#i have no excuse for the tardiness here

[daytaker]

Could you do headcanons with the MC that's constantly napping and sleeping but somehow can keep up with whatever is going on? Just imagine them sleep talking coherent replies in a conversation during a meeting or doing the dishes with their eyes closed and lightly snoring

The Brothers React to Functional Sleeping MC

If it wasn't for Belphie, this would have confused them all a lot more.

Considering Belphegor's constant napping and occasional conversation contributions through sleep-talk, they are much less surprised by this tendency of MC's than the vast majority of people would be. It's just a natural part of life that some people are capable of sleeping and carrying out day to day activities at the same time.

Right?

(Individual brothers below the cut.)

Lucifer finds it annoying, sure, but at least you're slow-moving. What he really fears is the MC whose intense energy shatters any semblance of peace in this house. At the end of the day, though, he's not doing anything for you that he wasn't already doing for Belphie, so it's an inconvenience he can live with.

Mammon can't tell when you're actually asleep. He's convinced that you fake it a lot, since that's something Belphie is known to do when he'd rather not participate in a conversation. So he's always suspicious when you're able to complete tasks and move around while ostensibly asleep. He tries to catch you off guard and prove that you're not really sleeping, but he's never able to do it. Still, he hates that he can never let his own guard down as far as what he says when you're sleeping nearby, since there's a 50/50 chance you'll somehow absorb what he's saying and remember it in your waking life.

Levi thinks it's cute; at least, at first he does. It's a common trope in slice-of-life anime, having super cute sleepy characters. At the same time, it's a little frustrating, because you tend to just nod off whenever he tries to talk to you for any extended length of time, and he isn't going to play the game where he keeps talking just because you might actually be absorbing what he's saying! If you aren't interested enough to stay awake, he'll just stop bothering you! Hmph.

Satan finds it kind of funny, mostly because of how his brothers react to it. Mammon acting suspicious and nervous, Levi getting his feelings hurt, Asmo fawning over you, and Beel carrying you to and from RAD like luggage. He doesn't have a tremendous amount of interest in you, exactly, but you provide some real entertainment, so he appreciates that. Plus, and big shocker here: did you know cats nap a lot? You gain points in his book for this resemblance you bear to nature's most magnificent creatures.

Asmo thinks it's just precious to watch the human sleep at the table, or at their desk, or on the floor in the library, or on the toilet, or at breakfast, or at dinner, or... Mmm, are you okay, sweetie? You need to work on your sleep schedule. If you're having trouble sleeping at night, you should just come visit him! He has all sorts of ideas for how you could wear yourself out at night so you'll be refreshed during the day! :)

Beel is a little thrown off at first, because in some ways it's like Belphie never left. You'll recall that when MC first arrives in the Devildom, the other brothers besides Lucifer think Belphie is in the human world as an exchange student. So Beel wonders if maybe there was some sort of equivalent exchange shenanigans going on. They sent up a sleepy demon, so maybe that meant a sleepy human had to come down? It's very comforting, at any rate. He makes himself your unofficial guardian, carrying you out of situations where it's not safe to just lie down and sleep, or guiding you back inside after you sleepwalk out of the House of Lamentation.

Belphie is convinced he's met his soulmate, and honestly, maybe he's right. I can only imagine that you're mellow as fuck, probably got over any hard feelings from Chapter 16, and you're fast friends with Belphie now. You nap together all the time. Belphie even shares his secret hiding places with you.

Sometimes you and Belphie have full conversations in your sleep, to the amazement and amusement of the other brothers.

MC: Hungry... Go out 'n eat... Belphie: Snnn.... Jus' stay here... Kitchen... MC: Burgers... Belphie: Too cold to walk... MC: Lazy... Belphie: No, you... MC: Wear a hat... Belphie: Fine... MC: ...Hell's Kitchen in twenty... Belphie: Hmm... *Both stand up and sleepwalk to the door.* Mammon: They're not actually asleep, right? MC: *walks directly into a wall, grumbles about traffic, then continues* Mammon: ....Right?

This is the rare MC that I'd pair with Belphie. Normally I'm a little wary about how that would pan out, but if their relationship is built on mutual sleepiness and shared hiding spots to nap, well. Love is love.

[lilacerull0]

i feel like i'll ruin it if i give a code name to this person, but his histology thoughts are <3 <3 <3 <3 <3

[kquil]

REMUS LUPIN | 23:59 ⏤"SHE'S MY WIFE"

SUM. : you bring remus his lunch with your daughter and come face to face with a new, very rude, intern

TAGS. : fluff ; modern au ; muggle au ; ceo remus ; wife reader ; reader is sooooo wifey ; remus is husband material too ; remus is also ceo material! ; daughter oc (emily) ; remus is daddy ; reader is mommy ; rude intern ; dorcas makes an appearance ; we love her

LENGTH : 1.1k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

“Oh!” you smile at the new, young face you see at the front desk, having walked into the company building not too long ago with Remus’ lunch tucked away in your bag as your daughter marches forward in front of you, “Good noon,” Remus had briefly spoken about a new intern shadowing at the front desk earlier in the morning when you had breakfast together; you suppose that this was her. She looked very much like the part, professionally dressed and neat as a pin, though her level of make up was questionable. 

Despite your cheerful and friendly greeting, you were met with silence, suspecting eyes and straight, thin lips that were ever so slightly frowning. It was such an unfamiliar reaction that you were stunned into silence yourself, the tension and lack of a greeting back causing awkwardness to fill the air. You were so used to being received kindly by the usual staff that you didn’t know what to do with yourself when the new worker didn’t reply in kind. 

“Well?” she almost snaps, rather rudely. Her eyes weren’t on you but rather on your daughter, Emily, who stared warily up at her and clutched at your long, flowy skirt with unease.

“I-I’m sorry?” you stutter, further stunned by her discourtesy, your hand moving to cup the back of your daughter’s head as she presses her frightened face into your thigh. 

“Do you have an appointment or not?” she finally snaps and your brows furrow. The clock displayed on the wall behind her indicated that you were right on time for a shift change between the secretaries, with the former assistants going on lunch break and their succeeding secretaries arriving soon to take their place. Usually the exchange was seamless; you wonder what the issue was today. 

“Oh, no, I’m just here to—” she cuts you off with an exaggerated sigh and a roll of her eyes. 

“If you don’t have an appointment then why are you here?” her rude tone continues and she keeps cutting you off, “Do you want me to pass on a message? Want me to refer you to an office? Would you like me to make you an appointment? Tell me already, I don’t have all day,” you had been trying to inform her with every question she posed about your visit but she cut you off each time. Considering that she was the new intern, you were willing to excuse her behaviour due to her lack of experience but her candid judgement of you and your daughter made your blood boil. 

“You are very rude for someone who’s supposed to be the first representative people interact with when they enter—”

She narrows her eyes dangerously and leans over the counter somewhat, but you stand your ground, “That’s none of your business, my job is none of your business, just answer the question,” at this point, your dear Emily was tugging at your skirt and whining softly for comfort, to which you immediately swooped down to lift her into your warm arms. 

“It is my business,” because this is my hardworking husband’s company, you wanted to say but were never one to make such entitled comments. 

“How—?!” you cut her off as she had done to you multiple times. 

“—and it would do you some good to sort out the poor attitude before it lands you in trouble,” 

Just as she opens her mouth to speak again, a familiar face comes into view and moves behind the desk also — it was one of the secretaries who was familiar with your regular visits to the company, Dorcas. 

“Good afternoon! Sorry for my tardiness,” Dorcas greets with a cheerful smile as the intern scoffs and rolls her eyes, “Here for the usual visit, I see,” you smile, shoulders easing with relief as Dorcas winks at you before cooing at Emily, “and how are we today, little Emily?” You and Dorcas focus your attention on your daughter, who smiles happily and looks as relieved as you, especially at the sight of Dorcas, a familiar, friendly face. The two converse for a moment, Dorcas asking her how school was and if she’s been well-behaved, whereby Emily responds articulately, demonstrating her smartness and politeness with a few, soft-spoken words. You were proud of her, she’s just like her father, intelligent, sweet and timid but also with a passionate flame burning deep inside that was just waiting to come to fruition. 

“This is a regular thing?” the intern speaks up with the same audacious tone of voice, effectively cutting the sweet moment between your daughter and Dorcas short. 

“Of course it is,” Dorcas narrows her eyes at the intern, a silent warning for her use of tone, especially in front of Emily. 

“Daddy!” Emily suddenly squeals in your arms and all three of you turn to see your smiling husband walking away from the closing elevator. At this, you place Emily down and she goes racing towards her father. 

“There’s my little girl!” Remus laughs and takes a knee with his arms spread wide open, ready to catch your daughter in his embrace. Using the momentum from her eager sprint to be in his arms, Remus swings her around playfully before tucking her into his side and on his hip, where he kisses her forehead after swiping away her stray baby hairs with his fingers. Watching the touching exchange, you smile warmly and hug Remus around the waist when he finally makes his way over to pull you close and kiss your temple, “hello, dove,” his voice is like sweet honey and it pulls you even closer to him. 

“Good afternoon, darling,” you greet in return, your smile bright and devoid of any bitterness towards the rude intern.

“I thought you two hadn’t arrived yet,” he nods towards the clock behind the front desk, it was well past your usual, punctual visits as you were never one to be tardy, “you’re never this late for lunch, did something happen?” his brows furrowed with worry and you smile at his concern but find it hard to form the words. Instead, you simply refocus your attention and meet the eyes of the new intern behind the desk once more. She had become considerably pale, looking white as a ghost. 

“Sh-she’s—” the intern stutters as Remus’ eyes harden on her. 

“She’s my wife,” his voice didn’t waver at the declaration and he pulls you closer to emphasise your standing, “is there a problem?” there was considerable threat behind his words and the intern was left speechless but also fearful, “because there better not be,” you wanted to speak up throughout the entire exchange but there was nothing for you to say, if she didn’t get her attitude sorted after this confrontation, you wouldn’t dare think about where her life’s trajectory will point to. 

“Let’s go have lunch, darling,” you finally speak up, which, thankfully, Remus relents to. 

A few days after the exchange, the intern supposedly dropped out of the internship program. Not by her volition however. 

A/N : i haven't written for remus in a while so excuse the rustiness. hopefully, you darlings can agree with me on the fact that remus x ceo au is a great combination, right?

NAVI.

TAGLIST : @aastonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @never-fair ; @celestcies ; @inlovewithremusjohnlupin ; @calums-betch ; @futurecorps3 ; @simpingforthe80s ; @yrluvjane ; @chaosofmanyfandoms ; @storyofaromance ; @loving-and-dreaming ; @somewereinthegalaxi ; @bobs-fav-cat ; @cassandra-nerezza-black ; @stray-bi-kids ; @ttkttt ; @notasadgirlipromise ; @rosalyn-s

[anisespice]

Hey girl got a request,so like let’s say bonten is having a meeting with a new criminal organization gang that came in to come up with a deal,and while we are just sitting in the back looking at our new sparkly items Koko bought us,and the new criminal organization gang calls us out saying it’s disrespectful and rude calling us names..And bonten doesn’t like that one bit..So yeah I want them to react to that

hope it makes sense 😔😍🤺🤺

SAVE ME FROM MY WRITER'S BLOCK, ANON - HERE WE GO, NO MARIO. Hope you enjoy and thank you for requesting~!

pairing: bonten x fem!reader

warnings: mature language, misogynistic undertones (from another gang), implied violence, guns mentioned, reader is criminally oblivious (love that for her), guard-god!bonten supremacy, sanzu gets his own warning lol and i think that's it.

notes: yall. can you believe i actually wrote this in one sitting? without stopping?? wild concept for me, haven't been able to do that in a good minute *knock on wood*, but i hope you enjoy! more stuff coming soon ♡

tagged: @fantasycantasy , @spacegirl05, @neverlandlostchild , @darks-pet-shadow, @captaincyberqueen

Upon the arrival of the recently developed organization, officially known as Kaiju, things already weren’t off to a great start. They were late, clocked at about twenty minutes past schedule. Excuses poured from them like a broken faucet, blaming their tardiness on traffic, which the members were willing to give the benefit of the doubt, some more than others. Then, they were unprepared. Scrambling about with their half-assed introduction mixed with a sloppily thrown together presentation, it was insulting at worst. 

Here they were, biggest in the game, offering an opportunity to help underground operatives make a name for themselves..and this is how they want to showcase their potential? Mikey waved it off when his number three voiced this flaw, merely chalking it up with inexperience–Everyone has to start somewhere, right? 

But. Finally came strike three. The one thing, the most damning thing they could’ve ever done to have mercy jump right out the window and straight to hell, was when one of their foolish members spoke ill of you. 

It was supposed to be taken as a joke, something controversial in a room amongst men, locker room talk if you would. Unfortunately for him and the rest of his team, Bonten didn’t see it that way. What was said wasn’t important, but the intent behind it was enough to make them hostile. And Kaiju would soon realize it too late despite no one laughing on that side of the room. If anything, the room grew colder. No matter who you looked at, venom consumed their gazes, a deathly aura building from their leader all the way to the advisors. The only reason no one reached for their gun, mowing them down in an array of bullets, was because you didn’t hear the disrespectful comment. 

All gazes shifted over to you briefly, sitting pretty in your little area they set up just for you. They liked having you close by, even during something so mundane as a meeting, watching you happily paint your nails or open up all the shiny new trinkets they bought you. Kaiju should count themselves lucky that you had headphones on, blissfully listening to music, not a care in the world.

And it was going to stay that way. 

By now, the dumbasses before them caught on to their grave error. Especially when Sanzu made a show of santuring over to you upon Mikey’s silent request, swiftly gathering you in his arms and carrying you to the head of the table. You squealed slightly in surprise, headphones slipping off your ears in the process as you held on to the pink-haired gangster, confused smile on your face. “Haru! You scared me!~” 

“Sorry, doll. Boss wants ya to sit right here.” Sanzu gently sets you down on your awaited throne, Mikey having made room by scooting his chair back, welcoming you with open arms. 

Still confused though not complaining, you merely shrugged before making yourself comfortable, snuggling more into the leader before putting your headphones back on. Mikey held you possessively, arms locked around you like a shield, placing a small kiss to your forehead. Message was sent; message soon received. 

Kaiju’s leader began blubbering out more excuses, reprimanding his subordinate in the same breath for saying such a thing about Bonten’s trophy wife–

Guns are drawn instantly and zeroed in on every last one of them. Stunned to horrified silence, as were his underlings, they all stood frozen in fear as they stared down multiple barrels in every angle. Koko scoffed, “You must got a death wish, huh?” 

“She’s no trophy, have some goddamn respect,” Mochi added, earning a sardonic chuckle from Ran. 

“Big ask from idiots who have none. Couldn’t even bother to show up on time, now they wanna make jabs at our [_____]. I say we’ve been more than courteous, wouldn’t you agree, otouto?” 

“Tsk. Let’s just waste ‘em. We’d be doing the streets a favor.” 

“Great idea,” Sanzu and Takeomi answered in unison, the former sounding twice as eager. 

The only ones placid were Kakucho and Mikey, one quietly observing whilst the other made sure you remained ignorant to the situation, angling you in his lap to where you were practically straddling him, phone still in hand as you watched a music video your favorite k-pop group dropped recently. The only sounds in the room were the panicked breathing of Kaiju and your melodic humming to the song. Mikey patted your head, satisfied that you were still your happy self. If any of those bastards made your smile drop even a centimeter, he would have their bodies fed to the dogs. With a small sigh, he and Kakucho eventually made eye contact. Then, he gave a small nod. “You were right. Should’ve killed them after that shitty presentation. Handle it.” 

Kakucho gave a curt nod, then signaled for Kaiju to be apprehended. With guns still aimed at them, leaving them no choice but to grovel for mercy, the Haitanis along with Mochi and Takeomi forced them to march out of the room, and to their inevitable deaths, not wanting to startle you with the sight of bloodshed so early in the morning.

Sanzu was already dialing up reinforcements to help with cleanup and disposal, face beaming as he practically skipped out of the room. Kakucho gave one last look to you, then Mikey, then politely bowed before closing the door behind him on his way out. You jumped slightly, the song ending right when the door slammed shut, making you lift one of your headphones and look around in shock.

“Oh, is the meeting over already?” 

Mikey reached up to thumb your lower lip, then reached up to playfully pinch your cheek. You grinned, gently swatting him away, so oblivious to the men you inadvertently sent to their demise all to protect that very smile. The former blonde shook his head, leaning on the armrest to rest his chin atop his knuckles. “No. Ended up being a waste of time. Don’t think you would’ve liked them.” 

You chortled. “Doesn’t matter if I like them. It’s your business, silly.” 

“Mm, you are our business, angel. And we like you more.”

© 2024-2025 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[starcandybby]

8:15 a.m. - haechan x fem!reader

warnings: reader has she/her pronouns, haechan is in love, fluff , dreamies scold and annoy haechan, might be typos.

minors pls dni ♡

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The practice room doors burst open as Donghyuck swiftly walks into the space.

“Lee Donghyuck!” Renjun was the first to scold him, barely giving Donghyuck the time to set his stuff down.

“I’m late, I know I know.” Donghyuck had mentally prepared himself for the lecture he knew he’d get when he arrived at practice late…again.

“This is the third time you’ve been late in the last month, Hyuck.” This time, Mark’s voice addresses Donghyuck, uncharacteristically serious for the leader.

“I know, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Donghyuck sits up straight and playfully salutes his leader, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room.

“What made you late anyway?”

Donghyuck internally sighs at Jisung’s question; he was hoping that they could all just forget about his tardiness and get to practicing….which was supposed to start 15 minutes ago.

“I was just..you know…” Donghyuck was struggling to come up with an excuse that was both vague and believable to the members that know him so well.

But before he could even complete his sentence, Chenle cuts him off.

“You were with her, weren’t you?” Chenle shouts and points an accusatory finger in Donghyuck’s direction.

The mere mention of you brings a smile to his face. Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, but the tilt of his head downward, to avoid eye contact, and the smirk on his face, tells his members all they need to know.

Groans and murmurs of frustration can be heard around the practice room once the rest of Dream realizes the reason their beloved member was late.

“Man! I knew it!”

“Our Haechannie is in loveee!”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but his annoyed demeanor quickly dissolves as a bashful smile eventually makes a way on his face amidst the teasing.

“Yeah Yeah. Get it all out now.”

A few more teasing comments and Dream finally gets to practicing…only 20 minutes later than planned.

Hours and hours later, Donghyuck anxiously taps his foot as he listens to the choreographer wrap up the practice session. He’s sure the concluding points and improvements are important for him to know, but he can’t draw his attention away from the clock hanging above the mirrors in the practice room.

The sooner they finish up, the sooner he can get home to you-

“Alright, I think that’s all we’ve got for you today. We’ll meet back here tomorrow at the same-“

When the choreographer’s concluding words, Donghyuck jumps up and grabs his stuff, darting out of the practice room.

Mark jumps up to follow him. “Don’t be late tomorrow!” Mark calls after him, but it’s a lost cause, Donghyuck is already too far down the hall to hear his leader.

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Earlier that morning - 7:45 a.m.

“Please don’t go.” You nestled further into the crook between Donghyuck’s neck and shoulder. He chuckled and pulled you closer, if that was even possible. His legs tangled with yours, arms draped over your waist. Donghyuck doesn’t think it can get much better than this.

“You know I don’t want to baby.” Donghyuck can’t see your pout, but you know you’re sporting one as soon as he finished speaking. He strokes your back in an effort to comfort you, long fingers scaling your back rhythmically, almost lulling you back to sleep. Donghyuck knows you’re not really mad at him; you’ve long accepted his schedule as an idol. It doesn’t make it any easier for him to leave though.

“When do you have to leave again?” You murmur as you lift your head to look at your boyfriend. Heart eyes are practically popping out of Donghyuck’s head as he looks at you. Sleepiness still very evident on your face, but he loves it. He loves you.

“In a few minutes.” An absolute lie. He was supposed to leave about 10 minutes ago. But, he wasn’t ready to leave you, not yet.

“They’ll be mad if you’re late again.” You murmur again, leaning into Donghyuck’s hand that had come up to cup your face.

“They’ll be okay. They can miss me for the first few minutes of practice.” He reassures you with another lie. This will be the third time he’s late to practice within the month. He’s sure he’ll get reprimanded by both his leader and his captain, and he might even have to have a meet with their managers. In the moment though, Donghyuck doesn’t care about any of that. He’s feeling more like a ‘in the moment guy’ right now anyway.

It isn’t until a few minutes later, at 7:55, that Donghyuck finally rolls out of bed, much to your and his despair. He makes a stop in the bathroom to clean himself up a bit- to at least try to look presentable.

Donghyuck gives you one last kiss on the forehead- you both exchanging sleepy ‘i love yous’. He lingers longer than he should have (like he did all morning). It takes all his willpower to leave you- he wanted nothing more than to stay.

He sighs and heads out your front door. Despite consequences, Donghyuck thinks anything is worth spending more time with you.

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a/n: Thank you for reading!! I was inspired by nct 127’s walk dance practice, where hyuck comes in late and then RUNS out at the end hehehe also my haechan brain rot is SO bad rn. love that man.

comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3

[reidmarieprentiss]

Too Sweet

Summary: Y/N knows Spencer is too good for her.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), angst, light fluff

Warnings/Includes: porn with plot, additional warnings under the cut, cosplay, wearing dress, use of Y/N, alcohol consumption

Word count: 11.9k

a/n: idk man i really want him

main masterlist

part two part three

Additional warnings: breast & nipple play, fingering, oral (m&f), PinV protected, biting

The convention hall buzzed with excitement, filled with an array of fans dressed as their favorite characters from the iconic series, Doctor Who. The air was alive with the chatter of people discussing their favorite episodes, theories about the show's plot twists, and the inevitable debates about which Doctor was the best. Vendors lined the walls, offering everything from collectible sonic screwdrivers to handmade TARDIS keychains.

Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia were two of these enthusiastic attendees. Spencer was dressed impeccably as his favorite Doctor, the Eleventh, complete with a tweed jacket, bow tie, and fez perched jauntily on his head. Penelope, meanwhile, dazzled as the vibrant Thirteenth Doctor, sporting a rainbow-striped shirt, long coat, and bright yellow suspenders. Her hair was styled to perfection, and she wore a replica of the Thirteenth Doctor’s sonic screwdriver clipped to her belt.

They had spent the day gleefully exploring the convention together, indulging in all the nerdy joys the event had to offer. Panels, merchandise, photo ops with actors—they were having a fantastic time. They even participated in a trivia contest, which Spencer naturally excelled in, earning them a special edition Doctor Who poster. Everything was going splendidly until they ran into Penelope's ex, Kevin Lynch, who had the audacity to show up with his new date, a tall brunette who seemed to be equally as nerdy as Penelope.

Penelope's face fell as she spotted Kevin, her previous enthusiasm dimming slightly. She forced a smile and waved at Kevin, who looked surprised but waved back, a bit awkwardly.

"Penelope!" Kevin said, trying to sound cheerful but failing miserably. "It's, uh, great to see you here."

"Yeah, you too, Kevin," Penelope replied, her voice wavering slightly as she glanced at his date. She couldn't help but feel a pang of embarrassment and an awkward tension that hung in the air.

The encounter was brief, but it left Penelope feeling deflated. After exchanging a few pleasantries, she quickly excused herself and turned to Spencer, whispering that she needed a moment alone. Spencer nodded understandingly, his eyes filled with empathy, and watched as Penelope hurried off, clearly upset.

Now alone amidst the bustling crowd, Spencer found himself wandering around the convention hall, a bit lost without Penelope by his side. Despite being surrounded by thousands of people who shared his interests, he felt an uncomfortable sense of solitude creeping in. He adjusted his bow tie nervously, his eyes scanning the room for a friendly face or familiar sight.

As he wandered, Spencer couldn't help but feel self-conscious, almost like a lost puppy in a sea of strangers. The convention was vast, and though he loved the atmosphere, it was a lot to take in alone. He fiddled with his fez, trying to focus on the displays and booths around him, but the sense of being out of place lingered.

It was then that he noticed you, standing a short distance away, dressed as the most enchanting character from Doctor Who—Madame de Pompadour, The Girl in the Fireplace.

Your costume was a stunning recreation of the elegant 18th-century dress worn by Reinette, complete with intricate lace details, flowing skirts, and an opulent corset that captured the character's timeless beauty. A perfectly styled wig with cascading curls crowned your head, adding an authentic touch to your ensemble. You wore a delicate mask in your hand, which you twirled absentmindedly as you observed the convention floor, your eyes occasionally flicking toward Spencer with an amused curiosity. But what struck Spencer most was your warm smile, a beacon of kindness amidst the chaos.

You had noticed Spencer earlier, observing him with a gentle curiosity as he meandered through the crowd. Something about his endearing awkwardness and the way he carried himself drew your attention, and you found yourself walking over to him, compelled by a mix of admiration and empathy.

With a kind and playful smile, you approached him and said, "Hey, you look lost. Do you need help finding your parents?"

Spencer's eyes widened in surprise at your teasing comment, and he let out a surprised snort, momentarily caught off guard. He quickly recovered from his initial embarrassment and noticed the twinkle of amusement in your eyes.

"Uh, no, no thank you," he replied with a sheepish grin. "I was given permission to look around by myself."

Your laughter was infectious, and Spencer felt the tightness in his chest ease. It was as if your presence alone had a calming effect, grounding him in the moment and reminding him that he wasn't truly alone. Your genuine kindness and humor were like a breath of fresh air.

"I'm glad to hear it," you said, still smiling as you playfully curtsied. "I'm Y/N, by the way. A fellow time traveler, it seems."

Spencer hesitated for a moment before bowing slightly at the waist, feeling a little more confident now. "Spencer Reid," he replied, introducing himself. "And yes, it seems we both have a knack for getting lost in time."

Your shared laugh seemed to lighten the atmosphere, and Spencer couldn't help but feel grateful for your unexpected companionship. It was a simple moment, yet it carried a weight of significance—an unexpected connection made in the most delightful of circumstances.

As the vibrant crowd continued to flow around you, your conversation with Spencer felt like a moment suspended in time, a quiet bubble amidst the lively chaos of the convention. The laughter, chatter, and occasional shout of delight from fellow fans echoed through the hall, but you found yourself entirely focused on the man standing before you.

"So, Spencer," you began, looking around at the lively crowd, "what's been your favorite part of the convention so far?"

“Well, I won the trivia contest!” Spencer replied with enthusiasm, his eyes lighting up with pride. “I love seeing everyone’s costumes too, the creativity and thought they put into them is inspiring. And the food court! Did you see they have—why are you looking at me like that? Am I rambling? Oh, I am, hah, sorry.”

You chuckled softly, finding his rambling endearing. “Don’t stop on my account; I happen to think it’s very cute.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your compliment. “You… you do?”

“Indeed, Doctor,” you replied with a playful glint in your eye.

“How did you know I’m a doctor?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Um…” you pointed at his costume, a classic Doctor Who ensemble that perfectly captured the essence of the Eleventh Doctor. 

“Oh! Right, you meant Doctor Who Doctor,” he realized, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

“Yes, but are you really a doctor?” you inquired, intrigued by the idea of him being both a fictional and real-life doctor.

Spencer nodded, his eyes reflecting a mix of humility and pride. “I have three PhDs.”

“Oh wow, that’s hot,” you said, your voice teasing yet sincere, enjoying the way his cheeks turned a faint shade of pink.

“What?” he squeaked, clearly flustered by your unexpected compliment.

“Tell me, Spencer… do you have plans after the convention?” you asked, leaning in slightly, your interest in him evident.

“Um, no, nope. No, I do not. Totally free,” Spencer stammered, trying to keep his composure but feeling his heart race at the prospect of spending more time with you.

“Good to know,” you replied with a warm smile. “Would you like to get a drink with me?”

“I would love to,” he answered, his voice brimming with exhilaration.

“Wonderful,” you said, pleased with his response.

The two of you exchanged numbers, a small gesture that felt monumental, sealing the promise of further connection beyond the convention's vibrant confines. As you parted ways, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement at the thought of seeing him again.

As he watched you disappear into the colorful sea of costumes, you turned back to Spencer, your heart still racing with the promise of more time together. “I’ll see you later, Spencer,” you said, offering him one last lingering smile before slipping away into the crowd.

Spencer stood there for a moment, his mind whirling with possibilities and the thrill of new connections. As he adjusted his fez and prepared to rejoin Penelope, he smiled to himself, the Doctor Who theme echoing in the distance as he headed back into the lively fray.

—

Later that night, you and Spencer agreed to meet up at a cozy little bar nestled in a bustling neighborhood near your apartment. The day had been a whirlwind of excitement and adventure at the Doctor Who convention, but now, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights twinkled, a new kind of eagerness filled the air.

