#and i would at least like a phone call or something

[fireinmoonshot]

home safe | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín's friends call you to come and pick him up after a night out at the bar where he can't stop talking about you. Warnings: Mentions of drinking, being drunk and alcohol. Word Count: 1.5k A/N: I saw a TikTok where a golden retriever boyfriend got so excited when he saw his girlfriend turn up at the bar and my first thought was 'That's so Joaquín' so here this is 😂 Enjoy 💗

Making the most of a rare Friday night alone, you’re about to crack open a new tub of ice cream when your phone buzzes on the counter beside you. With a sigh, you set down the spoon you’d been planning on digging into the ice cream with, and pick up your phone to read the message.

You assume that it’s going to be from Joaquin. He’d gone out to attend the Bachelor Party of one of his best friends, leaving you home alone. He hated to go – he’d said at least twenty times that he wished you could come with him, but he understood that you needed time apart and that it was crucial to a healthy relationship to do things alone. But regardless, he always felt like something was missing when you weren’t there.

He’d also assured you that when he was ready to come home, he’d send you a text so that you could come and pick him up. He’d promised he wouldn’t stay too late, knowing that you would want to try and get a good night sleep as usual and he didn’t want you to have to go to bed without him. With Joaquin, you knew you could trust his word on that.

As you look at your phone, though, you’re surprised to see that the message isn’t from Joaquin, but from Eddie, one of his friends who was also attending the Bachelor Party.

Joaquin is ready when you are… seriously… save us…

You laugh a little as you read his message and quickly type out a reply. I’m almost tempted to leave you guys to deal with him for even longer. But I’ll head out shortly :) 

A little disappointed, you move to put the ice cream back in the freezer. It was going to have to wait until another night now. There’s only one reason why Eddie would be texting you – Joaquin had had too many drinks and was being his usual drunken self, somehow more extroverted than he already was. If anyone thought Joaquin couldn’t shut up when he was sober, then they’d never seen him drunk.

It doesn’t take you too long to get your things together and leave the house. You’ve changed out of your comfy clothes and put on something semi-presentable, knowing you’ll likely have to go inside the bar to bring your boyfriend out, and are in the car on your way towards the bar not long after. 

You send Eddie a text as you walk towards the bar. Whereabouts are you guys?

He surprisingly doesn’t take too long to reply. I’ll come to the front door and get you so you don’t get lost. It’s pretty packed in here. You’d probably hear us before you saw us.

You snort at his message, knowing it’s true, and head into the bar. Eddie is right – the bar is bustling, as expected for a Friday night. There are people everywhere, music pumping through the speakers and you wonder how anyone could have an enjoyable time here without wearing some pretty serious earplugs.

Someone calls out your name and you turn to see Eddie, standing not too far away from you. He beckons you over with a smile and then greets you with a quick hug. All of Joaquin’s friends love you and consider you as much of a friend to them as he is.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” Eddie says as the two of you start to walk back to where he’d come from. “Joaquin… he seriously has not shut up about you since we got here. You’d think that he was the one getting married instead of Mateo.”

You smile to yourself at the thought. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, we’re not,” you say, amused. “I’m sure that it’s just the alcohol though. You and I both know how he gets.”

Eddie laughs. “He hasn’t even had that much to drink compared to some of us.”

As you get closer towards the table where the rest of the group are, you can hear their laughter and loud voices just as Eddie had said. You hear Joaquin’s laugh and instantly smile as you finally lay eyes on him. His cheeks are a little flushed from the alcohol and the smile on his face sets butterflies off in your stomach. 

You can see when he spots you in the crowd just from the way his eyes light up. His jaw drops and then morphs into a grin that takes over his entire face. “Angel!” Joaquin’s voice is loud, impressively so. Despite the loud music, several people turn their heads to look at him.

Before you can even take one more step closer to him, Joaquin is up and away from the booth, running towards you and barrelling straight into you. He picks you up, spinning you around in a circle as you laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s never been happier to see you.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” He exclaims, setting you down on the ground again. 

You laugh, resting your arms over his shoulders. “I was requested to come and pick you up,” you say, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Apparently my boyfriend couldn’t stop talking about me? And I’m pretty sure Mateo is the one who’s meant to be talking about his girlfriend all night instead of you, baby.”

Joaquin looks over his shoulder at his friends. “You guys called in reinforcement?” He says, pretending to be shocked as if he’s not extremely happy to see you. “Listen, Mateo has been talking plenty about his soon to be wife so I figured it was only fair I add in my share.”

Over at the booth, you hear Mateo snort. “I’ve heard you say your girl’s name so many more times than I’ve said mine, Joaquin,” he calls. “Thanks for coming to save us, by the way. We love spending time with your man but I think he loves you more.” His voice is amused.

“You’re so welcome,” you call back. 

Joaquin moves to stand beside you, but he still wraps an arm around your waist, becoming his touchy self again now that you’re here. You’re surprised to see that he isn’t actually as drunk as you had been expecting. Clearly, though, the few drinks he had consumed had made him insufferable enough to his friends.

“Are you guys kicking me out or something?” Joaquin says beside you, pouting a little as he looks over at his friends. “Man, I thought we were having a good night. It’s not even midnight yet!” 

Not that he’s disappointed at the fact that this means he can go home and spend the rest of the night curled up in bed with you… in fact, out of the two scenarios that one is definitely the better sounding one.

“Nah, bro,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m heading out too, so are a few of us. I just got a text from my girl and she’s waiting for me in the car outside. I promised her I wouldn’t stay out too late. She finds it harder to sleep without me now that she’s pregnant, apparently.”

The simple confirmation that Joaquin isn’t the only one leaving is enough to perk his mood right back up. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m just gonna go say bye to the guys and then we can go.” 

You nod, watching him as he heads over to say his goodbyes to everyone and send his well wishes to Mateo, since it’s the last time he’s going to see him before the wedding. It doesn’t take long, though, and soon enough he’s walking back over to you and taking your hand in his. All the boys yell their goodbyes to you as Joaquin leads you out of the bar.

Joaquin keeps hold of your hand while you leave the packed bar. He doesn’t let go even when you’re safely outside, happily trailing along behind you as you lead him over to where your car is parked.

“You know, when I saw you walk in tonight I was a little distracted,” Joaquin says as you stop beside the car and reach into your bag to get your keys out. “Mateo had just said somethin’ real funny and then I looked over and saw you and at first, I thought it couldn’t be you cause I knew you were at home. I just saw you and thought ‘Damn, that girl looks so much like my beautiful girlfriend.’”

“And then you realised it was me and basically jumped on me,” You chuckle, amused as you find the keys and unlock the car.

Joaquin places a hand on your hip. “Can you blame me for that, angel?”

You turn around and lean in to gently peck him on the lips. “I can’t,” you hum. “Now come on, it’s time to get you home and sober you up a bit.”

He smiles and leans in to open the car door for you. He might be a little drunk but he’s still a gentleman who can open the car door for his girlfriend. Once he’s inside, he rests a hand on your thigh as you pull away from the curb and head for home.

“Thanks for coming to get me, angel. Even if it kinda ruined your night alone.”

You glance over at him briefly to give him a reassuring smile. “Knowing that you’re coming home safe matters more to me than spending the rest of my night alone, baby.” 

[fishmech]

no thank you i also used to work in both onsite and call-based tech support so your attempt to pull rank here means nothing to me.

the described scam has nothing at all to actually do with the computer or the internet.

most likely the caller did not even say anything specific at all about the computer the old person had. before computers were widespread this exact same scam would usually be something about a nonspecific debt or impersonating an aspect of the phone company or any other thing a person might conceivably have. in fact they still do this all the time! and the idea with this category of scam is that you just keep trying to deploy the low effectiveness but also cheap hook until someone bites and pays out a

also once again: it does not matter that widespread personal computers were not around when "old people" were young. it doesn't matter either that they were around before perhaps you were born. this does not make either group less or more able to deal with technology! that is just dumb media spin, and besides that it misses that we are not talking about something that just showed up 5 years ago or whatever, these are things that have been in the average person's life a solid decade plus. these are things people have used at work before they retired. your brain doesn't stop handling doing new things just because you're old or it didn't happen to be around when you were very young.

also you do "balance a checkbook" frequently, most likely. you have surely checked your balance on a banking app or website or a phone call in the past year at least once when deciding to buy something. probably even occasionally noticed you had less money there than you were expecting, and went to check for any fraudulent purchases or subscriptions that you forgot to cancel. that's what you did with a physical checkbook too! in-between visits to a physical bank branch to check balances or receipts of bank statements in the mail, you would write down what you'd written each check out for, in order to know your expected balance once all the checks went through. absolutely nothing special there, you probably make note of when you buy things anyway and have a tough estimate of how much cash you have between actual balance viewing too! that's the same shit. after all, many transactions that happen instantly from your perspective can still take a few hours to days to pop up on your online banking balance so even diligently checking that every few hours is still going to have some edge cases you'll need to remember to avoid an overdraft. you're not using a physical check and a physical checkbook to do it but debit transactions are handled exactly the same over the same payment rails the physical checks were.

😭

[badathumanemotions]

Friction (Part 2)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList Category: Fluff and Smut CW: Getting Together, Going On A Date, Smut, Dom/Sub Undertones, Fluff, Teasing, Oral Sex (m rec), Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Breeding Kink, Aftercare WC: 27,329 [Total WC: 52,733] Anonymous asked:

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Part One Spencer and Reader have to figure out how to deal with the relentless teasing from the team. In the meantime Spencer takes Reader out on a date. (Not Proof Read)

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

To You: Emily: Where the hell did you go?? JJ: Are you okay? We lost you last night. Morgan: You better not be waking up in a jail cell. Garcia: I AM TRYING NOT TO PANIC BUT YOU ARE MISSING??!! Emily: Please tell me you just went home. JJ: Just let us know you're alive, okay? Morgan: You better not be passed out in some alley somewhere. Pick up your phone. Garcia: If you don’t answer, I’m hacking a satellite, I swear. And then I’m sending a search party. WITH DRONES.

To Spencer: Emily: Reid? Where’d you disappear to? JJ: Spence, you good? We haven’t seen you since last night. Morgan: Genius, if you got kidnapped, blink twice. Garcia: OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU MISSING TOO?! Emily: This is not like you. Answer your phone. JJ: Please just check in. Morgan: Seriously, Reid, don’t make me come looking. Garcia: WAIT. I JUST TRACKED YOUR PHONE. YOU'RE WITH HER?! ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER?!

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. "Well… they noticed."

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "We should’ve expected this."

Your eyes flicked to each other’s phones, then back up. "Garcia tracked us. Of course she did."

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She probably already has a PowerPoint titled 'The Unbelievable Yet Completely Predictable Hookup of the Century.'"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "God, what do we even say?"

You looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between you. You’d spent the whole night wrapped up in each other, lost in something you didn’t fully understand yet. But now, reality was creeping back in, and with it came the inevitable question—what now?

"Do we tell them?" Spencer asked, cautious.

You chewed on your lip. "I don’t know. I mean, we barely know what this is."

His expression softened. "Yeah. Maybe we keep it to ourselves, at least for now."

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve. "Let’s get some coffee first. We’ll figure it out."

Spencer exhaled, glancing at his phone again. "Garcia already knows. Which means we’re on borrowed time before the rest of them do."

You groaned. "She’s probably drafting the 'So You Two Finally Gave In' email as we speak."

"Or using her tech wizardry to figure out exactly when and where this would happen based on sheer determination and a questionable disregard for privacy," Spencer muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You shook your head with a tired laugh. "We’re doomed."

He nudged your shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let’s get coffee before the interrogation starts."

As you made your way to the kitchen, the weight of the team’s inevitable questions loomed over you, but for now, you focused on the simple things—the smell of coffee brewing, the warmth of his presence beside you, the quiet promise of whatever this was becoming.

Spencer leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. You sat across from him at the small dining table, stirring absentmindedly at your own cup. The air between you was thick with the weight of Garcia's discovery and what it meant for the rest of the team.

"So," he started, his voice hesitant, "what do we do?"

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple. "Garcia knows, which means everyone else will know soon. If she hasn't already started telling them."

Spencer groaned softly, setting his mug down. "She’s not exactly known for keeping secrets."

You gave him a pointed look. "Understatement of the year."

He huffed a small laugh but quickly sobered. "Do we try to control the narrative? Or just… let it happen?"

You took a sip of your coffee, considering. "If we try to get ahead of it, that means having to tell them. All of them. And that means… questions. Lots of them."

Spencer winced, likely imagining the interrogation that awaited the two of you. "Morgan is never going to let me live this down."

"Oh, absolutely not." You smirked, shaking your head. "And Emily and JJ will be smug about it for months."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with that right now."

You leaned back in your chair. "So, what? We just act like nothing happened? Hope they don’t bring it up?"

Spencer gave you a flat look. "You really think that’s an option?"

You sighed. "Not a chance."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of the situation sinking in. You wanted to be with him—there was no question about that. But navigating this new relationship under the scrutiny of your team was another matter entirely.

"Maybe we just… confirm it if they ask," you finally said. "We don’t have to make a big announcement. Just—if it comes up, we don’t deny it."

Spencer nodded slowly, mulling it over. "That might be the easiest way. Low effort. Less chaos."

You snorted. "There’s going to be chaos no matter what."

He sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "True."

You reached across the table, letting your fingers brush against his. "We’ll handle it together."

Spencer turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Together."

A comfortable silence settled between you, but it was short-lived as a notification lit up Spencer’s phone on the counter. He glanced at it and groaned. "Garcia just sent a group text. I refuse to read it."

Your phone buzzed a second later. You hesitated before picking it up, already dreading what you’d see.

Garcia: "GOOD MORNING, LOVE BIRDS. 😘 DON’T BOTHER DENYING IT. IT’S HAPPENING. YOU’RE HAPPENING. SO WHEN DO WE GET TO GUSH ABOUT THIS???"

You groaned, setting your phone face-down on the table. "She knows, she’s excited, and we are officially doomed."

Spencer ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "She’s going to be relentless."

"Oh, absolutely." You took another sip of coffee, trying to steel yourself. "And once Morgan finds out…"

Spencer’s head hit the counter with a dull thud. "This is going to be worse than I thought."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to pat his arm. "At least it’s out there now. Maybe it’ll be easier once the dust settles."

He lifted his head slightly, looking at you with skepticism. "Or it’ll be weeks of teasing and speculation."

You shrugged. "Either way, we’re in it now. We may as well own it."

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Alright. We answer questions if they ask, but no unnecessary details. We don’t need to give them more ammunition than they already have."

"Agreed." You squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, picking up your mug. "We’ll face the chaos together."

Spencer sat back, watching you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You realize Garcia probably already has a whole board of conspiracy theories about how long this has been going on."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course she does. But at least this way, she doesn’t have to guess anymore."

The two of you sat there, the weight of the inevitable hanging over you, but at least now, you weren’t facing it alone. You had each other. And somehow, that made it all a little easier.

The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the quiet space. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something unmistakably Spencer—clean, warm, familiar. It should have felt strange, waking up here, sharing this moment with him after everything that had transpired the night before. But it didn’t. It felt… natural. Easy, even. And that was the problem.

Spencer sat across from you, fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze flicking between you and the phone resting between you on the table. Garcia’s texts were still unanswered, her curiosity undoubtedly growing by the second, but neither of you seemed eager to address them. Not yet.

“I should probably get started on my day,” you finally said, though you made no move to stand.

Spencer exhaled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.” He glanced at you, then down at his mug before adding, "At least we have a three-day weekend."

You blinked, the reminder settling in. Three full days before you had to step back into the BAU, back into the teasing and knowing glances you were sure to face. Three days where, if you wanted to, you could see where this thing with Spencer might go.

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. This was the part where things were supposed to go back to normal, where you both stepped away and acted like nothing had changed. Except something had changed. Neither of you could pretend otherwise.

Still, you pushed yourself up from the chair, grabbing your bag. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

Spencer followed your lead, standing as well. “Right. I, uh… I’ve got some things to do too.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You hesitated before stepping toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was considering reaching for you, but then he cleared his throat. “Wait.”

You paused, looking back at him. His expression was uncertain for only a moment before he straightened, his voice firmer when he spoke again. “I want to take you on a date. Tomorrow.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “A date?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A real one.” His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “No pretending. Just us.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you searched his face. “Okay… where are you taking me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard by the question. “I—uh, I was thinking somewhere nice. A restaurant, maybe? Do you have a preference?”

You tilted your head, intrigued by his hesitation. “You didn’t plan this far ahead, did you?”

He exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was more focused on making sure you’d actually say yes first.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Well, yes, I’m saying yes. But I want details.”

Spencer straightened slightly, his confidence returning. “Alright. There’s this place I read about—small, quiet, great reviews. I think you’ll like it. And after…” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “That part’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “A surprise?”

He nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

You considered it for a moment, warmth spreading through your chest at the idea of him putting thought into this. “Alright. I’ll trust you.”

His relief was evident, his smile growing. “Good. It’s a date, then.”

Before you could respond, he took a small step forward, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The touch was fleeting, but it sent warmth up your spine. Then, without overthinking it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—quick, but deliberate, like he needed to do it before he lost his nerve. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before he gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, with one last glance, he turned and left your place, leaving behind the lingering warmth of his touch and the quiet anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

You stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting your skin like a much-needed reminder of reality. You had things to do, errands to run—picking out something to wear, making sure you looked your best for tomorrow night. And yet, as you walked away, your thoughts remained tangled in the warmth of his presence, the way he’d looked at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

As you moved through your day, checking off errands in preparation for tomorrow, you kept glancing at your phone. No messages from him yet. But every time the screen lit up, your heart stuttered just a little, anticipation curling in your stomach at the thought of your date.

You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, the uncertainty didn’t scare you. It only made you excited for what was to come.

The day passed in a blur of errands and distractions, but no amount of busywork could fully pull your mind from the lingering warmth of Spencer’s touch, the way he’d looked at you before he left. As night settled in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the city outside doing little to settle the energy thrumming beneath your skin.

You turned onto your side, your phone resting on the nightstand—silent, but not forgotten. He hadn’t texted, and neither had you. And yet, the anticipation curled in your chest like an unspoken promise. Tomorrow.

A date.

Your lips curved slightly at the thought, warmth blooming within you. It wasn’t just the idea of the date itself—it was him. Spencer, who had kissed you goodbye like he already knew he’d be kissing you again.

With that thought lingering, you finally let your eyes slip closed, drifting off with the quiet certainty that when you woke, the day ahead would be something worth looking forward to.

The soft buzz of your phone pulled you from the edges of sleep, the early morning light casting a faint glow through your curtains. You groggily reached for your phone, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the screen came into focus. A single message awaited you, and the moment you saw the sender, your heart gave a traitorous little stutter.

Good morning, beautiful.

Warmth spread through your chest, a smile tugging at your lips before you could even think to stop it. Spencer. The simple message sent a ripple of excitement through you, the reality of the day settling in. Today was your date. A real one.

You stretched beneath the covers, savouring the lingering drowsiness as you let yourself replay the events of yesterday—the heat of his touch, the way his hands had traced over your skin, the way his lips had lingered against yours like he never wanted to stop. The way he’d looked at you, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. The way he’d said it wasn’t just pretending. That this was real.

Rolling onto your side, you typed out a reply.

Morning.

You hesitated a moment before adding, Excited for tonight.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There was a pleasant sort of nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself indulge in for a long time. You had the entire day ahead of you, and already, your thoughts were consumed with what was to come.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you moved through your morning routine with an unusual sense of purpose. As you sipped on your coffee, you glanced at your phone again, checking for a response. Nothing yet—but that was fine. You weren’t going to obsess over it.

Instead, you focused on the errands you had planned. If tonight was going to be special, you wanted to be prepared. You had an outfit to pick out, details to perfect. And if your mind wandered to Spencer more times than you cared to admit, well… that was just part of the anticipation.

As you started getting ready for the evening, your mind kept drifting back to Spencer’s words. He had told you dinner, but beyond that, he’d kept the rest of the night a mystery. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, brushing a final layer of mascara over your lashes, and wondered for the hundredth time what the surprise could be.

Spencer wasn’t the type to do something cliché or over-the-top, but he also had a way of making the simplest things feel special. A bookstore, maybe? A hidden café with live music? A museum exhibit he knew you’d love? The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation only made your excitement grow.

The knock at your door sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your outfit before making your way to the door. With a steadying breath, you pulled it open.

Spencer stood there, dressed in a fitted blazer and dark slacks, his hair neatly styled yet still carrying that slightly tousled look that suited him so well. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of flowers, the delicate arrangement carefully chosen.

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he just stared. His gaze travelled over you slowly, as if he was committing every detail to memory, admiration flickering in his wide, awestruck eyes. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a little rough around the edges.

"You look… incredible." There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, his eyes still lingering as if he couldn't quite believe you had dressed up like this—for him.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you found yourself smiling despite the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. Your eyes flicked to the flowers, and something tender unfurled in your heart. "Spencer, these are lovely. Thank you."

His mouth quirked in amusement, though his gaze still held that lingering admiration. "I thought you'd like them."

You accepted the bouquet, inhaling their light fragrance before setting them aside carefully. "You clean up well yourself, Dr. Reid."

His amusement deepened, but there was still that undercurrent of lingering awe in his expression. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, stepping outside as he offered his arm in a way that felt both old-fashioned and entirely Spencer. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you towards the night ahead.

Spencer led you to his car, and before you could reach for the handle, he swiftly stepped ahead, opening the door for you. The gentlemanly gesture sent a small thrill through you, and as you slid into the seat, you couldn't help but smile.

As he settled in beside you, you glanced over with a teasing smile. "So, did you research the perfect first-date flowers? Let me guess—there’s some historical significance to these?"

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. "I considered a few different options, but I ultimately chose these because they symbolize admiration and new beginnings. Seemed fitting."

You raised an eyebrow. "So you did research it."

He shot you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Would you rather I just grabbed the first bouquet I saw?"

You hummed in thought. "No, I suppose not. But tell me, Dr. Reid, are you nervous?"

Spencer's fingers flexed subtly on the steering wheel. "Not at all. Are you?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Not in the least."

His smirk deepened. "Good. Then let's see if I can keep surprising you."

As the car pulled onto the road, you cast him a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at your lips. "You behind the wheel is a rare sight. I was half-expecting to have to drive."

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to drive. I just prefer other modes of transportation."

"Mmm, like bothering JJ or Morgan for rides?"

"Or utilizing public transit, which is far more efficient in most cases," he countered smoothly.

You bit back a grin. "Right. But tonight, you’re playing chauffeur. A very handsome, well-dressed chauffeur."

His fingers tapped idly against the wheel as he stole a glance at you. "If that’s the case, then I expect a generous tip."

You pretended to consider. "I suppose that depends on the quality of service."

His smirk deepened. "I’ll just have to make sure you're thoroughly impressed, then."

You shook your head, laughing softly as the city lights blurred past. The night was still young, and something told you Spencer was going to keep you on your toes every step of the way.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Spencer once again moved ahead to open your door for you, extending a hand to help you out. The warm touch of his fingers around yours sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and as you stepped onto the pavement, you glanced up at the softly lit entrance of the restaurant.

The atmosphere inside was intimate, the soft hum of conversation mingling with gentle music. As the host led you to your table, Spencer pulled out your chair for you, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your heart flutter.

You settled in, glancing around before turning to him with a curious smile. "You put a lot of thought into this place, didn't you?"

Spencer shrugged, though the satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable. "You once mentioned you appreciate places with a good atmosphere, and I thought their menu had a few things that might catch your interest."

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your gaze. "You really do remember everything, don’t you?"

He leaned forward slightly, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Especially when it comes to you."

Heat crept up your neck, and you picked up your menu in an attempt to disguise the effect his words had on you. "Well, let's see if your choice lives up to the hype."

Spencer chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as the evening unfolded, every detail adding another layer to the undeniable pull between you both.

After ordering, conversation flowed with an effortless ease, laced with teasing remarks and lingering glances. Spencer’s natural charm, when unguarded, was disarming, and you found yourself drawn into him more with every passing moment.

When the waiter placed your drinks on the table, Spencer raised his glass slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "To new beginnings."

You tapped your glass against his, the soft chime lingering in the air between you. "And to being thoroughly impressed."

He smirked, tilting his head as he studied you. "I get the feeling that’s not an easy feat."

You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze over the rim. "Keep trying, genius."

His eyes darkened slightly at the challenge, and he leaned in just enough that your knees brushed beneath the table. "Oh, I intend to."

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could formulate a response, the food arrived, breaking the moment—but not the tension.

The night was far from over, and if Spencer’s lingering gaze was anything to go by, he had no intention of letting you slip through his fingers so easily.

As your food arrived, Spencer continued to impress you—not just with the thoughtfulness of the restaurant choice but with the way he paid attention. He remembered small details, your preferences, and even the way you liked certain flavours combined. It was impossible not to be charmed by the way he made you feel completely seen.

Between bites, you challenged him with playful quips, and he met you head-on with his own clever retorts, the two of you locked in a battle of wit and flirtation. It was different now—lighter, without the sharp edges of past arguments. Now, it was all charged energy and lingering glances, and the way his knee brushed against yours under the table didn't feel like an accident.

And when he reached across the table, fingers lightly grazing yours as he stole a bite from your plate with a smirk, you knew—this wasn’t just a date. This was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

After dessert—because of course Spencer had insisted you try something he’d read glowing reviews about—the two of you lingered at the table, neither in a hurry to leave. The hum of conversation around you faded into the background as Spencer traced a finger along the rim of his glass, his gaze steady on you.

"I think this proves I know what I’m doing," he mused, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Because you picked a great restaurant? You get credit, but I’m not convinced just yet."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Not convinced?"

"Mhm. I’ll need further evidence before I declare this a success."

Spencer hummed, setting his glass down. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I?"

The weight of his words hung between you, something unspoken but understood. Your heartbeat quickened slightly as you held his gaze, the air thick with the kind of tension that neither of you wanted to break.

Eventually, Spencer signalled for the bill, and before you could protest, he was already placing his card down, offering you a look that dared you to argue. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Fine. But only because I fully intend to make you earn it."

He chuckled, pocketing his receipt. "Noted. And what exactly am I earning?"

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe a goodnight kiss. But only if you really impress me."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, now I have even more incentive to make sure the night goes perfectly."

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the quiet hum of the city settling around you. Spencer hesitated for a moment before slipping his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the car. The touch was light, but it sent warmth curling through you.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as he once again opened the car door for you.

You met his gaze, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I did."

Spencer’s expression softened slightly before he cleared his throat, a flicker of something—relief?—crossing his face. "Good. Because the night’s not over yet."

You settled into your seat, curiosity sparking in your chest. "Oh?"

He rounded the car and slid in beside you, starting the engine with an easy confidence. "I have one more surprise for you."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t question it. Instead, you let anticipation settle over you as the city lights blurred past once more.

Wherever he was taking you next, you had a feeling he was about to exceed expectations.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets, the city lights flickered against the windows, casting a soft glow over the interior. Spencer’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The air between you was charged, each second stretching out just a little longer, filled with a quiet anticipation neither of you quite acknowledged.

The car slowed as it turned onto a smaller street, and then, just ahead, the silhouette of the planetarium rose against the darkened sky. You couldn’t help the surprised gasp that slipped from your lips, your eyes widening as you took it in. It wasn’t like you’d ever been here before, but something about the way it stood against the night, so unassuming but regal, made your pulse quicken.

"You’re kidding," you murmured, half in disbelief.

Spencer didn’t answer immediately, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he guided the car into a parking spot. "Thought you might like it."

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really know how to surprise a girl."

He was already out of his seat before you had a chance to reach for the door handle.

A soft click, and the door swung open. Spencer stood there, offering his hand, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over his features. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his lips quirked into something small, something knowing.

"I try," he said, his voice low.

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you followed him to the building. There was a quiet elegance to the way he moved, like he was completely at ease. It made you feel a little out of place, and yet, strangely at home all at once.

The planetarium loomed ahead, silent and waiting. But the moment you stepped inside, it became clear—this wasn’t an ordinary visit.

The space was empty. The hush of the planetarium settled over you like a veil, amplifying the quiet click of the theatre doors closing behind you. Spencer’s hand hovered just at the small of your back—not quite touching, but guiding, a barely-there reminder of how close he was. The air felt heavier, charged, as realization settled in.

He’d arranged this. A private showing.

Your gaze flicked to him, but Spencer only watched you, his expression unreadable at first—then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that same knowing glint in his eyes.

Without a word, Spencer stepped ahead slightly and gestured toward one of the plush reclining seats in the centre of the theatre. His touch, light but deliberate, skimmed over the curve of your waist as he guided you toward it. You felt the warmth of his hand even through the fabric of your clothes, the barely-there pressure sending a quiet thrill up your spine.

With a quiet certainty, Spencer extended a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he guided you toward one of the plush reclining seats. "Here," he murmured, his voice low, rich. "Let me help you." His touch was gentle yet assured, the quiet insistence of a gentleman as he waited for you to settle. "Get comfortable."

You settled into the seat, and only once you were in place did Spencer take the one beside you. The moment stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Then, with a subtle movement, the lights dimmed further, and the vast dome overhead came to life with an endless sea of stars.

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, something meant just for you. "Cassiopeia was placed in the heavens as punishment for her vanity. The gods ensured she would spend eternity upside down for daring to claim she was more beautiful than the Nereids." His fingers twitched slightly as he gestured upward, his other hand resting casually on the armrest between you—close, but not quite touching.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the way his features softened in the faint glow. He was in his element here, effortlessly charming in a way that sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

You should’ve been looking at the constellations. Instead, you found yourself watching him.

And he—he was looking at you.

Not just glancing—watching, as if he were committing every detail to memory. The glow of the stars reflected in his eyes, but it wasn’t the projection above that had him spellbound. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach out, but he caught himself, curling his hand into a loose fist against his thigh.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and reverent.

"That’s Cygnus," he murmured, gesturing toward the delicate stretch of stars above. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it wrapped around you, steady and certain. "The swan. Some say it’s Orpheus, transformed after death, placed in the sky so he could sing forever."

His gaze flickered toward the constellation, but only briefly—almost like he had to remind himself to look away from you.

He led you through the stories slowly, each word carrying the weight of something ancient, something untouchable. But there was something else beneath his voice—a quiet disbelief, a reverence not for the myths themselves, but for the moment. For the fact that he was here, with you, in this quiet, suspended space where time didn’t seem to exist.

His hand brushed yours, the barest whisper of warmth. Not an accident. Not this time.

His voice softened, something unreadable crossing his features.

"Andromeda and Perseus."

You swallowed, pulse thrumming at your throat.

He didn’t look away this time.

"She was chained to the rocks, waiting to die," he murmured. "Punished for something she had no part in. But Perseus… he didn’t just save her. He freed her. He fought for her."

A slow breath, like he was steadying himself. His fingers traced lightly over the back of your hand, reverent.

"And they weren’t just a fleeting love story. They lived—together, side by side. A full life. A whole life."

