#i HATE that that's the case; don't mistake me

[atangledfate]

It wasn't that he trusted her as much as he knew where she stood in times of duress. Rouge might have been a thief, and a criminal but she was also still one of them. She didn't want Eggman or Starline to be in power anymore then they did. She was coerced into working with GUN and so had no real love of them either. Trust was probably to strong a word for how he felt about that bat. It was more of a mutual understanding. That and she'd saved there bacon to many times for them to hate her.

" it's always a risk to trust Rouge, and she's likely to have her own agenda. But even with all that said, she's bailed us out to many times for me to hold any harsh feelings..."

" What Miles said... Rouge has always done right by us when it counted. She has to play both sides, to keep Tower off her case but... if i ever needed her i'm sure she'd show. Besides... I'm about 90% sure she was who let the Chaotix know about Tinker. If we hadn't been there Shadow would have offed him..."

His eyes went to Kit who he knew would have harsh words about that decision.

" Some folks still say i shoulda let shadow do the deed. But i still stand by my decision... the real criminal was always Starline... i think we can all agree on that "

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

Lanolin wasn't so sure she agreed with Blaze on her perspective. Based on what Surge and Kitsunami told her, and all the files she'd read. Starline was a cunning adversary, who was always 20 steps ahead of everyone else. The real question in her mine was why attack blaze? what was he after? did they just cross paths by mistake? how did he survive his fight with eggman? was it really starline or maybe some copy cat?

" If there is anyone i'd consider to be near as dangerous as eggman it was---is Starline. He created Surge and Kitsunami... nearly replicating Sonic's speed and Mr. Prowers intellect and more. I think we'd be foolish to assume this attack was some vain attempt to defeat you... "

" Alerting GUN is probably wise, even if we aren't on equal terms now. Neither of us want Someone like him running around doing who knows what. As for Surge... i can't keep this from her or Kitsunami... i just worry they'll break this deal and flee... with intent to settle the score. honestly i don't even blame them... "

She sighed and looked rather somber as she stared out the window to the group below.

" Both of them have put some amount of trust in me. I've grown fond of them both as strange as that sounds. If i kept this from them they'd never forgive me... and i'd betray there trust... No, Once Surge returns i'll tell them. I owe them that much..."

"I feel as though I should be concerned you trust Rouge so easily, though I suppose it'd be hard not to trust someone who's come through when the stakes were high." Belle would have to simply take Sonic and Tails at their word, though it did make her wonder why Rouge would continue to mess with the Chaos Emeralds. They just only seem to cause trouble to whoever holds onto them, at least it sounds that way from all the stories she's heard.

"Yes, so smart to trust a criminal. Look at how well letting someone who can be a danger as worked out so far? You let Eggman go so many times and you get people like me and Surge." Kitsunami knew his words could be seen as hostile, though they were. The fennec just didn't see how they could let someone like that walk around let alone trust them. Maybe he was also still holding a grudge against them.

"He is a threat, though I do feel confident in having doubts he's as dangerous as Eggman. To be honest I'm surprised he attempted to even fight me as while he had a strange device to amp his powers it wasn't enough to even have me worry." Blaze wasn't sure if Starline was over confident in that device, if he was attempting to get something else, or thought he was smarter than he is. Regardless, the feline didn't have a hard time dealing with him.

"That said, what makes Eggman dangerous is how he seems to have no limit in what he will do to win. If Starline ends up taking the same course of action then he may become that level of threat." Blaze will say Starline seemed far more calculated which made him easier to read in a combat scenario. "Perhaps we should consider telling President Thawne as well. I doubt even G.U.N would want him running around if he is alive."

"I hate to put it like this, though it seems like Surge will have to make a choice. Turn herself in to keep Kitsunami from being arrested or both break though G.U.N's forces and hunt for Starline. Regardless, it is wise to share this information with her, even if it'll cause conflicting feelings." Blaze doubt Surge would take to the news well that Starline might still be alive.

[nientedal]

What progress at home has biden enacted? What policies of his show that he is making progress that prove he is actually different than trump?

I like to pretend I have faith in humanity, so I'll answer as if you're asking this in good faith.

Biden's DEA has lifted restrictions on telehealth prescriptions to make appointments and assistance more accessible.

He put a funding package into place to help unhoused people get access to mental and physical healthcare, as well as short-term and long-term housing.

He has attempted and is still attempting to get student debt relief through - this was blocked by Republican judges appointed by Trump, but he's still working on it.

Infrastructure repair - his administration has budgeted funds to actually fix some severely-damaged and frequently-traveled bridges.

Trying to expand access to healthcare to include undocumented immigrants who came to the USA as children (Dreamers) under the Affordable Care Act. Support for Navigator programs and outreach has also been increased.

He has vetoed Republican-led bills that were attempting to overturn environmental protections - one that would have forbidden investment fund managers to consider climate change in their portfolios (I have two degrees in accounting and this is actually huge), and another that would have overturned restrictions on agricultural runoff into our waterways.

He and his administration worked for ages to get rail workers paid sick days.

This is just some of what he's been doing. Meanwhile, Trump and other Republicans want to criminalize the lives of LGBT people like you and me. They want to eliminate no-fault divorce and force births that will kill parents or devastate them financially. They have stated flat out that they want to install a military dictatorship in the USA. They attempted to put that in motion on January 6th, 2021. They failed once. They will do better next time.

One party wants to house the homeless and expand social safety nets, while the other one wants to criminalize homelessness. One of them wants a future in which I might be able to vote to change how much of a war machine my country is, while the other one wants to eliminate my ability to vote entirely. Those are not the same. Those literally are opposites.

At the end of the day, all you and I can do is choose to do the least amount of harm possible. You and I cannot choose to do no harm. This is the USA, we sell war, you and I cannot choose to do no harm. I wish we could, my god do I wish we could, but that is not an option. So we grieve for the harm we couldn't eliminate and work to minimize the harm that is done. Despite all the crap they support, Democrats are the minimum amount of harm right now. Acting like they aren't is exactly what brought us to an election where our options are a future where we are either wading in blood or drowning in it.

Not voting for Biden will not help Palestine. Not voting for Biden will guarantee a Republican president who will make the situation in Palestine WORSE. AND it'll hurt a lot of other places as well, both at home and abroad, because Republicans are about business and the USA is in the business of war! And I would very much like that to change someday! I would very much like to someday be able to choose to do no harm! And I know what I have to do to try for that future, so what are YOU going to do? There is no standing off to the side in this. If you aren't helping pull, you're the dead weight we're pulling. Are you going to dig your feet into the mud and blood and drown us there? Or are you going to get the fuck off your ass, grit your teeth, and help us pull free?

[tackrusso]

show tempe gang crossover with the morris islanders would actually have been the best episode of bones ever. btw

[imminent-danger-came]

I really am so sad I don't like isat. The themeing was very good

[the-way-astray]

lyrical breakdown . . .

(Verse 1)

There once was a boy from a series for kids

Fan favorite, created as comic relief

exactly!!!! he was created as comic relief!!!! actually he wasn’t even supposed to exist, but. anyway why did shannon give him the legacy plotline . . . please . . . go back to when he was just a side character . . .

But there was a girl who didn’t find him comedic

Her name was Stria, his name was Keefe

accurate.

(Verse 2)

So let’s just say for this song they’re the same age

And either she’s fictional too or he’s real

he should be real so i can put him in the very real dirt

And Stria for some reason is her given name

lmfaoooo i have definitely explained this one. it comes from astray, like my username. astray -> astrya -> strya -> stria . . . we ignore that it means stretch marks. i did not know that

Just wait for what their story will make you feel

hopefully unadulterated rage. that's what it's making me feel

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

LOVE IS CRAZY . . . and yes we are unlikely. in fact we are extinct

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

keefe would not give two shits about me . . . i would be nothing to him. actually

She thought he was toxic

i still think that. actually

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

MY HEART IS COMMANDING ME TO HATE KEEFE IRWIN SENCEN

(Verse 3)

She wrote a whole rant about everything wrong

With how he would talk and the way that he’d act

this is correct. almost the only part of this song that isn't slanderous lies

The day they met she said she was right all along

Told him off and rolled her eyes when he said he felt “attacked”

how did we meet in the song's lore . . . and okay keefe. feel attacked. see if i care. in fact this should encourage you to consider staying away . . .

(Verse 4)

But Keefe had this thing where he hated himself

He was going through it, that much was for sure

pro keefe propaganda in a strieefe song? fork found in kitchen . . . *stops myself from ranting about how i don't care if keefe is going through it, he still faces no consequ-*

He thought long and hard about Stria’s words well

Decided she was right and he should thank her

are we talking about the same keefe. i think you may be singing about a different keefe than i am

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to friends

i love how the first chorus goes "hatred to love" and then decides to dial it down a notch with "hatred to friends" in the second one

He was nothing to her

CORRECT!!!! RAHHHH!!!!

We’ll see how it ends

this song's ending is slander and lies. don't listen to it

She thought he was toxic

But she’s soon to understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

KILLING KEEFE MAIMING KEEFE BITING KEEFE EXPLODING KEEFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Verse 5)

Stria couldn’t believe he would own his mistakes

yeah there's no way i'm believing that because it didn't happen

But he swore he got it and promised to change

. . . did he though. did he really . . .

She didn’t believe it and thought it was fake

it probably is. waiting for the other shoe to drop (it will, trust) (don't listen to katie's propaganda, this song is leaving some stuff out)

He took in stride, which Stria thought was strange

he would never . . .

(Verse 6)

Alayda watched from the sidelines and was grinning

yeah, sounds like her

And Katie (that’s me, I’m Katie) took notes furiously

and then warped and skewed the notes beyond repair and put them into rhyming verses and sang it in a song. but i guess that's too long of a line to include

Alayda said, “Katie it looks like we’re winning”

alayda is also a traitor to the sokeefe nation. in case anyone cares

But I ship him with Sophie, so I said “who’s we??”

YOU LITERALLY ADMITTED TO WRITING A STRIEEFE FIC AND YOU WROTE THIS STRIEEFE SONG DON'T PRETEND YOU AREN'T A TRAITOR TO THE SOKEEFE NATION

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to something

"something" is still hatred. hope this helps

He was nothing to her

Now he’s surely more than nothing

actually, he's less than nothing

She thought he was toxic

But soon she’ll understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

my heart is commanding me to beat katie up with a shoe. and i still think he's toxic

(Verse 7)

Keefe day by day proved he meant what he said

. . . what version of keefe is this song about????

And Stria rethought the whole rant that she’d made

rethinking some parts, but definitely not the entire thing

She said “fine okay, I guess we can be friends”

i hate his sense of humor i would never be able to get along with him

He wanted more than that and asked for a date

can i please leave now

(Verse 8)

She said before they could be something more

She had a condition, he must be okay

i would never consider this. this is stria slander

With sharing her eternally with four times four

Just like the amount of letters in his name

THIS SEEMS LIKE A WELL-INTENTIONED SIXTEEN MENTION BUT IT'S JUST AN EXCUSE TO BRING UP THE FACT THAT SHANNON HATES ME AND WANTS ME DEAD AND MADE KEEFE'S MIDDLE NAME HAVE FIVE LETTERS SO THAT HIS FULL NAME HAS SIXTEEN LETTERS THIS IS KATIE MANIPULATION I'M NOT CRAZY

(Chorus)

And he said yes!

he could never live up the the very high bar that my true love, the number sixteen, has set

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

THIS VERSION IS BACK

Just him and sixteen

Now that’s more than enough

just sixteen is more than enough. sixteen and keefe is less than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

my heart is commanding me to elope with sixteen and leave keefe in the dirt

*ridiculous electric guitar solo by Katie’s brother*

the best part of the song. also you forgot some key lyrics. here, i'll fix it for you

*katie laughing*

okay, that's enough of that

i agree. that's enough of strieefe for a lifetime

As promised, 8-verse song about strieefe!

featuring my brother at the end 😭😭

For those who don’t know the joke, Stria @the-way-astray HAAAATES Keefe Sencen. So naturally it’s a ship! And after this memories post happened, well, I had no choice!

LYRICS UNDER THE CUT

(Verse 1)

There once was a boy from a series for kids

Fan favorite, created as comic relief

But there was a girl who didn’t find him comedic

Her name was Stria, his name was Keefe

(Verse 2)

So let’s just say for this song they’re the same age

And either she’s fictional too or he’s real

And Stria for some reason is her given name

Just wait for what their story will make you feel

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 3)

She wrote a whole rant about everything wrong

With how he would talk and the way that he’d act

The day they met she said she was right all along

Told him off and rolled her eyes when he said he felt “attacked”

(Verse 4)

But Keefe had this thing where he hated himself

He was going through it, that much was for sure

He thought long and hard about Stria’s words well

Decided she was right and he should thank her

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to friends

He was nothing to her

We’ll see how it ends

She thought he was toxic

But she’s soon to understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 5)

Stria couldn’t believe he would own his mistakes

But he swore he got it and promised to change

She didn’t believe it and thought it was fake

He took in stride, which Stria thought was strange

(Verse 6)

Alayda watched from the sidelines and was grinning

And Katie (that’s me, I’m Katie) took notes furiously

Alayda said, “Katie it looks like we’re winning”

But I ship him with Sophie, so I said “who’s we??”

(Chorus)

An unlikely couple

Hatred to something

He was nothing to her

Now he’s surely more than nothing

She thought he was toxic

But soon she’ll understand

One must always follow

What their heart commands

(Verse 7)

Keefe day by day proved he meant what he said

And Stria rethought the whole rant that she’d made

She said “fine okay, I guess we can be friends”

He wanted more than that and asked for a date

(Verse 8)

She said before they could be something more

She had a condition, he must be okay

With sharing her eternally with four times four

Just like the amount of letters in his name

(Chorus)

And he said yes!