You arrived at the bar first, filled with anticipation and nervousness. Gone was the elegant 18th-century gown you wore at the convention; you now wore a low-cut, tight shirt that hugged your curves and showed off a bit more cleavage than before. It was a bold choice, one that made you feel confident and sexy, and you hoped Spencer would appreciate it.

As you waited for Spencer to arrive, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of fever at seeing him again. Something about his awkward charm and genuine kindness had struck a chord with you, and you were eager to see where the evening might lead.

When Spencer walked in, your breath caught at the sight of him. Gone was the Eleventh Doctor costume, replaced by a classic sweater vest ensemble that was quintessentially Spencer Reid. He wore a crisp button-down shirt under the vest, paired with slacks that somehow made him look both dorky and endearingly handsome. You found it incredibly attractive, and a smile tugged at your lips as he approached.

“Hey,” he said, a bit shyly, his eyes darting around the bar before settling on you. When he noticed your outfit, he froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly at the sight of your low-cut shirt. “Wow, you look... amazing.”

“Thank you,” you replied, feeling a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks. “You clean up pretty well yourself, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled, running a hand through his hair in a self-conscious gesture. “I, uh, didn’t know what to wear, but I’m glad it works.”

“Oh, it definitely works,” you assured him, your gaze lingering on his sweater vest. “I have a thing for sweater vests.”

He laughed, his cheeks tinged with pink. “Good to know. I have plenty of them.”

You motioned for him to join you at the bar, where you ordered drinks and settled into a comfortable conversation. The atmosphere was relaxed, with soft music playing in the background and the hum of conversations surrounding you.

“So, how did you get into Doctor Who?” Spencer asked, genuinely curious as he took a sip of his drink.

“I’ve always been a fan of science fiction,” you replied, leaning closer to ensure he could hear you over the chatter. “The idea of time travel, the adventures, and the characters just drew me in. Plus, the show has this amazing ability to make you think about life in new ways.”

Spencer nodded, clearly pleased with your answer. “I completely agree. The show is more than just entertainment; it’s a way to explore complex ideas and emotions. I think that’s why it resonates with so many people.”

“Exactly!” you said enthusiastically, enjoying the ease of conversation between you. “And what about you? What drew you to the series?”

Spencer shrugged, his eyes twinkling with the joy of discussing something he loved. “It started as a way to escape, I guess. Growing up, I didn’t have a lot of friends, but Doctor Who was like a companion, in a way. It taught me a lot about empathy and bravery.”

You smiled, touched by his honesty. “That’s really great, Spencer.”

“Thanks,” he said, looking a bit bashful under your gaze. “I’m glad I met someone who appreciates the show as much as I do.”

The conversation flowed effortlessly, a dance of words that brought you closer with each exchange. You found yourself laughing easily, the tension of earlier dissipating as you both shared stories and jokes, losing track of time in the warm ambiance of the bar.

As the night wore on, you noticed Spencer stealing glances at your shirt, his eyes flickering to your cleavage before quickly averting his gaze, trying to be polite. You couldn’t help but find his flustered reactions adorable, and you decided to tease him a little.

“Is there something interesting over here?” you asked, gesturing to your chest with a playful grin.

Spencer’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he stammered, “Uh, no, I mean, yes, but—oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

You laughed softly, reaching out to touch his hand reassuringly. “Relax, Spencer. I don’t mind. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”

He exhaled, clearly relieved by your response. “Well, in that case, yes, it’s very distracting,” he admitted, a shy smile playing on his lips.

“Good to know I still have it,” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a satisfied expression.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “You definitely do.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, filled with the promise of more to come. As the night deepened, the conversation shifted from playful banter to something more intimate, the chemistry between you undeniable.

“So, Spencer,” you said, your voice dropping to a more sultry tone. “What does the rest of your night look like? Are you all booked up?”

“Um, no, not really,” he replied, his heart racing as he caught the glint in your eye. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” you said, leaning closer, “I was wondering if you’d like to come back to my place. We could continue our conversation somewhere a bit more private.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he swallowed hard, his mind spinning with possibilities. “I would love that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Great,” you replied with a smile, feeling a thrill of anticipation as you both stood up, ready to leave the bar behind for the promise of what awaited you.

The walk back to your apartment was filled with a charged silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. You felt Spencer’s presence beside you, a comforting warmth that made your heart race with excitement.

As you reached your apartment building, you turned to him, your eyes meeting in a shared understanding. “This is me,” you said, gesturing to the entrance.

“Nice place,” Spencer commented, trying to keep his cool despite the nerves bubbling inside him.

You unlocked the door and led him inside, your heart pounding with each step. The atmosphere was electric, one that promised something incredible.

Once inside, you turned to face Spencer, a playful smile on your lips. “Make yourself at home,” you said, gesturing to the cozy living room. “Can I get you anything?”

“Just some water would be great,” he replied, trying to steady his racing heart.

You nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two glasses of water. As you handed one to Spencer, your fingers brushed against his, sending a jolt of electricity through you both.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his voice warm and sincere.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, sitting down beside him on the couch. The proximity was intoxicating, and you could feel the tension building with each passing second.

“I have to say, I’m really glad we met today.” Spencer said, his voice slightly shaky. 

“Me too,” you agreed, your gaze locked on his.

The room seemed to shrink around you, the world fading away until it was just the two of you, enveloped in a bubble of connection and desire.

As you leaned in closer, your lips mere inches from his, Spencer’s breath hitched in suspense. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the magnetic pull drawing you together.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft caress.

“Yes?” he replied, his eyes searching yours, filled with longing.

“Would you like to stay the night?” you asked, your words laced with an invitation that left little room for doubt.

Spencer swallowed, his heart racing as he processed your offer. “I’d love to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

With that, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a gentle yet passionate kiss. It was a kiss filled with promise and possibility, a moment that transcended the ordinary and ventured into the extraordinary.

Spencer kissed you back with a low whimper as he began to ravish you. His lips were soft and urgent against yours, moving with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the strain in his body as he pressed against you, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you closer. The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to spark and crackle in the air around you.

You responded eagerly, threading your fingers through his hair, feeling the silky strands slip between your fingers as you deepened the kiss. The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of the lingering sweetness of the drinks you'd shared earlier and something distinctly Spencer that made you crave more.

Spencer's hands moved with a purpose, exploring the curves of your body with a gentle yet insistent touch that left you breathless. His fingertips traced the outline of your spine, sending delightful tingles through your skin as they traveled lower, coming to rest on the small of your back. You arched into his touch, pressing your body more firmly against his, savoring the feel of him against you.

With a quiet moan, Spencer shifted, guiding you backward until you were lying beneath him on the couch. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath warm and ragged against your lips as he gazed down at you with a smoldering intensity. The look in his eyes sent a thrill through you, a promise of the pleasures to come.

Spencer leaned down, capturing your lips once more as his hands continued their exploration. His touch was both tender and demanding, a perfect balance that left you yearning for more. You felt his fingers trail over your exposed skin, slipping beneath the fabric of your low-cut shirt, and you shivered in anticipation as he began to explore further.

The sensation of his hands against your bare skin was electrifying, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body. You could feel the heat pooling low in your belly, an insistent ache that begged for more as Spencer's touch became more insistent. His hands roamed over your body with a confidence that contradicted the initial shyness you had seen in him earlier.

Your shirt slipped further up your torso, and Spencer's lips left yours to follow the path his hands had traced moments before. His mouth moved with a deliberate slowness, leaving a trail of heated kisses along your jawline, down the column of your neck, and across your collarbone. Each kiss was a promise, a vow of what was to come, and you found yourself lost in the sensations he was creating.

As Spencer's mouth traveled lower, you let out a soft sigh of pleasure, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his sweater vest. The texture of the material beneath your fingertips was a comforting contrast to the fiery sensations his lips and hands were invoking, grounding you even as you felt yourself soaring.

Spencer's lips moved over the swell of your breasts, his touch reverent yet possessive, as if he were memorizing every inch of your skin with his mouth. You felt a thrill at the thought of being the focus of his attention. 

Spencer’s lips ghosted over your skin, each kiss sending waves of heat coursing through your body. As he reached the edge of your shirt, he paused, his fingers gently teasing the hem as he looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Are you planning on keeping this on all night?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

You chuckled softly, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “Well, Doctor, I thought I’d give you something to unwrap. Consider it a mystery.”

Spencer grinned, his fingers deftly pulling your shirt higher until it slipped over your head, leaving you exposed beneath him. His gaze raked over your bare skin, appreciation evident in his eyes. “Mystery solved,” he whispered, his tone filled with a mixture of desire and admiration.

You felt a rush of heat at his words, your skin tingling. “You’re a fast learner,” you replied, your voice sultry as you reached up to pull him back down to you. “But let’s see if you can handle what’s next.”

His eyes darkened with intensity at your challenge, and he captured your lips in another heated kiss, his hands exploring your newly exposed skin with renewed vigor. The sensations were dizzying, each touch and caress a testament to his growing confidence and desire.

Spencer’s hands traveled down your sides, tracing the curves of your waist and hips before slipping beneath the waistband of your pants. You let out a quiet moan, arching into his touch as he began to work them down, his fingers deft and sure.

“Getting a bit bold, aren’t we?” you teased, nipping at his lower lip as he freed you from the confines of your clothing.

“Just trying to keep up with you,” he retorted, his voice tinged with amusement as he leaned back to admire his handiwork.

You reached for the hem of his sweater vest, tugging it upwards with a playful smirk. “I think it’s time we even the playing field, don’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his arms to help you remove the vest, followed by his button-down shirt. You couldn’t help but appreciate the lean muscles beneath his clothing, the way his skin seemed to glow in the dim light of the room.

“Not bad, Doctor,” you quipped, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest appreciatively. “Maybe I should have gone to med school.”

Spencer let out a low laugh, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I doubt they teach this in med school.”

“Oh, I’m sure there’s a course or two,” you replied, your fingers trailing lower, teasing the waistband of his pants.

He inhaled sharply, his body responding to your touch in a way that made you both feel like you were on fire. “I think we’re about to graduate to something more advanced,” he murmured, his voice a mix of fieriness and teasing.

You grinned, pulling him back down to you, your lips capturing his in a passionate kiss that promised more than words ever could. The heat between you was intense, a consuming fire that left you both breathless and wanting more.

Spencer’s hands continued their exploration, mapping every inch of your skin with a reverence that made your heart race. You could feel the tension building, a delicious feeling that promised to leave you both satisfied yet craving even more.

As you shifted beneath him, your body pressed against his in a way that made your intentions clear, you whispered, “What do you say we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

He nodded, his eyes filled with a hunger that matched your own. “Lead the way,” he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, you guided him toward your bedroom, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like an electric charge. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you and the enticing possibilities that lay ahead.

Once inside your bedroom, the atmosphere shifted, the intimacy of the space amplifying the pull between you. The dim lighting cast shadows across the room, creating an intimate bubble that felt like it was just for you and Spencer.

You turned to face him, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you slowly backed toward the bed. “I hope you’re ready for this, Doctor.”

He followed, his movements confident and sure as he approached, his eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve been ready since the moment I saw you,” he replied, his voice low and filled with want.

As you sank onto the bed, Spencer joined you, his body warm and inviting against yours. The tension between you was palpable, a magnetic pull that drew you closer with each passing second.

You reached for him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw before pulling him in for another searing kiss. His lips were soft and insistent against yours, his touch possessive as he pressed you back against the sheets. The mattress dipped under your combined weight, and you felt the cool, crisp fabric of the sheets beneath your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from Spencer’s body.

Spencer’s breath mingled with yours, warm and intoxicating with desire. His hands traveled with a deliberate slowness, exploring the curves and contours of your body as though committing every inch to memory. You felt his fingers skim over the bare skin of your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The sensation was electric, sending delightful tingles coursing through your veins.

As he deepened the kiss, a low groan rumbled in his throat, vibrating through your body and sending a shiver of excitement down your spine. Your hands found their way to his back, feeling the taut muscles beneath his skin as you pulled him closer, craving the warmth and weight of him against you.

His lips moved with a languid, teasing rhythm, exploring the delicate skin of your neck with gentle, open-mouthed kisses that sent your heart racing. You tilted your head back, granting him better access as a soft sigh escaped your lips, filling the room with a quiet sound of pleasure.

Spencer’s kisses trailed lower, his breath hot against your skin as he made his way down your collarbone. The sensation was intoxicating, a delicious mix of tenderness and urgency that left you breathless. You felt his hands slide up your sides, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ribcage before coming to rest on your waist.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

You couldn’t help but smile, your fingers threading through his hair as you arched into his touch. “Get to the point, Doctor.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and enticing, as he shifted his weight to hover above you, his eyes dark with longing. The air between you crackled with intensity, a potent mix of suspense and need that seemed to draw you even closer together.

Your breathing grew ragged, each inhale a shuddering gasp as you surrendered to the pleasure building inside you. Spencer’s touch was like a drug, addictive and all-consuming, leaving you dizzy with longing.

He paused for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, a silent question lingering between you. You nodded, giving him the permission he sought, and he smiled—a small, intimate curve of his lips that made your heart skip a beat.

Spencer hands deftly working to remove the last barriers between you. The sensation of the cool air against your skin was a delicious contrast to the heat radiating from his touch, sending shivers of need cascading through your body.

The room was filled with a symphony of soft sounds: the rustle of fabric as Spencer undressed you, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the rapid, excited beat of your own heart. The smell of your mingled scents—his cologne, a hint of your perfume, and the unmistakable musk of arousal—filled the air, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that heightened every sensation.

As Spencer’s hands continued their journey, his lips followed, pressing soft, heated kisses to every inch of exposed skin. The feel of his mouth against your body was electric, each kiss a spark that ignited a fire deep within you. You could hear the quiet, appreciative noises he made as he explored, a low hum of approval that vibrated through you, making your skin tingle with fever.

His mouth found the sensitive spot at the base of your throat, and he lingered there, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin and his teeth scraping behind. The sensation was exquisite, and it sent a shiver down your spine. You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair, holding him close as he continued his ministrations.

His mouth continued its journey, trailing kisses down the length of your torso, his breath hot and humid against your skin. Each touch of his lips was a promise, a hint of the pleasures yet to come. You could feel the gentle scrape of his stubble against your skin, a delightful roughness that added to the sensory overload.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your thighs, his fingers curling around the soft flesh as he gently parted them, creating space for himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable, a sweet ache that thrummed through your veins as you waited for his next move.

He paused for a moment, his breath warm and heavy against your inner thigh as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. The look in his eyes sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a silent communication of his intentions that left you breathless.

When he finally moved, it was with a purpose and a tenderness that took your breath away. His mouth found its mark, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the most intimate part of you. The sensation was overwhelming, a rush of pleasure that left you gasping and trembling beneath him.

Spencer's tongue traced a path of fire, the wet heat of his mouth a stark contrast to the cool air around you. The feeling of his tongue against you was indescribable, a perfect blend of softness and pressure that had you writhing with need. You could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of his movements, a deliciously sinful symphony that filled the room and drove you wild with desire.

The taste of you seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more insistent, more confident as he explored every inch of you. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as he lavished attention on you, each stroke of his tongue sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body.

You could feel the tension building, a tight coil of desire that wound tighter and tighter with each passing second. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your hands clutching at the sheets as you tried to hold on, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations Spencer was creating.

And then, with a final, masterful stroke of his tongue, the coil snapped, sending you spiraling into a blinding wave of ecstasy. Your body arched off the bed, a cry of pure pleasure escaping your lips as you surrendered to the intense release. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite, the pleasure radiating out from your core in waves that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

Spencer didn't stop, his movements gentling but never ceasing as he guided you through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were spent and boneless beneath him. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the quiet hum of the city outside, and the beating of your heart.

As the world slowly came back into focus, you felt Spencer's weight shift, his body sliding up to join you on the bed. He gathered you into his arms, his touch gentle and soothing as he held you close. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your cheek, the warmth of his skin a comforting presence that grounded you.

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips. "I may have misread you…" you murmured, your voice still breathless from the intensity of the experience.

Spencer looked at you, curiosity flickering in his eyes as he tried to read your expression. "How so?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent another wave of heat through you.

“I thought you were some nerdy dork who wouldn’t know what to do,” you confessed with a teasing grin, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “You proved me so wrong.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm like honey, his eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. The touch was tender and sweet, a stark contrast to the intense passion you'd just shared.

As the warmth of his kiss lingered on your skin, a flicker of awareness crept into your mind, reminding you of the vulnerability of your current position. Spencer was undeniably pretty, fun, and, as you had just discovered, incredibly talented with his mouth. But letting him get too close, emotionally, was a different matter—a potential disaster waiting to happen.

You felt a pang of uncertainty, a reminder that you'd let yourself get carried away in the heat of everything today. The thought of letting him see more of you, of exposing the parts of yourself you kept hidden, was both thrilling and terrifying.

Gently, you scooted away, creating a small space between you on the bed. Spencer watched you with a slight frown, his brow furrowing in concern as he noticed the shift in your demeanor.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out to touch your arm. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m good. Just… taking a breather.”

He nodded, understanding but still curious. The moment hung between you, a delicate balance of intimacy and distance that you both navigated carefully.

Wanting to redirect the focus and return the favor, you shifted onto your knees, your movements deliberate and confident. Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he watched you, questioning flickering in his gaze.

You leaned forward, letting your hands glide over the planes of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The sensation was intoxicating, each touch sending a spark of desire through your body as you explored the contours of his torso.

“Now, Doctor,” you said, your voice low and teasing, “I think it’s my turn to show you what I can do.”

Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with desire as he watched you with rapt attention. “I’m not going to stop you,” he replied, a playful edge to his voice as he leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows to give you full access.

You grinned, pleased by his response as you moved lower, your hands trailing down the length of his body. The texture of his skin was smooth and warm under your touch, each muscle firm and defined as you explored every inch with a deliberate slowness that made his breath catch.

The room was filled with the quiet rustle of sheets, the soft sounds of your movements as you shifted to straddle his legs, your body settling comfortably between his thighs. The anticipation in the air was palpable, a charged energy that seemed to crackle with each passing second.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his stomach, feeling the way his muscles tensed beneath your lips. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of power and intimacy that left you wanting more.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, his head falling back against the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations you were creating. The sound sent a thrill through you, a confirmation of the effect you had on him, and it spurred you on, encouraging you to continue your exploration.

You let your hands wander lower, tracing the line of his waistband before slipping beneath the fabric, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. Spencer’s breath hitched again, a soft, needy sound that made your heart race.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice a teasing whisper as you glanced up at him, enjoying the way his eyes were half-lidded with desire, his lips parted in want.

Spencer nodded, his voice a breathless murmur. “Mhm.”

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of him so open and vulnerable beneath you. It was a heady feeling, one that made you want to give him everything you had, to explore every inch of him and discover all the ways you could make him come undone.

With a gentle touch, you eased his pants lower, revealing more of the skin you so desperately wanted to explore. The cool air kissed his skin, sending a shiver through him as you continued your ministrations, your hands and lips moving with a purposeful intent that left him gasping.

The texture of his skin under your fingers was smooth and warm, a contrast to the slightly rough fabric of his pants as they slid down his legs. You could feel the faint, steady beat of his pulse beneath your fingertips. The cool air seemed to heighten every sensation, sharpening the feeling of your touch against his bare skin.

As you explored lower, you could hear the soft, almost involuntary sounds Spencer made in response to your touch—a quiet gasp, a low moan, the sharp intake of breath when you grazed a particularly sensitive spot. Each sound proving the effect you were having on him, encouraging you to continue your exploration with renewed confidence.

You leaned in, your lips brushing over the expanse of skin just above his waistband, savoring the slightly salty taste of him. The feel of your mouth against his skin drew another low groan from Spencer, a needy sound that reverberated through your body and filled the room.

The slight roughness of his sparse hair beneath your lips was a contrast to the smooth skin of his abdomen, and you reveled in the differences, your fingers dancing over every inch as you memorized the planes and angles of his body. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to explore further.

With every touch and kiss, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a palpable energy that seemed to thrumming in the air around you. His muscles tensed under your hands, responding to your every movement with a sensitivity that only served to heighten your own arousal.

His hips shifted slightly, an involuntary movement that brought him closer to you, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. The friction of your touch against him was a delicious torment, each caress, each brush of your lips a promise of the release he so desperately craved.

You continued down, your mouth trailing lower with a deliberate slowness that was as much for your pleasure as it was for his. The taste of his skin lingered on your lips, a reminder of the connection you shared, the chemistry that burned brightly between you.

Spencer’s hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided you closer to his bulge that you had been neglecting, his touch both gentle and insistent. The slight tug at your scalp sent a shiver through you, a thrill of eagerness that urged you to continue your exploration with even more fervor.

Your lips traveled lower, past where he wanted you, tracing a path along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh with your lips and tongue, where you could feel the taut muscle beneath. The sensation of his skin against your lips, the warmth of his body, the subtle tremor that ran through him as you pressed a lingering kiss to his hip—all of it combined to create a heady mix of sensations that left you breathless.

The soft rustle of the sheets beneath you was the only sound in the room aside from the quiet, rhythmic hum of Spencer’s breathing and the occasional low moan that slipped past his lips. You could feel the way his body responded to your touch with an eagerness that mirrored your own. It was a dance of give and take, a perfect harmony of movements and sensations that left you both on the edge of control.

Spencer’s hands tightened in your hair, a gentle reminder of his presence, his need, and you responded by drawing him deeper into the sensations, your touch sure and steady as you worked to bring him closer to the edge. 

Finally, putting the poor man out of his misery, you hooked your fingers in his waistband and pulled his briefs down. Exposing him to the cool air, causing him to shiver. Then, because you’re not a monster, you licked a slow stripe up the side of his red, hard cock, causing a very loud groan to fall from between Spencer's lips.

The moment stretched out, filled with a tension that was both electric and tangible. The room was filled with the soft sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet rhythm that underscored the intense moment.

Your fingers brushed against his skin, tracing a delicate path along the line of his hip bone. You could feel the subtle tremor that ran through him. The warmth of his skin was intoxicating, drawing you closer, urging you to continue your exploration with a sense of urgency that bordered on desperate.

Spencer’s body was a study in contrasts—the hard lines of muscle beneath the softness of skin, the way he shivered under your touch even as he leaned into it, seeking more of the sensations you were creating. 

The cool air caressed his exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of your touch. You watched as goosebumps erupted along his flesh, a physical manifestation of his heightened arousal. The sight sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a reminder of the power you held in this moment.

You leaned in, your breath warm against his cock as you placed a soft, lingering kiss along the tip. The taste of him was addictive, a heady mix of salt and musk that left you wanting more. The feeling of his skin beneath your lips was electric, sending shivers of excitement through your body.

Spencer let out a quiet groan, a low, primal sound that reverberated through the room and sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. His hands found their way, deeper somehow, in your hair, his grip firm and steady as he urged you closer, his need evident in the way he moved you.

His cock twitched in response to your touch, the sensation was dizzying, a heady mix of power and vulnerability that left you breathless. You allowed your fingers to explore further, tracing a slow, deliberate path along the length of his shaft. The texture was smooth and warm, a perfect contrast to the cool air that surrounded you. You could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, a testament to his struggle to maintain control in the face of such intense sensation.

“Please, please do something,” Spencer nearly whined, his voice tinged with desperation as he watched you with wide eyes, his body trembling with need.

As you finally leaned in, allowing your mouth to join the dance of sensation and touch, you heard Spencer’s breath hitch in his throat, a quiet sound of desire that filled the room. The taste of him on your tongue was intoxicating, a rich, heady mix of salt and musk that left you craving more.

The moment your lips made contact, Spencer released a shuddering exhale, his body responding to the heat of your mouth with a visceral intensity that took your breath away. His hips shifted involuntarily, each movement sending ripples of sensation through your body as well.

The sound of your mouth against his skin was almost hypnotic, a rhythmic whisper that echoed through the room, mingling with Spencer's soft moans and the quiet rustle of the sheets beneath him. You felt the gentle rise and fall of his abdomen as he tried to steady his breathing, the quiet hitch in his breath every time you shifted, adjusted your grip, or took him deeper.

His taste lingered on your tongue as you bobbed your head along his shaft. The feeling of his smooth, taught skin between your lips only caused the mess between your thighs to grow. You were soaking wet at the sight of the man who so confidently took you apart, writhing at the feeling of your mouth on him. 

Spencer's hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he tried to hold onto the last ounce of his control. His touch was gentle but insistent, a silent plea for you to continue, to explore every inch of him until he was lost in the overwhelming pleasure that you were so skillfully creating.

As you continued your ministrations, you couldn't help but revel in the power you held over him, the way you could make his body respond to your every touch, your every movement. It was intoxicating, the thrill of being the one to unravel him, to bring him to the edge and watch as he teetered there, a breathless, trembling mess beneath you.

The quiet, involuntary sounds that slipped past his lips were music to your ears, a symphony of pleasure and need that urged you on, pushing you to explore further, to discover every hidden reaction, every secret spot that made him gasp and moan.

Spencer's breathing grew more ragged, his chest heaving with each breath as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within him, a living thing that pulsed and throbbed in your mouth, begging for release.

With each pass of your mouth, each flick of your tongue, you felt him draw nearer to the brink, the pleasure building to a fever pitch that left you both trembling with need. You pulled up to his tip, sucking harshly and greedily taking down the precum you were rewarded. 

“Fuck, fuck, Y/N. You have to pull off, I’m gonna—”

Finally, as you felt him begin to unravel beneath you, his grip on your hair tightening, you knew he was on the verge of release. The realization sent a thrill of satisfaction through you, a sense of accomplishment at having brought him to this point, this state of utter abandon.

But, you pulled off, just as he asked.

His eyes fluttered open, glazed with desire, and a mixture of relief and frustration washed over his features. The air between you was charged with electricity, thick as you gazed up at him, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he tried to catch his breath.

“Thank you,” he breathed, his voice a low, rough whisper filled with gratitude and a hint of desperation. His hands remained in your hair, holding you there as if afraid you might disappear, the heat of his skin still pulsing beneath your touch.

You sat back on your heels, his hands falling, a playful smile tugging at your lips as you surveyed the man before you. Spencer lay sprawled across the bed, a beautiful mess of tousled hair, flushed skin, and a very hard cock leaning on his tummy.

“Didn’t want to spoil the fun too soon?” you teased, your voice sultry and full of promise.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement and unabashed desire. “I didn’t expect you to be so... good at this,” he admitted, his voice still tinged with awe as he watched you with a newfound appreciation.

“Surprised?” you asked, raising an eyebrow as you reached out to trail your fingers lazily along his thigh, feeling the residual tremor of his muscles beneath your touch.

“Pleasantly,” he replied, his voice rich with honesty as he met your gaze, a slow smile spreading across his lips.

“Well, the night’s not over yet,” you said, your tone full of suggestion as you shifted your position, moving with a deliberate slowness that kept Spencer’s gaze locked onto you. The dim lighting cast a warm, intimate glow over your skin, highlighting every curve and angle as you made your intentions clear.

Spencer watched you, his eyes darkening as he realized what you were doing. You were presenting yourself to him, offering yourself. The realization sent a fresh wave of heat through his already overwrought senses.

Your movements were slow and deliberate, a sensual dance that had Spencer transfixed, his breath catching in his throat as he watched you. You turned slightly, your back arching gracefully, presenting your body to him in a way that left no doubt about what you wanted. The smoothness of your skin and the glistening of your core caught the light, every curve accentuated by the shadows, and Spencer couldn't help but let his gaze travel over you, taking in every detail, every nuance.

“You like what you see, Doctor?” you teased with a shake of your hips, your voice a sultry purr that sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

His response was a low, almost guttural sound that spoke volumes, a wordless expression of the desire that burned so brightly within him. He shifted slightly, his body tense as his hands reached out as if drawn to you by an invisible force.

“I like it very much,” he murmured, his voice a husky blend of awe and hunger as he drank in the sight of you. The way you held yourself, the confidence in your gaze, the promise of what was to come—it was all intoxicating, drawing him in and leaving him utterly captivated.

Spencer moved closer, the soft rustle of the sheets beneath him a quiet accompaniment to the sounds and sensations of desire that filled the room. Your skin was warm under Spencer’s touch as his hands found their way to your hips, his fingers trailing lightly over your skin, exploring every inch with a deliberate slowness that left you both breathless.

The feeling of his hands on you was electric, a perfect blend of tenderness and urgency that made your heart race and your senses sing. Every touch, every caress, sent shivers of pleasure racing through your body, leaving you aching for more, your skin hypersensitive to every nuance of his touch.

Spencer’s hands traveled with a gentle insistence, mapping the contours of your body with a touch that was both reverent and possessive. You could feel the subtle tremor in his fingers, the heat of his palms as they pressed against your ass.