The stars spun slowly overhead, but Spencer wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. Like if he reached for you, he might wake up and find himself alone.

His thumb swept over your knuckles, a barely-there touch, and you felt the weight of it everywhere.

"They’re still up there," he whispered. "Not because they died… but because they lived."

You exhaled shakily, and his gaze flicked to your lips before he caught himself, looking away too quickly. But his fingers didn’t leave yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The stars above carried on, spinning silently, but everything else felt still.

You turned your gaze back to the constellations, feeling the weight of his attention linger. When you glanced at him again, you caught it—the wonderment in his eyes, the softness that wasn’t there before. He looked at you like you were part of the sky itself, like the stars had descended just to rest in your gaze. He smiled faintly, almost to himself.

"I never thought I'd be here like this with you," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "But I'm glad I am." His gaze swept over your face, lingering. "It’s funny… the stars are beautiful, but I think the way your eyes glow when you look at them is even more breathtaking."

Your breath caught, a slow, simmering warmth stirring beneath his words, and you found you couldn’t quite look away. There was a tenderness to the way he watched you, something fragile and breathtaking.

He continued to speak, his voice a soft, lulling cadence as he named constellations and traced their stories. You listened, letting the sound of his words settle over you like a hush, each name and myth feeling like a secret shared only with you. You didn’t catch every detail—some part of you too lost in the moment, in him—but it didn’t matter. His voice, the low murmur of it, was enough.

It felt like the kind of moment you’d tuck away and carry with you, a quiet kind of magic. Something romantic, though neither of you said it aloud. You wondered if he felt it too—the pull between you, as vast and inevitable as the stars overhead.

As you both stepped out of the planetarium, the night air hit you with a coolness that contrasted with the warmth you felt lingering from the show. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but none of them seemed to shine quite as brightly as the moment you just shared. It was like the world had softened, everything taking on a golden hue, a quiet, glowing magic you couldn’t quite explain.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but in that moment, you wanted him. You didn’t need words. Without thinking, you turned to face Spencer, the space between you feeling too wide for comfort.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling in the air. You took a step closer, your hand finding the curve of his jaw, gently pulling him down to meet you.

The kiss was immediate, natural, as if you’d been doing this for years instead of the few stolen moments you’d shared together. It was warm, urgent, full of the tension that had been simmering under the surface ever since the first touch. His lips were soft against yours, but it didn’t take long before they turned hungry, deepening as he pulled you in closer. The kiss felt almost desperate, like the world around you had faded, leaving only the two of you in a shared, fiery space.

Spencer’s hand slid from your waist, moving to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair and holding you steady. You gasped into the kiss as his other hand drifted lower, sliding slowly down the outside of your thigh. The heat of his palm against your bare skin was a shock to your senses, sending a shiver through you. Without thinking, your hand moved to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your touch.

You deepened the kiss, pressing yourself against him, and his hand shifted lower still, settling on the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The contact sent a rush of heat through you, a delicious pressure that made you want more, need more.

He broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. His chest heaved, just as yours did, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

“God, you’re killing me,” Spencer muttered, his voice rough and low, and you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or desire lacing his words.

You felt the same, your body still thrumming from the kiss, from the touch. You wanted to keep going, to let the moment drag on forever, but you couldn’t ignore the pull of the car and the inevitable drive back.

“Let’s get in the car,” he said, voice almost a command, but his fingers lingered on your skin as if reluctant to let go.

You nodded, but before you could turn to walk to the car, Spencer’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back to him in one smooth motion. His lips crashed against yours again, even more demanding this time, the kiss melting all your restraint away. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as you felt the intensity of the moment rise again. There was no slowing down, no pulling back now.

When he finally broke the kiss, you both stood there, breathless, for a beat longer than necessary. Spencer’s hand lingered at the small of your back, the heat from his touch igniting a fire deep inside you.

Without another word, he helped you into the car, the cool leather seat seeming impossibly colder after the heat between you two. He slid in beside you, the space between you still charged with that same electric tension.

As he drove, his fingers brushed over your knee absentmindedly, the touch light but deliberate. Your body hummed with the aftermath of the kiss, every inch of you still alive with the sensations he caused. The drive felt like it took forever, the quiet of the night outside only making the distance between you seem larger than it really was. Every so often, you could feel his gaze flicker to you, dark and intent.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of your heart. The air in the car was thick with the promise of something more, something neither of you had ever admitted out loud. And so, without a word, you let your legs fall open just a fraction more, the leather seat cool against your skin. Your skirt, a dark whisper of fabric, slid up your thighs, revealing the softness beneath.

Spencer’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze catching on the newly exposed flesh. His hand paused on your knee for a second before it began to trace upward, the slow, deliberate movement of a man who knew exactly what he was doing—what he wanted. The heat of his fingertips was like a brand against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt your breath catch as his hand slid up your thigh, the fabric of your skirt whispering against your skin as it slid higher.

The sensation was exquisite, sending shivers through your body. You bit your bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud, your eyes slipping closed for a moment. The sound of the car’s engine was a low thrum in the background, the only noise in the otherwise silent vehicle.

Spencer’s hand continued its ascent, his fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of your panties. The anticipation was a coil in your stomach, tightening with every inch his hand travelled. You felt yourself lean into the touch, your body craving more.

With a gentle pressure, he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the damp heat of your folds. You held your breath as he touched you, the first contact of his skin against yours making you shiver. His ring finger traced the length of your slit, the pad of it finding your clit and making you gasp. He took the sound as a cue to press down, his touch feather-light but firm enough to elicit a reaction.

Your hand found its way to his thigh, gripping tightly as he began to rub in slow, steady circles. The sensation was almost unbearable, a sweet agony that made you arch into his touch. You could feel his eyes on you, watching the play of emotions across your face as you struggled not to let the moan building in your chest escape.

With a sudden urgency, Spencer’s fingers slid inside you, filling you up in a way that made your eyes roll back. He groaned at the wetness that greeted him, his movements matching the rhythm of his thumb now on your clit. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep your voice down as the pleasure built, your body tightening with every stroke.

Your hips rocked against his hand, a silent plea for more. His touch was firm and sure, the pads of his fingers finding every spot that made you shiver and moan. It was like he’d studied you, knew every inch of your body, every secret that made you fall apart. You couldn’t believe this was happening—that you were here, with him, and that he was touching you like this.

The sound of your breathing filled the car, each gasp and whimper echoing off the windows, a stark contrast to the quiet night outside. Spencer’s eyes remained on the road, his focus unwavering despite the distraction of his hand between your legs. It was a testament to his control, a promise of what was to come.

His fingers danced inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that was both maddening and exhilarating. Every movement was calculated, designed to build the tension that coiled low in your belly. You felt yourself growing wetter, the slickness of your arousal making your skin stick to the cool leather of the seat. It was a delicious kind of discomfort, a reminder of the need building between your thighs.

You squirmed, the sensation of his touch growing more intense with each passing second. It didn’t matter that you were in a car, that the world was rushing by outside—all that existed was the heat of his hand, the pressure of his fingers. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. But it was useless. You were too lost, too far gone.

Before you knew it, the car had come to a stop, and Spencer’s hand was withdrawing, the loss of contact leaving you feeling cold and exposed. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze dark and hungry. He didn’t say a word as he helped you adjust your clothing, his movements gentle but firm.

You groaned at the loss of stimulation, but the ache between your legs was a sweet reminder of what was to come. Your entire body was strung tight with anticipation, your breaths coming in short, shallow pants. You knew you were close to getting what you really wanted—what you both wanted.

Spencer simply said "patience," his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He gave you one last lingering look, a silent promise of more before getting out of the car. You watched him move with that same fluid grace you'd seen in the planetarium, the moonlight casting his features shadows. He was like a statue come to life, all muscles and angles, and your body responded to the sight of him, the ache between your legs growing.

When he opened your door and offered his hand to help you out, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in some kind of dream—a steamy, erotic fantasy where the intellectual banter turned into something far more primal and consuming. You took his hand, letting him guide you out of the car. His grip was firm, grounding, a contrast to the tremble in your own legs. The cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire he’d stoked within you.

Spencer didn’t say anything as he led you to your front door, his hand still holding on to yours. The moment the door was open, you didn’t bother with the lights. The moon was enough to guide you through the darkness, casting everything in a soft, seductive glow.

Without hesitation you boldly shimmied out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet. The chilly air kissed your skin as you stepped out of the fabric, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You didn’t bother looking back—you knew Spencer was watching, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. You felt his gaze like a physical touch, sending goosebumps skittering down your spine.

You sauntered away, your hips swaying with an unspoken challenge. The moon’s soft light traced your figure, casting a silver glow on your skin, making you look like a goddess of the night. Your bra and panties were the only barriers between you and his hungry eyes, and you knew it was driving him wild.

As you entered the bedroom, you felt his gaze on you like a physical caress. The room was bathed in the soft luminescence of the moon. You turned to face him, your heart racing as he followed you in, his eyes dark with desire. The anticipation was a thrum in the air, a palpable force that made your skin tingle.

And then, he strode over, closing the distance between you in a single purposeful step. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and before you could even catch your breath, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was gentle. His tongue slid against yours, a dance of passion and need that seemed to go on forever, the heat of his body enveloping you as if he could absorb you into himself.

The room was a blur of shadows and moonlight, but it was Spencer that was the brightest star in your universe. His touch was everywhere—his hands roaming over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, his mouth a brand against yours that you felt in every fibre of your being. You melted into his embrace, letting the sensations wash over you like a warm wave, pulling you deeper into the moment.

He tugged at your bra, and it fell away, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He paused, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you shiver, before he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing until you moaned. His hands were everywhere—his fingers tracing the lines of your ribs, the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. He seemed to be memorizing you, learning every inch of your body like it was a sacred text.

And you, you couldn’t get enough. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, down his back, feeling the taut muscles that shifted and flexed under your touch. You wanted to devour him, to feel him against you in every way possible. His own clothes came off with the same urgency.

With a growl, Spencer pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours. The mattress dipped under the weight of you both, the fabric cool and soft against your skin. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, nipping and kissing a trail that made you arch your back and gasp.

He slid your panties off, revealing your wetness to the air. His eyes flashed with hunger before his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds, teasing your clit with feather-light flicks that had you writhing beneath him. You gripped the sheets, trying to hold on to something as the world spun away. His mouth felt like heaven, his touch like the answer to every unspoken prayer.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the vibration of his words against your sensitive flesh, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that was insatiable. You bucked against his face, your hips moving in a silent plea for more.

The bed rocked as he settled between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and lapping, driving you closer to the edge with each pass. You could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every touch, every kiss. You were so close, so close to the precipice that you could almost taste it.

"I'm so close. If you stop this time," you breathed out, your voice low and filled with humour, "I'm going to kill you."

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with mirth as he took in your flushed cheeks and the desperation in your voice. He knew you weren’t being serious—not really—but the playful threat in your words only served to make him more determined. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your wet skin, and whispered, “Oh, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

With that, he went back to his task with renewed vigour, his tongue swirling and dipping, his lips sucking gently. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your body bowing under the onslaught of pleasure. You gripped the sheets harder, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to push him away, to drag him closer, to do anything to make the feeling last forever.

And then, when the moment was right, Spencer slid his fingers into you, aiming straight for your G-spot. You gasped at the suddenness of it, your body jolting as he hit the spot with unerring precision. The sensation was like a spark that ignited a fuse, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you.

You could no longer hold back the whines and moans that had been building in your throat. They spilled out into the night, a symphony of need that seemed to resonate through the very air around you. His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you higher and higher until you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces.

The climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. Your body tightened around his fingers, your muscles clenching as the orgasm washed over you. You could feel your juices coating his skin, and the thought only served to make the sensation more intense.

As the last spasms of pleasure receded, Spencer pulled back, his eyes shining with victory and something else—admiration, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. But the look on his face was one of pure reverence, as if you were some kind of goddess that had just allowed him a taste of heaven.

You watched him, panting and flushed, as he moved over you. His skin was slick with sweat, the moonlight playing across the planes of his chest, casting him in an ethereal glow. For a moment, he just hovered above you, his breaths heavy, his eyes locked on yours. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a soft rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth.

"You’re not just beautiful… you’re celestial. Like you were born from the night sky itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Spencer’s eyes searched yours. His pupils were wide, dark pools that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe—and for a moment, you felt like you were drowning in them. The room spun around you, the only constant the steady beat of your heart and the heat of his gaze.

And then, he was moving again, his body sliding against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt the tip of his erection nudge against your entrance, and it was all you could do not to beg for more. But you didn’t have to—Spencer knew exactly what you needed. With one swift thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you making your eyes roll back in your head.

He paused for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust, to breathe. You felt him, thick and hard, stretching you in a way that was both exquisite and overwhelming. You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against the walls of your pussy, and the sensation was almost too much to handle. But you didn’t want it to stop—you never wanted it to stop.

You reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to yours in a silent plea for more. Spencer didn’t need any encouragement. His lips claimed yours with a fiery passion that left you gasping, his tongue delving deep as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that had you rising to meet him.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—like your entire world had been reduced to the point where you were joined. The bed groaned in protest under the force of your movements, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady, insistent beat that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel yourself building again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass—guiding you, urging you closer to that sweet oblivion that beckoned. His thrusts grew more demanding, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that seemed to carry the weight of the universe.

You felt yourself begin to climb again, the sensation of him inside you more intense than ever. His strokes grew longer, his rhythm unrelenting, each movement bringing you closer to that precipice you’d been teetering on. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that crackled between your bodies. It was like you were made for this—for each other—like every moment of your life had led to this perfect storm of passion.

You watched as his cock slid in and out of you, the slickness of your desire making his skin glisten in the moonlight. The sight was almost too much, your eyes going wide as you took in every inch of him, his length, his girth, the way he filled you so completely. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a silent invitation for him to go deeper, to never stop.

Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, making your toes curl and your back arch. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were here, with Spencer, feeling this connection that seemed to transcend the physical. His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and focused, as if he was trying to see into the very depths of your soul.

The rhythm grew faster, the sounds of your skin slapping against his and the wet noises of your union filling the room. Spencer’s breathing grew ragged, his face a picture of pure concentration as he watched you climb towards your peak. His thumb found your clit again, playing with it in a way that had your eyes rolling back in your head, stars exploding behind your closed lids.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he demanded, his voice a gruff whisper. It was a command, but also a question, a need for you to put into words the symphony of sensations that played through your body with each stroke of his cock.

You obeyed, your voice a breathless pant as you whispered, “Good isn’t enough, Spencer. You make me feel alive. Like every nerve in my body is on fire, like I’m floating on air and drowning in pleasure all at once.” Each word was a confession, a revelation of how deeply he affected you.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, his gaze locked on yours as if he was afraid to miss a single second of this shared moment. His hips sped up, his strokes growing more insistent, more demanding. His thumb circled your clit, pressing harder, faster, and you felt your orgasm building once more, like a crescendo that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice low and commanding, his eyes searching yours. “I want to hear it. I need to know how good it feels when I’m inside you, making you come apart around me.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the words. But you knew he needed to hear them, needed to know that he was the one who did this to you. So you spoke, your voice raw with passion.

"You feel so deep, so perfect, like you’re claiming every part of me. Like you own me." Your voice broke on a gasp as you clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders. "I don’t ever want you to stop. I don’t think I could survive it."

His response was a feral groan, his hips bucking harder, driving into you with an urgency that spoke of a hunger that could never truly be sated. Your breaths grew shorter, your body tightening around him like a vise. The pressure grew, the tension coiling like a spring about to snap.

And then, with a few desperate thrusts, you were there falling over the edge, screaming out his name as your orgasm crashed over you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion that sent waves of pleasure through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

But Spencer wasn’t finished. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost feral as he looked down at you, his hips still moving with a purpose that was unmistakable. You could feel his cock pulse inside you, feel his own release building with each stroke. And in that moment, all you wanted was for him to let go, for him to fill you up with everything he had to give.

In a pleasure-drunk haze, you whispered the words that had been dancing on the tip of your tongue. “Cum in me, Spencer. I need it. I need all of you, please… fill me up." Your voice was a needy whine, raw with desperation.

Hearing your plea, Spencer’s control snapped. He growled, the sound primal and possessive, and his hips began to piston into you, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his cock swell even more inside you, the pressure building until it was almost too much to bear.

And then, with a final roar of pleasure, he did as you asked—his seed spilling into you in hot, thick spurts that filled you completely. The feeling was overwhelming, a rush of heat and fullness that seemed to go on forever. Your muscles clenched around him, milking every drop as if trying to hold onto him for as long as possible.

As your bodies stilled, Spencer collapsed onto you, his breaths coming in heaving gasps, his heart racing against your chest. You could feel his weight, the reassuring warmth of his body, the sticky sweat that melded your skin together. For a moment, you just lay there, panting and trembling, basking in the aftermath of what had just transpired.

Then, with a gentle smile, Spencer rolled off of you, taking care not to break the connection entirely. He pulled you into his arms, your legs tangling together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to find your bearings. The room was silent, save for the distant sound of a car passing by outside, the occasional creak of the bed, and the steady beat of your hearts.

You looked up at him, his face a canvas of pleasure and contentment. The moon had shifted slightly, casting a new pattern of shadows across his skin. You traced one with your finger, watching as it danced over the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch, a purr of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

“That was…” he started, his voice gravelly with the aftermath of passion.

You smiled softly, finishing for him, "Incredible."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his eyes glimmering as they met yours. "Yeah. That’s one word for it."

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but intimate, filled with quiet understanding. You lay there, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His hand drifted along your back, fingertips tracing your spine with a delicate touch.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nodded, a small hum of affirmation. "Better than okay."

His hand paused, cradling the back of your head as if he could hold you together with just his touch. "Good. I just… I want this to be good for you. For us."

"It is," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "It is."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his lips warm against your skin. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "You should use the bathroom," he said gently, his concern evident. "Just to be safe."

You smiled at the thoughtfulness, brushing your fingers over his arm. "You're right. I'll be right back."

As you slipped out of bed, Spencer watched you go with a fondness that warmed the air between you. He rose as well, pulling on his boxers and heading into the kitchen. By the time you returned, he had two glasses of water waiting on the nightstand.

"Figured you'd be thirsty," he said, offering you one with a soft smile.

You accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip before setting it down. "You're too good to me."

He chuckled, climbing back into bed and pulling you close once more. "Just looking out for you."

You settled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Tonight was… amazing. Not just this, but the whole night. The date, the way you made me feel. It was easy with you. Natural."

Spencer’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your back. "I wanted it to be that way. I wanted you to feel… comfortable. Wanted. Because you are."

Your fingers found his, intertwining them. "You make me feel… like I don't have to try so hard. Like I'm enough."

He squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur against your hair. "You are. You always are."

There was a pause, a quiet stretch of time where neither of you moved. Then, without words, he pulled the blanket over the two of you, tucking it around your bodies. His arms stayed tight around you, and you nestled closer, finding solace in the solid line of his body.

The exhaustion crept in slowly, your limbs heavy, your thoughts hazy but content. Spencer’s fingers stroked through your hair, slow and soothing, lulling you toward sleep.

"Sleep," he whispered. "I've got you."

And you did, sinking into the warmth of him, letting the world fade away until there was nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the soft rhythm of his breath.

Morning light crept gently into the room, casting soft shadows across the bed. Spencer stirred first, eyes blinking open to the sight of you still sleeping beside him. Your features were relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair splayed across the pillow in soft waves. A quiet contentment settled over him. He wanted to keep this moment, to hold onto it, but even more than that, he wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Sweet.

Breakfast in bed.

Carefully, he slid out from under the blanket, moving with slow precision to avoid waking you. He paused by the doorway, taking one last look at you before stepping into the kitchen, determination settling in his chest. How hard could it be?

Turns out, harder than expected.

He started with coffee, thinking it safe. Only, the machine sputtered oddly, refusing to brew as smoothly as it should. He frowned, poking at it like that might encourage better performance. When the coffee finally dripped through, it was weaker than expected but passable. He’d just… add more sugar. That would fix it, right?

The eggs were next. Spencer cracked the first one with too much force, half of it splattering onto the counter. He muttered under his breath, cleaning it up quickly before trying again. The second egg cracked better, though some shell slipped into the bowl. He tried fishing it out with his fingers but only made it worse, the slippery bit of shell evading him like a taunt.

"Okay," he murmured, squinting in concentration. He reached for a spoon, finally prying the shell free with a triumphant huff. The small victory felt satisfying—until he realized he’d already let the pan heat too long. The butter burned in an angry sizzle, smoke curling up as if mocking him. He rushed to toss it, opening the window to wave the smoke out.

"Great start," he muttered.

The toast was another misadventure. He set it to medium, turned his back for half a second, and it came out more charred than crisp. He hesitated, then decided maybe if he just scraped off the blackened bits, it would be fine. Rustic. That sounded right. Rustic.

By the time he was done, the kitchen looked like a minor war zone. Eggshells littered the counter, the faint smell of smoke lingered, and the toast… well, it wasn’t black anymore, but it wasn’t exactly golden either. The coffee looked questionable, the eggs a little overcooked. Still, he plated it carefully, determined to follow through.

He placed everything on a tray, hesitating only a moment before grabbing a single flower from the vase on your table. A nice touch, he thought. Maybe it would distract from everything else.

When he returned to the bedroom, you were already stirring, eyes fluttering open as you turned towards him. Your gaze softened, sleep still lingering in your expression.

Spencer smiled, though it was tinged with nerves. "Good morning," he greeted, placing the tray gently on the nightstand. "I… thought I’d surprise you with breakfast."

You blinked at the tray, then back at him. Your lips twitched, though you held it back admirably.

"This is… such a sweet surprise," you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling at your waist. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he said quickly. "I thought… well, after last night, you deserved something nice. Even if I’m not exactly a chef." He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "And the coffee might be a little weak. The toast is, um, rustic. And the eggs are… edible?"

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and affectionate. "It’s perfect," you said, though your smile gave you away.

"You’re a terrible liar," Spencer chuckled, but his eyes were fond. "But I appreciate it."

You reached for the coffee first, taking a cautious sip. Your expression twitched, but you swallowed it without complaint. Then you picked up the toast, eyeing it as though it might crumble into dust with one wrong move.

"It’s definitely… crunchy," you said, and the laugh that followed was free and bright.

Spencer groaned but grinned, rubbing a hand down his face. "I swear, my brain is good for a lot of things. Cooking just isn’t one of them."

"You get points for effort," you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "And honestly? The thought means more than perfect eggs."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "I’ll take you out for real breakfast later. Something with less… burnt bread."

"Deal." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "But this is still my favourite breakfast so far."

He tilted his head, catching your lips with his. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that lingered, tasting of morning and promise. When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s eyes searched yours, like he was memorizing the moment.

"Next time, I'll just bring you coffee," he murmured, though his smile was playful.

"As long as you’re the one bringing it," you said, settling back into the pillows. "It’ll be perfect."

Spencer settled back against the pillows, his arm curling around you like it belonged there. His skin was warm, his body solid as you pressed close, letting the sheets drape loosely over you. His fingertips traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine, the kind of touch that wasn’t in a hurry to be anything but soft and steady.

You pressed your face into the curve of his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “You didn’t have to try so hard,” you said, voice low, lazy.

“I wanted to,” he murmured, his breath brushing over your hair. His fingers traced up, slow and thoughtful, until they skimmed along the back of your neck. “For you.”

The way he said it made warmth bloom low in your chest. You tilted your head, lifting your gaze to his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes lingered on you—your mouth, your cheek, the soft curve of your shoulder. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, light but certain.

You leaned in, and his lips met yours like it was inevitable.

It started soft, slow, but it didn’t stay that way. His mouth opened against yours, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers tangling and tugging, angling your head the way he wanted. You sighed into him, your hand sliding along his side, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He kissed you deeper, slower, like he had nowhere else to be. Like there was nothing better than this. His hand traced down, fingertips brushing over your back, down to the curve of your waist. He pulled you closer until there wasn’t space for anything but the steady heat of him, his body solid, his breath quickening.

You shifted, your leg sliding over his, tangling close. His hands found your hips, fingers splaying, holding you there, keeping you pressed to him. His mouth never left yours, deep and wanting but never rushed. His tongue traced over yours, slow and certain, tasting, lingering like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

Your hands roamed, exploring the lines of him, fingertips skating over his ribs, his shoulders, the soft dip of his spine. Every brush of skin made him press closer, his breath catching, his hands smoothing up your back, tracing along your sides. His touch was slow but certain, like he wanted to feel every inch of you.

The sheets tangled around you, warm and soft, but it was his hands, his mouth, his body that held you there. Time stretched out, long and slow, the kind of time that didn’t feel real. You kissed until your lips were sore, until you were breathless, caught between sighs and quiet laughter, until the line between one kiss and the next blurred into something endless.

Every shift, every brush of fingertips, every quiet hum felt easy. Unhurried. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head just right so his mouth could find yours again. And when his lips dragged lower, brushing along your jaw, down the curve of your throat, you sighed, arching into him.

He hummed, low and pleased, his mouth lingering against your skin, soft and warm. You curled closer, fingers tracing the slope of his back, slow and content.

It wasn’t about urgency. It wasn’t about needing anything more than this. It was about closeness, about the feel of his skin beneath your hands, his mouth on yours, the warmth of his breath, the steady comfort of his touch.

And you stayed like that, tangled up in each other, kissing and touching, letting the world outside fall away.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. You didn’t care.

Eventually, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm and uneven, his eyes half-lidded, lazy. His thumb brushed along your cheek, slow and sweet.

“I could stay here forever,” he said, voice rough but soft.

You smiled, fingers tracing lightly along his shoulder. “Me too.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. But then your stomach growled—quiet but impossible to ignore and it made you both laugh, warm and breathless.

Spencer shifted back slightly, his hand smoothing down your side. “I still owe you breakfast,” he said, his tone wry. “Or… brunch, I guess, by now. I feel bad about earlier.”

You hummed, trailing your fingers down his arm. “You don’t have to make up for anything. I’m happy right here.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his fingers along your side, slow and thoughtful. “But I want to. I want to bring you something good.”

You gave him a lazy, teasing smile. “And if I said I’d rather keep you here?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Then I’d say I’ll be back fast. But you deserve a real meal, and I want to be the one to bring it to you.” His gaze softened. “Then we can crawl back under the covers and have a lazy day in bed.”

You exhaled, the idea settling in warm. “Alright,” you said. “But you better hurry.”

“I will.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. “Promise.”

You watched him as he slid from the bed, the sheets falling away, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He stretched, slow and lazy, the muscles of his back flexing beneath skin as he reached for his clothes.

He dressed without hurry, his gaze flicking to you as he tugged his shirt over his head. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You smiled, sinking deeper beneath the blanket. “I won’t.”

And when he crossed the room, leaning in to press one last kiss to your forehead, it lingered soft and certain, like a promise.

“I won’t be long,” he said, his fingers brushing one last time along your arm.

You watched him go, the door clicking softly behind him, and the room felt quieter but still warm. Still full of him.

You stretched beneath the sheets, your body humming with the comfort of him, and let yourself sink into the warmth he’d left behind, knowing he’d return soon with food, with more of this. With more of him.

The café was quiet when Spencer stepped inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. The warmth was a sharp contrast to the chill outside, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the haze that had settled over him since leaving your place.

He kept thinking about how you’d looked when he slipped out tangled in the sheets, hair mussed, skin still warm from his touch. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the weight of your body pressed to his. It lingered, soft and heady.

It didn’t feel real.

He kept thinking about last night, about the way you’d smiled over dinner, the quiet way you’d leaned into him at the planetarium like you belonged there, like you belonged with him. He’d memorized the way the soft glow of the stars lit your skin, how your eyes had caught the light when you looked at him. How you’d kissed him like you meant it. Like you wanted more.

He ordered quickly—pastries, something warm and sweet, and coffee that smelled rich and strong. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a gesture. Like something he could give you, small but thoughtful. He wanted to bring you something good. Something easy.

Walking back, he wondered if you were still curled up in bed, if you’d fallen asleep again. He liked the thought of that. Liked the idea of coming back to you warm and drowsy, your body soft beneath the sheets, your voice low with sleep.

He just liked coming back to you.

By the time he let himself back in, the apartment was quiet. He closed the door softly, toeing off his shoes, and carried the food inside. The bedroom door was ajar, and he caught a glimpse of you inside curled beneath the blankets, now wearing a tank top and panties, your hair falling loose over your shoulder. You were stretched out in the soft glow of morning, looking comfortable and warm, and for a second, Spencer just stood there. Watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

You looked up when he stepped in, your eyes soft with sleep, and gave him a smile that made something in his chest pull tight.

“Told you I’d be quick,” he said, keeping his voice low.

You stretched beneath the covers, slow and lazy. “You were.”

He set the bag down, unpacking the food as you pushed yourself up. The sheets slipped down your body, exposing more bare skin, and he tried not to stare. Tried.

“I got pastries,” he said, passing one to you. “And coffee. I thought—well, I hoped it would be good enough.”

You took it with a soft smile, fingers brushing his. “It’s perfect.”

Spencer sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He watched you take a bite, the way your eyes fluttered shut at the taste, and smiled to himself.

It felt easy after that. You sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing food and quiet conversation, trading bites and soft laughs. Crumbs scattered across the sheets, but neither of you cared. His fingers brushed yours more than they needed to. He let them linger, tracing over your knuckles, your wrist, the curve of your thigh beneath the blanket.

And when you were both full, when the food was forgotten and the coffee cooled on the nightstand, you stayed close. Spencer stayed close.

The afternoon passed in quiet, easy conversation. You stayed in bed, letting the hours stretch long and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to be anywhere but here. Spencer stayed close, his leg pressed against yours beneath the blanket, his fingers brushing over your hand now and then-light, lingering, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and stretching out his legs. His arm slid around your waist, fingers curling just enough to tug you gently toward him. You didn’t resist, letting him pull you in until you were settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

It felt natural, easy, the kind of closeness that didn’t need words. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb tracing slow, idle circles over the soft fabric of your tank top. You let your head tip back against his shoulder, and for a while, that was enough.

The conversation slowed, words giving way to the quiet comfort of being close. Spencer’s fingers drifted, tracing along your side, over your ribs, and back again. His touch wasn’t urgent, but there was a weight to it, a quiet intent that lingered beneath the surface.

Eventually, as the sky outside dimmed and the soft glow of evening settled in, Spencer's hand paused where it rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, holding on like he didn't want to let go.

"I should…" His voice trailed off, low and reluctant. "I should probably head out soon."

You tilted your head, looking up at him. "You don't have to."

He hesitated, then sighed. "I do. We have work tomorrow. And as much as I want to stay, I don't think either of us will get much sleep if I do."

It wasn’t teasing, and it wasn’t light. It was truth, weighed down with the pull of wanting to stay anyway.

You nodded, though it wasn’t what you wanted either. "Yeah. You're right."

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing over your side like he was memorizing the shape of you. "Tomorrow's going to be… interesting," he said, a dry note in his voice.