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

Just him and sixteen

Now that’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

An unlikely couple

Hatred to love

She was nothing to him

Now she’s more than enough

She thought he was toxic

Now she understands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

One must always follow

What their heart commands

*ridiculous electric guitar solo by Katie’s brother*

If you made it this far, congrats! Check out my serious kotlc songs by looking up #kotlc songs or #original music on my blog!! Or not. You could always just judge my musical abilities forever and ever by this recording of me making Stria angry, which, okay, valid.

@the-way-astray @alaydabug2 @thishumanformislimiting @worldsunlikemyown @permanently-stressed @lisalovesapplesauce @jeannefostergoriot

[neyafromfrance95]

i'm so sorry to see that you're being vagueposted about for your sylki takes. it may be true that how you see sylki is a bit different than a certain section of the fandom, but that doesn't at ALL mean that you shouldn't be allowed to have your own takes! fwiw, i followed you bc i actually agree with and really enjoy ur perspective on sylki. i was getting frustrated with how many people seem to view this ship in a super heteronormative way and want sylvie to basically become a housewife, and i was so glad to find a blog that felt the same way. this fandom has become tiring tbh with how many people are now freaking out that sylvie hasn't immediately started having lokis babies in s2, and i really wish that people would at least leave room for others to have their own opinions!

this! that section of sylki shippers do not leave any room for you to have your opinions! they act like a fanon police controlling what you say in your posts on your blog!

and god forbid that what you say opposes their own hcs and takes, if you commit this unforgivable sin of having a take that is different from theirs, you better be ready for some good old online group harassment! they will make you feel like you are not welcome in this fandom, they will make sure that you are hurt, they will alienate you and force you out!

but no, you are the bad guy for jokingly calling a fandom in general "vanilla" and saying (after several disclaimers that it's your personal opinion) that when it comes to canon, you don't think that sylvie should be all about being loki's housewife.

at this point i honestly hate this fandom. there are some decent sylkis out there and i love the ship itself, but a big portion of the fandom has simply sucked all the joy for the series out of me. i wonder if they realize what the consequences of their behavior could be? back when i said (in my blog) that i don't think sylvie having babies is a compelling completion of her story in canon, and this bunch came to my blog to harass me for my takes, i was in a very *very* bad place already, and the space that was supposed to be my escape pretty much turned on me and added up to an already depressing state i was in.

and bfr anyone says that it's just a fandom wank, let me tell you that these people know how to be really cruel, whether they realize it or not, their behavior is simply cruel. they don't just argue in favor of their opinion, they shit on you personally, get aggressive towards you personally, make you feel like you "can't sit with them", ect. it gets really creepy and ugly.

and the thing is, i never addressed anyone specific in my posts, i never said *this* person and *that* person have shitty hcs/takes, i never even vaguely hinted at a distaste towards the hcs/takes of someone specific, but they accuse me of pointing fingers. when i said that i didn't think canon sylvie having babies would work, i never said anything about sylki babies in fanfiction, yet people accused me of pointing fingers at the fic writers. and they would come to my blog, harass me in the replies and asks, and talk about how despicable i am in their own blogs, and it went on and on for a while.

thanks for your nice words, anon, they are uplifting. and to those who can't stand me so much, don't worry, i'm going to leave this fandom once the series is finished. i hope you are satisfied that being a shitty, gatekeeping, narrow-minded, egocentric person worked for you! but don't ever feel entitled to complain about how lokius shippers treat you.

[friendofthecrows]

What studying criminalistics, forensics, or crime scene investigation is like in a class geared towards ppl wanting to be forensic scientists or crime scene specialists:

Professor: your week one quiz covers the assigned readings for week 1 :) you have 2 hours and it is NOT open notebook.

The assigned readings for week 1:

Professor: btw by next week you need to simulate and be able to properly document a crime scene complete with evidence handling in accordance with [three different regulating standards, 100-300 pages each] or you fail :)

What studying criminal justice in a class geared towards people wanting to be cops is like:

Professor: please write a paragraph on the good-faith principle, where evidence from illegal searches can be used if it's believed the officer was acting in good faith :) you only need 2 sources and your response should be less than 1000 words. I understand the material can be hard for some people, which is why there are 8 of these across the class, and they're mostly graded on effort and participation. I don't believe in tests or quizzes so you have none.

[areyoudoingthis]

that post about how if you don't value someone to ask for their advice why would you accept their criticism really changed my perspective about things

[whispering-kavka]

the struggles of today proved to me that i might indeed be a little mentally unwell

[teambyler]

My video "A LAWYER'S EVIDENCE that Mike and Will become a romantic pair in Stranger Things" is out!

Many of you have followed me ( @teambyler ) or read my essays analyzing Byler (I've linked some of the most-shared ones below). I am actually also a LAWYER who has a YouTube channel called RONALD OFF THE RECORD, and I just released my big video on Byler! (I also have another YouTube channel with 45K subscribers that I mention in the video)

I'm prepared to put my professional reputation as a lawyer on the line to comment on a piece of science fiction, because goddammit this is important to me! It is not "delusional" to think Will and Mike will become a couple, and there is nothing wrong with you if want it to happen! This is a video essay I've been planning for at least SIX MONTHS, and I put a lot of work into it. Please share, and please leave comments. Enjoy! =D

0:00 Why this video 1:38 Hate for Byler on the internet 10:16 Case for Mileven 15:21 Case for Byler: Starting premises 17:56 If Will were a girl… 25:30 The evidence! 29:05 EXHIBIT A: The Snow Ball 31:34 B: Mike's reactions to El and Will being upset 34:21 C: Season 3 ending montage 39:16 D: Airport reunion 47:51 E: Rink-O-Mania argument 51:28 F: Heteronormativity, audience expectations 58:25 G: Throwing away the letter 59:55 H: 2nd heart-to-heart scene 1:05:43 I: Mike can't say he loves El 1:13:27 J: Platonic reunion 1:15:12 K: Will's role convincing Mike to say "I love you" 1:20:08 L: Effect of the "love confession" on El 1:39:54 M: The Painting Lie 1:43:22 Honorable mentions 1:45:27 Non-diegetic evidence 2:01:23 Actor statements 2:10:34 NOT how you write an unrequited love story 2:16:07 Why Byler SHOULD happen (queerbaiting, etc.) 2:28:21 A more powerful story 2:35:45 A personal note

I'm now making this my new pinned post, so I'll list a few of my posts here for people to check out.

ADDITIONS: -28:00 On "We should normalize same-sex friends being affectionate, they don't have to be gay," I should have been clearer. HOMOPHOBIA is the reason for that stigma. Straight friends feeling like they can be affectionate in our society HAS to include normalizing LGBT+ people. -1:16:55 I should've said this more clearly: Will reminded Mike that who HE is, HIS unique qualities, make him worthy of love and make El love him, not dumb luck. And Will of course could convey that because Will loves the actual nerd MIke and everything he is. -1:17:06 Mike making El "not feel like a mistake" doesn't fit El, because she says that Mike looks at her "like I'm a monster, too". Nor did she "push you away because she was afraid of losing you". That's Will, not El. Mike felt love because Will was describing himself. -1:52:36 I forgot to mention that, in the original Nina opera, Nina's lover is ALIVE and DOES return. The Duffers changed the story so that Nina's lover does NOT return, to further suggest Mike won't return! -2:35:22 I'm kicking myself for not being more specific about Mike and Will being heroes in more than one way: I think the theme of bullying from s1 will return, with Will (and also Mike) having to face bullying for being boyfriends in Hawkins.

EDIT: I hit 1000 subs, only to discover THIS VIDEO CANNOT BE MONETIZED. ='( I think I put over 100 hours of work in this video, and this isn't sustainable for me unless I get support. This also means I can't make public videos with the same quality -- using show clips and music makes a stronger impact. I've considered deleting and reposting an edit, but that would losing all the wonderful comments and CUTTING OUT THE LAST SCENE. ='( ='( ='( NO. FUCKING. WAY.

So this is what'll happen: future videos NOT use clips and music to the same extent, except versions I post on my Patreon. And I need Patrons because I don't make money as a social-justice lawyer, and rely on that plus YouTube ads. Here's the Patreon link! (Any future video will be clipped, with the full version on Patreon) https://www.patreon.com/c/theruleslawyer

Some other @teambyler posts:

Mike was saying "I love you" to Will

Questions to ask if ever you have Byler doubt

How the Duffers have set Will up to have a happy ending in Season 5

The most heartbreaking way Byler can culminate (and how I predict it will) (I know this is less likely than an "escape from Camazotz" possession scenario, but I still want this to happen =D )

How the Duffers likely will make the general audience AWARE of Byler and CHEER for Byler

-teambyler

[sundrop-writes]

Meddle About

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

‘Cause it's not just a figure of speech - you got me down on my knees.

It's gettin' harder to b r e a t h e .

Summary:

You hate it when Morgan teases Reid. So when Morgan says that you are Reid's 'Mommy' - you verbally fire back without even thinking about it.

Reid vastly overthinks it.

So much so that he ends up calling you Mommy by mistake. And you definitely don't hate the sound of that word coming off his lips.

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Smut. Set during Season One.

Word Count: 6,300

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

Detailed warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: general smut fic - porn with some plot; dom/sub dynamics (but this isn't a pre-discussed dom/sub relationship, the characters just fall into these roles naturally), Spencer is submissive and the reader is dominant; the main theme is Mommy kink - Spencer discovers that he has a Mommy kink after a joke that Morgan makes, referring to the reader character as Spencer's Mommy; Spencer calls the reader 'Mommy' and the reader also refers to herself with that title; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina (and breasts); it could be interpreted that the reader has larger breasts/is plus sized (but I think anyone of any size could enjoy this fic); the reader is part of the BAU; this is meant to take place during season one (baby Spence my beloved) but there are no other major canon events mentioned and the case being discussed is one that I have made up; some very background typical elements of Criminal Minds - murder, killing, systemic vicimization of women/violence from men towards women (passing mention of bodies being consumed by wild animals); the reader and Spencer fuck while on a case (but they aren't endangering anyone's lives from lack of their attention, so it's fine); mentions of potential injuries from a car accident (theoretical - doesn't actually happen during the fic); very slight threads of Morgan x Reader (mentions of Morgan being attracted to the reader - it could be one-sided); very passing mention of Reid having breeding kink (doesn't take place during the fic, just one of his thoughts); for the actual smut section: this could be interpreted as virgin!Spencer but that's not explicitly stated here (at most, this is just inexperienced!Spencer) (the reader is definitely way more sexually experienced than him); praise kink (we all known Spencer is so eager to be praised); mentions of breastfeeding - Morgan makes a joke about the reader breastfeeding Reid, which later turns into faux breastfeeding kink (the reader doesn't actually lactate, but she lets Spencer suck on her tits and calls it breastfeeding); the reader calls Spencer: 'baby', 'good boy',; descriptions of subspace - but it's not specifically called 'subspace' in the text; thigh humping - Spencer humps the reader's thigh; cumming in pants (Spencer); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (Spencer receiving); handjob - the reader jacks Spencer off while he is sensitive after his first orgasm; using lube as cum; dumbification kink - the reader calls Spencer 'dumb baby' and generally enjoys seeing his intellect drop the more turned on he becomes (Spencer also likes being called this); technically the reader doesn't get to cum, but she gets turned on from treating Spencer like the good boy that he is (and this is more about him). I think that's everything.

A/N: This was directly inspired by the scene from Reid's birthday party, where Morgan says 'Mommy to the rescue!' (talking about JJ) and then Spencer says '...Mommy?' and it seems like he is discovering his Mommy kink in real time. Especially because he is then trapped between Elle and JJ and he makes direct eye contact with their boobs, and he just has such a look of scared kink realization in his eyes. I considered copying that moment exactly and just replacing JJ with the reader character, but this seemed like more fun lmao. I had so much fun writing this and I think this is one of my best fics in a while. I hope you guys enjoy it!!

...

Generally, you hated being stuck with grunt work. 

You knew that it was all part of the job - an important part of it. Paperwork, side interviews, background checks. Sifting through someone’s apartment looking for aspects of what kind of person they were based on their everyday life. 

But you thrived more on being right in the middle of things. You preferred interacting with suspects, chasing people down, harsh confrontation. 

Gideon said that you were overly controlling, impatient, brutally honest - that you had an ‘abrasive personality’ that put most men off. But that was why he often brought you into interrogations with male suspects. Many of the people you caught - men with superiority complexes who targeted the weak to make themselves feel powerful - they hated that you weren’t intimidated by them. That aspect of abrasion between you and the suspects often brought out a lot of information - things they spewed out trying to intimidate you. 

But you weren’t needed on that front today. 

No - instead, you were doing grunt work. The kind of work that made you impatient and generally aggravated. 

The only upside was that you got to do it with Spencer. 

He was one of the only men that voluntarily worked so closely with you so often, because he wasn’t intimidated by you. He took orders from you very well and naturally fell under your authority, bringing a natural chemistry to your partnership when you worked with him. Plus - his seemingly endless stream of ‘fun facts’ was like listening to the radio, which did help to soothe your boredom during these kinds of mindless tasks. 

You were on a case in Texas. Five women raped and tortured before having their bodies hung from a tree and consumed by cotoyes that the UnSub knew lived in the area. Since police had closed in on him, he had gone on the run. He had killed three more women since fleeing, while leaving no clues as to what his ultimate endgame would be or where he would be going next. 