His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low murmur as he whispered, “You’re so sexy.” The words sent a thrill through you, a spark that ignited a fire in your belly and left you yearning for more of his touch, more of the sensations that seemed to flood your senses with every passing moment.

You turned your head slightly, your lips finding his in a kiss that was equal parts tenderness and demand. The taste of him was intoxicating, a heady mix of warmth and spice that made your heart race and your senses reel.

Spencer pulled away, and you felt the bed shift as he repositioned himself behind you. The room was filled with a quiet hum of anticipation, the air thick with the charged tension between you. You could feel his gaze on you, a tangible heat that seemed to sear into your skin.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice a low, rumbling purr that sent a shiver down your spine. There was an earnestness in his question, a genuine desire to ensure that you were comfortable and ready.

“Positive, Doctor,” you replied, the words laced with playful confidence as you glanced over your shoulder to meet his gaze. The term of endearment had become a safeguard to you, not wanting to get too used to saying his name.

Spencer’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm and relief, a small, appreciative smile tugging at his lips. “Do you have a condom?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of embarrassment as he admitted his unpreparedness.

“You don’t?” you teased, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. It was a playful jab, meant to lighten the mood and add a touch of humor to the charged atmosphere.

“I didn’t expect this to happen…” Spencer admitted, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as he chuckled awkwardly. 

“That’s really sweet, actually,” you replied, your voice softening as you took in the sight of him. The sincerity in his words made your heart skip a beat, a reminder of why you had been drawn to him in the first place. “Yes, I do,” you confirmed, a mischievous grin spreading across your face. “Let me up real quick.”

Spencer playfully groaned, a sound filled with exaggerated reluctance as he shifted to give you space. But before you could move, he leaned down, leaving a small, teasing bite on your asscheek—a cheeky gesture that sent a spark of pleasure through you.

“Down, boy!” you teased, your voice a mock admonishment as you slipped out of his grasp, your feet finding the floor with a soft thud. You cast a playful glance back at him, enjoying the sight of him sprawled on the bed, watching you while he pulled on his own cock.

As you turned back to the bed, condom in hand, you found Spencer watching you with an intensity that made your heart race. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—was both thrilling and humbling.

“Got it,” you announced, your voice a playful sing-song as you waved the packet in the air. Spencer’s eyes lit up with amusement, a soft chuckle escaping his lips as he watched you return to the bed.

You climbed back onto the mattress, feeling the familiar give of the sheets beneath your knees as you settled in beside him. The warmth of his body was a comforting presence, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room that brushed against your skin.

Spencer reached for you, his touch gentle and insistent as he guided you back into position. His hands were warm against your skin, the chemistry seemed to crackle between you.

Spencer tore open the foil packet, the soft crinkle of the wrapper a prelude to the main event. You could smell the faint scent of latex from the condom, mingling with the lingering aroma of his cologne—a spicy, woodsy scent that was undeniably masculine and entirely Spencer.

Spencer moved with a practiced ease, his fingers deft and sure as he prepared himself, rolling the condom down with a kind of confident precision that spoke of experience. The sight of him handling himself with such ease sent a thrill racing through you, your breath catching at the implication. It was a heady rush of desire that made your heart race and your skin flush with heat.

As he finished, Spencer's eyes locked onto yours, a smoldering intensity burning within them that made your pulse quicken. The weight of his gaze was almost tangible, a touch that was as intimate as any caress. You could feel the desire radiating off of him.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. His tone was full of promise, a dark velvet sound that wrapped around you like a warm embrace, holding you captive in its depths.

“Yes,” you breathed, the word barely a whisper as it slipped from your lips, heavy with need. Your body ached for his touch, every fiber of your being attuned to the promise of pleasure that awaited you.

Spencer leaned forward, his hands finding your hips with a surety that left you breathless. His touch was firm and possessive, a silent promise of the pleasure he intended to deliver. You could feel the warmth of his skin against yours, a delicious contrast to the cool air that still lingered around you.

His lips brushed against your ear, a featherlight touch that sent a thrill racing through you, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “I bet you feel as good as you taste,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with desire. The confession was both intimate and incendiary, stoking the flames of your arousal until you were burning for him.

“Shit,” you whispered back, a high pitched sound that left your lips before you could think better of it. Spencer responded with a quiet, breathy chuckle that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands tightened on your hips, the pressure of his fingers was grounding.

He positioned himself at your entrance, the sensation sending a jolt through your body. The tip of him brushed against your core, a featherlight touch that made your breath catch and your heart race. 

Slowly, carefully, he began to push forward, the pressure building with each inch as he entered you. The feeling was exquisite, a slow, delicious burn that stretched you around him, filling you completely. The friction was intoxicating, a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure that had you gasping for breath.

Spencer let out a low, shuddering moan as he sank into you, his fingers digging into your hips with a possessive urgency that left you breathless. The sound was raw and primal, a testament to the pleasure that coursed through him, mirrored in the sensations that raced through your own body.

The room was filled with the sounds of your shared breaths, a quiet combination of gasps and moans that mingled with the rustle of the sheets beneath you. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, a heady mix making you hyper aware of every touch, every sensation.

As he began to move, Spencer set a steady, deliberate pace that left you reeling with sensation. Each thrust was a measured blend of power and precision, a rhythm that built slowly, methodically, until it had you teetering on the edge of control.

“You feel so fucking good,” Spencer breathed, his voice a low, gravelly growl that sent a thrill racing through you. 

“So big,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggled to find words in the midst of the overwhelming sensations that flooded your senses. The feel of him moving inside you, the way he filled you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Spencer’s hands moved with a purpose, tracing the curves of your body as he drove you higher, his touch both grounding and incendiary. You could feel the heat of his skin against yours, the way his muscles flexed with each movement, feeling the strength and control he wielded.

His lips found your neck, trailing a line of heated kisses along the sensitive skin that sent shivers down your spine. The feel of his mouth against your skin was electric, a tantalizing mix of heat and teeth that left you gasping for breath, your body arching into his touch.

The sensation of his body moving against yours, the delicious friction as he drove deeper, harder, was a pleasure that threatened to unravel you completely. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy radiating through you.

“Spencer,” you gasped, the word slipping past your lips as a breathless plea, a desperate cry for more.

His response was immediate, his pace quickening as he drove into you, each movement a perfect blend of power and precision that left you on the brink of release. His hands tightened on your hips, his grip firm and possessive as he pulled you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious friction that sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

You could feel the strength in his fingers, the way they dug into your flesh with each powerful motion, grounding you even as you felt yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge. The heat of his hands against your skin was a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, adding another layer of sensation to the already heady mix.

The sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of wet, rhythmic slaps and breathless gasps that only heightened your arousal. Each thrust sent a new wave of pleasure rippling through you, building in intensity with every movement until you were teetering on the edge of control.

Spencer’s breath was hot against your ear, each exhale a ragged sigh that sent shivers down your spine. “How are you still so tight?” he groaned, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that resonated through your entire body. The words were a potent mix of praise and desire, pushing you even closer to the brink.

Your own breath came in short, ragged gasps, each inhale a struggle as you fought to hold on to your control. “Spencer,” you moaned, your body aching for release.

His response was a deep, primal growl that vibrated through his chest and into your back, his hips snapping forward with a renewed intensity that left you breathless. His hands guided your movements, pulling you back to meet each thrust with a force that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

The pressure within you built to a fever pitch, a tight coil that wound tighter and tighter with each powerful thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the sensations, the feel of him driving into you, the sound of his voice in your ear, the taste of salt on your lips as you bit down, trying to hold on just a little longer.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Spencer groaned, his voice a rough, desperate sound that sent a thrill racing through you. “I’m so close.”

The admission was your undoing. The coil within you snapped, sending a wave of blinding ecstasy crashing over you. Your body tensed, every muscle tightening as you cried out, the sound raw and unrestrained as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Spencer continued to move, driving you through the waves of your release with a steady, relentless rhythm that left you trembling and gasping for breath. The feeling of him moving inside you, filling you completely, was a pleasure that bordered on overwhelming, each thrust sending new ripples of sensation through your already oversensitive body.

As the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, Spencer’s pace grew more erratic, his breath coming in short, desperate gasps. You could feel the strain in his muscles, the way his fingers dug into your hips with a new urgency.

“Spencer,” you whispered, your voice a soft, breathless plea as you turned your head to catch his gaze. The look in his eyes was a perfect reflection of the intensity you felt, raw desire and desperate need that sent another wave of heat through you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Spencer buried himself deep inside you, his body tensing as he reached his own release. The sound of his pleasure—a low, guttural groan—sent a shiver of satisfaction through you.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of your mingled breaths, a soft, rhythmic counterpoint to the fading echoes of your shared passion. Spencer’s grip on your hips softened, his touch becoming a gentle caress as he leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to the nape of your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, his voice a soft, reverent murmur that sent a final shiver of pleasure through you. 

You turned your head to meet his gaze, a satisfied smile playing on your lips as you caught your breath. “So are you, Doctor.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with affection and lingering desire as he gently helped you shift to a more comfortable position. The warmth of his body against yours was soothing, a perfect counterpoint to the lingering heat of your shared passion. You nestled into his embrace, feeling a sense of peace and contentment settle over you as you allowed yourself to relax in his arms.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the comforting weight of his presence, lulled you into a state of drowsy contentment. You felt safe and secure in his arms, the events of the night playing through your mind in a haze of satisfaction and warmth.

Slowly, the pull of sleep became too strong to resist, and you allowed yourself to drift off, cocooned in the comforting embrace of the man who had brought you such intense pleasure. The last thing you remembered before slipping into the depths of slumber was the gentle press of Spencer's lips against your forehead, a tender kiss that spoke volumes.

—

Morning came all too soon, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a gentle glow over the room. You woke slowly, the memories of the night before still vivid in your mind as you lay in the warmth of Spencer's embrace. For a moment, you allowed yourself to savor the feeling, the sense of belonging that came from being wrapped in his arms.

But reality soon intruded, and you knew that you couldn't stay. With a quiet sigh, you carefully extricated yourself from his embrace, moving with practiced ease to avoid waking him. Spencer's face was peaceful in sleep, a small smile playing on his lips that made your heart ache with affection and regret.

You knew he’d be confused when he woke up in your apartment alone. The realization that you had made a mistake by bringing him here weighed heavily on you. You quickly dressed, the rustle of your clothes sounding loud in the otherwise silent room. Every movement felt like a betrayal, a departure from the intimacy you had shared just hours before.

Grabbing a sticky note pad and a pen from your desk, your mind raced as you tried to think of what to write. The pen felt heavy in your hand, the blank surface of the note a stark reminder of the conversation you couldn't have face to face.

Spencer, you wrote, your handwriting shaky and rushed, Thank you for last night. There’s a key under the mat, please lock the door on your way out. Take care.

You placed the note where he would see it, the yellow square stark against the dark wood of your dresser. You stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of him one last time, memorizing the peaceful curve of his lips, the way his hair fell across his forehead.

With a heavy heart, you turned and quietly left the room. You headed for a friend's house, your thoughts a tangled mess of emotions. You needed to stay busy, to distract yourself until you were sure Spencer had left your apartment. As you knocked on the door, you resolved to cherish the memory of the night you had shared with Spencer, even as you moved forward with your life.

—

It had been a month since Spencer's encounter with you. At first, he was extremely confused and hurt, thinking there was a real spark between the two of you. Upon leaving your apartment that morning, he realized he never got your last name or your phone number. He didn't even know your address properly. Technically, he could figure it out quite easily, but he knew if you wanted him to talk to you again, you would have stayed.

For about two weeks, he thought about you every day and night, replaying the moments you shared and trying to understand what went wrong. Initially, he was sad, then worried something might have happened, and finally, he became livid at the thought that you might have used him. But now, it had been a month, and he had resigned himself to forget you and move on with his life.

Back to regular life, Spencer walked into the bullpen, immediately sensing something unusual. Everyone was not-so-subtly glancing toward Hotch’s office, their expressions twisted with curiosity and surprise.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

“There’s a woman in Hotch’s office,” Emily replied, her eyes flicking toward the closed door.

“Okay?” Spencer prompted, waiting for more context.

“She knew my name, man,” Derek added, sounding both impressed and slightly confused.

“Uh oh, did you forget one of your many lovers?” Spencer joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not cool, kid. I’d remember a pretty face like hers,” Derek said, shaking his head.

“How else would she know you?” Emily asked, her curiosity mirroring Spencer’s.

Just then, the door to Hotch’s office opened, and you stepped out, accompanied by Aaron. “Guys, this is Agent Y/N Y/L,” Hotch said, introducing you to the team. “She will be joining us while JJ is on maternity leave.”

Spencer’s heart stopped as he saw you. He felt all the blood drain from his face, a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm him. There you were, the woman who had loved him and then left him without a trace, now standing in front of him in the bullpen.

You seemed calm and composed, completely unaware of the storm raging inside Spencer. You gave a polite smile and nodded at the team, your eyes briefly locking with Spencer’s before moving on, not recognizing him immediately, or not caring.

“Nice to meet you all,” you said, your voice steady and professional. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

The rest of the team greeted you warmly, exchanging pleasantries, while Spencer remained rooted to his spot, his mind racing. Finally, your eyes fell on him and really looked.

“Hi, Doctor,” you said calmly, your voice steady and composed.

“Y/N,” he replied, his tone clipped and strained.

“Hold up, do you two know each other?” Derek asked, his curiosity piqued.

“I remember you!” Penelope cut in, her eyes lighting up with recognition. “You were at the Doctor Who convention! Madame de Pompadour! You looked beautiful.”

“Thank you!” you responded with a warm smile. “I don’t recall meeting you, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, we didn’t meet, sweetie,” Penelope giggled kindly. “I saw you talking to Reid here.”

“Ah,” you said, a hint of realization dawning in your eyes as you glanced back at Spencer.

The strain between you and Spencer was tangible, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Spencer’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, trying to process the fact that you were now standing in front of him, a part of his professional life.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Emily asked, her eyes darting between the two of you.

“We… met at the convention,” Spencer said, his voice strained as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

“Yes, we did,” you confirmed, keeping your tone neutral. “It was a brief encounter.”

Spencer's jaw tightened at your choice of words, the hurt and confusion from a month ago resurfacing with a vengeance. He knew he had to keep it together, at least for now, but the unresolved feelings were making it difficult.

“Small world, huh?” Derek said with a chuckle, oblivious to the undercurrents of tension.

“Indeed,” you replied, your eyes flicking back to Spencer. “I’m looking forward to working with all of you.”

Spencer nodded stiffly, his mind still racing with questions and emotions. He knew he needed to talk to you, to get some answers, but now wasn’t the time. He would have to wait for a more private moment to confront you about what had happened.

For now, he had to focus on the task at hand, pushing aside his personal turmoil to maintain his professionalism. But as he watched you interact with the rest of the team, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

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[dreamdrbbles]

so here’s my first drabble! interpreted from a very fun dream i had. it’s definitely a fantasy, so if you don’t mind suspended reality a little bit with me.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you’ve finally convinced yourself to go back to school and get your degree, you’re late to your first class and your professor doesn’t take too kindly to tardiness. or, does he?

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: aaron pierre as dr. pierre & the black!fem reader as you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: heavy smut, power imbalance, daddy kink, crude language, a bunch of grown folks things. minors do not interact.

Going back to school was your greatest accomplishment to date. At thirty, it wasn’t easy to take the leap and register for classes. You were terrified of being seen as the old freshman, but your dreams held more weight than your ego. You were proud of the life you’d built, sacrificing your own education to work and save so your younger brother could have the college experience he deserved. At just eighteen, you stepped up for your family, getting a full-time job to help fund his education. Now, ten years later, your baby brother was well on his way to earning a master’s degree. It was finally time to center yourself for once.

“Shit!” you yelped, bolting upright in bed. Your alarm hadn’t gone off, and the panic was immediate. You were supposed to be up an hour ago, but now you were going to be late for your very first college class. The one everyone told you not to take because it was at 8 a.m. You’d brushed them off, thinking, I used to wake up earlier than that for work. I got this. Clearly, you didn’t. It was 7:15, and you had 45 minutes to pull yourself together and get to Magnolia A&M University, your local HBCU.

Luckily, you’d picked out your outfit the night before. You had work later at the country club, and tennis lessons were on the schedule. That meant your Nike tennis skirt and matching top would have to do. After a rushed shower, skincare routine, and throwing your hair into a curly pineapple, you grabbed your keys. It was a ten-minute drive to campus, but with your luck today, who knew if you’d make it on time?

Magnolia A&M wasn’t just a school; it was a deliberate choice. Your family had always valued community and Black excellence, so an HBCU was a no-brainer. Every time you stepped on campus, you wished you’d started right after high school. Now, at thirty, you felt too old for frat parties or the Battle of the Bands, but you still loved the sense of unity. The royal blue and orange school colors? You wore them with pride.

You sped to campus like you had a getaway driver’s license, thanking the ancestors you didn’t get a ticket. After finding the right building, you made it to the lecture hall only 15 minutes late. African-American History was your first class of the day—and your minor. It had been the first course you registered for, the one you were most excited about.

As you pushed open the lecture hall doors, all eyes turned toward you, including those of your professor. You couldn’t see him clearly from the back of the room, but his posture alone radiated disapproval. Your stomach sank as you scanned the rows of seats. Of course, the only open spot was smack dab in the front row. Middle seat.

You braced yourself for the walk of tardy shame. Muttering “excuse me” and “sorry” at least ten times, you maneuvered your thick frame between tables and chairs. The awkward ordeal felt like it dragged on forever, but finally, you slid into the empty seat, heart racing.

The professor’s voice was what caught your attention first—deep, rich, and laced with a smooth British accent. You froze mid-search in your bag for a notebook and pen. When your gaze finally lifted to meet his, you nearly forgot to breathe.

Goddamn.

The word echoed in your mind before you could stop it. Beautiful wasn’t a word you usually reserved for men, but no other word fit. His sharp, masculine features contrasted with a pair of thick lashes framing aquamarine eyes. His neat facial hair outlined full, pink lips, and you couldn’t stop your thighs from pressing together as a very salacious thought crept into your mind. one that started with his wet duo on your first set of lips, and ending on your second.

Focus, girl. Eyes off the man and on the syllabus.

You forced yourself to listen, trying to ignore the low hum of his voice that made your spine tingle. Curiosity bubbled up as you wondered what a man from London was doing teaching African-American Studies in Texas. Almost as if reading your mind, he began explaining.

He told the class how reading The Autobiography of Malcolm X in middle school ignited his fascination with race relations in the West. That fascination led him to pursue a bachelor’s, master’s, and doctorate in African-American Studies. The name “Dr. Aaron Pierre” on your schedule had conjured an image of an older, graying professor who had more experience than book knowledge. You weren’t expecting a thirty year old Adonis who looked like he belonged on the cover of GQ.

The class went on like normal, an introductory first day of school. The hour ticked by as you gawked at your professor’s arms in the fitted black polo shirt he wore. It wasn’t until everyone around you had gotten up that you realized class had been dismissed. You followed suit, only to have your name called out in that deep baritone. How had he remembered it? Your introduction was one of the first of at least seventy-five.

“Can I see you in my office? You missed the first few minutes of class, just want to make sure you’re up to speed.”

Your throat was suddenly rivalry for the Sahara desert, your stomach hollowed. You were about to get kicked out of your first college course, all because your stupid alarm didn’t sound. You followed him to his office in silence, he opened the heavy wooden door for you and you ambled inside. Once the door closed behind you, you turned on your heels with an explanation at the ready. Until you realized his eyes were scanning your frame.

“The outfit… it’s different.” His comment caught you off guard, making your brows knit together. Was he picking on you? You glanced down at your tennis skirt. It hugged your curves, sure, but it wasn’t like you’d rolled out of bed in pajamas.

“I work after class,” you explained, tone sharp but polite. “I’m a tennis instructor.” His eyebrows lifted slightly, a flicker of interest flashing across his face. “Tennis?” He asked as he walked past you, to the other side of the cherry wood desk.

“Yeah, tennis.” You straightened your back, meeting his gaze. You’d been playing since elementary school. Your parents always joked that you could’ve been the next Venus or Serena, but you were realistic. You weren’t that good, just good enough to teach seven and eight year olds the basics.

Dr. Pierre leaned back against his desk, crossing his arms. “Let me be clear. Lateness will not be tolerated in my class. I take my work very seriously, and I expect my students to do the same.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He really expected a room full of teenagers and young adults to be on time for an 8 a.m. lecture? Cute, and delusional. “Dr. Pierre,” you said, softening your voice. “I apologize. My alarm didn’t go off, and I worked late last night. I promise, it won’t happen again.”

His gaze lingered on you, and then he said, with absolute confidence, “I know.”

Your head tilted slightly, trying to figure out what he meant. He didn’t know you. And he sure as hell wasn’t your daddy. “Uh, okay. Whatever that means,” you mumbled, more to yourself than to him.

He smiled—a slow, deliberate curve of his lips—and then, to your utter shock, said, “You’re beautiful.”

“Tha-thank you,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Pierre’s expression remained unreadable as he began to close the distance between you. Each deliberate step sent a jolt of electricity racing down your spine, rooting you to the spot. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—completely stunned by his actions. By the time he was within arm’s reach, your breath was shaky, uneven. His hand reached out, wrapping gently but firmly around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sent a spark up your arm, and before you could process it, he pulled you closer.

Your chest brushed against his, and the faint, intoxicating scent of teakwood and cedar enveloped you. The combination was rich and grounding, but it wasn’t just the cologne—he smelled good. Too good.

He leaned down slowly, his aquamarine eyes locking onto yours, heavy with intent. You were hyperaware of everything in that moment; the way his grip lingered, the heat radiating from his body, and the way his lashes framed those impossible eyes. Your faces were so close now that your noses barely brushed. The faintest touch, but enough to make your heart race like you’d run a marathon.“Can I?” he murmured, his voice low and velvet-smooth, like a secret meant only for you. The words hung in the air, and without hesitation, you gave him what he needed, your consent.

The moment his lips met yours, the world seemed to fade away. His kiss was slow, deliberate, and impossibly soft. He moved with care, as though savoring every second, every touch. You felt your knees weaken, and for a fleeting moment, you feared you might melt into the floor right where you stood. The scent of him, the warmth of his lips, the way his hand slid down to cradle the small of your back—it was all-consuming. Time slowed, and the only thing that existed was him. When he pulled back, just enough to let your noses brush again, his eyes searched yours as if waiting for a sign. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, and your heart thundered in your chest.

“I-I’m going to be late for work.” You stumbled, he laughed, amusement of the irony coming from the depths of his diaphragm. “You didn’t give a fuck about being late to my class, am I not just as important? Hm?” He inquired, tilting your head up so that you were staring in those oceanic orbs. He subtly pushed you backwards until the bend of your knees collided with his desk. With ease, he picked you up and sat you on top of it. He kneeled down before you, as if your body was an altar he would pray to. “You smell so good.” He uttered as he leaned in and pressed his nose to the center of your now soaked panty, taking in your aroma. It was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to you.

“I can’t believe this…” You meant to keep that inside, but clearly your mind had other plans.

“Believe it.” He responded with a laugh. “I wanted you the moment I saw you walk in my class, baby.” Skillfully he pulled your panties off completely, opening the drawer next to him and dropping them in there as his own personal souvenir. He pushed your skirt up onto your body until it was damn near a belt, balling up the pleats in his hands as he devoured your center, lick by lick.

He feasted on you as if he would never be nourished again, sipping your waters as if they came from the finest of natural spring. hell, clearly they had. “Oh my fucking God!” You squeaked as his lips wrapped around your pulsating clit, giving it a sweet, sloppy french kiss. His middle and index finger grazing your drenched slit as he slipped both inside. his thick digits filled you up, causing your muscles to tighten around him. He grunted against your pussy, imagining how tightly you would grip his manhood.

“That’s not my name princess, I’m not God.” He was to you, in this moment. he had sucked your free will right out of your coochie. What was his fucking name? “What’s my name?” He inquired as if he was reading your mind once again. His fingers continued to please you, grazing his smooth tips against your ribbed g-spot. This nigga had a Ph.d in more than just some history. “Doctorrrrrrrrr….” You whined out, dragging out the profession as he pressed sweet kisses right above your gushing mound while you smothered his digits in your sweetness.

“Doctor….daddy!” You cried out, hoping that there was no one in the near vicinity that would’ve heard your outburst. Another laugh as he slowly slid his fingers out of you, now covered and dripping in your cum. “Doctor daddy..I like that.” He retorted before slipping his fingers into his mouth, cleaning you off of him one by one as you watched in awe. Stunned by his insistence of eye contact. Removing his fingers, he used the same two to beckon you to come close to him, once you sat up he leaned over you, his lips ghosting yours before he spat the mixture of your cum and his saliva into your mouth before engaging you in a messy lip lock.

The kiss was the distraction. You had completely missed the unbuckling of his belt, the sound of his zipper or him removing his hard inches out of his dress pants. Before you realized it, he pulled you to the edge of the desk and slipped inside of you. Your walls reacted before your brain could, gripping onto him for dear life. So surprised by the intrusion that it felt like you would push him out all together. Your breathing hitched, in a way to relax your body so that he could continue exploring the depths of you.

“Augh!” You groaned out as he worked the first few inches of himself in and out of your throbbing center. He pressed his lips to yours repeatedly, whispering for you to hush every now and again. “Be a good girl, take this dick…if you can be late to my class, surely you can handle dick.” He mumbled, his accent causing a chill to run up your spine. He was gentle, despite his rough approach. He fed you little by little until your pelvises collided and you were completely full of him. He laid you on the desk, hands on each side of your head, eyes connected as he began to stroke, deep and powerful. “Look at you, such a pretty girl. Wrapped around me like you love me.”

‘I DO.’ You wanted to scream. But instead melodic moans escaped your warm lips, words were inconveniently absent. You can tell your lack of verbal participation was bothering him just a bit, by the way the swing of his hips picked up with every new thrust. After a moment or two, he was fucking you relentlessly. His thick crown had found your spot and was no longer caressing it with care. He was beating your shit.

“Are you gonna’ be late again?” he asked, every syllable being drilled into your guts. Your stomach twisted and turned with each pump, but he peered down at you like he expected an answer, like your brain could comprehend what he was even saying.

You parted your lips to speak, but failed once again, a moan being the only verbalization you could produce. the strokes came to an abrupt stop, he pulled out of you without so much as a warning. “Wait!” you called out, desperately, holding your hands out like you could put him back in your damn self. he chuckled darkly. “You think you can ignore me and cum?”

You couldn’t realistically promise you’d never be late again, you didn’t control traffic, or flat tires, or bad hair days but you would’ve said anything to feel him again. “I’ll never be late again, Doctor. I promise. Just please…let me cum all over you.” You purred, making empty promises.

“I don’t believe you.” He added curtly, slapping the head of his massive erection against your clit, watching his pre-cum glaze your bulb. “But your pussy feels too good for me to argue.” He concluded as he entered you again, continuing his euphoric pillage of your body. The knots in your belly felt permanent, your toes curled as your legs wrapped around him. Your climax approaching with the volt of a thousand watts. His wood throbbed inside of you, pulsating with the same intensity. He was meeting you at your peak. “Fuck…” He grunted, proving your theory right. You draped your arms across his neck, leaning in and pressing your lips to his jawline, placing kisses until you reached his ear. “Cum with me, Dr. Pierre…I wanna feel you dripping out of me.” Your salacious words seemed to do the trick as both of you unraveled at the very same time.

You should’ve felt shame, or even disillusioned. But you felt nothing short of satisfied and empowered. Your legs were shaking and you were full of a strangers seed, but dammit was your first day of school memorable.

“8:00 AM, Wednesday. Don’t be late…” He spoke as he buckled his belt, looking up at you with those piercing orbs. “Oh, and that seat in front of me is now your assigned seat.” He added, prompting a laugh to fall from your lips.

“See you Wednesday, Dr. Pierre.” You concluded as you exited his office and back into the real world.

Fuck, you were late for work.

[seospicybin]

THE EQUATION.

Seungmin x reader x Lee Know. (s)

Synopsis: Seungmin trusts nothing but numbers and dating you slightly changes that notion until Minho comes and mess the equation. (12,1k words)

Author's note: You guys have been asking for 2min content so here it is. Hope you like x

Unlike people, numbers don't lie. Politics, poetry, promises... those are lies but numbers, they are absolute, they are tangible and they will never lie or betray him. Numbers are what they are: the truth.

And that's why Kim Seungmin prefers to work with numbers, as an analyst at an investment trust company. His job includes analyzing bonds, stocks, and other financial instruments, studying the economic data and the financial markets, and recommending investments. He spends time predicting investment returns through various modeling techniques and assessing the risk of investments.