You gave a small laugh. "You mean the team is going to make our lives hell?"

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Exactly that."

You shifted, turning slightly to look at him better. "We'll get through it."

"We will," he agreed, but the words were softer. Like he needed to believe them as much as you did. "But we need to be careful. We can’t… We can’t let this affect work."

You nodded, serious now. "I know. No flirting. No… this," you said, gesturing between you both. "Not while we’re on the clock."

His jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Right. No slipping. No mistakes."

"And no giving them anything to gossip about," you added.

He chuckled under his breath, though it lacked humor. "We already gave them enough. Tomorrow, we keep it professional. No exceptions."

You nodded again, though a part of you ached at the thought. "We’ll figure it out."

His hand lingered at your side, fingers pressing in gently like he didn’t want to let go. "We will," he said, and there was something certain in the words. Not just about work but about everything. About you and him.

When he finally stood, you followed him, padding barefoot to the door. The apartment felt smaller as he gathered his things, quieter with the evening stretching between you. You lingered close as he shrugged on his jacket, and when his hand hovered at the door, you reached for him.

He turned, his expression soft and a little sad, and you lifted onto your toes, brushing your lips to his. Slow, lingering, a kiss that said all the things you couldn’t tomorrow. The kind that made him hum low in his chest, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, fingers sliding into your hair.

You pulled back first, but only by a breath. "Goodnight," you said, your voice quieter now.

His thumb traced along your jaw. "Goodnight."

He hesitated, but then he stepped back, opening the door and slipping out with one last look. One that lingered like his touch, warm and slow, even after the door clicked shut.

You stood there for a moment, fingers pressed to your lips, holding onto the feel of him. Knowing tomorrow would be different. Knowing you'd have to act like this didn’t happen.

But it did. And you'd both figure it out. Together.

The night stretched quiet after Spencer left, but his absence lingered. You moved through the motions of evening—tidying up, brushing your teeth, slipping into bed—but it all felt a little too still. A little too empty.

Your phone buzzed just as you settled under the covers.

Spencer: Sweet dreams. I’ll be thinking about you.

A smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.

You: You better not be thinking about me tomorrow. We have to be professional, remember?

The reply came quickly.

Spencer: Right. Completely professional. No thinking about you at all.

You could almost hear the sarcasm in it. Almost see the way he’d be smiling, soft and teasing.

You: Good luck with that.

A beat passed, and then,

Spencer: Goodnight.

You: Goodnight, Spencer.

You set the phone down, but it took a while for sleep to come. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, fingers brushing over the empty space beside you. It felt like something unfinished. Like something waiting.

But eventually, sleep pulled you under.

Sleep didn’t last long enough.

You moved through the morning on autopilot—shower, coffee, dressing for the day. Routine helped, steady and familiar, but there was a thread of tension underneath it all. A sense of anticipation you couldn’t shake.

You paused by the mirror, studying yourself. Trying to find that steady, composed version that wouldn’t give anything away. That could walk into work and pretend nothing had changed.

Professional. Unshakable.

You adjusted your clothes and took one last look.

This was fine. You could do this.

The drive in passed in a blur, but when the building came into view, your stomach tightened. It was easy to imagine the teasing looks, the knowing glances, the way the team would pounce at the first slip.

In the elevator, you caught your reflection in the metal doors. You smoothed your hands down your sides, pressed your shoulders back. Tried to look like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t holding onto the ghost of Spencer’s touch.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, and you took a breath.

Steady. Calm. Professional.

You stepped out, heels clicking against the floor, and walked toward the office.

The bullpen was already humming with quiet activity when you stepped off the elevator. Garcia was perched on Derek's desk, legs crossed, a look of pure mischief lighting up her face. She wasn’t even pretending to look busy, eyes fixed on the elevator like she had been waiting just for you.

Her grin was immediate and sharp. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

You kept your expression neutral, though it was difficult with the way her gaze swept over you like she was analyzing every inch.

"Morning, Garcia."

She slid off the desk with slow grace. "Morning? Oh, I bet it is." Her voice dripped with implication. "Good weekend?"

Before you could answer, the  second elevator chimed, and Spencer stepped out. He caught sight of the group and hesitated just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Garcia's grin turned predatory.

"Speak of the devil," she said sweetly.

You watched as Spencer’s eyes flicked over the bullpen, taking in the scene, taking in you. There was a tightness to his jaw, the faintest blush colouring his cheeks, but he kept his stride steady as he crossed to his desk.

Garcia’s grin widened as she gave Spencer a slow once-over. She tilted her head, voice sweet but laced with mischief.

“You’re walking a little funny this morning, Doctor Reid.”

The words hung in the air. There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the implication to land.

Spencer froze, the colour rising sharply to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond.

Without a word, he hurried to his desk.

Garcia just smiled, looking far too pleased with herself.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, that explains a lot."

Emily smirked, her gaze flicking between you and Spencer. "Guess all that arguing was just foreplay, huh?"

JJ, walking in with a coffee in hand, raised her brows as she caught the tail end of the exchange. "Did I miss something, or is this just Monday morning chaos?"

Morgan chuckled. "You missed the revelation of the century."

You set your bag down, refusing to let your smile slip. You didn’t plan to deny anything, but that didn’t mean you were about to serve up details either.

Garcia tilted her head, her grin unrelenting. "Come on, you’re not really gonna act like I didn’t catch you two, are you? Phones don’t just spend the night together by accident."

Morgan crossed his arms, looking smug. "Makes sense now. All that tension? All those arguments? Classic case of unresolved chemistry."

JJ grinned, her tone teasing. "Yeah, we just didn’t realize how unresolved it really was."

Emily laughed. "You know, I always thought it was going to end with one of them throwing a punch. Turns out it ended… differently."

That earned a round of laughter, and Spencer, though he kept his head down, wasn’t fooling anyone. His ears were burning red.

Garcia beamed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad you worked it out. This place was almost getting boring without the two of you bickering like an old married couple."

"Turns out they just needed to get it out of their system," Morgan added, grinning.

Emily shook her head with a laugh. "Or maybe they just found a better way to argue."

The laughter that followed was easy, though under it, you could feel the curiosity lingering. Questions were brewing, but before anyone could push further, Hotch's office door opened. The sound was enough to pull everyone's attention back to their desks, a momentary reprieve.

But you knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The morning passed in steady rhythm, but every so often, you felt it—Spencer’s gaze. Quick, flickering glances from across the bullpen. At first, you thought nothing of it. Habit, maybe. Or the lingering awkwardness after the weekend.

But then you caught it again. His eyes weren’t on your face.

You crossed to the filing cabinet, crouching to sift through the lower drawer. Papers shuffled under your fingers as you searched, but the weight of his gaze pressed against you, lingering. Curious. You straightened, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see Spencer quickly look away, his focus snapping back to his desk with suspicious intensity.

Strange.

You brushed it off and returned to your desk. But when you bent again—this time to reach for a file on the lower shelf—you caught it once more. A fleeting glance, sharp and quick, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted away.

You frowned slightly, puzzled. What was he looking at?

It wasn’t until you sat back and caught the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—that it clicked.

Ah.

You bit back a smile.

Leaning forward, you reached for your coffee, letting your blouse shift just enough, casual and effortless. You didn’t look at him, not yet, but you felt the shift in the air, that slight tension when someone’s trying not to stare.

And when you glanced up, there it was. His eyes, caught mid-glance, guilt flashing before he dragged them back to his desk.

Still, his blush gave him away.

You said nothing. Just smiled to yourself and turned back to your work, already thinking of how you’d make him squirm later.

Suddenly Garcia strolled into the bullpen, her heels clicking softly as she made her way to your desk. She perched on the edge, her voice low and laced with mischief. “So,” she started, eyes bright, “have a fun weekend?”

You looked up, keeping your tone light. “Relaxing. You?”

Garcia hummed, leaning in slightly. “Oh, quiet. Except for when I noticed two certain phones spending the night together. That definitely kept things interesting.”

You lifted an eyebrow, teasing. “Must’ve been a wild night for the phones.”

Emily, not even pretending to be focused on work, grinned. "Maybe the phones are dating now. Saved us all a lot of time waiting for them to catch up."

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your smile in check.

Garcia’s grin only widened as she turned back to you, her voice low and conspiratorial. “So… is it serious, or just a one-time thing for the phones?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “Guess you'll have to keep tracking to find out.”

Garcia chuckled, a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”

Garcia didn’t waste time. As soon as she slipped off your desk, she strolled toward Spencer’s, her steps light and casual. She leaned in just slightly, keeping her voice low but sweet.

"So," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, "was it just a fun little weekend, or should I be picking out engagement gifts?"

Spencer glanced up, his expression calm but guarded. "That’s a little fast, don’t you think?"

Garcia smiled, undeterred. "Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes things just… click. Fast and hard."

He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "I’d say it’s more complicated than that."

Garcia tilted her head, her grin widening. "Complicated is just code for interesting. And I love interesting."

Spencer gave a faint, knowing smile but said nothing more.

She lingered for a second longer, clearly waiting for something—anything—but when Spencer simply returned to his file, she straightened with a soft, playful sigh. "Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I’m done yet."

And with that, she walked off, not quite satiated.

The teasing air didn’t go away. It hummed beneath every glance, every smirk that lingered a second too long. Every time you crossed the bullpen, there was an expectant pause, like the team was waiting for something to slip.

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, caught your eye as you passed with a file. His grin was slow, sharp. “Careful, sweetness. Don’t throw your back out carrying that—though I guess you’ve already had a good workout this weekend.”

You didn’t miss a step, just shot him a look over your shoulder. “I can handle it.”

But when you glanced at Spencer, his gaze wasn’t on the file. His eyes dipped lower, lingering for a beat too long. His jaw flexed, and he shifted in his seat, flipping a page in the file like it could cover the moment.

Emily caught it too, biting back a grin. She met your gaze and gave an exaggerated wink.

You kept walking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck.

But Spencer wasn’t doing as well. His gaze flicked up quickly, catching yours before darting away, his fingers drumming a little too fast against the desk.

Later, in the file room, you were too focused on the folder in your hands to hear the door open. Too focused to notice the soft click of it shutting.

You didn’t hear him until you felt him—until his body pressed against your back, warm and solid. His hands landed on the shelves on either side of you, caging you in.

You froze, breath hitching as the heat of him curled around you.

Then his mouth was at your ear, his breath warm, his voice low enough to be dangerous. “Why today?" The words dragged slow and rough. "Why wear something so damn tempting?”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. "Didn’t realize it was a problem."

Spencer’s laugh was quiet, low, curling at the edges. His nose skimmed the line of your jaw, a touch so light it left your skin burning. "It is," he said, the words nothing but a whisper. "Because I can’t think about anything else."

You felt his hand drift up, fingers brushing against your side, tracing the curve of your waist, so soft it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingertips skimmed the edge of your blouse, lingering just beneath the fabric’s hem.

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a challenge. "Maybe I wanted you distracted."

That earned a sharp inhale, but his laugh came dark and quiet. "Careful," he murmured. "You’re going to get exactly what you’re asking for."

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned you. His hands slid to your waist, firm and sure, and your back met the shelves with a quiet thud.

You barely had time to react before his body pressed close, his hand bracing beside your head. His other hand drifted along your hip, teasing, slow, fingers tracing the shape of you.

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing close to yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. Close enough to taste the possibility.

Your breath caught, chest rising to meet his. He stayed there, hovering, letting the anticipation crackle between you.

When you tried to close the gap, just a little, his hand slid up to your jaw, holding you still. His thumb traced your cheek, soft and maddening.

"Not yet," he whispered, his lips barely ghosting yours. His eyes were dark, heavy with want. "You don’t get to have it that easy."

The words sent heat spiralling low, sharp and hot.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. "You’re cruel," you breathed.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Only when you deserve it."

And then his hand was gone, trailing down your side like a promise as he stepped back. The air felt colder without him, and your legs barely held steady beneath you.

But Spencer wasn’t unaffected. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than before. He hesitated for half a second—like he might take it back, close the distance—but the sound of footsteps outside snapped the tension.

He turned, slipping from the room without a word.

And it wasn’t hard to notice the way his pants fit tighter than when he’d come in.

You stayed against the shelves, trying to catch your breath. Your skin still burned where he’d touched you. Your lips still tingled from the ghost of what almost was.

The afternoon stretched, slow and deliberate, each hour marked by lingering glances and barely-there touches. The teasing still hadn’t let up. Emily’s knowing looks, Morgan’s smirks, and JJ’s subtle glances over her coffee mug all pressed against the edges of your focus, reminding you of the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Spencer tried to keep his attention on paperwork, but every time you shifted in your seat or reached for a file, his eyes flicked toward you. Quick, but not quick enough. And when you caught him, he'd glance away, his jaw tight and the tips of his ears faintly flushed.

You weren’t doing much better. Every brush of his hand when passing a folder, every moment his gaze dipped lower than it should, sparked a quiet heat beneath your skin. The tension built in the space between you—heavy and electric.

Morgan chuckled low, catching Spencer’s lingering stare. “If that’s how you look at her here, I can’t imagine how you look at her when it’s just the two of you.”

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “Bet they don’t argue nearly as much when it’s just them and locked doors.”

Morgan grinned. “Nah, I bet they argue more. Just… with less clothing.”

JJ glanced up, her smile sly. “Well, as long as they showed up to work in one piece, I guess they figured it out.”

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your face neutral, though heat prickled at the back of your neck. You didn’t dare glance at Spencer.

But you didn’t have to. His hand twitched around his pen, his shoulders stiff. He flipped a page, eyes down, like the paper could shield him. The flush along his cheeks was unmistakable, and he shifted slightly in his seat, jaw tight.

Emily leaned back, still grinning. “Come on, Reid, you’re the genius. What’s the probability of you making it through today without getting caught staring again?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Low,” he admitted quietly.

The bullpen broke into another round of laughter, and you pressed your lips together to hide your smile. You weren’t sure if it was crueller to leave him hanging or to come to his rescue—but either way, it was definitely fun.

By the time the day edged toward its close, it felt like every second was strung tight, pulled taut with what neither of you said out loud. The office felt too small, the distance between desks too wide.

You stepped out of the break room and nearly collided with him in the hall. His shoulder brushed yours, his hand steadying you with a touch low on your back—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you.

“Your place?” he murmured, his voice low, words skimming warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just glanced at him sideways, lips curving. “After work.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “I’ll bring dinner.”

And then he was gone, leaving you there with a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow and a promise hanging in the air. The rest of the day stretched endlessly, every tick of the clock a reminder of how close, and yet how far, the evening was.

When the day finally wound down, you gathered your things, pulse thrumming. Spencer wasn’t far behind, though neither of you said a word. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Morgan’s voice broke the quiet hum. “Don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. Gotta be sharp for work tomorrow.”

Spencer paused, his hand hovering over his satchel, gaze flicking up to meet yours before dropping again.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be sure to send him home before curfew.”

That earned a ripple of laughter, light but sharp enough to make Spencer’s ears tint pink. He ducked his head, focusing a little too hard on his bag.

You exchanged no more words, but as you moved toward the elevator, you felt his stare, steady and warm. A glance back caught it—his eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside. Just before they closed, Spencer caught your gaze again. A subtle tilt of his head. A silent promise.

When you finally got home, the weight of the day lingered in your bones. You kicked off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you took in the quiet of your apartment. The teasing at work had been relentless, the stolen glances with Spencer torturous, and the slow crawl of time utterly unforgiving. Now, the waiting was finally over.

You had just settled onto the couch when a knock at the door sent a thrill through you. When you pulled it open, Spencer was standing there, slightly out of breath, brown paper bags in his hands, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. His tie was loose, and a few strands of hair had fallen over his forehead.

“Delivery,” he said, holding up the bags.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. “You’ve never been a delivery guy in your life.”

Spencer stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “I brought food. That counts.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped aside to let him in. He made a beeline for the coffee table, setting down the food before shrugging off his bag. You followed, grabbing plates while he started unpacking the containers.

“You better not have picked something weird,” you teased, eyeing the bags suspiciously.

Spencer scoffed. “I have excellent taste.”

“You have questionable taste.”

“Only in women,” he quipped, earning a playful glare.

You settled on the couch with Spencer, the plates of Chinese food steaming between you. You talked about your workday, the teasing still fresh in your mind. Each shared story was met with laughter and the occasional eye roll, but there was a comfort in the banter that went deeper than the surface. It was easy, this back-and-forth, the way you could poke at each other’s buttons without fear of retribution.

“Speaking of, I think we may have permanently lost our credibility as professionals today.”

You snorted. “We had credibility to begin with?”

Spencer gave you a pointed look. “I did.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, if you’re so reputable, you should’ve been able to keep a straight face when Emily caught you staring at my cleavage.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with one hand. “That was humiliating.”

“You turned red,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“I panicked! There was no good way to recover from that!”

“You could’ve denied it.”

Spencer shot you a dry look. “And no one would’ve believed me. Besides, after that, there was Derek.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh god, yeah. He looked so smug when he caught you adjusting your tie like it would somehow erase the fact that you got caught drooling.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Spencer muttered.

“Mmm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound. “That’s not what I heard.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Do you enjoy my suffering?”

You grinned. “A little.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “At least I wasn’t the only one suffering. You had Garcia and JJ tag-teaming you all day.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “It was relentless. Garcia kept looking at me like she was proud—like I finally made a respectable life decision by dating you.”

Spencer smirked. “Well, I am an excellent choice.”

You shot him a look. “You’re a choice.”

His smirk widened. “A choice you chose.”

You huffed, nudging his knee with your foot. “Don’t get cocky. And JJ wasn’t any better—every time I looked at her, she was just smiling at me. Like this soft, knowing little smile. And when I asked what she was grinning about, she just shrugged and said, ‘Oh, nothing.’”

Spencer chuckled. “That’s worse than outright teasing.”

“I know!” You threw your hands up. “And then she had the audacity to say, ‘You two make sense.’”

Spencer tilted his head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

You pointed a fork at him. “It was smug and you know it.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t argue with you.”

“You never argue with me,” you shot back sarcastically, eyes twinkling.

The sarcasm goes right over his head. “Now that’s not true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fair point. You argue with me about everything.”

His lips twitched. “Not everything.”

You arched a brow. “Okay, name one thing we haven’t argued about.”

Spencer opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. “Give me a minute.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You nudged Spencer’s knee with your foot, smirking as you picked at your food. “You remember the sticky note war?”

Spencer groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m reminding you.”

It had started with a single correction—Spencer, unable to resist his need for precision, had scribbled an annotation onto one of your reports. You retaliated by leaving a sticky note on his desk that read, Clarification: You’re insufferable.

The next morning, you arrived to find a meticulously written response stuck to your monitor: Insubstantial claim. Please provide evidence.

And so it escalated.

Every day brought new additions. You scrawled sarcastic commentary on his files; he responded with passive-aggressive footnotes. You left him a sticky note with a simple No one likes a know-it-all. He countered with a full printout of a psychological study on passive-aggressive behaviour, highlighted and annotated just for you.

You declared war.

One evening, after everyone had left, you gathered every sticky note in the office and wallpapered Spencer’s desk. His chair, his drawers, his keyboard—everything was covered in a sea of bright squares, you wrote on as many as you could. Some were snarky 'You brought this upon yourself', some were outright taunts 'Can’t clarify your way out of this one, genius', and some were just ridiculous 'Fun fact: You're annoying'.

When Spencer walked in the next morning, he stopped in the doorway, staring in stunned silence.

You had never seen him so speechless.

Even now, as you sat together on your couch, Spencer was still shaking his head at the memory. “Do you know how long it took me to get rid of all of them?”

You grinned. “You should’ve surrendered.”

Spencer huffed. “I don’t surrender.”

“And yet, you never retaliated.”

Spencer took a slow bite of his food, eyes narrowing. “Because I knew I couldn’t win. You’re ruthless.”

You held up a finger. “Strategic.”

“Unhinged.”

You shrugged, smug. “Admit it. I won.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You may have won that battle.”

You smirked. “And the war.”

He gave you a look but didn’t argue. That was admission enough.

Spencer scooped up a bite of rice, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you nearly buried me alive in paperwork.”

You snorted. “You act like I did it on purpose.”

Spencer levelled you with a look. “You stacked those files like a reckless maniac. I barely touched one, and the whole thing came down like an avalanche.”

You smirked around a bite of food. “Maybe you should’ve had faster reflexes.”

He scoffed. “I was ambushed.”

You could still picture it perfectly. Spencer had wandered over to your desk, reaching for a file you’d worked on. But the moment he slid it free from the pile, the precariously stacked tower of paperwork had given way, cascading down on top of him in a flurry of folders and sticky notes.

You had turned just in time to see him flail, letting out a startled yelp as he was buried under the mess.

It had taken you a full thirty seconds to stop laughing before you actually helped him.

“I thought I was going to die under there,” Spencer grumbled, stabbing at his food.

You grinned. “And what a tragic way to go. Drowned in documentation.”

Spencer huffed. “And then, after all that, you had the audacity to lecture me on why my filing system is inferior.”

You shrugged. “It is.”

Spencer set his plate down, turning fully toward you. “No. It is efficient, logical, and, most importantly, does not result in near-death experiences.”

You pointed at him with your chopsticks. “My system works for me.”

“If by ‘works,’ you mean you have to dig through mountains of papers every time you need something, then sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s organized chaos.”

“It’s a safety hazard.”

You grinned. “And yet, you still went digging through my stuff.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Never again.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against his plate, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for the pen-clicking war.”

You smirked. “Because you lost?”

His scoff was immediate. “I did not lose.”

“Oh, you definitely lost.”

It had started with the smallest complaint. Spencer had been sitting across from you in the bullpen, diligently working on something, when he suddenly exhaled sharply.

“Can you stop that?”

You looked up, feigning innocence. “Stop what?”

“The pen.” He gestured vaguely at your hand, where you had been clicking your pen absentmindedly against your notepad.

You paused—then clicked it one more time, just to test him.

Spencer’s jaw tightened. “That.”

A slow smirk stretched across your lips. “Oh, this?” Click.

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s annoying,” he said flatly.

That had been the moment you decided to make it your mission to annoy him as much as possible.

You clicked the pen relentlessly, varying the rhythm to keep him guessing. Sometimes, you’d click it twice, pause, then click it again just when he thought it was over. Other times, you’d hold it near his ear and click it absentmindedly while reading.

Spencer had lasted exactly twenty-three minutes before he retaliated.

He started talking—rambling, really—about anything and everything. The mating habits of deep-sea squid, the complete history of the Dewey Decimal System, the statistical probability of tripping while carrying a full cup of coffee.

The worst part? He was staring directly at you the entire time, waiting for your patience to crack.

It became a game.

You clicked the pen during every pause in his speech. He started filling those pauses with increasingly useless facts.

By lunchtime, Emily had thrown a crumpled napkin at both of you and declared she was going to start charging for babysitting.

Spencer sighed, shaking his head at the memory. “You never fight fair.”

You grinned. “Oh, I fight smart.”

Spencer gave you a look. “You fight dirty.”

“And yet,” you said, biting into your food, “you still lost.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched. Even in defeat, he couldn’t help but be entertained.

Spencer pointed his fork at you, expression serious. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the peanut butter and jelly incident.”

You smirked. “Oh, you mean the time you were wrong?”

He scoffed. “I was not wrong.”

“You were so wrong.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You threw a sandwich at me.”

“You deserved it.”

It had started in the break room, a simple, innocent lunch break. You were at the counter, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carefully spreading peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other. Spencer had wandered in, probably to refill his coffee, when he happened to glance at what you were doing.

And then he spoke the words that sealed his fate.

“You know, you’re making that incorrectly.”

You froze mid-spread, turning your head ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

Spencer stepped closer, peering at your sandwich with an air of intellectual superiority. “You’re supposed to spread the peanut butter on one slice, then put the jelly on top of it, on the same slice, before putting the other piece of bread on top.”

You gaped at him. “That’s—Spencer, that’s insane.”

“It’s practical,” he argued. “If you put the jelly on a separate slice, it soaks into the bread too quickly and makes it soggy. The peanut butter acts as a protective barrier.”

You narrowed your eyes. “First of all, if you eat it immediately, the bread doesn’t have time to get soggy. Second of all, spreading jelly on top of peanut butter is just wrong—it doesn’t spread properly, and it gets all mixed up. You’re ruining the integrity of the sandwich.”

Spencer made a face. “You’re overcomplicating a simple process.”

You huffed. “And you’re making a mess. If you put the jelly on top of peanut butter, it slides around when you try to spread it! You end up with uneven distribution, which completely defeats the point of making a sandwich in the first place.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “I think you’re just bad at spreading.”

You inhaled sharply. “Take that back.”

“No.”

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You grabbed the top slice of your sandwich, fully loaded with jelly, and threw it at his chest.

The break room went silent.

Spencer stared at you, then slowly looked down at the smear of jelly now adorning his vest.

You sipped your drink to hide your grin. “Oops.”

Even now, sitting beside you, Spencer shook his head. “You know, most people would’ve just verbally disagreed.”

You grinned, nudging his knee. “And most people wouldn’t have deserved to get assaulted with a PB&J.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Spencer glanced down at his feet, then back at you, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “I assume you’ve finally accepted that matching socks are inherently unlucky.”

You scoffed, setting down your chopsticks. “No, I’ve just given up arguing with someone who’s clearly delusional.”

Spencer hummed, clearly amused. “That’s not what you said the day you tried to force me to wear a matching pair.”

You groaned. “Because you were about to testify in court, Spencer! You were literally representing the entire BAU, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you could act like a normal person for one day.”

Spencer shrugged. “And I still gave flawless testimony. The jury didn’t convict based on my socks.”

“You don’t know that!”

The argument had started that morning at the office. You had stepped into the conference room where Spencer was reviewing his notes for court. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, and his slacks had ridden up just enough to reveal an egregious sight—one sock was navy with tiny books on it, and the other was bright green with planets.

You had stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Good morning to you, too.”

You pointed accusingly. “You are about to testify in a murder trial looking like a child whose parents didn’t do their laundry.”

Spencer blinked at you. “That’s dramatic.”

“No, this is dramatic—” You dug into your bag and pulled out the emergency pair of black dress socks you kept for specifically this reason. “Put these on.”

Spencer finally looked up, lips twitching. “You carry emergency socks?”

“I carry emergency Spencer socks because I knew you’d pull something like this.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t wear matching socks.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You can, you just won’t. What is your issue with matching socks?”

Spencer lifted a single finger, as if about to explain quantum mechanics. “The last time I wore matching socks, I had the worst day of my life.”

You folded your arms. “Oh, really?”

Spencer leaned back against the couch, his lips twitching in amusement. “It was years ago. Back when I was still new at the BAU, and I thought I’d try being… conventional.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

He sighed. “Matching socks. Crisp, freshly pressed shirt. Everything put together like a normal, functioning adult.”

You snorted. “Bold choice.”

Spencer pointed at you. “A disastrous one.”

You gestured for him to continue, already intrigued.

“That morning, I got to the office early. I figured, you know, new day, fresh start, maybe I’d have a productive morning. I sat down at my desk, opened a file, and immediately knocked over my full cup of coffee. All over my case notes. Ruined. Just black ink bleeding into a giant, useless mess.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Spencer gave you a dry look. “Then, while I was trying to salvage what I could, Hotch called me in for an urgent briefing. I grabbed the wrong file—completely irrelevant information—walked in, sat down, and didn’t realize my mistake until I opened it in front of the whole team.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Spencer shook his head. “Hotch just gave me that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like you’re six years old and getting scolded by a school principal.”

You grinned. “I know the one.”

Spencer exhaled. “So, after making a fool of myself in front of the team, I went back to my desk, only to find that my chair had mysteriously vanished.”

You frowned. “Someone took your chair?”

“No, it was still there—I just didn’t notice because I wasn’t paying attention. So I went to sit down and… missed. Completely. Ended up on the floor.”

That was it. You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Derek nearly passed out from how hard he was laughing. I was humiliated.”

You wiped at your eyes. “Okay, but that was just one day.”

Spencer lifted a finger. “That was before I left the office for the day.”

Your laughter slowed. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more. I got caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella, missed my bus, and when I finally got home, I realized I’d left my apartment keys in my desk drawer at work.”

You winced. “Oof.”

“Had to take a cab all the way back to the office just to get them. By the time I made it home, I was drenched, exhausted, and swore that I would never wear matching socks again.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spencer smirked. “And yet, I haven’t had a day that bad since.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not proof of anything.”

“It’s proof enough for me.”

Spencer stretched an arm along the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing against your shoulder. His other hand rested on his knee, occasionally toying with the fabric of his sleeve. The room was quiet now, the remains of dinner pushed to the side, your plates stacked neatly on the coffee table.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head toward you. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. “I am here.”

“Closer.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, certain—that sent a pleasant hum through you. You hesitated only for a second before giving in, leaning into his space. His arm slipped down around you, pulling you snug against his chest. He exhaled in satisfaction, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm as you settled against him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content in the warmth of each other’s presence. Then Spencer sighed, his voice laced with amusement. “You know, for all the teasing today, no one brought up the pen incident.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “The pen incident?”

Spencer smirked. “The day you nearly had a full-blown meltdown in the bullpen.”

Your eyes narrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Oh. You mean the day you stole from me?”

Spencer scoffed, feigning innocence. “Stole is a strong word.”

“No, it’s the exact word.” You poked his side for emphasis. “That was my favourite pen, Spencer.”

“Which I borrowed,” he corrected.

“You didn’t borrow it! Borrowing implies permission. You swiped it off my desk when I wasn’t looking.”

Spencer shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I needed a pen.”

You huffed. “I needed that pen for three days.”

It had started as a minor annoyance—an everyday item that had mysteriously vanished. At first, you assumed you had misplaced it. You sifted through the papers on your desk, checked beneath your keyboard, even dug through your bag just in case. But the pen—the one pen you actually liked writing with—was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the first day, frustration had set in.

By the second, it was personal.

By the third, you were on the verge of losing your mind.

It was your pen. The only pen you liked writing with. It fit perfectly in your grip, the ink flowed just right, and unlike every other pen in the bullpen, it never smudged or skipped. Losing it wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a betrayal.

Desperation turned into suspicion.

You turned to Emily first. “Hey, did you take my pen?”

Emily barely looked up from her file. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She gave you a dry look. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would I steal your pen?”

That was a fair question, but it didn’t stop you from asking Gideon and JJ the same thing.

When you got to Derek, he smirked. “You’ve been talking about this pen for three days. If I had it, trust me, you’d already know.”

And he was right—because when you finally found it, the betrayal was so immediate, so visceral, that you could feel the blood leave your face.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his desk, absently tapping the end of a very familiar-looking pen against his notebook.

Your eye twitched.

You stormed over, stopping just short of his desk. “Where did you get that?”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Hmm?”

“That pen, Spencer.” You pointed at it accusingly. “That’s my pen.”

Spencer frowned slightly and turned it over in his hand, as if just now noticing. “Oh. Huh.”

