, the way his mouth moves against mine and the way his hands are everywhere at once.

We're lost in each other, so caught in the heat of the moment that I barely register the curtain ripping open. It takes a second for reality to hit, but when it does, it's not subtle.

"Hey! No funny business in there!" a voice teases, giggling as it echoes in the small booth.

I freeze, still straddling Hugh, our lips inches apart, our breathing heavy. I look up and find Chris standing there with his brother Scott, both grinning like they've just caught us in the act - because, well, they pretty much have.

"Really, guys?" I groan, burying my face in Hugh's neck in a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. Hugh chuckles, his chest vibrating beneath me, still catching his breath.

Chris gives me an exaggerated wink. "What? Thought we'd come join the party. The booth's big enough for four, right?"

"Get out of here, man!" Hugh says with a laugh, shaking his head, though he's still holding onto me like he has no intention of letting go. His hands remain firm on my waist and his body warm beneath mine. Scott leans against the doorway of the booth, grinning. "You know, we're happy for you two, but maybe save the PDA for after the birthday cake?"

I roll my eyes and slide off Hugh's lap, standing up and adjusting my dress, trying not to look too flustered.

"Fine, fine. The booth is yours!"

Hugh stands up behind me, smoothing down his suit and running a hand through his hair. He's got that mischievous glint in his eyes, though one that tells me this is far from over.

"Have fun!" he says, stepping out of the booth, his hand slipping into mine as we head back toward the party. I squeeze his fingers, unable to hide the grin on my face. But as we walk away, I feel the heat between us still simmering beneath the surface. It's like every brush of his hand against mine, every glance he gives me, is charged with electricity. I don't think either of us is done with what we started.

We slip into a quieter area of the club, tucked away from the noise of the party.

There's a small storage room just off the side of the main hallway, dimly lit, the perfect place to catch our breath and maybe finish what we started.

Inside the storage room, it's cramped and cluttered, a stark contrast to the opulent club just outside. The air smells faintly of cleaning products and dust. Shelves ine the walls, stacked with supplies - boxes, extra bottles of liquor, random equipment that looks untouched for months. There's a small, rickety table in the corner, just big enough for me to sit on, though it Iooks like it could collapse at any moment.

Hugh's hands are on me the second the door clicks shut. His lips find mine in a fierce, hungry kiss, and the world around us fades into a blur of heat and need. His fingers grip my tips, pulling me against him, and can feel the hardness of him through his pants, pressing insistently against me, The urgency between us is undeniable, like we've been holding back all night and can't wait another second.

He guides me backward, and stumble slightly as my back hits the edge of the small table, my breath catching. His mouth leaves a scorching trail along my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where my shoulder meets my collarbone. I shiver, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer.

"I need you." I whisper, my voice breathy and desperate.

His response is a low growl vibrating against my skin. "God, y/n.. I need you too. I've needed you all night."

With one swift motion, he lifts me onto the table, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The table creaks beneath me, unsteady from our combined weight, but neither of us cares. His hands slide up my thighs, pushing my dress higher, bunching it around my hips.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me." he murmurs against my ear, his voice thick with desire. His nands grip my waist, and his lips brush my neck again, leaving a trail of heat wherever he touches.

"I've been thinking about you.. imagining this.. every second of tonight."

A soft moan escapes my lips as his fingers tease the edge of my panties, and I arch my back, pressing against him. "Hugh please.."

Hugh's mouth crashes back onto mine swallowing my words. He fumbles with his belt, the leather slipping through the loops with a soft hiss, and the sound alone makes my pulse race. I can feel the tension in his body, the way his hands shake slightly with need, and it drives me wild.

He pulls my panties to the side, and I gasp as his fingers slide against me, teasingly testing.

"Fuck. You're so wet." he whispers, his voice hoarse. His fingers dip inside me briefly, making me gasp.

"And all for me?"

"Only for you baby.." I manage to say parely able to form the words through the haze of desire.

I need you, Hugh. Now."

With a groan, he frees himself from his pants, and I feel the hot, hard length of him pressing against my thigh. His fingers dig into my hips as he positions himself at my entrance, and I bite my lip, already rembling with anticipation.

"Tell me what you want." he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Say it."

"I want you." I breathe, my voice shaking with need.

"I want you to fuck me."

He pushes inside me slowly, inch by inch, and my head falls back as a moan escapes my lips. The sensation of him filling me is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretches me and takes me.

"Fucking hell, y/n." he groans, his forehead pressed against mine as he bottoms out inside me.

"You feel...so fucking good."

The table creaks beneath us, swaying slightly from our movements, but I barely notice. My legs tighten around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he begins to move slow at first, then harder, faster, until the rhythm of his thrusts matches the beat of the music still thudding through the walls. With every movement, I feel the tension building inside me, winding tighter and tighter until l'm on the verge of breaking. Hugh's hands roam my body, gripping my thighs my hips, sliding up to cup my breasts through my dress. His lips find mine again, his tongue tangling with mine as he thrusts into me with a desperation that mirrors my own.

"You make me feel so good.." I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders.

"Don't stop... please, don't stop.."

His hand slides down to grip my ass pulling me harder against him as he thrusts deeper, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I love you, y/n." he groans, his voice rough with need. "I fucking love you."

"I love you, Hugh." I whisper, my body trembling as I hold onto him for dear life.

"I love you so much."

We're completely lost in each other now, the world around us disappearing as we move together and the table creaking loudly beneath us.

At one point, I hear something fall - a bottle or maybe a box knocked off one of the shelves - but neither of us cares. We're too far gone, too wrapped up in the heat of the moment to think about anything else.

His thrusts become more erratic, harder, faster, and I feel the tension inside me snap.

My climax crashes through me, sending waves of pleasure rippling through every nerve in my body. I cry out, my nails raking down his back as I hold on, riding the wave of ecstasy.

Hugh groans loudly as he follows me over the edge, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, his release hot and deep inside me. We're both shaking, breathless, our bodies pressed so tightly together it's like we're one.

For at few moments, we - just stay like that, holding each other with our foreheads pressed together as we try to catch our breath. The room is silent now, save for the sound of our breathing, the faint thump of music still vibrating through the walls.

After a long moment, Hugh pulls back slightly, his eyes dark and intense as he looks at me. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.

"You're amazing." he whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

I smile, my heart still racing. "So are you."

He kisses me again, but this time slower and sweeter, like he's savoring the moment. Then, with a soft laugh he pulls back and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.

"Here, love." he says with a grin, his back pocket and pulling out a handkerchief. It's such a gentlemanly gesture, one that makes me laugh softly. He helps me clean up, his touch careful and respectful, and I can't help but feel a rush of affection for him in that moment.

"Always prepared, huh?" I tease, running a hand through his tousled hair, which is still slightly damp with sweat from our heated encounter.

"I like to think so." he replies with a wink, adjusting his pants and redoing his belt.

He then wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer while kissing softly my forehead.

"You okay?" he murmurs, his voice soft.

smile, my heart still pounding 'More than okay.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to my forehead before slowly puling away and helping me straighten out my dress. We both fumble with our clothes trying to make ourselves look at least somewhat presentable, but I can't stop myself from smoothing his shirt, adjusting his tie, and brushing a hand through his hair.

"You're fussing." He says with a lazy smile while his hands find my waist again. "They're going to know we've been up to something."

"I don't care!" I laugh softly, though I can feel my cheeks flushing. I tug on his shirt collar one last time, making sure everything is back in place.

Then, he looks at me with that familiar softness in his eyes, the intensity from earlier replaced with something deeper. His hand cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my skin, and for a moment, we just stand there in the dim light, staring at each other like the rest of the world doesn't exist.

"What if you were pregnant?"

...

- to be continued -

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@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01 @inlovewithcharmers @gaulty74 @mega-kittyglitter-1 @sylviavf @bethexo07

Next part

#hugh jackman #wolverine #hugh jackman x you #marvel #x men #hugh #hugh jackman x reader #jackman #hugh jackman imagines #fluff #smut #hugh jackman smut #chris evans #ryan reynolds #blake lively #the greatest showman #birthday party #logan howlett

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lex-the-flex · 3 months ago

Text

34 + 35

Hugh Jackman x reader

Summary: After attending a long and exhausting event, all you want to do is enjoy a coffee espresso, but life has other plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning(s): MEGA FLUFF, Hugh being a LITERAL sweetheart + gentleman, slight angst, dealing with a walking red flag, mentions of stalking (?), BRIEF & MINOR sexual assault/situation, brief cursing, minor violence (just an idiot getting punched in the face), Hugh being your shield, and me gushing about museums. (I'm envisioning this taking place when Hugh was a bit younger).

A/N: I can TOTALLY imagine this being one of my MANY meet-cutes with Hugh and a girl can dream! Feedback is appreciated and enjoy!

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you’ll please follow me back to the dining hall, we will now open the bar and you are free to wander through the museum at your leisure. Thank you for all of your hard work and enjoy the remainder of your evening.” The museum’s director announces, leading the group back inside the building.

Sighing in relief at the cool night air, the instant relief of being able to finally stretch your legs after sitting for more than two hours hits you hard. Glancing down at your watch, you read the time; 11:28 pm.

Silently groaning to yourself, all you wanted to do was take off your makeup and go to sleep in your hotel room. But you couldn’t. The event wasn’t scheduled to end until one in the morning, and the truth was: you secretly wanted to die. While you weren’t the biggest fan of wearing dresses, much less an elegant, custom-made slip gown that was dyed a deep charcoal, this one had its charm. You felt like a warrior adorned for battle.

Heading back inside the grand museum, the elegant dining room never fails to revive your soul. The dark atmosphere accompanied by the warm lighting felt unreal, like you shouldn’t even be here. But here you were, standing in one of your favorite places in the entire world. Walking towards the bar, you spot an empty seat on the end, so you take the opportunity before anyone else can.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks.

“Um, may I have an espresso martini?” You ask, setting down the drink menu.

“It’ll be about five minutes. We just finished cleaning the machine.” She replies, taking your drink ticket.

“Okay, that’s fine.” You answer.

Smiling back at you, the bartender hands the ticket stub back over to you now dotted with a black check mark. Leaning against the bar, you patiently wait for your drink and decide to look up some of the works of art that were on display in the building. You start to finally feel relaxed knowing you’re allowed to walk freely throughout the art gallery and the mere anticipation makes butterflies rise in your stomach.

However, the excitement comes to a dead stop the second you accidentally look up from your phone and make eye contact with some young, blonde rich-looking scumbag who was sitting at the other side of the bar. Promptly leaving his seat, the man makes his way over to you.

“Hey, what’s your name? I’m Max.” He flirtatiously asks.

Bracing himself against the edge of your personal bubble, you try your best to ignore him and the scent of vodka on his lips. Returning with your drink, you thank the bartender and spin in your chair to stand, but the partygoer stops you.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart. I just want to know who I’m meeting.” Max explains, taking a hold of your shoulder.

The cold sensation of his hand being incredibly unwelcome on your exposed skin sends a threatening chill down your spine.

“I’m sure any other girl would enjoy your company. So leave me alone.” You rebuttal.

Chuckling at your response, the guy leans closer, breaking your precious personal bubble. Max’s fingers hover around the bare skin of your naked thigh, dancing above your freckles. The echoing sound of your heartbeat fills your ears as you couldn’t breathe.

“Come on, baby. What do you say we get out of here, huh?” He whispers in your ear.

Seeing red, you instinctively shove Max away from your body.

“No!” You exclaim.

At the same time, however, someone else was pulling him off of you. Stumbling against a spare fridge, Max knocks into the stranger that had the decency to save you.

“Look bud, she said no. She’s with me, you understand? So back off.” The stranger threateningly explains, letting his thick Austrian accent take over.

Cowering away from him, Max playfully raises his hands in defeat.

“Alright man. You win.” Max teases before walking into the crowd.

Watching him walk away, you turn your attention towards the kind soul who saved you from something potentially traumatic.

“Thank you.” You manage to say.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least I can do.” He replies.

Standing from your seat, you flash him a quick smile before heading to the art gallery. Exhaling at the entire encounter, you manage to find a wooden bench in the middle of the room and sit down. Rubbing your fingers together, you notice that your hands haven’t stopped shaking, so you reach into your bag for a moment, only to realize that you left your phone at the bar.

Scoffing, you hesitantly pull yourself together, ready to make the walk of shame back into the dining hall when the sight of the kind stranger stops you in your tracks in the doorway.

“Hi.” You say.

“Hi.” He replies with a smirk.

Walking towards you, he holds up your phone in his hand.

“You uh, left this at the bar and I didn’t want that asshole to have it. So I thought I’d return it to you.” He says.

Handing your phone to you, he sits down next to you.

“Thank you. …And thank you for helping me at the bar. That was the last thing I expected to happen tonight.” You admit.

Forcing the rising wave of tears back down, you finally put your phone away before deciding to break your shyness to meet new people.

“I’m Y/N, by the way.” You introduce yourself.

Extending your hand to the handsome stranger, he gently takes your hand in his, holding it like a gentleman should.

“It’s lovely to meet you. I’m Hugh. And I’m glad I got to know your name before that asshole.” He replies.

Laughing at his answer, Hugh lightly chuckles along with you. Looking up at him again, his light hazel eyes and dark brown hair seem to put in a near trance-like state, including the fact that he looks amazing in just a regular suit and tie. Glancing back into your e/c orbs, you feel safe with Hugh by your side, and you didn’t seem to know or understand why. It just felt right.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what's a normal person like you doing here? This place definitely seems out of your league.” Hugh asks.

Furrowing your brows, you lightheartedly place your hand over your heart, and pretend to gasp.

“Wow. I can’t believe you, Hugh. You actually think I’m normal?” You tease, earning yourself a laugh from the man across from you.

“You know what I mean.” He responds.

“The company I work for wants me to expand my idea for this article I’m writing. They actually want to know if rich people, including celebrities, truly appreciate the arts and other historical pieces in history.” You explain.

“Ouch. That hurts you know. Well, if it’s any consolation, I for one do enjoy the arts. I mean, you’re talking to a theater kid here. So the arts sort of come naturally to me.” Hugh replies, feeling hurt for a moment, but he quickly shifts the tone.

“Then can I interview you? You seem like one of the few knowledgeable people here. I wish more people like you would attend these events than the rich boys who are thriving off of their parent’s money and think they can get away with–” You begin, but slowly trail off in slight terror.

Suddenly, appearing in the doorway, Max appears to have found you, and that he has been eavesdropping on your delightful conversation.

“What is it?” Hugh asks, going off the look on your face.

Turning around to the doorway, Hugh’s kind look drops almost instantly, and you stand from your spot at the bench. Following suit, Hugh fixes his jacket before giving you all of his attention.