However, there's one thing in Seungmin's life that he couldn't predict with numbers and statistics, and that is you.

First of all, Seungmin is at the peak of his career, he likes his job and he enjoys what he's doing, in other words, he's living a fulfilling life his way.

Seungmin would rather use the time to bring in billions' worth of investments than waste it on something as frivolous as dating.

That was his initial thought until he met you one random afternoon at a cafe.

It's funny that the cafe is one that he regularly visits to get his morning coffee and somehow, he needed another cup of coffee after work, and of all the possibilities, you were the one taking his order even though you're the manager, not one of the baristas.

Seungmin is not one to believe in such things as fate or destiny but he has no other way to explain it, it feels like at that moment, the universe was trying to bring him and you together.

The next thing Seungmin knows, he's been dating you for six months now, and in those six months, he learned that dating seemed frivolous to him at that time because he hadn't met the right person yet. He also learns that not everything that is not tangible or absolute and not presented in data or statistics are lie.

There are three things that Seungmin believes are true: He likes you, he's happy with you and every day, he likes you more and more thus making him happier and happier.

-

Look at him now! Seungmin gets nervous knowing that he's late for dinner at your place, his foot tapping against the floor of the elevator as it takes him up to your floor.

The second the doors slide open, he walks as fast as he can while cradling the bottle of wine in his arm and carrying his briefcase in the other hand.

Despite knowing the code to your apartment, Seungmin prefers the doorbell. He holds all of his things in one arm to free his hand and presses the doorbell to alert you that he's here, then lets out a sigh.

It isn't much about the fact that he's nineteen minutes late, he's nervous about something else and the thought of it makes his hand fly to the back of his head, getting that weird feeling as he touches his hair that is now short.

The door swings open and your face lights up the moment your eyes lie on him.

"Baby!" You squeal in joy and jump at him, welcoming him with an enthusiastic hug and almost knocking his glasses off his nose.

With the things he carries in one arm, Seungmin can only hug you back as much as he can, and a while later, you pull away and open the door wider for him.

"I have to hurry and stir the sauce," you excuse yourself as you turn around and head straight back inside.

Seungmin doesn't get the chance to apologize for his tardiness, he lets himself in and takes his coat off, then carefully puts his briefcase down on the nearest chair.

He brings the bottle of wine with him as he joins you in the kitchen, "Bought us a bottle of wine."

You briefly glance at it and delightfully exclaim, "Red wine! That's perfect!"

Then you put your focus back on the sauce in the pan, stirring it with a wooden spatula in slow, circular motions, and once it bubbles up, you turn the stove off.

"Okay, now I can properly welcome my boyfriend home," you sweetly say as you approach him with open arms.

Seungmin hurriedly puts down the bottle of wine on the kitchen counter to keep it safe and also, to properly return your hug this time.

"Hi," you mutter with a smile as you put your hands around him and drop them on his shoulders, "I miss you."

It's something else that Seungmin can't find the logical explanation for it but when he's with you, the chemistry in his body drastically changes the second you enter his radar, he feels a surge of dopamine, he feels instant comfort and his body relaxed, and the moment both of your lips collide in an explosive kiss, his heart palpation.

All of a sudden, your lips stiffen against him and you slowly pull away, then bring your hand to the nape of his neck, tangling it in his short hair.

"Wait... did you cut your hair?" You ask with a sly smile on your face.

"Yeah, I did," Seungmin answers.

You take a moment to check his new haircut and at the same time, admire how it accentuates his already perfect facial features and how the dark of his hair adds intensity to his eyes.

"Do you like it?" He shyly asks.

You drop your hands around his neck and pull him close, "I love it," you reply.

Then you lean in for another kiss, harder and deeper while steering his body until his back meets the door of the fridge. You put your whole weight, putting your body against him until your bodies mold into each other.

When he's with you, his brain stops controlling his body and his heart takes over, making the chemistry in his body want only you and you and you.

And, oh, how good it feels that he gets what he wants and you're just for him and him only.

The beeping sounds coming from the oven interrupt the moment and you immediately pull away from the kiss to get to it.

"To be continued," you tell him with a sly smile.

Curls of steam escape the oven as you open it and the mouth-watering smell wafts around in the room, evoking his appetite. You put mitts on both hands and cautiously, take the tray out of the oven, revealing the perfectly roasted chicken.

Aware that you must put a lot of effort into making dinner, Seungmin knows that he, at least, should contribute to it apart from the bottle of wine he brought.

"Is there anything I can help you with?" He asks.

You take your oven mitts off and put them away, "You can open the bottle of wine and bring the glasses to the table."

Before doing what you order, Seungmin unbutton his cuffs and folds the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbow. He starts by opening the wine bottle and pulling the cork open with a loud popping sound. He then brings it to the table along with the two wine glasses he carries in one hand, he meticulously pours the wine and the aphrodisiac smell fills his nostrils as he takes a small sip at it.

The roasted chicken is just as delicious as it looked and the lemon dill sauce is just the perfect condiment, even better that the red wine complements the whole thing. It's such a simple yet heartwarming dinner, that Seungmin finds himself completely at ease and unknowingly lowering his guard down.

"...I think they miss their figures so I said let's increase by 15% because I was sure they'll strike gold with the new product line," Seungmin passionately shares a bit of his day at work.

"And I guess, you were right?" You ask before shoving a spoonful of food into your mouth.

"There was a line around the corner on the release date, I was right," he confirms with a small smile.

And when he's at ease like this, he can comfortably talk about almost anything with you and he's aware that it may bore you.

"Did I bore you?" He meekly asks.

"No," you hastily answer, placing your hand on his hand that rests on the table.

"You know I like it when you talk numbers," you add with a soft smile.

"This is really good, by the way," he says, averting the conversation to the food you cooked so incredibly.

"Glad you like it, baby," you say with a gentle squeeze on his hand.

There are no numbers or data that can tell Seungmin the reason why you like him, neither his look nor personality are that appealing and you are the opposite of that, you're beautiful and charming, you're so well-spoken, and now, you have proven that you're a good cook too.

Once again, he can't find the logical explanation to that but he's lucky to have met you.

Seungmin pours more wine into both of your glasses as you tidy up the kitchen after dinner, he sits on the sofa and waits for you to join him. You put on music through the portable speaker and the slow beat of the song softly plays in the background.

"Thank you," you say as you take the glass of wine from his hand.

The sofa fits three people but you opt to sit on Seungmin's lap, straddling him without spilling the wine in your hand. You take a small sip before putting it away on the coffee table.

"Thank you for the hearty dinner," he sincerely mutters his gratitude and he knows he has said it more than a dozen times already.

"If you're really thankful, where's my kiss then?"

Knowing that it would be a hassle, he takes his glasses off first and then puts his arms around you to draw you close. The hand that rests on the nape of your neck allows him to angle your head as he pleases and then slowly, he puts his lips on yours, conveying his gratitude through a kiss.

"Thank you," he murmurs when he breaks the kiss.

"You're very welcome," you reply.

You lay your hands on his shoulders and then glide them down his shoulder blade, feeling how broad and muscular they are. Then you bring your hands to the back of his hands, gently pulling at the short hair there.

"Did you sync your hair appointment with my menstrual cycle or something?"

Seungmin snorts at the random question, "No. Why?"

"Then why did you get a haircut when I'm ovulating, mmh?" You ask, purposely bumping your nose at his.

"No, that's not—" his words get cut off as you put a finger on his lips.

"Oh, stop playing dumb!" You tell him, putting your finger away so you can kiss him.

You kiss him hard until his head tilted to the back and he has no choice but to give in, letting your body pressed against him.

Seungmin gets light-headed from the kiss as he prioritizes kissing you back instead of breathing, and you know what? It's worth every second of it even though his lungs burn from the lack of oxygen.

Sensing that you both need a breather, you pull away from the kiss and slightly turn his head to the side to place kisses on his jaw.

"I think you should take responsibility for your actions," you whisper to him.

"I didn't do anything," he innocently says with a low chuckle.

His hand trails down your spine and stops on the arch of your back, his nails dug at your clothed skin as you plant searing kisses on his neck with your hot breath tickling his ear.

"I think you should put a baby in me," you softly whisper.

Not only the words secretly arousing him, it's also the way a sly smile blooms on your face after you say it, oh, he couldn't be more attracted to you!

"In this economy?" He asks with an eyebrow raised in disagreement.

"Yeah, you're right but..." You put your hands on his chest and put a space between your faces, "we can start by having unprotected sex."

He laughs at that and puts his hands on your thighs, "And risk to actually put a baby in you?"

You roll your eyes at him, sighing as your hands slump down his chest. With a deep breath, you try again in a way that intrigues him.

"If we're talking about the success rate of birth control, it's 99%," you begin your explanation.

"Yeah, but—"

You stop him from cutting you off by covering his mouth with your fingers, "Yeah, I know. I might have missed a pill or two but that only decreased the success rate to 93% which means..."

You put your hands around his neck and continue with your explanation, "There's only a 7% chance that you'll actually put a baby in me."

He glides his hands up to hold each side of your waist, "And that means 7 out of 100 pill users get actual babies in them."

"Yeah, but I'm part of the 93%," you confidently remark.

"Or you could be in the 7%," he argues.

"Uhh... I wouldn't be so sure. 7 has never been my lucky number anyway," you simply state, adding a nonchalant shrug at the end.

What you said is so out of pocket that it amuses him so much and he thinks that's why he likes you, you're unpredictable. In fact, you're the only unpredictable thing that he likes in his life.

"And maybe this will change your mind..." you say, untying your dress open and revealing enough to show the bra you're wearing underneath.

"How's that?" You adorably tilt your head to the side as you ask him.

Seungmin tries to remain calm even though he gets the urge to just rip your dress open and expose more of you to him. He looks away and stares at your face, but you're taking his hand and making him cupping your breast.

"I'm wearing it for you," you seductively say.

He's feeling the lacey fabric of your bra instead of kneading on your breast, "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh, and it comes with matching underwear too," you share, parting your dress open until it's completely off of you.

As of this moment, his self-control is being tested and he doesn't know how long until he folds. He holds his breath as his eyes travel down your body, quietly lusting at it.

You slowly bring your head close and sweetly peck his lips, "Do you like it?"

He rubs his hands up and down your sides, then looks up at you, "Yes."

"Yes, what?" You lean in closer until the tip of your nose bumps his cheek.

"I like it," he speaks so low it's almost like a whisper.

You smile at his answer and react more by pressing your lips on his lips. The more you kiss him, the more he doesn't want to let go, he just wants to keep kissing you until he runs all of the air in his body.

All of a sudden, you break the kiss with a gasp and slyly smile at him, "This is just one of my two-part plans," you tell him.

"What's the second part then?" He curiously asks with his fingertips lightly tracing your collarbone.

The sly grin on your face doesn't tell much but he knows it is something that will amuse him. You take his glasses on the coffee table and put them back on him.

"Keep your glasses on 'cause I want you to closely watch me take you in my mouth."

With his glasses on, Seungmin watches you take him into your mouth, how your luscious lips wrap around his length, and the way you swirl your slick, hot tongue around his tip. All the while, your hand takes care of the rest that you can't take into your mouth.

Don't get him started on the eyes you're giving him as half of his cock disappeared into your mouth, they're innocent and filthy at the same time, and he doesn't know how you do that but you're doing it so well.

He's sure that his hard cock shows how much he wants you and if not, well then, he just needs to take things further himself.

"Okay, fine, your two-part plan worked," he mutters with his hand tangled in your hair.

"I know," you cockily say to him.

He puts his other hand in your hair and then tilts your head to make you look at him, "Come sit on my lap!"

You obey him, pulling him out of your mouth and slowly, getting up from the carpeted floor. You take a step closer and he stops you right there.

"Just a second..." he says.

He looks up at you as you stand right in front of him, he trails his hands down the sides of your body and then tugs his fingers at the elastic band of your underwear. Without looking away from your eyes, he pulls it down your legs until it drops and pools around your ankle.

One corner of your mouth curls into a smirk as he puts his hand on the back of your knee and lifts it, resting your foot on his thigh. This position allows him to bring his mouth close to your heating core and a whimper falls out of your mouth the second his lips make contact with your tender flesh.

The glasses stay on because he knows how much you like seeing it turn foggy as he goes down on you. He doesn't need to look anyway to please you with his mouth.

He sticks his tongue out to tease your clit in a kitten lick before taking it whole in his mouth and sucking it real hard.

"Oh, baby..." you breathlessly moan as you tug at his hair in reaction to his stimulation.

Seungmin slowly lets go, he replaces his mouth with his hand, repeatedly running his fingers between your folds that your essence drenched all over them.

"Can't wait to be inside you," his voice hoarse and heavy with lust. He then retracts his hand, shoving his fingers coated with your essence, and licks them clean.

Seungmin scoots himself to the back of the sofa and then he holds his arms out at you to help you, but he lets his intrusive thoughts win, he pulls you hard until you fall on his lap.

You're giggling as you settle yourself on his lap and immediately put your hands around his shoulders, "eager, are we?"

He brings your head close for a kiss as you part his shirt open, and he briefly sits up straight so you can take it off of him. He wastes no time to put his arms around you after, drawing you close until there is no inch of gap left between your bodies.

To make it fair, he unclasps your bra and then pulls the straps down your shoulders, you do the rest by taking it off of you, letting it drop to the floor.

He likes how your breasts hang so beautifully on your chest and they look so soft, he can't help but feel them too. As he kneads on them, he can feel the ample flesh mold into his hands.

"Aren't they just perfect in your hands, mmh?" You murmur, kneading them together with his hands.

Yes, they do, he answers in his head and it makes him believe that your breasts were made just for him. He gently squeezes on them as he buries his head in between with his lips resting on your sternum.

You kiss the top of his head and cradle his head in your hands, your fingers lightly scratching the back of his head as you softly sigh, "My baby..."

Seungmin only knows how to dominate, always in control and being on top of the game but with you, he doesn't care about all that. With you, he just wants to be held and taken care of, and ultimately, loved.

Heaven really is a place on earth with you.

And he's about to enter real heaven when you slowly lower yourself on him. No rubber, no layer of protection just like you asked, it's just you and your warm velvety walls tightly wrapped around his length. Both of your lips instantly locked in a kiss again the moment he's fully buried inside you.

It's nothing like he imagined it would feel like, it's a thousand times better and when you start rocking your hips, Seungmin realizes that his self-control is going to be an issue.

As you keep pulsating your hips at a steady pace, you hold on to the back of the sofa for support and keep your face only inches away from his.

"Tell me, baby!" You murmur.

"Do I feel good, mmh?" You ask, then hastily kiss his open mouth.

You don't see him struggling, do you? Let alone able to compute words to answer your question but he hopes you can see how overwhelmed he is as you rock your hips back and forth.

"Cause you feel so good inside me, baby," you murmur into his ear.

"Oh, I can feel you all over me," you add with a hot kiss on his neck.

He roughly pulls your head close to press a kiss on your lips, grabbing a fistful of your hair in his hand as he keeps kissing you as a way to contain his grunts.

"You're close, mmh?" Your lips graze his as you speak.

There's no use to lie, he's inside you and you can feel him throbbing, wanting to shoot his load at any given time now.

"You're just too good," He simply admits, gliding his hands to your back and pulling you close.

"Are you going to cum for me then?"

"Yes," he shortly answers

"Inside me, yeah?"

He nods, pathetically.

Taking that as a confirmation, you pick up the pace, sending your breasts bouncing right in front of his face but his hands are too busy gripping each side of your waist, desperately trying to slow you down but failing.

"Mmh, yeah, cum for me, baby," you murmur before crashing your lips against him.

Surrendering himself to the need, Seungmin wraps his arms around you so tightly that your breasts are squashed between your chest. His eyes are screwed shut, his body is hot all over like someone kindle a fire inside him.

Despite his tight hold around you limiting your mobility, you maintain the pace, arching your back to provide more depth for him and add intensity to it.

"Cum, fill me, baby," you softly whisper with your lips brushing his jaw.

Seungmin is no longer in control of his body, his desire gets to him and takes him where he needs to be. The pleasure keeps on building up and up and he won't stop until he—

"Argh!" A raw groan spills out of his mouth, then he hurriedly plants his mouth on your shoulder to muffle it.

You finally slow down and hold him close, cradling his head in your chest as he relishes the waves of pleasure lapping over him.

As senses gradually come back to him, Seungmin tilts his head up and pulls you for a kiss, a kiss that feels tender and chaste, the kind that knocks your heart open.

"I love you," he blurts out.

"Oh?" You react with a perplexed gasp.

It surprises him too that he just blurted those words out, he didn't plan on saying it, heck! He didn't even think of saying it but now that the words are out, he knows that it's coming from deep within him.

"You didn't say that just because you're still inside me, right?" You playfully ask.

He innocently shakes his head but changes his mind in the next second, "Uhm... maybe? A part of it because of that," he jokingly says.

"I knew it!" You exclaim and squint your eyes at him.

He brings his hands to your shoulders and then cups your face in both hands, holding it with so much care as if you were a fragile object.

"I love you," he mutters with utmost sincerity and his heart hurts from saying those words out loud, in a good way.

"Me too," You smile and softly brush the hair curtaining his forehead, then place a soft kiss on it, "I love you."

His heart is full knowing that his feelings are being reciprocated and that makes him the happiest he's ever been, and the fact that it comes from something that is beyond him is what makes it special. He cups your jaw and kisses you so sweetly with a heart that loves you until it hurts so good.

"Seungmin," you softly call his name against his lips.

"Yes?"

"Can you put more love in me?"

"With pleasure," he gladly answers.

The music that faintly plays in the background is being replaced with the skin-slapping sounds and both of your breathy moans.

You're lying underneath him, hands gripping each side of the cushion your head resting on, eyes shut with a sheen of sweat coating your body.

"Oh, baby, yes," you moan through your gritted teeth.

Seungmin is using all of his strength, thrusting hard into you, and in each thrust, he tries to go as shallow as possible, hitting you right in the spot.

"Oh, please..." you cry and beg, sounding like you're in pain.

"Please, please, please," you beg again, but he knows that you're asking for more.

He's going impossibly fast that the sofa is creaking along to his movements but even if it breaks, he won't stop. He needs to give you your release and at the same time, he can't help himself but get the pleasure of giving it to you.

"Seungmin, please, please..." you beg again, your eyes closed so tightly that tears squeeze out of the corners of your eyes.

It's the way you're calling him so desperately and with so much neediness that drives him to keep going. He grips the handrest of the sofa as leverage and thrusts into you harder and harder that the muscles on his body are strained and his body is close to giving out.

"Seungmin, please..." you breathlessly moan again.

Yeah, that's right, he's the only one who can give it to you and he's going to give it to you just right.

A mix of a moan and a cry rips out of you as your body stiffens and then softens in the next second, overflowing with immense pleasure.

Seungmin slows his thrusting but adds intensity, he can feel it coming as well. With the way you're clenching around him, it doesn't take him long to finally cum for the second time.

He launches his cock as deep as possible to plant his seed inside you and lowers his mouth on yours to fill his need to be one with you.

It's the most intimate he's ever been with someone, it doesn't feel like physical fulfillment anymore, it's bonding, it's trust, and he believes it's what people call making love.

After a while, Seungmin lets go and slowly, pulls out of you. With your legs still spreading open, he can see how your cunt is drenched with your mixed bodily fluid and pulsating, and a while later, he can see the white of his seed dripping out of you and he can't believe how much he cum inside of you as it now drips onto the sofa. It's a highly erotic thing to watch and satisfies him in a whole new way.

"Are you sure you're not trying to put a baby in me 'cause that was..." you can barely finish your words. You brush away the hair stuck to your moist forehead and let out an exhausted sigh.

Seungmin quietly and triumphantly smiles, he hovers above you and places a long, lingering kiss on your lips. As soon as he breaks the kiss, he looks at you and says, "Well, 7 has never been my lucky number either."

-

Since his job requires him to work late almost every night, Seungmin only meets you on the weekends and he'll stay over, even if it means he has to go to work early on a Monday morning.

"Stay," you mumble with your eyes closed, not letting him stop cuddling you on the bed.

"You can sleep some more," he whispers into your ear, along with a soft kiss on your neck.

"No, stay," you mumble again, taking his arm and putting it around you.

It's always like this every Monday morning, you're not letting him go and he'll cave in, then he'll cuddle you for a few more minutes, peppering you with kisses before dragging himself out of the bed.

If he has to choose, he'd rather stay in bed with you all day but he has other responsibilities to do and it involves a lot of people, not just him.

When Seungmin returns from the shower, you're sitting on the bed with his glasses on, your eyes immediately traveling up and down his glistening wet body, but they focus on the towel that lowly hangs around his hips.

"Oh... mama!" You gasp in delight, your teeth faintly bite your lower lip.

Flustered, he hurriedly walks up to you and takes his glasses off of you, then puts them on him. He gives your cheek a soft caress and then kisses the top of your head.

"You should sleep some more," he suggests as he saunter to your closet where he keeps some of his clothes in there.

"Why would I do that when I can watch my hot, nerdy boyfriend getting dressed to save the nation's economy from collapsing?" You playfully remark, sitting on the bed while hugging your knees.

As he chooses what to wear for the day, he looks over his shoulder at you and asks, "Who's going to make coffee then?"

"Oh, yeah, right," you sigh and pout, "you only date me because of my coffee."

"That's right," he responds with a sly smile.

You get up from the bed and come up to him, slipping your arms under and around him for a hug. You place kisses on the skin on his chest, shoulder, and neck, and eventually, your lips find his.

"Wear the blue shirt," you suggest, pointing at the baby blue shirt inside the closet before turning around on your feet, and heading out of the room so he can get dressed.

The blue shirt surely looks good on him but he can't remember wearing it or bringing it to your place, also, it's a bit tight around the shoulders. He heads to the kitchen where you're busy making coffee for him.

"Are you sure this shirt is mine?" He asks in confusion.

"Of course, it's yours, you silly," you hastily answer and then put down the coffee pot to take a good look at him, "What's wrong?

Seungmin takes a seat on the stool that is pushed against the kitchen island, "It's a bit tight around the shoulders."

You deliver his cup of coffee and then run your hands through his shoulder blades, "That's because you have such sexy, broad shoulders," you whisper into his ear.

He turns his head to the side and you immediately capture his lips in a kiss. You break the kiss to place more kisses on his face and neck.

"Now, eat your breakfast, champion!" You order.

You stand there behind the kitchen island to watch him take his first sip of the coffee you make, and as expected, it's as good as the first time had a taste of it and it also brings back the memories of how he met you that night.

"How is it?"

"Perfect!" He answers with a smile.

It's never just a goodbye kiss with you, it's a full-on makeout with bodies pressed and pushed against the wall, its lips and tongue, and occasional bites in between.

Seungmin has to stop you from going in for another kiss as he still needs air to breathe. He holds you close but keeps his face a safe distance away from yours, his height helps with his.

"You have the night shift tonight," he says.

"Uh-huh."

"You better go get some sleep after this," he suggests.

"One more kiss then," you sweetly ask.

Seungmin has no power to resist you, especially when you look at him with crinkles in your eyes. It would make him a bad man if he said no to that.

"Just one," he makes a compromise.

"Just one, yes," you repeat with an eager nod.

He finds you so cute acting like a puppy like that, he has no other reason but to give you what you want. He slowly leans in and kisses you, ever so softly despite feeling like fireworks are going off inside his chest.

"I have to go," he says once he breaks the kiss.

You don't say anything but pout to him, clinging to him to let him know you don't want him to go.

"I'll see you soon, mmh?" He says with a smile and a long peck on the lips as a consolation.

That seems to cheer you up as a smile blooms on your face, you hug him close, embracing all of him before taking a step back so he can walk out of the door.

"Have a great day at work!" You say as you linger by the doorway and with a sweet smile, you let him go.

A couple of days later, Seungmin receives a call from you but it comes at a bad time, he's in a meeting and he ends up getting two missed calls from you.

You know better to not call him when he's working but it seems urgent so he goes to the office lounge to call you back.

"I'm late," you suddenly share right after you accept the call.

"Late?" He asks in confusion.

There is a pause and then you explain, "My period is late."

The moment you both decided to have unprotected sex, Seungmin prepared himself for a situation like this. He knows that other than he needs to take responsibility for it but checking in on your well-being comes on top of his priority.

"Are you okay?" He asks in slight concern.

"I'm okay," you answer.

"Do you want me to come and be with you?" He offers, even though he doubts he'll be able to do that but that's something he can deal with later.

"No, it's okay. I just..." you pause to inhale air, "I just think that you need to know."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'm about to take pregnancy tests," you inform.

"Okay, well, it's better if you take two tests just in case the result is inconclusive," he carefully suggests, keeping his voice low as he's still in his workplace.

"Yeah, okay," you take in his suggestion.

"Hey, it's going to be okay?" He assures you because he knows that's what you actually seek at this moment, an assurance that things are going to be alright no matter what.

"I know," you meekly say.

"I love you," he says because he has nothing else to show you how much he cares and loves you, and he can hear you smiling at the end of the line.

"I love you too," you say with a slight cheery tone.

The two of you let those words hang in the air and let that be the only thing that exists in this dire moment.

After a moment, you sigh into the phone and say, "Well, I'm going to pee on these pregnancy tests and will tell you about the results."

"I'll look forward to it," he playfully responds.

It's normal for him to feel nervous about the results but surprisingly, he doesn't feel scared at all. If anything, it makes him start thinking about his future with you, and if you turned out to be pregnant then it simply means he'd have another part of you that he can love.

That's all he can think about at work, not numbers or statistics, but how wonderful it would be to build a family with you.

As he's deep in his thoughts, his phone vibrates on his desk. He turns it over to check and fumbles on his seat when he notices that it's multiple new texts from you.

"Guess what?" You wrote on the first text, and below it a picture of the pregnancy tests and both showing negative results.

"Told you, seven has never been my lucky number," you wrote in the following text with a smiling emoji.

It's a good thing that you don't call or you would hear the slight disappointment in his voice, but at the same time, he feels a sort of relief. Well, this only means that Seungmin only needs to postpone his plan on building a family with you.

"That damn seven percent," he jokingly wrote in his reply to you.

As a sort of joke, Seungmin decided to get off work early, and bought flowers along with a card he personally wrote on it that says, "Congratulations on being in the 93%!"

He knows you're having night shift for the whole week so the plan is to catch you right on the closing time and surprise you with the flowers.

Seungmin is not big on grand, romantic gestures like this but it shouldn't be something he should be ashamed of doing. It's all about the intention and he believes that the thing earlier was quite a shock to you so his intention is purely to brighten up your day and hopefully, make you feel better.

The taxi pulls up at the side of the street across the cafe, he can see that he comes right on time as you're locking up the place. He has to walk a little further to the crosswalk while carrying the flowers in one hand. He's watching as you lock up the café and pulling at the door to make sure it's completely locked.

As you hoist the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder, you turn around on your feet and Seungmin hurriedly waves his hand your way even though it's doubtful that you'll see him.

However, your face lights up like you usually do whenever you see him, your eyes sparkle, and a radiant smile. His heart is pounding as he starts to eagerly wave his hand at you only to find out that you're looking at someone else.

A guy comes out of the car parked right outside the café and you walk up to him, not stopping him as he hugs you. It's not just a friendly hug, the guy holds you close and lifts you off the ground for a moment, sending you giggling with your head bumping close to him.

Seungmin unconsciously follows the crowd crossing the street and when he finally gets to the side of the street, he sees that the two of you are kissing, lips locked with arms around each other.

He takes slow, hesitant steps toward you to see if it's really you and you're aware that you're kissing someone that is not him. He stops on his track as the guy spins you to the side and you open your eyes to see him standing there.

In that moment, your eyes meet and the expression on your face significantly turns into a panic one. From the look of it, it finally registered to him that you're fully aware of what you're doing.

"What is this?" He asks in utter confusion at you.

You immediately push the guy you've just kissed to approach him, "Seungmin, I can explain!" You say.

There's nothing to explain when he saw everything with his own eyes, unless you think he's blind or losing his mind, that's the only explanation he needed.

You walk toward him in such caution like approaching a wild animal, "Seungmin, please, wait, I can—"

But he's no longer looking at you, he's looking at the other guy and how flippant he is at this whole situation. He's mad beyond belief and before he obliterates everything around him, he turns around on his feet to leave.

"Seungmin!" You call his name out loud and he can hear you break into tears after.

"Fuck this," He mutters out of spite, tossing the flowers into the trash bin. He ignores your desperate calls and keeps walking away, not looking back.

-

Men lie, women lie, and numbers, after all, can be manipulated which makes it a lie. In other words, everything is a lie.