“Huh?” you repeated, incredulous. “Huh?! That’s all you have to say?”

He blinked up at you. “Well, in my defense, I needed a pen.”

“You—” You inhaled sharply, trying very hard not to strangle him in the middle of the office. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Spencer shrugged. “You were busy.”

“Oh my god.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “And when, exactly, were you planning on returning it?”

He tilted his head, thinking. “Soon?”

You gaped at him. “Soon?! Spencer, it’s been three days!”

Spencer winced. “Oh. That’s… longer than I thought.”

You snatched the pen from his hand with a dramatic flourish. “Unbelievable.”

Spencer smirked. “You could just let it go.”

You pointed the pen at him like a weapon. “I will never let this go.”

And you hadn’t.

Even now, curled up against him on the couch, you could still feel the sheer betrayal of that moment. Spencer, of course, was entirely unbothered.

He smirked, fingers still trailing idly along your arm. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You huffed. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges.”

Spencer chuckled. “Oh, please. If I took another one, we’d be right back where we started.”

You gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Spencer just sipped his drink, looking far too smug.

So you made a move to sit up, feigning exasperation. “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Before you could so much as shift away, Spencer’s arms tightened around you, pulling you firmly against him.

“Nice try,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You huffed a laugh, letting yourself relax back into him. “Unbelievable.”

“Completely believable,” he corrected.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer only hummed, his hold on you unwavering. You could feel the faint vibration of his laughter against your back, warm and steady. He knew exactly what he was doing. As much as you wanted to keep up your righteous indignation… you let him win this one.

With a mischievous spark in your eye, you turned in his arms. He blinked in surprise, his smirk fading into something softer, something hopeful. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, and suddenly the air around you was charged with a different kind of tension.

You straddled his hips, deepening the kiss, feeling the heat between you grow as his hands found your waist. His fingers flexed, holding you closer, like he was afraid you’d pull away again. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

Your hands fisted into his hair gently tugging, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow merge into one being. Spencer’s mouth moved with yours, exploring, claiming, until you both had to break away for air.

One hand skimmed down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was like a metronome, keeping time with the rhythm of your own. Your thumb traced the line of his collarbone, feeling the heat of his skin, and then lower, the soft fabric of his shirt giving way to the firmness of his chest. His breath hitched when you reached the first button, and his eyes darkened, watching you intently.

Your hand found the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his waistband. You felt the warmth of his skin as you slid your hand under the fabric, feeling the ridge of muscle, the smoothness of his stomach. His belt buckle was cold against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. You traced the leather, then the button of his slacks, teasing him gently, watching his reaction.

Spencer’s eyes fell closed, his breath shallow as your hand played over his body. You could feel his restraint, the effort it took for him to not take over, to let you set the pace. But when your fingers hovered over the zipper of his pants, he groaned, a low, needy sound that sent a thrill through you.

With deliberate slowness, you unbuckled his belt, watching his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation. The leather slid through the loops with a whisper. Then, with the same teasing grace, you pulled down the zipper. His pants parted, revealing his boxers, and the thick outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric.

Spencer’s breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils dilated with desire. You reached into his pants, feeling the heat of him, and he trembled at your touch. You took your time, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every move.

With a gentle tug, you pulled his slacks down enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. His half-hard cock strained against the fabric, begging for release. The sight of him, so vulnerable and eager, had you biting back a groan. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you kissed him.

His hips arched slightly as you traced the outline of his cock with your fingertips. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The fabric was thin, almost translucent, and you could feel the heat of him, the firmness growing as your touch grew bolder.

You tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. It bobbed between you, half-hard and flushed with need. Spencer’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles white as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over the tip. He was exquisite, the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability.

With a wicked smile, you hovered just out of reach, watching his eyes follow your every move. Then, with a deliberate slowness that had him groaning, you let a bead of saliva pool on your tongue, dropping it onto his cock like a warm, wet kiss. The saliva trickled down, painting a glistening path that made his length pulse with anticipation.

As Spencer’s eyes grew darker, you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the velvety skin and the pulse of his desire. He hissed in a breath, his body jerking slightly as you began to stroke him. Your movements were gentle, exploratory, learning the rhythm that made him shiver with pleasure.

You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now, the muscles tensing and releasing with each shallow breath. You could feel his cock thicken in your grip, growing harder as you stroked, your thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath the head. His hips rolled into your touch, seeking more.

With a gentle squeeze, you quickened the pace, your hand moving in a firm, steady rhythm that had Spencer’s eyes sliding shut. His head fell back, a soft groan escaping him. His hand found your thigh, his fingertips digging in as you continued to pleasure him. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the slick noise of skin on skin, the rustle of fabric as his hips tried to meet your hand.

You leaned in, kissing along his jawline, feeling the stubble scrape against your lips. Spencer’s hand tightened on your thigh, his body tense as he tried to hold back. But you knew him—knew the way his breathing grew erratic, knew the tension in his muscles that signalled his impending release.

With your other hand, you reached down, cupping his balls gently. They were warm, heavy with need, and Spencer’s entire body jerked at the contact. His eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours as you began to massage them in time with your strokes. His hips bucked, pushing his cock further into your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

You could feel the tension coiling in him, tightening with every pass of your thumb, every squeeze of your fingers. You knew you had him right there, just on the edge, ready to fall. Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought for control.

And then, just as you felt the first tremor of his release, you pulled your hand away.

Spencer’s eyes shot open, his body tensing in protest. He stared at you, his pupils wide, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. For a moment, he was frozen, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You watched him, your expression one of sweet innocence, a stark contrast to the wickedness of your action. You hadn’t moved away entirely, but your hand was now hovering over his cock, teasing him with the promise of touch but delivering nothing.

Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours, confusion and desperation warring in their depths. “What—what are you doing?” he managed to rasp out.

You smirked. “That’s for stealing my pen, Dr. Reid.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening into fists against the cushions. His voice was low, dangerously controlled. “You really want to play this game?”

You smiled. “I already won.”

The sound he made—half growl, half strained laugh—told you exactly how much trouble you were in.

But you didn’t care. You took hold of him again, your thumb pressing against the slit of his cock, smearing the precum that had gathered there. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, his body bowing off the couch.

You leaned in, your mouth hovering just above his. “Say it, Spencer. Say I win.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn’t speak, but his grip on the couch tightened, his hips rolling up into your touch, begging for release.

With a smug smile, you leaned in closer, whispering, “Say it, Spencer.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of desire and frustration. He was so close, and you revelled in the power of holding him there, teetering on the brink.

“You win,” Spencer finally gritted out, his voice a low rumble.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his mouth. “Say it like you mean it.”

“You win, okay?” Spencer’s voice was a desperate whine. “Just—please, don’t stop.”

With a wicked chuckle, you leaned down, blowing softly on his heated flesh. Your breath sent a shiver down his spine, making his cock pulse in your hand. Spencer’s eyes rolled back, his body trembling with need.

“Please, your mouth…” he whined out, the desperation in his voice music to your ears.

With a smug smile, you leaned in, finally granting his wish. You swiped your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling him twitch in your grip. Spencer’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in your mouth.

The sound that escaped him was raw, primal—a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. You felt your own arousal spike, the warm wetness between your thighs growing as you tasted him.

You took him in deep, letting your tongue swirl around the head of his cock before pulling back, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue. Spencer’s hand found the back of your head, his grip tight but not demanding, urging you to take him deeper. You complied, his cock filling your mouth as you took him to the back of your throat, the muscles there tightening around him.

He groaned, his hips thrusting up slightly, and you had to fight the urge to gag. You pulled back, taking a deep breath, and then took him again, swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft before flicking it against his balls. Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hand in your hair tightening as he tried to control himself.

You could feel the pressure building in him, the way his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. You quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, stroking him faster, harder. Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth clenched, his body straining for release.

And then, with a sudden, fierce determination, you increased the suction, hollowing out your cheeks as you took him in deep, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he whispered, the words barely coherent.

You took Spencer’s praise as the ultimate victory in this playful battle of wills. His hand in your hair grew more insistent, his hips jerking as you worked him closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke of your tongue was met with a strangled sound of pleasure that sent a thrill through your body.

Suddenly, Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his hips stuttering upward, and you knew he was there. You sucked harder, feeling his cock pulse against your tongue. And then, with a strangled groan, he came, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallowed, savouring the taste of him, feeling his body shudder beneath you.

Spencer’s hand in your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You continued to suck, drawing out his orgasms, milking him until he was boneless and panting. His body jerked with each swipe of your tongue, his cock still pulsing with the aftershocks of his release.

He was panting, his chest heaving, once he had enough you sat back, licking your lips. The smug satisfaction in your gaze was unmistakeable. Spencer’s eyes remained shut, his expression one of pure bliss, as he tried to catch his breath.

But before he could recover, you decided to up the ante. With a sultry smile, you stood up, peeling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes snapped open, watching in surprise as you revealed your bra, the swell of your breasts above the fabric.

"When you're done here," you purred, "meet me in the bedroom."

You sauntered away, leaving Spencer stunned and still half-dressed on the couch. His eyes followed your swaying hips until you disappeared around the corner. He took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing, and then with a deep breath, he stood and followed.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes widened. There you were, naked and kneeling in the centre of the bed, the soft glow of the lamplight casting shadows across your bare skin. The sight of you was like a punch to the gut—beautiful, tempting, and utterly irresistible.

Spencer’s cock twitched with renewed interest. You beckoned to him with a crooked finger, your eyes dark with desire. “I want you inside me, Spencer. Now.”

Without a word, he shed his clothes. You watched as his shirt and pants fell to the floor, revealing his naked form, his chest heaving with excitement. You bit your bottom lip as he climbed onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his usual clumsiness.

Spencer’s hands found yours, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours as he positioned himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he reached between your thighs, feeling the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb found your clit, and you moaned into his mouth, your hips arching to meet his touch.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours as he dipped his fingers into your wetness. You watched as he pulled them away, glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his lips. The sight of him tasting you was intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savouring the flavour, and when they opened again, you could see the hunger in them—for you.

Spencer pushed you back, his hands firm but gentle as he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed. Your legs parted wider, inviting him in, and he didn’t disappoint. He hovered over you, his cock standing proudly, the head nudging at your entrance as he kissed his way down your neck. His touch was feather-light, teasing, as if he was afraid to break the delicate spell that had been cast over you both.

He stopped at your breasts, his eyes darkening with desire as he cupped them in his palms. His thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples, drawing gasps from you. He squeezed, gently at first, feeling the weight of them in his hands, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your back arched, pushing your chest up to meet his, silently begging for more. Spencer didn’t disappoint. He rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, the pressure increasing until you were panting, your eyes fluttering shut. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you crave his mouth on your skin.

He lowered his head, his hot breath washing over your sensitive peaks, making them pebble even more. He licked at one, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The cold air followed, making you gasp as your nipples tightened even further. Spencer chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

With a smirk, he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The combination of heat and cold was exquisite, making you squirm beneath him. He took his time, savouring each taste, each reaction. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazed, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every flick of his tongue.

Once he had his fill, Spencer took hold of his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy lips in a delicious tease. The sensation was maddening, and you reached for his hips, trying to pull him closer, needing him inside you.

He could tease you, try to turn the tables and get revenge for earlier, but the truth was, you had wrecked him. And Spencer Reid was man enough to admit defeat. It didn’t help that he was also desperate to sink into you.

With a groan, he positioned the tip of his cock at your slick entrance. Your eyes went wide, anticipation building as you felt the blunt pressure of him pushing in. And then, without warning, he grabbed your legs, lifting them up and over his shoulders. The move was swift and decisive, leaving you open to him, exposed and ready.

He thrust into you, the head of his cock parting your folds and filling you in one smooth stroke. Your body took a moment to adjust to the sudden fullness, the shock of his entry sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your nails digging into the comforter as he pushed deeper, filling you completely.

Spencer held still, his eyes locked on yours as you both felt the connection. He was so thick, so hard, and the way he stretched you felt like he was claiming you. He began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace that had you biting your lip to keep from screaming out. Each time he pushed into you, it was like a wave crashing over your senses, filling you up with pleasure until you thought you’d drown.

With every thrust, he put all his weight behind it, pushing deep and retreating almost to the tip before plunging back in again. His eyes never left yours, watching as you felt each inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

You could see the fascination in his gaze as he watched himself disappear into your warmth, his cock disappearing into your body as if it were made for him. And maybe it was—the way your walls clamped down around him, the way your hips rolled to meet each of his thrusts, it certainly felt like it.

Spencer groaned, unable to tear his gaze from the place where your bodies met. The sight was almost too much—the way your pussy swallowed him whole, the way your juices coated his shaft. His hand moved to your hip, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding.

Your breasts jiggled erratically with each pounding thrust, the nipples hard and sensitive from his earlier attention. The erotic sight was more than Spencer could handle—his eyes were glued to the bounce, watching as your body reacted to his every move.

With a roar that was part passion and part animalistic need, Spencer bent you in half. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your body arched, giving him the most intimate access to your depths. The new angle allowed him to drive harder and deeper, his cock plunging into you without mercy.

Your whines grew louder, your voice hoarse from the pleasure that was bordering on pain. The friction was intense, and the way he filled you up was almost too much. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, tightening your muscles around him.

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock, and it was driving you wild.

Spencer’s pace was relentless, his hips moving like a piston, driving in and out of you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. But you were lost in the sensation, unable to think, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you. You were at his mercy, your body his to do with as he desires.

The orgasm that was building inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was alight with pleasure, each thrust of Spencer’s cock sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, and you could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap.

You gasped out the words, “I’m close, Spencer. So close,” your voice breathless and desperate. His eyes snapped to yours, his own gaze filled with a fierce determination to push you over the edge. He picked up the pace, his strokes growing faster, harder.

And then, as if reading your thoughts, his hand snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The pressure was just right, the rhythm in sync with his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure skyrocketing as he stroked you, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Your body tightened around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in an erratic dance that had him groaning in response.

You were so close, so very close. The orgasm was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to consume you. You could feel it, the impending release, the wave about to crash down on you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breath coming in shallow pants, and when Spencer’s thumb slid against your clit with just the right amount of force, you almost yelled out.

The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, striking you at your very core. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing as much as it could as the orgasm hit. It was as if every nerve in your body was on fire, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava. Your pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him in a vice-like grip as you felt a rush of liquid spill out of you.

You had never felt anything like this before—the intensity of your climax was so powerful that it was almost painful. Your muscles clenched and released in rapid succession, each spasm sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, watching as you gushed around him, your juices coating his thighs.

He was still moving, still driving into you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and thrilling. But now there was something else in his gaze—something primal, something that told you he needed more. He needed to hear you beg for it, needed to hear the acknowledgement that he was the one making you come apart like this.

"Say it," he growled. "Tell me how much you need me to cum inside you."

You didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate. The truth was there, pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart. "I need it, Spencer," you gasped out. "Please, cum inside me."

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with lust. His thumb worked your clit harder, his cock plunging into you with a new urgency that had your toes curling. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and gruff.

"I need you to cum deep inside me," you moaned, the words slipping out with ease. "Make me yours, Spencer."

With a feral snarl, he gave into the demand, slamming into you one last time, so deep it was as if he was trying to reach your soul. His cock pulsed, thick and hard, as he filled you with his hot cum, the sensation sending you spiralling over the edge once more. Your pussy clenched around him, milking him for every drop as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your shared orgasm.

Spencer stayed inside you for a moment longer, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his fingers gripping your waist as though letting go might break whatever fragile, beautiful thing had settled between you in the aftermath.

Your body was spent, trembling beneath him, every muscle wrung out and aching in a way that promised to linger. Your legs were still slack over his shoulders, your hips sore from being bent in half for so long. But none of it compared to the deep, satiated warmth flooding your body.

Spencer pressed his lips to your temple, a whisper of something sweet and unintelligible before he finally—reluctantly—pulled out of you. You winced at the loss, a small sound of discomfort slipping past your lips.

He caught it immediately. “Are you okay?” His voice was still thick and heavy with exhaustion, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

You nodded, but when you moved to shift your legs, a sharp twinge shot through your hips, making you suck in a breath. “Just sore,” you admitted, your voice raspy.

Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, his touch impossibly gentle as he smoothed his palms over your thighs, easing them back down. His fingers traced light circles over your skin, coaxing the tension from your aching muscles.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching slightly, though his voice remained tender. “I guess that’s what happens when you let me fold you in half.”

You huffed out a tired laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull away, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to your palm before setting it back down.

Despite the teasing, his eyes stayed warm, scanning your face with quiet attentiveness. He could read you better than anyone, and right now, his expression told you he wasn’t going to let you brush off the soreness.

Without another word, he slid an arm beneath your shoulders and another under your knees. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he lifted you effortlessly, shifting you further up the bed so you weren’t half-hanging off anymore. He took his time settling you against the pillows, smoothing a hand down your side before pressing another soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before slipping into the bathroom.

A moment later, the low rush of water filled the quiet.

You barely had time to miss him before he returned, his hands warm as they found your waist, coaxing you onto your stomach with gentle ease.

“A warm bath will help,” he told you, his voice soft, already kneading slow, careful circles into your hips. “The heat increases circulation. It’ll help relax your muscles and reduce soreness.”

You hummed in agreement, your body already melting beneath his touch as his thumbs pressed into the tender spots, working out the tension.

Spencer had always been meticulous in everything he did, and this was no exception. His fingers traced the path of each ache, pressing into the tight muscles with an almost surgical precision. He started at your hips, kneading slow and firm before moving down to your upper thighs, his palms smoothing over the lingering soreness from how tightly you had been held open for him.

Then, as if sensing the exact moment the bath had reached the perfect level, Spencer shifted, pressing one last kiss to your spine before slipping off the bed. A second later, the sound of running water ceased.

He returned just as quickly, his hands finding yours as he helped you sit up. The movement sent another twinge through your sore hips, but he was there, steadying you, keeping you upright with infinite patience.

"Think you can walk?" His voice was soft, but there was an undertone of quiet amusement, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I—"

The moment you shifted your weight, your legs wobbled, refusing to cooperate after everything they had been through. Spencer caught you instantly, his grip firm but gentle.

You sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe not gracefully."

Spencer chuckled, tightening his hold around your waist. "I’ve got you," he murmured.

And he did.

With slow, careful steps, he guided you toward the bathroom, letting you lean into him as much as you needed. The warmth of the steam wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, the faint scent of soap lingering in the air.

The bath was full, the surface shimmering with a light layer of bubbles. The water looked inviting, and your sore muscles practically ached at the sight of it.

Spencer helped you ease down, his hands steadying you until you were fully settled in the warmth. The heat licked up your skin, the contrast making you shudder as the tension in your body slowly began to unwind.

Spencer lingered for a moment, watching you with something quiet and unreadable in his expression. Then, with a final brush of his fingers along your skin, he murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and stood.

You barely registered him leaving, too lost in the warmth of the water, the way it cradled your sore body. You let yourself sink deeper, the tension melting away with each passing second.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, eyes closed, mind drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. The water lapped gently at your skin, its warmth working into every sore muscle, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in it, weightless and pliant.

Then the sound of quiet footsteps pulled you back.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see Spencer step back into the bathroom. Your gaze flickered over him, tracing the lines of his lean body, the familiar angles of his hips, the gentle curve of his stomach. He was already a little flushed from the heat of the steam, and when he caught your eyes on him, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Miss me?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm.

You hummed, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub. “Depends. What did you bring me?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the bath behind you, lowering himself into the water with a quiet sigh. His legs bracketed yours, his chest pressing to your back as he pulled you effortlessly against him. The warmth of his body only added to the heat of the water, sinking into your skin, wrapping around you like something safe and steady.

“Does this count?” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

You exhaled, your body already melting into his. “It’s a good start.”

Spencer hummed in amusement, his arms looping around your waist, his fingers skimming lightly over your stomach. His touch was absentminded at first, just the slow, lazy drag of his fingertips over damp skin. But then his hands wandered lower, tracing over the sore muscles in your thighs, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Hurts?” he asked, his voice low against your ear.

You nodded, sighing as he pressed his thumbs into the knots along the inside of your thighs. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the lingering ache with slow, methodical pressure.

“I was a little rough with you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, reaching down to place your hand over his. “I liked it.”

Spencer let out a soft breath—half a laugh, half something else entirely. His lips brushed the back of your ear, his nose nudging against damp skin as he murmured, “I noticed.”

Heat curled in your stomach, but it was different this time—softer, lazier. You were both too spent to turn this into anything more, too content to do anything but sit there, tangled together in the warmth.

For a while, you just existed like that, the quiet hum of the water surrounding you, Spencer’s hands smoothing over your skin, his breath a steady presence against your shoulder. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical, something unspoken settling between you, something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Then Spencer shifted slightly, reaching for a washcloth.

He soaked it in the water before lathering it with soap, then smoothed it over your shoulder, working slowly, unhurriedly. He worked down your arms, to your wrists, then across your collarbone, taking his time as if there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. When he reached your thighs, he was just as careful, his hands skimming over the lingering soreness with a tenderness that sent warmth curling deep in your chest. And when his fingers slipped between your legs, it wasn’t sexual—it was soft, a quiet act of care that made your breath catch in an entirely different way.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay?"

You nodded, sinking deeper into him. “Yeah.”

Spencer pressed a kiss to your temple before setting the cloth aside. Then, finally, he reached for his own, making quick work of cleaning himself before shifting behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist again.

“We should get out before you fall asleep in here,” he murmured.

You made a small, sleepy sound of protest, earning another quiet chuckle from him.

Still, you let him help you sit forward.

Spencer stood first, stepping out and grabbing a towel before turning back to you. His hands were steady at your waist as he guided you up, wrapping the towel securely around you before grabbing another for himself.

He took his time drying you off, his movements careful and slow. There was something so grounding about it—the way he ran the soft fabric over your skin, the way he made sure you were completely warm before leading you back into the bedroom.

The warmth of the bedroom welcomed you as Spencer led you inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows over the freshly made bed. Your steps slowed slightly as you took in the small changes—clean sheets, fresh bottles of water waiting on the nightstand, the quiet thoughtfulness in every detail.

You hadn’t even noticed him doing all of this, yet somehow, he had.

A quiet sort of surprise settled in your chest, spreading through you in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Spencer didn’t say anything about it, didn’t draw attention to the care he had taken. He just guided you forward, steady as ever, as if making sure you were comfortable was second nature to him.

Wordlessly, he reached for one of the water bottles, twisting off the cap before pressing it into your hands. “Drink it slowly,” he murmured.

You nodded, lifting it to your lips and taking a few small sips before setting it aside. When you turned back to him, he was already moving toward the dresser, pulling out a soft tank top and a pair of underwear.

His gaze flicked to yours as he held them out. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked.”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Would that be a problem?”

Spencer’s lips twitched, but he only hummed in response, waiting patiently as you stepped into the clothes. His fingers brushed against your skin here and there, never lingering too long, just small, fleeting touches as he helped ease the fabric into place.

Spencer grabbed his discarded boxers from the floor, shaking them out before stepping back into them. Once they were settled low on his hips, he turned his attention back to you, his fingers brushing over your wrist in a silent check. His gaze traced over your face, searching for any lingering discomfort. Satisfied, he gave your hand a small squeeze before stepping over to the bed.

He pulled back the covers, motioning for you to slip in first before following after you. As soon as he was beneath the blankets, he reached for you instinctively, guiding you closer until your body was pressed to his. One arm curled around your waist, his fingers grazing over the hem of your tank top in absent patterns.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, lingering warmth between you, something deeper than exhaustion and far softer than lust.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns against your side, his touch featherlight, barely there. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet hum of his breathing—it was everything, a rhythm you had never imagined would feel so natural.

You sighed, shifting just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft in the dim light, golden and half-lidded with exhaustion, but still watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he was trying to memorize you, afraid to blink in case this moment somehow disappeared.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips. "I can’t believe we’re here."

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering over his face. "In bed? Or…?"

You huffed, swatting lightly at his chest, but this time, he didn’t catch your hand. He let you get away with it, probably because neither of you had the energy for anything more than this lazy teasing. Probably because it was different now, softer somehow, the sharp edges of whatever had existed between you dulled by something warmer, something neither of you had been ready to name before now.

"You know what I mean." Your voice was quiet, not accusing—just full of wonder, of something tender and deep-seated.

Spencer exhaled, his hand stilling on your waist. "Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—full of everything that had led to this moment, full of every argument, every stubborn, exasperated glare, every sarcastic remark. Full of every moment you had spent challenging each other, pushing, pulling, refusing to give an inch—until one day, the fire had shifted from something destructive to something entirely different, something that burned just as intensely but no longer threatened to consume you whole.

Spencer’s fingers moved again, tracing slow, thoughtful circles into your side. "I used to think we’d end up tearing each other apart one day. Like two forces that couldn’t exist in the same space without colliding, without breaking something in the process."

You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. "So did the team."

"Probably still do," he mused, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But I think we surprised them."

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "We surprised ourselves."

Spencer didn’t argue. He just looked at you, something unspoken shifting in his expression, something too vast to put into words. He swallowed, as if trying to find something to say, but for once, he had nothing. No facts, no statistics, no carefully crafted words—just you, just this.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek, feeling the faint roughness of stubble beneath your palm. "I’m glad," you whispered. "That we’re here. That it’s you."

Spencer’s fingers curled slightly, gripping you just a little tighter, as if to ground himself in the moment. His voice was quieter when he spoke. "Me too. More than you know."

You exhaled, letting your eyes flutter shut, the weight of sleep pulling at your limbs. But before you could drift off completely, you felt Spencer shift, pressing his lips to your forehead, soft and lingering. His breath was warm, his presence steady, unwavering.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against your skin. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you were safe. Because you were where you belonged.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time, everything felt exactly as it should be. No more resisting, no more second-guessing. For so long, friction had kept you apart, pushing and pulling, igniting sparks that threatened to burn everything down. But now, it was different. Now, it was warmth, steady and sure, something to lean into instead of fight against.

Everything else faded—the past, the doubts, the stubborn refusal to see what had always been there. All that remained was the warmth of him beside you, the steady cadence of his breath, and the quiet truth that you had finally stopped resisting what was meant to be.

Part One

[prlssprfctn]

I love this specific flavour (semi-canon, mind you) of Bruce Wayne being awfully jealous and petty, if his kids have other parental figures that they like, or just in general prefers someone's company over him. At least, amongst people of his age range.

Thus, I raise you a very specific concept: Bruce one-sidedly beefing with Roman Sionis, because he is the first person Jason wants to annoy, when he is in the good mood. Yeah, you heard it right.

Because let's be honest, Jason doesn't give two fucks about Black Mask, he doesn't consider him to be valuable and intimidating, but he is funny to toy with! You need anti-stress? Stomp on remainings of Roman's dignity! You are in good mood and want to celebrate something? Crash Roman's party. Dunno. Where Bruce lands in this scenario? Let me demonstrate.

Bruce: Okay, I came to peace with a realisation that I am not the adult that Jason goes to get advice from any more. It is fine. But I don't give up! At least, I am his first annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact. Knowing Jason, it is as valuable as anything else. Dick, sceptical: What is annoy-the-hell-out-of-it contact? Bruce: Like, when he wants to ruin someone's mood, he chooses me first. Tim, not getting distracted from his phone: Uh, no, you are not. It is Black Mask. Bruce: What? Tim: Yeah, everyone knows it. Like, come on. Check the statistics. Bruce: ...

So that is where his rivalry with Roman starts. A one that Roman himself doesn't have an idea about. But that is aside the point.

Bruce: So, Jaylad... You have a good mood. Something had happened? Jason: Oh, lmao, well, I woke up in the bad mood this morning, so I ended up pretending to be one of Roman's goons, had some fun playing cards with these imbeciles, then "accidentally" spilled tea on Roman's new suit when he ordered me to bring it to him, and at the same time his right-hand came exactly at that moment to announce that Red Hood exploded his favourite warehouse. The best morning ever. Bruce, with his eye twitching: You could come to me instead, you know? Jason: Huh? Why would I? Bruce: *silent scream*

Black Mask, calling urgently at three in the morning: Had you set on the Bat on me? Why he is so obsessed with me recently? Jason, half-asleep on his day off: Man, what? I am confused. Black Mask: You are confused??? I am fucking confused. Why is he hunting me down??? Jason: Bro. I don't give a fuck. I didn't set anyone on, let alone that old man. Deal with your shit yourself. Jason: *hangs on*

Tim, later that week: Am I getting this right, you just threw Roman in the jail, so Jason could annoy you first and not him? Bruce, dusting his hands off: Roman is a deeply unsettling, troubling man, who deserves to rot in prison for things much worse than- Tim: Bruce. Don't bullshit me. Bruce: Fine. Yes. What is the problem? Damian, spawning behind them randomly: There is no problem, except for the fact that you failed to check your data. You are not Todd's second favourite object for bullying. It is grandfather. Bruce: What- Damian: That being said, mother called and asked you to do something. Todd is back at League, trying to fasten Ra's cardiac arrest. She would appreciate some assistance. Bruce, on his last strength: This can't be real. Tim, patting on his back: You will get there... some day. Bruce, exhaling: I am fine. Bruce: Tim: Damian: Bruce, a minute later: RA'S AL GHUL????????????????????????????????????????????????????

[iamthatonefangirl]

miss possessive - congressman bucky barnes

okay not my best work, i swear i have like nine drafts i've come up with in a week, none of them good enough to post.

this is inspired by miss possessive by tate mcrae even though i completely lost sight of the song really quickly

~~~

you really had no right to be so jealous.

you watched him from across the floor, sipping on your flute of champagne. you'd grabbed it off of one of those waiters' trays as they were walking about the room.

it tasted like shit. you didn't like the taste of wine, and it wasn't even enough to get you drunk.

you knew this kind of event was difficult for him to sit through, but hey, he made his choice going into politics.

you watched as he made his rounds, speaking to various donors and attempting to charm them. you watched as all their wives fawned over your-

no.

you watched as all their wives fawned over him, bringing him in for a hug instead of a handshake. of course they were interested; he was the best looking man here. yes, he was the oldest man in the room, but appeared to be the youngest and was, regardless, easily the most attractive. and all the thirty-some wives of the cranky old rich white men wanted him.

it pissed you off. not that you had the right to be pissed, but. oh well. you're just a girl.

after two flutes of champagne, you watch as one of the donors receives a phone call, leaving his wife with Bucky. ever the gentleman, he would never leave a woman all by herself in a room full of sharks who might try to snatch her up. 

Bucky was very much a different man than he was in the forties, of course. doesn't mean he lost the ability to attract every woman in the room.

you can't stand idly by as she puts his hands all over him, and he can't take his eyes off of her. no, of course he would never go for a married woman. what he did know, though, was that if he pissed her off, her husband wouldn't donate to his campaign.

you roll your eyes and decide it's time for some hard liquor.

you hide in the corner of the room, drinking your much stronger beverage as fast as possible. no, getting drunk at a professional event isn't the best idea, but what do you care. you're not the star of the show.

he is.

he's the brilliant ex-POW who's turned his entire life around in a whole new century. he's the gorgeous soldier who not only survived, but is also electing to do something meaningful with his life. 

he's the star tonight.

he's the star of every thought you have of your future, but that can't possibly come to surface now. it's not the time or place. 

watching him entertain this woman truly boils your blood, but at least you have some actual alcohol in your system now. you no longer feel the need to justify why her hands on his pristine suit makes you want to grab her by the diamonds around her neck and yank her off of him. you can justify your desire to grab him by the tie to pull him away from her and yell at him for not focusing on what's important. 

you bite your tongue. you knew it was all a ploy.

doesn't mean you had to like it. 