“What did he exactly do to you, Y/N? We can go if you like.” Hugh firmly states, stepping closer to you.

Briefly holding the brim of Hugh’s jacket, you inch closer so that Max wouldn’t hear.

“Hugh, he… He tried to…” You can’t bring yourself to tell Hugh, allowing your tears to shed.

Instantly understanding what you mean, you swear that Hugh’s once calm and peaceful eyes light up with fury, now knowing that this douche tried to violate and humiliate your charming and innocent soul. Hugh understood that you, a young woman such as yourself shouldn’t have to experience something like that.

So he knew what he had to do, regardless if it would get him banned from this museum for life.

“Look, buddy l’m not looking for trouble. I do appreciate you keeping her company, though.” Max tries again, hoping to win you over. Except this time, he’s a little more drunk.

“God, when will you learn? Some women actually have the common sense to avoid guys like you.” Hugh spits.

“Well, most women prefer the young rich guy who can take them places instead of the boring washed-up actor who still chooses to be in shitty superhero movies!” Max shouts, causing you to flinch.

Attempting to walk towards you, Max doesn’t seem to take the obvious hints, and he unfortunately takes the blunt end of the stick. Punching him in the face, you and Hugh watch Max fall to the floor. Groaning in pain, Max wipes his bloody nose as Hugh takes you by the hand, leading you out of the museum.

Taking your shoulders, Hugh calmly recenters himself.

Pulling Hugh in for an embrace, he welcomes it and tightly holds your frame. Squeezing his broad shoulders, Hugh calmly sways you from side to side.

“It’s alright. He won’t bother you anymore. I promise.” Hugh announces.

“Thank you, Hugh. I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if you hadn’t showed up.” You reply, slowly ending the hug.

“Of course. Now, what do you say about starting that interview?” He asks, waving to the valet employee.

“I’d love to.” You answer with a smile, knowing that this is the start of something spectacular.

wolverine/hugh taglist ~

@dreamliners

@chronicallybubbly

@dontfeedthebigbadwolf

@the-resident-vampire

@ovaryacted

@misssarcasm15

@yellow-eyed-sams-wife

@lost-in-horrorland

@peterparkernotfound

@pcrushinnerd

@quillycrow

@till-hes-90

@the-moth-archives

@stilllivindue2spite

@wolviesgal

@mostly-marvel-musings

#hugh jackman #hugh jackman x you #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x y/n #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman fic #hugh jackman angst #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman headcanons

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eloves-writes · 5 months ago

Text

long time coming

[lance stroll x reader]

desc: lawrence stroll invites his business associate and his daughter to a charity gala in the hopes of lifting lance’s spirits after a rough few races, and it definitely works.

warnings: alcohol consumption, swearing, oral sex (f receiving), sex, reference to masturbation, reference to lance crashing (it’s a joke i love him), think that’s it😗

a/n: my first f1 fic!! hope you enjoy, this was fun to write. requests open for any f1 drivers if y’all have anything to request. love youse, mwah mwah mwah pls comment n reblog n all that

this post contains mature themes, minors do not interact.

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cameras flashed as you got out of your father’s car, dressed in a gown suitable only for events like these where the whispers of wealth were loud and unabashed; a congregation of business men and women with billions to their names and a philanthropic point to prove. the cameras, of course, were directed mostly towards your dad, who blended perfectly with the other attendees, but a few snapped pictures of you too as you walked into the gala.

this was not your saturday evening of choice- your dad had insisted that you come along tonight, mentioning something about lawrence asking for you specifically. you’d met the man a few times, and he was always very nice to you, but despite his close working relationship with your dad, you didn’t quite believe that he’d want you there so badly as anything other than a kind gesture to his business partner. regardless, you were here and beelining towards the open bar. though small talk wasn’t your worst enemy by any means, it would be made much more bearable with alcohol. you had only just began to sip your first martini when the man himself approached you.

“y/n! i’m glad you could make it tonight, i’ve just spoken to your father and he said i might find you here.”

“he knows me well then,” you laugh. “this party is amazing, lawrence.”

he smiles and looks over your shoulder before looking back to you. “thank you, should be a good night. i actually have a favour to ask of you.”

your dad was telling the truth then, you thought to yourself, smoothing the fabric of your dress where it had wrinkled from sitting on the bar stool. “sure, what can i do?”

“it’s about lance.”

your heart jumped a little at the mention of the aston-martin driver. it wasn’t that you had a crush on him or anything, but you would be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been scanning the room for him since you arrived. you barely even knew him, only seeing him across rooms like this one throughout the many years your fathers had worked together, and exchanging few polite words when you visited the aston-martin garage on race days. sure, you did genuinely enjoy formula 1, but it wasn’t really the racing that had you travelling around from circuit to circuit.

you tried to keep your expression neutral as lawrence continued.

“he’s had a tough couple of races, and i can tell it’s bothering him more than he lets on. you’re a sweet girl, i see the way he looks at you; would you mind keeping him company tonight? just have a drink with him, talk to him for a while? it’ll cheer him up.”

the way he looked at you? god that fed your slight delusion that lance might like you too. you didn’t mean to sound too eager, but you found yourself replying quicker than you meant to.

“yes. i mean, sure. i can do that.”

lawrence laughed and looked behind you once again, this time motioning for you to look as well. lance was walking towards you, expensive suit perfectly tailored to fit his tall, athletic form. when you turned back to lawrence, he’d disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to finally have a real conversation with the driver.

“hey, were you just speaking to my dad?” he asked, taking up the empty seat beside you.

it took you a second to stop ogling him enough to respond. he looked really good, especially this close up.

“um, yeah. he was just asking if i’d seen my dad.”

lance called the bartender over. “oh yeah! i like your dad, he’s nice,” he said happily before ordering a glass of what was surely a top-shelf whiskey. “how is he?”

“he’s good. i think he’s trying to get one of his companies onto your car, actually.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled. “i’d tell you more if i was interested enough in his business to ask.”

he smiled back at you. “i haven’t seen you around the paddock in a while, you know.”

a wave of alcohol-induced confidence overtook you. “miss me?”

“i don’t know if i’d say that,” he teased. “i think my last good race was spa, though, and i definitely remember you being there.”

“you do?”

“of course, i always like seeing you in the garage.”

your heart was racing in your chest. you’d really thought this was one-sided, you weren’t even convinced before now that he remembered your name. for a moment, you just looked at each other as if you’d both had the same realisation.

“it’s nice to actually talk to you, by the way.”

his statement caught you off guard. “what do you mean?”

lance shifted slightly in his seat. “well, you know. usually whenever i see you at these things you walk in the opposite direction or make yourself busy talking to other people. and it’s so busy in the garage, we’ve never really talked in all these years.”

“yeah, we haven’t,” you replied awkwardly, making quick work of the rest of your martini as you thought about how you would have continued that pattern if it wasn’t for his dad. “but we’re talking now.”

“we’re talking now,” he said, staring at you thoughtfully.

an uncomfortably charged silence fell between you. the background noise of the gala hushed too, as lawrence stood with a microphone to give a speech.

as he spoke, you felt lance’s eyes on you, travelling from your face to the cleavage so perfectly displayed in your gown, then further to the slit that was supposed to end at the middle of your thigh, but had precariously ridden upwards as you sat down. the thought of him checking you out so intently made you involuntarily clench your thighs together, sending a small wave of pleasure through you and dampening your underwear. lance smirked as he noticed the movement, placing one of his large hands on your exposed leg. you turned to face him with blush rising in your cheeks, and the smirk still on his face had your thighs clenching again. testing the waters, lance moved his hand further up your leg with a look in his eyes that was daring you to tell him to stop, but you didn’t. you let him move his hand dangerously higher, hyper-aware of the crowd of people around you in the room who were thankfully giving all their attention to the man speaking at the front.

a low whisper in your ear startled you, as the hand on your thigh lightly brushed your centre. “you look really, really beautiful tonight, y/n.”

a breath hitched in your throat as lance pressed his fingers a little harder against you.

“i think we should go somewhere else,” you managed quietly.

he nodded in agreement, moving his hand to your waist and using the other to help you down from the barstool. you were sneaking out like naughty school children, catching a few funny looks as you made your way to the exit and into the corridor. your fathers saw you weaving through the crowd and smiled at each other across the room, knowing they’d finally succeeded in setting you oblivious lovebirds up as they’d been trying to do with no success until now.

when the door to the gala closed behind you, you looked at lance in slight disbelief that this was happening. another silence fell, the eye contact between you intense and filled with lust and apprehension, both of you hesitant to make the first move after years of long-distance admiration without ever really speaking. your breath was heaving and there was wetness pooling between your legs as you watched each other.

in a split second, lance lurched forwards and roughy grabbed your waist, crashing his lips against yours. you moaned softly into his mouth and let him start to guide you down the corridor, before he decided instead to pick you up and carry you to the nearest bathroom with your legs wrapped around his waist. he placed you carefully onto the counter in the single-stall bathroom and clicked the lock on the door, then came straight back over to you and put his lips on yours again as he pushed the skirt of your dress up to your waist. he dropped to his knees, placing sloppy kisses up your thigh until he reached your underwear, which he pulled down and stuffed into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. your hands found his hair as his tongue made contact with your pussy.

“fuck, lance,” you whined, grinding your hips into his face.

he smiled up at you, your wetness on his lips. “i’ve wanted to do this for so long, y/n, you don’t even know,” he almost growled before licking your cunt again and focusing his efforts onto your clit. his hands gripped your hips, trying to stop them from bucking into him as you whined with your head thrown back. it felt so good, better than any other sex you’d ever had. his tongue felt magical circling your clit between soft sucks, and he had you close to the edge after just a few minutes.

“lance, i’m gonna-”

“you gonna come on my face, baby?” he teased, lifting his head to take in the sight of you above him.

“yeah,” you whined, pushing his face back into you.

you had to clasp a hand over your mouth as you came to avoid making too much noise, especially as lance began to lick up the wetness coming out of you. you tugged on his hair and he got up, a beaming smile on his face. he kissed you gently, letting you taste yourself on his mouth.

“can i fuck you, baby? s’not too much?”

you nodded as you fumbled to unbutton his dress pants.

“use your words, honey,” he murmured into your kiss.

“yes, lance. please.”

he smiled and helped you with his pants, letting them fall to the floor with his underwear. he lined up with your entrance, checking again that you were ok.

“you sure, baby?”

“fuck me, lance, please. i need you.”

he pushed into you with as much restraint as he could manage, not wanting to hurt you but needing to fuck you like he needed air to breathe. you bucked your hips forward, forcing him in further and faster. you felt depraved, but his dick felt so good inside of you you weren’t even ashamed.

“so fucking perfect, y/n,” lance groaned as he thrust into you. “wanted you for so long, i’ve imagined doing this in more ways than you can believe.”

“you think about fucking me a lot?” you smile, panting as you tried to contain yourself.

lance smirked again, leaning to whisper in your ear.

“all the time. you feel so much better than my hand.”

this made you moan again, wrapping your legs tighter around him to feel him deeper.

he kissed you again, but it was messy and mostly just to cover the sounds you were both making until you both reached your climax. you came first, clenching around him as he rutted into you. he moaned when he came, filling you up and lazily fucking his cum back into you.

once you caught your breath, you started to laugh. lance looked at you confused as he fastened his pants again. “what?” he smiled.

“that was so good. i can’t believe it took your dad making me talk to you for that to happen.”

lance pulled a face and repeated himself, this time more alarmed than entertained. “what?”

you laughed again, sliding off the bathroom counter and smoothing the skirt of your gown. “your dad asked my dad to bring me tonight, because he thought you were feeling down after the last few races. that why he was talking to me at the bar, he was asking me to hang out with you.”

“oh my god,” lance laughed, hiding his face in his hands. “i can’t believe he did that. that’s so embarrassing.”

“all’s well that ends well, right?” you smile as you unlock the bathroom door.

“well i am feeling a lot better now. if i crash the car in zandvoort, does that mean we can do this again?” he asked following you back along the corridor he’d carried you down earlier.

“i'd much rather you finished the race,” you grinned, “but i do suppose you’ll have to give those panties back some time.”

you pushed the door open back into the gala, which had become lively again in the time since you’d snuck out, and disappeared into the large group of people. lance was left gazing after you, almost as if nothing had changed at all.

#lance stroll smut #lance stroll #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll x you #lance stroll x y/n #lance stroll fanfic #lance stroll fluff #lance stroll smau #lance stroll imagine #f1 requests #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine

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augustinewrites · 2 years ago

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oh, the fushigojos and their nonsense

“i don’t know, shoko,” you sigh as the two of you step into the elevator. “i think something’s going on with him. he’s just been so odd lately.”

“gojo being odd?” your friend scoffs, still scrolling through her phone. “you’re going to have to be more specific.”

you press the button for your floor, shrugging. “he’s staying out later, takes calls in the middle of the night that he leaves the room for, and just this morning he left without telling me where he was going.”

this does prompt her to glance up. “so you think he’s cheating?”

“no,” you laugh, because who else would put up with him but you? “but he’s definitely hiding something.”

“want me to beat him up?”

the doors to the elevator slide open as you shake your head. “a tempting offer, but i’ll have to pass for now.”

“offer’s always on the table,” she quips, following you into the hall and towards your apartment. “i wouldn’t be too worried though, he sucks at keeping secrets.”

“it’s cause he talks too much,” you mutter, pulling your key from your purse and sliding it into the lock.

when you step into the apartment, you immediately notice two things. the first is that it’s unusually clean.

and the second is that there’s a strange boy eating takeout with tsumiki in your kitchen.

you stare at him. he stares back. shoko sips loudly at her iced coffee. “hi,” you start, making a cautious approach. “tsumiki, is this a friend of yours?”

“what are you talking about about?” shoko asks, gesturing to the stranger in your home. “isn’t that megumi?”

“ieiri,” you groan, exasperated and regretting letting her have that second martini at lunch. “we just dropped megumi off at book club.”

she lifts her sunglasses, looking the boy up and down before averting her inquisitive gaze to you. “oh. how many kids do you guys have?”

“satoru!” you yell, just as you hear a door close from within the apartment. your boyfriend comes running out, a panicked look on his face.

“babe,” he starts, pressing a kiss to your lips that you don’t reciprocate. “first things first, you look so hot today—”

“explain,” you interrupt, pushing his face away from yours. “now.”

the grin on his face wavers. “okay, this is yuuta okkotsu. you remember that kid i was telling you about, with the curse and the—”

there are a million things running through your mind right now, the most prevalent being, “the special grade curse? the one that killed— you brought him to our home?!”

“it’s just for a little while,” he insists. “until he can get properly settled at the school.”