Hotch sent you and Reid to find that out while the rest of the team worked victimology and profiled the scenes of the most recent murders, following the trail he was leaving. 

After spending hours sifting through the suspect’s house, looking for any small clue about where he might be going - you came up empty. When you touched base with Hotch, he told you that you and Reid would be going to visit the suspect’s ex-wife - who lived four hours away. You needed to interview her to see if she could give you any further insight to the man, and perhaps - beat him to the house if she was the ultimate target. 

(A lot of the victims looked like her, and it couldn’t really be a coincidence.) 

You knew that lives were at risk, and it was juvenile of you, but all you heard was: long, boring drive. Boring day. You hoped that Reid would be good company through it. 

Now, you were waiting outside of the police station in the bureau-issued SUV, waiting for Morgan to come and give you the file with the ex-wife’s address and contact information. 

“Did you know that over forty-six percent of Texans own a gun? Texas is second only to Montana in registered gun ownership, where over sixty-six percent of citizens proudly tote their right to bear arms.” Reid told you, continuing to look over the case files that were sitting in his lap. 

When you looked over toward him to reply to this odd factoid, your mind got caught up on something else. 

“Reid, come on, take your feet off the dashboard!” You told him, reaching over to gently smack his knee, trying to encourage his legs down from the awkward position. 

It bothered you for several reasons - the idea that he would leave shoe prints on the dashboard, which was minor and cosmetic, but still annoying. And the fact that if the car did happen to get hit head-on, the air-bag would explode out and push his knees into his chest, causing his shattered leg bones to pierce his organs and possibly kill him. (At the very least, he would never walk again.) 

Speaking of which: 

“And put your seatbelt on!” You barked, now noticing that he wasn’t wearing it past all of the files he had piled into his lap. “You of all people should know how many deaths are caused by not wearing a seatbelt.” 

Spencer opened his mouth to spout out this exact statistic, but before he could get the words out, another voice entered the conversation. 

“Aw, Reid, listen to your Mommy.” 

You were almost startled by Morgan’s voice coming from the open driver’s side window so suddenly. His appearance there as if out of nowhere was so jarring that you couldn’t get caught up on the way he had called you Reid’s Mommy. Your head whipped toward Morgan so quickly that you didn’t notice the flash across Spencer’s features - worry, dawning. You didn’t take note of the way he rushed to comply with putting on his seatbelt. As if he was rushing to please you, even unconsciously. 

“I bet if you’re a good boy, she might even breastfeed you when you get there.” 

Morgan then pursed his lips and made loudly suckling noises, clearly imitating breastfeeding in what he thought was a comedic way. 

Again - glaring at the muscled man through the open window, you didn’t see Spencer’s reaction. You didn’t see the way his large, glassy eyes flickered to your breasts (only emphasized by your own seatbelt crossed over the center of your chest) before he forced himself to focus on the files in front of him so that he wouldn’t feel so caught.

“Shut up.” You told Morgan, your voice so commanding and firm that his simple order was enough to get him to stop his antics. 

“And give me the address already.” You held out your hand expectantly, and Morgan handed you the file, which you placed onto the center console. 

Then, you turned back to him for one last point, determined to have the final word in the conversation. 

“Besides, we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts, anyway. Just because you stare while wearing sunglasses, doesn’t mean I don’t notice. My eyes are up here, pal.” You told him sharply. 

He let out a scoff at this, and rolled his eyes behind his dark frames - but he made no clever comeback. 

You had successfully bested him. And with that knowledge, you rolled up the window and left him standing dumbly in the parking lot as you sped off. 

… 

You pulled over later to put the address into the GPS system, and you let out a long-winded groan when you found that it was more than four hours away. Four hours and twenty five minutes. 

So you pulled over again to get gas and stocked up on snacks, and you were surprised that Reid wasn’t giving you some lesson about the colloquial use of ‘soda’ and ‘pop’ (thinking that you hadn’t listened the other ten times when he had gone on the same rambling point about linguistics and how language evolves). 

He was being far too quiet for your liking. 

But he was keeping his eyes glued to the files, and you guessed that he was churning over something in that big brain of his, like he usually was. 

You were entirely surprised when the next time he spoke - it wasn’t about the case at all. 

“How - how do you know that Morgan likes your breasts?” He asked, his voice low and mousy, looking straight ahead as he fidgeted with his hands in his lap. 

“What?” You gaped, the word flying out of your mouth as your brain was utterly slow to process what he had just said. 

Hearing Spencer use the word ‘breasts’ was jarring, but somehow utterly adorable. You found it stirring a slight heat within you. Especially because he was still so shy. The whole thing made you want to pin him down and force the shyness out of him. 

Spencer felt the need to further explain himself. 

“When - when you were talking to him, you said: ‘we both know that you’re the one who’s got an obsession with my breasts.’” He said, repeating back what you had said, word for word, using that perfect memory of his. 

You wondered if that’s what he had been doing, sitting there in his seat so silently for the past hour of the car ride - going over the conversation again and again in his head, trying to make sense of it. And because he couldn’t make any sense of it by himself, now he was consulting you. 

Again, you found it so utterly adorable. 

“Morgan didn’t deny it. So - was it a hypothesis based on something, or did you just call him out hoping that you weren’t wrong?” Reid continued, sparing only a singular glance in your direction, a look that you caught out of the corner of your eye with your gaze still mostly focused ahead on the road. 

You found it intensely cute that he was using the word ‘hypothesis’ in this situation. You wondered if he ever turned it off - the textbook big words and the intellect that he always carried himself with. You wondered if you could make him turn it off. You wondered if there was any situation where Spencer Reid could be as stupid as any other man - chasing a bone, desperate to get his nut off. 

For the first time ever - you imagined Spencer Reid underneath you, blabbering nonsense, begging for release with your hand around his cock as you pumped him, red and aching, so slick in your palm. Desperate, empty-headed, beautifully stupid. 

(See, this was what happened when you were forced to do grunt work. You got bored. And when you got bored - you had to entertain yourself somehow.) 

“It was a pretty well-informed hypothesis.” You replied. Now that Spencer had brought the topic up, you certainly weren’t going to shy away from the discussion. “Morgan often brings up my sex life, and wants to engage in detailed discussions about my sexual encounters with me. So I assume that he spends a fair amount of time thinking about me in a sexual way.” 

Reid let out a choked-off noise at this. 

You continued. 

“Plus, he’s always staring down my top. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

“You - you actually notice that kind of thing?” He chirped, his voice becoming a few octaves higher as worry flooded him. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a grin. 

Of course, you had noticed the times that Spencer stared at your breasts as well. He was even less subtle about it than Morgan was. You didn’t mind it when he did it, because you knew that Spencer wasn’t exactly casanova. He didn’t have a different girl every other week like Morgan did, so taking a glance down your shirt when he passed you a morning coffee was probably about as much action as he got. 

Secretly, letting him get away with it was your gift to him. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby.” You told him, the pet name slipping out mindlessly as you reached over and gently patted his knee as a form of reassurance. 

This movement unintentionally drew his eyes toward your chest, especially in his desperation to look anywhere but your face, not wanting to make eye contact with you. But he found his eyes glued to the swell of your breasts once again - hating how perfect they looked, even through the simple cotton shirt and plain bra that you wore. 

“Sorry, Mommy.” The word slipped out before he could even consciously process it. “Sorry!” 

Spencer raised a hand to smack his own face at lightning speed, and slumped down into his seat in embarrassment. 

You bit your lip to suppress a grin. It stirred a filthy heat in your belly. But you knew that Spencer likely needed a while to sit with this and wouldn’t want to talk about it - not yet. So you reached over and turned on the radio, letting the music fill the space so that the silence wasn’t so awkward and gutting. 

…

Spencer didn’t talk for the entirety of the rest of the car ride, which didn’t surprise you. 

When you finally arrived at the ex-wife’s house, his hands were shaking with nerves as he tried to unlatch his seatbelt. You probably should have just left him alone to struggle, but an evil spark, likely fueled by the boredom of the day, flared up inside of you. You couldn’t resist the urge to lean over the console, very purposefully showing off your breasts as you gently pushed his hands away and undid the belt for him. 

“Here, let Mommy get that for you.” You said, distinct teasing on your breath as you mumbled the words into his ear. 

Spencer huffed out a deep sigh and collapsed back into his seat, and pushed his hair out of his face in frustration. But he didn’t say anything more as you gathered the files in preparation for the interview. 

He only spoke when you moved to get out of the car. 

“Look, I-” He began a half assed explanation, and you easily cut him off. 

“You let Morgan get in your head too much.” You told him with a chuckle, opening your door and getting out. 

But as he forced himself to follow you with numb limbs - he knew that this definitely wasn’t all Morgan’s fault. 

… 

The ex-wife didn’t know much. 

She described the marriage as hell - the suspect exhibited all the typical behaviors as a husband that they would have expected. He hated women, and he wanted full control over his wife at the time, which eventually led down the path of divorce. They had to sell the house they had bought together, but neither of them had moved out of Texas since. But he hadn’t contacted her in years. 

She had two young kids from a new relationship, and when the woman stepped out to take a call, you picked one of them up to soothe his cries, hushing him gently while you rubbed his back. 

Because of this, Spencer found himself even more dizzy and confused. 

He knew that it was Frueadian - some deep, misguided part of his psychology - something broken and missing inside of him because of his own fractured childhood. 

But seeing you being so sweet with a kid, especially after the day he’d had - he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be your baby, or if he wanted to shoot his cum so deep inside you that it would ensure he could give you one. 

(Ultimately, he knew that it was likely both - and that didn’t answer any questions for him. It just gave him far more questions.) 

… 

Even though the ex-wife couldn’t give you guys much more than you already knew, Hotch wanted you and Spencer to stay close by in case the suspect decided to make his ex-wife the end game. The two of you would be able to make it to her first if she called for help. 

So you and Spencer had dinner at a random local barbeque place off the highway and Spencer still didn’t talk much through it, other than posing some theories about the case. Even though he was a bit more talkative, he still refused to look at you - he stared down at his plate the whole time. Though whenever he did look up, you noticed that his eyes lingered on your chest - and he still wouldn’t look you in the eye. 

By the time the bill came around and the two of you were ready to leave, you knew exactly what you had to do. 

… 

Spencer waited by the car with his bag while you checked in and got a motel room (needing to stay in town, you got a room for the night). When you came back, you handed him the room key and then moved to get your bag out of the car. 

“Do… you already have yours?” He asked quietly. 

“Hmm?” You hummed in reply, slinging the strap of your go-bag over your shoulder before you closed the back door and used the remote to lock up the car. 

“Your room key?” 

You suppressed another grin. 

“I only got one room.” You told him. “You don’t mind sharing with me, right?” 

You gave him a purposeful look - looked at him through your lashes, bit your lip slightly, and subtly squeezed your breasts together with your upper arms, emphasizing them. You knew exactly what you were doing to him, but hopefully it seemed subtle. 

“I - uh - no.” Spencer stuttered. “It’s fine. We can share.” He gave a grin, not wanting to appear upset, even though his entire body was racked with nerves. 

Spencer followed you to the room and he fumbled with the key with shaking hands for a moment before he sighed and then handed it to you. 

His insides quaked when he saw that there was only one bed. 

He wasn’t sure if he should say anything about it. The two of you had slept in the same room before, but you had never shared a bed before. Sure, you had slept near each other before. He had accidentally fallen asleep on your shoulder on the plane or vice versa. But you had never crawled into bed together with the intention of sleeping together. 

And yes, just the entendre behind it made Reid’s head spin. 

He had a heavy knot in his gut, and hatefully - a distinct stirring in his crotch. He could only imagine how embarrassing it would be for you to wake up and see him compromised in some way. Or god forbid, if you caught him moaning in his sleep because of unconscious dreams that he couldn’t stop - for you to think that he was some kind of dirty sex pervert because of it. 

He felt an overwhelming need to clear the air overtake him. He had no clue how to broach the subject, but he knew that he wouldn’t be able to spend the night like this. He wouldn’t be able to sleep with this anxiety hanging over his head. 

He studied you carefully as you sat down on the edge of the bed, ditching your bag off to the side and heaving out a tired sigh as you began taking off your shoes. 

Spencer put down his own bag and then stood there, fidgeting nervously as he searched for words. 

“I - uh - I am sorry about earlier.” He mumbled out the beginnings of an apology. “What Morgan said was stupid, and I-” 

“I don’t think it was stupid.” 

You let out a chuckle, and reached up the back of your shirt. Spencer found himself frozen, his eyes tracing your every moment as you unhooked your bra underneath your shirt and then moved to maneuver the straps out from your short sleeves while you kept talking. 

“I think he had a point.” You added on. “Good boys should get a reward. And I think you were fairly good today. You didn’t eat all your veggies at dinner, but you kept your feet off the dashboard and you were quiet during the car ride. You definitely get points for being patient during such a long trip, baby.” 

Your voice smoothed into a soothing tone, that word - baby - melting like butter over your tongue in a way that made Spencer’s knees wobble. He hadn’t known it until right now, but you calling him a ‘good boy’ and listing off such mundane things he had done that made him worthy of a reward fired off sparks inside of his brain. 

A breath choked off inside of his throat as you stood up off the bed and peeled your bra completely out from under your shirt. Somehow it was one of the sexiest things he had ever seen, revealing the hard peaks of your nipples and the beautiful natural teardrop shape of your breasts to him through the cotton fabric. 

Spencer wanted to speak, but his tongue felt so heavy and dry inside of his mouth. He knew that he was staring at your chest so blatantly now, but he couldn’t peel his eyes away. He couldn’t even feel ashamed anymore. 