~~~

while you stand at the bar waiting for your second beverage of the evening, a man comes up next to you, and the bartender takes his drink order. 

you give him a small, awkward smile as you briefly make eye contact. you're kind of shocked: he's definitely the only man in this room who appears to be younger than 60, Bucky excluded.

you almost startle when he speaks up, introducing himself. Michael, he says his name is.

you turn to actually face him this time. roughly 40, plenty taller than you, and brown hair sprinkled with some greys in there. your perfect type. you quietly tell yourself you're done drinking–no way you're gonna fuck this up. if you weren't so mad about Bucky's new admirer, you might be a tad less inclined to speak to him, but… 

you step closer as you give him a real smile and introduce yourself.

"so, correct me if I'm wrong, but something tells me you're here alone tonight," he begins, indicating to your left hand. no ring. 

you laugh a little. 

"you would be correct," you tell him. "I could say the same about you."

he smiles back at you. it's so beautiful you forget all about your boss and the woman he's now got on his arm as he continues to walk around–

well. you almost forget. good enough.

"you would also be correct."

you explain why you're here, you work for one of the candidates. although, you don't tell him who, exactly. he explains why he's here, one of the patrons. you have to pry the information out of him, but you appreciate it: he's trying to talk to you without flashing his money in your face. it's noble, you think.

you eventually learn he's interested in actually getting to know the candidates' campaigns, not just what they think they can offer him in return for his money.

"you know, I would be happy to learn more about your boss' campaign. from one of the people who probably understands it best," he tells you. you're slightly taken aback for a moment, not aware this was a business interaction. you never even told him who your boss was, so it was confusing, to say the least.

you felt stupid for thinking he was actually interested, for thinking that he was flirting with you.

"oh, of course-" you begin to tell him, but he interjects, "after I take you out, perhaps?"

your smile perks back up subconsciously. so you didn't have it wrong.

"I would love that," you tell him, carefully taking the lapels of his jacket into your hands. you feel his hands come to your waist, and it's like a jolt of energy runs up your spine.

you look closer and almost flip your shit as you see his eyes up close. they're Bucky's eyes. he's not Bucky, sadly, but. 

you're fucked.

"maybe dinner can happen... another time?" you offer, hoping he gets the hint. you realize you probably look like a whore throwing yourself at him like this.

he chuckles. "I've got a room upstairs, if you'd like to come have drinks instead of dinner."

hell yes. you're gonna score tonight, even if it's not with the man you dream about with your hands between your legs every night-

"I would," you say, and bite your tongue. "I just... have to stick around until this thing is over. yeah?"

he nods and steps back. "I suppose I should also do what I came here for," he chuckles. "I'll come find you later?"

you smile and you feel your face go pink. "sounds good."

you can't help the fact that your gaze reverts immediately back to your boss the second the man walks off. Bucky hasn't spared you a single glance all evening, but the second you look back at him this time, you're suddenly staring into his beautiful eyes. 

he holds eye contact with you for what feels like an eternity. his expression is muted, no real emotion showing. maybe... curiosity?

of course he's not going to look mad, or upset, or jealous. you have to stop thinking he'd ever look at you with anything other than pure professionalism.

because he's everything. and you're just a kid, lost in the world, desperately in love with your boss, and everything is fucking falling apart around you.

at least you've got a rich, hot, older man ready to fuck you tonight.

~~~

you kept to your word to yourself and didn't drink for the rest of the night, although you continued hovering at the bar for the semblance of safety it provided.

you continued staring at Bucky for the next two hours. the clingy woman's husband had, in fact, returned and took her away from Bucky. clearly, she was pissed, but tried to hide it. you had to bite back a smirk.

he didn't look back at you once for the rest of the evening.

eventually, the crowd dies down. you realize that now, you have to explain to your boss that you won't be riding back to the office with him, effectively telling him your exact plans for the rest of the night. embarrassing!

you're almost ready to bite the bullet and bid Bucky a good night, scanning the room for him, when you hear a voice from behind you. 

"we still on for drinks?"

you plaster a smile on your face as you turn around to the man standing behind you.

"absolutely," you say, taking his hands. "lead the way."

you begin to follow the man, telling yourself to try and remember to shoot your boss a text to 'not worry about you' before getting your clothes torn off by this man who's currently whisking you away.

you get into the elevator with him, what's his name, you think? oh, Michael, and yank him in hard, crashing your mouths together, putting all of your energy into how badly you need this.

you're startled by the sound of a clanging of metal, ripping your mouth away from the man's and turning to face the noise.

well, apparently, you were too eager and stupid enough to not wait for the elevator doors to entirely shut, because you see now that the noise was a result of Bucky's vibranium arm grabbing the elevator door. he pushes it open and steps inside, eyes piercing daggers through you the whole time.

you stand there, appalled. the man gently pulls away from you, reaching out a hand to attempt to shake Bucky's hand.

"Mr. Barnes, it's a pleasure," he begins. "my apologies for this... less than ideal meeting."

Bucky doesn't even look at the man, eyeing you up and down, taking in your smudged lipstick and the way your dress is slightly out of place.

the man attempts once more to interject. "Mr. Barnes, please, don't worry about her. why don't us men go back downstairs and have a real discussion? I'd love to hear more about your campaign."

wait. why do his words sound like they're throwing you under the bus, almost?

Bucky notices it, too, you realize. he tilts his head in the man's direction before actually averting his gaze to look at him.

"and leave the lady all by herself?" he asks.

"don't worry about that. she's... inconsequential. if you and I can just go back downstairs and–"

"what did you just say?" Bucky asks. you swear he doesn't look like your boss anymore, but someone... else.

the man is taken aback by Bucky's demeanor. his mouth gapes like an idiot.

"you do know this is my assistant, right?" Bucky asks him. the man's face goes pale as the pieces slot together in his head.

"Mr. Barnes, my apologies, truly," he says.

you just stand there feeling more stupid than ever. inconsequential? wow, okay. you almost don't even care that he's dismissing your entire existence, but you can't stand the fact that he's doing it in front of Bucky. you care more about what Bucky thinks of you than literally anyone else, and now? now he's going to see you as a fucking slut who isn't even good enough for a man to commit to for one night.

god, you're pathetic.

"shouldn't you be apologizing to her?" Bucky grits.

the elevator doors open to the man's floor, and he mumbles a sorry under his breath as he runs out.

great. not only do you look pathetic in front of your boss, but you're not getting fucked tonight, either. just great.

the doors shut behind Bucky, who has now returned his gaze to you. you wonder if he's going to press the button to go back to the lobby.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Mr. Barnes," you say, swallowing your embarrassment as you stand up straight and adjust your dress.

he just stares at you.

"what?" you ask.

"are you okay?" he asks, and he looks genuinely concerned.

you know he cares about you, you're his assistant, after all. but that's it.

"fine," you assure him, and begin to reach behind him to press the button to take you back down to the lobby.

he gently grabs your wrist before you can.

you look at him, confused. you know your face says it all.

"Mr.–" you begin.

"Bucky," he corrects.

"can I press the button, Mr. Barnes?"

he still hasn't let go of your wrist. you feel stupid for enjoying the feel of his metal hand against your skin, for getting to feel a part of him that's real.

"you know, you clearly picked out the worst of the men here tonight," he observes.

you roll your eyes and pull your wrist away from him before you do something stupid.

"are you kidding? this place was riddled with capitalist billionaires and politicians. like you," you say, smirking.

he chuckles a little.

you can't help yourself, though. can't let it go unsaid.

"clearly you had some interested parties of your own tonight."

he rolls his eyes and finally turns away from you, pressing the button for the lobby. you let out a quiet sigh of relief. being in this elevator any longer, with him? that would just about kill you.

"you noticed that, huh?" he asks.

"who didn't?" you mumble. but of course, he's not just a politician, he's an enhanced, so he hears it.

"look, I knew she was married, I was never going to-" he begins to explain, but you cut him off.

"oh, I don't care what she does in her own fucked-up marriage."

oh my god. what did you just say? did you just admit to the fact that the only reason you did care was because she was fawning over Bucky?

fuck.

the elevator doors open, and you rush out.

you can hear the smirk on his face as he trails after you.

"so, you were really going to sleep with that guy, huh?" he teases.

you stop in your tracks. most everyone has left by now, leaving only you and Bucky in the room aside from the clean-up crew. you turn back to face him.

"can we just go?"

he nods and calls for the car to come around.

~~~

twenty minutes, you remind yourself.

in twenty minutes, you'll have made it back to the office, and you can go get in your own car and take yourself back to your own place and you won't have to be sitting thigh to thigh with your boss in the back of a limo that would totally be hot to fuck in-

he clears his throat, and you turn your head to face him.

"what that guy said..." he begins. you roll your eyes in anger at the reminder. you didn't even care he said it, you just wish he hadn't said it in front of Bucky.

you wave your hand as though waving off the thought, and waving off Bucky's concern. but it doesn't quite work like that.

"you're not inconsequential."

he says it with such a conviction you feel it deep in your bones, in the very core of your being. he sounds so authentic that it almost hurts.

a million thoughts swirl in your head. you could say i know, you could get defensive, you could say thanks, Bucky...

a better one pops in your head.

"how did you know where I was? you didn't see me all evening."

the limo stops moving. the driver rolls down the divider to grumble something about traffic at this hour? before rolling it back up again.

great. now it's going to take even longer to get home to your vibrator.

Bucky sees the interruption as a way to drop the matter. you press it.

"Mr. Barnes?"

"god, would you stop calling me that?"

you see him turn away from you to look out the window, biting his lip and rubbing his forehead. you've now frustrated him, and he's mad at you. this is good. it's easier for you to deal with him being angry at you than him being nice to you.

you know he just wants you to call him Bucky, but you're a smartass.

"yeah, okay, sorry. Sergeant Barnes," you mumble, smirking to yourself.

he about flips his shit. why is he getting so worked up?

"seriously?" he asks, turning back to you. his eyes are blown back, in anger, probably. not lust, like you wish they were. because you're just a stupid kid, and he's just your boss with a lifetime of trauma. you could never understand him the way you wanted to.

"what?" you say, biting your lip as you smile, continuing to tease him.

you swear that for a second, he glances down to your lips.

SHIT!

in that embarrassing moment, you realize your lipstick is still smudged across your face from the moment in the elevator. your heart rate shoots up as you bury your head in your chest, bringing your hand to wipe away the mess of your face, before turning to face the opposite way from him.

you are, well and truly, stuck in traffic. some concert, or sports game, or whatever...

which means you're stuck, pressed up against your boss, in the back of this tiny limo right now, for only god knows how much longer.

you're pulling your phone out of your clutch when he says your name.

you want to lean into the feeling, how smooth it is. how crisp his voice is, how pretty it sounds saying your name, as though he's genuinely paying you any attention whatsoever.

"you're not inconsequential."

it flares your anger, all of it coming up from your gut and into your throat, as you respond.

"god, would you forget it already?" you snap.

shit, shit, shit. you fucked up. you just snapped at your boss, of all people. you try to backtrack, throw out a million comments of "sorry," but that's it, you're getting fired.

you finally look back at him, and he's actually looking at you. like, it feels like he's staring into your soul, seeing all the pieces of you that you're trying to keep hidden from him.

the car begins moving again.

~~~

he watches you, trying to figure you out, as always.

he can't think of a better word for it than the fact that you genuinely amuse him.

he sees the look in your eyes, the way you're desperately trying to cover up the shame you feel over what happened in the elevator. he's trying to be gentle about it, trying to assure you that what the man said was utter bullshit, but you keep shutting him down.

god, and you look so...

no. you're, like, 80-plus years younger than him (he rubs his temples every time he remembers his age) and employed by him. any interest on his part would be purely inappropriate, a gross misuse of his position of power.

and god, his fucking age, man. he shouldn't even be around anymore-

anyways.

you look at him with those fucking doe eyes, going back and forth between anger, and shame, and something else he can't quite pinpoint.

this is probably the worst part of what happened. you're always so unapologetically yourself, but he can tell this man has gotten under your skin.

even if it's not his job to comfort you, he doesn't want you to feel like that. because who you are is perfect. 

~~~

one minute, you're staring into his eyes, trying to read the look on his face. 

the next, you're bracing yourself as the car spins out of control, feeling hit after hit of various cars all crashing into you sequentially.

you don't register it until after it's all over. the way he's wrapped himself around you as though to protect you. his flesh arm cradles your head to his chest and his vibranium hand wraps itself around the back of your neck.

you take a few deep breaths and begin to pull away from him, looking up to his face as you do. his eyes widen in shock as he looks at you. what? what is it?