“satoru—”

he holds his hands up in surrender. “okay, before you tell me i have to sleep on the couch, i think we all just need to get to know each other a little. why don’t we play a game?”

_____

“the game is two truths and a lie,” he explains when the five of you are seated at the dinner table. “is everyone familiar with the rules?”

“it’s a fun game,” tsumiki tells your guest, swinging her legs back and forth. “we play it in class at the beginning of every school year.”

“if you’re sleeping on the couch,” you mutter so only gojo can hear. “where is he even gonna sleep? in megumi’s room?”

“alright,” he chuckles nervously, pointedly ignoring your question. “tsumiki, why don’t you start?”

your angel child nods excitedly as you kick your boyfriend under the table. “let’s see…my eyes are blue. i have the highest average in my class, and one time…” you all wait as she trails off, thinking. “i got detention because miss hina caught me kissing a boy in the janitor’s closet when we were supposed to be in class.”

you gasp, but gojo just laughs, shaking his head. “honey, you need to make it more challenging, because the last one is obviously the—”

“satoru,” you whisper. “her eyes are brown.”

one beat of silence. then two. yuuta sinks in his seat. shoko’s got a shit-eating grin on her face.

your boyfriend is silent for a whole thirty seconds as the information fires through his brain. you can see the exact moment it clicks, and his world ends.

“you did what? why didn’t we hear about this?”

tsumiki visibly pales, shifting in her seat. “you were both out the country, so they called aunt shoko—”

this time it’s your turn to be surprised, both you and gojo staring at your friend in disbelief. “you knew? and you didn’t tell me?”

“i promise i will tell you the next time i bail one of your kids out of detention.” she turns to yuuta, who really has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. “welcome to the family, kid.”

_____

BONUS

megumi trudges into the apartment, nose buried in his book as he makes his way towards his bedroom. he doesn’t even spare gojo a second glance as he passes the living room.

“you probably deserved it,” he says before the man can say anything.

“megumi, wait.”

he ignores him, pushing the door to his room open and walking in. he drops his backpack by his bed��

only to see some guy sitting on it, sending him a small wave.

“what the—”

gojo appears in the doorway, breathless from the living room to bedroom run. “megumi, meet your temporary roommate.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #keeping up with the fushigojos

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itsmealaiahh · 5 months ago

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"Wrong timing"

A bill kaulitz x fem! reader one shot

TW: drinking, many mentions of alcohol (of-age drinking), clubbing, profanity, angst. drunk actions, p in v sex, soft, makeup sex, protected sex (👍 be safe my friends), dirty talk, clit stimulation

Request by anon: 2018 Bill x female reader (smut) Bill.and yn have been together for a couple of years he never was that jealous except for one night. Yn goes out for a girls night and it's quite late so Bill text's her asking when she'll be home since he's worried, yn doesn't answer so after a while he checks yn's best friend stories, he sees her kissing another guy , (she was a bit drunk she never drinks usually and thought it was Bill, forgetting he was at home) so Bill drives insanely fast at the club she's in, he doesn't throw a tantrum so she doesn't see him at first, he quickly takes her by her hand driving back home , he's mad but acts cold . Home he'll of course want answers but yn seems to be distacted by how hot he is asking why she did what she did , so everything takes a steamy turn.

Rating: explicit topics ahead, dni if your under 15!! please and thank you

Word Count: 2.1k

Drinking and partying wasn't exactly your thing, but when your friends had called asking to go out, of course you accepted. Who were you to turn your friends down?

"You know what, I really needed this!" you exclaim to one of your friends, taking another sip of your drink, a wide smile on your face. Truth was, you really did. You hadn't been able to get out of the house much this week, work was hard and when you got home, all you wanted to do was fall asleep, so a girls night out on the town was much needed.

You finally felt relaxed from the long week, just being able to party with friends and drink was a perfect way to wind down from the stress and exhaustion you had endured. Again, you grabbed your martini, taking one more sip, feeling the alcohol kicking in, making you wobble just a bit. You put the glass back down and kept on dancing, the smile still on your face.

"i'm gonna go to the bathroom!" you shouted to one of your friends, hoping they heard you, before walking off and attempting to find the restrooms. You made your way through the sea of people dancing, eventually reaching the restroom. Taking a minute to calm down and stop sweating, you stayed by the sink, wiping your face with a paper towel and then stepped back out, ready to go back to dancing.

While you were dancing, a man stepped behind you, grabbing onto your hips and beginning to dance with you, your bodies moving together. In your drunken haze, you thought it was bill, and you smiled with joy, turning around and giving the man a kiss right on the lips, wrapping your arms around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his own hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You moaned into his mouth, and broke away. When you did, you opened your eyes, and saw that the man wasn't bill.

You gasped, stumbling backwards in shock, realizing what you had just done. You had made out with a complete stranger. In the corner of your eye, your friend had her phone out, looking like she was photographing the entire moment. The feeling of being drunk was now gone, it felt like you were fully sober and panic set in immediately. What was bill even going to think of this? of you? Would he break up with you?

You pushed the man and your friend away, going to try and find a couch to sit on and try to calm your racing heart down. Tears pricked at your eyes, and all you could do was worry. Immense guilt coursed through you, wondering what was even going to happen once you got home.

Bill sat at home, watching tv and waiting for you to get back, scrolling through instagram reels, trying to pass the time. He went to check your story again, nothing. He was getting increasingly worried about you, wondering if something happened to you at the club. He should've never let you go out, he thought to himself while imagining all the horrible things that could've or could be happening right now while he was at home just lounging around.

He saw your friend had posted something on her story, and when he clicked on it, a wave of emotions crossed him. Anger, hurt, sadness, and most of all jealousy. There you were, your hands wrapped around some douchebag's body, his tongue practically down your throat as you both shared an intense kiss, from what it looked like. He fumed, going to his messages and texting you, his heart beating madly in anger.

He sent the text, and grabbed his keys, making his way to his car. He was furious. What the fuck were you even doing? His mind raced with hurtful scenarios, his brain thinking of all sorts of things he only wished were not true. You could be fucking this guy right now, he could've taken you home with him, or you could be hurt. He hated all of them, and he hoped you were okay. He sped his way to the club, parking his car and making his way inside, huffing. He searched around the place, desperate to find you, when he saw you on one of the couches, looking like you were freaking out, which you should've been.

He made his way over to you, standing in front of the chair and waiting for you to look up. "b-bill?" You asked hesitantly, hoping this time it was actually Bill and not some rando guy. You looked up, and it was him. "Oh god, you have no idea how grateful i am to see yo-" "save it" he cut you off, his tone cold and unforgiving. "We're going home, now" He said, taking your hand and leading you out of the busy club, the cold air hitting you harshly.

He brought you to the car, going around to his side and starting the engine, waiting for you to get in. He was silent, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the pressure. As he drove, he didn't say anything, leaving you to sit in your own guilt, thinking about your actions. You were never drinking again, that was for sure. You tried to apologize multiple times, but he wasn't having it. How could you do that to him? He was always loyal to you, and he tried his best to make you happy, even when he wasn't feeling that great on some days. Getting home was worse. He didn't wait for you, he simply turned off the ignition and walked inside, seemingly forgetting about you which made tears prick at your eyes once more.

You felt horrible for doing this to him. You sulked inside, resisting the urge to run into his arms and sob, but you knew he would push you away if you did. You opened the door, seeing him on the couch, and he didn't spare you a single glance. You walked over to him, taking a seat beside him, ready to explain yourself to him. "you know how much that hurt me? to see you kissing some other man knowing that I love you?" he whispers, his voice full of hurt and pain, and you hate yourself knowing you caused this. "i-i'm sorry bill. I had a few drinks and he just approached me and i-" your voice broke, and a few tears slipped from your eyes.

"i'm so sorry that I hurt you" you sniffle, looking down. "i hate myself for doing that to you, you've always been so perfect to me" you cry, your tone shaky and upset. "I honestly thought he was you, i was just drunk, and when he pulled away, i saw that it wasn't and I couldn't believe myself" You put your head in your hands, wetness filling your palms. You felt arms wrapping around you, pulling you close, and you begin to cry even more.

"So you were drunk and you thought it was me there, and you kissed him?" He asked, trying to figure out what had actually happened. "I'm so sorry" you sob, burying your head into his chest. "You need to prove to me you are sorry. Words are meaningless compared to actions, so what actions do you think you need to do to say you're truly sorry?" Your cheeks flushed at this, and the sadness was quickly buried with embarrassment. "I-i could ride you" you said, stumbling on the words. "That's a start, what else do you think you could do to apologize to me?" "I could, uh, give you a handjob?" "Is that a question, or an answer?

"An answer" you said, a bit more sure now. "Good girl. Is that all you can think of?" "Y-yes" When you gave your answer, he walked you upstairs to your bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed. "Strip" He commanded, and you did as he told. You wanted him to forgive you, so you were ready to do whatever he said.

You stripped from your dress, and then your underwear, waiting for him to speak. He got onto the bed, taking off his shirt which revealed his tattoos, and then his pants, and finally his boxers. He grabbed a condom from the table beside the bed, sliding it onto his length. He gave himself a few quick pumps, all while you watched and waited to be told what to do.

"Get on my lap" He finally spoke, and you did just that. Once properly seated, you slowly slid his cock into you, moaning at the sensation. You took more inside of you, inch by inch, until his balls were seated right under your ass, and then you began to bounce on him. You rolled your hips back and forth, putting your hands on his chest as you rode him.

"You smell like that guy" He said, his nose wrinkling in disgust. He brought your head down, making you kiss him, his hand on the back of your neck. It was a quick kiss, and it was over just as quickly as it started. "Taste like him too" "Then make me taste like you if you hate his scent so much" you whimpered out, clawing at the skin of his chest, his tip consistently running over and over your spot, and you threw your head back in pleasure, going faster and speeding up your pace. "I will" He growled, shoving you down onto his lips, engulfing your own in a heated kiss. Your tongue gave way to his, and you let it explore around, still trying to slide up and down on him.

His hands made their way down your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine, trailing down on your skin until they reached your ass, firmly grabbing it and helping you ride him. You gasped into his mouth, whining his name against his lips, your hips continuously slamming down onto his length which only made your moans louder, and bill swallowed every single one, never once breaking the kiss. "he cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You're mine, you got that?" He growled, his eyes dark with possession. "And I don't share" You didn't say anything back, it's not like you could've anyway. His dick was hitting all the right spots, and you couldn't speak for shit.

He didn't stop in his actions, gripping your ass so tightly you were sure that there was going to be handprint marks the next day. You gripped his hair, running your hands through it, the black locks in between your fingers as you clung to him. Bill groaned with pleasure, his head falling back onto the pillows. He removed his hands from your body, putting them behind his head as he watched you struggle to move up and down, a small grin on his lips.

As you were trying to get the pace back you had before, your hands going back to his chest, scraping the skin harshly. "That's a good girl. Keep on going, i know you can" You managed a weak nod, feeling yourself getting closer to the edge. His balls slapped softly against your ass, the room filled with all sorts of noises of pure, unadulterated bliss.

"oh god, oh god" You cried out, your walls squeezing him tightly, getting achingly close to your orgasm. "you gonna come on me baby?" you nodded again, your face contorting as you spilled onto his cock, throwing your head back and almost screaming his name. "You did so good" He whispered. You continued to roll your hips back and forth, riding out your high and helping him get to his. "shit" he whispered, his cock twitching inside of you, and he came into the condom with a loud groan, and got off of him, your heart racing and your features sheened with sweat. You laid next to him, your hands reaching down and taking off the condom, tying a knot in it before tossing it to the side.

"am i forgiven?" you asked, trailing a hand down his chest. If you weren't, a handjob would make sure you were. "mhm" he whispered huskily, leaning in to kiss you. "and you learned your lesson?" "i did" you giggle.

"good girl"

hehehehe thank you anon for the request!! :333

hope you enjoyed and sorry if the end is shit 🤪👍

#alaiahsideblog #tokio hotel #tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel x you #bill kaulitz x reader smut #bill kaulitz x you #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz smut #bill kaulitz fanfic #tokio hotel smut #tokio hotel fanfic #tokio hotel x y/n

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a-killer-obsession · 8 months ago

Text

Rage [Killer x Reader]

🔞 MINORS DNI 🔞

You lose control when your bestie almost falls victim to a creep.

CW: attempted rape via date rape drugs, graphic violence, gore, fluff, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f recieving), p in v sex, afab reader

WC: 5371

Masterlist || A03

Going out to the clubs was actually a rarity for you and the other female residents of the Victoria Punk . The Kid Pirates loved to party, of course, but the captain and commanders preferred pubs, and you usually had to go where they went. Kid didn't like his crew getting separated at night on unfamiliar islands, especially not his girls, he wanted them where he could see, and protect them. But every now and then, after the collective force of every girl on the ship whining and batting their eyelashes, he would give in and let the crew go to a dance club instead.

On this particular evening you found yourself grinding on the dancefloor with Quincy, your bestie on the crew, and the two of you had no issues touching each other and dancing provocatively to attract someone to spend the evening with, though truth be told the most ideal outcome would be if a certain first mate took notice and decided to take you home. It was unlikely though, Killer had never returned any of your flirtations, and whenever your eyes turned his way, you never caught him watching. No matter, plenty of other attractive men were out on the floor tonight, and plenty were watching your clear display with Quincy. The plan was in full force and you had no doubt you'd both be getting laid tonight.

The tempo of the song changed and you and your bestie decided it would be a good time for a quick rest and drink break. You'd both been on the floor for a fair while now, and you could really do with something to wet your lips. Quincy offered to grab drinks while you headed back to the table where the commanders sat, perching on the edge of the booth seat next to Heat so you could take off your heels and rub your sore feet for a moment. You didn't really need to rub them, sore feet from heels was something you were more than used to every time you went clubbing, but you were sat across from Killer, and at this angle as you bent over slightly, he had a clear view down the front of your low cut dress. His mask tilted down so slightly that you would have missed it, if the view hadn't been entirely on purpose. A little butterfly wiggled in your stomach at the small win, Killer was definitely checking out your tits, even if you couldn't see his eyes.

You looked back towards the bar to where Quincy was ordering drinks. The barkeeper had just placed two cocktails in front of her when a man slid up beside her and engaged in conversation. You smiled as you watched her laugh at something he said. He pointed to something behind her and she followed his finger, and as she looked away you watched his other hand move. It was subtle, but you saw it, there was no mistaking it.

“Son of a bitch,” you growled, shoving your heel back on and standing.

The commanders all looked at you expectantly as you began to march towards the bar. They all knew that walk, either you were about to shoot your shot with someone, or you were about to kick some ass. They all shot up and followed behind you, knowing full well that in this case, it was definitely the latter.