That dull tingle in his crotch had turned into a full on stinging interest, and he unconsciously pulled at the fabric of his pants, trying to loosen some of the tension that was growing, not even considering how it might look to you - him dumbly reaching for his crotch to make it look looser when his hardening bulge was becoming more obvious by the second. 

It was one of the most ‘caveman’ things he had ever done in front of you - standing there with his mouth hanging slightly agape, pulling at his crotch without caring how it looked. You definitely wanted more, wanted to see how dumb he could get. How far you could make him devolve. 

“So what do you say, baby boy?” You hummed, stepping close into his personal space now, causing him to get a whiff of your perfume - something that was only a dull trace after such a long day, but still smelled so good. “Do you want Mommy to breastfeed you? Do you wanna suck on my tits as your reward?” 

You gently ran a thumb across his cheek, and paired with the words, Spencer’s brain short-circuited. 

He knew realistically that you weren’t actually offering to breastfeed him. There was no evidence in your life to say that your body could actually support the production of milk currently - but you were offering to let him play pretend. To suck on your tits with a very sexual air, to call you Mommy without the teasing humiliation behind it that Morgan had hinted at (or maybe Spencer liked that humiliation, he wasn’t even sure). (He hadn’t even known before this morning that he liked the idea of calling you Mommy, but here he was). 

All he could conjure in response was the dumbest, non-human sound. 

“Nngh.” 

It was a grunt from the back of his throat - too much blood swelling to his cock all at once and too much direct attention from you making him dizzy. 

You giggled quietly. 

“Come on, baby. Just say the word. And Mommy will give you everything you need.” 

Spencer inhaled sharply. At this point, he was desperate to get some oxygen to his brain. 

His mind was racing, chanting out: 

‘Yes! God, yes! I want it so badly, Mommy! I want anything you’ll give me. I need you. I need you so badly.’ 

But all his lips could form in the wake of such dizzying lust was: 

“Please.” 

“Good boy.” You sighed. 

You used a hand on his chin to tilt his face up to meet yours, and you consumed him in a kiss - he was hungry and eager to meet your touch, moaning loudly into your mouth, his hands racing to touch you now, rushing up to grip on your hips in the most utterly needy way. He balled the fabric of your shirt in his fists, like he couldn’t get enough of you - like he was afraid you would dissolve away if he let go of you for even a second. 

It was cute, to say the least. 

You only let the kiss last for a moment, though. You pulled away to a disappointed whine from Spencer, which you quietly hushed. 

“Hey, it’s okay baby.” You soothed him. “Come here. Mommy’s gonna take good care of you.” 

You lead him toward the bed, getting rid of his tie in the process, and Spencer stepped out of his shoes along the way. You slid onto the bed and laid up on the pillows on your back, Spencer clumsily following you, crawling on all fours. The two of you had barely started, but he was full-on panting now, racing to catch his breath while his blood hammered through his veins. 

He watched on with eager curiosity while you got comfortable, fluffing the pillow under your head before you then reached down and pulled up your shirt. You pulled the fabric to sit up under your chin, finally revealing your gorgeous breasts to him. 

If he was lost for words before, then he had receded back to a total neanderthal now. 

His mouth fell open and his salivary glands started working overtime as his eyes raked hungrily over your chest - enjoying the pure beauty of the fatty mounds, striped with zig-zagging stretch marks and completed by your hard peaked nipples. 

“Here, come on, baby.” 

You had to remind Spencer what the goal was, guiding him into place with a hand on the back of his head. You helped ease his body to lay on top of yours as he relaxed into you - and his mouth finally found its rightful place on your breast. He became greedy, suctioning hard on your nipple as though he might actually get something out of it. 

Truthfully, he did get something out of this. 

It definitely wasn’t any form of nutrition, but it was something that drove him lustfully insane and made his head fuzzy and warm in the best way. This was the only time in his entire life that he didn’t have ten thousand thoughts running through his mind like the news blasting on television in the background. This was the only time since his first conscious memory that he had actually known his mind to be quiet. 

He felt intensely thankful for it. Intensely thankful toward you for giving him this feeling. 

In that moment, without all the noise, all he knew was the comforting feeling of your fat tit under his mouth, the heat of your body under his own as you cradled him. The soothing firmness of your hands through his hair and down his back - and the distant, sweet purring of your voice in his ears. 

“Good boy.” You hummed, loving the feeling of him moaning around your nipple - so constant and so greedy now that you were sure he didn’t even know that he was doing it. “Such a good boy for me. Such a good boy for Mommy.” 

Your cunt was humming between your thighs, aching so hard at seeing Spencer like this. The usually composed, intelligent, practically robotic Doctor Reid reduced down to a blubbering, moaning, needy mess just because he wanted to suck on your tits. 

Just because you had called yourself Mommy a few times in his presence. 

It was so utterly beautiful, and you wanted more. 

(You didn’t think that you could ever let him go after this. You probably wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of another woman touching him after this. But you would have to think on that more later.) 

You noticed Spencer canting his hips, unconsciously seeking friction against his hard cock while he continued to suck on your breast. With his eyes closed blissfully, drool gathering around his lips where they met your skin in the most utterly adorable way. You couldn’t help yourself - you scooted your knee between his thighs. You then used a hand to help his hips into place, adjusting him so that he was getting good friction against your denim-clad thigh. 

“There you go. There you go, sweet boy.” You hummed, feeling another jolt through your body when he let out a sharper moan against your tit, and began humping your leg in earnest. 

You were quick to encourage him, putting both hands on his hips and helping him along while he greedily hung onto you. He had on your hip, the other hand slipping up to cup fingers around the bottom of your breast, making sure you didn’t escape him while he moved his body against you so frantically. 

“That’s just what you needed, isn’t it, baby?” You moaned out, your voice wavering slightly as the pleasure of it all thrummed through you. “Just a dumb little baby who needed Mommy’s tit.” 

The term ‘dumb little baby’ came flying out of your mouth before you could stop it. Though you knew exactly why it happened. Seeing such a brilliant genius reduced down to this truly did something to your ego. And apparently hearing those words from you did something to him, too. 

He whined sharply against your skin and his hips stuttered abruptly. You knew it wouldn’t be long before he came in his pants, his cock throbbing against the friction of your thigh. And this thought alone caused your mouth to run off without restraint. 

“Such a needy little thing.” You sighed. “You love being Mommy’s dumb baby, don’t you? Not a single fucking thought between your ears, just sucking on Mommy’s tit without a care in the world.” 

Spencer moaned and it sent another jolt through your body - another harsh pang through your cunt. You loved how much he needed you. You loved how much he was clearly eating this up. 

You didn’t even care if you got to cum tonight; you just wanted to exhaust him for all he was worth. Because he was so fucking pretty like this. 

“You gonna cum for me, baby boy? You gonna cum for Mommy? Come on, baby. Cum for me.” 

These words were what ultimately sent him over the edge. Well that along with your strong hands on his hips, encouraging him along while he was mindless and busy mouthing on your breast.

His jaw dropped open, finally loosening that desperate suction on your now slightly sore nipple as he began to pant frantically over your now spit-soaked skin. He moaned hotly while he humped you in an entirely adorable, almost distraught manner - absolutely desperate to have the most friction on his cock while his orgasm overtook him. 

You could feel his needy cock throbbing against you, trapped inside of his pants, shooting off hot ropes of cum that quickly soaked into his underwear and even then, seeped into the fabric of his slacks. You grinned and bit your lip as you felt that wetness even beginning to soak into your jeans, knowing he must have set off quite a big load. 

Spencer soon collapsed on top of you, gulping in air as he tried to catch his breath. 

Any normal person would have taken pity on him (seeing as he was clearly nervous and inexperienced) and wound things down to end the night here. Anyone else would have likely let him rest. 

But again, you felt devilish temptation overtake you. (It was a feeling that seemed to be much more ripe around Spencer Reid.) 

You just felt thankful that your temptation and inclination toward chaos came in the form of lust, rather than something more violent, like the people you studied every single day. Everyone around you should be thankful for that. 

You used your leverage (and the fact that you weren’t nearly as exhausted from the experience) to flip him over onto his back. He let out a surprised sound as his back made contact with the mattress - blinking up at you with shocked, glassy eyes as you moved down his body slightly. 

“Wha-?” He mumbled out the question, only getting out part of the word before you reached for the zipper on the front of his now wet pants. 

“Hey, shh, baby. I just wanna see you.” You told him quietly, causing him to stare down the length of his own body at your hands as you worked. 

You got the button and zipper undone quickly and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ as you peeled back the wet fabric of his grey slacks to reveal the sight of his simplistic (very Reid) white cotton underwear slightly transparent and stuck tight to his cock, coated in wet, sticky cum. 

“So pretty baby.” 

He only whined in response. 

You couldn’t help yourself - you reached up and pulled down the waistband of his underwear, feeling more lust pricking through you as he was truly revealed to your eyes. He was perfect. Glossy and wet with his own release, his cock pinky red from the exertion and friction, still half hard. You pulled the clothes down over his hips and he lifted his body to help you, clearly glad to be rid of the mess, and the second you untangled the fabric from his ankles and ditched everything aside, you were back on him. 

You skimmed the tips of your fingers oh-so-lightly up his shaft where it was sprawled across his pelvis, and his hips jolted. He let out a bitter gasp - as though cold water had been splashed across him. 

“You said-” He choked on the words as you ran your thumb right underneath the crown, gently pressing into the head, causing him to choke on a moan while his knees quaked. 

You sat on his knees to keep him still and his head became so fuzzy once again. 

‘You said that you only wanted to look.’ 

The sentence died off in his lungs somewhere, and truthfully - he didn’t want to protest. He didn’t want you to stop. 

“Sens-sensitive.” He whined. “Too much.” 

“But you’re so pretty, baby.” You replied, your voice turning smooth and warm like butter again, melting over his whole body, causing all of his muscles to go soft and pliant for you. “Your cock is so pretty. I need to touch you.” 

He let out another strangled noise when you cupped your hand and took him fully in your grip this time, giving one good tug across his cock from root to tip. When you did this again, faster this time, his lungs seized inside his chest - trying to take in oxygen so quickly, as though he were drowning on dry land. 

“You gonna be good for me, baby?” 

“Yes.” He gargled back in response. “Yes, Mommy.” 

He was already so wet from cumming in his pants, and he let out a pathetic dribble of precum as you continued to move your hand - so it was an easy, slick slide. One that sent harsh shockwaves through him from overstimulation. Against his own will, he soon ballooned back to full hardness - becoming painfully swollen in your hand while you sped up your touch and closed your fist tighter around him. It caused the most wonderful hurt between his legs, and made a downright filthy wet sound as you pumped your grip faster along his needy cock. 

Spencer heard wailing and felt the soreness against his throat before he realized that he was the one making those desperate sounds. He distantly wondered what it might sound like to someone else, if the rooms on either side were occupied, if the motel would receive a noise complaint about some frail woman getting fucked to death by her husband next door - because that’s what he sounded like in his own ears. 

But any of those half-thoughts were chased out of his brain the second you flicked your thumb up over the head of his cock and your dirty mouth filled his ears once again. 

“Gonna milk this pretty cock, baby.” You told him, your voice firm. “You gonna show Mommy how much you can cum for me? Gonna show me what a good boy you are?” 

Spencer let out another pathetic sound, his body singing with pleasure at his pure need to prove to you that - yes, he was a good boy. 

He felt tears wet on the side of his face before he realized that he was crying, but it was all too good to ask you to stop. 

You used your other hand to cradle his balls and you swooped down to capture his gasping mouth in another kiss (a very messy, open mouthed kiss that Spencer could barely pay attention to). Spencer screamed into your mouth while he painted his stomach with cum once again.

You only stopped jerking his cock once you had truly milked every last drop from him, his hips seizing up off the bed and your hand almost slipping off him completely from how sloppily wet it was with more of his cum added to the mix. 

He was purely exhausted then. His eyes blinked heavily, struggling to stay open. He vaguely remembered you cleaning him off and tucking him into bed - but he definitely enjoyed falling asleep curled up next to your warmth. 

…

The next morning, Spencer felt hungover. 

He wondered if that’s what good sex always felt like - the combination of endorphins rushing through your body and physical exertion tackling you over. His legs were sore, as though he had run several miles. (Which wasn’t even something he could make a bold comparison to anyway, because he didn’t exercise nearly as much as he should for someone with this job). He woke up starving, grateful when you drove to a diner down the road after checking out of the motel and planted him in one of the booths before going outside to call Hotch in order to touch base with the rest of the team. 

You came back with a small grin on your face. 

“Turns out that tip the ex-wife gave us about their first house in Arlington was pretty solid.” You told Reid. “They caught the guy on his way there. He had another girl in the trunk. They got her back mostly unarmed, and took him into custody.” 

Spencer nodded. “That’s good.” 

When he moved to grab another sugar packet out of the caddy on the side of the table, three of them already open and empty beside his cup of coffee, you grabbed him by the wrist. 

“That’s enough, baby.” You told him. 

His stomach curled, that distinct feeling running through him again. And against his will, that word slipped out - again. 

“Yes, Mommy.”

...

A/N: This is a standalone oneshot. There won't be a sequel or a continuation, so please do not ask for one. If you liked the fic, please comment about the body of work that has been written, or consider reblogging to show your appreciation. If you want to see more Spencer Reid fics that I have written, you can check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist, or you can check out my Masterlists for other fandoms to see if anything catches your eye. Thank you for reading!