Even Seungmin is lying to himself, he pretends that he's alright even though the truth is he's far from alright. He can't believe that a week ago he thought of building a family with someone he's only known for six months, six fucking months and you turned out to be cheating on him.

The only thing that he believes in is this anger he feels whenever he thinks of you and it's more infuriating that he can't find the outlet for it. It seems like he has to keep it in until he dies.

His phone vibrates on his desk and he hates that his heart gets hopeful, thinking that it's a text from you when the truth is you stopped contacting him two days ago and he knows it's because he didn't respond to any of them, but deep down, he hopes it's you.

Full of anticipation, he checks his phone and sees that he has received a series of texts from an unknown number. It's probably work-related texts so he ignores it for a while until the curiosity wins over him.

"So, you're the other boyfriend," is what is written in the text.

"Who is this?" He quickly replies.

"It's Minho. The boyfriend," he writes along with multiple pictures of you and him.

If his goal is to make him jealous, he's succeeded at that and now that the goal is achieved, what else there is?

"What do you want?" Seungmin gets defensive.

"Does this mean you give her up, huh?"

It's not giving you up when he decides to break up with you after finding out that you cheated on him. Before Seungmin can compose a reply to that, a new text appears.

"I'm the better man anyway," Minho writes and he knows he does it to provoke him.

What a shame that Seungmin is not triggered and decides not to stoop to his level. Minho is free to think that he gives you up or he's a better man than him, Seungmin doesn't care at all!

However, his ignorance only lasts for a couple of days until Minho comes up with a text that has one clear purpose and that is to light Seungmin's short fuse.

"Come and watch me fuck her better than you did?" Minho wrote on the text along with a video of you, lying naked on the bed with his hand going all over you.

As if that isn't enough, Minho sends another video and Seungmin knows better not to open it but he does anyway. The next video is of him filming himself fucking you through the mirror that he knows for sure is in your bedroom and he can hear your moans in the background.

"Did you say something?" Minho asks as he turns the camera to you.

"Please!" You say.

"Please, what?"

"Please, Minho, I want to cum," you plead with your eyes red and teary.

With the rage that blinds him and jealousy that burns him from the inside, Seungmin rides in the back of the taxi in the middle of the night with both hands balled into fists on his lap and his chest heaving in anger on the way to your place.

He skips on the knocking on the door and punches the passcode into your place, letting himself in. A while later, you come to the door, looking unruly but fully dressed, it looks like he's just disturbed your slumber instead of catching you sleeping with another guy.

"Seungmin," you say his name in a mix of confusion and surprise.

Seungmin would be lying if he didn't miss hearing you call his name but he reminds himself he's not here for that, he came here for something else.

"Where is he?" He asks as he walks past you. He starts looking for him in every room in your apartment while you're trailing behind him.

"Who?" You ask in utter confusion.

"Your boyfriend," he simply answers, pushing the door to your bedroom and seeing that no one is on the bed except for a messy pile of duvet.

"He's not here and I haven't seen him in a week," you tell him.

He avoids looking into your eyes and walks up to the bathroom, pushing the door open with his hand only to reveal that you're telling the truth.

"Why? Isn't he your boyfriend? Shouldn't you with him?" He asks you, going out of the bedroom to check the laundry room near the kitchen.

"Because I needed the space. I got heartbroken when you broke up with me," you meekly answer.

Maybe he was foolish for not knowing you lied behind his back but how dare you lie right to his face now? Seungmin stops looking and turns around to look at you, he scoffs in exaggeration.

"Don't lie to me," he says to you with a sarcastic smile.

"I'm not. I am still devastated that we broke up," you genuinely admit with tears pooling in your eyes.

Hearing someone enter the passcode to your door, you hurriedly wipe your eyes before the tears roll down your cheeks and head to the door to check who is it.

"Minho, what are you—" You can't barely finish your sentence as he presses a kiss on your lips.

"Minho, this is not a good time," you say to him, but he walks further inside while holding your hand.

Without having to look, Seungmin knows that it's the man he's looking for and he realizes Minho was never here, he sent all those videos just to trap him and he fell right into it.

"You came, huh?" Minho says to him with a faint smirk on his face.

That is enough to trigger Seungmin, he takes a step forward and closes the gap between their bodies, "What's your problem?"

You immediately get in between and push them away from each other until there's a safe distance between them, "Minho, please, don't!"

"I don't know why I'm here," Seungmin mutters, pushing his way in the direction of the door.

You block the way and take both of his hands, "No, Seungmin, please, stay!" You beg with pleading eyes.

"Nah, babe, just let him go!" Minho says with a rather mocking tone at Seungmin while leaning the side of his body against the wall.

"You both stay!" You tell both of them, dragging Seungmin back inside and making him sit on the sofa. You glare at Minho next, gesturing him to also sit on the sofa, and with a sigh, he obeys to your order.

They're sitting so far apart from each other and you know Minho is the one who made Seungmin come here, but the damage has been done, you may as well use this opportunity to talk to both of them.

"Now that you're both here, let me explain everything," you say, standing right in front of them.

"I don't need your explanation," Seungmin says without looking at you.

"Seungmin, please!" You beg again.

"The door is right there!" Minho casually says to him.

You know Minho is going to be the problem so you glare at him, "Minho, please?" You say in a rather threatening tone instead of pleading.

"I'm not going to stop you from leaving but please hear me first," you try again while clasping your hands together in front of you.

Seungmin refuses to look at you but he stays in his seat and that's enough, he only needs to hear your part of the story anyway.

"Yes, I'm dating the two of you at the same time," you admit right away and that seems to intrigue Seungmin that he glances your way.

"But I wouldn't call it cheating," you continue and Seungmin looks away again, "Even if that's the case, it only means that I'm cheating on Minho with you."

"What do you mean by that? You're dating him behind my back," Seungmin says with a lot of resentment in his voice.

"Minho knows everything," you reveal, "We've been dating for three years way before I met you."

"Yes, and she told me everything," Minho adds with a wicked smile on his face.

It feels as if the two of you are playing him and he feels stupid for being the joke in this narrative. Seungmin looks at you and then at Minho with a revolted look on his face, "What is this sick game are you playing here?"

You take a step closer to him and slightly bend down to make him look at you, "Seungmin, I swear this is not a game. Our relationship is real and so is my relationship with Minho, we're—"

This is where Seungmin loses it. He's not familiar with this equation. You're dating him but also dating Minho. How can one person date two people at once? And is that even possible? Since when 1+1+1 is two? His brain just can't comprehend it.

"You cheated on me," he says and that's the only statement he firmly stands on, he doesn't care who dates who first and how many relationships you have other than with him.

You take a moment to inhale air and try again, "Seungmin, trust me when I say I never lied to you. I love you and you know that's true," you calmly tell him.

"But you did lie to me about your relationship with him," Seungmin

"Because I don't want to lose you," you hastily respond with the harsh truth.

A moment passes in silence as Seungmin processes your words and you're right, he would have left you a long time ago and the relationship wouldn't last this long.

"I know this is hard to understand but I love you, Seungmin, and I love him too," you say as you point at Minho.

You rake your hair to the back and come up to them, kneeling in front of them as you grab their hands in each of your hands.

"And I know how selfish and greedy I sound but I want you both in my life," you finish with a sad smile.

Minho brings your hand close to his mouth and kisses it, "You know you'll always have me," he says.

You softly smile at him, "Thank you, Minho."

The ball is in Seungmin's court now and you look at him with hopeful eyes, even though the chance that he'll agree to this is slim, close to zero percent.

"Seungmin..." your voice lowers as a second passes without an answer from him.

All of a sudden, he takes his hand away from your hold and in that moment, you tell yourself that, at least, you've tried your best to make him stay and if he still chooses to go, then you have to let him go.

Seungmin's hand cups your cheek and he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. To your surprise, he smiles and then slowly presses a kiss on your lips.

"You know that I love you too."

-

Since they're all and they both agreed on being in this relationship, you figure this is the chance to put it to a test and see if they can learn how to share.

Minho places a kiss on your shoulder as his hands busy unclasping your bra, he places another kiss on your neck and turns your head to the side so he can kiss your lips.

"It's off," he mutters as the bra is completely off your arms.

You peck his lips and smile, "Thank you, baby."

Minho has no problem adjusting himself to this but Seungmin looks a little lost that you have to keep him close and at times, you have to actively tell him what to do.

As you sit on the edge of the bed, you take his hands and pull him close. Giving him a long peck on the lips before asking him, "Are you nervous?"

"I'm not nervous," Seungmin puts his hands on each side of your waist and places a peck on your lips, "I just wish he's not here."

You chuckle at that and put your hands on his square shoulders, "at first, I thought Minho would be the one having problems sharing," you poke fun at him.

"I can share," he hastily responds, he quietly clocking Minho who's getting undressed in one corner of the bedroom, "Just not with him."

"Can you please try? For me?" You sweetly plead, along with multiple kisses planted on his lips, "Mmh?"

Seungmin knows that he has no other option but to share you, he accepts it with a sigh, "Okay."

"Thank you, baby," you softly mutter, bringing his head close so you can kiss him hard and deep.

The kiss lasts for a few minutes and you eventually break the kiss, gasping for air the second your lips detached. You get on all fours on the bed and take his cock in your hand, slowly stroking it before taking it into your mouth.

You maintain eye contact with Seungmin as your mouth is full of him, alternating between sucking and licking, combining it with your hand pumping the base of his cock.

Seungmin gathers all of your hair to the back and forms a makeshift ponytail with his hand to keep all of your hair away so he can see his cock slipping in and out of you.

Behind you, you feel Minho's hand on the arch of your back and it's gliding down to the curve of your rear, he doesn't hesitate to knead the flesh until it molds into his hand.

Next, he replaces his hand with his mouth, sucking on the ample flesh of your ass cheek hard enough that you believe it would leave a mark.

Your focus starts to shatter as Minho plants his mouth on your heating core, he keeps your ass cheeks parted open so he can plant his mouth deeper in your wetness.

His slick tongue teases your entrance and at the same time, his hand snakes its way to the front to play with your clit, pinching for added stimulations.

You're moaning with Seungmin's cock in your mouth and somehow, the vibration adds pleasure to him as he hand tugs harder at your hair.

It goes on for long until you deem it's enough or else you'll get too overwhelmed to continue. You slowly pull Seungmin's cock out of your mouth, ignoring how your saliva coated his length and dribbling down your mouth. Minho catches you from the back, holding you as you sit on the bed and spread your legs open for Seungmin.

"Go ahead. You can have the first turn," Minho says to Seungmin, always in a tone that borderline mocking him.

You land a hard slap on Minho's arm, "Be good!" You warn him.

"Sorry, honey," Minho apologizes to you along with a kiss instead at him.

However, Seungmin does a good job of pretending like Minho wasn't there, he crawls over to you to place a kiss on your lips before settling himself between your legs. He rubs his fingers between your folds, softly as if he's touching flowers.

He's going to keep pretending like Minho wasn't there and fully enjoying this moment. It's not hard when your body always entices him, endlessly arousing him and inviting him to touch.

With another kiss on your lips, Seungmin slowly pushes inside. He pulls out only to push deeper into you and do it a few times more until he's fully sheathed in your tight walls.

"Mmh, yeah..." you moan with eyes closed, "So good inside me."

He lets himself explore your body with his hands then with his lips next, marking your skin with searing kisses to finally start thrusting into you.

Minho slowly lays you down but keeps his eyes and hands on you, touching you and cupping your breasts as they're jiggling along to Seungmin's slow yet steady thrusts.

He stands on the side of the bed facing you, pumping his cock as he's watching you being fucked by Seungmin, and eventually, brings his eyes back to you.

Using the tip of his cock, he rubs your erect nipples, wetting them with his precum and making you squeeze his cock between your breasts.

"Oh..." you loudly moan, taking every stimulation on every inch of your body from the two men.

The wild glints in his eyes scare you and excite you at once. You're tilting your head his way with your mouth wide open.

"You want it in your mouth?" He says as he pumps his cock so close to your face.

You bite your lips, nodding.

Instead of giving you what you want, he shoves his thumb into your mouth and watches as you suck hard on it before finally putting his cock into your mouth. He grabs the hair on the back of your head, keeping your head still as he drags his cock in and out of your mouth.

"You like that, huh?" Minho says as he looks down at you.

"You like having your greedy holes filled, huh?" He pulls out of you to give you a chance to answer.

"Yeah," you breathlessly answer with your lips wet with saliva.

"You hear that? She likes her greedy holes filled!" Minho says to Seungmin with a wicked grin plastered on his face.

Seungmin is too high on pleasure to care, having sex without protection is still new to him and he still needs a few practices to finally have some self-control doing it.

With your mouth full of Minho, your noises can no longer be his guide on pleasing you but he can tell from the way you're tightening around him. He needs a release as much as you do but he holds it in until he knows for sure you have climaxed.

Minho probably senses that you're so close, that he pulls out of you and offers his hands for you to hold on to. Your chest is heaving and moans are spilling out of your mouth.

"Seungmin, oh, please!"

There you go with your begging and pleading, and it's amazing that it still works on him, hearing you calling his name in such neediness gets him off.

When you finally reach your high, you pull your knees up as high as you can which provides him more depth and tightness that gets him closer to his release.

A few more thrusts are all it takes for Seungmin to reach his high. He keeps his cock deep inside you as he releases all of his seed. His hands are pressing on the back of your thighs with nails dug into the flesh.

Still gathering his senses, Seungmin searches for your lips and when they finally meet yours, he kisses you so hard that he runs out of the air in his lungs.

"So good, baby, that was so good," you mutter to him with half-shut eyes.

Seungmin climbs onto the bed, his back resting against the headboard while you're lying on your stomach in between his legs. You're both riding down your highs with some kisses and cuddles until Minho seeks your attention.

He pulls you by the waist, taking you away as you're about to lean in to kiss Seungmin. You laugh at his childish behavior and look over your shoulder at him.

"I'm not going anywhere," you jokingly mutter at him.

Minho holds you close and lets Seungmin watch as he runs his hands all over you as if he is trying to show him how to properly touch you.

He makes a trail of kisses from your neck and then down your spine, forcing you to bend down on the bed on all fours for him.

"Ouw!" You yelp as he lands a slap on your ass cheek.

Seungmin reflexively holds you by the shoulders, thinking it is something that he's doing that hurts you.

Minho lands another slap on the other cheek harder than the sound echoing in the room and sends you launching to the front.

"Fuck, your other boyfriend cum a lot," Minho complains with his fingers lightly circling your clit.

You shake your head at Seungmin, gesturing him not to take his bait, and bring your mouth to his ear to whisper, "I like it when you cum a lot inside me."

Seungmin holds the side of your head and kisses you, but Minho slaps your asscheek again to get your attention back to him.

"Let's hope he left some room for me to fill," Minho says, putting two digits into your gushing hole to prepare you for his cock.

"Don't be so dramatic, Minho," you poke fun at him.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you hard until your back hits his chest. He buries his head in your neck, placing ticklish kisses down the column on your neck while his hands are fondling your breasts.

"It's your turn to not be dramatic," he mutters into your ear as he aligns his cock to your entrance.

"How can I not be?" You say to him.

Without warning, he enters you, pushing his swollen member in little by little. His hands gripping your hips to keep you still as he keeps pushing in until he's fully buried inside you.

"Honey, oh..." you moan as you grope for his head, turning it to the side so you can kiss him.

"I know," he seductively murmurs into your ear, "You feel so good around me too."

As Minho starts thrusting into you, you get back on your fours again and share some of your attention with Seungmin. You crash your lips against him and take his hand, making him cupping your breast.

He affectionately brushes your hair to the side and holds it there before leaning in for a kiss again, kissing your parted mouth as you moan from Minho's thrusts.

"I'm cumming, oh, I'm cumming," you whine as your fingers claw at Seungmin's chest.

Minho keeps chasing his high and riding past your orgasm, sending you into overdrive. Your eyes are fluttering shut from the immense pleasure but Seungmin holds you steady and tirelessly placing kisses on the skin he can land his lips on.

"Just a little bit more," Minho says through his gritted teeth while keeping the motion of his hips going.

You're fisting the sheet underneath you and eventually collapse onto Seungmin's chest and letting him hold you as Minho finishes inside of you.

Minho lowers his body on you, planting kisses on your back and your neck, he then buries his head in your neck as the three of you snuggle on the bed, exhausted yet content with pleasure.

With your eyes barely open, you reach for Seungmin's jaw and kiss him, then turn your head to the side to capture Minho's lips in a kiss afterward.

And you think, it wasn't bad at all for a first practice.

-

The bed shifts as Minho props his elbow against the mattress, you're holding his arm close to your chest so he plants a long kiss on your shoulder before slowly, taking his hand away from around you.

He checks his phone for the time and he kind of already guessed that he should get ready for the day, he has a plane to catch.

He quietly makes his way to the bathroom to wash up and quietly gets dressed in the dark of the room, not wanting to wake the others sleeping in the room.

He helps himself for a quick breakfast in your kitchen, opening the fridge to get a carton of milk and it almost startles him to see Seungmin standing by the doorway of your room with his hair sticking up and his glasses perching slightly askew on his nose.

"Man, you look really good in the morning," he sarcastically says as he takes a box of cereal from the top cabinet.

Seungmin brushes his hair to the back and fixes his glasses, traipsing his way to one of the stools pushed against the kitchen island.

"I believe we have to talk," he says to him in his morning, deep voice.

Minho gathers a bowl and a spoon on the kitchen island. He repeatedly nods as he pours cereal into the bowl first and then pours the milk after.

"That's actually great because you haven't heard my part of the story yet," Minho finally responds to Seungmin.

He takes a spoonful of cereal and shoves it into his mouth, making Seungmin wait as he chews and swallows his food to speak again.

"I'm away a lot for work. I hate to see her feeling lonely and sad. I don't want to break up with her and so is she. I was the one who came up with the idea," he explains, taking another spoonful of cereal and making Seungmin wait again, "I told her to find another boyfriend."

Minho then rests his hands on the counter and leans forward, taking a moment to gather his thoughts in the silence that hangs in the room.

"When she told me about you, I was scared because I kind of set her up for heartbreak by coming up with that idea but she stopped feeling lonely and sad. I can also see that she's... happier," he shares, digging his spoon into the bowl, and with a sad chuckle he continues talking, "I even started to think that maybe she doesn't love me anymore."

It only occurs to Seungmin now that Minho did all that not for himself, he wouldn't bother texting him and sending him all those videos if his intention was only to provoke him. He did all that to force him to come and meet you, he did all that for you which makes Seungmin the bigger asshole in this.

Minho drinks the milk straight out of the bowl and then roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, "What I'm saying is... I just want her to be happy. That's all," he finishes.

This concept of relationship is so new and foreign to Seungmin that at first, he finds it hard to make it make sense but after hearing both sides of the story, it isn't as complicated as he initially thought. After all, a relationship is a state of being connected whether it's people or objects or even concepts.

But it's nice to hear that despite his snarky remarks and flippant attitude, Minho is not afraid to be transparent about his feelings and thoughts, and Seungmin respects him for that.

On the other hand, it convinces Seungmin that this relationship would work because the three individuals are mature and have no intention of hiding things from each other anymore.

"I just want her to be happy too even if it means I have to endure your... attitude," Seungmin enunciates the last word with a sneer.

Minho scoffs and chuckles at that, finishing the bowl of cereal by draining the milk to its last drop.

"So how are we going to do this?" Seungmin asks in genuine curiosity.

"Well... we'll arrange something," Minho vaguely says, putting the dirty dishes down in the sink.

Minho returns to the bedroom to retrieve his jacket, he's sitting on the edge of the bed and places his hand on your shoulder, trying to wake you up with a gentle kiss on your lips and continues placing kisses all over your face until you steer in your sleep.

"Hey, I have to go," He softly mutters with a tender caress on your cheek.

You rub your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose, "Already?" You ask with a sleepy tone.

"My flight is in three hours," he informs while putting away the hairs from covering your face.

You pout and hum in complaint, stretching your arms out before putting them around his shoulders, pulling him close until he collapses on top of you.

"When will you come back?"

"Next Friday," he answers.

"Mmh, okay," you mumble, holding his face inches away from yours and giving him a long peck on the lips.

To give him a proper goodbye, you get up and put on any piece of clothing lying next to you. You walk Minho to the door for another hug and kiss while Seungmin sits in the kitchen, giving this moment just for the two of you.

"Stay safe. Take care," you tell him as you cling to his body.

Minho places ticklish kisses on your neck, sending you giggling as he holds you tightly. He eventually stops to press a long, lingering kiss on your lips.

"I'm going, okay?"

You nod and fondly gaze at him, "I love you."

He smiles at that and plants another lingering kiss on you, "I love you."

It's not the first time that he's leaving you to go away for work, but somehow, this time feels different, he feels a little relieved that he has someone he can trust to keep you safe.

"I'll be back soon," Minho mutters with a chaste kiss on your forehead.

You're lingering by the doorway, watching him leave until he goes inside the elevator and then go back inside. You're aware that Seungmin is there and you've been neglecting him the whole time you're saying goodbye to Minho.

You smile as you walk into the kitchen and see him still sitting there against the kitchen island, "I'll make us coffee," you announce.

"Okay," Seungmin shortly says with a soft smile.

You start by filling the pot with water and putting it on the stove, and as you wait for it to boil, you scoop some coffee beans to grind.

All of a sudden, you feel a pair of arms wrapped around you and you don't have to look to know it's Seungmin.

"Does it make you happy?" He asks out of the blue.

"What? Making coffee for you?" You jokingly ask even though you know the context of that question.

You put down whatever you're holding and turn around on your feet to face him, resting your hands on his chest as you look up at him and say, "I'm happy."

"Then I'm happy," he says with a smile, leaning in to softly kiss your lips.

The kiss brings back so many things, both the good and bad things you've shared, but ultimately him. The break-up was the worst part of it but now that he's back with you, you feel happier than ever.

"I love you, Seungmin," you tell him, sliding your hand up to his neck and holding him there, "I'll never let you break up with me again."

He puts his arms around and draws you closer, "I won't."

"Good, 'cause I don't know what a menacing man like Minho would do to you if that happened," you jokingly say.

In the end, Seungmin doesn't need numbers or data or statistics, he only needs to learn from his mistakes and as much as he hates his guts, he also needs to learn a few things from Minho and one of them is being a good boyfriend to you.

The white curls of steam escape the cup of coffee as you serve it on the table in front of him, the strong smell of it awakens all of his senses.

"Thank you," he mutters his gratitude with a smile that makes his eyes smaller and offers warmth.

You watch as he takes a careful sip at it with a hand propped under your chin, "How is it?"

He puts down his cup of coffee and smiles at you, "It's perfect."

As of this moment, Seungmin will only look at you as someone he loves and wishes to always be happy, and he'll think of himself not merely as a part of the equation but as what completes the equation.

-

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[clairoscharm]

falling fast, falling hard

pairing : ellie williams x fem!reader

warnings : blurb? drabble? idek… highschool au, hallway crush! reader, uhmmmm nothing much lol

credits : to pinterest for all the pictures & @anitalenia

✉️ : fun fact, this was inspired by a story from my moots back then! i write this thinking of them. yk who you are, ditto!

DAILY CLICK

DON’T BUY TLOU

WAYS TO HELP PALESTINE

It was only Monday, and Ellie was already having one of those mornings that felt like a personal attack from the universe. She stormed through the school’s front doors, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking loudly on the polished floor, drawing a few amused glances from nearby students. Ignoring them, she focused on her target: her locker.

She wrenched it open with more force than necessary, muttering curses under her breath as she grabbed her chemistry books. They’d been sitting there since last week—a deliberate decision to avoid carrying extra weight in her already overloaded backpack. Brilliant plan, Ellie. Now she was out of time and scrambling.

Staying up until 2 a.m. playing the new Nintendo game Joel had bought her for her birthday had been pure bliss last night. The adrenaline, the triumph of leveling up—it had all felt worth it. Until now.

Now, every second felt like a reminder of her own terrible life choices. She shoved the books into her bag, slammed the locker shut, and bolted toward the staircase, determined to make it to class before the bell but the clock ticking down to a certain tardiness.

That was when disaster struck.

Ellie rounded the corner and charged up the stairs, her mind too preoccupied with excuses for her teacher to notice you coming down in the opposite direction.

The collision was immediate and catastrophic. Ellie barely registered the impact before her grip slipped, her books and files flying out of her arms in a chaotic explosion.

She barely had time to react before her own foot slipped on a stray sheet of paper. With a startled yelp, Ellie lost her balance and went down, her back hitting the stairs as she slid a few steps before coming to a stop.

Pain radiated through her shoulder and hip as she groaned, staring at the mess of papers littering the stairwell like confetti.

"Fuck..." she muttered, her face burning with embarrassment as she tried to sit up, rubbing her sore shoulder.

"Shit! I’m so, so sorry!" a panicked voice exclaimed. Ellie looked up and froze.

Can this day get any worse? She thought bitterly.

Of course, it had to be you—her hallway crush. Or, let’s be real, her crush in general. Denying it was pointless, but she’d try anyway.

Ellie blinked and there you were, crouching a few steps above her, your wide eyes filled with concern. Her breath hitched for a moment.

"You’ve got to be kidding me," Ellie groaned, her frustration now aimed at the universe itself. “Seriously?”

"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry, but—wait, don’t move! Are you hurt?" your voice was laced with guilt as you crouched beside her, reaching out like you wanted to help up or give her space.

Ellie glanced at you, about to brush you off, when she noticed your hand frozen midair, hesitating. Your expression was so genuinely concerned that it softened her irritation just a little. "I’ll live," she muttered, finally sitting upright.

"Here—let me—uhh, get your stuff," you said quickly, darting to collect her scattered papers and textbook.

Ellie watched you as she stood up carefully, her irritation softening just a fraction as she took in the way you moved—quick but careful, your hair falling slightly into your face as you worked. There was something undeniably endearing about it.

“Thanks,” Ellie said grudgingly when you handed her the slightly crumpled stack.

You gave her a sheepish smile, your hand brushing hers for the briefest moment. “Maybe you should watch where you’re going,” Ellie said, her tone sharp but not entirely serious, her lips twitching despite herself.

“Could’ve avoided all this.”

You let out a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Fair. But maybe you shouldn’t sprint up the stairs like it’s the Olympics.”

Ellie’s reluctant smile broke through. “Touché.”

She adjusted her bag, glancing down at the mess you’d managed to somewhat clean up. "Guess we’re both disasters," she said, her tone lighter now.

"Speak for yourself," you shot back with a grin, stepping back. “Try not to fall again, yeah?” you teased before walking away, leaving Ellie stunned.

Ellie blinked, caught off guard by the sudden surge of confidence in your voice. She opened her mouth to retort, but you were already turning to leave, your steps light and unbothered.

As Ellie stared after you, heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks. "Try not to fall again," she muttered under her breath, a weak attempt to mimic your tone. "Yeah, right."

Falling on the ground? Sure, she’d work on that. But not falling for you? Too late for that.

That ship had sailed before she even hit the stairs.

© clairoscharm 2024

[sincerelybubbles]

Here's a dialogue prompt for Emily please! Try this out pls. Love you Kam sm sm. "So why are you here?" "To make a fool of myself." ok ty lysm

even though i watched u type this, the wording makes me giggle every time i look at it.

emily prentiss x tech analyst!reader <3

warnings: fem!reader, cannon typical violence, very brief allusions to sexual assault (nothing happens!), angst and fluff! mutual pining.

word count: 5.4k

Emily is the loveliest thing you've ever seen and you can't imagine how she could ever possibly like you back. She enjoys the game, though, and teasing you is her favorite hobby.

-

It’s a sunny day. Warmth trickles down with the scattered light through the leaves. Patterns trace your arms, throwing your skin into a collage of different shapes and shades. Leaning back on your elbows, you watch people mill about the park. You look back down at your arm after a few more minutes, this time focused on the small watch resting there. With a sigh, you stand up and dust off your pants before picking up the small blanket you laid out and tucking it into your bag. 

You walk back to work, enjoying the sounds of the people around you. You lingered too long at the park during your break and are hoping that nobody notices your slightly late return. Maybe the team will be in a meeting, gruesome pictures you never quite learned to stomach plastered on the board, entirely oblivious to your tardiness. 

Unlikely, but a welcome thought soothing your anxiety as you push the door open and scan your badge at the security desk. 

“Welcome back,” the security guard says, smiling at you over his paperback. He’s an old greying man and you vaguely recognize him. You think he’s new and send him a warm smile in return. 

“Thanks,” you glance at his name badge, “Martin!”

You walk past him and step into the elevator. “Wait!” A voice calls and you reach forward to hit the hold button instinctively before you register the voice as Emily’s. 

She jogs into the elevator with you, smiling gratefully. “Thanks, I’m already running a little behind.” She lifts a container and shakes it a little. The label is from the Italian bistro across the street, about a ten-minute walk away and always nearly triple that in wait time. 