Quincy raised a drink to her mouth just as you approached, and you slapped it out of her hand, the delicate martini glass hitting the floor and shattering. She was about to protest when you grabbed the man beside her by the collar and shoved him against the bar. Quincy wasn't one for fighting, and quickly backed away, sensing something was amiss here. You would never just attack a man for no reason in the middle of a night out, not when she knew you were on the prowl for a lay. And you would never come between her and getting laid unless you had a very good reason.

“The fuck kind of piss ass slease needs to drug a girl to get with her, huh?” You spat at the man.

“No idea what you're talkin’ ‘bout, doll,” the man smiled, putting his hands up in mock defeat.

You reached into the pocket you'd seen him pull the drugs from and pulled out a bag of pills, waving it around for all to see. Nosey bystanders made a ‘ooooh’ sound and security began to close in. You looked at the closest guard, who had moved in to break up a fight, but seeing the baggy had now focused his attention on the man, a scolding fury written on his face.

“No worries babe, we'll take care of this cunt,” you told the security guard. They gave a quick nod and began to clear a path to the door, wanting the mess outside as quickly as possible. Heat and Wire quickly flanked the man, and you let go of his collar so they could drag him outside, but not before giving him a hard kick in the dick. He groaned in pain as they pulled him through the club doors, and you followed them out, anger bubbling and fists clenching in preparation. Quincy tried to follow, but you gave her one stern look and she knew better, retreating back to the safety of the other Kid Pirate women.

The commanders dragged the man to the alley down the side of the bar, and threw him hard against the wall. Killer moved to hit him, but you placed a firm hand against his chest. This was your fight, you wanted to do this. You needed to take your anger out on this man or it would fester, and fuck were you angry . Killer's mask tilted to look down at your hand, ready to argue with you, before Kid spoke up from behind.

“Let her have it Kil, this is her find,” Kid commanded. Killer took one look at Kid and gave an obedient nod, before stepping back to give you space. The men spread out around you and the stranger, ensuring he had nowhere to run.

Like a fool, he tried to run anyway, and you quickly made it clear he was going nowhere with a swift kick to the head. You may have been only a medium height, but you were agile, and strong, kicking his head was easy for you, even if he was taller than you. He went down quickly, clutching his head, and you followed with a hard kick to his stomach. He gagged, one hand moving from his head to his gut as he curled up in a protective ball.

You turned to your captain, your eyes flicking between his and the dagger strapped to his chest, asking silent permission. He handed it to you without a word, curious as to what you'd do with it. You had killed plenty of times, but you usually prefered a quick kill with a gun, you weren't keen on torture. He got the feeling though that this was different, it felt personal. You'd never insisted on killing someone yourself before, and he could see the way your eyes were dark with rage, your head twitching every so slightly whenever you looked at the man. He still wasn't entirely sure what you were mad about, but he couldn't care less, he was happy to lean against the wall and watch one of his girls kill.

You leant down next to the man, twisting your fingers through his hair and pulling hard, yanking his head up to force him to look at you. At the same time you pressed the tip of the dagger to his throat, just enough to pierce it a tiny amount, the threat of death made very real as a thin line of red ran down the man's front.

“What were your plans with my girl, huh?” You spat, “feed her your drugs, drag her away, maybe to this very spot, and rape her? Leave her broken and dying in this alleyway? Did you think she was all alone?”

The man whimpered as you pressed a foot against his groin, pressing the sharp heel of your shoe right against his dick. The men around you silently grimaced as you began to press harder, the stranger starting to cry out in pain as your shoe began to dig into his delicate parts.

“Pathetic little tiny dicked man,” you growled, pressing harder yet, “the only thing you're good for is dying”

You slid the dagger down his chest, cutting a long strip down his front, then you brought your foot up and kicked him back. His head slammed against the concrete wall with an audible crack as you stalked towards him. He tried to stand, groaning in pain, and you charged forward, jamming the dagger right into his stomach. Pinning him to the wall, he screamed and clawed at you as you twisted the blade, before pulling it out along with a small segment of his intestines. He grappled at his gut, and you dug the blade back in, higher this time, leaving it in his gut as you grabbed his wrists and pressed them against the wall behind him.

“Kid, pin this bug for me would you?” You asked sweetly. Kid compiled with a small chuckle, sending sharps of scrap metal from the alleyway straight through the man's hands, effectively nailing him to the wall. He screamed out, his hands beginning to bleed and tear as his legs started to give way underneath him, and his guts continued to spill out. You grabbed the blade that was still wedged in his gut, twisting it again for good measure before pulling it loose.

The man was writhing and screaming, on the edge of passing out from either blood loss or shock, whichever happened first, and you saw red as you realised you didn't have much longer to make him pay. Who knew how many girls he had hurt, how many Quincys hadn't had the good fortune of a friend looking at just the right moment, how many girls whose lives he had destroyed for the sake of an easy lay. Quincy was your best friend, you imagined finding her in the alleyway, unconscious and unclothed and beaten and used. You wanted to scream, cry, vomit, but most of all you wanted to kill.

“RAPIST CUNT! DIE!” you shrieked, charging back at him and stabbing over and over. You didn't bother to focus on where you were forcing your blade, sheathing it in any piece of his flesh that you could. His chest, his arms, his groin, even his face wasn't untouched. You blacked out, unleashing every ounce of fury you had pent up inside you on this man.

He was growing cold, long dead, and you continued to stab, his blood splattering all over the large amounts of skin you had exposed in your little black clubbing dress, your shoes starting to get slippery from the blood pooling inside them. You almost fell because of it, and two strong arms caught you, looping under your armpits and dragging you backwards as you fought against them, blade still in hand.

“Kid, she's out of control,” Killer spoke up from behind you, struggling to keep you steady as you slipped out of your heels and attempted to fight your way out of his grasp, still intent on burying your knife in the unrecognisable red mess of the stranger. Kid knew that bloodlust well, he had seen it in the mirror, but never on one of his girls. It startled him, and until Killer had spoken, he'd been in a haze, pride turning to concern as he watched you continue to work away at the corpse till you couldn't stand. Finally, snapped out of it, he used his devil fruit to pull the blade from your hand, receiving an almost inhuman growl from you in return. It sent a shiver down the spine of all four commanders, and drove home just how out of control you really were.

“Take her back to the ship, clean her up,” he told Killer, “Heat, stay with the girls, Wire help me get rid of this mess”

Killer swept you off your feet, in a way that would have been quite sexy if not for the fact that you were growling and hitting him, still trying to get at the dead man, and he began a quick march towards the ship. You saw Heat hurry back inside as Kid began to drag the body to the nearest dumpster, Wire holding the lid open for him as he threw the bloodied mess in, before Killer pulled around a corner and they were all out of sight.

The short walk back to the ship was a blur, and it wasn't until Killer placed you in the shower and turned the cold water on that you finally stopped fighting him, suddenly snapped out of your rage by the icy water pouring over your bare skin. You took in a sharp breath as the water prickled you, pressing your back against the wall of the shower in instinctual self defence and almost slipping in the process. Killer pinned you against the wall to keep you upright, his feet still outside the tub and his clothes getting drenched.

“Are you going to stop fighting me now?” He near growled.

You looked at where his eyes would be, coming back to reality far too quickly and realising all of a sudden what you had done. You had never been so violent in your life, you didn't know what had come over you. You grabbed the strong forearms that were either side of you as you felt your legs threaten to give out.

“I- I-” you stuttered, starting to hyperventilate.

“It's okay, I've got you,” he said, softer now. He guided your body down, letting you slide safely down the wall till you were sitting in the bathtub, and he switched the water to warm as you began to shiver. “I'm right here, I've got you” he cooed, almost a whisper, running a hand through your blood soaked hair so gently that anyone watching the exchange would mistake him for a lover.

“I don't know what happened,” you shivered.

“You were protecting Quincy,” he told you, “he was going to hurt her, you were right to be angry, I would have fucked him up just as bad. Hell, I was planning on bringing him back here, taking my time with him”

You stared at Killer's blank mask as you realised that, while extremely violent by your standards, he was right. You probably did the man a mercy by killing him so quickly, had Killer brought him back to the ship he would have tortured him for days. Maybe that would have been better, given what he'd done, what he was planning to do to Quincy. Maybe you did a bad thing, by stopping Killer. Selfish.

Killer saw the way your thoughts were beginning to spiral and curled a gentle finger under your chin, tilting your face back up. “Hey, don't let your mind play games with you, you did good, Kid was impressed, Quincy will be thankful, and who knows how many girls you've saved from a similar fate”

You sniffed a little as Killer leaned away, giving you space to compose yourself. Both of you were still fully clothed, drenched by the shower, and you were absolutely covered in blood. There were even bits of organs and skin stuck in your hair, you wanted to gag at the thought.

“This is disgusting,” you sighed as you pulled a piece of some unknown flesh out of your hair and flicked it towards the drain, “and my dress is fucking ruined” you pouted.

“It looked good while you had it, at least,” Killer remarked. You lit up, your eyes practically glittering at the compliment. It was the first time he'd ever said something nice about your appearance.

“Yeah? You liked it?” You pressed.

“Made your legs look real good,” he smirked behind the mask, knowing the little ego boost would help you out of your mood, “and I appreciated the view earlier” he would have winked if not for the mask. He stood and pulled his wet shirt over his head, revealing the tight muscles and the blonde trail of hair that ran down from his belly button and disappeared under the light blue sash he wore around his waist. He tossed it in a laundry basket in the corner of the bathroom before grabbing a towel and dabbing at the exposed hair that had gotten wet. He watched the way you eyed him hungrily, biting your lip a little and tilting your head ever so slightly, so focused on his rarely seen bare chest that you didn't even notice the way he was showing off for you. It was an expertly planned distraction, you'd all but forgotten about your rage induced overkill as you watched a stray bead of water run down his front. You very nearly moaned watching it run over his muscles, and he stifled a laugh.

He finished drying his hair and flung the towel over his shoulder, before grabbing another clean towel and hanging it on a hook next to the shower for you. “Get yourself cleaned up,” he said as he turned to leave. You'd almost forgotten you were still sitting fully clothed, covered in blood, under the running water. “I'll find you something to wear,” he said as he left, closing the bathroom door behind him.

You let out a heavy sigh at his sudden exit before registering all of a sudden that you were in his bathroom. You'd never even been past the eave of his bedroom door before. You shot up, your eyes darting around the room as you took in every little detail. To be fair though, it was unbearably clean, barely anything to be nosey about. With a slight disappointed pout you began unzipping your dress, wringing it out slightly before throwing it to the laundry basket, along with your bra and underwear. You took the bobby pins out of your hair and left them along the side of the tub to retrieve later, along with your earrings, one of which was broken. You'd have to ask Kid very nicely to mend it for you later.

You let the water run over you freely to remove most of the blood from your skin and hair before finally turning to Killer's array of products, neatly lined up along an inset shelf next to the tub. No wonder his hair was always so nice, you couldn't think of any other man you'd ever met who used hair masks, and Killer had several to choose from. You opened and sniffed each product on the shelf carefully out of curiosity, before finally starting to wash your hair and skin. You would have liked to have used a hair mask, but you'd already spent more than enough time fucking around in Killer's bathroom.

Satisfied that your murderous rampage was entirely cleaned from your body, you turned off the shower and patted your hair with the towel, letting the rest of your body drip dry till you felt like your hair was dry enough. You wrapped the towel around yourself, drying off the last few rogue drips, before taking a deep breath and walking out to the bedroom.

You weren't sure what to expect from Killer's room. You had seen glimpses of it from the hall, but never the whole room. It was tidy, not many personal belongings out on show save for a few books and a small metal elephant that Kid had clearly made him. Even less expected was Killer himself, who was lazing on the bed reading, in nothing but a pair of navy sweatpants. Let me repeat that, nothing but a pair of navy sweatpants. Your eyes flicked between him and his mask, which sat neatly on his side table, as he turned to the next page of his book. You stood frozen in the doorframe, steam slowly escaping the bathroom behind you as you stared at Killer, his icy blue eyes moving side to side as he read.

“There's clothes for you on the dresser,” he said without looking up, like he wasn't casually unmasked for the first time in front of you, “my briefs are probably too big for you but it's better than nothing”

You took a quick look around the room, finding the dresser right beside you, an old band tee and boxer briefs sitting on top of the wooden drawers. ‘Fuck that’ you thought to yourself, marching confidently to the side of the bed. Killer finally looked up just in time to watch you drop your towel, a sly smirk spreading on his face. His lips, to your surprise, were painted purple. Now that you were closer you could see how sharp his features were, and the unseen portion of his scruffy goatee that was usually half hidden by his mask.

“I wondered how long it'd take you to finally cave,” he said coyly, returning to his book. You grabbed it and threw it across the room, climbing on to the bed and straddling him.

“Your mask isn't on,” you said plainly. You weren't sure if it was a question or a statement.

“Fuck, really?” He toyed, “I hadn't noticed”

Your playfulness suddenly wavered as you realised the gravity of the situation, sitting down on his thighs and looking at him more intensely.

“Your mask isn't on,” you said, softer. This time it was definitely a statement. His hands found your waist and his thumbs made small circles against your bare skin, leaving goosebumps and making you shiver.

“I know,” he replied, his voice gentle and quiet.

“Kil..” you almost whispered. Your hands came up and cupped his face, thumbs running over his cheeks as you held his face carefully like it was the most fragile thing on earth. “.. why?”

“I'm not sure myself, to be honest,” he replied, his eyes searching your face anxiously for any hint of rejection, but finding nothing but adoration, “it just felt like the right thing to do. Plus, this is my room,” he finished with a more playful tone and a small smile. Your heart skipped a beat, seeing his smile for the first time. Your eyes flicked between his eyes and his mouth, and his smile waived as he misread your expression as disliking his smile. He began to turn away, but you held his face steady, before finally closing the distance and pressing your mouth against his.

It was a soft kiss, experimental, you may have been entirely naked in his lap but you somehow felt insecure about whether he actually wanted you. The insecurities were quickly lost though when he returned the kiss, one of his hands travelling up your back to find your hair, holding you steady as he pressed back against you. You made a small moan in response, and he took the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth, running his wet muscle against your own.

You raised yourself on your knees, hovering over him, to give yourself better purchase as his head tilted and your tongues fought against each other. The raised position opened you up to him, and he wasted no time sliding his other hand from your waist to your lower stomach, tracing down to your mound with an index finger. You moaned into his mouth as his hand ghosted across your slit, before finally sliding between your folds. He groaned as he found you already wet, and his fingers played with your silk before finally settling over your clit, circling it with his thumb. Your hips bucked as you tried to get more from him, and he took the hint, slipping a finger inside you and beginning a gentle movement.