[luveline]

hi, i’m not sure if your requests are open, forgive me if not, but i’ve been thinking about bombshell!reader and spence lately. not sure if you’ve written this already or something similar, but how about them sharing a room on a case? similar to alaska.

fem, 1k

Spencer predicted the outcome of the roommate situation fairly quickly. Ignoring whatever data he might have in his head about the team, Spencer was always going to end up sharing with you tonight, because the universe hates him, and because you quite like him. 

It's nice to be someone first choice, if nothing else. “Me and Spencer will share, obviously,” you say, holding out your hand for a keycard. 

Hotch passes it over without complaint. He doesn't have to say keep it professional, you will (ish), and he doesn't have to ask Spencer if he's okay with this arrangement. Despite endless exhausting teasing, everyone knows that you and Spencer are actually friends. Or, he thinks you are. 

You certainly feel quite friendly as you hike your bag higher up your arm and sew the other arm through his. “Let's go. I'm so tired I might fall asleep on the way there.” 

You don't look tired. Spencer struggles to understand how every emotion you wear suits you. How every time he looks at you, you're prettier. He read a book recently on human attraction, and less factual but perhaps his most strongly believed takeaway from the book was that a person grows more attracted to the person they're attracted to, like a loop, or an ouroboros snake eating its own tail, forced over and over to make the same stupid mistake. What is he doing? Does he really think this is a good idea? Is he in love with you? How couldn't he be? You walk arm in arm to a room you're going to share and you don't care that he smells sickly of arnica and deodorant mixed together. You ignore the dark circles under his eyes, dark circles you never seem to have, always so perfect, always so you. 

“This one?” you ask, coming to a stop. “Room… 108?” He takes your bag and you smile gratefully, inserting the key, and legging open the door. “Tada. Home sweet home, Dr. Reid.” 

The hotel room is small and stale. Clean, sure, but questionably, with yellowing furnishings and sparse furniture. There's a double bed, two nightstands, a cubby bathroom close to the door, and a single chair near a small free standing countertop opposite of the bed, hosting a microwave and cups with hot chocolate sachets. 

“Wow,” you say, beaming, immediately breaking for the bed. 

“Wait, wait! We have to check for bed bugs.” 

You hold your hands up in surrender. 

Spencer peels the sheets back and uses the little torch on his keychain to investigate the mattress while you sit on the floor, one leg crossed beneath you and the other stretched in front of you as you sort through your clothes. You hum as you fold a shirt cleanly and make a pleased sound that may prove to give him indigestion as you unearth your pyjamas. 

“Spencer, can I shower first? Do you mind?” 

“I don't mind.” He turns off the torch, satisfied. “Thank you. For letting me check without being annoyed.”He says the second bit quieter than he means to. 

“Why would I be annoyed?” you ask, standing up in a whirlwind of pistachio perfume. Low notes of something sweet and caramelised haunt him as you drop your hand on his shoulder. “I'm gonna shower really fast, I swear. Should we get dinner? I bet we could order something to the front desk.” 

“I'll see if they have any menus.” 

Sitting in bed with you, later, showered and fed and drinking microwaved hot chocolate from paper cups together, Spencer has a strange flash of pleasure. Talking to you, seeing you with your hair in its protective style for the night, your skin shining with lotions and serums, and to have the revelation that you really do have dark circles under your makeup, it all feels private and special. Because you're still undeniably beautiful, and you act like he's worth sharing that with. 

He feels overwhelmed, in all honesty. 

You can sense it. You do your best to calm him down. 

“Finish your drink, babe,” you say, knocking him on the thigh with your knuckles. “It was a really long day.” 

“I'm fine.” 

“Yes, you are.” You giggle at yourself. “Sorry, I'm being serious tonight, I decided.” 

“Why?” he asks, puzzled. 

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable.” 

“You don't.” 

You put your hot chocolate on the nightstand and sink back into the pillows, looking every bit a movie star as usual despite your fresh face. It's your expression, the confidence behind them, that makes you so beautiful. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask. 

He looks down into his hot chocolate, swirling the drink around and around. “You're beautiful.” 

It catches you off guard. You're quiet for too long, panic festering in his chest. 

“You are too.” You put your hand on his thigh. When he brings his haze to your face, you've closed your eyes, a small smirk playing on your lips. “Wanna brush my teeth for me?” 

“No.” You both laugh. “Sorry if that was out of the blue, before.”

“I say worse to you,” you say. “Lay down with me. We can snuggle.��� 

Spencer lays down. You don't snuggle, but your hand stays pressed to the side of his thigh, and the smell of your perfume lingers despite your shower. It must've been caught in your hair. 

“It's weird,” you say, facing the ceiling, “I'm not tired anymore.” 

“It's called learned arousal.” 

Your laugh is a shock. “Oh, is it now?” 

“Not like that. Are you thinking about work? If you think about certain things while you're in bed, it starts to make it so you think about those things on instinct. You've conditioned yourself.” 

“I don't think so,” you say. “Well, maybe. Mostly I just think about you, Spence. And not like that.” You laugh again, so much laughter Spencer could conjure the sound from memory alone. “Sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I promise I'm not trying to harass you.” 

He stares at the side of your face. “I know what you mean. I think about you too.” 

“Well, good to know I'm not in this torture alone,” you say softly. 

It is the worst night's sleep of Spencer's life, but he thinks he might want to do it again. 

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[heartfullofleeches]

[Angst]

Fuckboy Yan sleeping with his shy lifelong best-friend's childhood crush - unaware that the two had already been on multiple casual dates so far-

"I hate you."

Three little words... They sound unfamiliar coming from your mouth of all places. As children, your best "friend" aired his hatred for you often - most cases being whenever you denied him your juice boxes at lunch. He never meant it though- Regardless of how much of a pushover you were back then, he could never truly hate you. Not now. Not then. He always thought the same could be said for you. He had always been trouble for you, yet you allowed him to cling to your side - despite his bold claims that it was the other way around. You both had your faults, but he knew you'd be together till the very end.

So why... Why are you looking at him like that now?

"You have everything. Why... Why couldn't you just let me have this one thing? Why couldn't you let me have them?"

His first mistake was writing your recent burst of happiness off as something else- You had been so happy these past few weeks - happier than you'd ever been in his company. He assumed it was because of that new promotion you received at work. Never would he have guessed it was because of them- His heart couldn't take it.

"I was hesitant to give them your number when they asked. I realize now they were just using me to get to you. Maybe I thought too highly of them, but you- I trusted you."

He didn't know. They nevet spoke a word of your budding relationship through their little fling til the very end. It's all their fault. He'll kill them.

"Just... Stay away from me from now on."

He'll kill them for doing this to him. To you both. He was never the best guy, but he was trying so hard to be good enough for you someday. Now that chance is gone. They wouldn't feel half the anguish he's going through now if he snapped their pretty little neck.

"Hey.... Yeah, I talked to them. They took it bette4 than I thought.... Why don't you come over one more time? Y/n's over it already so seeing each other one last time couldn't hurt, right?'

[niningtori]

mad about you | oneshot

pairing: choi beomgyu x you, delusions of kang taehyun x you

summary: beomgyu is not only a spoiled, rich asshole whose whole life has been served to him on a silver platter, but he's also your student council vice president. things finally come to a head on your final trip as college students, but not in the way you would expect. or, beomgyu catches you, the student council president, smoking weed and tries to blackmail you for it

genre: romance, angst (only a tiny bit...? shocking i know), fluff (kinda...? shocking i know), SMUT (MDNI!!!), sub!idol, beomgyu enemies to lovers

warnings: bad writing, not proofread at all, smut (MDNI!!!), sub!gyu LMAOOOO, marijuana, dirty talk, praise, handjobs, oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, lmk if i missed anything!

word count: 7.1k

notes: please... this took MONTHS for me to write i fear i am the worst request taker on moablr. this was really difficult for me to complete but alas... it is done. if you hate it, my fault! just please don't bully me i've got enough shit going on in my life rn 💀 i hate it too but that's okay!

being a straight-a student is hard. being the student government president? even harder. being both? hell on earth. but now, in your senior year of college, you’ve finally managed to get it down to a science. things run relatively smoothly, which is due in no small part to the blood, sweat, and tears you’ve put in to make the student body happy, never mind the lengths you've gone to for the faculty. you can confidently say you can cope with nearly every trial and tribulation that comes your way with a smile on your face. well, except for one recurring disaster: beomgyu.

at first, he was nothing more to you than a pest buzzing around for no real purpose other than to mildly annoy you. it was strange because he seemed normal at first, but then he would pick on your looks, every time you made a mistake in class, and even how you happened to wear your hair that day. this was annoying and, well, hurtful. still, it was of no real consequence, so you were able to ignore him when that was the case, but now you know better than to underestimate just how disastrous beomgyu’s presence can be. as the student government vice president, he should be your first and most trusted ally, but he’s nothing short of, for lack of a better term, a major asshole deadset on making your life even more difficult than it already is for reasons unknown to you.

you think it may be because you would have probably beaten him for the actual president’s chair, which led him to run for vice president, instead. you don’t know why he minds this, though, because he couldn’t seem to care less about the council, not to mention school in general. it’s not that he gets bad grades, because he doesn’t. in fact, when he gets called on in class, he always gets the answer right even when he clearly wasn’t paying any attention. still, you work twice as hard as anyone else and yet your grades are only rivaled by his own. even taehyun, your (probably unrequited) crush, can’t help but be beaten by beomgyu as if the hand of god itself smacks down on everyone else every time you all take a test. 

getting good grades should be an admirable thing, right? it helps with potential internships and jobs and all that, but the thing is: beomgyu doesn't need any of it. even if he fails all of his classes, he's set for life as the son of a formidable CEO of a company whose profits are more than you could ever dream of attaining. there is absolutely no doubt that beomgyu will succeed him, and there is even less doubt that he'll undeniably be very, very good at it. what’s worse is that even if he failed to meet expectations, he’d still get the position, anyway. 

that, in comparison with your family’s laughable financial circumstances, would be enough to make you secretly hate the boy just on principle; but jealousy is ugly, no doubt, so you’ve kept your feelings to yourself. you would have fallen into a pit of self-loathing and guilt had beomgyu actually been kind, and you may have even grown to like him if that were the case, but no. beomgyu is not kind. he’s a total prick. you see it in his smug little smile when the test papers get handed back and he annihilates everyone — other than you — in class, especially taehyun. you see it in the smirks he sends you when you catch him making out with whoever his new girlfriend of the week happens to be, and in the way he openly mocks you by calling you a prude in front of the entire student population. and most importantly, you see it in the way he watches you struggle to stay afloat while he cruises on by without a care in the world.

-

honestly? beomgyu knows better than to bully the girl he has a crush on just because he wants her attention, but who told you to make it so damn hard on him? it’s not like he didn’t consider being nice at first, but your aloofness to his charms only caused him to believe that he was nearly invisible to you, and he simply wouldn't stand for that. naturally, the best course of action was to get you to hate him — at least that means you’re actually paying attention to him. that’s what he tells himself as he’s sticking one of his spindly legs out as you walk past him, effectively tripping you in the process and making the entire class erupt into laughter. your nostrils flare as your head whips up to meet his condescending gaze. once again, your eyes are completely on him. check and mate.

that's what it feels like, at least, until you’re hurriedly pulled up by a concerned taehyun and he’s frantically asking if you’re alright while fixing up your (now) fucked up hair. your eyes, which were just brimming with anger and contempt for him, are now overflowing with lovesickness and infatuation for the other boy. well, never mind about the whole “checkmate” thing, it’s like beomgyu doesn’t even exist in the same world as you anymore.

-

“you need to relax,” taehyun says, gently closing the notebook in front of you and sliding over a few of your favorite snacks. 

“th-thank you, tyun,” you reply, shyly. he grins when he sees he’s succeeded in distracting you.

“no problem, we wouldn’t want that pretty little head of yours to break from thinking too much, now would we?” he teases. you feel heat rushing to your cheeks at his words. he doesn’t really mean them, he never does, but that doesn’t stop your heart from racing when he says things like this to you. 

having a crush on taehyun is only natural. that’s what you tell yourself, but the way you have a shrine dedicated to notes he’s passed you and polaroids you’ve taken together sitting prettily in your room is most definitely unnatural. he doesn’t need to know about that, though.

“my head’s not going to break,” you huff with a playful roll of your eyes. “i just need to finish outlining the major stops on the trip and i’ll be done, i promise.” 

it’s true that all you have to do is outline where you’re going to stop on the council’s senior trip, which doesn’t sound like a big deal in theory, but in actuality, you have to clear each stop with the faculty and make sure you stay within the budget in spite of beomgyu’s insufferable attempts to exceed it. he’s made light of the finances and talked up special events to the rest of the council members, even taehyun. you tried to snuff out these suggestions with realistic arguments about how expensive it will be, but his response was to call you a killjoy. simple and straightforward, but effective, nonetheless. everyone, even taehyun, was so excited to try everything he hyped up, so how could you say no when taehyun turned to you, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, and practically begged you to relent? you, unfortunately, didn’t and don’t have the heart to deny him, so you caved, and now you’re stuck trying to figure it all out. 

“you promise?” taehyun asks, snapping you out of your spiral, with his cute cat-like fangs showing ever so slightly.

“i promise,” you nod and he cheers triumphantly. again, you can’t help but feel your cheeks warm, and you’d bask in the moment if your gaze didn’t happen to catch beomgyu’s scrutinizing one at this very moment. he looks at you like he’s watching a monkey putting on a show, and your happiness is instantly replaced with a sense of embarrassment. you’ve never told a single soul about your feelings for taehyun, but eerily enough, beomgyu seems to know something the rest of the world does not. he seems well aware of your deepest secret. why he doesn’t just expose you in order to humiliate you, you have no idea, but you do know you don't like how much he knows.