“Brave of you to go there during your lunch,” you joke, returning her smile and pressing the button for your floor. 

You hope she can’t see how your hands shake as you reach forward.

“I know, I just love their Pasta Brado. Have you tried it?”

“Can’t say I have. I’m boring, I usually go for the parm.”

“You’re not boring,” she says so earnestly that you can’t help but blush. You cough as an excuse to raise your hand to your face and hopefully hide it some. “You do have to try it, though. Here,” she offers you the plastic box. 

“Oh, I couldn’t. And I already ate.” You ignore the way your chest hurts a little at how enthusiastic she is. The worst part? She doesn’t even know how endearing her simple kindness, her casual enthusiasm, is to you. 

“Tomorrow, then. We can go together.” The elevator doors open as she says it and she steps out with an affirmative nod to solidify it. “Don’t try to bail out on me either, I know where to find you.”

“Yeah, I'm okay,” you say, feeling lame as you step out behind her. “I would love to.” She’s too far to hear you, though, already heading to Spencer’s desk and jumping right into his conversation with Morgan. 

Someone says your last name and you turn on your heel to see Hotch and cringe slightly. “I was trying to find you.” It’s a kinder way of him reminding you that you’re nearly ten minutes late back from your lunch. 

“Sorry, sir.”

“It’s fine. Do you have the reports finished from last week's trip to Huston?”

“Yes, sir, they’re at my desk. One moment.”

-

You and Emily don’t go to the bistro the next day because she and the team are sent to a small town in Kansas that night. 

“I’ll owe you lunch,” she says, hand on the back of your desk chair and brushing your shoulder as the team rushes to the jet. 

“Don’t worry about it!” You reassure her.

“I’m taking you to lunch,” she calls over her shoulder, pretend-glaring, “you will try that Brado!”

And then she’s gone, leaving you giddy and breathless. 

You know she’s just being friendly – she treats Spencer, Morgan, and JJ all the same as you – but her efforts to spend one-on-one time with you outside of work still have you feeling like a schoolgirl passed a note from her crush in class. 

You try to remind your heart to stop singing because Emily probably isn’t even gay and definitely isn’t interested. Instead, Garcia scares the shit out of you when she interrupts your inner monologue. 

“Lunch with Emily? Things are getting serious in your work marriage.” You hadn’t seen her walk into the room and jump at her voice, hand jumping to your mouth to suppress a yelp. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“It’s okay, didn’t see you.”

“Your loss, I look fantastic today.”

“As always,” you smile up at her, nose wrinkling and genuine fondness filling your senses. 

“Careful, wouldn’t want a workplace affair,” she jokes, leaning against your desk and picking up the stress ball you keep handy. 

“Stop,” you moan in good nature. “Nobody else calls us work wives.”

“That’s just because they don’t have my brilliance and excellent observational skills.”

“Nor do they have the same privy to my more personal thoughts,” you say, glancing up at her before returning to your paperwork. With the team leaving so quickly to tend to a missing child's case, you’re not getting home in time to cook dinner but are hoping to leave early enough to grab food instead of resorting to your freezer stash. 

“I would hope not. You know I can’t be replaced, baby.”

“Does Morgan know you talk to all your work besties like this?”

“I most certainly do not. You’re a regular bestie, not a work bestie.” A wink and then her expression sobers. “I do have an actual reason for visiting your humble cubical, though.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to need extra hands for this case. It’s time-sensitive, as usual, and seems like it will be particularly tricky.”

“Yes ma’am,” you say, dropping your pen and standing to follow her. 

Your position at the bureau is kind of a catch-all. Most of your time is spent logging data, building reports, and doing general research for the team. Occasionally, though, you jump in to help Garcia with real-time research. Nothing as high-stakes as her direct assignments, more background work. Calling offices to talk to managers, combing through more meticulous data, generic census material to rule out obvious dead ends. 

It’s stressful work that technically isn’t what you’re paid for but you never complain. Your team saves lives, consistently putting themselves in the line of danger. If you have to spend a few hours a month helping Garcia call a suspect's manager at McDonald's to see if he still works there, it’s literally the least you can do. 

“Yes, so, it looks like our unsub…”

You drown out Garcia’s brief about information you already have sitting in front of you and begin vetting possible suspects from the large pool her system created.

It’s going to be a long night. You think about future Brado to cheer you up. 

-

“Reid, Prentiss take the back,” Hotch’s voice fills your ears. You imagine the pair nodding and splitting off from the group. 

This is your least favorite part of helping the team with active investigations – listening in on the calls. It’s rare that you and Garcia join the line when they’re approaching the unsub but, with you helping her, it isn’t a risk to distract Garcia and a much quicker method of getting any new information the team needs. It’s a new system you’ve only tried thrice, unsure how having microphones on 24/7 will work, and it grants you and the team more fluid communication.

Still, adrenaline floods your veins as you listen to their coms, the sounds of Garcia typing a constant behind their voices, imagining every way this could go wrong. 

You suspect the girl is still alive, the uncle doesn’t seem to have any reason to kill her just yet, but your fear for her grows with every minute. 

“Clear!”

Your eyes fall to the receipts flooding your screen. Ammo. A new rifle and pistol. The team knows but the evidence of this unsubs ability to hurt any of your friends, your family, isn’t helping your nerves. 

“I think he’s going to the roof!” Morgan’s voice, clear in the comms. 

You click out of the documents. Two swift motions on the screen. The firm press of the button. 

“Morgan, you’re on foot. Prentiss, follow him. Everyone else in vans, go!”

“Garcia, map out possible escape routes from the roof,” you instruct. 

She nods, screens shifting immediately. She puts on her own headset with one hand and clicks on the call and starts to bark information to Hotch. 

“Got her!” Reid’s voice sounds and you deflate a little. He mutes as he begins to console the small girl. 

You know you can take off your headset now, leave the call, and go to your paperwork. There isn’t much more you can do to help – you’re sure that’s what you’re supposed to do – but you stay on anyway, listening. 

“Right on Elmore!” Morgan calls. You find the street on Garcia’s screen, eyes tracing the path you think they’re taking. 

“We’ll try to cut him off,” Rossi says and you can hear tires in the background of the call. The click of a steering wheel cutting to the side too quickly. Someone’s labored breathing – probably Morgan’s as he dead sprints. 

“Stop! Put your hands up!” Emily shouts. The firmness in her voice makes you sit up straighter in your chair. 

You hear something that sounds vaguely like, “bitch,” before a loud pop drowns anything else out. 

“Emily!” Morgan’s voice, more pops. 

Gunfire. That’s gunfire, your brain recognizes. 

Your blood has gone cold.

“We need a medic!” Morgan shouts. Hotch’s line blinks red, going dead as he calls the ambulance. “Emily, Emily.”

Rustling. Cars. Sirens. Morgan’s line goes dead after you hear a car door slam shut. Then Reid’s and Rossi’s. Emily’s is the last to stay green, blinking.

You and Garcia stare at each other as you listen to Emily be loaded into an ambulance. Listen to Morgan tell the team, voice far away and barely tangible, that the unsub only managed to fire out one shot before he downed him. 

Neither of you can hear where she was shot or how badly injured she is before Emily’s line goes red as well.

-

“Emily?” You call softly, rapping your knuckles softly on the frame of the cracked hospital door. 

Your name, faint, answers you and you take that as permission to nudge the door open. The room looked dark from the hallway but Emily has the small lamp embedded on the wall switched on, throwing her face into harsh shadow. 

“Hey, you,” you say, walking in, arms full. “I brought things.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, trying to sit herself up further and wincing as the motion pulls on her stitches in her abdomen. 

“Wait, let me help you,” you say, setting your things down and reaching out a hand. 

You wait for her nod before touching her, letting her grasp your arm and looping your other arm around the back of her waist to take most of her weight yourself. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. You can tell she hates feeling useless, hates needing help for something as simple as sitting up, so you drop the subject with a nod and kind smile. 

You turn around to the small rolling tray where you put your things down, pulling two black containers out from a plastic bag. You feel silly and very awkward as you turn around to show them to her. 

“I know it’s probably not quite what you meant but,” you set the containers down on her bed and pop one open. 

“The Pasta Brado! Oh man, I was going to treat you.” She’s pouting through a smile, attempting to put on an upset facade and failing miserably. 

It’s so cute that you struggle with what to say next. 

“Thank you, really. You can pull up that chair, if you’re hungry now.”

You grab the chair she’s motioned to and drag it to sit next to her. “I’m hungry if you are. It might be a little cold, though, it’s kind of a far walk.”

“You walked here?” Emily asks, tone appalled and face comically shocked. 

“Yeah, my car broke down last week. I’ve been walking to work – it’s actually really nice out right now – and I couldn’t find a cab from the bistro.” You busy yourself with the food while you talk, opening the second container, setting it on her legs, and unwrapping the plastic cutlery for her. 

“Jesus! You didn’t need to come and see me if you don’t have a car. You didn’t need to come at all, actually. I really appreciate it,” she amends, seeing how your bashful smile freezes on your face, reaching forward as if to touch your face and brushing your shoulder instead. “It’s really sweet of you but you didn’t need to walk all that way. Isn’t it like a twenty-minute walk from here?”

Over thirty, but you nod anyway, knowing it won’t help your case to correct her. “It’s not a big deal. You were shot in the stomach, of course I wanted to see you.”

“Ah, so you wouldn't want to see me otherwise,” she teases, nodding and pushing her pasta around with her fork. She doesn’t even try to conceal her grin. 

“Ha ha, very funny,” you mumble. You take a bite of your food and your eyes widen. “Oh my god.”

“I knew you would love it,” she beams, watching your expression as you taste the food. You you she meant to say it in a gloating way but you swear you can hear a sort of fondness behind the words. Something in you warms at her ability to know you so well. 

You tell yourself you’re overreacting about both thoughts. 

“You were right – Emily this is unfairly good.”

“Oh, I know,” she says, taking her own bite and letting out an exaggerated moan, complete with an eye roll. You giggle and she smiles at you. “Thank you, this is exactly what I needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you say, holding her eye contact. 

She's been in the hospital for three days, transferred back to Virginia last night; her hair is unwashed and unbrushed, and she’s wearing no makeup and a hospital gown. 

She’s still the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. 

-

Your car is fixed by the time Emily is released from the hospital two days later and you offer to take her home. 

“Hi Sergio,” you greet the cat brushing against your legs as Emily disengages the alarm. 

You set her things down by the door before turning to offer her your arm. Emily doesn’t pretend that she doesn’t need the help when it’s just you two, something you’re grateful for after watching her struggle with the team around, and lets you guide her to her bedroom. 

You set about making her comfortable, turning down her sheets and propping the pillows up so she can sit. 

“I’ve got it,” she laughs, playfully pushing away your hands. 

You laugh along with her, raising your hands and backing away. “I’m going to go put the rest of your stuff away and get you a drink.”

“Perfect, I’ll take an old-fashioned. Don’t forget the cherry.”

You roll your eyes at her, scoffing and leaving her room. 

You throw her clothes and go-bag in her laundry room before making her a glass of water and another glass of juice. Once you’re sure she’s settled in her bed with her book, you return to the kitchen to make her a few dinners, ignoring her protests. 

-

Emily is back in the field much sooner than you would have liked. 

“I was cleared by the doctors,” she tells you, coat slung over her arm as she digs through her bag for her badge. 

You smile at Martin, sending him a mock exasperated look, before she finds her ID and shows it to him. 

“It still seems too soon, Em,” you persist, reaching forward to push the elevator button and turning so you can lean back to watch her face. 

“Em?” Emily asks, the hint of a smile pulling up the left corner of her mouth. 

You sort of feel like you could die in that moment, just from the heat that simple gesture surges through you. 

“It just sort of slipped out, sorry,” you say, thoroughly embarrassed. 

The elevator dings and the doors open, throwing you off balance for a second. This doesn’t help your already flared nerves as you stumble back and drop your bag. You reach down to gather it and the files scattered across the floor. 

You’re kneeling to stuff everything in your bag when Emily crosses your line of sight again, wide smile on her face – teeth fully on display and nose scrunched, you are in desperate need of help – holding out your notepad.

“I think the nickname’s sweet. I kind of like the idea of having a name only one person, only you, calls me.”

All of the air has left this godforsaken elevator, the heat must be on, you stare dumbly at her as she reaches forward to grab your bag and put the rest of your papers inside of it for you. 

And then, realizing you look like an absolute idiot, you snap back into your body and cough slightly. The doors ding and open again, you grab your bag from her and stand slowly. Smiling at her, still crouched on the floor and looking, amused, up at you through her eyelashes, you say, “Okay. Thanks, then, Emmy.”

You walk away after that brief flash of confidence, telling yourself you’re just imagining how you swear her face flushed bright at your comment. 

And if Morgan mentions a few minutes that Emily seems flusters, well, who can blame you for floating on that high for a few days?

Except she doesn’t let it go. 

She corners you on your break in the kitchenette. Literally. She catches you when you’re examining the coffee pot that has been making concerning gurgles for the past few days and leans on the counter behind you, effectively blocking your exit. 

Not that you really want to leave. 

She’s wearing a red tank top and dark jeans, her hair is loose around her shoulders, eyes steadily trained on your face as you work. 

“Hello,” you say, quiet in a way you’re not normally. 

“Hi.”

“What’re you doing?” You ask after a few more moments of her silently staring at you while you pretend to know what you’re doing with a screwdriver. 

“Enjoying the view.”

You drop your screwdriver and relish in the sound of her laugh. 

-

You’d love to say that you had some suave answer to return her charm but you think you spent it all that morning with your boldness. 

You’re not shy but confidence doesn’t run in your blood either. You’d say you’re pretty normal – average. You don’t find much wrong with that, you know you have other qualities that build you up into an interesting person. You love your friends and coworkers deeply, for one. And have an intense trust in them and their abilities. 

That trust is always tested in your day-to-day at work but never more than now as you feel the car around you make turns at highway speeds. You think you’re on some sort of back road but it’s hard to tell from the trunk given the obvious lack of windows. 

You’re calmer than you thought you would be if kidnapped. 

Groaning after one particularly rough turn that has you jostling against the sides of the trunk, you allow your head to thump back and stare at the inside of the dark car. Light breaks through the cracks of the hinges of the trunk and you wonder if water trickles through when it rains. 

You’ve been in here too long to consider if you’re focused on the wrong things. You’re scared shitless, of course, but the adrenaline faded about an hour into your drive and now you’re just bored. 

Imagine that – bored as fuck in the trunk of a stranger's car, wrists burning from the rope and jaw sore from where it’s been forced open too long by the fabric tied around the back of your head. 

You’re just allowing yourself to reimagine your morning with Emily when the car stops and the engine cuts. 

You snap back into the present, energy flooding your system again as your brain flicks into overdrive. You might spend your days paper-pushing behind a desk, but you passed your physical. You’re smart, you’ve heard the stories of how these victims survive captivity. 

When the trunk pops open, you squeeze your eyes shut to prevent pain from the sudden lack of light. You don’t want to be blinded and the action has the added benefit of pleasing your captor. He put a hood over your hood when he grabbed you, muttering in your ear in tense tones that you would do best to not even try to see him. 

Say what you will, you usually do a pretty good job at following directions. This one is easy and happens to be number one on your list right now – keep him happy so he keeps you alive. 

“Good girl,” a gruff voice says before a calloused hand gropes the back of your neck to yank you forward. Scratchy fabric envelops your head and your hot breath bounces back against you, trapped against the fabric of the hood. 

You stand when his hands start to grab your waist, pulling yourself to your knees and allowing yourself to be lifted from the trunk.

You want to run but know now’s not the time. 

“Look at how well-behaved you are!” His breath is wet against your neck. He stands too close, hands clawing under the hem of your shirt to cling to your skin. 

He walks you forward like that, chest pressed against your back and breath slithering down the collar of your shirt to hang uncomfortably over your collarbones. 

It’s becoming increasingly more obvious what this sicko wants from you and your stomach is twisting at the thought. You urge the team to hurry up, knowing your absence would have been missed ages ago. They have to be looking for you by now. And, with how sloppy this dude seems to be, he must have left a plethora of clues waiting to be found. 

You have to repeat this to yourself as you hear a door lock click. 

“Took you long enough. This is the girl? She’s kind of … well,” the second man kisses his teeth with a sharp sound. You’re pushed forward again. “Whatever floats your boat man.” The door shuts and locks behind you. The second man's voice fades as he talks, disinterested. 

You wonder if it’s wrong to feel slightly insulted right now. 

“This way, doll.”

You listen. It’s saving your life to be complicit in his directions, so you listen. Still, you’re shoved harshly to the floor once you get to where he wants you, knees striking what feels like cement. Before you can recover, your cheek stings and your head is whipping to the side from a sudden slap. 

Then, there’s a kick to your ribs. You fall onto your side, too winded to even cry out, lips falling open in a silent scream. A boot in your belly. Your ribs again, your hip and back. 

“Why?” You manage to sob out. “Why, why?”

You don’t get an answer.

-

You’re not overly religious but you thank whatever heavens or universe exists that he leaves you alone once he’s done kicking the shit out of you. Your ribs are bruised but the worst you expected hasn’t happened. 

The boredom returns as you lay with throbbing ribs. At least one is broken and every breath hurts. You can’t imagine sitting up and, luckily, with your hands tied behind your back, it’s not really an option anyway. 

It must be near an hour later when you’re fading out of consciousness – a purposeful choice on your part to save your energy – when you hear the front door burst down. 

“FBI! Hands where I can see them!” Morgan. You nearly weep but think better when your stuttered gasp makes your side throb. “What the fuck?” You hear shouted in reply. “Robb, what the fuck man.”

There isn’t much of a resistance from the living room. The second man is shouting at what you can only assume is the first – your initial kidnapper – but there’s nothing else other than that. 

“Clear!” You hear Hotch call. Spencer replies and then you hear the door nearest you open. 

His voice calls out your name. You deflate against the floor. A second, you know he’s scanning the room with his gun before holstering it. “Clear! I need a medic!”

Hands, gentle, against your face, removing the hood. Swifter after that, removing your gag, and then hand binds. 

“Hey, Spence,” you say, trying to smile up at him. 

“Shh, you’re okay. We’ve got you.” He starts to support your weight behind your shoulders and the pain that brings is too intense to prevent your yelp. 

“Oh my god, is she okay?” You hear Emily ask seconds before you see her. She looks concerned, hair now in a tight ponytail and FBI vest strapped over her chest. She whispers your name once and then a second time, reaching forward to gently brush your hair out of your eyes. 

“Hey, pretty,” you say, words tumbling out of your mouth before you can catch them.

“Hi beautiful,” she answers, reply just as soft as your own. Earnest. 

It makes your heart ache and, for the first time since being yanked off the road walking to grab lunch, you start to cry. 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, beautiful, it’s okay. You’re okay.” She repeats this as you’re lifted by the paramedics and cry harder. 

She repeats it when they stitch up where kicks burst the skin over your cheekbone open, repeats it as she trails a hand down your arm in gentle patterns while they examine your ribs and confirm that you’ve broken two, maybe three. 

She tries with you in the ambulance. 

You can’t help but think about being on the phone when you heard Emily be shot weeks earlier. You squeeze your eye shut as they insert the IV, beyond grateful that she’s there to hold your hand while they do it. The tear that falls down your cheek has nothing to do with the pain and everything to do with the thought that you couldn’t have been there for her in the same way. 

An odd thought, you realize, but it’s the one you’re stuck with as you drift away when the pain medicine enters your system. 

-

You’re sent home three days later. You insist on spending the night alone, afraid to admit you’re scared because, honestly, nothing much happened to you. 

Oh, of course, everyone tries to convince you otherwise but you know they’ve all had it worse. You were gone from the bureau for about eight hours and spent most of it bored. 

So you force yourself to spend the night alone. You don’t need help moving around or doing things for yourself so you convince yourself you don’t need help. 

You’re cooking dinner when the doorbell rings. You wipe your hands with a dish towel and take your time walking to the door to look through the peephole. You don’t know who took you yet, you haven’t asked and nobody has said, but you can imagine seeing him through the door. Waiting for you, waiting to kill you this time. 

Okay, yeah, maybe Spencer was right when he talked about PTSD and usual levels of anxiety, but you’re so tired of him being so right all of the time that you really want to prove him right.

There is no man standing on the other side of the door, though. Instead, you see Emily, holding a plate wrapped in tin foil and looking serene in your apartment hallway. 

You open the door quickly, unlatching it and turning off your alarm with a few clicks. “Emily?”

“Ah, man, I was getting used to Emmy,” she jokes, stepping inside with a smile in your direction and kicking off her shoes. 

You can’t think of an answer so you just smile at her, hoping she’ll take the lead. You’re tired and she must see it because she offers the plate in her hands to you once the door is closed and the alarm is reengaged. 

“Rossi sent me with it with explicit instructions to not let you share it.”

You giggle and take the plate. “I’ll have to tell him thank you. It’s kind of out of your way to come all this way, though, isn’t it?”

“Not out of my way at all,” she says, words dripping with meaning as she holds your eyes. “I would have come even if Rossi didn’t have food for you.”

“So why are you here?”

“To make a fool of myself,” she says, casually, like that’s something people say every day, “probably. You’ve just gotten back from the hospital and I know you said you wanted to be alone, but,” she swallows and her words are becoming more rushed as she speaks, “I said the same thing and you still stayed.”

“Emily?” You ask, setting the plate down on your hallway table and clearing your throat. “Ah, Emmy?” You amend when she cuts you a look. Your attempt to diffuse the tension doesn’t work and she steps closer so you’re toe to toe.

“That doesn’t really answer your question, though. You’re sweet enough that you would let it go, but,” she shrugs, reaching forward to gently loop her fingers around your wrists. “Stop me if this is awful timing. Please,” she says, leaning forward and staring into your eyes. 

You feel like you’re suffocating, but if this is death, you’ll greet it gladly in the irises of Emily Prentiss. You’re caught in the trap of the moment, heart hardly breathing, all aches and sores forgotten because Emily is leaning closer, breath fanning across your face. You feel intoxicated, ensnared. 

Everything that has ever been exists here, now, in this moment. Every breath used to blow out birthday candles and blow away eyelashes – breaths with purpose, with wishes, with intent – exists between the two of you as she leans closer and closer. Closer, still, and how can so much distance exist between you two when you’ve been standing so closely?

“Just, stop me, if you want,” she whispers against your lips, eyes falling shut. 

Time yawns again, freezing. Your eyes open, hers closed, beats of seconds pausing. Hesitating for you to hold this moment in your hands. You’re grateful to appreciate it because she really is so lovely. Her bangs are pushed back from her face with a headband – imagine that! Emily owns headbands! – and you can see every detail of her face. Her elegant nose, her slim eyebrows, her narrow, prominent, lips.

And then your heart finally catches up, beats loudly, cracks whatever fragile plane of glass holding the moment so perfectly still, and her lips are meeting yours. 

You gasp into her mouth, hands breaking out of her hold to grab her face. You’re afraid that she’s going to pull away before this kiss can be fully real. Before you can actually taste her – lemon cake and rain and warmth. Before you can memorize the feel of her lips pressed against your own before you can drag her closer and slip your hands into her hair. 

But she doesn’t pull away. She meets your enthusiasm with a sigh and then enthusiasm tenfold. You can feel relief in the kiss, feel how she relaxes into you. She takes a step forward and you take one back half the amount to account for it. 

A tilt of your head and it’s better, impossibly. She’s firm, sturdy, beautiful. Confident. Lovely, lovely, lovely. 

And then she reaches forward to hold you to her, hands brushing your ribs to wrap around your back and you can’t hold in the gasp of pain that causes you to stiffen. You want to take it back, want to ignore the pain, want to keep her near, but she won’t allow it.

“Oh, I’m so so sorry. Are you okay? I’m sorry.” You smush the apologies against her lips, removing one hand from her hand to guide her arms around your shoulders where they won’t hurt. “Okay! Okay,” she giggles, leaning back with several short kisses that do nothing to satiate you. “I need to know you’re okay.”

She can obviously tell she hasn’t hurt you too bad by your reaction, but the sweet caution in her voice has you melting further. 

“I’m perfect.”

[changetyre]

Hiiii, uhm i dont know how to ask this hahha but could you maby do a smut fic with Lance Stroll, you can do any Story you want but i just cant find any fluffy or smut stories with him, plsss (only if you want, but smut pls , would be much appreciated)

SUMMARY: Being a personal assistant to Lance Stroll was complicated considering certain leniencies, when he misbehaves you take all the hear, which naturally caused tension between you both.

WARNINGS: **18+**, not proofread

A/N: Again sorry it took so long but hope you like it ;)

You sat in the meeting room, trying to hide your annoyance but it was clearly evident in your face as well as many others. You looked at your watch indicating you were almost reaching the 40 minute mark of waiting for one person to start.

You would’ve worried if this wasn’t such a common certain for a certain member of the team who was so secure in his position he truly didn’t care for punctuality, no actual punishment for his lack of professionalism.

"This is the 5th time this week alone he's been late to his meetings y/n, I thought you said you handled it the first time-" A team member muttered beside you.

You would've answered if it weren't for the door opening soon after.

“Morning everyone, sorry I’m a little late ran into some traffic.” Lance finally walked into the room.

There was a shared sigh of relief from everyone although for you his appearance only made you angrier reminding you of yet another date you were at risk of canceling because of having to wait for this brat to show up.

“No worries, let’s start right away.” No one dared to scold Lance, even less when the older Stroll was present who didn’t even bat an eye at his son’s tardiness.

The meeting started as Lance took a seat next to you giving you a wink completely dismissing the furious look in your eyes. Lance's hand went to rest on your thigh as he so often attempted to do but was quickly swatted away by your hand as usual.

"So Lance you haven't come in for sim work this week which we really need, are you able to stay for about an hour this evening?" Mike asked him.

"Right I would love to but I think I have an important meeting tonight right y/n?" Lance turned to look at you hoping you would once again pull him out of his duties but you'd had enough.

"No actually, you're all free this evening, as well as the whole day tomorrow...I made sure to clear your schedule." You cockily smirked loving that everyone was here for this as Lance looked at you annoyed.

"Oh are you sure I mean-" Lance tried to push once again.

"100%" You quickly cut him off.

"Perfect, we expect you this evening then." Mike was content as he continued on with the last details of the meeting all while Lance glared at you.

Once the meeting was finished you were quick to pack your things up and head out but Lance was quick to stop you before you could leave.

"What the hell was that?" He asked you once everyone else had left the room leaving you both alone.

"It was me doing the job I am paid to do successfully for the first time in a while." You bit back.

"Fine, but where the hell do you think you're off to in a rush?" Lance watched as you continued packing things up quickly stopping you by pulling you close to him by your waist. He was touchy you knew that and eventually grew used to it.

"Unlike you, I'm done for the day so I'm hoping I can still make it to my date." You attempted to walk by him but he blocked your path.

"A date?" He scoffed. "You're not going anywhere, if I'm staying you are too." he cockily smiled as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

"I was meant to finish over two hours ago I've done my job so no excuse me-" Once more you attempted to walk past him only to be stopped again by him pulling you into his chest.

"You knew this job didn't have strict working hours, you're my personal assistant, and I say when you're done. You get paid generously for every extra minute." He got closer repeating every word right up in your face. You could feel his breath on your lips.

"You're a dick." You shoved him back which only humored him.

"You better cancel that date if you want to keep this job sweetheart." Lance laughed.

You were furious, he knew you couldn't afford to lose his job and he was right in the fact that you always got paid for every single hour you worked.

_____________

After the previous rough evening, you found yourself once again back in the AM headquarters waiting for Lance to show up for more testing which he was late to.

"I thought we said 8am sharp." One of the team analysts looked at you, obviously annoyed.

"I told him to be on time, I gave him his schedule, he knows-" You started explaining.

"Your job is to make sure he is where he needs to be when he needs to be and you have failed to do so for months now." Mike who had also been waiting for Lance to arrive threatened you. "After today you're fired."

"Please I-" You didn't have a chance to defend yourself.

"Morning everyone, let's get started." Lance arrived, smiling as if he hadn't just arrived over an hour late.

Everyone else faked a smile just for him, just to keep him pleased while you were left concerned for yourself.

_______

"You have a marketing day tomorrow, you need to be there at 7am on the dot." You looked through Lance's schedule stressed about everything he had lined up praying for once he would listen to you.

"Hmm...I'm having a late night tonight so might be a little late but-" Lance started ready to approach you with his excuses as he changed out of his uniform.

"NO LANCE!" You blew up. "Fuck." You fell back onto the couch in his room in defeat realizing you had been way too loud. "For once will you just do as you are asked...even if it's the last time." You looked down.