You had to break from the kiss for air as he added a second, your hands running down his chest and your face pressing into the crook of his neck as he began curling his fingers and pumping you, his other hand holding to you steady against him as you whined. You made the occasional kiss and nip on his neck, hearing him grunt as you made little marks across his skin, and you whimpered as he added a third finger, stretching you out and targeting your g-spot. You fluttered around him as you climax rapidly built, moaning against his shoulder and leaving his skin damp from your hot breath as you panted.

“Let go [y/n], I can feel how close you are,” Killer purred, pumping you harder. Your legs shook and you were grateful for his support as you came hard, your release coating his fingers as he kissed and sucked on your neck, cooing praises. He guided you to sit back as he removed his fingers, keeping you upright with a strong arm around your waist as you sat against his thighs. Your pussy left wet patches against his sweatpants and you watched through half lidded eyes as he brought his hand to his mouth and sucked your release off his fingers, an almost inaudible moan escaping you at the lewd sight.

“So sweet,” he purred, “such a good girl for me”

You whimpered at his praises and he helped you lay on your back beside him, rolling on top of you to settle between your legs, keeping his weight off you with an arm either side of your torso. “You're so beautiful underneath me like this,” he whispered, his face dipping down to run his nose over your clavicle, taking in your scent before running a tongue up your neck to your ear, where he nipped and tugged at the lobe. “I want to taste more of you,” he whispered, “can I have you?”

You could barely tilt your head to look at him, but you managed to catch his ocean eyes for a moment before capturing his lips again, pulling gently at his hair as he kissed back with equal feverish need. You pulled away, gasping for air. “Take whatever you want from me Kil,” you panted, “I'm yours”

A small lustful growl of appreciation was his reply, overly eager at your submissive response. It fueled his ego and he began making quick kisses down your body, trailing down your centre. He stopped for a short while to admire your breasts, and the way your chest was heaving from arousal, squeezing them and pressing his face between them. It was heaven on earth to be buried between them, but what he really wanted was to watch you writhe again, so he continued down till his face was between your legs. He wrapped his arms around your thighs, holding them open and making sure you weren't going anywhere, before running a fat stripe with his tongue between your folds. You whimpered and instinctively shied away, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, but he held fast, keeping his mouth firmly on you. You felt the vibrations of his groans as he alternated between focusing on your bud and plunging his tongue inside you, your moans now flowing freely from you as he quickly brought you to a second climax.

He eagerly drank up your juices as you nearly crushed his head between your thighs, the lack of oxygen making him light headed but only adding to his arousal. When you finally released him he gave one last long stripe before sitting up, kneeling between your legs and running his hands up your body as he licked his lips.

“Fuck, Kil…” you panted, a forearm resting over your face as you came down from your second high. He gently took your arm and moved it away, hovering over you and looking at you intently.

“You okay?” He asked softly.

“Mmm,” you mumbled, a small smile on your face. You spread your legs in a not so subtle hint, giving him the greenlight to continue.

“You sure?” He replied, his still clothed erection pressing against your centre. You moaned and rolled your hips against him, and his arms almost failed to hold his weight off you as he grunted.

“Please Kil,” you mewled, grinding against him again, “I need you inside me”

He moved faster than he would in battle to strip his pants and boxers, throwing them to the floor and settling back between your legs. The fat tip of his heavy cock rested against your pussy and you bit your bottom lip, looking down between your legs at his impressive size and wondering how you were going to fit all of him.

“I'll be gentle,” he near whispered, like he could read your mind, “just tell me if you want to stop”

You nodded eagerly and held his forearms, holding yourself slightly up so you could watch as he sunk his tip inside you. You immediately wavered in your strength, falling back against the mattress and moaning as he filled and stretched you. He let out a groan as he finally reached the base, pausing to enjoy the way your walls held him so tight before slowly pulling back out again. He started a slow, gentle rhythm, pulling almost all the way out before sinking back inside you, groaning softly every time he bottomed out.

Confident that he wouldn't hurt you, you rolled your hips to meet him, encouraging him to go faster. He happily obliged, increasing his pace bit by bit. Every time he settled in to a new speed, you would roll your hips and reach for him, beckoning him to move faster and harder till he was ruining you, fucking you hard in to the bed while you balled the sheets in your hands, screaming out in pleasure at every hard thrust.

He pulled your knees up, putting them over his shoulders and pulling your ass towards him, putting you in a mating press and somehow fucking you even deeper. You reached for him and your nails sunk into the muscles that covered his arms, leaving crescent shaped indents as you writhed underneath him. His rhythm became erratic and his panting in your ear grew heavy as he bent over you, his groans only spurring you on more as you hit your third orgasm quite suddenly, screaming his name and drawing blood as your nails finally broke skin. He swore and gave two final hard thrusts before stilling and throwing his head back, letting out a primal groan as he emptied himself inside you.

He slumped forward, releasing your legs from his shoulders and resting against your chest, both of you panting heavy and struggling for air. You ran your fingers through his hair, your eyes closed in pure bliss as you enjoyed his weight on top of you, his face against your shoulder and his cock still buried deep in you. Finally he rolled off of you, making you whine as he left you empty, but he pulled you with him, holding you close against his side so he could enjoy you without worrying about crushing you.

“You know,” you forced out between heavy breaths as you traced his muscles with a index finger and his thumb rubbed small circles on the small of your back, “if I'd known all it would take to get your attention was going ape shit on some creep, I would have gone on a violent rampage much sooner”

Killer huffed a silent laugh, his eyes shut as he laid on his back and enjoyed the feeling of your warm body pressed against his, “actually, it was the dancing that did it”

“No fucking way,” you smacked his bare chest playfully, “Emma didn't think it would work, HA!”

“It was very… provocative,” Killer hummed.

“That was the point,” you mused, raising yourself up to rest on your elbow so you could look at him, “you're very handsome, you know. The mask is sexy but this is a face carved by angels”

A clear blush spread across Killer's face before he quickly silenced you with kisses.

#killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #killer one piece #one piece smut #one piece fanfiction

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demetriabooks · 6 months ago

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‘Claudia makes you and Frenchy look like a couple of whiny, existential queens’

Daniel, you fucking KING, destroyer of marriages, angel of the bottomless and never ending curiosity, Great Minion that is called Molloy, the cuntiest bitch of this world, Father of truth, Spawn of the Devil and Lord of Martinis, teach me how to absolutely destroy someone with one sentence 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

#daniel molloy #devils minion #eric bogosian #iwtv 2022 #amc iwtv #iwtv quotes #claudia iwtv #iwtv louis #iwtv lestat #louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt

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midnightsnyx · 6 months ago

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girl at home | mat barzal | part 10

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol and vomit & fluff and not edited!! word count: 2.6k

a/n: so obviously this is fiction and we don't actually know what Mat or Liana or his parents personalities are actually like but I took some liberty with Liana's personality. see end for more notes cause I don't want to spoil anything :) also sorry this is so late!! i went back to work and then had trouble with this chapter. i hope you all enjoy! likes, reblogs and comments feed my writing soul so let me know what you think <3

masterlist masterpost ask box

Liana texts you the day after your meet-up with Mat at the park, apologizing for getting angry with you and asking to go out for drinks. You don’t have it in you to still be upset with her for yelling at you because she was always the little sister you never had and just because you and Mat are having problems, doesn’t mean it should affect your relationship with her. Sometimes you wonder if you’re too quick to forgive and forget but you know that this is an exception.

“It’s just weird, y’know?” Liana mutters, laying her head on the dirty bar table. She’s on her third drink and you’re close to cutting her off. “I’m going to be an aunt again, but I have this odd feeling about Calista. Like she’s not telling the entire truth.”

You startle when she suddenly bolts upright and looks at you with wide eyes.

“What if Mat’s not the father? That would make so much sense!”

“How so?” you ask carefully. So far, you have successfully kept the fact that Calista is not pregnant a secret. It’s a secret you will have to take to your grave because you can’t let Marlee get in trouble when all she was doing was trying to help you. The truth might come out some day, but it’s something you will deal with then.

“Mat is just being weird about the whole thing, like he’s hiding something,” she says. “Well, besides the fact that he hasn’t told mom or dad… but there’s something else.” She picks up her glass and drinks the last of her martini before signinally the bartender for a refill.

“I think it’s time we switch you to Shirley Temples,” you say gently, asking the bartender for a couple glasses of water.

She tries to wave you off when you push the water towards her but you give her the all too familiar look that you used to give her when you were both younger.

“Fine, but if I’m getting cut off, so–” she stops talking abruptly, suddenly focused on something across the room. You turn and see a familiar face that makes your heart drop into your stomach because there’s no way she’s that stupid and you’re about to say something but Liana hops off her barstool and before you can stop her, she’s marching across the room to where Calista is sitting. She’s surrounded by a few other people, one of them being a guy you can’t quite place but definitely isn’t Mat, but the real kicker is the drink in her hand.

You’re not in the business of accusing people but the way she’s laughing loudly and swaying a little in her seat makes you think that it’s not a non-alcoholic drink. You stare a little too long because when you snap out of your stupor, it’s to a loud shriek and shouting. Nearly tripping over your own feet, you rush over to find both Calista and Liana being held back by people and shouting at each other. You manage to drag Liana out of the hands of the person holding her back but you can’t help but stare at Calista in shock. You know she’s not pregnant but you didn’t think she was stupid enough to test her luck by getting drunk at a bar and possibly being seen by people who think she is.

“I knew something was off about you,” Liana shouts at Calista who only now seems to realize that you are also in the room. Her face, which was red, pales considerably and her eyes widen when she looks at you.

“You are pregnant!” Liana shrieks and when you hear people gasping and the whispers start, you know you need to get Liana out of here now.

With strength you didn’t realize you have, you drag her outside. She shakes you off as soon as you’re out the doors and promptly throws up all over your shoes. You don’t give yourself time to be grossed out, pulling your phone out of your pocket and calling the first person you think of.

“Hello?” Jax mumbles and you’re panicking enough that you can’t feel sorry that you woke him up.

“I need you to pick us up,” you gasp and suddenly you’re sixteen again, calling him to pick you up from a party that you snuck out to.

Jax doesn’t hesitate before agreeing and asking where you are. You rattle off the name of the bar and he says he’ll be there in ten minutes even though you know his apartment is at least twenty minutes away. You’ve never been so grateful to have him as a friend.

“You didn’t call Mat, right?” Liana asks quietly and you look to see her sitting on the curb, looking absolutely miserable. Her eyes are filled with unspilled tears and you can only imagine what’s going on in her head.

“No,” you tell her, sitting down next to her and wrapping an arm around her. “I called Jax.”

She nods and leans her head on your shoulder. You sit in silence for a few minutes before she speaks and her voice is quiet and shaky.

“She was never pregnant, was she?”

Maybe it’s the natural motherly instinct in you, but you realize you can’t lie to her when she’s so upset.

“No,” you tell her and then she’s crying. You know that she’s drunk which makes her more emotionally vulnerable but you also know how sensitive she’s always been and it’s not a weakness. She wears her emotions on her sleeve and it’s only ever made her kinder and wiser than she should be for her age.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you when Mat told me but I was so confused and upset that he was keeping it from us.”

Then she’s crying even harder. “Oh god, what are we going to tell Mat?”

Truthfully, in the chaos of all this, you haven’t had the chance to think about what you’ll do about Mat. You know Liana won’t keep the truth from him and even if she did, word travels fast and he would eventually find out. You’re not certain he can mentally handle this, not with everything that’s going on between the two of you and his fragile relationship with Nora. He was just getting used to the fact that he has a daughter when Calista dropped the baby bomb on him and now to find out that it’s been a lie? You’ve no idea what he will do.

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly and sigh in relief when you see Jax’s car come into view. You stand up, helping her back to her feet just as Jax parks and gets out to help you.

He looks worried but doesn’t say anything about yours or Liana’s appearance. Once you’re both settled in his car, he tells you he’s going to bring you both to his apartment for the night, obviously not feeling comfortable dropping you home when you’re upset and intoxicated. You know he’s right but all you want to do is curl up in your own bed.

“Alright,” you agree eventually and he nods, starting the drive back to his place. You must nod off because the next thing you know, Jax is gently shaking your arm, waking you up.

“I can’t carry you both in,” he jokes and you look back to see Liana completely knocked out. She grumbles when you wake her but she’s coherent enough to walk.

Jax’s boyfriend, Eli, already has their guestroom set up so you get Liana in the bed and then situate yourself on the air mattress. Jax leaves with a promise to check on you both throughout the night and if you weren’t so worried about Liana, you would tell him not to worry but you’re not taking any chances with her.

You lay awake for a while, not able to get the image of Calista drunk and with another guy out of your head. You don’t know how to tell Mat about it and Liana probably won’t either but eventually you drift off to sleep.

. . .

The next morning, you wake before Liana. Jax came in and checked on you both a few times before deciding that it was okay to leave you so you’re surprised to find him awake when you make your way out to the kitchen. It’s just past 8 o’clock but he’s cooking breakfast, singing off tune to Taylor Swift.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting at the breakfast bar. You know he’s going to want an explanation because even though he let you off the hook last night, he’s going to want to know why Liana was crying and you had vomit on your shoes when he picked you up.

“Morning,” he replies, placing a coffee in front of you and a piece of plain toast. You can feel his eyes watching you eat and once you’re done, he looks at you expectantly.

“We saw Calista at the bar last night,” you explain. “Drunk and with some random guy.”

“Huh,” he says, so you look at him. His face is neutral, not showing if he’s surprised.

“What does huh mean?”

“I mean, you did say something was off about her.”

That was putting it lightly because although you couldn’t tell him the full story in fear that Marlee would lose her job, you did express your concerns about her without telling him that you knew she wasn’t pregnant.

“Yeah,” you sigh.

You hear shuffling from the guest room and look to see Liana walking into the kitchen. She plops down next to you and groans.

“I’m never drinking again,” she says and you can’t help but chuckle despite the circumstances.

“Said every hungover person ever,” you say and a small smile crosses her face before she frowns, clearly remembering last night's events.

“I have to tell Mat,” she says. “It’s not fair to him that she lied.”

You sigh but nod in agreement.

“I have to pick Nora up from my moms,” you tell her. “Are you okay to tell him yourself?”

You really don’t want to be there when Mat finds out, not when you’re dealing with your own feelings towards him.

“Yeah,” she says, eating the toast Jax offers her.

You both finish your coffee and then Jax drives you to your apartment and you drop Liana home before picking Nora up.

She’s ecstatic to see you, telling you everything she did with grandma from the moment you dropped her off until now picking her up.

“And then, Millie hissed at me but Gizmo barked and scared her away,” she takes a deep breath before continuing her ramblings. “Can we get a kitten?”

“You’re allergic, remember?” You remind her, and then a thought pops into your mind. Where did she see your mother’s neighbor's cat? “Where did you see Millie?”