-

you really, really shouldn’t be doing this. and certainly not here, of all places, but you just can’t help it. smoking weed is terrible for you, and you of all people should know, seeing as how you led a presentation on its ill effects in front of the entire student body in your freshman year. but it’s hard to truly care when you’re wound so tightly you feel like you’re about to burst. 

beomgyu is getting his way again, as always, and you’re worried about having to make yet another last minute change to your trip’s itinerary for tomorrow because he called today’s stop boring, which led to the rest of the council silently agreeing. so here you sit on the top of the hotel building as the rest of the group are out sightseeing, taking a long, lung-scorching drag from the blunt in between your fingers. 

“didn’t take you for the smoking type, madame president,” a voice cuts in from out of nowhere. beomgyu. fuck. 

you try to keep your cool, but you end up choking on the smoke as you hurriedly go to flick the blunt away, but beomgyu’s hand grabs your wrist before you can quite make it there. his touch feels like a brand searing itself into your skin, but you’re too overstimulated to notice. 

“i didn’t tell you you had to stop,” he muses condescendingly as you rip your wrist away from his grasp. he winces. you don't catch it. instead, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the presumption that he has the power to tell you to do anything.

“i’m not one of your little minions,” you snap in spite of yourself. “quit acting like you can boss me around.” 

“is that so?” he questions, not without an air of smugness. alarm bells blare in your ears as you try to sniff out where his confidence is coming from. sure, he caught you smoking, but it’s your word against his. that’s right, there’s no need to be scared. if he says anything at all, you can just feign innocence and say you were the one who caught him sneaking out to smoke.

“yep,” you answer with a grin at your new plan, popping the “p” with the same obnoxiousness he usually terrorizes you with. you’re no match for him in terms of popularity, but you will never lose to him when it comes to credibility.

“you’re not afraid that i’ll snitch on you? you’re not scared of me telling everyone how little-miss-perfect spends her alone time?” 

“you can try,” you reply with a shrug. he’s silent for a few moments, as if he’s in deep thought. 

“you know what? you’re right,” he concedes with a sigh, and shockingly so. the beomgyu you know and loathe would never give up that easily. “you don’t have to listen to what i say. nobody would believe me over you, right?” 

you eye him suspiciously before giving a slight nod.

“and most times, you would be absolutely right. like, just imagine if i told them you faked being sick and flaking on everyone else just so you could get high. nobody would believe me. i wouldn’t even believe me,” he continues. you have no idea why he’s going on and on about this, but you don’t like it. 

“what the hell are you playing at?” you ask through clenched teeth. 

“i mean, i’m just saying that nobody would believe me. not unless i showed them something like, i don’t know, this?” he says with a grin, holding up his phone and showing you an alarmingly high resolution photo of you taking a hit of your blunt. your eyes widen in sheer horror and you immediately jump to try to retrieve his phone from his hands, but beomgyu is quicker. he tauntingly holds it up in the air with one arm and stops you from coming any closer with the other. you try to jump to reach it, but you’re no match for his stature and long limbs. damn him for being so fucking tall.

“delete it!” you shriek, but all he does is click his tongue and shake his head like the insufferable asshole he is. 

“oh, sure,” he says nonchalantly. your eyes widen even further as he lowers his phone and fiddles with the screen, still keeping you at arm’s length so you’re helpless to grab it for yourself.

“r-really?” you ask incredulously, sincerely taken aback by his compliance. stupid, stupid you. he tuts in response.

“you don’t really think i’ll make it that easy, do you?”

“fine,” you relent, jaw tense and eyebrows furrowed in an almost comically exaggerated way. “what the hell do you want from me?”

“nothing much, just lemme smoke with you,” he answers with a lopsided grin, showcasing a dimple in his cheek you had never noticed until now.

“w-what?” you ask dazedly. 

“god, you’re slow,” he tells you with a roll of his eyes. “smoke with me and i’ll delete the picture. i won’t even mention it again.” 

“are you being serious?” you whisper. 

“dead serious,” he smirks. 

“... fine,” you find yourself relenting, yet again. you don’t know if you necessarily trust him to actually follow through with his words, but what choice do you have? why he wants to smoke with you, you have no idea, but if it gets him to keep his mouth shut, then you really can’t ask for much more than that.

you sigh and take a seat, walking over near the entrance of the rooftop and propping yourself up against the concrete wall behind you. surprisingly, he stays planted in the same spot as if he didn’t hear you. you pat the ground next to you impatiently in light of his hesitation. he snaps out of his daze as he sits next to you so tentatively it’s like you’re a stray cat he’s afraid to scare off. well, good. it’s best for him not to get too comfortable around you. you hate the guy, after all.

you take another deep inhale and he watches you with a gaze that can only be described as lovesick, but you’re too preoccupied to pick up on it. when you exhale, you find yourself starting to pass the blunt over to beomgyu before thinking better of it. 

“wait,” you say, pulling your hand back before he can grip the blunt. 

“what?” he asks, genuinely confused.

“am i gonna catch something from you if we share this?” 

“oh, fuck you,” he grunts, effectively snatching the blunt back and putting it to his lips.

“it’s a real question! i’ve seen the girls you mess around with, and i’m not trying to catch anything from you!” 

“i’m careful,” he argues with a roll of his eyes. “a lot more careful than you think.” you pout at his reaction, but for some reason, you believe his words. 

“if i catch anything, it's on you,” you reply, hackles still raised. shockingly, he doesn't press the matter any more than that. 

“... so,” he says after exhaling a deep drag. 

“so what?” you ask. 

“so why are you out here smoking instead of going out with everyone else?”

“do you seriously think you have the right to ask me that?” you scoff. there’s no way in hell beomgyu is trying to get you to be vulnerable right now.

on beomgyu’s end, he can’t help but feel slighted, even though your reaction is definitely his fault on account of how he essentially antagonizes you at every given opportunity. 

“i’m just saying that it’s weird how you’re here instead of, you know, actually enjoying the trip.” 

“oh, please. as if there was gonna be any possible way for me to have fun on this fucking thing,” you bitterly reply. 

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he asks without any malice, but with genuine curiosity.

truly, honestly, sincerely, you do not know why you say your next words. maybe it’s because you’re high, or maybe it’s because you need to tell someone — anyone — how you really feel, for once. all you really know is: you can’t stop yourself.

“i mean, how could i possibly enjoy myself when i’m left to figure everything out on my own? everyone only cares about having fun with no actual idea how we’ll do it while realistically staying within the budget and our timeline, and my vice president is deadweight, so it’s not like he’ll help,” you complain, taking a jab at beomgyu in light of your waning self control. you’re prepared to verbally spar with him after that last comment, but he surprises you.

“is that how you really feel?” he asks.

“yeah, it is,” you tell him. “that’s how i always feel,” you can’t help but add, more to yourself and less to him, but he hears you, anyway. 

“i’m sorry.” you whip your head around to make sure you’re not having some sort of auditory hallucination. did beomgyu just apologize to you? it can’t be. there’s no earthly way.

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he repeats. your whole world feels like it’s thrown off of its axis when you see how somber and genuinely apologetic he looks. 

“it’s… it’s fine,” is all you can really muster up the words to say. 

“no, it’s not. i’ll help you as much as i can, i swear,” he earnestly insists. you nod in bewilderment at his earnestness — feeling too awkward to do much else.

things are quiet for the next few minutes while you two are passing the blunt back and forth. beomgyu can feel the high finally hitting him in full force, and it takes every brain cell within his clouded mind (as well as every ounce of his courage) to finally get out his next sentence. 

“why him?” he mumbles so lowly, you don’t quite catch his words. 

“what?” you lazily ask. 

“why taehyun?” once again, you find yourself choking on the smoke. god, you’ve really got to get a grip and stop letting beomgyu surprise you — your lungs would thank you for it.

“w-what do you mean?” well, you always knew that beomgyu knows about your feelings for taehyun, but hearing him directly ask about them is enough to throw you off.

“i mean, why do you like him?” he asks, devoid of all the confidence he usually oozes. 

“what’s not to like?” you say offhandedly. if you cared enough to pay attention to his reaction, you’d see how he withers at your words. even more so when you continue.

“he’s really, really funny. plus, he’s handsome. not to mention smart and —” 

“so what? i’m all of those things,” beomgyu interrupts, irritation bitterly lacing every edge of his words. “and if you call him smart, anybody can be.” oh hell no. you’re so indignant at him calling taehyun stupid, you don’t even catch beomgyu’s childlike envy towards him, let alone why he feels it.

“just because his grades don’t compare to yours, doesn’t mean he’s stupid,” you argue.

“then what does it mean?” he asks with a roll of his eyes at your obvious bias for the other boy.

“it… it just means that he’s —” 

“a real genius. yeah, i’m sure you think so,” he snarks.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean?!” you snap, despite your better judgment to just let it roll off of your back. if he were talking about you, you may very well have done so, but this is taehyun he’s talking about. your taehyun. 

“it means he can’t compare to me,” he says, more as means to convince himself rather than convince you, but you’re so angry, you don’t even notice.

“and what makes you think you’re so goddamn special?” you ask, sarcasm absolutely dripping out of your voice. 

“i’m funnier, hotter, smarter, richer. how can he compare to me?” he snorts. if someone were to ask you why you feel so defensive at this moment, you would be unable to say why, but if you had to guess, you’d say it’s because taehyun is so good it’s impossible to see him any other way. your frustration builds up, hotter and hotter in your chest until you’re on the brink of exploding.

“you say that, but he will always be something you’re not,” you spit.

“and what, pray tell, might that be?” he cockily challenges.

“nice,” you say with conviction, and it may be cheesy, but you mean it. “he is really, really fucking nice and considerate. that’s why i like him.” well, that one went straight to his gut.

“i can be nice!” he exclaims. “i tried to be nice, but you just didn’t care! it was like i was invisible to you!” all you can do is stare, but he’s not finished. “you act like you’re some fucking angel, but i saw the way you looked at me like i’m some stupid, rich asshole who isn’t worth a damn.” 

finally, you realize that something is wrong. 

“beomgyu, why do you even care about what i think about you?” he doesn’t give a fuck about what you have to say in any other context, today’s example being only the latest in the litany of times where he’s shown you that exact sentiment. 

at this, he’s silent, which you truly did not anticipate in lieu of his tirade mere moments ago. you take a good look at the boy, and you finally register that the tips of his ears are a bright red under the fluorescence of the lone light shining next to the doorway. 

“i just… i always care about what you think,” he mumbles, face growing redder and redder under your scrutinizing stare as he breaks eye contact with you.

“you could’ve fooled me,” you snort. “you’re always undermining everything i say and do. it’s almost like you’re doing it on… purpose…” you trail off, puzzle pieces finally fitting together in a way you would never suspect. 

“beomgyu?” you ask.

“mm?” he murmurs, still refusing to make eye contact. 

“do you… do you like me?” and the question sounds so silly you can’t believe you even asked it. this guy fucking hates you, you’re sure of it, but you grow less and less sure of this sentiment with every moment he hesitates to answer.

“... yeah. yeah, i do. but so what? you don’t even care,” he mopes, and just like that, everything makes sense. his teasing, his contrarian nature, and his obnoxiousness are just part of his ruse. he’s just like a child begging for attention by acting out, but to what end? just so you’ll pay attention to him? well, he was on the money when he said you didn’t like him even when he tried to be kind, so maybe, in his own sick little way, he was right. 

but that doesn’t mean you don't feel completely blindsided by this revelation. 

“what the hell?” is all you can manage to say.

“shut up!” he demands with no real heat to it, just embarrassment. 

“i… i can’t believe your solution was to be an asshole,” you say incredulously. “if you had just been nice, or even just normal, i would have warmed up to you. i know i was being childish, but goddamn, you’re worse.” 

if he was blushing before, and he was, he’s absolutely blood red now. 

“i-it’s your fault for being so judgmental!” he sputters, but even you know he’s just grasping at straws. it all makes the worst kind of sense to you now, and you’re very much shocked at how oblivious you were mere moments ago.

“i can't believe this,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to your temples in an effort to straighten everything out in your muddled head. “you hate me.” 

“you’re so dramatic,” he huffs with a roll of his eyes, which would convincingly come across as disdainful, if only his words weren’t so shaky and unsure.

you take a good look at him now, and he can feel it. he’s a very handsome guy, and he knows it, but he can’t help but feel vulnerable. he clears his throat and straightens up his posture when he thinks that you may be comparing him to taehyun... you are not.

none of his actions escape you, which is a far cry from what usually happens, but now that you've discovered his true feelings, it’s almost impossible not to catch his tells; you even wonder how you missed them. his awkward handling of the situation is endearing, in a way. you like watching him squirm, which you realize must be the way he felt about you all those times he teased you. it just makes you wanna push him more.

you’re not exactly known for your impulsivity. in fact, you’re known for the exact opposite. you take things slowly, steadily. you plan every minute detail in consideration of every possible outcome, but as for right now? right now, as you sit and watch beomgyu pout, you just want to let go and do what you really want, and what you really want is to watch him break.

you grab his face with your hands and turn it towards you, and he scowls for just a moment before blinking his big, reddened eyes in curiosity at your unreadable gaze.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, too exhilarated by your touch to think about batting you away.

this is a bad idea — a horrible one, even — but that does nothing to deter you. how can it when his skin on your palms makes it feel like there's pure electricity thrumming through your bones? fuck it, might as well.

you don’t realize it yourself, but you look incredibly focused as you pull him in, his lips meeting yours. you’d think with the shock he must feel that he’d be taken aback for a second, but beomgyu, as always,   does not abide by your rules. he immediately grabs your face and presses his lips even harder against yours. you’re surprised at how much heat is behind it — how much frustration.

it’s incredibly interesting to watch his reactions as you kiss him, which would be weird, but he’s far too engrossed in this newfound pleasure to notice your stare. his eyes are shut, but they tremble with every passing second, making his long eyelashes quiver. you never noticed how long they are before now. you chalk up the swiping of your tongue against his chapped lips to sheerly wanting to study his reaction, and oh man, it does not disappoint. he whines against your mouth, eyebrows furrowed like he’s pleading for something. you want to find out what that something is. cruelly, you take his bottom lip between your teeth and lightly bite. he whines even louder, his eyes fluttering open, and he pulls away and says his next words in a tinny voice.