"fuck, we gotta get you to a hospital." 

~~~

part 2 out by friday 3/28/25!

masterlist

tag list

tagged: @clavedelune

[cheol-e-kat]

For your new bingo!

Internet friends+blind date+ size kink [mingyuu]

hi anon cutie, yea, this one - i have thoughts hehe and ofc i hope you like it - also misspellings in their chat is intentional, no one is perfect while chatting

♡ kat

bingo squares: internet friends + blind date + size kink

pairing: kim mingyu / f!reader

summary:  y/n is nervous about a blind date and spends all her time chatting with her online gaming friend about it. Turns out he might be a lot more than the guy she just chats with online.

word count:  3.3k

genre: college au, rivals to lovers, internet friends to lovers, blind dates, smut

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: drinking, oral sex, penetrative sex, cum play, fingering, size kink (her for him), big dick!mingyu, dollification

y/n really hated dates - she hated them in general. 

so a blind date was even worse - she couldn’t even properly work herself up to her normally high anxiety levels. she certainly couldn’t properly stalk the guy on social media either, so what was even the point, she wondered as she stared at her phone. 

at this point, she couldn’t complain to her irl friends even because they were the ones with this so-called ‘genius’ plan to set her up with someone they were so sure she would like. plus, it was the day of, anyway, so what could she really do?

but then she remembered her online life, and her online friends, specifically ‘readyplayergyv’, who just happened to be online. because he was always online. 

annoyingly, he was initially encouraging - he had even said that ‘maybe she would make a friend.’ 

she had groaned at that and sent an emote of a teddy bear with a knife telling him that was ‘cursed.’

he sent a voice note in response, saying, “you never know - you might really like them - just give it a chance.”

she had one word for that: ‘traitor.’ 

well, actually she had more, so she sent ‘et tu brute’ and followed it with ‘judas’ in all caps. 

[readyplayergyv] you really are a dork

[bearycloudy] eat me

[readyplayergyv] aafafafaf plz let that be ur opening line

she shook her head, smiling. 

[bearycloudy] fr i hate meeting new ppl - i’m always nervous and sweaty

[readyplayergyv] cancel? say ur grandma died

she snorted.

[bearycloudy] taht’s terrible

[readyplayergyv] so u don’t wanna go just make something up

she sighed, wishing it were that easy.

[bearycloudy] my friends will be annoyed

[readyplayergyv] annoyed or you’ve used the grandma excuse before

she smiled to herself, knowing she had used it once.

[bearycloudy] i’ve maybe used it 

[readyplayergyv] then you know it’s a solid plan

[bearycloudy] yea but how many grannies dying is too many yk

[readyplayergyv] all the grannies all dead

she grinned. she had the urge to call him ‘cute.’ actually, she had that urge fairly often, especially when they were in dms. because he was really cute and sweet. and she liked his voice.

 they had met while gaming. he never seemed to have an issue with her being the only girl on the team. or the only girl online generally. no weirdo nicknames or any of that. just - nice. he was nice. 

the server they hung out in had a huge no-doxxing policy, so no one shared photos, unless it was like their pet or something. but she liked to imagine that readyplayergyv was at least cute. maybe hot. 

she sighed and typed a new message.

[bearycloudy] so do u have any plans???

she waited. she never really asked things like that. she didn’t mind that he did, but she also usually just shared without being asked. but he didn’t, and she didn’t like to pry. she assumed that if he wanted to share, he would.

[readyplayergyv] yea some stuff my friends planned

she yawned.

[bearycloudy] sounds exciting

[readyplayergyv] idk - kinda worried

she scrunched her brows, wondering when he was worried about anything.

[bearycloudy] why?

[readyplayergyv] so unlike u my lifelong goal isn’t being a hermit 

she was too quick to respond.

[bearycloudy] fuck off

[readyplayergyv] :/ anyway idk it’s weird meeting ppl when i haven’t in a bit yk just kind of used to how things are rn

she raised her brows.

[bearycloudy] ur going on a date too???

[readyplayergyv] nooo my friend said ‘casual meetup’ 5000000 times so idk not a date ig

she stared at her phone wondering what the fuck a ‘casual meetup’ was.

[bearycloudy] so like a group thing?

[readyplayergyv] nope

she stared at her phone harder.

[bearycloudy] sounds liek a date then

[readyplayergyv] nahh just hanging out

[bearycloudy] so it’s a date and ur at least getting blown in the bathroom then, hearing you loud and clear

[readyplayergyv] such a dick

she grinned.

[bearycloudy] thanks - that’s a compliment from you

she watched him typing for a moment and was expecting a paragraph.

[readyplayergyv] you could at least say something nice

she pouted. there were certain times when she felt like she hurt his feelings - this was definitely one of those times.

[bearycloudy] you’ll have a nice time - she’ll be super pretty and smart and all that

[readyplayergyv] and she’ll blow me …ha ha

[bearycloudy] would it be terrible if you got blown??

[readyplayergyv] i told you i’m getting back out there not trying to score

she sighed.

[bearycloudy] okay okay okay ..fr you will have a nice time and pleasant convo and you’ll shake hands at the end and exchange phone numbers all v v cute and above board

[readyplayergyv] and then she blows me

[bearycloudy] nooo saving that for date number 2 and then by date 4 she will want ur children 

[readyplayergyv] lwk hate u rn

[bearycloudy] ^^ no u don’t i’m ur fav gaming friend at least online i’m sure you have irl ppl who are cooler

[readyplayergyv] maybe but ur more fun always unhinged too

she laughed because she couldn’t deny that. she was unhinged when they were playing.

she checked the time and groaned. she had to leave. she swapped apps and booked a rideshare. she was more and more nervous.

[bearycloudy] what if it’s super weird and i hate it

[readyplayergyv] so that’s the thing ur actually worried about

[bearycloudy] shhhh i support you and your future filled with a million babies

[readyplayergyv] if it’s weird get a friend to call or text so you can duck out

[bearycloudy] all my friends think this is a gret idea tho

[readyplayergyv] u could ask me not liek this app doesn’t have a call feature

she chewed her lip lightly. she knew about the call feature. they used it fairly often. sometimes for gaming, sometimes while they were studying and needed to focus - something about knowing he was on the other end of her phone, wherever in the world, made it easier for her to focus. it was probably way too easy to call him.

[bearycloudy] yea but you’ll be busy falling in luvvvv or whatever

[readyplayergyv] u can always call me

she saw her car was approaching. she grabbed her bag and dashed out to meet it. once she was in the backseat and on her way, she sent him a quick message. 

[bearycloudy] ok ok if i absolutely have to i’ll ask

ˋ°•*⁀➷

she knew where they were meeting, this cute place with good drinks, decent food, and ping-pong tables. 

she had spent time picking out her outfit even. she hated that she was trying - it just made it feel more ominous than it already did. not to mention doing her makeup and shit she usually didn’t bother with normally. she was cute on a normal day too, but there was just that little bit of fluttering in her stomach that made her want to dress up a bit. maybe she would meet someone she liked. 

she waited outside - they were supposed to meet under the lighted tree. but as she walked towards it, she saw who was standing under it. 

she was instantly irritated. because really her friends were fucking demonic. 

mingyu. 

kim. mingyu. 

she would rather walk into oncoming traffic. 

which he seemed to notice since he jogged over to her. smiling. he was smiling - like this was some happy occasion. 

“hey,” he said, still smiling, although it was starting to falter. 

she stared at him for a moment before talking. 

“so who’s idea was this?” she tried to sound calm. there were people around them, and she hated drawing attention. 

she watched him start to fidget with the sleeve of his light-knit sweater. “mine,” he responded, like it were all normal. 

she grimaced, “yours?” she said in total shock.

he nodded, watching her closely.

she laughed, “okay, anyway, great joke - i’m going to leave now - this is - this is not happening,” she said, her mind flying in a thousand directions. 

they had had too many classes together. he was always a dick. he always critiqued her answers or made a point of showing off that ‘actually’ he was more informed. she had once cried in the bathroom between classes because it was so overwhelming to have someone always pointing out how she was misinterpreting or misunderstanding or was just fucking stupid. 

but this was beyond anything she could have imagined. she felt like she was vibrating with anger - at him - at her friends. 

and then he stepped closer. “please hear me out - just like five minutes, and if you still hate me, just go home and forget about it,” he whispered, everything about him seemed to be pleading with her. 

she glanced around and shrugged. “fine,” she groaned. she pulled out her phone and set a timer - five minutes. that was it.

she followed him over to a bench, so they were at least away from the small group outside the restaurant. 

“i know we don’t get along well in person,” he paused, looking worried, “i know you don’t like me in class or at parties or just in passing,” he trailed off. he was staring at the ground like it held the answer to whatever was wrong with him and his mushy brain. 

he finally looked up at her, “your bearycloudy and i’m”—

she smacked him. she couldn’t help it. she needed him to shut up. 

it wasn’t a full-out, open-palmed slap, but it made him pause and rub his cheek.

“so, i thought this would go differently because at least online we’re - we were friends, probably not anymore, though, i’m guessing,” he glanced at her, still rubbing his cheek. 

“this is the worst idea,” she started, and she saw his face fall. and it made her feel the same way it had earlier when she knew she had hurt his feelings. she took a deep breath. she didn’t like hurting his feelings, even if he was an absolute idiot.

 “we’re in public, and you’re telling me something that’s kind of a big deal,” she whispered tersely, “what were you thinking?” she hissed.

he still looked miserable. “i - how much i like you, all the time we spend chatting and talking, and when i saw your phone a few weeks ago, i knew i had to at least tell you,” he said softly. 

he was right about one thing - she was glad he had told her. but still. she closed her eyes tightly, “just - you thought this was going to go well?”

he shrugged, “we get along,”—

she cut him off. “yes, okay - yes - i admit that we get along online, but,” she paused, trying to find the right words - words that were less scathing, “mingyu, telling me out in public and thinking we’re just going to like get food and laugh over it,” she sighed. 

she could literally see him wilting by the moment. 

“okay, your five minutes in purgatory is up then,” he whispered. 

she shook her head. “that’s not what i meant,” she sighed and glanced around, looking for a place that looked less busy, less loud. she spotted a cafe with outdoor seating that was fairly empty. 

she grabbed his arm. “come on, doofus, let’s actually talk about this,” she mumbled as she pulled him along.

ˋ°•*⁀➷

the cafe was cute. she ordered coffee and a piece of cake. he paid. she didn’t even offer - she deserved cake just for the stupid way he handled this. 

they sat outside. she ate a few bites of cake, watching people pass by, listening to the sounds of cars and people - all just perfectly in the distance. 

she finally glanced at him. “first, you have to prove it - you have to prove we’ve been talking and this isn’t a prank.”

he stared at her, looking perturbed, and even though he was shaking his head, he opened his phone and handed it to her. and there was their running conversation. she flicked through it, sighing quietly. “fuck,” she exhaled. because there it was - there was every late night and early morning and whatever in between - their constant dialogue on any given day. 

she kept scrolling like it was going to disappear, “how long have you known?” she glanced up at him. 

“a few weeks - i didn’t know how to tell you - it’s not like it would just come up naturally,” he murmured. 

and it hit her how easily she recognized his voice. she had been gaming with him for - and her mind blanked. she ran a hand through her hair. they had been gaming since they were freshman. she stared out towards the street lights. they were in grad school. she had been gaming with her nemesis for a solid four years. at first, it was more like they were in the same group, but then they kept breaking off to the side. 

she glanced at him. he looked miserable. they had stayed up all night before gaming and chatting and talking. she knew about all his exams. stuff about his family that he randomly mentioned. 

“were you surprised?” she asked.

he nodded, staring at his coffee cup. “yeah, i mean, the more i thought about some things, it made sense - like that we always seemed to be studying for exams at the same time.” he glanced at her. “and then i just felt guilty that i knew, but i’m so used to talking to you,” he trailed off. 

she bit her lip gently, “and we talk like every day.”

he nodded.

she exhaled loudly, “okay, so now we know.”

he nodded again. he still looked miserable. 

she stood up. he looked up at her immediately, lips slightly parted. cute, she thought. so cute.

“let’s go drink - there’s a good bar place like a block over,” she sighed. 

she didn’t exactly wait for him to catch up, but she knew he would - he was like a foot taller than her. 

he fell into step with her easily. “so you aren’t just leaving?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

“no, because,” she groaned, “because if i do then we probably like drift apart and my gaming sucks and you know - gaming,” she mumbled under her breath, knowing it wasn’t about gaming. he was maybe her closest friend.

the place they went was this cute, hole in the wall, french place with amazing drinks and food. she went straight for the cocktails. he ordered a drink and food. she was on her third drink by the time the appetizers appeared. he was picking mains while she stole olives from his plate. she kept refreshing her drink whenever the waiter offered. 

“is this you processing?”

she nodded. “yep, one hundred percent,” she smiled. 

he watched her for a moment. “do you hate me?” he whispered.

she shook her head. “sometimes i wish we weren’t in the same program, but no - i don’t.”

he still watched her, “i like that we’re in the same program.” 

she covered her mouth when she laughed, “why?”

“because i have to try a lot harder when you’re around.”

she grinned, “i’d love to know what it’s like when you’re just phoning it in.”

“i wish i could undo whatever i did,” he blushed as he spoke. 

she felt his fingers brush against hers. she didn’t pull away; instead, she turned her hand over, offering it to him. she felt his fingertips trace the length of her fingers. 

“i love how slender your fingers are,” he whispered.

she nodded, “we should just fuck.”

his gaze snapped to hers, “what?”

she nodded, “yeah, we have crushes and whatever, we should just fuck it out, see what happens - then maybe we can try a cute date.”

“you’re joking,” he whispered.

she shook her head, “no, i’m really not - we’re friends and things have, without either of us meaning for it to happen, things have gotten very weird, and if we don’t fix it, we’ll both be unhappy.”

“and how does that lead to ‘we should fuck’?” he asked.

she shrugged, “it’s an obvious choice - physical closeness - releases endorphins, yada, yada, maybe it’s fun even - reduces anxiety.”

“fuck, you’re serious - you’ve been sitting there, thinking this over,” he whined.

“tell me i’m wrong - give me one reason,” she whispered, challenging him.

ˋ°•*⁀➷

they went to his since it was closer. 

they drank more there. she was glad she wore cute underwear, especially with the way he was manhandling her. he undressed her and picked her up, carrying her over to his sofa and dropping her gently. 

she was surprised when he was kneeling in front of her, kissing her inner thighs as he spread them farther and farther apart. and when he pulled her panties off in one swift motion, she was sure that little move was enough to make her wet. but then he was eating her, working his tongue deep inside her, his nose brushing her clit. 

he replaced his tongue with his fingers, “you’re so tight,” he murmured. 

“so work me open,” she whispered. 

“don’t want to hurt you,” he mumbled against her clit.

“come on, don’t you love the idea of wrecking my little, tight pussy with your big dick?”

he glanced up at her, smiling and sucking hard on her clit, teasing it with his tongue. he pulled back, though, giving her pussy a smack. she grinned at the feeling. 

he leaned over her, kissing her. “you’re so little compared to me,” he smiled, tracing a finger along her jaw. 

she smiled, nodding. “and you’re going to give me every bit of your dick, aren’t you?”

he nodded.

“promise?”

he nodded again, “promise, sweetheart,” he kissed her gently, “i’ll make you take every inch,” he smiled, smoothing her hair back from her face.

she hummed softly as they kissed - as the head of his cock started to tease her open. he was slow at first, working his hips gently. 

“fuck just give it to me, gyu” she moaned. 

and he did. it only took one quick motion for him to be buried inside her. her nails scraped over his shoulders and down his broad chest.

“feel good?” he asked.

she nodded, already feeling like she was floating, “fuck me like i’m a toy - your little doll,” she mumbled, her nails leaving little half-moon indents on his chest before she dropped her hands, letting her limbs feel limp. he fucked into her recklessly, just like she asked for. 

he flipped her over when he wanted, “my perfect doll,” he whispered as he pulled her back onto his cock, “taking me so well.”

she smiled softly as he pounded into her, every time, he was stretching her beyond anything she had tried before. even when she had once been brave and tried two dildos - he was still bigger. 

and when he came - when she felt it dripping down her inner thighs, she was happy then - happy and full since he was quick to push it back inside her, his thick fingers replacing his cock, and filling her gently as he pushed his cum deep inside her, making sure it went all the way in. she quivered happily at the feeling. 

he was kissing her softly, picking her up, and taking her to his room. he was good with aftercare. he cleaned her up and cuddled with her, making her feel safe and cared for.

she woke up slowly the next day, nuzzling close to him. even half awake, she could feel him petting her. 

after a few minutes, he spoke. “you know i have a second controller and stuff, right?”

she grinned, pressing a soft kiss to his throat, “you want to play a quick round and get some food?”

she leaned up, looking at him. he nodded.

“more than anything,” he whispered. 

she smiled and kissed him again.

a/n: ha uh like i said, i had thoughts - didn't know i would go into a doll kink, but mehh whatever - good thing they could get past their issues ^^

♡ kat

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

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𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: #kat_bingos

bingo v. 1 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 2 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 3 ⋆.˚ bingo v. 4 ⋆.˚ 333 followers bingo ⋆.˚

seungcheol: knotting + marking | professor (prof. choi, pt. 1) | monster | spanking (neighbor seungcheol) | big dick + hate sex | forced masturbastion (prof. choi, pt ii) | voyeurism + punishment | coffee shop au + forbidden relationship (never let you go pt. 1) | bodyguard + drunk confession | anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing | big dick!cheol + hate sex (choose your own adventure) | sexual frustration + ex sex |

mingyu: lingerie + praise kink | bed sharing + big dick | praise + worship kink | vehicle sex + oral fixation | drunk pda + no underwear | enemies to lovers + tentacles |

seungcheol & mingyu threesome: oral |

[ taglist ] ☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @halavia [e - drab/one/multi] ☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎ @ninigyuuu [m - e, b.f. priv] ☁︎ @starlit-rin [m - one/multi, b.f.non] ☁︎

[yup-thats-me]

—motivation • Choi. B

pairing; bf!beomgyu x fem!reader summary; your sweet bf needs motivation. won't you give it to him?<3 warnings; public bathroom masturbation, nudes, buff beomgyu need i say more? mirror sex

bf!beomgyu who will ask for you to send a nude while he's working out. Its for motivation of course.

bf!beomgyu who will sprint to the gym washroom when he hears the 'ding' go off in his phone.

bf!beomgyu who's head will be leaned back against the stall wall, his hand working on his length while the other holds his phone, a picture of you, exclusive for his and his eyes only.

"Fuck," He'd moan into the microphone. "So pretty."

He'd still be on call with you. He needs you to hear him call out for you. It doesn't matter to beomgyu that at least fifty-something people are still working out just outside the bathroom.

He'll even take a quick pic to send you; his slender fingers wrapped around his cock, the veins bulging with the tip leaking precum. Its a return gift for you.

bf!beomgyu who will be on a drive to finish his workout after his little 'motivation'. He will be completing his sets like his life depended on it. Yes, he did get his release but he needs more. He has to and fuck you in the next half an hour or else he will literally combust.

bf!beomgyu who will leave his trainer stunned at his speed.

"Bye, bro, see ya tomorrow!" He'd wave, sprinting out the doors.

bf!beomgyu who will burst through the door of your shared apartment only to see his girl laying on the bed, dressed only in one of his shirts that was too big on her. How thoughtful.

"Welcome babe," Y/n would smile, jiggling her bare ass at the man. "I've been waiting."

bf!beomgyu who will immediately remove his sweats although he'd leave the black compression shirt on. It was Y/n's favorite.

Plunging deep into her, he'd pull her back by the hair, making her arch. He'd glide his hand down her back, grabbing another fistful of the girl's hair to make her look straight ahead at the mirror.

"You're an absolute slut, do you know that," his buff arms wrapped aroung her throat, locking her in place; the veins bulging beautifully.

"Just," She'd gasp for air, loving the way he manhandled her.

"For you."

[vivwritesfics]

vivi i need wild danny ric, protective danny ric, true embodiment of a honey badger danny ric.

like have you ever seen that man’s eyes when he’s locked in and loaded? it’s actually wild and terrifying and oh so hot.

literally ANYTHING you can think of with unhinged danny ric

i've been thinking about danny x ex!wife for the longest time, i just haven't been brave enough to do it.

Warnings: divorce, pregnancy, angst

Masterlist

"Hey, kid."

There was something about Daniels tone of voice when he spoke to her. It used to be so full of joy, for a good seven years. And then it was full of hope, for a year after that. Now, he couldn't keep the sadness out of his voice.

She released a breath before she answered him. "Hey, Danny," she mumbled.

Daniel couldn't see her, but he could imagine it. Leaning over the kitchen counter, her head in her hands as she breathed deep. Was she crying? He couldn't tell over the phone, but the tone of her voice suggested she wasn't.

Not yet at least.

"What's up?"

After four years of dating, three years of marriage, and a year of divorce, Daniel still loved her. He'd spent a year desperately hoping that they would get back together, but she'd denied him at every step.

It wasn't that she didn't love him back, it was that she couldn't keep up with his lifestyle. She loved him, loved his passion and drive, loved watching him out on track. Even when things didn't go his way, she wanted to be there for him, wrap her arms around him and bring him all of the comfort he needed.

But it was too much.

Every race had her anxious, a mix of watching Daniel risk her life, missing work and having to catch up after the race weekend. She loved her honey badger, but she couldn't take it.

What's that saying? When you love something, let it go?

Even through the divorce, she still loved him. Nights of crying on her mothers couch, missing the man she had tried to build a life with. It had been easier when she was younger. She'd taken some time out before her career began, time to follow him around the word and support him.

When her career began, it was a slow start. But that was her choice. Her life was changing so rapidly, and she just wanted to ease into it.

It was hard to tell when it became too much. But she was tired and struggling with her workload. Missing at least three days of work a week, struggling to catch up before the next race.

And then there was the stress. Heart in her throat whenever Daniel was in his car. That time Max braked in front of him, and Daniel went into the back of him. Jesus, it was terrifying.

After nearly a year of being separated, she still missed him. Missed him enough to seek out his comfort. His arms around her, holding her close as she came, trembling in his arms. Laying here, tracing her fingertips over his tattoos.

But here they were, a month and a half later.

"Danny." Her voice broke from just his name alone. "I..."

But the right words just weren't coming.

"Can you come over?"

Daniel was running out of his house before they ended the call. He sped towards her apartment, the little apartment she had been renting ever since they divorced.

Daniel was still living in the house they shared, everything kept the way she had it, unable to change it. It was like keeping a piece of her with him, even when she didn't want to be there.

He gripped the steering wheel, knuckles white. He was going to get to her, no matter what.

***

His knuckles tapped against the door. Gently, as if he was dealing with a spooked animal. "Sweetheart?" He called, and the door opened.

She was on him a moment later. A sob left her lips as she wrapped her arms around him. "Danny," she squeaked, his large hands settling on her back.

Daniel kicked the door shut as he walked her further into the apartment. "I've got you," he whispered and sat on the sofa, holding her on his lap.

He'd been in the apartment once before, a month and a half ago. But it had been nothing like this.

Daniel held her until she was calm enough to talk to him. Tears stained her cheek and his shirt when she pulled away from his shoulder.

His fingers touched her chin. "Tell me what's wrong, honey," he whispered.

So, she told him. She told him all about the five positive pregnancy tests in her bathroom. She told him about her missed period, told him about all of the anxiety that had taken over her.

Pregnant.

Pregnant with her ex-husbands baby.

Daniel's eyes moved down to her stomach. No bump, obviously. Not yet, anyway. "Sweetheart," he mumbled and dropped her chin. "You're pregnant?"

She nodded and started sniffling again.

The woman he was in love with, the woman of his dreams, was pregnant. Daniel leaned forward and kissed her.

A squeak left her lips as she pulled away. "What are you doing?"

His eyes were so pretty as he stared at her. That was the way he stared at her before the divorce, the way he stared at her on their wedding day.

"I'm in love with you," he said through a breath. "I never wanted to get a divorce. I never wanted you to move out. I never wanted to be apart from you."

He wiped her tears away.

"Honey, you're pregnant with my baby."

She stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

"I always wanted to start a family with you. You and the kids, coming to our home race. You'd have the biggest rock on your finger, better than the last one I got you. This time, we could have our kid at our wedding."

A weak laugh left her lips. "'s not as simple as that, Danny," she mumbled, her hands settling on his shoulders. "I love you too, but we can't go back to the way things were."

Daniel took her hand and kissed her fingers. "Anything," he whispered. "I'll do anything for you."

Anything for the woman he loved.

[mmirx]

AFTERTHOUGHT ⋆⑅˚₊

Who were you if not unremarkable? You had finally come into terms that you are someone who was meant to stay in everyone’s shadow, but not until you met Caleb, or so you thought.

cw/tags: PART 3 of this, university au, non-mc reader, frat guy caleb (but not really important), angst, jealousy, self-loathing (please just lmk if i missed more cw, i just cant identify more as of now)

note: idk what im doing lmao kidding nway, wrote this in one sitting bcs it was the only chance i had after the loooong week i had. alsoooo, i take it back, i might make this longer bcs i haven't explored some parts in the previous chapters. PLUS THANK YOU GUYS FOR READINGGGG!!!

word count: 1.7k

You’re at your breaking point—or at least you were weeks ago. Now, you weren’t even sure what prompted you to fill your schedule to no end; leaving no room for any sort of self-care at all. But, you were adamant in accepting the truth that it was not the answer to the hole that Caleb left you.

Nothing can ever fill the part that he took from you the moment you let him in your life because he wasn’t just any bystander that you knew would leave you. When you thought that you were finally worth being a recipient of one’s genuine attention was the moment you should’ve known that you have once again been defeated by the nature of love itself. He curated a room in your life. One that you thought you were the center of almost letting yourself believe that someone is capable of doing that for you.

But now, you weren’t sure at all, no you were, but for the fact that he wouldn’t do anything that deep for you.

The reason? Well, she’s standing in front of you right now. Eyes filled with worry and hint of anger while refusing to let you speak. However, you knew why, mad at you for cutting your connection with them—not completely—by deactivating your social media accounts, and even going as far as ignoring messages and calls with your ‘previous’ number. But you can’t just disregard your own sake to ‘bring back old times,’ her own words to keep up a dramatic flair.

“What? Like four weeks ago?” she retorted after hearing your reasoning about being busy with the conference. MC was right—it ended a month ago, and you were aware of the fact that you haven’t been with her for more than a month. 

“I know, I know but I took up a new volunteering gig…”you said trying your best to muster up a half lie. It’s true though that you joined a volunteering group, but they haven’t even demanded an hour of your life. How were you supposed to tell her that you’ve been neglecting her because of Caleb? Her literal childhood bestfriend?

You stared at her profoundly, and if you weren’t, you would’ve missed the moment she hesitated to say something. What was that?

“Come with me,” she said in a beat, grabbing your wrist, “don’t try to run away this time, got it?”

“Where–” trying to loosen her grip–“are you taking me?” 

Of course, in her true nature, she ignored you. You knew that you didn’t have a chance to flee this, so like a trolley, you let her drag you in God knows where.

Walking for minutes across the campus didn’t feel as irksome as it once used to be. The sun was also present with wind as its companion. Looking around, you realized that maybe you were too busy trying to distract yourself in a way that your body probably hates you for now. Completely oblivious of the fact that you missed out the times that the sun had waited for you. 

Your optimism didn’t last very long though.

Holding your wrist on one hand and taking her phone out on the other hand, your heart almost jumped out the moment she uttered his name. What in the fresh hell?

You heard how she hissed his name accompanied with insults that were somehow out of character of her because they were said as if she dipped them out personally from hell. 

“MC!” you shouted with eyes unintentionally widening. “Is he coming with us?”

But to no avail, she waved her hand dismissing you as if you. You couldn't help yourself to roll your eyes at her. She was literally insisting to spend time with you a moment ago, and now she’s dismissing you because of him? Well, that sounded bitter of you.

Curiosity growing as they spoke, you were about to ask what they’re talking about but—

“Alright, let’s go,” MC cut you off with no intention of letting you ask questions. It was weird, a moment ago she seemed okay, but she looks pissed right now. You knew that she’s hiding her annoyance, it almost made you laugh, where did her acting skills go?

However, it made you wonder, what happened when you were busy trying to avoid them? Did a ‘progress’ finally take place when you were gone? Maybe Caleb didn’t even notice your absence—he might have been grateful too that there’s one less person to divide MC’s attention from him. If that is so, then it’s high time for you to get a grip and move on.

Your mind wandered to possible scenarios that happened between them during the last few weeks. It makes your stomach turn upside down. As if something has flipped your organs  intentionally to rattle you for being stupid enough to like someone, and you hate it. You’re human and you know you’re bound to fall in love with someone, but at the same, at your bestfriend? Really? Were you even his bestfriend? 

Like a bell, you were again reminded of what you heard weeks ago.

No, you weren’t his bestfriend, just a mere someone he didn’t even know how he managed to tolerate.

I don't even know how I managed to put up with her.

What you hated even more is that if he really did feel that way, why act as if you’ve meant something bigger in his life? As if you were a significant chapter in his life. As if one that he needed to make sure to be appreciated by himself and every person in the story of his.

Busy with your inner monologue—about the sole reason you ended up with an unhealthy way of coping in life healthy for the system that exploits you but not for your own body—you didn’t realize where you were now.

Looking around, it’s the hidden part of the campus where you used to frequent with the two of them. You can feel it—something good isn’t about to happen. One that you spent weeks trying to ward off.

“MC…” you called her attention, noticing how busy she was trying to spot something, “please tell me he’s not here.” 

You wanted her to lie because at least that’d bring you comfort even for a moment. The air suddenly felt like it was meant to bring suffocation. Your hands torn between emitting heat to ward off the cold that the weather brought or bringing a feeling of dampness with sweat that you’d always hated. Either way, you felt revulsion towards anything at the moment.

MC was looking at you as if she was silently asking for your forgiveness. Her eyes trying to tell a code that you couldn’t decipher. But you couldn't muster any kind words, at least not until she puts her forgiveness in words. Then—

A voice came from behind you. One that you haven’t heard for weeks calling your name like a prayer. At that moment, you hated how your body responded to his call. His eyes wandered on you as if finally making up for the moments that he’d been deprived of the privilege of setting eyes on it.

It took all your strength to not shift away your gaze from him. 

But you had to face MC, “What’s this?” you asked laced with rage rather than confusion while pointing at Caleb. “And I thought, it was you actually wanting us to spend time together.”

“Well, for starters, I don’t see an issue with me bringing you here to see Caleb? You’ve been avoiding us, and now, you’re mad?”

“I wasn’t but I certainly am now!”

“It was my idea,” Caleb interjected, “don’t be mad at her, she wasn’t at fault.”

Still protecting her? 

“No, I’m not done with her. MC, trying to be a good samaritan?” your voice dripped with sarcasm. “Helping us make up? If we were thirteen, that would be cute, but for fuck’s sake we’re pushing mid-twenties, so it’s just plain stupid.”

You didn’t miss how her eyes flickered with pain and if your heart was’t throbbing with anger right now, you would’ve reached out her hands to apologize. But how can you, in this state, think rationally?

“I’m sorry. I understand your anger but I needed to.” You hated how even in moments like this, she’ll be the ever-so-nice person that she is. “I’m leaving, please, talk.”

With that, you didn’t try to stop her because what’s the point in trying? This was their plan. 

“Don’t blame her, I insisted on her doing this,” Caleb said, taking you out of your own mind. It infuriated you because what is he truly planning to get from this?

He didn’t see you as someone who’s worthy of his affection. He made that clear when you heard him talking with his friends. That was enough to repel you from his life. Plus the fact that you have been slipping away from him.

What you couldn’t put your fingers on right now is why does it feel like his gaze at you in this moment is trying to tell you a different story?

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, more of an accusement than a statement. 

“If I am?” you tested him. Suddenly, you were back with your habit of biting the inside of your mouth when you’re nervous. Little did you know, he noticed that, because he knows you as if he’d study the book of your life—wanting to be a part of it in a way where he’ll never be written out.

“Why?” he begged, voice dripping with desperation that made your skin crawl. “Tell me what I did.” 

“I’d beg heaven just for you to forgive me.” You averted your gaze from his as you pondered how you hated how convincing he sounded. You hated every moment of it because all of a sudden you were back where you were a few months ago. Silently cursing yourself for being weak from everything that he does, you didn’t get a chance to speak at all.

Missing every wave of emotions on his face, you kept your mouth shut, not knowing what to say because it all felt unreal.

“Anything, just don’t tell me you’re with someone.”

What?

tag(s): @justpassingdontworry @jadeymeciela @i-messed-up-big-time @rxelarailuj @albatrossblues

[screamlet]

BuckTommy Angst Week - Day 5 - Missing in Action

@bucktommyangstweek

notes: missing in action = another kidnapping/taken from the scene, lol. 500 words

---

Day 1

"Are you sure I'm welcome here?" Tommy asks.

"Yes," the entire room responds.

"You don't even have to fly us around this time," Hen replies.

"You know I would."

Day 2

Detective Romero asks, "But how did he go missing during a call?"

Athena replies, "It was a dog last time. By the time we're done listing the possibilities, he'll be home."

"Right, he's that Buckley, the one with all the luck."

"You know his sister, too."

"Yeah." Romero sighs. "I gotta see less of these kids."

Day 3

"I went up with that detective to his phone's last known location," Tommy says. "Something's changed between these pictures. This mostly empty farmland—that building is new."

"There's nothing around there," Athena says. "How do we investigate the area without getting caught? Getting a helicopter that close was enough of a risk."

"Well, that's why they pay you guys the big bucks," Tommy replies. "Just. Please let me help."

Day 4

"I'm gonna be honest," Howie says. "Kidnapping? My least favorite Buckley family tradition."

Tommy smiles. "Yeah. Couldn't be a Die Hard is a Christmas movie family."

"We can be a deep-fried turkey family."

"Just barely safer than kidnapping."

Day 5

As they drive out to where Evan might be held, Tommy's hands are shaking too badly for anything but sitting in the passenger seat of Bobby's truck.

"It's been five days," Tommy says. "They haven't told us the odds, but I remember them from the army."

Bobby replies, "Well, that's the army. This is Buck."

It aches to laugh, like Tommy's chest had already forgotten how it feels.

"Gotta have faith, Tommy."

He clears his throat. "I finally get it. I've had hope that we'll find him, but now I have faith. It'll happen. We will find him."

Then, everything happens: SWAT officers creep into tall grass, there's smoke bombs, blaring alarms, huge flashing lights. They seize Evan's captor.

Finally there's Evan, held up by a SWAT officer. He's pale and squinting, coughing from the smoke bombs, his clothes are torn. Tommy almost falls out of the truck, he's running so fast. He screams his name and Evan turns his head. He takes a step or two on his own and Tommy catches him, both of them falling to their knees.

"We found you, baby, see? We found you."

Evan sobs against his chest. "Don't let me go. Hold me, don't let me go."

Every time their hands separate, Evan lunges for him again, digs his nails into Tommy's hands. "Don't let me go," he whispers.

Day 7

Evan insistently drags Tommy into his hospital bed. It's almost too short, not wide enough, but Evan curls up small against Tommy's chest. "That's what they said," Evan whispers. "They were just waiting for people to give up, forget about me."

Tommy kisses his forehead. "So they didn't know you, or us, at all." He rubs circles into Evan's back, holds him tighter. "We'd never let you go."

[evilminji]

Neeeew Concept~☆!

But I haven't abandoned my other babies! I am just Cursed™ by the cruel and fickle Idea Fairy!

A (Divine? They are unsure!) Spirit Beast SI-OC!

She wakes up. Very Shiny. Oh hey... I can float! ....kinda? Wibble wobble floaty baby. Smol mlem, tiny paws. VERY fluffy. Critically though? Very, VERY sharp teeth. Can bite through steel and stone teeth. DANGER baby.

Wherems't the FUCK am I?

Information pops into her head. Just... wasn't there... now it is? Like? SPECIFICALLY where she is. Down to the EXACT tree branch. Huh... well that's not normal. Hey, Brain Siri? The Fuck?

..........Okay, too vague. Trying again.

WHY am I here? "Reincarnation" wow. Helpful. What a ten out of ten, helpful response. She NEVER would have guessed that! Grumpy SI-OC is Grumpy. She ain't got no thumbs. Okay, WHY is she a... cat? Glowy? Antlered... wing... thing? A whatever she is! Why?

"A life well lived. This is a reward."

Hmmmm.... doubt, but okay, she guesses. Then? Something finally registers. In that long ass list? Of "Here Is The EXACT Place You Are"? She got the distinct vibe... whiff... thingy? The BRAIN THING or whatever, of her secret favorite Trash Novel! Has she been FUCKIN ISEKAI'D‽‽

"Technically, she's been reincarnated, but yes."

( ˶°-°) !! #panic

Quick! Wobble fly! Wobble fly like your LIFE DEPENDED ON IT! Her horrible, horrible, trash son might be being ABUSED! Hold on Binghe! Mama's coming! She promises! Hugs and no hell pocket dimensions for you! Therapy! Frank discussion about consent and reasonable harem sizes! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!!!

Except? Hold the phone. WHOMS'T THE FUCK? Is that DISGUSTING feeling man, deliberately trying to fuck up that child's spiritual veins? Can't he see that boy is in excruciating pain!? D:< Death from ABOOOOOVE!!! *echoing feline yowl*

Which? Is how Shen Jiu? Mere MOMENTS? Before his spiritual veins can take no more and fracture forever? Is saved. By... a flying... glowing? Kitten deer? With wings. It goes STRAIGHT for his Master's face. Draws blood. Is clearly trying to maul him to death.

And after what the man just tried to DO to him? He makes a split second decision to thrown in on the cat's side.

Except... they are a baby and a starved teenager. Against an adult Demon Cultivator. He's turning the tide. Quickly. But! SI-OC has the power of God and anime Brain Siri on her side! Is there anything she Can do? She asks. Anyone nearby who can HELP?

.....actually? Yes.

Guess who's visiting his cultivator girlfriend? Because these are public roads? And he's a fuckin Heavenly Demon with an impossibly good sense of hearing?

Tianlang-jun, Demon Emperor, Lord and undisputed master of the South... hears a tiny little voice, with a desperate and squeaky lil voice, scream for his help.

By Name.

He appears out of fuckin NOWHERE. To stomp this human like the ANT he is. Hello~ Children! You called this old man? ^-^ probably holding the fucker up by the neck as he's talking. Like? Aaaw. Look, Nephew! A feral, bite-y child! Su Xiyan would love one of those! He's just like her! *Shen Jiu, terrified but refusing to cower, tries to stab the Literal Emperor Of All Demons*

It's like a hissing baby cat.

He decides to take his New (Pet?) Human Child (no ^-^ not asking~) to Su Xiyan. Look! He rescued it! :D reward him with kisses! *shen jui slowly turns to stare incredulously at the cat that saved him* (look, she panicked okay!? They were LOSING! At least now we're alive! And no one can touch you!)

And like? By the time they get there? Shen Jiu already has like... the next 50 years of human/demon political relations planned out and is scheming to get FULL access to this man's library. Give. He WANTS it. Shen Jiu is go get Yue Qi, who's prayers while trapped in seclusion sent the cat (yeah, she completely ratted his ass out. Besides, can the PROVE she's lying?), take over the Demon court, and then have everything they could ever want. Forever.

It's adorable. Tianlang-jun thinks his scheming lil murder face is so cute! And? Aaaw~ did you poison my noodles? Precocious lil brat~☆! *obnoxious cooing noises* *shen jiu tries to stab him with his chop sticks*

But! That all stops? When Shen "I have suffered Pervs and know what they look like" Jiu gets ONE(1) look at the Palace Master talking to Su Xiyan and? *deafening mental alarms*

It's? Kinda? Obvious. When both the Spirit Beast and his lil stabby child? Break off mid-sentence to just... stare murder. Hackles raised. Only getting more murderous the longer they watch his love's "honorable elder" talk to her. Huh.... so that's NOT normal? It's something I should... look in to? Fatally perhaps?

Good to Know™

[thevoidscreams]

For the mating press march.

What about stalker!corvus, where he is doing his best to make you acept his love?

Dark romances have prepared me for this moment. *Cracks knuckles* (I'm so sorry this is late)

Day 20 Year 2:

Warnings: Stalking, non consensual touching while asleep, generally kinda creepy behavior, murder, masturbation, scopophobia, body parts as gifts

Word count: 4750

The bag of groceries in your hands felt heavy, even if there wasn't a lot in it. You hurried down the street, the hood of your coat pulled over your head as you tried not to be noticeable. You fish your keys from your coat pocket as you begin to approach your door. Looking over your shoulder every now and again.

It was the third time you'd had to relocate this year alone. If only your ex could get it through his head that you DIDN'T want to see him anymore. That you’d be better off if he would never speak to you again. But he just wouldn't listen. You wish he’d drop dead, or that someone would kill his stupid ass.

You shut the door behind you, locking it immediately and turning the dead bolts.

Your groceries went into their proper places. It wasn't much of an apartment but it was better than the streets. You wished you could go off world, to find somewhere far away from the man who tormented you so.

"Maybe I could," you spoke to yourself. You flipped through your sketchbook, you were a fair hand at art. And the nineteenth would be docked in your planet's orbit for some weeks while getting repairs done. Or so you heard. Maybe you could join them as a remembrancer or something?

Yeah and maybe you'd spontaneously sprout wings and fly away. You sighed, looking at the missed call button on your phone. You knew who it was, you didn't need to check it.

That settled it. You made a copy of some of your best pieces and went out, hood over your face as you went. It was later than you liked to be out but you could at least talk to someone and figure out if you could get out of this hell hole.

Corax watched you with interest, of all the people he saw down on the street, you were the only one who looked like they were hiding.

He wanted a closer look. He followed silently from rooftops until he was right on top of you. Unseen and unheard.

You stopped at the landing pad where several smaller transports were being worked on.

Most of the workers ignored you as you tried to ask questions.

He gathered in the first minutes that you were an artist, looking for work as a remembrancer.

He could answer those questions but he waited. You looked ready to give up based on your body language, when a sudden breeze caught your hood and pulled it away from your face.

Corax's hearts stuttered as he saw you. His footing suddenly felt uneven and he over adjusted, cracking the roof tiles under his foot and sending them crashing to the street below. He cursed as it spooked you and you tugged your hood back up. He watched you as you began to hurry back towards your home, he followed as if drawing along on a leash.

Why were you so skittish? He'd been following you for several days since he first saw you trotting home late at night. From a job most likely. You seemed so frightened of the world around you. He could only surmise why, in a city that was relatively safe, there must be a cause. Most likely, a human cause.

Since then he'd seen you to and from your home , whether it was to work or the shops. He kept his keen black gaze on your hooded figure.

Today was the first clear look he'd ever gotten off your face. He craved more of it. More of that visage.

He waited till you were locked safely behind your doors to descend down from the roof to peer in through your windows. He hadn't done this before.

He watched you pull your hood away, then the coat it was attached to and hang it on a hook above your doors peephole.

He stood, still as a statue as you went about a routine of checking every nook and cranny till you seemed satisfied. Odd.

You were home, you were safe, for the most part. But the insisting sensation of being watched gnawed at you constantly. For over a week you'd felt like a rat in a cage, eyes peering down from between the bars to scrutinize you.

The blinking of the answering machine told you that the device had several missed calls on it.

No one ever called you but your job. Or him. You pressed the blinking button and stood, waiting for the inevitable. Maybe it would just be your boss though, asking you to cover a shift.

"Please baby, I'm sorry, please call me-" you deleted the message. The beginning of the guilt tripping it was too much. But you knew it would only get worse from there.

"I know I fucked up, please!-" deleted.

"I broke in ONE TIME! Stop ignoring my calls-" deleted.

The begging turned into angered yelling, each message more vile than the last till the voice on the other end was threatening violence and worse if you didn't forgive him and come back to him.

When they were all done you curled up on the floor, crying, holding your legs tight to yourself as his voice rang in your mind. You would have to change your number. Again.

Corax's vision was tinged red, his anger burning hotter than the sun this world orbited. He saw in you the same torment that the prisoners of Lycaeus had endured. People suppressed into smallness by those that willingly terrorize and abuse them. He longed to reach out and touch you, to give you the peace you so desperately needed. To provide the safety that man had denied you.

It would not stand.

When you finally crawled up the stairs of your tiny apartment to sleep off the panic attack Corax slipped inside. The balcony doors weren't an easy place for him to slip through given his height, but he'd gotten them open easily enough. That would be a point he'd have to fix later.

He went through your mail. He read your name, over and over. Sounding it out in his mind. He stopped to take a breath, the place you called home didn't smell very strongly of you yet. It must be a recent acquisition.

He took in his surroundings, it was a very humble little place. He has no quarrel with small humble places. He himself came from a place that was unglamorous. As long as a home was a home, what did it matter?

But Corax could tell that this wasn't a home. Not truly. A home was a place of safety and comfort. And this, this was a shell, a place you were hiding in from something outside.

He left, securing your balcony in just such a way that he would be able to return later, but also so the wind would not blow it open.

He had work to do. But he would return to you as quickly as he was able. His hearts beat a rapid staccato as he pictured your face in his mind.

Soon.

The first thing he had to ascertain was who this ex of yours was, what was this less than human scumbags name? What had he done to you? And furthermore, he needed to get you enrolled in the system to become a remembrancer.

It took him an hour to do the latter. Having a letter written up to you as if it was simply a notice that the legion was taking on more and you could return the post with examples of work. You of course we're the only one that got the letter. But he knew you'd apply. And he would pick you personally.

The first bit of information he got by simply walking into the local law enforcement office. A search of your name brought up multiple results. The poor woman working the desk didn't dare to turn him away.

Restraining orders, breaking and entering, domestic disputes and other things turned up. His hands shook with rage as he took the reports. He would see that you had justice. Now that he had a name and face. It was inevitable.

On his way to the port he stopped by your house, watched you dart out to collect the mail and heard the soft squeak of surprise as you found the letter. He sat and waited, watching until you darted back out to place it in the post box.

He collected it. A wide grin over his face as he tucked the envelope into a safe place. He could feel the bulge of your added artwork. He'd look them over later.

That night he went about setting things up. Telling his crew and some of his sons that he intended to take a remembrancer of his own. It wasn't unheard of and those around him seemed to accept the idea without a second thought.

He penned the letter that he would deliver to your mailbox telling you that you were to be interviewed for the position. Of course it was just for show, but you didn't need to know that.

The following days were a blur for you, so much so that you hadn't noticed anything amiss, a letter with an official seal from the nineteenth legion came back and you felt over the moon. Finally you'd be getting away from all this torment.

The interview was the following morning, you'd be meeting someone at the port that allowed transports from orbit to land inside the city.

It was all so exciting that you didn't even think you'd be able to sleep. But you laid down nonetheless and eventually exhaustion found its way in. As did something else.

Corax watched you sleep from the corner of the room. His body hunched as he crept closer. You looked much more peaceful in your sleep.

He took that as a good sign that you weren't in danger of waking. Not that it mattered if you did. You hadn't seen him any of the other nights he'd come to wait for you.

It was almost troubling how easy it was for him to come in and just.. watch and sometimes more. He grew bold in his knowledge that you wouldn't wake. He'd touched your hips softly for the first time several nights before. The night you'd received the letter.

He shouldn't touch you, he knew he shouldn't, but how was he supposed to help himself? He wasn't blind to his own obsession as he came back night after night. But he couldn't help it, not that he wanted to.

His hands had started on just your hips and arms, feeling your softness under his fingers. Slowly he'd trailed his hands over your body. Tonight however you were wearing just an oversized shirt. He knew there was nothing underneath as he'd hidden your sleep shorts while you showered. Eventually you gave up and went to bed without them.

He crouched by the bed, his palms reaching to touch, to feel the softness of your body once more.

There was an intoxicating aroma about you that night. He pressed your thighs to the side to take a closer look, seeing the glistening moisture between your thighs. It was unlike anything he'd seen before. His right hand reached down to palm the ache between his legs. His thumb traced the outer edge of your womanhood. Maybe, once you were his, he would explore that forbidden garden more.

He freed his cock, stroking it as he pictured it in his mind.

Your body pressed to his as he bounced you in his lap, spearing you on his cock again and again. Your voice crying his name sweetly as he came inside.

He groaned at the mental image. You stirred, sighing as you turned over slightly in your sleep.

Corax withdrew, waiting for you to settle fully before returning to your side. Cock still in hand as he looked hungrily over your form.

He needed to control himself. He didn't. His hips rutted into his hands as he imagined it was your hand, or mouth, or body. Corax felt his orgasm coming and reached for something. He finished in a pair of your underwear, painting the fabric with his seed. Guilt washed over him as he came down from the high. Scrapping what he could from the fabric he tossed it into your dirty laundry. Hopefully you wouldn't notice.

He left through the balcony again.

"We found the man you spoke of."

Corax didn't turn from his view of the street, he nodded. "Very good we will bring justice then."

The forms of his sons around him gave him the certainty that this was right. That he should be doing this.

"My lord? Who is she?" One of his sons asked. "I will be taking her as my remembrancer, and if all goes well, you will have a legion mother soon."

His sons seemed to brighten at the news. "And we are to hunt this man, why?" "Because he hurt her."

It was all they needed to hear, as they traversed from the city to the town beyond the city's limits where a dead man was waiting for them.

You stumbled out of bed, exhausted from a night full of dreams that left you needy and horny beyond belief.

You grabbed the clothes you'd set aside for today, except the underwear. You swore you'd had the one clean pair left. You sighed, grabbing the first pair off the top. It was decidedly not clean but that's what you got for forgetting to wash a load of your laundry. You pulled them up and sighed as you felt it seemed to be your own dried juices. You'd get another shower when you got home.

At least your skirt and blouse were pristine.

The trek down to the port wasn't a long one, but you went as quickly as you could regardless. You didn't get a notice saying who you'd be meeting, just that you should be there at ten and you'd be picked up for the interview. You arrived thirty minutes early just in case. A portfolio of drawings you hadn't included in there just in case.

At ten on the door a ship landed, it was huge. It had all the right heraldry so it had to be the right one. The large door at the back hissed as it began to lower.

You expected a crew member or some legion official. Instead your knees nearly gave out as the tallest man you'd ever seen strolled from the back. "Hello." It was all he said, but you felt as if you were going to faint. His voice was quiet and he motioned for you to join him in the ship.

When you did the door shut behind you, leaving your spine with the very tall man. You felt choked, as if all the air in the universe couldn't feed you the necessary oxygen needed for your brain to function. It wasn't like your other panic attacks but it certainly didn't feel dissimilar, Judi different. A massive hand reached out to you, and you reached for it in return. The contact calmed you. Easing the rising sensation of whatever it was. You closed your eyes to gather your thoughts and when you opened them again you were sitting across from the practical giant.

"I'm so sorry-" He raised a hand to do you, your voice faltering as he smiled and settled you with the simple gesture.

"There's nothing to apologize for, you are here on time. And as for the reaction, I have had far worse than that."

You swallowed and nodded. "I take it then that you are the primarch?"

Corax's smile did not waver, oh you would be taking it when the time was right. "I am, you may call me Corvus Corax, or simply Corvus."

You nodded. "Okay, Corvus... it's nice to meet you."

The primarch nearly jumped you when you said his name so sweetly.

"Likewise, and I believe I know who you are. But please, won't you tell me your name?"

You gave it without hesitation, and Corax nodded. He wanted to eat the sound of your voice, he wanted to consume every little bit of you and hold you within himself for the rest of time as you exchanged pleasantries and basic facts about yourself that he already knew. You even offered him the art in your portfolio. Art he'd seen numerous times before but it felt more special, seeing them now as you offered them so freely.

"You have a gift for this. I am impressed, it seems so effortless how you capture the world around you and place it onto paper this way." He complimented, eager that you should know how he felt about your art.

"Thank you, it's a long time hobby really, but I'd love to make it my proper job."

Corax nodded. You'd gotten more comfortable reclining a bit in your seat.

"Tell me about this piece." He urged handing you back a page with an illustration he hadn't seen, something dark in the sky above the streets of a city looking down.

You took the page and shivered. "Oh I did this one recently, it's more of a feeling piece. I was trying to capture the feeling of being watched by something you can't see or by someone who isn't there." You told him, not mentioning that if it was how your horrible ex made you feel.

"I see, and have you felt watched?"

You blushed embarrassed that he'd asked about that one in particular. "Yeah, it's just that I had a really nasty break up and the guy won't leave me alone. So I made this piece to try and capture the feeling of that."

Corax processed the words slowly. "When you are with my legion, you will be safe." He promised softly. "My sons and I will make sure that no harm befalls you." His voice was so sincere, that you believed him.

"Thank you." You felt your eyes mist surf unshed tears. This interaction had been the first time you'd felt safe in such a long time, a warm hand cupped your cheek. "There now, it will be alright." He soothed, and he babbled something as the tears did begin to fall. His thumb brushed away the tears. "I will keep you safe as your belongings are gathered. I would have you as my remembrancer if that is amicable to you."

You nodded excitedly. "Oh yes, I will go at once to gather my belongings, thank you Corax."

As you made to stand, you unfolded your legs and Corvus caught the briefest flag of your underwear. The color and pattern were immediately familiar to him, and though he kept a calm external expression, his mind reeled. You were wearing them. You were wearing the panties he'd cum in. His cock began to fill with blood as he nodded and ushered you out. "Gather your essentials only, I will see to it that the rest of your belongings are brought up later. Assuming the address on your application is current."

"Oh it is! Thank you again I can't tell you what this means to me-" Corax walked you to the end of the port as you gushed excitedly about your new position.

Once you were gone on your way he hurried back to the transport, glad he'd for gone wearing his armor so as not to intimidate you. The door hissed shut and he tugged his cock free, pumping his length as he knelt before the place you'd been sitting. He could still smell you in the air as he fucked his hands to the thought. His cum at least to some capacity had been pressing snug against your pussy that whole time, even if he scraped away the bulk of it. It was just further proof that he needed to have you. He blew his load into the seat where you'd been, painting the metal with his seed as he whined your name.

Guilt again, but not nearly as strong as before. He voxed the Shadow of the Emperor. You would be theirs soon. A ripple of excitement went they'd his sons as they even offered their aid in getting you there quicker. Corax cleaned up the mess he'd made. Two hours by his estimation, and you'd be his.

When you returned home you packed your bag, clothes, documents, any small tokens of your personhood that mattered.

When you finished you looked around. The furniture was all second hand, a lot of what you'd loved had been left behind or destroyed by him.

You shook your head. You were free now. Corax would keep you safe now. Wouldn't he?

You shook the seeds of doubt from your mind, of course he would. He was a primarch. You'd packed up quick, and had a few minutes to relax. You'd informed your boss that you'd done this and told him that if you'd not come in for your next shift it was because you got the position.

You sat down on your bed, taking it all in. Soon you'd start your new life.

You closed your eyes and thought about Corax. He was handsome, really handsome. Your cheeks heated as your hand moved down to the hem of your skirt. Pulling it up you dug your hand into your panties fingers caressing the outer folds, gathering the wetness that had gathered there. You stroked your clit, stimulating more wetness as you pictured Corax, sitting across from you, he was huge. You wondered if all of him was big like that. The mental image shifted to him above you, fucking you instead of it just being your fingers. All the wet dreams you'd had last night left you eager and your body was alight with the sensation your fingers were providing, but you couldn't help but wish it was him.

As you got close you cried his name softly into your hand. Cumming on your fingers.

With that out of the way you gathered your bag. Time to go.

You stopped at the port, looking for the transport when large armored figures appeared, they towered over you frightening you. But they made no move to grab or harm you. "The primarch has gone ahead to prepare your place. You will come with us."

You nodded, these must be the astartes you'd heard so much about. "And you are his.. uh.. sons?"

One turned towards you but didn't respond as you were ushered to the ship. As the transport went up you could see over the city. It was prettier when you weren't getting an up close look, you decided. As it moved you could see the outlying suburbs and towns. Over one part in particular you saw a swarm of law enforcement and hummed. "Wonder what happened there" you said, "maybe someone finally did in that abusive asshat." You chuckled. Not seeing how the marines looked from one another to you and then back.

The Shadow of the Emperor was absolutely massive. You'd heard about void ships this big, but actually seeing one. It simply didn't look real.

The astartes had ushered you into a seat to keep you from being jostled around as the craft left the atmosphere so when you landed you were the only one buckled in.

The seats were clearly sized for individuals much larger than yourself and you felt like a toddler.

They led you from the craft and into the interior of the gloriana class battleship. They were all quiet as they ushered you forth only answering basic questions, yeses or nos.

Corax was waiting for you, he greeted you warmly as you stepped into his personal chambers. “I hope that you will be comfortable, the room I have available is connected to mine, so you will be close to me.” At first it was a bit daunting, but when you stepped into the ‘small room’ it was several times larger than your cramped apartment. “It’s much nicer than my old place, thank you.” The primarch had to bite his tongue to keep from replying, “I know.” Which surely would have raised questions.

You’d wanted to get off the planet so badly and here you were. Corax had promised to keep you safe, and he was one of the emperor’s sons, so he would. You had to believe that.

The furniture came up the next day, your dinky little couch and bed, the scant few personal things like your clothes as well. You didn’t even have to raise a finger to move this time. That was nice. Corax stayed close by for the next two weeks to help you settle and the more he did the more you did feel safe with him, it was hard to let down those walls but Corax seemed to climb over them with ease, and you let him. You were even becoming something kind of like friends. Even if you wanted to jump his bones every time you saw him, in and out of his armor. The ship was still docked when you told him the first time about your ex, having shared some wine together as you told each other personal stories about your lives. Even though he knew about the scum bag he listened intently. Letting you vent your frustrations and fears. The ways he hurt you, and the years of torment that you’d endured at his hands. Corax had killed him before you’d ever set foot on this ship, and now he was glad he’d done it. He was reassured that his murder was justice and not just vengeance as you recounted how the authorities did nothing to help you. His father was a man of means and that left you feeling powerless as searches were called off and evidence was ‘lost’ or ignored outright. The primarch held your hand throughout the retelling. “You will have justice.” He promised, knowing that even as you spoke, the dismembered parts of his body were sitting on ice. He would have them wrapped for you. And he would give them to you himself. You shrugged. “I’m not sure how, I just worry that what I did was selfish now. What if he hurts someone else in my place now that I’m gone.” “He will not.” Corvus promised, and he pulled you into a soft hug. You rested your head against his chest until he left you to get some rest. How could he be so sure, you wondered as sleep took you. Hours later you awoke, to a knock at the door. You got up to answer it, Corvus was there, a soft smile on his face. “Hey,” you yawned, “What time is it?” “Late.” Corax replied as he stepped in, holding a metal box in his hands. “What’s this?” He handed it to you as he knelt by your side, ready to steady you should the shock cause you to pass out. “I told you he would not hurt anyone else, and he never will. No new women, and especially not you.”

With shaking hands, you opened the lid, you nearly dropped the box as hot acid burned the back of your throat. You took a deep breath and looked again. Two eyes, a tongue and two hands. You took them in with a cold sort of detachment. “Why?” You asked. “Why these parts?” Corvus was glad you asked. “We took his eyes so he would never watch you again, his tongue so he could never speak such vile things to you again. And his hands, so he would never touch you again.” It was disgusting, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be disgusted. Corax had done for you what no other person had ever done, not just murder, but he’d taken you seriously, and he’s actually done what he could to see you safe. There was a bloom of warmth in your chest that traveled throughout your body. Tears burned in your eyes as you closed the lid. “Thank you.” You breathed through a choked breath.The box was taken from your hands and set aside, Corax’s massive arms encircled your body in a warm, tight hug. “I told you, I would keep you safe.” It should have frightened you, but instead your heart beat with relief. Safe. You were finally safe.

[ashwhowrites]

May I request a Robin x Hopper!reader 🫶 The reader and Robin have been dating and sneaking around. Hopper being Hopper has this suspicion that his daughter is seeing someone and assumes it is a boy. He does everything he can to get reader to tell him but he gets nowhere until he catches the reader and Robin in the act.

It's a tad short but I hope it's what you wanted and you enjoy it! Thank you for requesting ❤️

Not a boy?

Y/N was close with her dad but not about everything. He was overly protective, which made sense since he was a Sheriff. He was quick to ban her from dating boys, but he never gave thought to if she liked girls.

Robin was her girlfriend of a few months and everything has been great. It was a secret, she didn't know how to tell her father she was in a relationship and that it was with a girl.

She thought she was doing well in hiding her relationship, but her dad was growing suspicious. He swore he heard her whispering on the phone at night, she spent more time outside of the house, and she seemed happier than usual. He was aware of the friendship his daughter had with Robin, but he did not know it went deeper than that.