"What are you talking about?" Lance approached you trying to hold you as he normally did but this time you pulled back.

You looked up at him and he noticed the fiery look he normally found in them was missing.

"Mike fired me this morning." You revealed to him too bothered to get angry at him anymore. "I finish today then I'm gone."

"He did what?" There was obvious fury in his voice. "Why would he-"

"Because you never do what I ask you to do." You didn't even let him finish.

"You're saying this is my fault?" Lance asked.

"You know what whatever Lance, do whatever you want. I'm done" You threw the iPad on the couch grabbing your stuff ready to leave.

"Stop." Lance grabbed your arm. "You're not going anywhere."

"I don't think that's your call anymore." You dismissed him but he held you tightly.

"I hired you. So trust me it's my call." Lance cupped your cheek making you look at him. "You're not going anywhere."

"But Mike-"

"Mike does what I say." He didn't even let you refute it.

"Don't worry...you're not going anywhere." He repeated pulling you closer and placing a kiss on your forehead.

"So you're just gonna keep paying me for not being able to do my job well enough?" You looked up at him.

"I would pay you to just keep you around me looking all pretty sweetheart." Lance smiled down at you placing a kiss on your cheek.

"You're infuriating-" You met his eyes again.

"Shut up" Lance kissed you roughly pulling you tightly against him.

"What do you-"Lance deepened the kiss, "think you're-"He began taking your coat off "doing?" you finished asking him between kisses with no real attempt to stop him.

"What I've always wanted to do." Lance quickly answered as he pulled his shirt off before pulling you back in and slipping his tongue inside your mouth.

"We shouldn't do this." You said as you pulled your own shirt off letting Lance unbutton your jeans and begin pulling them down.

"I love doing what I shouldn't." Lance finished pulling your jeans down before pushing you back onto the couch.

"And I hate you for it." You reminded him but were quickly shut up when he went down on you. "Agh fuck-" You moaned as he began to kiss your clit over your panties.

"I thought I told you to shut up." Lance cockily smiled between your legs as he pushed your panties aside licking up your slit before you could even bite back.

"Mhmm...please Lance." You gripped onto his hair.

"Please what baby?" Lance licked and sucked at your clit driving you crazy. "Fuck you're so wet-" Lance drooled at the sight in front of him.

"Don't stop-" You begged him as you could feel your orgasm nearing.

"Nah ah, sweetheart. You're cumming on my cock-" He stopped just before you could finish making you whine in annoyance.

"Lance! Please." You begged annoyed, a tone he was more used to but in a completely new context.

Lance didn't bother to go slowly as he sank fast and deeply into you, your eyes rolling back in pleasure.

"Aghhh shit" you moaned as he began thrusting into you.

"Does that feel good baby?" Lance asked you as he toyed with your tits.

"Fuck Lance...feels-" You struggled to speak through the pleasure. "Feels so good." You got lost in the feeling.

"You're not going anywhere, baby. I'll make sure of it." Lance whispered to you a quiet reassurance while he fucked you harshly, the first time of many.

[solxamber]

Homecoming - Rollo Flamme x reader

You return home after a long work trip. Rollo is happy to have you back

Rollo Week Day 3!

You sigh as you step off the carriage, the wheels creaking one last time as it rolls away into the quiet, flower-lined streets of the City of Flowers. The familiar aroma of roses and freshly baked pastries fills the air, and despite the heaviness in your limbs from the long journey, you can’t help but feel a little lighter. Home. After weeks of business trips, endless meetings, and poorly made hotel tea (honestly, was it that hard to steep for three minutes?), you’ve finally returned to the place you belong.

Your bag feels like it weighs a ton as you drag it up the front steps of your home. The door swings open easily, and you’re immediately enveloped by warmth and the soft glow of candles, their flickering light casting familiar shadows on the walls. You drop your luggage right by the door with a thud. Unpacking? That’s a problem for future you.

Right now, there’s only one thing on your mind.

Or rather, one person.

Before you can even kick off your shoes, there’s a soft cough behind you. You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

“You’re late.”

You turn slowly, biting back a smile. Standing there in the doorway to the living room is Rollo Flamme, arms crossed, his ever-present frown etched firmly into place. He’s the same as always—his uniform perfectly crisp, his red armband exactly where it should be, his hair styled just so. But his eyes? Those usually cold, calculating eyes are just a bit softer now, filled with something you can’t quite name. Not yet, anyway.

“I’m late because I’ve been working,” you say, raising an eyebrow at him as you try to sound exasperated. “You know, work? That thing I have to do to help fund our lavish lifestyle?”

Rollo’s frown deepens, as if the mere mention of work is an affront to his dignity. “That does not excuse tardiness. You said you would be back by midday, not at this absurd hour.”

“And you’ve been keeping track of the exact time I was supposed to return because...?” You take a step closer, enjoying the way his posture stiffens. “Maybe because you’ve been waiting for me?”

Rollo’s mouth twitches, his lips pressing together in a thin line. “I simply—” He clears his throat, looking away for a brief moment as if gathering his composure. “I dislike unpredictability. It disrupts order.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you say, smirking. “And here I thought you might’ve missed me.”

His eyes snap back to yours, and for a moment, you see it—a flicker of something unguarded, a hint of softness breaking through the usual mask of stern disapproval.

“You presume too much,” he says, but his voice lacks its usual bite.

Without thinking, you close the distance between you and pull him into a hug, wrapping your arms around him. You feel him freeze, like he’s not entirely sure what just happened to him. For a second, you wonder if he’s going to push you away, or make some remark about “appropriate displays of affection.”

But instead, there’s a beat of silence before you feel his hands—tentative at first—gently come to rest on your back. His embrace is awkward, as if he’s still getting used to the idea of this, but it’s Rollo’s version of vulnerable. And that? That’s more than enough.

"I missed you," you murmur, leaning into the hug and resting your head against his shoulder. You can feel his heartbeat, slightly faster than usual, and the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

There's a soft sigh from him—barely audible, but enough for you to notice. "I... suppose it has been quieter in your absence." His words are carefully chosen, as always, but you can hear the subtle admission behind them.

"You mean 'lonely'?" you tease, though your voice is softer than before.

"Do not be absurd," he huffs, his arms tightening around you just the slightest bit. “The quiet has been... productive.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, grinning against his shoulder. "Productive. No late-night pacing around, checking the clock, wondering where I am?"

Rollo makes a sound that is somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "I am not some... emotionally unstable fool."

"And yet, here you are," you say, leaning back just enough to look at him. His face is still calm, still composed, but there’s a softness in his eyes that he can't quite hide. You know him too well by now. He was absolutely waiting for you. Probably fretting over the tiniest delay.

"You overestimate your importance," he says, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrays him.

"I completely believe that," you say, grinning. “You’re clearly doing fine without me.”

His eyes narrow slightly. "If you insist on being smug, I may reconsider the tea I prepared for your return."

You blink, surprised. "Wait, tea? You made tea for me?"

Rollo straightens, clearing his throat as he composes himself. “It is standard hospitality for someone returning from a journey. Nothing more.”

Your heart melts just a little. Rollo, with all his pomp and stiff formality, had made you tea. It’s a small gesture, but from him? It feels huge.

“You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?” you say, teasing but fond. You lean in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before he can protest.

His face goes crimson in an instant. "T-this is entirely unnecessary!" he sputters, backing away as if you’ve just unleashed some forbidden magic. “There is no need for... such displays.”

"Uh-huh," you say, amused. “And yet, you didn’t pull away.”

Rollo glares at you, though the pink in his cheeks betrays any attempt at real anger. “That is entirely beside the point.”

“Sure, sure,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “Now, about that tea?”

He sighs, clearly exasperated, but turns to head toward the kitchen. "Follow me," he mutters, and you can hear the resigned affection in his voice.

You trail behind him, admiring the familiar sight of your home, now warm and welcoming after your long trip. The thought that Rollo had been waiting for you, fussing over tea and your late return, fills your heart with warmth.

In the kitchen, a small tea set is already laid out on the table, the delicate steam curling from the cups. The scene is so domestic, so un-Rollo, and yet, it’s perfect.

As he pours the tea, he glances at you, his expression softer now, the frown mostly gone. "Welcome home," he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smile, feeling a wave of affection wash over you. "It's good to be home."

The two of you sit together, sipping tea in comfortable silence, the only sounds the soft clink of porcelain and the gentle hum of the evening outside. It’s peaceful, perfect, and for the first time in weeks, you feel truly at ease.

And as Rollo glances at you from the corner of his eye, trying (and failing) to hide the smallest of smiles, you realize something. This—sitting here with him, drinking tea after a long journey—is what home really feels like.

Masterlist

[aesthetically-dying101]

Law of Attraction. (part 1)

A/N: this is part 1 of a series (gonna be three or four i believe), inspired by irl events.

Other parts: Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4; Part 5 ; Part 6.

SO, couple things to know: r. is in her second year of psychology, Nanami is in his third year of law. R is definitely very anxious, not used to being out of her element.

Warnings for this chapter: Angst, reader can be seen as annoying and a bit pathetic, frustrating all around.

Do not copy nor translate my work.

You slip into the classroom, late as usual-to be fair, your eyeliner wasn't cooperating this morning, and then the bus to campus was late, so a 6 minute tardy wasn't the end of the world in your book.

The door creaks as it closes behind you, and all eyes turn. 

Great.

Just what you needed on the first day of class- you almost want to shrink away and sprint out of there.

The professor, a middle-aged man in a stuffy suit, squints at you over his glasses. He's got that "I-know-you're-not-supposed-to-be-here" vibe. You can almost see the judgement radiating off him.

"Uh, excuse me," he says, pausing the lecture. "Are you... in the right room?"

"Uh, I'm not lost, I'm just late," you say, forcing a smile-whyyyy must he speak to you. "And I'm definitely in the right class. I checked the schedule, like, five times- apologies for my tardiness."

You made a beeline for the empty seat at the back. Your boots make a soft clomp on the polished floor, your bracelets clinking together. He still watches you like you might steal something—maybe the textbook on the desk, or the air in the room. 

You're just here because it's a graduation requirement.

 A requirement you absolutely cannot avoid. Because of course, your major in psychology doesn't cover "basic law" in the slightest.

Perfect. Just the vibe you need to kick off a semester of law school with zero chill.

"As I was saying," he drones, clearly trying to regain control after the tiny disruption you caused, "the fundamentals of law—"

*-*

A little while later it's finally break time- coffee time- cigarette time- whatever you want to call it. Anyways you finally get to breath fresh air after an hour in that room.

You could really use something to wake you up, but you're pretty sure that if you drink one more coffee today, your heart might start skipping beats in protest. 

Still, it's a necessary evil.

You stepped out after the rest of the students, and ironically, followed them to the coffee machine. As you waited in the small line that had formed, a girl and her friends-your classmates- turned to look at you.

"So.. how many of those d'you have?" She asked as she gestured to your face- you had snakebites, eyebrow piercings, tongue piercing... ect.

"Huh?" You glance down at yourself, trying to pretend you didn't know exactly what she meant. "Oh... like, twenty-five? Overall."

She opens her mouth again, clearly working through some internal monologue. "That's... a lot."

You smile, your smiley piercing peeking and catching the light a bit, you can tell she zeroed in on it. You decided to be nice today-good impressions to make- and its not like your anxiety was through the roof just because she was talking to you. Nahhh, not at all.

"Yeah, it's not for everyone, but I like it." You shrugged. 

 "It's just, well, kind of intense." She said. Her friends share amused glances. You know its at your expense. Of course.

"Intensity's good," you replied. "Keeps life interesting."

You finally reach the machine, ready to make your decision—coffee or death by caffeine overdose. The coffee's already in your hand, steam rising from it like a beacon of your need to function today. You act as if it doesn't bother you that these people look at you like a freak.

It was easier anyways, to act as if it didn't matter, that their looks and comments didn't matter. 

They did.

But you could never allow them to know. 

*-*

It's two days later when you get the email: "Group assignment – Nanami Kento and Y/N, please meet to discuss your project." 

Fun. 

A couple minutes later your phone buzzed- an unknown number:

-Hello Y/N, I saw the email. Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss the project?-

You can almost hear the smugness in the message. So you replied back quickly, your fingers tapping out the message. 

-im free after 3 pm tomorrow. Lmk if that works for you-

Almost imidietly, your phone buzes again:

-3 pm works. See you tomorrow.-

Just cold, efficient, business-like. You feel a knot in your stomach, you're not always a fan of social interactions, especially with people you didn't know.

It made you nervous. 

*-*

The next day, you were sitting in the not so comfy chairs right outside the library, in the hall. Your Marshall headphones absolutely blasting some metal- Silvera by Gojira- because of course. You were waiting for Nanami, your leg jumping up and down, the chain on your pants jingling ever so slightly. And you were toying with your tongue piercing, which you probably shouldn't be doing in public, but it's a nervous habit at this point.

You've got a few minutes before Nanami shows up for the first official group meeting, and you're already wishing you could just skip the whole thing.

The music helps. 

Sort of.

Just make it through this, and it'll be over before you know it, you tell yourself. Just try to be normal. Don't screw this up.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You hate these awkward situations. It's like your brain goes into overdrive the moment you're forced into a new dynamic.

The minutes crawl by. You check the time. He's late. By three minutes? You tap your foot faster, frustrated.

Finally, Nanami strolls into view. Of course he looks like he's just stepped out of some glossy magazine, perfectly composed, hair looking like it belongs on the cover of Vogue- you wonder how sharp his damn jawline is. He doesn't even rush to get to you. He walks calmly, his steps measured like he's not even in a hurry.

"Sorry I'm late," he said. 

"No worries." You pause your music, turning off the headphones as you put them in your book bag. 

You grab your bag, and the two of you stroll into the library, and sit at a table near one of the large windows. The sunlight streams in, making you squint just a little.

"Okay," you say, forcing yourself to speak first. "So... what do we need to do for this project?"

You're not the best at these things—social interactions with new people tend to make you feel like you're doing everything wrong, like every word that leaves your mouth could be the wrong one.

He doesn't respond imidietely, he flips open his notebook with that same deliberate calm. It's like he's prepared for everything already, and you're just the last-minute addition. You're not used to working with people who act like they already have it all together. It makes you feel... out of place.

Your eyes flicker from his notebook, his hand, to his face.

"I've already got some notes down," he says, finally breaking the silence, his voice smooth and even. "I think we should focus on how law impacts psychological theories—specifically criminal psychology."

"Right," you reply,trying not to sound too weird. "Sounds... good. I mean, I know some stuff about criminal psychology."

You both look down at your notes. A weird silence settles for a second..

"Okay, so we'll split the work then," he says finally, without even asking what you think. "I'll handle the legal side. You can focus on the psychological theories."

You clear your throat. 

"Sure. Sounds like a plan."

*-*

The first few weeks were rocky as hell.

On the outside, you're organized. You've got all your notes neatly compiled, timelines marked down in your planner like some kind of model student.Notes neatly compiled? Check. Timelines drawn out in your planner with color-coded pens? Check. A folder labeled in precise Sharpie handwriting—Nanami Kento because, apparently, you were feeling extra that day? Check. 

You're efficient. You're capable. 

But beneath that layer of outward control, you're a mess.

Your brain didn't stop. Ever.

Every time you sit down to work, you feel the weight of it all—the pressure to do things right, to not mess up, to make a good impression. You can't help it; you always feel like you're walking a tightrope.

A walking bundle of stress.

But still, you power through it. You're smart enough to know what you're doing. You get the work done. You turn in your sections on time, all carefully researched and well-written. It's just the part where you have to interact that's the problem.

Nanami. Quiet. Distant. 

Annoyingly perfect Nanami, who never said anything more than he absolutely had to.

One day, you decide to push past the anxiety and just talk. Just talk. It's so easy in your head. You'll just ask him something random, maybe about the topic, maybe something more personal. Anything to get him to engage. You approach him after class, nerves humming in your chest.

"Hey, Nanami," you say, trying for casual. "I was thinking we could—uh, maybe—grab coffee and brainstorm? You know, to get ahead on the project?"

You'd rehearsed it in your head a dozen times. This wasn't supposed to feel like walking into an active volcano.

"I'm fine with just working through the notes," he responds, voice flat and detached.

Oh. Okay. Cool. Sure. Great.

You nod stiffly, smiling like it's not eating you up inside. 

"Right. No problem."

You weren't exactly a loner. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that you were stuck in this godforsaken law class for six months. Six. Whole. Months. And all your friends? They'd already knocked this requirement out of the way semesters ago. You were the last one, the straggler, the odd one out.

The law faculty was 24 minutes away from the Psychology and Health building. You'd timed it. Twice. It meant you couldn't pop over to see your friends between classes, and they couldn't come to you. Even during breaks, you were stuck wandering the halls like some kind of ghost.

So, yeah. You were alone. Completely, totally, painfully alone.

*-*

You tried.

You really did.

For weeks, you made a conscious effort to bridge the gaping chasm between you and Nanami. You complimented his organization skills, because seriously, the man's planner was like something out of a productivity cult's fever dream: color-coded tabs, clean handwriting, even sticky notes aligned with ruler-like precision.

"Your notes are impressive," you said once, hoping it sounded casual and not desperate. "Like, borderline superhuman. Mine look like a crime scene in comparison."

He'd glanced at you, his expression unreadable, and replied with a flat, "Thank you."

That was it. No follow-up. No "oh, let me see yours" or even the faintest flicker of interest.

Just. Thank you.

So you tried a different approach. One day after class, you threw out an idea: 

"Hey, I was thinking—we could study together sometime? Maybe go over the readings or brainstorm ideas. I mean, two heads are better than one, right?"

He adjusted his bag strap and responded in his usual, maddeningly polite tone. "I think it's more efficient if we continue working independently."

Efficient. He'd said it like you were a factory line. Not like two human beings trapped in the same unfortunate group project.

You plastered on a tight smile. "Right. Efficient. Got it."

So that was it. From then on you kept things strictly professional.

Or tried to anyways.

*-*

And it got worse the third week of class.

Not Nanami specifically, but the others. You thought you'd been keeping a low profile—sitting at the back of the lecture hall, barely making a sound, trying to just coast through it. But even in the back, you still managed to stand out. You couldn't help it. The piercings, the eyeliner, the mismatched layers— only for them to all stop and stare at the girl in the corner with the combat boots and chaotic hair.

They weren't the kindest, not to you anyways. 

You kept to yourself, staying in the back of the lecture hall, even though you still stood painfully out.

You weren't stupid. You saw it. You felt it. You just... couldn't do anything about it.

And then it happened.

"Can you imagine having to work with her?"

That voice. One of the guys from the row in front of you. The one with the crisp suit and the perfectly combed hair. "Poor Nanami. That's gotta suck, huh?"

You froze. Nanami. The name hung in the air like an accusation.

"She's a freak. I mean, have you seen her?" Another voice. This one higher-pitched, feminine. She had that smug tone. The one that made your skin crawl. "You'd think someone would tell her to tone it down before she completely ruins her reputation here."

The words hit harder than you'd expected. They weren't even directed at you. They were about you.

"Yeah, Nanami's probably just trying to get through it. That project's already doomed."

"Poor guy. He's too nice to just flat-out say it, but I bet he's wishing he got paired with anyone else."

You couldn't breathe for a second. You wanted to shrink into your seat and disappear. A freak? Ruining his reputation?

Your stomach churned. This wasn't just judgment. It was pity. Pity that tasted worse than anything else. You weren't a freak, you were just... a bit different. And anyways, you fit in perfectly with your crowd, these people weren't said crowd. You weren't doing anything wrong. You were just trying to survive this godforsaken class.

But in their eyes? No. You were an obstacle to their perfect little law world.

You bit down on your lip, hard enough to taste blood. Don't cry. Don't give them the satisfaction. Don't show weakness.

You could still hear the murmur of their conversation in the background, distant but sharp.

"I don't know how he puts up with her," the guy said again.

Your hands were shaking. You couldn't even look up.

The professor's voice rang out then, snapping you back into the present.

"Alright, everyone, back to the material."

You just wanted to go home.

--

A/n: the reason that this is "short" is that i got a ... rud-ish anon ask telling me that my posts were too long so.. i hope this is better haha. Part two will be posted within the hour i think (and linked on this post)

:)

[ssa-dado]

3 - A Philosopher and a Lawyer walk into a Cafè

Aaron Hotchner's x bau!fem!reader

Genre: fluff, sapiosexual fluff

Summary: You and Hotch's playful rivalry deepens as you bring him a coffee, sparking witty banter and an unspoken connection. You work together on a complex case involving philosophical murders, impressing each other with your insights. Amid teasing about a fictional romance between Rossi and Gideon, you and Hotch’s bond strengthens, both appreciating the natural rhythm of working together while unknowingly being quietly supported by your mentors. Warnings: Usual graphic CM kind of case, Reader being a Prehistoric Reid, Gissi being so strong they even named a town for them.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Dado's Corner: Thesis, Antithesis, Synthesis. Mark my words, they could be helpful in the long run. We might get close to the second stage sooner than you think.

previous part: Early birds ; masterlist

It was another early morning at the BAU, and you found yourself in the local coffee shop just around the corner from the office. The morning chill clung to your coat as you stepped inside, the familiar hum of the espresso machine and the comforting aroma of fresh coffee filling the air.

You you were eager to finally being able to order your usual - a double espresso - as you found yourself already savouring the taste and smell of it, especially after all those days of being forced to drink the burnt coffee they provided at work. On a whim, decided to grab something for Hotch as well.

He had been beating you to the office every day, and despite your friendly rivalry, you knew the coffee at work was terrible. You imagined Hotch downing that bitter, overbrewed mess every morning, and the thought made you grimace.

"One black coffee, no sugar," you told the barista, after all, Hotch seemed like the kind of man who appreciated perfectly crafted simplicity.

Arriving at the office, you made your way to the bullpen, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction at the thought of catching Hotch off guard. As expected, there he was, already at his desk, his navy suit perfectly pressed, tie in place, and eyes glued to his case file. You couldn't help but roll your eyes, both annoyed and impressed by his consistency.

Hotch glanced up as you approached, a faint look of surprise crossing his features when he noticed the second coffee cup in your hand.

“Morning,” you said casually, setting the coffee on his desk. “Thought you might appreciate something better than the sludge they serve here.”

Hotch looked down at the cup, a hint of gratitude flickering in his eyes before he masked it with his usual composed expression. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to bring my own, but, well, you know how it is.” He picked up the cup, taking a sip and letting out a satisfied sigh.

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze meeting yours with a wry smile. “So, what’s the excuse this time? You figured you’d never make it here before me, so you’re hedging your bets by blaming your tardiness on stopping for coffee?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Actually, I thought you might need a little recognition for all your hard work. I didn’t think you’d still be going along with this whole rivalry.” You gave him a teasing look, knowing full well that he thrived on the unspoken challenge between you.

Hotch’s smirk softened, his eyes briefly betraying how much he appreciated the gesture. “Well, it’s not every day someone bothers to get me a decent cup of coffee, but you don’t have to go out of your way. Even if I’m not complaining.” He took another sip, savoring the taste that was far superior to the bitter brew he usually endured.

You shrugged, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Consider it my one good deed for the day. But don’t think this means I’m letting you win without a fight.”

Hotch nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “I appreciate the coffee, but now I owe you. I’ll have to get you a properly made coffee sometime, just to keep us even.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning closer as if conspiring. “Hotch, you owe me more than just one coffee for the stress you’ve caused me with this little game.”

He met your gaze with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, I’m not causing you stress. You’re the one driving yourself crazy trying to keep up.”

You scoffed playfully, unable to deny that he had a point. But Hotch’s eyes softened slightly, and he added, “But you’re right. I do owe you. In fact, I’ll make you a deal: I’ll buy you one coffee for every day I beat you here, until the day you finally arrive earlier than me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, shaking your head at the sheer audacity. “You’re such a lawyer, you know that? You’re making a deal that actually only benefits you. What’s stopping me from showing up later on purpose just to drain your wallet?”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he gave a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe that’s the idea. Give you a bigger distraction, make you think about something other than beating me. It works out well for me in the long run.”

You couldn’t help but admire the cleverness of his plan, realizing that if you fell for it, you’d be distracted by the rewards rather than the competition itself. “Wow. I’ve got to hand it to you, Hotch. In the long run, I’d end up showing up later and later, making it even easier for you. Impressive.”

Hotch raised his cup in mock toast, clearly pleased that you saw right through his scheme. “I’m surprised you caught on. I was hoping to pull one over on you for a while longer.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms with a triumphant smile. “You have no idea how good I am at outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head in genuine amusement. “Touché.”

“Deal’s still on, though,” you said, holding out your hand as if to seal it formally. “But don’t think for a second I’m going to change my routine just because you’re bribing me with coffee.”

Hotch took your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Of course not.”

But today, something else was on Hotch’s mind. As you settled in, you noticed Hotch was already deeply absorbed in a case file, the intensity of his focus suggesting he was waiting for something, or someone.

Hotch flipped open the file in front of him, his eyes scanning the pages with a keen intensity. As he read through the details, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. This case was unlike most he’d worked on recently: it was layered with philosophical references, obscure quotes, and an unsub whose modus operandi seemed to be influenced by complex philosophical ideologies. He knew exactly who would be perfect to consult on this, but rather than asking for help directly, he had something else in mind.

With a subtle shift, Hotch angled the file just enough to leave the corner of a page visible from your desk. It was a deliberate move, calculated to catch your attention. If he knew you - and by now, he did - you wouldn’t be able to resist taking a peek.

He didn’t have to wait long. You settled into your chair and immediately noticed the stray page peeking out from Hotch’s desk. The faint, familiar names and terms you could make out - “Nietzsche,” “existential morality,” “nihilism” - caught your eye. You tried to concentrate on your own files, but curiosity got the better of you. Your gaze kept drifting back to that page.

Simulating a casual stretch, you leaned forward, pretending to adjust something on your desk while sneaking a better look at Hotch’s case. The notes detailed a series of murders where the unsub left behind cryptic quotes from philosophers, each one linked to the specific way the victims were killed. It was more than just a pattern; it was a philosophical puzzle, woven into every aspect of the crime scenes.

You couldn’t suppress the gasp that escaped your lips as the pieces clicked in your mind. “Oh my God,” you muttered, momentarily forgetting where you were.

Hotch glanced up, hiding his satisfaction at your reaction. He had set the bait perfectly, and you had walked right into it. The moment was even more rewarding for him, especially considering your previous bragging about being great at "outsmarting lawyers who think they can outsmart me first", only to now prove that you were, in fact, a little more ordinary than you'd let on. “Something on your mind, Y/N?”

You blinked, realizing you’d been caught. “I- uh, sorry. I couldn’t help but notice... are those quotes from Nietzsche? And Kierkegaard?” You pointed vaguely in the direction of his file, trying not to sound too eager.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider your question. “It seems that way. The unsub is leaving these quotes at the scenes, but the exact reasoning behind his selections is still unclear.”

You moved closer, unable to resist the lure of the philosophical elements woven into the case. “He’s not just picking these at random,” you said, your mind already racing with theories. “Look at this, Nietzsche’s ‘Beyond Good and Evil’ is quoted here, right next to how the victim was killed. He’s making a statement about morality, or the lack of it, in a deeply personal way.”

Hotch nodded, observing the way you immersed yourself in the details. “Go on,” he prompted, genuinely intrigued by your insights.

You flipped through the pages, your fingers tracing the notes. “Nietzsche challenges conventional morality, especially the binary of good and evil. The unsub seems to be echoing that: he’s positioning himself as someone who operates outside the realm of typical moral standards. Each murder isn’t just a killing; it’s a message that he’s transcended normal ethical constraints.”

Hotch watched you intently, his brow furrowing as he processed your explanation. “So he’s justifying his actions through philosophy? Twisting these ideas to fit his narrative?”

You nodded, flipping to another page with a different quote: “He who fights with monsters should be careful lest he thereby become a monster.” You pointed at the crime scene photo beside it. “This victim was restrained, but not in the usual way. It’s almost as if he’s trying to make a point about the nature of becoming what we despise. He’s projecting his internal struggle onto his victims.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened as he absorbed your analysis. “He sees himself as above society’s rules, above good and evil.”

“Exactly,” you replied. “This isn’t just about murder. It’s about the philosophical struggle of defining oneself beyond societal constraints. The unsub doesn’t see himself as evil; he sees himself as someone exploring the limits of human morality.”

Hotch leaned back, clearly impressed. “And what about this one?” He pointed to another crime scene photo. A quote from Kierkegaard was scrawled near the body: “Anxiety is the dizziness of freedom.”

You stared at the quote, considering the implications. “Kierkegaard speaks about existential dread and the overwhelming responsibility of true freedom. By leaving this quote, the unsub is hinting at his own struggle with the concept of freedom, how it can be paralyzing, even deadly. His victims aren’t just casualties; they’re expressions of his own inner turmoil about freedom and choice.”