“c-can i touch you?” he pants, forehead pressed against yours, lips cherry red.

“no,” you say with a smile against his mouth. he would whine again if he could, but he can’t quite do it at the moment, not when your hands have moved from his cheeks in order to explore the rest of him. you curiously run your fingers through his long, silky hair, and he can’t help but moan when you experimentally tug at it. it’s breathy and light, and you’re intrigued, to say the very least. 

you don’t have the most experience in the world when it comes to the, uh, matters between men and women, but you are a fast learner by nature, so it takes no time at all to figure out where he likes to be touched. his lips, obviously, and his hair. his ears, so flushed and pink and cute, must be particularly sensitive, and you test this hypothesis by dragging your teeth along his earlobe. he lets out a loud, broken moan when you do, and anyone else in the world would have been embarrassed by making such a noise, but not beomgyu. he’s so pretty and pliable underneath your touch, which feels so tantalizing that all shame escapes him.

“do you like that, beomie?” you whisper teasingly, employing a nickname you’ve heard from a few of his ex-flings, and another strangled cry leaves his pouty lips when he feels your breath touch his ear. 

“mhmm, i like it! like it so much, princess,” he babbles, eyes screwed shut as you trail your lips from his ear to his unblemished neck. 

“princess?” you can’t help but question. “where’d that come from?” 

“think about calling you that all the time,” he moans as you suck on a previously unmarred patch of skin on his neck. “think about you all the time.” 

“and what do you think, beomie?” you whisper encouragingly, as if he’s a stupid boy squirming under your thumb.

“th-think about how much i wanna fuck you,” he admits. “h-how much i want to fill you up, make you m-mine.” honest to god, your panties were already feeling a little sticky just from teasing him alone, but his words make your core heat up tenfold. you shift your legs while trying to make yourself more comfortable, but you fail miserably.

“you’re delusional,” you snort, as you pull away from him, but his lips try to chase yours before you lightly push him away.

“i’m not! i-i jus’ wanna make you feel good,” he slurs, and oh god, you simply can’t be saved.

“well, wanna make your delusions reality?” you can’t help but ask before you can think better of it, but when you see how his eyes light up in hope and pure, primal lust, you realize you don’t regret it.

-

the walk to his hotel room is silent, so unbearably silent that you can’t help but second-guess yourself. are you really gonna do this with beomgyu of all people? but it’s been so long since you’ve let go, who will it hurt just to have fun for once? maybe you, probably you, but who cares? it can't be any worse than it is now. besides, you're graduating soon. if things go as badly as you’re pretty sure they will, you’ll never have to see beomgyu again after the fact. plus, things really can’t seem to get any more embarrassing than the humiliation ritual you put yourself through every day that you spend pining after taehyun.

and so, you enter his hotel room, which is easily double the size of yours (sans a roommate, no less) with a look of determination. beomgyu completely misses it, though, as he shuts the door behind you and immediately tugs you towards his bed, quick to rekindle the atmosphere you two had on the rooftop. surprisingly, it’s not hard to do so when he’s back to kissing you so desperately it’s like you’re his lifeline.

he impatiently swipes his tongue across your lips, mirroring what you did earlier, silently asking for entry. you oblige. he groans at the feeling of your warm tongue brushing against his own, savoring the way you taste, which yes, does have notes of weed, but there’s something sweet in there, too. something he’s only ever fantasized about with his hand down his pants.

one of your hands is currently tangled in his hair, just the way he likes it, while the other one exploratorily finds its way down his lithe body. you’ve never done what you do next before, but he seems so incredibly sensitive, it feels like a matter of course to put your hand up his shirt and tweak one of his hardened nipples. he lets out a strangled cry, which only makes you certain that you’ve done the right thing. 

“is it good, beomie? is it everything you wanted it to be?” you tease. he nods like an idiot.

“y-yes, even better,” he moans. “feels s-so good.” 

in the dim lighting of his hotel room, you can see that he means it as the tent in his pants gets harder and harder to ignore. the poor thing is so wound up by your caresses that he may just cum untouched, anyway, but what fun would that be? so, before you can think too much about it, you palm him through his jeans. 

“ah!” he cries, eyebrows furrowed. you palm him again, rougher this time, and just like clockwork, he cries even louder.

“want me to keep going?” you ask, studying and soaking up every reaction of his. all he can do is nod.

he unzips his pants and he’s all too willing to help you slide them off of him, tossing them on the floor before hurriedly grabbing one of your hands to meet his barely clothed bulge. it’s big, because it’s beomgyu and of fucking course it is. as if he needed another reason to be conceited. 

it doesn’t seem like he’s very conceited, though, as he moans like a whore at you hooking your fingers under his waistband and tugging his boxers off of him. his cock is very obviously leaking, and it’s as bright red as his ears were earlier, completely flushed with beads of precum drooling off of it. there are angry veins running up the sides of it, which sounds gross, in theory, but you can’t help but feel like they make it even prettier. you gulp when you imagine how they’ll feel when they’re dragging in and out of your pussy.

“don’t stare!” he says, breaking you out of your reverie. honestly? he knows it’s pretty, just like every other part of him, but he feels incredibly scrutinized under your gaze. you don’t listen, still very much staring as you take your thumb and experimentally swipe it over his thick, reddened tip. then again. then again.

“s-stop teasing me, please,” he whimpers, but you’re so enamored with his reactions you can’t help yourself. you spit on your hand and grab the base of his cock, which is no small feat considering how thick it is, and you give it a harsh tug. he bites his bottom lip to try to stifle his moans as you start to jerk him off, applying pressure exactly where he needs it most, but he quickly gives up on being quiet when you bend over and lick his tip. he tastes salty, but not unbearably so, and in a way, he’s almost sweet. that could just be your imagination, though.

beomgyu is no longer trying to bite back his moans, but he's stuck in another dilemma: he can't seem to unscrew his eyes for long enough to fully appreciate the sight before him. one of your hands is gripping the muscle of his thigh as leverage while the other aids in squeezing and pulling the parts of him you can’t quite fit in your mouth. you’re not looking at him, which would normally be disappointing, but it’s impossible to be anything less than satisfied when you’re hollowing out your cheeks to suck on him even harder. you take your hand from his dick and ghost your fingers over his balls, and he has to push you off of him so he doesn’t blow his load right then and there.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, wiping some spit and precum off of your lips. he’s enchanted by the way your lips are swollen from sucking on him, so much so that he almost forgets to answer.

“‘m gonna c-cum,” he says shyly.

“and?” 

“i don’t want to yet. i wanna make you feel good, too,” he argues petulantly.

“oh? is that what you do in your dreams? you make me feel good? i’m surprised, i figured you’d like me to do all the work and —” 

“shut up!” he hisses, and you can’t help but laugh. 

“let me eat you out,” he offers, trying to distract you from his evident embarrassment. it’s tempting, very tempting, indeed, but you’re so hot and bothered that you kind of just want to get to the main event. especially since you just know it’ll feel good to finally have him inside of you. it’s been so long since you’ve been with somebody, after all. 

“no, thanks. do you have a condom?” you ask, ignoring his suggestion, and he’d be humiliated if only your question weren't so damn exciting.

“n-no…” he stammers. your face falls for a second before he rushes to get out his next words. “b-but i can pull out!” 

“sorry, this was fun and all, but i’m not letting you fuck me without protection.”

“please?” he begs. “i’m clean, i swear! i told you i’m more careful than you think. i really don’t sleep around that much, honestly,” he admits. 

“what?” you ask, genuinely bewildered before calling his bluff. “bullshit. i see you with a new girl all the fucking time. quit lying.” 

“i’m not! i promise — i promise — i don’t sleep around a lot. i only act like i do ‘cause of you!” 

“because of me?” and it actually makes sense when you think about it. he acts out, bullies you, and pretends he’s involved with a lot more girls than he actually is just to try to get you to look his way. oh man, what are you gonna do with him? 

“you’re so pathetic,” you sneer before hiking up your skirt and mounting him. 

“w-what are you —” 

“shut up before i change my mind,” you spit. and just like magic, his mouth is snapped shut.

you start by rubbing your clothed pussy against his bare cock. your slick has already ruined the fabric beyond salvation, so you don’t really mind ruining it some more. beomgyu is absolutely in awe at your actions, rutting against you feverishly. he’s greedy, if nothing else, so he impatiently moves your soaked panties to the side and tries to seek relief in your warm hole. you let him grab your hips as he tries to ease himself into you, but he’s stunned at the resistance he’s met with as he tries to push himself in. 

“s-so tight,” he groans as his fat cock breaches the tight rim of your pussy. the muscles contract as they stretch to accommodate his widened tip. 

you were right about how good you anticipated the feeling of his veins scraping against your insides would be, and you revel in the feeling as you sink down inch by scorching inch. beomgyu, on his end, looks absolutely devastated as you slowly take him in. his mouth is twisted open in a silent scream, and his eyes are watery, tears threatening to spill over at any moment. when your ass finally meets his hips, you can feel his length pulsating all the way up to your cervix. it’s a snug fit, too, and it takes everything in him not to hump you like a fucking dog. 

slowly, you raise yourself up again, almost completely off of him, before slamming yourself back down. then again. then again. he whimpers when you do it, grabbing your hips to help steady you as you ride him for everything that he’s worth. he’s enraptured as your breasts bounce with each movement, and he can’t help himself now — he begins to thrust into you wildly, matching your rhythm and making you cry out. if you were in your right state of mind, you’d feel sorry for the poor souls who are on the same floor as him. 

“pussy so f-fucking good,” he grunts as he feels you squeezing around him, and you’re about to smirk before he pushes you onto the bed then turns you on your side so you’re facing away from him. he tries to slide back into your needy cunt, but the new position makes you feel even tighter. still, with the combination of his slick and yours, he’s able to push himself in again before rutting into you. he presses one of his big hands against your stomach while the other one hastily grabs one of your tits, and suddenly he's back to fucking you like a wild animal. 

you've never in your life felt so wanted, so needed, but beomgyu needs you in a way so carnal it makes you feel even more turned on. he nips your ear, mimicking your actions from earlier, and begs for your praise. 

“a-are you feeling good? you’re feeling good, right?” he chokes out as he hits a particularly deep part of your pussy. 

“so good, beomie,” you moan. “you’re fucking me so good.” those words would normally never leave your lips, but he seems desperate for your validation, and you know he’s too far gone to mock you.

“oh god, this is w-what i dreamed about,” he babbles as he takes the hand that was pressing on your stomach and uses it to massage your clit, earning a strangled scream from you. “th-this is what i’ve always wanted.” and if you could see his face, you’d notice how his eyes roll backwards in sheer ecstasy. 

“i’m gonna cum!” you cry, all self-restraint gone.

“m-me too, princess,” he moans. “c-can i cum inside?” it’s a pipe dream if he’s ever had one, and you can believe that he’s had one, but your response floors him.

“yes, yes, yes! do it inside, i want it!” and that’s enough. he spits out a curse as he hammers himself into you, making you almost sob as you come undone with him inside of you. the feeling of your pussy sucking him in even more as it wildly contracts around him pulls him over the edge, so he paints your walls with his seed and fucks you through both of your highs. 

he stays there until he goes soft, slowly pulling out and watching in awe as the cum spills out of your hole. he pulls you flush against his body and sighs as he tenderly fixes up your hair. 

“i really, really like you,” he earnestly whispers into your hair. 

“i —” 

“it’s okay if you don’t like me yet,” he interrupts. “i can wait.” you’re glad you’re not facing him, because you actually feel a little awkward at his sincere words, but you can’t deny that it makes your heart flutter to hear them.

“okay,” you say.

“okay?” he asks, just to be sure he heard you correctly.

“yes, i-it’s okay. you can wait.” he’s so excited that he throws himself on top of you and turns you to face him, lips greedily meeting yours, putting every ounce of yearning into the kiss. 

honestly? with the way things are going right now, he probably won’t have to wait very long at all. 

notes pt. 2: yeah... i'm so sorry that this is bad i'm just used to writing angst angst angst and this def veered more into cute territory but whatever just don't bully me

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[yazmarina]

in my drafts

for the love circuit series

—that message wasn't for you but paul doesn't mind as long as you don't, either.

paul aron (f2) x gn!social media admin reader

warnings/notes: smut, unprotected sex, lewd photography, office sex, fingering, creampie, accidental nude sending, mild dirty talk

a/n: sorry i disappeared again!!! pls take this as my apology

It was supposed to be just pictures of him during the break. You expected innocent, somewhat average snapshots of how Paul spent his past two months. You knew he took that trip to Italy, attended his sister's graduation, did some training. It was your job to be at least a little updated on the drivers' whereabouts, in case the head of comms needed you to capitalize on it for content.