~~~

"So how was your night?" Hopper asked as he sat at the kitchen table sipping his morning coffee.

"It was fine," Y/N shrugged, not thinking anything of it.

Hopper hummed but he wanted to dig deeper. "Been having a lot of phone calls, lately. Something going on?"

"No, just talking to friends," Y/N said. She felt a little nervous, her dad was trying to dig for something and she needed to make sure she didn't slip up.

"Yeah? Just friends? Not a boy or boyfriend?"

"Ew, Dad no." She said, "I do not have a boyfriend."

Hopper nodded and dropped it for that moment in time.

"Is it okay if Robin sleeps over?"

"Yeah but no boys!"

Y/N rolled her eyes, her dad was very oblivious.

"Nothing to worry about there."

~

Y/N was in the shower as she waited for Robin to be dropped off, unaware Robin was there early.

Robin let herself in the familiar house and went to walk to Y/N's bedroom but was stopped by Hopper.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" He whispered from his spot on the couch, the room was dark but the TV lit up his face enough for Robin to see.

"Uh sure," she said, gulping as anxiety filled her. She felt too nervous to make eye contact so her eyes scanned around the room.

"Is Y/N involved with any boys?"

Robin was relieved at the question, laughing softly. "I don't think so. At least nothing that she told me." Robin and Y/N agreed to keep everything a secret, both unsure of how either of their parents would react. And Robin wasn't about to blow their cover to her dad.

"She tells you everything right? So if there was a boy, she'd tell you?" Hopper asked, leaning forward as he kept his voice a whisper. The sound of the shower cutting off.

"Yes," Robin nodded, and she was pretty damn sure Y/N wasn't involved with anyone else, certainly not a boy.

"Good talk, kid. This never happened," Hopper said as he leaned back into the couch and turned his attention to the tv.

Robin sighed in relief and scurried off into Y/N's bedroom.

~

"Think he's asleep?" Robin asked, her eager fingers were already skimming up Y/N's smooth thighs. Y/N shivered underneath her girlfriend's touch, leaning over to see through the crack in her door.

"I don't see the tv on. Let me check," she smiled. Leaving Robin's arms as she walked quietly to the door. She poked her head out into the hallway. Her dad's door closed, and all the lights were off. She closed her door and joined Robin in bed, their lips meeting instantly.

They tried to move as fast as they could without making noise. Quickly hiding under the covers they removed each other's clothes.

Y/N's lips moved to Robin's neck, sucking on the skin gently. Robin quietly moaned as her hands worked down Y/N's stomach, her fingers teasing her underwear band.

Their lips locked again as they ran their hands up and down each other. Both want to touch every bit of skin possible.

Robin's hand slipped inside Y/N's underwear, smirking as she instantly felt how wet Y/N was. Robin kept moving with the kiss as she circled Y/N's clit, feeling her shiver.

"Why is the do-ohmygod," Hopper said as he opened the door just to slam it back shut.

Y/N and Robin pulled back, fear in their bones as they stared at the closed door.

"Oh my God," Robin panicked, reaching to find her shirt that was scattered.

"Do you think he saw?" Y/N panicked, frozen in her spot on the bed.

"Did he? Yeah, he fucking did!" Robin sassed, throwing on her shirt. "You can see his shadow under the door!"

Y/N slipped off the bed and dressed herself. Slowly creeping towards her bedroom door. Robin stood far behind, eating away at her nails as she imagined jumping out the window and making a run for it.

"Girls! We need to talk!" Hopper's loud voice rang through and the girls jumped. Y/N gulped and opened the door.

"Oh hey Dad," she smiled, trying to act nonchalant. "Trouble sleeping?"

Hopper gave her a don't try me look, snapping his fingers as he demanded them into the living room.

"Can you and I talk first?" Y/N whispered, closing the door behind her. Robin quickly ran to the door, pressing her ear against it.

"I know you have questions and that's fine! But please don't tell Robin's parents. She isn't ready for that yet," Y/N explained, even though she was terrified of how her dad would react.

Hopper let out a long and loud sigh, rubbing his face with his hands. "So....it was never a boy?"

Y/N cracked a smile as a low chuckle left his chest. "It was never a boy."

"Well, I think I'll need to figure out how to talk about this," he said as he pointed to her and the door, "but for now, the door is always open and just because you can't get pregnant doesn't mean I want things happening around here." He scolded, it was clear he barely knew what to say as he puffed out his chest to seem more demanding.

"Thanks, Dad," Y/N said softly. She gave him a grateful smile and slipped back into the room, leaving it open with a crack.

"Goodnight Robin," Hopper said through the crack. Robin gulped and quietly said goodnight back, her face burning in a deep blush.

[emeraldserenade]

Could you write something where Joaquin and reader have a bet on who can go the longest without touching each other? 😂

The Game ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you two make a stupid bet, one that barely lasts 24 hours.

tw: fem!reader, reader has long nails, smut (18+), reader barely understands Spanish, barely edited smut tw: marking, unprotected p in v, creampie, belly bulge,

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

Guys, I've never written smut before this (or at least not good smut) so I'm so sorry if this is so bad. If you feel so compelled to give me tips, please at least make them nice. I am always open to ways to get better with my writing. AND just a reminder, I am always open to requests but I cannot promise they will be done in a timely manner. Please read my requests rules and things before you make a request please!

➽──────────────❥

Joaquín just had to open his mouth, it started out simple. You two were just relaxing on the couch when he started running his hand up and down your thigh. Slowly inching closer up and inward, you let out a small laugh.

"You're insatiable," you laughed, as you gently kicked his leg.

"I am not," he countered and you just raised your eyebrows at him.

"If you're so sure, why not make it a game?" You challenged him.

"What game?"

"How long can you go without touching me," you told him.

"Goes for you too, you can't touch me either," Joaquín told you and you laughed.

"I would expect nothing less. I do think we should lay some ground rules," you told him.

"This only applies to intimate touches," Joaquín pointed out and you nodded.

"Hand holding doesn't count and neither does normal everyday touches," you told him. You two went over the rules you both agreed on for a little before you settled back into the silence that was over you before hand.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Joaquín, what's up with you, man? You've been on edge all day," Sam got tired of Joaquín's constant fidgeting and the way he was glancing at his phone.

"Nothing, just," Joaquín stopped talking and Sam looked over at him.

"Just what?"

"I made a stupid bet with my girl about who could go longer without touching the other," Joaquín relented from withholding the information.

"Really, man? That's just stupid," Sam laughed.

"I know, it's only been a day and I'm already tired of it," Joaquín spun in his chair to face Sam.

"Just give in then," Sam stated it like it was to most obvious thing in the world.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

"Just give in then! My gods!" Your coworker was tired of you complaining about your bet.

"It's not that simple Dani," you turned to face her.

"Why not?" She put her hands on her hips.

"My pride is on the line!"

"You're pride?" She turned towards you other coworker, Patty. "Do you hear this? Her pride is the reason we are subjected to her yapping on and on about how she's tired of this bet," Dani threw her hands up in the air.

"Dani, you don't understand," you sighed.

"What am I not understanding?"

"I was the one who decided to make it into a game, I started this because I called him insatiable. If I give in then it's like I was projecting!" You ranted, placing your head into your hands.

"My gods, we're stuck listening to this," Dani sighed and you gave her an apologetic smile.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You and Joaquín had been avoiding touching each other, even innocent touches, since you both got home. You two were making dinner but it was lacking the gentle kisses, touches, the way you two would brush against each other to just be able to be close. It didn't take as long as normal to make dinner, probably because you two weren't getting distracted by each other.

"Can we-" "Are you-" you both tried talking at the same time as you let dinner just simmer on the stove.

"You go first, Amor," you told Joaquín, leaning against the counter and watched him gather is resolve.

"Can we just both agree this was a stupid bet and to end it?" Joaquín slowly reached toward you and you relented and stepped foreword.

"God yes," you let him pull you to him.

"What were you going to say?"

"I was going to ask if you were ok with just calling this bet off," you told him. You felt him push his hands up your shirt, letting them rest on the skin of your waist. You did the same but gently pushed your fingertips in the waistband of his jeans. The feeling of your nails gently digging into his skin was intoxicating to Joaquín, his hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly. You two stood there, just holding each other until the timer went off and you two reluctantly pulled away.

✧°˖ . ݁˖︵‿❀‿︵˖ . ݁˖°✧

You gasped as Joaquín basically pounced on you, he had told you that he would clean up dinner so you went to the bedroom to change. You were in nothing but your panties when Joaquín had walked into the room, and after your bet he couldn't help himself. He had walked up behind you and gently kissed your neck as his arms wrapped around you.

"Oh my," your head lolled back as he ran his touch from the base of your neck to the sensitive spot below your ear. You gently raised your hand up to grip his hair as he bit and licked your neck and shoulders. You let out a particularly loud gasp as Joaquín bit your neck a little harder than normal.

"Sorry, Angel," Joaquín mumbled against your neck as you pressed yourself closer to him. "Can't help myself," he told you as he spun your around to face him. You ran your hands over his chest and pushed the jacket he was wearing off his shoulders, he removed it the rest of the way. His shirt followed as you undid his belt and pants, which he kicked off once you had them pushed down. He pushed you down on the bed, falling to his knees in front of you. He gently leaned forward and pressed a kiss on your clit over your panties. He chuckled when your hips bucked, trying to chase the stimulation you were desperate for.

"Joaquín, please," you ran your fingers through his hair, letting your nails gently scrape across his scalp. He hooked his fingers in the band of your panties and pulled them down. He carelessly tossed them behind him somewhere, you would find them on top of your dresser later. Joaquín was normally gentle, focusing all his attention on making you comfortable and feeling good. But this time, he eat you out like a man starved and in a way you guessed he was. It was messy and fast, the way he licked and kissed and sucked your clit. The way he pushed a finger into you before adding another, you arched your back and gripped his hair tighter.

You heard his groan as you gently pulled his hair, the vibrations adding to your own pleasure. "Come on, Angel, let go," Joaquín pulled away just enough to tell you before diving back in. Your gasps and moans intensified as he sped up his movements, moments later you felt the familiar pressure and fluttery feeling in your lower abdomen.

"Oh, god, Joaquín," your moan broke your sentence off. "I'm cumming, oh god, Joaquín!" You shouted his name as your orgasm washed over you as your legs gently shook. Joaquín helped you through the aftershocks, slowing his movements down as they slowed. Joaquín placed one more gentle kiss to your clit, causing your hips to buck again, before he fully pulled away. He lifted his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, licking his lips afterward. You caught your breath as you watched Joaquín pull his boxers down, all progress was lost when you took in the full sight of your boyfriend. It didn't matter how many times you have seen him naked, it always took your breath away. Your eyes roamed over him as he slowly moved closer to you, your eyes stopped on the red, leaking head of his dick. All 6 and 1/2 inches hard and ready for you, you had to hold back a moan just from looking at it.

"You ready, Angel?" Joaquín chuckled at the fact you were staring, the head of his dick gently pressing against your swollen lower lips. You eyes found his, admiring the flush on his face and the glistening of his lips from when he licked them clean.

"Yes, please, I need you," you begged, your expression boarding on fucked out. Joaquín kissed you as he inched himself in, the stretch was welcome and ripped a moan from your throat. When he bottomed out, he gave you a few moments before he pulled out to the point where only his tip was in before slamming back into you. He kept his pace, his head hitting your g-spot and slamming into your cervix with each thrust. His hands held onto your waist as you held onto his shoulders.

You two were a moaning mess, you were sure your asshole neighbors would complain later but you didn't care. "Look at you, all fucked out and taking me like the good girl you are," Joaquín praised you. "So fucking pretty, look at you," he grabbed your chin and kissed you, you smiled into it as you ran your nails down his back. Joaquín kept praising you, both in English and Spanish. "Come on, Angel, dime que eres mio."

You barely understood Spanish, but you knew enough to know what he was telling you. "I'm yours, god, I'm yours, Joaquín," you moaned, the pleasure causing tears to run down your face. Joaquín moved one hand to press against your lower stomach, he felt his dick hit his hand and smiled when your moans got louder. Between the pressure of his hand, the fact that his tip was running against your g-spot, and the way he hit your cervix you knew you wouldn't last much longer. You were proven right when he let go of your hip with his other hand and started to rub tight circles on your clit. "I'm gonna cum," you yelped as Joaquín thrusted into you particularly rough accompanied by the tight circles.

"Wait for me, Angel, can you do that?" Joaquín watched as you nodded, your face twisting in determination to hold off your orgasm until he told you to. You felt the way his thrusts became more erratic and you pulled him down by his shoulders to kiss him. It was messy and rough, all clashing lips and teeth. "Let go for me, Angel," Joaquín mumbled against your lips and you came with a shout. Joaquín was right behind you, his hips flush against yours and your name falling from his lips like a prayer. Joaquín collapsed on you, his weight a welcome feeling as you wrapped your arms around him.

"I love you," you mumbled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He had a layer of sweat on him and you were sure you did too.

"Te quiero más," Joaquín replied before he got up and pulled out of you, causing you both to lightly hiss at the feeling. Joaquín moved you to lay correctly on the bed before walking into the bathroom. He emerged from the bathroom moments later with a warm damp towel, you whimpered as he cleaned you up. "I know, I'm sorry," he comforted you before leaving to throw the towel in the basket you had in the bathroom.

Joaquín got in bed beside you, pulling you to him as he got comfortable. You two shared no words, just occasional light kisses to whatever part of each other you could reach. You fell asleep first, your even breathing lulling Joaquín to sleep not long after. His last thought before he was asleep was how you were right, he was insatiable but so were you.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[starrihan]

Hii <3

How do you think &Team Hyung line would react to female best friend not wearing a bra and they accidentally touch them.

I love ur writing! ⭐️

hiii nonnie! youre too sweet thank you!!! i always appriciate when people say they love my writing 🥹🥹 also its crazy that i already had an idea to write something like this so im excited that we had the same idea!

each part is ~500-700 words long (they get longer for each member 😅)

༄ ༄ ༄

K:

he called you over to the dorms as if it were an emergency. you were laying in bed, about to go to sleep when his messages kept buzzing your phone. you groaned, picking up the device and looking at the dimly lit screen, only to read in all caps: "Y/N COME QUICK ITS URGENT I NEED YOUR HELP!" so of course you spring into action, not bothering to put on a bra and just grabbing your jacket, bolting out the door.

you're there within minutes, making sure you brought emergency meds and a first aid kit just incase, knowing the boys didn't have any at their dorm.

"whats all this for?"

K says casually as he opens the door. But you don't pay him any mind, running in:

"WHERES THE EMERGENCY? WHAT HAPPENED? ARE YOU OKAY? WHERE'S TAKI? DID MY SON GET INJURED?!"

you look around frantic, adrenaline still pumping through your veins.

"what? no. i needed your help with this recipe. i don't know how to do this one technique and you cook so i thought–"

your back is turned to him, anger bubbling up inside of you.

"–Koga Yudai. you texted me that it was an emergency but ALL YOU NEEDED WAS HELP WITH A GODDAMNED RECIPE??!! I COULD JUST KILL–"

he reaches his hand out, trying to grab your shoulder to spin you around when you decide to turn yourself, stopping your sentence when his big hand lands straight on your right boob. he's frozen in place, stunned by his own hand placement.

"hello? earth to K? mind taking your hand off of my chest so i can yell at you more you sick pervert?"

"oh, uh... yeah, sorry..."

he says, nervously, an awkward hand going to scratch at the nape of his neck as a light pink blush dusts his cheeks.

"what? you've never touched a boob before? why the bashfulness?"

his blush grows deeper, quickly denying your allegations.

"i've touched a woman's boobs before but never my best friend's! sorry for feeling embarrassed, damn."

you shrug your shoulder, crossing your arms over your chest, elevating them.

"i didn't mind it. you could've kept it there longer, its been a while since someone's touched them anyway, what better person to do it then you i guess."

its like his brain short-circuited for a second. like he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"you're serious? you want me to keep touching your boobs?"

"i didn't mean it like that. i'm just saying if you want to, you can."

you look away, feeling a little embarrassed yourself now for even suggesting the idea.

"and suddenly i'm not hungry anymore."

he looks at you dead in the face as you look down, watching the ever-growing tent in his pants forming before your eyes, a smirk creeping its way onto your face as you let out a little chuckle.

"you're too easy, you know that?"

"i'm a touch starved man and busy, what did you think was going to happen?"

༄ ༄ ༄

Fuma:

you wanted to start going to the gym to get in shape. you had many events coming up and you wanted to be in the best shape you could, at least to keep your energy up throughout the day, so of course you enlisted the help of your best friend and gym rat, Fuma.

"you better be grateful, i'm skipping one of my precious gym days to help you out."

you stop in tracks, bowing down to him and being extra dramatic in your delivery:

"thank you, oh great lord Fuma. your assistance is much appreciated i have no earthly idea what i would do without your holy guidance!"

he rolls his eyes, gently nudging you forward as you laugh at your own antics. upon making it to the gym, you set your belongings down near the yoga mats, stretching first as a warm-up. he shows you what to do, like your own personal trainer, having you complete a set of stretches and even some Pilates-style workouts before heading over to the big machines.

after your workout, you both decided to get some food. you head over the bathrooms, showering quickly before putting your gym clothes away and putting on your regular outfit. you look in your bag, finding everything you needed except for a spare bra. after looking in your bag two more times, you curse at yourself, realizing that you forgot to pack an extra bra. the shirt you brought to wear after your workout was a little tight, but you hoped not much could be seen, you didn't really have an other choices for clothing, opting not to bring a jacket today because it was nice out.

upon walking out, you can't help but shiver, the cool air from the AC's blasting throughout the gym catching you off guard. you didn't notice the way your nipples had pebbled due to the cold. you sit at one of the nearby benches, waiting for Fuma. a couple minutes later, he walks out with all of his belongings.

"finally, took you long enough!"

you exasperate, getting up and facing him. he laughs, looking down at you when he notices your nipples poking through the shirt. you don't notice his wandering eyes, another shiver running up your body.

"cold?"

he says as you nod.

"i think its just the AC's though, i should be fine outside."

"no, here."

he says, going to put his jacket over your shoulders. you laugh, trying to fight his jacket away, saying you'll be fine one you leave the gym. he continues his actions though, now just to tease you but stops when he manages to get the jacket over both of your shoulders, the palm of his hand grazing your hard nipple as you let out a soft moan.

he looks at you in shock as your face flushes a deep red, embarrassment coursing through your body as the moan you let out because of your best friend. you take the jacket, forcefully pulling it over your shoulders to hide your chest.

"if i had known you would be moaning for me i wouldn't have done it in public."

he says, trying to lighten the mood.

"so you would do it in private?"

you look at him, dumbfounded by the audacity of the man in front of you to crack such jokes.

"only if you wanted me to."

he says, walking ahead of you while laughing. you scoff angrily, catching up to him.

"you're a freak!"