“Mrs. Turner invited us over for tea,” she tells you and then offhandedly adds: “she asked about you and Mat.”

This doesn’t surprise you because Mrs. Edna Turner is quite the gossiper. You have trust in your mother that she didn’t tell Edna anything private but you’re still curious what exactly they talked about and you know that your child can be sneaky when she wants to be.

“What did Mrs.Turner ask?” you ask, rolling your eyes when she sighs dramatically and puts her tablet away.

“Well, first she asked if Mat was really my daddy and when Grandma said yes, she said ‘that poor child’,” she says, face scrunching up in confusion. “What does that mean?”

You make a mental note to talk to your mom about bringing Nora to any future tea parties at Mrs. Turner’s.

“Nothing,” you assure her. “What else did she say?”

“She told grandma that if she were you, she wouldn’t move me to New York.” Her eyes narrow and she frowns. “I thought you said we weren’t moving to New York.”

“We’re not.”

“Then how come Mrs.Turner said that?” she demands.

“‘Cause Mrs. Turner doesn’t know how to mind her own business,” you mumble and then sigh, looking at Nora so she’s listening. “We’re not moving to New York, okay?”

She nods and then smiles. “Can we go get ice cream?”

“Yeah, we can go get ice cream,” you tell her even though it’s nearly dinner.

Every once in awhile, ice cream for dinner is in order.

. . .

It’s past midnight when there’s a quiet knock on your door, and the only reason you’re awake to hear it is because Liana let you know she told Mat the truth about Calista. She told you that he had left the house as soon as she told him that morning and hadn’t returned home all day. You were expecting a text from him but your phone was silent and that worried you even more.

So, when you open the door to find Mat standing in front of you, red rimmed eyes and looking about two seconds away from crying, you don’t hesitate to let him inside. He slips past you and toes his shoes off before going straight for the couch and sitting down on it. You hesitate, but eventually settle down next to him.

He’s resting his elbows on his knees, hiding his face in his hands and it takes you a minute to realize he’s crying silently.

“Mat…”

“I just - fuck, I thought that this was my second chance, you know? It wasn’t ideal but I would get to do all the things I missed with Nora,” he says, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I was such an idiot.”

It’s not a dig towards you but you still can’t shake the guilt you always feel when he talks about everything he didn’t get to see. Her first steps, first words, first day of kindergarten. All the things you can never get back.

“It’s not your fault,” you say gently. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should’ve,” he mumbles and before you can say anything, you hear soft footsteps coming down the hallway. You look to see Nora, rubbing her eyes sleepily and frowning when she sees Mat.

When he realizes she’s there, he wipes his eyes hastily but it’s not fast enough because Nora walks over to him and deepens her frown.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly, reaching out and touching his cheek that’s still damp.

Mat looks like he’s going to say that he’s fine but seems to change his mind last minute. He smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“Not really, peanut,” he tells her and the frown on her face deepens even more than you thought possible.

“Mama says hugs make things better when you’re sad,” she says, sounding much wiser than a six-year-old should sound. Then, without asking, she climbs up onto his lap and wraps her tiny arms around his neck and hugs him. You can see the moment Mat breaks, hugging her back gently and it’s like all the tension drains from his body.

You call it the “Nora Effect”, because her little hugs always seem to make you feel better.

“I’m so sorry, Nora,” you hear Mat whisper and you know he’s going to beat himself up over everything that’s happened with Calista - and Nora deserves his apologies, but your kid is one of a kind and you know that she will forgive him.

With time, if he proves himself, he’ll have a place in her life and you can’t wait to see what the future holds for them.

authors notes: so calista is goneeeee FINALLY. she wasn't supposed to be here as long as she was but I got too carried away with that storyline and i'm glad it's over lol also, I had mixed thoughts about having mama be the one who told Mat that Calista was lying but I just couldn't get it right so I figured next best thing would be Liana! ps: millie is named after my own cat who i will put a pic of in the comments below

tag list: @literatureluster @dasiysthings @diary-of-jj @heatherawoowoo @fallinallincurls @lovinbarzal @whatthepuckisgoingon @teapartydreams @alilstressyandlotdepressy @keiva1000 @hischiershoe @bellstwd

@alwaysclassyeagle @brrbrina @nonsensical-nonsence @love-like-woaah @swift-sos @barzygirl13 @ilyrafe

if you want to be added or taken off the list, please let me know :)

#allies writing #hockey imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fanfiction #nhl imagines #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal fic #mat barzal x you #mathew barzal x reader #hockey fanficiton #hockey imagine

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tippenstoepens · 6 months ago

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Prettiest Girl in the Room

Anyone would kill to play Joseph Quinn's wife on television. Anyone except you.

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

Wordcount: 1.8k

Clubs were not your thing. But you were wrapping the first season of the show that gave you your first lead role on everyone’s favorite streaming service alongside 2022’s it-guy - Joseph Quinn. So you understood why this might be a night out that you couldn’t pass on. Even if it did end in disaster, it was a memory begging to be made.

The main cast had agreed on and planned this night out for the past three weeks in the group chat. The destination was a popular speakeasy in New York, the kind you needed a password for and entered through an inconspicuous door hidden behind a dumpster.

There you sat at the table, forcing the coolest attitude you could conjure sitting across from your TV husband, Joe. In the six months you spent as his TV wife, you couldn’t imagine why everyone was so head over heels for this guy. Sure, he’s handsome and good with fans, but is that all it took? Was the bar truly that low? Your heart cried for women everywhere.

He could also be kind of cocky and a bit of a smartass. He would make passive aggressive jokes at your expense. Maybe it was some kind of culture thing you weren’t picking up. He was British after all. He kept calling you “Mrs. Henderson” instead of your own, real name after you had asked him multiple times to stop calling you by your character’s married name when you weren’t filming. Then he just began to tease you about it.

“Good morning, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Henderson.”

“Good to see you, Mrs. Henderson.”

Holly Vanguard made sure to get the seat to Joe’s right, laughing too loudly at all of his dry humor. She even laughed when he wasn’t making jokes. Maybe she was just stuck in character. She played Joe’s secretary on the show. “We’re both British,” she took care to remind you often. “We get each other.” Why Holly excluded your very British TV father from this covenant, you’ll never know. David sat to your left.

Every so often he would reach over and squeeze your hand in reassurance. When you looked over to him, he’d be smiling softly with encouragement in his eyes. You had developed a negative reputation throughout filming the season because you preferred not to agitate your social anxiety by leaving your trailer. David was the only one you had confided in about it after a particularly stressful day on set. You’d heard whispers of your “stuck up attitude” after passing on a previous night out with the cast (which you suspected was started by Holly). You were sure your bickering with Joe when the cameras weren’t rolling hadn’t helped.

This was your first real gig and the circus of it all drove you crazy. There were a lot of politics involved in being part of a cast of public figures. Apparently, people weren’t supposed to disagree with anyone who had more public recognition than you did - especially if that one was GQ’s Man of the Year. You suspected Joe liked your attitude at least a little bit, but you couldn’t be sure.

“Why don’t we play Spin the Bottle?” Holly suggested to the table, giving Joe eyes.

Groans of opposition came from the older cast members and they excused themselves to the dancefloor after everyone had a laugh. And then there were five. You silently wept at the loss of your emotional support TV father.

“In the middle of a pandemic? No,” Jackson shut it down and made a different proposal. “Let’s play a good old-fashioned game of Truth or Dare. But you don’t get to choose either or - the person asking chooses for you. If you refuse a dare or question, you’ve gotta take a shot of tequila.”

“Every 20 minutes, I’ll refuse a question,” Joe declared and slapped a palm onto the table. His dirty martini shook next to the point of impact.

The group made rounds around the table and when it came to you, you asked Jackson what it was like to be the most fashionable person in the room at all times.

“Oh my god, finally someone acknowledges my plight. It’s exhausting. I spend all this time planning outfits and looking amazing, but do I get invited to the Met Gala? No. I don’t even get to look at myself all day, everyone else gets to see my color coordination and I have to look at everyone else’s sweatpants and Wallabees. No offense, Joseph,” Jackson said with no remorse.

“That’s fair,” Joe shrugged and smirked.

In the few rounds you all had, you noticed Joe always dared people to do absurd things like pose with the statues in the back of the club and “stay in character” for a full five minutes or take the fish skeleton off of the plate of the table next to them and cuddle it for a full round.

You thought it was sweet that he only came up with dares that wouldn’t inconvenience the staff and other club go-ers or violate anyone’s boundaries while still managing to be funny. He could easily be obnoxious if he wanted to. He’s not so bad, you guessed.

When his fourth turn came around, he broke the pattern. Joe said your name and you prepared to fully commit to whatever zany bit he’d come up with this time, but he said:

“Truth: why don’t you come out with us more often?”

“O-oh,” you blubbered, caught off guard. “I just… I’m not good with crowds.”

“Oh, come on. I want a real answer.”

“That is my real answer. I’d just make a fool of myself. I’m not…”

“You seem to be doing just fine so far.”

“Well, that’s because David-” You turned to look for him and found him attempting a very bad vogue in a small group of younger people. They cheered and let all sorts of onomatopoeia in encouragement. “...was helping.”

“Alright, alright, but if you don’t come out with us next time, I’ll be wounded.” Joe pressed both hands to his pectoral over his heart.

“Next!” Jackson jeered.

“Oh! Would you look at that, it’s my turn!” Holly squealed. You didn’t have the highest opinion of Holly, but the feminist in you refused to dislike her until she committed an actual crime like vehicular manslaughter. Being annoying wasn’t a serious enough offense.

Holly dramatically adjusted herself in her seat to face Joe.

“I dare you to kiss the prettiest girl in the room,” Holly slurred and puckered her glossy lips, tilting forward a bit to display her cleavage. Your stomach dropped. Everyone at the table exchanged glances, wondering if Joe was drunk enough to entertain it.

Joe’s eyelids fluttered and his head tilted as he processed what had been said. Had she really just done that? It was only after his eyes flicked over to you that you became aware of the jealousy on your face. Your recovery was quick, but not quick enough. Hopefully he took it as concern or judgement. He knit his brow and chuckled. Shit.

“You got me,” he surrendered. He grabbed a tequila shot from the tray and chucked the liquor down his throat. He didn’t even make a face. It was kind of sexy. No! It wasn’t. It was most definitely not sexy.

Holly exhaggerated a pout to play off the embarrassment.

The rest of the night went smoothly. The game had got you loosened up enough to make your way to the dancefloor. Everyone whooped and hollered when you did.

You couldn’t decide if it was just the liquid courage or if you were actually dancing very well. Your movements felt so fluid and you hit every beat - an uphill battle when you were sober. Judging by everyone’s surprise and the circle that formed around you in the middle of the dancefloor, you’d say your theory was accurate. Who knew the shyest cast member could be such a party animal?

After a verse of the 90s R&B song that was playing, you pointed to the first co-worker you laid eyes on and joined the circle as they took your place.

…

The group stumbled through the hallways of the hotel at four in the morning, trying to keep the volume at a minimum and failing miserably. Your ears must’ve still been ringing from the club. Everyone was giggling and “SHHHH”-ing and repeating their room number.

“25D… 25, 25, 25…” Alex repeated.

“Shhhhh! We’re still in the under 20s! That’s 12D!” Jackson shouted.

“Both of you shut the fuck up! People are trying to sleep!” David whisper-shouted.

Joe shushed all three of them.

When all the oversized toddlers were dropped off at their respective rooms, there was only yourself and Joe left. You’d wished you had booked a room further away just to talk to Joe a little longer. He was giggly and flushed from the drinks and you had never seen him so… cute.

Before you knew it, you had arrived at your hotel room door.

“Have you got your key?”

“Yeah,” you reached into your bag and retrieved the plastic card, holding it in your hands for a bit too long before looking up at Joe. You didn’t want the night to end. His eyes were glossy and full of - dare you say it - admiration.

“Well, I guess-“ “I think you’re-“

“Oh, sorry.”

“No, no,” you said. “I, um…”

There was another long pause of sustained eye contact. It should have felt awkward or uncomfortable, but it didn’t. A smile spread across his face. You huffed a smaller laugh and found your own lips spreading.

“Good night,” he said softly.

“Good night,” you barely whispered.

Joe walked down the hall as you swiped your key and turned the handle.

“Oh,” He muttered and snapped his fingers once.

“I’ve almost forgotten,” Joe called. He jogged back to your door and took your head into his hands. “I owe you.”

He pressed a gentle kiss into your lips. Then another. And another. Before you knew it, you were both nibbling on each others lips and swirling tongues into the other’s mouth. Which should have been raunchy and drunken and a huge mistake, but it didn’t feel like any of those things. He was so gentle and soft with you in a way that no other man had been before. Before you knew it, you were standing there: eyes blissfully closed and lips still slightly parted as Joe floated away from you.

“Good night, Mrs. Henderson,” he purred in that deep, chocolatey voice of his and walked back down the hall, disappearing into the elevator.

You stood there in front of your door for a good thirty seconds before coming back down from your high and slipping into your hotel room, dreaming of the next kiss Joe had in store for Mrs. Henderson.

#joseph quinn #rp fanfiction #joe quinn #hoard film #eddie munson #fanfiction #stranger things #a quiet place day one #gladiator 2 #hoard movie #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn fandom #joe quinn fanfic

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redvexillum · 13 days ago

Text

A/N: This is set in my Mandatory Overtime universe. I can't seem to let Sunshine go. Damn, I should've just written a long fic for them. Also PSA, licking doorknobs is not indicative of writing angst. Kit. Stop spreading lies. *glares*

SUMMARY: You and Vox shared a tangled, messy relationship—one where Valentino always seemed to cast his shadow over you both. You understood why he had to be part of the picture, but that didn’t stop you from yearning for the impossible. You wanted Vox to choose you.

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, soft!vox, complicated relationship, on/off relationship, p in v

A cacophony of remixed Christmas songs blared through the air, their jarring, cheery beats paired with pulsating red and green lights that sliced through the dimly lit room like daggers. The scent in the air was a cocktail of sweat, alcohol, and cloying perfume—a suffocating reminder of how alive and chaotic Voxtek’s annual Christmas party was. The revelry buzzed around you, loud and relentless, but it only seemed to make your chest feel heavier.

You stood off to the side, nodding absently as your coworker droned on about their long, exhausting day. The stem of your martini glass was cool in your hand, the electric blue cosmopolitan inside trembling slightly as your grip tightened. Your gaze wandered, searching—inevitably landing on him.

Vox.