So when you received a few photos from Paul through iMessage of all his fall whereabouts, you didn't think much of it. You messaged him a few days earlier asking if he could send a few more unreleased pictures that he hadn't posted on his personal account yet, stating that it was for a post you were putting together for the Hitech Instagram. He was delayed in his reply, as usual, but that's something you expected. He was busy, after all.

Perhaps too busy to notice the outlier in the stack of photos displayed in your message thread. Everything seemed to be normal at first; Italian architecture, gym photos, the cheesecake he made. Typical day in the life photos.

And lastly, a photo of him in dim lighting, taken in front of a mirror, with nothing but shadows covering most of his naked body.

You stare at your phone, dumbfounded. Your first instinct is to wait to see if Paul has anything to say, an apology, maybe, or a half-assed excuse. Anything to indicate that he noticed how he sent you a full-on nude. You prepare yourself for the three dots that show he's typing, the frantic scramble to delete the photo from your exchange, but it never comes. Heat rises up your neck as you realize you're going to have to confront him about it. This was, after all, a professional exchange and you'd hate for HR to come knocking at either one of your doors.

-Paul, please review the photos you sent. Thanks.

You regret it as soon as you send it. Was that perhaps too snippy? Too callous? It was as embarrassing for him as it was for you, maybe even more. But come on, how hard is it to distinguish your nudes from your vacation photos?

The loud throb of your heartbeat reverberates in your ears as you wait, cursing under your breath as a full minute passes and then another. You lock your phone, getting up to pace around your room. You're most likely going to see him tomorrow as he'll be at HQ for sim work and other things and you just so happen to have a lineup of meetings at the very same time. You're going to have to face the fact that you'll have to look each other in the eye after you've seen the outline of his dick.

Wonderful.

You unlock your phone, resigning to just delete the photo from your side. You can claim plausible deniability or whatever legal term it is, if it comes down to it.

Just then, Paul starts typing.

You yelp, setting your phone down on the desk harder than intended.

You realize belatedly that you're holding your breath, fingers pressed into your mouth as if suppressing any more potential noises. He stops then starts again then stops, as if he's unsure of what he's typing out.

-I'M SO SORRY!!!! It was an accident I promise 🥹 Don't report me

-Please I'm so sorry it's totally my fault ______ 😭😭😭

-______ please I'm so sorry

Somehow, despite everything, this coaxes a chuckle out of you. Paul was always open and easy around you, and you know he knows you won't report him for an honest mistake. He's probably just red in the face right now, fighting his inner demons.

You type out a reply to ease his nerves.

-I'll just delete it off my phone so no one can say we were fraternizing inappropriately 🥲

The response from Paul is almost instant.

-YES please I'm sorry again

Your finger hovers over the photos when another message comes in.

-Unless you want to save it for a rainy day that's okay too

-I WAS JOKING its a joke I'm sorry I'm sorry

You groan, throwing your head back against the backrest of your office chair.

He's done this on occasion. Flirt. Compliment you on your hair, your outfit (despite it being the team uniform), your smile, even. You brushed it off as typical driver behavior. Nearly all of them had that kind of nerve about them, a confidence that only comes with driving cars that are closer to rockets than actual cars on the street.

Bringing the phone up to your face, you gingerly scroll back up to the photos Paul sent, opening the accursed photo. Your breath hitches as you take it in more carefully, the light cutting sharply between the shadows of whatever hotel room Paul was in. Your eyes trail down and your fingers pinch at the screen, zooming in.

"No! No, no, absolutely not," you admonish yourself, swiping the photo away and typing back a slightly crazed reply.

-Whoever that photo was meant for might not like it if I do

-

"________!"

You freeze on your way out the door from the conference room, Paul's figure jogging toward you from the other end of the hall. The presence of some execs and the head of comms looms from behind you and you quickly shuffle out of the way to let them pass, all of them greeting Paul as he sidles up to you.

"Hi!" You say a little too brightly, turning to Paul, arms coming up mechanically then stopping, your brain reminding you that a hug might be too awkward but standing around without greeting him in some way would be just as weird. A flurry of butterflies erupt in your stomach as Paul stops in front of you, his cologne coming off strong as always. Just the way you liked it.

"How's the meeting?" Paul asks, gesturing to the room. He's bouncing on the balls of his feet, a nervous habit he has that you've observed over the time you've worked with him. He has his hands shoved deep in his jeans, too.

You shrug, forcing out a laugh. "Same old, just going over social media plans and PR."

Paul nods, a little too eagerly perhaps. His eyes shift to the retreating personnel, all of them turning a corner, leaving you and Paul alone in the vicinity.

"Were you waiting for me?" You ask before he can say anything else.

Paul swallows. "Yeah. Look–"

"Paul," you cut him off, raising a hand between the two of you. "It's okay. It's no big deal. Happens to the best of us."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Have you ever sent a nude to the wrong person before?"

Your cheeks flare up in a violent blush.

"Well, no. And keep your voice down," you berate lightly. Paul looks around and shrugs as if to say, 'Nobody's here'.

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. "But what I meant was, like, messages are sent to the wrong people all the time, I'm sure you didn't mean any harm, and besides, no one else knows. I promise I haven't told anyo–"

"Okay." It was Paul's turn to cut you off. "Okay, I believe you."

He smiles at you good-naturedly, opening his arms and coaxing you into a hug. It takes you a second, but eventually, you let yourself laugh in relief, wrapping your arms around his strong frame.

"I missed you over the break," Paul admits, pulling away and holding you at arm's length. You blush again, masking it with a chuckle.

"Well, the break isn't over yet. We still have three weeks to go," you remind, your own hands coming up to settle on Paul's outstretched arms, making it look as if you're holding him in place. To anyone who didn't know, you two would look like a couple deep in discussion.

"At least you get to see me more," Paul offers with an easy smile. nudging you lightly.

You scoff. "I think I've seen enough of you, thank you very much."

A heavy silence settles over the two of you as you realize what you just said. Paul lets his arms drop from where they held you, an apology ready at your lips but Paul gets to it first. He runs a hand through his unkempt hair, blonde strands tugged between his fingers.

"You haven't deleted it, have you?"

No, you haven't.

"I was going to, but I got distracted with other things." Not entirely a lie. You really meant to do so, but thoughts you'd rather not share took hold and there were matters you needed to attend to. Matters that could only be solved with your fingers and a vibrator.

You should feel guilty, getting off to a picture of a coworker that wasn't even meant to be sent to you in the first place. Maybe you're terrible, maybe you should be fired, sued by the Aron family.

Memories of you gasping out Paul's name in the quiet of your room come flooding back and you pray that Paul doesn't notice the irregularity in your breathing.

"I'll delete it now, in front of you, so you can see that I did," you offer, fishing your phone out of your pocket.

Paul shakes his head, catching you by the wrist, his hand large and warm against your own skin.

"I mean if I was going to send it to anyone, it would have been you," Paul says lowly, as if afraid someone would hear him, despite the entire expanse of the hallway void of any people other than yourselves.

"Consensually, of course," Paul adds in a hurry, eyes widening. "If you wanted to receive them. It. Receive it."

Your eyebrows shoot up, your mouth curling into a smirk. "You have more you want to send?"

Paul's lower lip slips between his teeth and it seems the two of you are finally on the same page. You try to suppress the smile threatening to break out, clearing your throat and avoiding his eyes.

"Until when are you staying here?" You ask casually. You didn't mean 'here' as HQ. Here as in, in town, close to you.

"Next week," Paul replies, stepping closer. "I won't see you until Qatar after that."

"Shame," you mutter, tilting your head as you meet his gaze once more.

"Maybe," Paul begins, slipping his hand into yours and twining your fingers together. "I can add one more thing to my break to-do list."

"Now?" You ask incredulously. Paul nods immediately.

"You know that one storage closet inside the sim room?" He asks, winking at you.

"What? Paul!" You whisper-shout, but he's already leading you down the hallway. The two of you make a sharp turn to the right where big blocky letters spell out 'SIMULATOR' on the large double doors of the sim room.

You squint, immediately plunged into darkness as the only source of light inside is the curved screen, dimmed as well as it sits on standby.

"What if your engineer walks in? Your teammate? Doesn't he have a session soon?" You continue to protest, even when Paul gently pushes you toward the storage room door at the very corner. He flings the door open and you see that it's filled mostly with spare sim components and monitors.

"Babe, that's why they call it a quickie," Paul reasons, flipping the light switch on inside. The lightbulb offers little respite in the darkness and shadows still play along the lines of Paul's face. He shuts the door behind him.

"It doesn't lock? Paul, I swear–"

You gasp but barely any sound comes out as Paul presses his lips to yours, hands settling on your hips. He maneuvers you toward a shelf, pushing you against it and pressing himself fully on you.

You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

"Did you like it?" Paul asks as he breaks away for a second. He kisses your jaw, tracing its outline as you sigh, your head falling back. He takes his opportunity to kiss along the column of your neck, his tongue smoothing over your skin.

"Did you get off to it?" Paul asks again and your breath catches in your throat. It's as if he knew all the dirty, deplorable things you did over that one picture.

"I know you did," Paul concludes with a breathy laugh, reclaiming your lips and driving a knee between your legs. You groan in response, grinding against his thigh while your fingers tug at his belt.

Paul pulls away and takes over for you, undoing his jeans and slipping them down to his knees. You silently thank whatever god is listening for the fact that you so conveniently decided to wear those easy cotton office pants, slipping them off in one quick swoop along with your underwear.

"I'm tempted to get on my knees right now so I can eat you out," Paul teases, hiking your shirt up and exposing your chest.

A snide remark forms in your brain but it's cut off when you feel the cold press of fingers on your clit. You clamp a hand down on your mouth as Paul gently flicks at it, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.

"Maybe later after work," Paul says, rubbing harder. Your elbow spasms at the sensation, hitting the shelf behind you.

"Ow, fuck," you curse, meeting Paul's eyes. You two burst into muffled laughter just as Paul slips a finger in.

"What happened to a quickie?" You demand, hips moving along with Paul's hand. He adds a second finger and you whine, fingers digging into Paul's shoulders.

"I have manners," Paul informs with an easy smile, face impossibly close to yours. You can see the shift in his bright blue eyes. "I need you wet and ready for me, no?"

You bite down on your lip, eyes rolling into the back of your head as Paul curls his fingers inside you. A shiver runs through you and you feel yourself clenching down and around his digits.

Paul retracts his hand, much to your dismay, but you don't get to complain before Paul kisses you again, rough and heated. His tongue dances against yours and you grip at his Hitech team kit for purchase.

"Bend over," Paul commands and you're more than happy to oblige, turning around to do just that.

You brace yourself against the shelf behind you, gripping at the wood as you lower the front of your body. Paul grabs your hips and your back arches almost automatically. You can feel him pressing up against you and you sneak a peek behind you to see Paul with his phone in hand.

"So I can 'accidentally' send you another one," Paul jests before slowly sinking in. You whine, head dropping down between your shoulders. The thought of him documenting your little tryst sends a shiver up your spine which only intensifies as Paul grabs one side of your hips. He sets up a hard, steady pace that has the shelf in front of you creaking.

"Paul," you gasp out, your whole body shuddering at the force of how hard he's fucking you.

Both of his hands grip at your sides now so you can assume his phone has been put away. You try to stay upright which proves challenging considering Paul is ramming into you ferociously.

Contradictory to it all, you feel the soft touch of fingers through your scalp, smoothing over your hair. In a moment's turn, your head is yanked back as Paul tugs at your hair, arching your back even more.

A garbled sound escapes you, part moan, part sob as the sting in your scalp shoots straight down to your core, pushing you ever so closer to your release.

"The social media person," Paul begins through gritted teeth. "Always so pretty behind the camera. Making me do trend after trend. I'd do anything for you, baby."

You mewl in response, reaching back to grip at Paul's wrist, pushing back against him, urging him to go faster. Paul gets the memo.

"Funny how that photo was taken only because I was about to jack off to the thought of you," Paul continues. "You sent me a message and I was missing that pretty face of yours so I went through your Instagram. Looks like you had fun in Mallorca, tiny swimsuit and all."

"Sorry, baby," Paul says close to your ear. "Couldn't help it."

"Inside," you plead. "P-Please, I'm close. N-Need you to cum inside me."

Paul merely grunts, letting go of your hair so he can pull you flush against him. His thrusts grow erratic, barely pulling out of you each time. He pulls you back to him, your back against his front as he bites down on your shoulder.

"Yes, yes, right there." Your voice comes out raspy, walls squeezing around Paul's throbbing cock. He reaches over and resumes his movements from a while ago on your clit and you yelp, hips spasming pathetically.

You cum with Paul deep inside you, his groans filling your ear as he follows soon after. He stills and pulls you even closer to him, arms encircling your torso. He kisses the spot where he had bitten you, pressing his lips almost reverently to the indented skin.

You're both breathing hard and you're perfectly content to stand around while the two of you gather your bearings. But Paul momentarily disentangles himself from you and reaches down. You see him pull his phone out from his jeans from where they've presumably fallen down to his ankles.

"Smile," Paul prompts, his lips planting a soft kiss behind your ear as he angles the camera toward the two of you.

He snaps a blurry photo, just in time to capture your hand coming up to rest against his cheek as he grins into your skin. Emboldened by the somewhat artsy, flirtatious nature of the photo, you turn around and land a proper kiss on Paul's lips, savoring each second his tongue passes over your mouth.

"Send all the photos you want," you whisper, smiling up at him.

"Or we could just take them together," Paul offers, kissing the tip of your nose.