"i'm not the one that moaned in public because of my best friend."

the smirk he wore on his face was smug, but you couldn't lie and say you didn't consider his offer after that.

༄ ༄ ༄

Nicholas:

he called you over to the practice room one day, asking for help on this new choreography that he was trying to learn. you had both met in a dance academy so he knew he could rely on you as a dance partner to help him out.

thinking that it wasn’t going to be anything too vigorous, you opted for a comfy outfit, a simple hoodie and leggings and no bra. heading to the room, you greet your best friend with a hug.

“Y/N!”

Nicholas calls out. you hadn’t seen him in a while with his group being so busy promoting and preparing for a comeback and tour, so naturally you were really excited to see him again.

“Nicho!”

after catching up for a bit, he showed you the choreo, laughing a little when you tried to replicate the moves with just your arms first. once you felt you had the hand movements down, you stood up to practice the actual steps of the dance, the footwork a little confusing at first.

after practicing by yourself for a while, you told Nicholas that you were ready to practice with him, going over each move step by step. he was having difficulty executing the move smoothly. the way he was doing it made the dance feel segmented instead of flowing naturally with his body. the move required him to spin into a backflip, then having to continue the dance without getting dizzy as the footwork was hard.

you practiced over and over again, helping him with his spins into the flip, but each time he’d mess up the footwork afterwards, still slightly disoriented from the spin-flip.

you tell him to rest a little, practicing the moves separately at first before trying to combine them. you started off fine, facing the same struggles as him before understanding how you kept yourself oriented. Nicholas just stood there, watching as you tried over and over again to perfect the move. he could tell you were starting to get a little dizzy yourself, the speed in combination with such difficult moves catching up to you.

you tried again, losing control of your spin. you braced yourself, expecting your back to hit the hardwood floor, but never feeling the impact. instead, you look up, opening your eyes to see a wide-eyed Nicho looking down at you in horror.

“geez, do I look that ugly from this angle? why do you look so scared?”

but it isn’t until the adrenaline wears off that you feel it: both of Nicholas’s hands cupping your unsupported tits. your eyes go just as wide as his before you find the footing to get yourself up.

“why aren’t you wearing a bra? we’re practicing a dance!”

“i didn’t think it was gonna be this hard! bras are uncomfortable!”

you’re yelling at each other out of embarrassment, the blush on both of your cheeks the same color as Nicho’s hair, but he couldn't argue your logic.

"next time i ask you to practice can you please wear a bra?"

"why? its not like you'll have to hold them again."

"well what if i do?"

and you look at him confused, cause why would he need to hold your boobs for a dance?

"if you do then you're a pervert for wanting to hold them again. too good to keep your hands off?"

he looks away from you as if your stare could turn him into stone, but his silence intrigues you.

"oh my god Nicholas do you want to hold my boobs again?"

"well not when you put it like, you weirdo."

he grumbles, hands in his face that he even admitted that in the first place.

"if you can perfect this part by the end of the day i'll let you hold them again."

his head shoots up from his palms, the motivation to learn the dance rushing back. he gets up without a word, practicing again.

"and i'm the weirdo."

༄ ༄ ༄

Euijoo:

you had asked him to study at library together. you both had exams coming up, but you didn't want to study alone, so you called him to keep you company knowing he had his own work to catch up on.

"hey Y/N! thanks for inviting me out to study with you. i've gotten so sick and tired of being holed away in my dorm. Nicholas can be a handful sometimes."

he sighs, putting his stuff down across from you at the library table. you laugh, enjoying his little anecdote.

"i've only met him a couple of times, but he does seem a little high-maintenance. i'm glad i could get you out of there for a bit! i know i'm gonna be here for at least 4 hours studying for this exam."

you sigh, getting ready to bury yourself in your books, catching a glimpse of Euijoo putting his glasses on above your laptop screen. you didn't want to admit it to yourself, but you had been crushing on Euijoo for a while now. you felt wrong about it, knowing that he was your best friend and that he probably didn't see you in that way.

about an hour into your study session, you look around your work space, overwhelmed at the amount of papers and books you have scoured open to write this essay. it was a 15-page research paper for your biomed class that required you to search through published books you couldn't find online. you stand up, alerting Euijoo of your plan to search for a particular book, not to mention the fact that you needed to stretch your legs. he nods, going back to his work.

you don't travel very far, still within Euijoo's line of sight as you come across the biomed section. you scan the bookshelf, silently cheering when you find the book. you go on your tippy-toes, the book much higher on the shelf than you were able to distinguish upon initially seeing it. you kept trying, just barely grazing the book each time.

looking up from his laptop, he notices your struggle, finding it cute before chuckling to himself and getting up to help you.

"need some help?"

he chuckles, watching you struggle some more. you turn to face him, about to say yes when you feel your hand on the book slip, knocking it out of place. Euijoo moves quickly, grabbing your waist to move you out of the way of the book's fall, or what he thought was your waist.

you look up at him, surprised etched on your face, one because of how quickly he reacted in moving you out of the way, essentially protecting you, but two because of his risqué hand placement, especially since you chose today of all days not to wear a bra underneath your hoodie. it didn't help that he was holding onto you so tight, effectively squeezing your tits.

"are you okay? you didn't get hurt, right?"

you smile at his concern, shaking your head 'no,' awkwardly pointing your finger at his hand that was still wrapped around you, probably out of shock and making sure you were okay. the blush on your face makes so much sense to him now, reeling his hand back in horror after realizing what he had been holding this whole time, but he couldn't help but think about how your tits felt in his hands, especially without a bra.

"oh my god i'm so sorry. i guess i underestimated our height difference, i thought i was holding your waist..."

you found his nervousness adorable but you thanked him nonetheless for helping you out.

"do you usually not wear bras?"

your entire body heats up at his question, not expecting him to be so bold. you shake your head, looking down to avoid his gaze while picking up the dropped book.

"i normally do wear them, but they do get uncomfy, maybe i shouldn't wear them as often."

you look up to see his reaction, his face the same shade of red as yours. you exchange quiet glances during the rest of your study session, not being able to shake the thought of your crush holding your boobs.

༄ ༄ ༄

[mediocre-shark-tales]

THE HEART CAN ONLY TAKE SO MUCH...

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my arms burning as I lifted another suitcase onto my bed. The fabric of my t-shirt clung uncomfortably to my skin, a reminder of just how long I’d been doing this—sorting, folding, debating. Two hours. Two hours of meticulously going through my closet, trying to piece together the perfect outfits.

Not for myself.

No, I had long stopped dressing for myself when it came to them.

Every decision, every folded shirt and carefully picked-out dress, was to avoid their subtly cruel remarks, their judging glances, the way they could dismantle my confidence with a single passive-aggressive comment. I wasn’t in the mood for it. Not this time. Not for this.

Because the alternative—their loud, heated arguments, their voices sharpened into weapons when we were alone—was worse.

So I folded. Like I always did.

I had picked out what I knew they would prefer, stiff blouses and skirts that didn't fit me, but fit the image they wanted me to present. And now, the only shred of control I had left was figuring out which of these lifeless pieces of fabric was at least comfortable enough for me to wear without feeling like I was suffocating.

I sighed, dragging a hand down my face as I turned toward the mirror.

The third dress I had tried on.

It clung to me in a way that made me feel exposed. The color was muted, lifeless, something my mother would nod in approval at but felt wrong against my skin.

I didn’t look pretty.

I didn’t feel comfortable.

I didn’t feel like me.

I swallowed against the knot forming in my throat, pushing down the wave of frustration bubbling in my chest. This wasn’t about me. It never was.

I turned away from the mirror, shaking my head.

Just pick something. It doesn’t matter.

But even as I told myself that, my hands balled into fists at my sides.

None of this mattered.

I was dressing for a funeral.

The thought hit me all at once, the realization heavy, suffocating. I felt my body go rigid, my breath suddenly too short, the walls of my bedroom too close—

My phone rang.

The sharp sound shattered the silence, yanking me out of my downward spiral.

I exhaled, forcing myself to move, to grab my phone off the nightstand.

I didn’t even check the caller ID before swiping to answer.

"Hello?" My voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

"God, finally! Took you long enough to pick up."

I immediately stiffened.

Jack.

"What, are you busy or something?" he continued, his tone light, casual, but irritated in the way only a brother could be.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, adjusting my grip on the phone. "I was—sorting some stuff out. What do you want?"

"I need to vent. Because I swear to God, if I hear one more person talk about Ghost like they’re some kind of racing god, I’m gonna lose my mind."

My stomach dropped.

Of course. Of course, this is what he called about.

"Oh?" I said, forcing myself to sit down on the edge of my bed, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. "What happened?"

"What happened is that everyone suddenly thinks he’s a damn hero for finishing that race last weekend," Jack scoffed, the frustration thick in his voice. "Like, am I the only one seeing how stupid that was? It wasn’t brave. It wasn’t impressive. It was reckless. I don’t care how many fans want to paint them as some unstoppable force or whatever—there’s a difference between being tough and just being a complete dumbass."

I swallowed.

I could still feel the ache in my body, the remnants of that race sitting heavy in my bones. The heat exhaustion, the collapse in Parc Fermé, the way my body had shut down the second I had stopped forcing it to keep going.

Jack didn’t know.

He didn’t know that his own sister had been the one sitting in that car, the one his anger was directed toward.

And right now?

Right now, I couldn’t tell him.

So instead, I just sat there, gripping my phone, listening to my brother rip me apart without even realizing it.

"And you know what else?" Jack’s voice carried through the phone, sharp and filled with frustration. "Everyone’s acting like Ghost is gonna be some kind of legend, like they were proving something awesome during the race. Proving what? That they’re too stubborn to retire when it’s the smart thing to do? That they’d rather collapse in Parc Fermé than admit they aren’t invincible? It’s pathetic. It’s not even impressive—it’s just stupid. And the fact that the media is eating it up is even worse. They’re just encouraging it."

I clenched my jaw, my grip on my phone tightening.

"And don’t even get me started on the way people compare me to them," he continued, letting out a bitter laugh. "Like, I made the responsible decision. I knew when to stop. But apparently, that makes me weak. Makes me less of a driver. It’s bullshit."

I inhaled slowly through my nose, trying to keep my expression neutral even though I was alone in my room.

He doesn’t know.

He didn’t know that the person he was calling stupid was me.

That I was the one who had pushed my body to its absolute limit.

That I was the one who had barely made it out of the car, who had been carried away while my body gave up on me.

That I was the one he was tearing apart right now.

And yet, somehow, that wasn’t even what was making me the most upset.

It was how entitled he sounded.

Like he thought he understood everything about Ghost. Like he had the right to sit there and judge someone else’s choices, someone else’s pain, like he had any idea what was going on behind the scenes.

Like he had any idea what it was like to live that life.

I felt my chest tighten. My eyes burned, my breath coming out just a little more unsteady.

I squeezed my phone so hard my knuckles turned white, trying to stop my hands from shaking.

"Jack." My voice was quieter now, controlled, but he didn’t notice.

"And the worst part is—"

"Jack."

He finally stopped talking.

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

I exhaled slowly, closing my eyes.

"I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but I’m gonna say it anyway."

I could practically hear him roll his eyes, but for once, he didn’t interrupt.

"You have no idea what this guy’s life is like outside of the paddock," I said, keeping my voice calm, steady. "He may have a valid reason for the way he acts. He might be struggling with something, something you don’t know about, and that might be why he comes off as… whatever it is you think he is. And maybe he sees you in the same light. Maybe to him, you’re the one who’s rude and entitled."

Jack scoffed. "That’s bullshit, I’ve never—"

"Jack," I said again, firmer this time. "From what I know, he’s never done anything to you that actually warrants this much anger from you. And yet, you’re constantly rude to him, constantly tearing him down. Why?"

"Because he acts like he’s better than everyone else!" Jack snapped, his frustration boiling over. "He walks around like he owns the place, like no one else matters, like he’s some kind of legend who can do no wrong—"

"Or maybe that’s just how you see him," I cut in, my voice still level.

Jack fell silent again.

"Maybe it’s easier for you to paint him as some arrogant asshole instead of realizing that he’s just another driver, just another person trying to make it. Maybe it’s easier to hate him than to accept that he might not be the villain you’ve made him out to be."

"That’s not—"

"And maybe it’s easier to act like he was stupid for finishing that race instead of admitting that you’re mad because people think he’s stronger than you, has he ever even agreed with the media on that? Has he ever stated that he thinks he’s better than you? I watched the interview last weekend even after you walked out. Ghost agreed with you on everything you said, even when you attacked his character." I said, my voice softer now.

Jack’s breath hitched.

I didn’t mean to hit a nerve, but I wasn’t going to take it back.

Because it was true.

"I’m not arguing with someone who isn’t ready to listen," I said, my grip on my phone loosening just slightly.

Jack made a noise of protest. "Wait, I—"

I hung up.

The call ended with a sharp beep, the silence in my room suddenly too loud.

I stared at my phone, my fingers still curled around it, my whole body tense.

And then, finally, I let out a shaky breath.

—

The moment my phone screen lit up with an incoming group call from Ollie and Kimi, I hesitated. My mind was still tangled up in my conversation with Jack, frustration and hurt lingering like an ache in my chest. But I knew if I ignored them, they'd only call again—and the last thing I wanted was for them to worry.

So I took a deep breath, shook off the heaviness weighing me down, and answered.

Immediately, the screen was filled with the grinning faces of two of my favorite people.

"y/n!" Ollie cheered, dragging out my nickname dramatically like a sports commentator announcing a champion. "There you are, the legend, the icon, the most mysterious human being on the grid—"

"Who looks like absolute shit right now," Kimi cut in, squinting at me through the screen.

"Oi!" I huffed, rolling my eyes, but I didn’t even try to hide the small smile pulling at my lips.

"No no, seriously, you okay?" Ollie asked, his teasing fading just slightly.

Kimi leaned in closer, scrutinizing me like I was a math problem he was trying to solve. "Yeah, something’s off. What happened?"

I sighed, adjusting the phone in my hand. "I’m fine. Just… stressed, I guess."

Neither of them looked convinced.

"y/n," Kimi deadpanned.

"Stressed about what?" Ollie prodded, tilting his head.

I ran a hand through my hair, hesitating for only a moment before deciding to tell them. They already knew about my family situation—it wasn’t exactly a secret between us.

"I leave for Australia in a few hours," I muttered, sighing again. "Family funeral. Which means… family drama."

Understanding instantly clicked in their expressions.

"Ohh." Ollie winced. "Yeah, okay, that makes sense."

"Your parents still being their usual delightful selves?" Kimi asked dryly.

I let out a bitter laugh. "Always."

"That sucks, mate," Ollie said sympathetically. "But hey, at least you’ll look good while dealing with their bullshit, yeah?"

"Speaking of," Kimi smirked, leaning in again. "Show us what you’re bringing. Let’s see what absolute monstrosities they’re forcing you to wear this time."

"Oh my god." I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help laughing. "They’re not that bad."

"Uh-huh," Ollie hummed, clearly unconvinced. "Come on, then. Let’s see the damage."

I huffed dramatically but stood up, propping my phone against a stack of books on my dresser so they could see as I grabbed the first dress. It was a sleek black number, simple but elegant.

"Alright, this one," I said, holding it up.

There was a pause.

"Hmm." Kimi narrowed his eyes at it.

"Alright, I’ll say it—y/n, it’s giving ‘rich widow at her third husband’s funeral,’" Ollie declared.

I nearly choked on my own laugh. "What?!

"No, no, he’s right," Kimi nodded, stroking his chin like a critic at a gallery. "You look like you just cashed in on a life insurance policy."

"Oh my god, shut up." I tossed the dress to the side, still laughing.

"Alright, next one, next one," Ollie grinned, clapping his hands.

I grabbed another dress—this one was softer, flowy but still formal.

"Okay, this one?"

Both boys squinted at the screen.

"I like it," Kimi admitted.

"Yeah, yeah, this one’s solid," Ollie agreed. "If I were some posh rich guy at the funeral, I’d definitely ask for your number."

"Ollie."

"What? I’m just saying."

I rolled my eyes again but felt something warm settle in my chest at their easy teasing. They had no idea how much I needed this right now.

I went through a few more outfits, each one getting increasingly ridiculous reactions from them.

"y/n, please tell me that’s not velvet."

"Why does this one make you look like a royal attendant from the 1800s?"

"I dunno, I think this one’s kinda hot—"

"Ollie."

By the time I finished, my mood had lifted significantly.

"Alright, alright, final decision?" I asked, crossing my arms.

Ollie and Kimi hummed in thought before pointing at the second dress.

"That one," Kimi said.

"Yeah, agreed," Ollie nodded. "You look like a total heartbreaker in that one."

"I’m going to a funeral, Ollie."

"And? Doesn’t mean you can’t look good."

Kimi smirked. "Yeah, y/n. Just because it’s a funeral doesn’t mean people won’t be staring."

I groaned, flopping onto my bed. "You two are ridiculous."

"Yeah, yeah," Ollie grinned. "But seriously—if any of those fancy rich boys try anything, just call us. We’ll swoop in like your knights in shining armor."

"Oh yeah, absolutely," Kimi agreed, nodding. "We’ll be on the first flight out."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You two are idiots."

"Your idiots," Ollie corrected, shooting me a wink.

And as I sat there, watching the two of them bicker about who would win in a duel if they actually had to fight for my honor, I realized something.

For the first time in hours, I wasn’t thinking about Jack.

For the first time in hours, I actually felt okay.

—

Landing in Australia, the weight settled back onto my shoulders like a heavy cloak. No matter how much I had prepared myself for this moment, no matter how many deep breaths I had taken on the plane or how much I had distracted myself with mindless airport small talk, I knew that coming home would bring back all the same pressures I had been trying so desperately to avoid.

I was driving myself to my hotel, hands gripping the wheel a little too tightly, when my phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed across the screen, and I sighed. Jack.

I hesitated for half a second before answering.

"What do you want, Jack?" I asked, my tone already tired.

A scoff came from the other end. "Wow. London really has changed you, huh? Too good for your own family now?"

I rolled my eyes. There it was.

"I just wanted to call and ask," he continued, his tone deceptively casual, "why the hell you’re staying at a hotel instead of coming home this time?"

There it was again—the classic, pointed question that wasn’t actually a question at all. It was a demand, wrapped up in feigned curiosity. It wasn’t hard to guess where this was coming from. Our parents had twisted my words, spun some version of the truth that would rile Jack up enough to call me, to pressure me into changing my mind.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not this time.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. I needed to be firm, not defensive. I needed to be better—for myself, and for my uncle, who I knew would be proud of how I was handling this.

"Jack," I started, keeping my voice calm but unwavering. "I'm going to be honest with you. While I am upset with you and how you've been acting lately, my choice to stay away from the house has nothing to do with that."

There was a pause, like he hadn't expected me to cut right to the truth.

I pressed on. "If you still see me as your little sister—if you still love me—then I’m asking you to drop this topic for now. We can talk about it in person, where there’s no room for anyone to misinterpret what I say."

Another silence. A longer one.

I could almost hear the gears turning in his head, trying to process the fact that I wasn’t taking the bait. That I wasn’t lashing out or folding under pressure, like I used to be.

Finally, his voice was quieter, less combative. "Fine."

I nodded to myself, exhaling slowly. "If that's all, I need to go. I just got to the hotel, and I still need to unpack, prep a few things for tomorrow, and try to get some sleep."

Jack let out a breath, like he wanted to argue but knew better than to push. "Yeah. Alright. Just… I’ll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah."

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jack."

The call ended with a soft click, and I lowered my phone into my lap, staring at the screen for a moment.

It felt relieving to handle it that way—to stand my ground without losing my temper, to set a boundary without guilt.

But at the same time, a new kind of exhaustion settled over me. If Jack had backed off this easily, it only meant one thing: My parents wouldn’t.

—

Walking into the church where most of the funeral procession would be held felt like stepping through the gates of hell.

Everything about it—the hushed murmurs, the heavy scent of lilies, the suffocating air of forced grief—felt wrong. This wasn’t how I wanted to say goodbye. This wasn’t how I wanted to mourn the loss of my favorite person in the whole world. But I knew I wouldn’t get the chance to mourn, not properly.

Not when my parents were here.

This funeral, this entire week, wasn’t about honoring my uncle. It was about appearances. About ensuring our family looked just the right amount of broken, just the right amount of poised, just the right amount of put-together in the eyes of the people who mattered.

And me?

I was expected to play my role perfectly. To be the grieving but elegant daughter, to sit through these endless introductions to men I didn’t want to meet, to smile when I wanted to cry and nod when I wanted to scream.

At least one of my dates would be here today. If not all three. The thought made my stomach twist.

I had three hours of this. Three long, painful hours of pretending.

So I feigned strength, plastered on the same mask I always did, and walked deeper into the church.

By the time the initial service had ended and the gathering had moved into the adjoining hall for food and quiet conversation, I felt drained. My dress was suffocating, my shoes pinched my toes, and my head ached from holding back every single emotion I actually felt.

I needed a moment to myself.

I slipped away from the sea of guests, weaving between familiar and unfamiliar faces, and found a small corner table. The food spread was extravagant—of course it was, my parents would accept nothing less—but none of it appealed to me.

Still, I grabbed a plate of something delicate and expensive-looking, if only to keep my hands occupied. I picked at it absentmindedly, barely registering the taste.

A familiar presence settled beside me, and I glanced up to see Jack.

For once, his expression wasn’t filled with the usual cocky smugness or exasperation he saved just for me. He looked… softer. Tired.

"I owe you an apology," he said quietly.

I blinked, caught off guard. "...For what?"

Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "For how I’ve been acting. For not really listening to you." He leaned against the table, his voice lower now. "I’ve been so caught up in my own stress, with racing and the media and all this bullshit, that I didn’t stop to think that maybe you were going through just as much. And now that I see it—seeing you here, like this—I get it."

I swallowed, eyes dropping to my untouched plate.

"You’ve been helping handle the funeral arrangements, packing up his things, flying back and forth, and still dealing with your job on top of it," Jack continued. "I should have realized sooner how much that was for you."

Something in my chest ached at his words. At the fact that, after everything, he was finally seeing me.

But then—of course—he said, "I mean, you should have just told me you were overwhelmed instead of getting all defensive."

My grip on my fork tightened.

Of course.

Of course Jack could only recognize some of my struggles, the ones that made sense to him. But the ones that didn’t—the arranged dates, the expectations, the way I was being forced into something I did not want—those didn’t register.

Because why would they?

I set my fork down with a quiet clink. "Jack," I said carefully, forcing patience into my voice, "do you even realize what our parents are putting me through? Or do you just choose to ignore it?"

His brow furrowed, like he genuinely didn’t know what I meant. "What are you talking about?"

I exhaled sharply, willing myself to stay calm. "The dates, Jack. The ones they’re forcing me into. The fact that they aren’t just trying to set me up with someone—they’re forcing the idea of marriage on me."

Jack frowned, looking unconvinced. "It’s just dates. It’s not like they’re shoving you into a wedding dress tomorrow."

I laughed, but it was hollow, humorless. "You really don’t get it."

"It’s not like you have to say yes to any of them," he argued.

"Jack," I said, my voice sharper now, "do you really think they’ll let me say no?"

His mouth opened, but before he could argue, a voice cut through the tension.

"Darling," my mother’s voice rang out, smooth and saccharine, "there’s someone I’d love for you to meet."

Jack and I both turned at the same time.

And there he was.

My first date of the week.

A man—because calling him a boy would have been laughable—stood beside her, at least ten years older than me, with a practiced smile and a handshake that looked too eager.

I felt my stomach drop.

Slowly, I turned my gaze to Jack, watching the slow, dawning realization settle into his expression. I didn’t have to say anything. The look I gave him said it all. I told you so.

—

Returning to my hotel room that night was the only good thing to come out of the day.

The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My heels hit the floor with a dull thud as I kicked them off carelessly, barely making it past the edge of the bed before collapsing onto the mattress.

The exhaustion didn’t just sit in my bones—it weighed on me, pressing down on my chest until it felt impossible to breathe.

I stared at the ceiling, my eyes unfocused, my thoughts racing.

The funeral. The whispers. The suffocating expectations.

My uncle was gone, and I hadn’t even been able to grieve properly. Instead, I had been paraded around, displayed like some pristine little doll, forced into conversations with people I didn’t care for. And worst of all, I had met him.

One of the men my parents had chosen for me.

A man who was at least ten years my senior. A man who looked at me like I was some fresh-faced investment rather than a human being.

I felt sick just thinking about it.

I squeezed my eyes shut, inhaling deeply through my nose. The dread in my stomach curdled, threatening to rise into full-blown panic, but I forced it down. I couldn’t fall apart. Not yet.

Instead, I reached for my phone.

I needed an escape.

My fingers hovered over my contact list, scrolling through familiar names. There were only a handful of people who could help me right now—people who wouldn’t say the wrong thing, who wouldn’t tell me to “just go along with it” or “give him a chance.”

Then, I saw his name.

Franco.

I hesitated.

Would he even pick up?

Would he even understand?

With a single deep breath for courage, I tapped the call button.

It barely rang twice before his voice came through, slightly muffled like he had answered in a rush.

"Yes? Y/n, what’s up?"

I exhaled shakily, my grip tightening on the phone. "Hey, Franco. Just needed a distraction right now. I just got back from the funeral. I met one of my dates there. I am… not excited, to say the least."

There was silence.

Then, his voice, lower now. “Wait. You met one? Already?”

I hummed in confirmation, rolling onto my side and curling into myself. "Yeah. First one out of the three. And Franco, I swear to God, he’s at least ten years older than me."

Silence again.

But this time, it was different.

This time, I could hear the slow inhale through his nose. The quiet but sharp exhale.

"Ten?"

I could practically see the way his jaw would clench, the way his brows would furrow.

"Minimum," I murmured, rubbing a hand over my face. "Honestly, he might be older."

"Oh, that’s just fucking—" He cut himself off, muttering something in Spanish under his breath that I was sure was not polite.

Despite myself, I felt a small, tired smile tug at my lips. "You’re mad."

"Of course I’m mad, Y/n!" Franco huffed, his frustration bleeding through the speaker. "That’s disgusting! What, they couldn’t find someone your actual age to auction you off to?"

I winced. Auction. That was exactly what this felt like.

"Apparently not," I muttered.

"Jesus Christ." I heard the sound of movement, like he had started pacing. "That’s not okay. That’s—God, that’s so messed up. What did he even say to you?"

I let out a humorless laugh. "Tried to be charming. Called me stunning. Told me he’d heard a lot about me and that he was honored to be considered. Like this was some kind of prestigious opportunity instead of—" I cut myself off, throat tightening. "You get the point."

Franco made a noise of pure irritation. "I swear, if I ever meet this guy, I’m going to—"

"Franco," I interrupted gently, despite the warmth settling in my chest at his anger on my behalf.

He exhaled sharply. "Right. Distraction. You need a distraction."

I hummed, shutting my eyes and sinking deeper into the bed. "Yes, please."

There was a pause. Then, his voice shifted—lighter now, teasing. "Alright, let’s see. What’s something completely ridiculous we can talk about? Oh! How about this—do you want to hear about the absolute disaster that was my attempt at cooking last night?"

A small smile formed. "I always want to hear about your cooking failures."

"Okay, so get this—" Franco launched into the story, animated and exaggerated, telling me how he had somehow set off his smoke alarm making pasta and had to call Kimi for help, only for Kimi to be zero help and just laugh at him instead.

It was stupid. It was meaningless.

But it helped. Some what.

The next morning, I woke up to the shrill chime of my phone vibrating on the nightstand. Sunlight streamed through the thin hotel curtains, but the warmth it carried did nothing to ease the sinking feeling in my stomach as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and reached for my phone.

Mom—that was all it said at the top of the screen.

I swallowed, already knowing whatever she had to say wouldn’t be good. With a deep breath, I opened the message.

Be at the house by 2 PM. He’ll be here to pick you up at 3. Your father and I will be showing you the portfolios of the other two men before then. Please don’t make this any harder than it has to be.

I clenched my jaw, reading between the lines easily.

Don’t embarrass us. Don’t ruin this. Don’t make a scene.

The tightness in my chest returned full force, a sharp contrast to the brief peace I had felt talking to Franco last night.

I sat up, tossing my phone onto the bed with more force than necessary before dragging my hands down my face.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t want this. It didn’t matter that my uncle—my biggest supporter, the only one who truly understood me—would have hated every single second of this circus act my parents were forcing me through.

All that mattered was that they saw this as an opportunity. As something good for the family.

And I was expected to play along.

I exhaled slowly, forcing my emotions down. Crying wouldn’t help. Screaming wouldn’t change anything.

All I could do now was get through the day without losing my mind.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I stood up, stretching out the stiffness in my limbs before trudging toward the bathroom. If I had to endure another day of this, I might as well look the part.

Perfect. Composed. A doll on fucking display.

—

The room was suffocating. The air thick with the scent of expensive candles, floral arrangements, and the heavy weight of expectation pressing down on my shoulders like an anvil.

I sat stiffly on the pristine leather couch, hands folded in my lap, pretending to be the perfect, attentive daughter while my parents spoke in that calculated, business-like tone they always adopted when discussing things far more important than my own wants or needs. I stared blankly at the glossy portfolios they had placed in front of me, filled with neatly typed credentials and photos of the two other men they were now presenting as my future.

Neither of them were old—at least, not like the first man they had forced me to meet at the funeral, and I would soon be on some stupid date with. That was the one thing I could acknowledge as a small mercy. But that relief was short-lived when my father’s voice cut through my thoughts like a knife.

“Between the two of them, they make more than your mother and I combined,” he said, his words laced with pride, as if that single fact was supposed to make me leap for joy. “We’re talking legacy money, sweetheart. This isn’t just about you—it’s about securing something bigger than yourself.”

Legacy money. As if that was the only thing that should matter to me. As if my entire future should be determined by someone’s net worth and the business opportunities they could bring to our family.

I clenched my hands tighter in my lap, nails digging into my palm, but I didn’t react. I just nodded, because that was what they wanted from me.

“We’ve done everything for you,” my mother added smoothly, leaning forward slightly, her carefully manicured fingers adjusting the already-perfect bracelet on her wrist. Her voice was sweet, warm—practiced. “And now, all we ask is that you consider your responsibility as our daughter.”

Responsibility. Duty. Family.

The words were wrapped up in silk, but underneath, I could hear the ironclad expectations they carried.

This wasn’t a discussion.

This was an order.

I could feel my heartbeat thudding against my ribs, my breath slow and measured as I fought to keep my expression neutral. It wasn’t new, this conversation. I had been raised to know that this moment would come eventually. But knowing it was inevitable didn’t make it any easier to stomach.

I felt trapped.

Like a bird locked in a gilded cage, surrounded by wealth and comfort but never allowed to spread its wings.I wanted to tell them that this wasn’t what I wanted. That I didn’t care about money or status or whatever fucking “legacy” they were trying to secure.

Then the long awaited and most dreaded knocked came to the door. Two smiles and a frown following the hollowed sound.

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