The man who had the unique talent of being both your salvation and your ruin. He stood out even in this riot of chaos. His sleek, neatly tailored blue suit hugged his frame perfectly, the glow of the lights reflecting off the polished surface of his television-shaped head. His drink—something dark and neat—dangled from his long fingers with effortless grace as he laughed at something Valentino, his ever-present companion, said. The moth demon lounged by his side, all charm and vanity, the two of them shining like kings holding court in the middle of the crowded room.

Your fingers clenched tighter around your glass, and your teeth ground together until your jaw ached. The urge to storm across the room, throw your drink into Vox’s smug face, and watch the ice-cold liquid drip from his perfect suit was almost irresistible. Almost. Instead, you sucked in a sharp breath, downed the rest of your cosmopolitan in one angry gulp, and slammed the glass onto the nearest table with a little too much force.

“Getting another drink,” you muttered, though you knew your words were swallowed by the pulsing bass of the music and the hum of laughter and conversation around you. Nobody even noticed as you slipped away, bitterness bubbling in your chest as the sickeningly upbeat rhythm of “Jingle Bell Rock” mocked you with every cheerful note.

The holiday cheer decorating the room—sparkling tinsel, gaudy presents, mistletoe strung above every doorway—only served to sour your mood further. Each garish ornament seemed to twinkle with laughter at your misery.

Sliding onto a barstool, you slouched forward and gestured for another drink. This stool was going to be your home for the next half hour—just long enough to dull the ache in your chest—before you went back to your real home. Alone.

On Christmas Day.

The bartender slid a fresh drink into your waiting hand. You stared at the swirling liquid, your head buzzing, your heart tight with an ache you refused to name. The burn of alcohol in your throat did nothing to soothe the bitterness gnawing at you.

Your relationship with Vox was... complicated. The truth of it, spoken aloud, sounded sordid and empty: you were sleeping with your boss. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? Or maybe less. In Hell, hierarchy was everything, and for Vox, power meant everything. Valentino and Velvette were essential to maintaining his control over his territory. You understood that.

You had to.

But understanding it didn’t make it hurt any less.

Your fingers tightened around the glass as you lifted it, drinking deeply, hoping the alcohol would drown the unwelcome emotions swirling in your chest. Hell wasn’t a place for attachments or exclusivity. No one stayed with just one person for eternity, not here. It was absurd to even think about it.

So why the fuck does it still hurt?

You stared at your reflection in the swirling depths of your drink, the words echoing in your head like a cruel mantra. You weren’t hurt. You weren’t upset. You weren’t angry that, once again, Vox chose to spend his evening with Valentino, his public partner, instead of you.

You weren’t jealous.

At least, that’s what you told yourself as you took another drink and tried not to look back at him.

You didn’t love him.

Not even close.

Sure, your boss had everything that turned heads in Hell—power, influence, money, and a talent in bed that left you breathless.

But love?

Nah.

The very thought made you scoff, a bitter laugh bubbling from your throat. What you felt for him was raw, primal, transactional.

Not love.

But the universe, in its perverse humour, seemed to think otherwise. The song shifted, and Mariah Carey’s unmistakable voice belted out the opening to “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” You groaned aloud, the sound swallowed by the party’s din, and chugged your drink in one aggressive gulp. The burn of the alcohol wasn’t nearly enough to drown the ache simmering under your skin. Slamming the empty glass onto the bar, you shot the bartender a glare and jabbed a finger toward the counter.

"Another," you demanded, your voice sharp despite the festive chaos around you.

Thirty more minutes. That was all you’d allow yourself. Thirty minutes to sit here, drink until the edges of your thoughts blurred, and then go home. Maybe you’d pull your vibrator out of the drawer, let it fill the void for a few fleeting moments, and then collapse into bed, pretending none of this mattered. Pretending you weren’t bitter. Pretending you weren’t sad. Pretending you didn’t feel the icy tendrils of loneliness wrap tighter around your heart with every passing minute.

Goddammit.

The alcohol was doing a piss-poor job of cheering you up.

In the corner of the room, Vox’s mechanical systems emitted a faint, insistent beep, an irritating reminder that his internal software was overdue for an upgrade. He sighed softly to himself, adjusting the bow tie of his meticulously tailored suit. That was the cost of his biomechanical form—constant maintenance, relentless upkeep.

Truthfully, he had little interest in the party. He was here for two reasons: to appease Valentino, his ever-demanding lover, and to see you.

His glowing screen flickered faintly as his gaze scanned the crowded room, moving automatically from face to face until it landed on you. There you were, sitting at the bar, hunched slightly over a drink, a faint scowl etched into your features. You looked radiant despite your sour mood. The sequined cocktail dress you wore hugged your figure, catching the flashing lights and making you shimmer like a living star. The plunging V-neckline left little to the imagination, and he felt a familiar heat coil low in his gut.

He smirked to himself. Of course, you’d turn heads tonight.

You always did.

Earlier, he had told you that he needed to entertain Valentino for the evening, brushing it off as a necessary performance. You had smiled—damn that smile—and shrugged, saying you understood. Professionalism. That was the facade the two of you wore in public, acting every bit the obedient employee and the aloof, untouchable boss. But there were moments. Fleeting, stolen moments when your gazes lingered too long, when his hand would brush against yours, when his thoughts strayed to pulling you close and keeping you for himself.

Right now, standing beside Valentino, those same thoughts teased at the edges of his mind. How easy it would be to cross the room, sweep you into his arms, and drag you to the darkest corner of the room where the two of you could forget the rest of the world existed.

“Ugh!” Valentino’s dramatic groan broke through his reverie. The moth demon scowled at his phone, his manicured nails clicking against the screen as he fumed. “I swear, if this whore ignores my call one more time…” His glowing red eyes flashed behind the pink-tinted heart-shaped glasses.

Vox forced out a laugh, though his patience was wearing thin. Between the blaring music, Valentino’s whining, and the incessant beeping in his head, his mood was unravelling quickly. “Val,” he drawled, his voice low and laced with feigned amusement, “try not to do anything rash. It’s Christmas, for Hell’s sake.”

Val blinked once, then twice, before puffing leisurely on his long, ornate pipe. The pink smoke swirled lazily around him, casting his devilish grin in an almost ethereal glow. “Oh, are you due for another upgrade, Voxxy?” he purred, the nickname dripping from his lips like honey. “Maybe I can keep you company while you’re… upgrading.” He leaned closer, his grin widening into something sultry and teasing.

Vox barely resisted the urge to roll his glowing eyes again. The last time Val had “kept him company” during an upgrade, Val had received a call from Angel Dust halfway through and left Vox high and dry—literally. The memory still burned. He had been stuck there, slouched in his office chair, pants down, painfully hard, and utterly alone when you had walked in.

Your startled yelp had been mortifying enough, but the mischievous glint in your eyes and the endless teasing that followed? That was a special kind of Hell. You never knew why he’d been in that state—Vox had made sure of that. You hated Val, after all, and if you’d known it was because Val had ditched him for a call, your teasing would’ve turned into something far worse.

Suppressing the bitter swirl of memory, Vox squared his shoulders, his posture straightening into its usual imposing form. His lips pressed into a tight line before curling into a forced smile. “No, Val,” he said with exaggerated patience, searching for a plausible excuse. “You’d only…” He paused, mind racing. “Delay the upgrade speed. It’s a delicate process.”

He threw in one of his trademark grins for good measure, but Val was already engrossed in his phone, scrolling obsessively and muttering about unanswered messages. Vox let out a quiet sigh, irritation flickering beneath his polished exterior.

Fine. Perfect.

Before vanishing in a crackle of static, Vox allowed himself one lingering glance at you across the room. The sequined dress you wore still glimmered under the party lights, catching his gaze like a magnet. His chest tightened as he etched the image into his memory, unwilling to let it go just yet.

The moment Vox stepped into his office, he let out a long, steadying sigh. This was his sanctuary—a place of order, where chaos bowed to his control. The faint hum of monitors greeted him like an old friend, and he sank into his chair with a rare sense of relief.

His eyes drifted to the tangled wires waiting for him on the desk, and a low chuckle escaped his lips. He couldn’t help but remember the night you’d found him awkwardly tangled in those same wires. One thing had led to another, and—

Focus. Vox shook his head sharply, a faint tinge of warmth creeping up his neck. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in memories of you… and your plump lips... and the way they felt when—

Damn it.

Forcing himself back to the task at hand, he summoned the wires with a flick of his fingers. They slithered through the air like obedient serpents, plugging neatly into the ports at the back of his head. The familiar sensation of connection settled over him, and he exhaled slowly, emptying his mind as the system began its reboot.

Data organized itself in tidy streams, his consciousness dimming as the upgrade process took over. It was a slow, meticulous procedure, one that required hours to complete. As his body relaxed into the chair, Vox allowed himself to drift into a light, dreamless slumber, welcoming the brief reprieve.

But peace never lasted long.

The sharp bang of his office door swinging open jolted him upright, his systems momentarily glitching as his muscles tensed. A flare of annoyance sparked within him, ready to ignite into full-blown fury at whoever had dared interrupt him.

And then he heard your voice.

“Helloooo~” you called, your tone lilting with a drunken, playful edge. A cascade of giggles followed, bubbling up like sweet champagne.

Vox froze, his chest constricting as he tried to decide whether to greet you or remain perfectly still. His gaze flicked to the progress bar on his internal display. 1%. Barely started. Damn it all.

It had been weeks since the two of you had been alone together—weeks of stolen glances and unspoken longing. And now here you were, waltzing into his sanctuary, dishevelled and carefree, breaking every ounce of control, he prided himself on.

Vox’s indecisiveness was his undoing. Before he could resolve whether to stay passive or act, you padded closer, your presence lighting up the sterile office like a bright spark in the dark. The intoxicating scent of you—familiar yet utterly irresistible—hit him first, followed by the mesmerizing sight of you leaning over him. Your cleavage spilled tantalizingly into view, and Vox cursed silently as blood surged southward, betraying his carefully maintained composure.

You looked devastating up close, the faint sheen of alcohol-induced mischief dancing in your eyes.

"Hmm," you hummed, swaying slightly, one hand gripping your heels while the other clutched a half-empty bottle of scotch. Your lips quirked into a dreamy smile as you pinched your own cheek, wincing with a soft ow. "I’m not dreaming, am I?" you mused, your words slurred ever so slightly.

Vox’s grin widened, though his screen remained dark, a carefully maintained façade of his "upgrade mode." To anyone else, he might appear shut down, lifeless, but he was acutely aware of every movement, every word, every shift of your body.

“Aw, man,” you pouted, your lower lip sticking out in a maddeningly cute way, “I was gonna drink in here.” With zero hesitation, you plopped yourself onto his left knee, straddling him with a familiarity that made his circuits hum.

Your closeness was intoxicating, your scent mingling with the faint heat of your skin. Your fingers hovered dangerously close to his lap, grazing the fabric stretched over his now-hardening cock.

“I was feeling a little naughty, you know,” you teased, leaning closer, mischief twinkling in your half-lidded eyes. “Bet you’d be annoyed if I drank in here, huh?”

Vox had to clench every metaphorical muscle to keep from reacting, though his heart—or its closest biomechanical equivalent—thudded against his chest. He bit back the urge to smirk. Oh, Sunshine, I’m going to tease you so much for this tomorrow. He could already picture the flush spreading across your cheeks when he reminded you of tonight’s antics.

You tilted your head, curiosity glinting in your gaze as you squinted at him. Shifting closer, your hips pressed fully against his thigh, sending sparks of heat racing through his body. Vox’s composure wavered as your dress hitched higher, exposing more of your soft, tempting skin.

"Are you sleeping, Vox?" you whispered, your voice a mix of suspicion and amusement as you pressed your forehead against his screen. "Don’tcha usually have that bouncy logo thing going?"

When no response came, your lips curled into a wicked grin. Vox felt a jolt of anticipation as your fingers began to explore the front of his pants. Your touch deliberate as it pressed firmly against his strained member. You burst into laughter, the sound filling the room like music laced with sin. Your hips rocked against him in your mirth, further testing his self-control.

“Oh my God,” you said, your voice dropping low, dripping with mockery and something darker. “Are you having a wet dream, Vox? Imagining your boyfriend fucking you in the ass?" Though there was a playful lilt to your words, the bitter edge didn’t escape him.

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with something unspoken. You tilted your head, humming in thought before murmuring, “Should I help you, Vox? Relieve you?”

His restraint was a thin, fragile thread, threatening to snap as you ground against his thigh, soft, breathy moans spilling from your lips.

"It’s not fair," you whispered, your voice quivering with a vulnerability that made his chest ache. “It’s not fair…” Your hips stuttered to a halt, the air thick with the sound of your unsteady breathing. “I… I wanted to spend tonight with you, you know.”

Your words cracked something deep within him. And then, to his horror, he saw it: the shimmering wetness in your eyes, the way you bit your trembling lip, your head bowing as if the weight of the moment had finally crushed you.

Without a second thought, Vox disconnected from the upgrade with a sharp click, the wires snapping free as his hands shot up to grip your waist. He slid you closer, his touch firm but gentle, his screen flickering to life with a soft glow.

“Babydoll,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with concern. His hands steadied you as his heart ached at the sight of your uncharacteristic vulnerability. “What’s wrong?”

His crimson gaze searched yours, desperate to understand the pain he saw there, a pain that cut deeper than he expected, twisting into places he didn’t even realize could hurt.

You jolted when Vox’s hands suddenly grabbed your waist, his fingers strong and grounding. The unexpected movement made your heart leap, and your tear-filled eyes blinked rapidly, scattering the evidence of your vulnerability. Heat rushed to your cheeks, shame and embarrassment burning under your skin.

You forced a bright, shaky smile, trying to mask your emotional turmoil. “What are you talking about?” you teased, voice light, as your arms looped loosely around his neck. You shifted closer, biting your lip at the unmistakable pressure of his hardness pressing against your core. It was a flattering reminder of how much he wanted you, no matter how complicated things had become.

When you stumbled into his office, you hadn’t really planned it. One drink had turned into three—then four—and suddenly, the elevator had become your best friend, carrying you to the one place you thought you could find solace.

You didn’t expect him to be here, though you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t hoped for it. This was Vox, after all. He practically lived in this office. When you saw his familiar silhouette illuminated by the dim, flickering glow of the computer monitors, something in you had ached to be near him, to hold him, to be held in return.

“You looked like you were about to cr—” Vox started, his voice softer than you expected.

A giggle bubbled out of you, too quick, too bright. “Silly, Vox,” you interrupted, the alcohol thrumming through your veins making your skin hum and your mood twist in erratic directions. You pressed closer to him, chest to chest, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

And he didn’t push you away.

That alone sent a thrilling pulse through your already-buzzed system.

The unspoken agreement between you hung heavy in the air, a deal forged in moments of desperation. Vox had promised to focus on repairing his relationship with Valentino, and you had promised to give him space. You said you’d understand.

But you didn’t agree.

“Where’s Valentino?” you asked, your voice soft as silk, a quiet murmur. Your lips brushed the side of his neck, leaving a featherlight kiss. As you spoke, your fingers moved with practised ease, undoing his bow tie and sliding down to unbutton his crisp shirt.

Vox exhaled sharply, his breath hitching as his hips bucked forward. The friction made you gasp, and he groaned, voice rough and strained. “Oh, fuck, babydoll... we... we can’t do this today.”

His words hit you like a splash of cold water, and your body stiffened. The dark thoughts you’d tried so hard to drown out began to surface, insidious and cruel.If you don’t keep his attention, he’ll forget you. The thought clawed at you. Or worse, he’ll find someone better... someone who’s everything you’re not.

Clenching your teeth, you acted before doubt could take over. With a sharp tug, you ripped open his shirt, sending buttons scattering across the floor with loud, defiant clicks.

Vox leaned back, startled for a moment, before a lopsided grin spread across his face. The glow of the monitor painted his navy skin in a halo of soft light, making him look even more enticing.

“You were saying?” you purred, tilting your head with a shit-eating grin, defiance sparkling in your eyes.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you charged with electric tension. His grin faltered slightly as his hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. "You're going to be the death of me, babydoll," he murmured, his voice low and full of something dangerous, something irresistible.

You half-expected him to push you away. He was always unyielding when it came to his rules, particularly those tied to maintaining his power. If he did—if he denied you now—you would go. You wouldn’t beg, wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t linger in a space that no longer welcomed you. You would collect what little dignity remained, return home, and let the ache consume you in solitude.

But a desperate, fragile part of you prayed he wouldn’t.

You hid that vulnerability beneath bold lipstick and a smirk, your armour polished and gleaming. Slowly, you licked your lips, drawing his attention to them. “I wanted more than a Christmas bonus, you know?” Your voice carried the teasing edge of a challenge, masking the tremor in your heart.

Vox exhaled a soft laugh, the sound low and indulgent. His sharp fingers moved with deliberate precision as he undid his pants, the zipper’s metallic rasp cutting through the charged air. When his cock sprang free, hard and heavy, twitching with need, a wave of heat rolled through you. He sighed in relief, his head tilting slightly back as if savouring the release.

“Yeah? What more did you want?” he murmured, his crimson gaze dipping to where his hands gripped the hem of your dress. He pulled it up slowly, relishing every inch of exposed skin, until your g-string came into view. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound, dropping his head back for a moment as if to collect himself.

You hadn’t expected the night to spiral into this, but as Vox’s reaction played out before you, satisfaction swelled in your chest. Your choice of underwear was a deep navy-blue g-string, custom-made with the Voxtek logo. Its tiny triangle barely covered anything, the string teasingly cutting between your folds. It wasn’t practical, but the effect it had on Vox?

Priceless.

You leaned closer, voice laced with wicked amusement. “I wanted to fuck the CEO of Voxtek tonight,” you said, your tone dripping with defiance as you began to grind against him. Your slick heat slid over the length of his cock, from the tip to the base, then back again, leaving him shuddering under your touch.

Vox let out a strained groan, his hips jerking instinctively to meet your movements. His cock throbbed, desperate for more. “Ah, fuck,” he breathed, voice thick with lust.

Elation surged through you, sending a thrill down your spine. This wasn’t a dream—you pinched your own cheek just to be sure. Pride and boldness swirled together, lifting his hands and pressing them firmly to your breasts. “What’s wrong?” you taunted, flashing him a wicked grin. “Forgot how to fuck a woman?”

His chuckle was low and dark, sending a ripple of heat through you. Without warning, he scooped you up effortlessly and dropped you onto the console behind you. The buttons clicked and beeped beneath your back, and the wall of monitors surrounding you flickered wildly.

“Aren’t you worried I might press the wrong button?” you teased, your voice a sultry purr as you hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Vox leaned down, his crimson eyes glowing with hunger. “Oh, doll,” he said, his tone dripping with menace and desire, “you’ve been pressing plenty of my buttons tonight.”

Your heart hammered as his hands slid down to grip your hips, his cock grinding against your clit with delicious friction. Each roll of his hips sent a spark through you, drawing soft moans from your lips.

His pants hit the floor, forgotten, leaving him fully exposed. His cock stood thick and proud, his gaze searing as it roamed over you. Without hesitation, he grasped your dress, his sharp fingers making quick work of freeing your breasts. The cool air brushed against your skin, hardening your nipples, but the fire in his eyes burned hotter than any chill.

The flimsy g-string followed, shredded with a single rough tug. His voice was low, growling as he drank in the sight of you laid bare before him. “Fuck,” he murmured, his hands gliding over your thighs and spreading them wider.

“Is this for me, baby?” Vox growled, his fingers curling around the flimsy, soaked fabric of your ruined underwear. The look in his eyes was ravenous, a predator cornering his prey.

Your lips curled into a coy smile, heart racing as heat surged through your body. “Mhm, maybe?” you teased, voice dripping with playfulness. You bit your bottom lip, feigning innocence as you trailed a finger up his chest. “Are you going to give me an extra Christmas bonus now?”

For a moment, Vox hesitated. His eyes searched your face, flickering with conflict. You recognized the signs—the careful calculation, the tug of his control trying to pull him back. He was teetering between what he wanted and what he thought he should do.

That wouldn’t do.

Your hand wrapped firmly around his cock, stroking him slowly, deliberately. The weight of him in your palm and the way his girth twitched at your touch sent shivers down your spine. You thumbed the slick tip, earning a sharp hiss of pleasure from him.

“I told you that tonight—ah—” His words dissolved into a moan, his head falling back as if surrendering to the inevitable.

In one swift movement, Vox tore your hand away, lined himself up, and thrust into you in a single, deliberate stroke.

A sharp gasp escaped your lips, your back arching as your body accommodated his fullness. “Oh, fuck,” you moaned, clutching at his shoulders. Your walls clenched involuntarily, a fluttering grip that drew another groan from him. Every nerve in your body felt alive, buzzing, as his cock filled you completely.

“Ah, you feel fucking amazing as always,” Vox muttered, his voice thick with lust and something deeper—something possessive. He pulled back, then slammed his hips forward again, setting a punishing rhythm that left you breathless. “Fuck—I can’t even—” Another deep thrust, the sound of his hips meeting yours echoing in the room. “—stay away from your fucking—” His next thrust was angled just right, drawing a cry from your lips. “—cunt.”

He ground his hips forward, the hard press of his pelvis deliberately rubbing against your clit. You let out a loud, wanton moan, spurring him to continue.

Your mind swirled in a haze of pleasure and determination. You’d wanted to spend Christmas with him, and in Hell, the greedy thrived. If you didn’t seize what you wanted with both hands, someone else would.

“Babydoll,” Vox rasped, his tone softer now, laced with an unspoken tenderness. He bowed low, pressing his lips to yours in a fleeting kiss.

But fleeting wasn’t enough. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you deepened the kiss, pouring your longing and desire into it. His cock throbbed inside you in response, hot and insistent.

When you finally broke away to catch your breath, you gave him a sweet, teasing smile. “It’ll be our dirty little secret, baby,” you purred, squeezing your walls around him for emphasis.

The groan he let out was almost guttural, his hips rolling slowly to drag out your shared pleasure. “Fuck, then,” he murmured, thrusting languidly. “Let’s head up to my place after this.” His voice dipped lower, darker. “After I fill you up here, I’m going to wreck you when we get back to my place.”

The promise in his words sent a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. His next thrust was sharp, his hips snapping forward with such force that the console buttons beneath you clicked against your back.

“Going to fuck you so hard,” he growled, his grip on your hips tightening, “you’ll feel me all day tomorrow.”

His words alone had you teetering on the edge. You clawed at your breasts, kneading them, twisting your nipples, desperate to push yourself over. “Yes, yes, yes,” you cried, your climax building rapidly, ready to crash over you in waves.

But then—you heard it.

The sharp tone of an incoming call.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you glanced up. The display on Vox’s screen shifted, and the unmistakable face of Valentino appeared.

For a moment, you froze, fury and humiliation warring within you. Him. Of all people.

The phone continued to ring, each chime an affront to your pride. Vox groaned in frustration, his cock still buried deep inside you. He glanced at the ceiling, his jaw clenched.

By the third ring, he gave in. With a resigned sigh, he answered it.

You didn’t bother masking your annoyance. “Are you seriously picking up right now?” you muttered, glaring at him.

He gave you a helpless shrug, his other hand gripping your thigh possessively. “It’s Valentino,” he said, as if that explained anything.

The vein in your temple throbbed.

Of course it is.

“What?” Vox snapped, his voice sharp and taut, like a whip cracking through the tension in the room. His claws gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you firmly in place. The weight of his cock still nestled inside you was a cruel reminder of how easily the moment could slip away.

“Vox! Are you done with your little upgrade yet?” Valentino’s drunken drawl came through the speaker, his words slurred and punctuated by the thrum of music and high-pitched giggles in the background.

Vox’s expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “What do you think?” he bit out, his tone laced with venom.

If Valentino noticed, he didn’t care. “Well, if you’re done, come back to the party, Voxxy,” he purred, dragging out the syllables with smug satisfaction. “Let’s have some fun, you and I.”

The words hung in the air like poison, seeping into the cracks of your resolve.

With a long, weary sigh, Vox mumbled, “Fine," before he hung up.

Then, to your horror, he began to pull away, withdrawing from you with a slow, deliberate motion that left you cold and empty. The loss was visceral, cutting deeper than you could have anticipated.

“Vox—”

He faced you, his features hardened with something between regret and resolve. Your dress hung askew on your body, your torn panties discarded on the floor, and your slickness still glistened on his length. You were utterly exposed, physically and emotionally, and yet he looked ready to leave.

“I told you,” he began, his voice strained as he pressed two fingers against the middle of his forehead, “things are…complicated right now.” His gaze met yours, and for a fleeting moment, you saw something raw—pleading—for your understanding.

Under any other circumstances, perhaps you would have lied, plastered on a fake smile, and forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat. That was your modus operandi: fake it till you make it. Pretend it doesn’t hurt. Pretend you don’t care.

But not tonight.

Tonight, you couldn’t.

“Choose me, Vox,” you whispered, your voice trembling, cracking under the weight of your vulnerability. Your lips quivered as you forced a shaky smile, even as tears brimmed in your eyes. “Please… just choose me.”

His eyes widened, the weight of your words settling on his shoulders like a heavy burden. “Sunshine, I—”

“Choose me for just this moment,” you interrupted softly, your voice barely more than a plea. You reached out, your trembling fingers curling around his, giving them the gentlest tug. “Choose me,” you repeated, your words quieter, yet no less desperate.

He hesitated, his body tense, his breath shallow. Then, slowly, he took a small, shuffling step closer.

Your chest ached, every beat of your heart thrumming with uncertainty. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You wouldn’t let him see you break. Not completely. “Just for one moment,” you whispered again, the words catching on the lump in your throat. “Choose me.”

And then—he did.

Vox didn’t leave.

His fingers reached for you, tangling in your hair as he tilted your face toward his. “Just one moment, sunshine?” he murmured, his voice wavering between a laugh and a sigh. “You have no idea…” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours, soft and hesitant, like a promise he was terrified to make. Electricity surged through you at his touch, lighting every nerve in your body aflame.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve chosen you in my mind,” he admitted, his voice low and raw as he pressed you back against the console.

He shifted his hips, aligning himself with you once more. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed into you, his cock stretching and filling you again. The sensation was overwhelming, his heat, his presence, the way his body seemed to melt into yours.

“I want to choose you,” he murmured, his hips pressing flush against yours. “If I had the power to stand alone, I would choose you every moment, every night, every morning.”

His voice softened, cracking under the weight of his confession. His movements became slow and deliberate, as though savouring every thrust, every gasp and moan you gave him.

And at that moment, it wasn’t about Valentino, or power, or complicated deals.

It was just you and him—two souls caught in the tangled mess of desire, longing, and love.

The movements between you softened, slowed, as if the fire of the moment had dimmed. What lingered was a tender passion—a raw, unspoken connection that burned deeper than heat, deeper than desire. His hips rocked gently, rhythmically, pressing against you in a way that sent a quiet, radiant pleasure unfurling through your body like waves lapping at the shore.

Your mind faltered, caught in the web of his words and actions. The vulnerability in his voice struck a chord you weren’t ready to face. You stifled the sob threatening to break free, burying your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar, sharp scent. “I-it feels g-good, Vox,” you murmured, your voice trembling and barely audible, the tears pooling in your eyes blurring your vision.

Each caress, each roll of his hips was gentle, deliberate, as though he was memorizing every inch of you, committing you to some hidden part of himself. The warmth of him seeped into your skin, spreading outward in waves of ecstasy as you finally reached your peak. It was like being wrapped in a blanket—not just one of comfort, but of love, fleeting and fragile, and all the more precious for it.

The sound of his breath, soft and ragged, mingled with your own as his moans deepened. His climax came quietly, his body shuddering as he spilled into you, warmth pooling and binding you to this moment. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, as if he could stave off the inevitable with the strength of his embrace.

But even this, like all beautiful things, couldn’t last forever.

The shrill sound of Valentino’s call shattered the stillness, cutting through the fragile cocoon you had woven around yourselves. Vox sighed, and for a fleeting, desperate moment, you wished he wouldn’t answer.

But he did.

He always did.

When he hung up, his gaze found yours, and your heart sank. You already knew the truth, saw it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his lips pressed into a resigned line.

“Vox—”

“I have to,” he said softly, almost apologetically.

You nodded, but your throat burned with unshed words. You understood. You always understood. Valentino was his path to power, to everything he worked for, and you… you were something he couldn’t let himself fully have. Not yet.

Maybe...

Maybe not ever.

You didn’t cry when he carefully withdrew from you, the loss of him leaving you hollow. You didn’t cry as he fixed his clothes, each motion measured and deliberate. You didn’t cry when he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, a touch that lingered longer than it should have.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, my sunshine,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of regret and affection.

You didn’t cry when the door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the dim light of his office. Even as the sticky remnants of your union slipped down your thighs, even as the alcohol in your veins made the room spin, you didn’t cry.

You couldn’t cry.

Because you knew.

From the moment you fell for Vox, you knew what you were signing up for—how loving him meant weathering the storms of heartbreak, how it meant making room for the shadow of Valentino in the space between you.

He chose you for one moment.

But the thought didn’t bring comfort. If anything, it hollowed you out further, the void he left behind aching with every beat of your heart. You let out a dry, humourless chuckle, the sound brittle and cracked.

Oh.

You weren’t okay with this after all.

Were you?

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