Hotch glanced at you, his expression thoughtful. “So he’s not just a killer, he’s using these murders to explore and express his own philosophical beliefs.”

“Right,” you said, feeling the thrill of the chase. “He’s trying to elevate his crimes to a form of existential art. Each murder is his way of grappling with these big ideas, like a twisted performance meant to provoke thought.”

Hotch studied you, clearly impressed. He’d expected insights, but your depth of understanding went beyond his expectations. “This angle is exactly what we need to get inside his head,” he said quietly.

You smiled, feeling both flattered and invigorated. “I can help. I mean, if you want me to. I’ve studied these philosophies for years: existentialism, nihilism, all of it. I think I can figure out what he’s trying to communicate and why he’s doing it this way.”

Hotch allowed himself another rare smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “So this was your idea all along? You knew I’d snoop.”

Hotch shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “I had a hunch. And I thought you might enjoy this one.”

The two of you spent the rest of the morning poring over the crime scene photos and quotes, dissecting the unsub’s motivations in a way that felt less like work and more like an intense intellectual duel. At one point, Hotch leaned in, pointing at a particular quote scrawled in blood at one of the scenes: “One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.”

“He’s obsessed with the idea of chaos and creation,” Hotch said thoughtfully. “He’s not just killing, he’s trying to create something.”

You nodded, your mind racing. “Nietzsche believed that from chaos comes creation: an artist’s need to disrupt the ordinary to bring something extraordinary into existence. The unsub sees himself as a kind of artist, but his canvas is human life. He’s trying to provoke a reaction, make a statement that only he believes in.”

Hotch’s gaze was sharp, but you could see the respect in his eyes. “He’s creating his own twisted masterpiece.”

“Exactly,” you said. “He’s redefining morality in his own terms, using his victims to express his philosophical journey.”

The hours flew by as you and Hotch continued to unravel the unsub’s mindset, bouncing theories off each other with a rhythm that felt natural. You had found a way to speak the same language, not just of profiling but of the deeper, darker corners of human thought.

As the day wore on, the bullpen filled with the sounds of the rest of the team returning from their work. Rossi passed by your desks, noticing the two of you deeply engaged in discussion.

“Looks like you’ve finally found your match, Hotch,” Rossi said with a smirk. “She’s giving you a run for your money.”

Hotch didn’t look up from the file, but you could see the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “She’s good,” he said simply, but the pride in his voice was unmistakable.

Rossi raised an eyebrow at you, clearly impressed. “Well, don’t let him work you too hard. And Hotch, try not to steal all her ideas.”

You both laughed, knowing that this case had brought you closer as partners, not just colleagues. The connection between you and Hotch had deepened; it wasn’t just about early mornings or the rivalry anymore. It was about understanding each other on a level that few could reach.

“Thanks, Hotch. For letting me dive into this.” You smiled at him as you packed up for the day.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer than usual. “I didn’t just let you help. I needed you on this one.”

As you left the office together, the day’s work behind you, you felt the connection you’d built still very much alive. You were learning, growing, and with Hotch by your side, you felt like you could take on anything. And as you drove home that night, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, Hotch felt the same way.

The next morning, you walked into the office with a heavy sigh. The thrill of unofficially working with Hotch on a complex case filled with philosophical nuances had left you buzzing with excitement the night before, but today was a completely different story.

You knew what awaited you: a mountain of paperwork that had absolutely nothing to do with profiling or unraveling the twisted minds of criminals. Instead, it was the mundane side of the job: filing reports, cross-referencing witness statements, and all the bureaucratic tedium that no one warned you about when you signed up to chase unsubs.

As you approached your desk, your mood dipped even further. Sitting squarely in the center was a towering stack of files, the sight of which nearly made you sick. You let out a groan, dropping your bag on the floor and staring at the pile as if you could will it away with sheer force of will.

“Really?” you muttered to yourself, mentally preparing for a long and grueling morning. But as you reached for the first file, something odd caught your eye. The top sheet had been filled out, every line neatly completed in precise handwriting. You frowned, flipping through the next few files only to find the same, each one meticulously filled out, every detail recorded with the same practiced precision. It didn’t take long for you to recognize the writing: slanted slightly to the left, with the occasional sharp flourish, the unmistakable penmanship of a left-handed person.

It was Hotch’s.

Your heart skipped a beat as you rifled through the entire stack, realizing that all the paperwork had been completed. At the bottom of the pile, nestled beneath the last file, was a small note. You picked it up, already smiling as you recognized Hotch’s handwriting.

“Your philosophy degree helped me. Let my prosecutor years be helpful to you.”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up, a mix of relief and gratitude washing over you. He hadn’t just helped you out, he’d done it in a way that perfectly mirrored your new dynamic, a balance of give and take that was starting to feel natural.

You glanced up across your desk, Hotch was of course, engrossed in yet another case file, but you could tell by the way his shoulders were set that he knew exactly what he’d done and was just waiting for you to notice. You grabbed the note, determined to thank him but also to give him a hard time for beating you to the punch once again.

“Hey,” you said. Hotch looked up, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. You held up the note, shaking it lightly. “So, when did you decide to moonlight as my personal assistant?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, his expression carefully neutral, but there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You looked like you had enough on your plate after yesterday,” he said simply. “Figured I could put my old skills to use.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Hotch, this would’ve taken hours. You really didn’t have to do all of this.”

“I know,” he replied, his tone casual but sincere. “But after all the philosophical guidance you gave me yesterday, I thought I’d return the favor. Call it a mutual exchange of expertise.”

You smiled, feeling warmth spread through you. “Well, thank you. Seriously. This is way above and beyond.”

Hotch nodded, but there was a playful edge to his voice when he spoke next. “Hopefully now you don’t hate lawyers as much.”

“Touché,” you said, grinning. “I guess you’ve proven that some lawyers can be... tolerable.”

Hotch gave a mock look of offense. “Tolerable? I’ll take it.” He paused, then added more seriously, “It’s not about winning, you know. At least, not in this line of work. It’s about finding the truth, even if it means doing the boring parts.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to see that” you admitted, still holding the note between your fingers. “Thanks for reminding me.”

You looked over the stack of completed reports, still impressed by how thorough Hotch had been. “Some of this paperwork was from cases I wrapped up a week ago. How did you know all the details? Did you just magically know what to write?”

Hotch leaned back in his chair, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. “What, you think you’re the only one entitled to snoop around your coworkers’ files?!”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “So you’ve been snooping on me? I thought that was my job.”

Hotch’s smirk widened, and he shrugged casually. “I learned from the best. You think I haven’t noticed you trying to catch a glimpse of my cases all this time?”

You couldn’t suppress the laugh that bubbled up. “I guess that makes us even.”

“Not quite,” he quipped, his tone teasing but his expression still composed. “I’m just better at not getting caught.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning against the edge of his desk. “Guess I’ll have to up my game then.”

Hotch chuckled, a rare and genuine sound that caught you by surprise. “Good luck with that. But seriously, I figured I’d save you some time. I know how much you the paperwork side of this job isn’t the most entertaining one.”

You nodded, appreciating the gesture more than you could express. “Well, I have to admit, you did a pretty good job... for a snooper.”

“Better than tolerable?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, clearly amused by your earlier choice of words.

“Don’t push it,” you shot back with a grin. “But I’ll give you this: you’re pretty good at reading between the lines, even when it’s not a case file.”

Hotch nodded, his expression softening. “It’s all part of the job. And hey, if you ever need help with the paperwork again, just let me know. I don’t mind putting those old lawyer skills to use, once in a while.”

“Deal,” you said, pushing off his desk and heading back to your own. “But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with this kind of espionage forever.”

Hotch’s eyes sparkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

He was already back to work, his usual intensity in place, but he looked up just long enough to catch your eye and give you a brief, almost imperceptible nod.

You nodded back, smiling. “Jokes apart, thank you, Hotch, really.”

“You’re welcome,” he said finally, his voice softer. “And if you ever feel like helping me out with another case like yesterday’s, just let me know.”

You gave him a playful salute. “Deal. But don’t think I won’t call you out when I catch you snooping through my files next time.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with restrained laughter. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Meanwhile Gideon leaned against the doorframe of Rossi’s office, watching his old friend sift through a case file with the kind of focused intensity that had made him a legend in the Bureau. But today, Gideon wasn’t there to discuss a case. He had noticed something recently, an unexpected but welcome development among the team, one that involved you and Hotch.

“Got a minute, Dave?” Gideon asked, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.

Rossi looked up, raising an eyebrow at the unusually cheerful tone. “For you, always. What’s going on?”

Gideon stepped inside, closing the door behind him. He glanced briefly through the blinds, catching sight of you and Hotch at your desks, deep in your usual quiet exchanges. “I’ve been watching Y/N and Hotch,” he began, leaning casually against the desk. “I have to say, I’m impressed. She’s only been here a few weeks, but they’ve already got something… special going on.”

Rossi smirked, setting his file down. “You mean the way she’s got him smiling at eight in the morning? Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like watching a miracle unfold.”

Gideon chuckled quietly. “I knew she was something special when I first saw her at the academy, but I didn’t expect her to click with Hotch so fast. They’re both pretty guarded, but when they’re working together... it’s like they’re speaking their own language.”

Rossi nodded thoughtfully, following Gideon’s gaze through the blinds. “They’re a good match. She challenges him in ways the rest of us don’t, and he’s bringing out something in her, too. You know, you were right to pair them up on that first case. You planned this, didn’t you?”

Gideon shrugged, a faint smile playing at his lips. “I had a feeling. Hotch needed someone who could challenge his perspective, shake up his routine a little. And she… well, I knew she’d benefit from his discipline, his way of grounding things when they get too abstract. Plus, I figured if they didn’t kill each other, they’d probably make a great team.”

Rossi leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “I guess we both had our little plans, didn’t we? You remember that guy who used to sit at the desk in front of Hotch?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, surprised by the turn of the conversation. “The one who suddenly had that one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to lead an undercover operation? That was you?”

Rossi’s grin widened. “Oh, yeah. He was a really good agent, an excellent one actually, but he was never really a fit for teamwork. I saw an opening and might’ve... nudged him in that direction. You kept going on about Y/N back then, about how her expertise in philosophy would be an asset to the BAU. You even gave me this whole rundown of her personality: sharp, quick-witted, not afraid to push back. I knew right then she’d be perfect for Hotch.”

Gideon laughed, shaking his head. “You sneaky son of a... You were setting this up long before she even started.”

Rossi nodded, a twinkle in his eyes. “You convinced me she’d bring something new, but I could see it wasn’t just about adding a fresh perspective. I saw the potential for something more, a partnership that would push both of them. So yeah, I cleared the way a little. Let’s just say the seating arrangements weren’t accidental.”

Gideon pointed a finger at Rossi, his face alight with amusement. “And you call me sly? You practically orchestrated the whole thing.”

Rossi chuckled. “I just gave them the stage. The rest? That’s all them.”

Meanwhile, outside Rossi’s office, you spotted the two veteran profilers deep in conversation. You couldn’t help but smirk, seeing the perfect chance to tease Hotch about his painfully awkward first attempt to break the ice with you during your first field case together. An interaction so miserable that neither of you ever brought it up again, especially the bizarre conspiracy theory he tried to use as common ground. But you just couldn’t resist bringing back your old inside joke: the running gag that Rossi and Gideon were secretly an item.

You turned to Hotch, who was diligently working on another file, and without saying a word, you nodded your head in the direction of Rossi’s office. He glanced up, following your line of sight, and immediately caught on. With a slight raise of his eyebrow and a smirk playing on his lips, he leaned back in his chair, pretending to stretch but really angling himself to get a better view through the blinds.

“Can’t believe they’re still trying to keep it under wraps,” you whispered, your tone dripping with mock seriousness. “It’s like they think we’re not onto them.”

Hotch chuckled softly, surprised that you were bringing up that old joke again. He kept his voice low so as not to be overheard. “Clearly discussing anniversary plans. I bet Rossi forgot to book the romantic getaway Gideon’s been hinting at for weeks.”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh, nodding along. “You’d think after all these years, Rossi would know better. Gideon’s a stickler for anniversaries.”

Hotch’s expression was one of pure mischief. “I swear, if Rossi starts another argument about their anniversary dinner being interrupted by Bureau business, I’m not sure even Gideon can save them this time.”

You shook your head, enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “Maybe that’s why Gideon looks so serious. He’s probably rethinking the whole relationship. Can’t be easy dealing with a partner who’s constantly prioritizing work.”

Hotch’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he added, “Gideon’s probably thinking about counseling, he’d better hope Rossi can handle it. You know how he gets about any ‘psychological mumbo jumbo.’”

Inside Rossi’s office, Gideon continued, unaware of the playful scrutiny from outside. “So, we’re agreed then? We let them work together more often?”

Rossi nodded, smiling at the thought. “Definitely. They’ll keep each other sharp. Besides, it’s fun watching Hotch get flustered.”

Gideon laughed softly. “It’s not just fun, it’s necessary. I think we’re seeing something good here, Dave. They’ve got the makings of a great partnership.”

Back outside, you and Hotch continued your banter as you watched Rossi and Gideon converse through the glass. You turned to Hotch with a mock serious look. “You know, at this point, I’m half expecting them to make a grand announcement at the next briefing.”

Hotch nodded sagely, playing along. “It’ll be the talk of the office. I’m just waiting for the inevitable joint vacation request.”

You both laughed quietly, and for a moment, it was just you two, lost in the absurdity of your ongoing joke. It was moments like these that made the long hours and high stakes of the job more bearable, and as you glanced over at Hotch, you realized just how much you appreciated these little breaks from reality.

Hotch turned back to his work, but not before giving you one last, knowing smile. “You know, if this keeps up, we might have to start planning their wedding.”

You pretended to think about it, grinning. “Oh, I’ve already got the venue in mind. I’m thinking a quaint little spot in the woods, somewhere private, just the two of them.”

Hotch chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re too good at this.”

“And you’re just as bad,” you shot back playfully.

As you both returned to your respective tasks, the bond between you and Hotch felt stronger than ever.

Little did you know, the very pairing that had sparked your inside joke was also the one that had recognized your potential as a duo, quietly cheering you on.

[missfrustration]

very professional nights (sanji x f!reader) 18+

rating: explicit 18+, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, smut. oral sex, pussy eating, top sanji, vaginal fingering, praise kink, "good girl," boss/employee relationship, teasing, power imbalance, edgeplay, desk sex, office sex, no use of y/n

A/n: this story inspired me to become a fanfiction writer. also on my ao3. enjoy!

word count: 4.9k

Your crew was assigned to serve meals to a hundred marines at the end of last night. It wasn’t until well past midnight that you collapsed into bed after cleaning up the aftermath. You dismissed the others for the night so they could wake up on time for the morning shift, leaving you to stay longer.

Thus, you woke up late for your morning shift. You scrambled to get ready for the next twelve hours of prep work.

Just as you were about to pass out from exhaustion peeling carrots for the 4th time today during your shift, you jolted when you felt something jab into your back. 

“What do you-” You were cut off by the presence of the tall, suited figure behind you. 

Sanji, the co-head chef in the Baratie, was second to the head. Rebellious as he was towards Zeff, no one on the whole boat could deny his god-like skills in the kitchen. 

You have a bad feeling about this. 

“Miss, what’s your excuse for coming to work so late? I was notified of your tardiness.” He spoke sternly, cigarette in mouth.

You stood up straight and put your peeler down, “I’m sorry, it was a busy night for my crew and me yesterday with all the orders we made. Zeff decided to have my group handle those marines at the last minute, and I had to stay up late to close.”

Sanji looked at you while he took a long drag of his cigarette. Thank God he didn’t blow it at you, but you still smelled the earthy smoke from where you were standing. 

“While I understand the circumstances of last night, that isn’t a good excuse to come to work an hour late. Especially in those clothes.” He peered down.

Clothes? Oh, shit-

You looked down to see yourself in plain clothes from last night, not in your standard uniform. You didn’t even notice when you put on your apron for the day. You cursed yourself for not being attentive enough this morning, as well as those damned marines for being the cause of it all.

On top of that, you aren’t even wearing a bra! That’s the only piece of clothing you took off last night before you passed out. As if it couldn’t get worse, your apron doesn’t fully cover your chest area. The t-shirt wasn’t a v-cut, but someone looking straight at you could see your braless chest peeking out the sides of the apron if they glanced. 

You look back up to face Sanji. “I’m so sorry, Sanj-I mean, sir. I can go to my room and change if I need to.”

His face was stern, but you didn’t miss the glance he gave at your chest. It made your face flush red with embarrassment. You would give anything to dissolve out of the boat and sink to the bottom of the sea floor right now. 

“You’re already here. Although your behavior is unacceptable, it’d be a waste of time to leave on the job now…”

He did the glance again but kept the assertive glare. Something about his expression and what he just said made it off. Maybe he was holding back on firing you right on the spot to save you from the embarrassment of doing it in front of the others? 

“Of course, sir.” You say, looking down at his shoes and playing with the hem of your shirt. 

“Just change as soon as you finish today. Wash the dishes before you leave, too. For now, that will be your punishment. As much as I hate serving ricotta for the seventh time this hour, we must be awake to get the job done.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“It won’t happen again, sir. I apologize for the trouble.”

His face softened slightly at your apology, but he still persevered. As you turned around to return to your station’s duties, he got your attention again.

“Also. Miss, please come to my office for remedial chores tonight. Fix today’s act, and make it eight tonight sharp. Do not be late this time.”

Before you could turn around and agree, he was already making his way out, a trail of smoke following him. You stood there for a moment. Remedial work? You know it can be dished out to rookies who mess up, but never by Sanji. It’s typically another co-head or even Zeff himself. 

Were you going to get kicked off the staff?

-

It was a half hour before you had to head to Sanji’s office, and you found your feet pacing circles in your room. You didn’t know what to think. Were you about to do just remedial work, or was Sanji ready to kick you off the Baratie? 

When you checked the clock, it was almost time to go. You hastily dressed in plain clothes, adjusted your hair, and hopped out the door in a few minutes. With only a few paces to the top floor of the Baratie, you reached the wing of the superiors’ dorms and stopped at the room with the plaque Sanji .

You reach for the handle. When you touch it, you see it swing back and look up. On the other side is Sanji, looking down at you with a dead cigarette in his mouth, leaning against the doorframe. You are startled by the sudden meeting of your eyes and quickly look away. You frantically think of something to say as you struggle to think of anything coherent. 

“Good evening, Miss. You’re on time.” He smiles. You see the cigarette flick up and down when he talks. 

“Hello, sir.”

You noticed his tie loosened and his shirt unbuttoned, showing his broad clavicle and upper chest peeking out.

He takes a step towards you. Without breaking eye contact, he takes your hand into both of his, lowers his head, and kisses it slowly. He gently raises his head again as he places your hand back at your side.

“Please, come in.” He opens the door the rest of the way, standing on the opposite side of the door frame as you walk in. 

You nervously step in as your eyes enter the spacious office before you. He leads you to the desk area in front of windows the size of saucers. Indeed, his suite was a damn luxury. Maybe it was the gentleman in him that preferred a classy room.

As he slowly walked you to his desk, he pulled up a nice, polished wooden chair and placed it opposite the desk. As you walked up, he pulled the chair out for you to sit and motioned you forward. His hand lightly brushed your back as you walked closer. 

“Sit down, please, darling.” He said warmly.

For some reason, the combination of the slight contact and gentle words of Sanji made you blush a little. You felt your ears turn hot as you sat.

He slowly pushed your chair up to the desk and walked out of the room through a door tucked in the corner. 

You anxiously shift in your chair, looking down at the glossy finish of the mahogany desk by the time he comes out.

He held out an unusually large stack of papers.

Oh, you’ve got to be joking with me.

���Here is your remedial work to complete tonight. I want them completed by the time you leave. You will complete them whether it takes one hour or three.”

You take a moment to take in the situation. He hands you the stack as he stands over you, peering down with the cigarette still in his mouth. You glance over the first paper at the top of the pile. It’s… an application? You see the picture of a lady a few years older than you with her personal information and work experiences handwritten on the page.

You look back at him, slightly confused, brushing your facial features. 

“Yes, sir. What do you want me to do exactly?”

“These are our second-quarter applicants for the year. You will review their credentials and determine whether they are fit to work at the Baratie. If they pass your standards, mark the top corner with an ‘O’, or mark them with an ‘X’ if not. As you know, we are cutthroat with our newcomers, so please decide on the best. I trust your judgment with the applications you reject and will review the accepted ones with the others tomorrow.”

The situation presented to you was almost comical. Almost. However, you didn’t want to complain to your superior for fear that he would fire you at any moment like you thought would happen.

So you start.

You examine the first applicant. You read over her credentials, experiences, and interests. She was a promising candidate. Alright, that deserves a pass. You grab the pen, writing an O across the paper. You put it to the side and dived into more applicants.

  X, O, X, X…. 

After a few minutes, you started to fall into a steady routine: X , X, X, O. The pen you used was a smooth ballpoint that beautifully executed your pen strokes. It was very satisfying, and the noise it made was lovely. 

As you listen to your pen making its marks, you hear Sanji’s pen, too. You look up to see him also doing paperwork, casting spells of cursive on the pages. His sleeves are rolled back, and a slight peak of his soft forearm muscles shows. As your eyes travel up his arm, you take in his expression. His soft golden hair falls over one eye as he looks at his papers with the other. His pale face is calm, with parted, soft lips. You admire him as he eyes the pages, and on top of it, his curled brow slightly furrows with every new page. He’s so…-

-Oh God. A blush quickly erupts as your eyes dart back to your papers. You barely glanced at this applicant before writing an X . Oops. Sorry about that, bro. You take a slight exhale and focus on your forms. 

X, X, O, X. 

You feel good about the speed you’ve been going with. You’re sure that it’ll take you under an hour to get through it, give or take a few applicants that might take a little more review. With every new applicant, you feel somewhat relieved that this will be all the punishment you’ll get. Being fired was about the worst-case scenario, and the possibility of it now diminished with the stroke of each mark. 

That’s when you hear Sanji’s pen stop. You pause slowly. Without raising your head, you see his hand still holding the pen. His veins peak out as he taps the pen on the table. His forefinger methodically lifts into the air and swiftly taps the pen up and down. You slowly raise your head by traveling up his arms, enthralled by the picture you’ve painted in your daydreams. 

Sanji’s staring straight at you when you look at him. 

“Caught you.”

You freeze, instantly getting flustered after meeting his eyes. You quickly focus on your assignments, pretending you’ve been doing your paperwork again. He breaks the silence after a few moments.

“What were you doing, darling?”

“I- What? I was uh…” You blink, desperately trying to rack up any excuse in your head, only drawing blanks. You look intently at your papers, blurring the words and meshing them together in your head. You hear Sanji drop his pen and look up.

Sanji closes his eyes and sighs. He slowly rises from his desk, walks over to your side, and bends forward to peer down right over you. You squirm under his gaze.

“Eyes on your paper, my dear.” He says, putting a hand on your head and tilting it back down.

“Yes, sir.”

You snatched your pen, shakily marking the first page and moving to the next with feigned composure.

You can barely concentrate with Sanji’s full attention on you. You gulp and keep going. You feel his stoic gaze increase with every ‘X’ and ‘O’ you write down. He leans in closer to you as he examines your applicant choices. Your pace is relatively slow at this point, as your heart races with each increasing minute of his actions.

Sanji has always made you less anxious than your other superiors due to the similarity in age, but this was different. You arch your back slightly at the thought of his increasingly intense gaze.

Before your heart can settle again, his hands land on your chair. The familiar creek of your chair rubs against the floorboards and creeps into the air. You feel the chair give way under you. You grow confused and turn to look at him.

“Keep still. Eyes on your paper, remember?” He softly orders. His face is kind, with raised brows brushing his features. It sends shivers down your spine, and you refrain from talking. You do as you’re told, barely grasping the pen between your fingers. 

The chair is slowly pulled out from under you. You gingerly raise your lower half once you can no longer sit comfortably. Your upper chest now lightly rests on the edge of the desk, and your arms firmly planted beside your paper. From this angle, you feel exposed as your ass slowly perks up. There is no way Sanji hasn’t noticed this. 

There is also no way he hasn’t noticed the amount of work you aren’t doing anymore. 

That’s much more implied as he gives a deep exhale that travels to the nape of your neck. The sensation makes you further perk up your ass as your mind blanks from the proximity. 

The silence is bone-chilling when Sanji pauses. You see from the corner of your eye as he leans back and brushes his hair back with his fingers. 

Your knees are locked, further sticking your ass up in the air. Your feet are widened more than shoulder-width apart, fully spreading you. You would fix it, but you’re too nervous to move out of fear that Sanji would disapprove. Why would he not approve? Rational thought wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. 

Sanji’s hand touches the bottom of your thigh, putting you in another tailspin. You try to stop yourself from saying anything, but it’s too late.

“Haahh, hey…” 

You both freeze.

You were just shy of moaning to him. His hand has stopped midway to the length of your thigh, and you shiver in fright. No doubt Sanji knows you’re considering more than just work now. 

“Are you uncomfortable with this?” He whispers, slowly raising his hand so his finger barely brushes against your thigh. 

You barely know how to respond. So much is running through your mind that concentration on the assignment was thrown out the window. What does he mean by this ? It would be easier to answer if you even know what this is. You slowly try to peer at him from the corner of your eye, hoping to find some answer behind his eyes, when your stomach drops.

He’s biting his lip. 

Oh. So that’s what we’re doing . 

Your heart skips a beat, and your core begins to tighten. Honestly, what a pretty sight for both of you. Still, you’re rightfully confused about this entire situation. You feel dizziness down to your core and can barely get a word out.

But you don’t want him to stop. 

“No, I don’t think so.” You raspily confess. Your humility was hard to hide, as a deep blush formed around your face. 

“Okay, let me know if you are, and I can stop.” He gently encourages you. His touch returns now, traveling from your outer thigh to the roundest part of your ass. You shiver at the touch. 

Sanji leans down to meet the tip of your ear. “Care to tell me why you dressed like that today? I’d like to know.” The sensation of his breath on the back of your ear caused your back to arch more, leaning your ass into his touch. 

Should you answer honestly? It was a decent reason, you thought.

“I spent the night making those orders. I hadn’t realized I showed up this morning dressed that way until you mentioned it, sir.” You say. It indeed was the truth.

“Such indecency. It would help to teach you a lesson, would it not?” He leans forward and whispers into your ear. ”Would that stick better than paperwork?”

Delicious want fills your core, encouraging you to comply with his demands. You try hard not to shift and rub your legs together, but the need to be touched is so severe.

“I think so, sir. I want to see where this goes.”

“Good girl.” He coos. Immediately, you feel a firm slap against your ass, releasing a sudden gasp from your lips. He lovingly rubs the affected area immediately after to soothe the sting. 

“Stay still. Please, don't move your hips.” Sanji says. He leans behind you, reaching both arms around to tug at your jeans button. He sighs in relief as you hear the button come undone.

You feel the jeans around your waist shift as the hands behind you pull them down. The skin around your lower half slowly chills as the cotton jeans depart your side. 

Only your panties remain when the jeans pool around the bottom of your legs. It wasn't that long before your underwear joined your jeans, where Sanji now gets a perfect view of your wet pussy.

You hear Sanji whisper your name, coming off his tongue like it’s a name of majesty.

“Your body is beautiful… like a goddess.” He lays silk compliments on your figure. Bringing his fingertips to touch your face with grace before trailing them down the dips and curves of your body. He brushes panties down the curvature of your ass. It drops down gracefully, and his immediate reaction pans to your slit. 

“Ah. Aphrodite herself fights to have features as blessed as yours.” Sanji sings, leisurely rubbing his fingers up and down your pussy.

From his touch, your pants are intertwined with moans as your voice regains its courage. You feel the outpouring of wetness from your pussy collect on his hands. 

Sanji must be encouraged by the chorus from your lips. He starts to prepare his meal.

“To make you sound like this, to feel like this, is an honor for me. I want to see how much I can please you. Tonight, allow me to indulge in a woman like you.”

Once you can agree, you shamelessly moan at the entry he makes when the pressure of his fingers breaks past your slit. Your back arches from Sanji’s touch. 

He’s pressed flush to your back, letting his fingers sink deep into you as his face appears above your shoulder. His body nears as his hand caresses your cheek. Your head gives in as it is slowly turned towards him. 

You look at him like it’s the first time you’ve laid eyes on him. You see an entirely new face looking at you; one flushed with pure ecstasy from the pleasures you have bestowed him. His face leans into you.

“Let me see those pretty lips, love.” 

The kiss is near divine as you croon your neck to meet his face. Your moans are absorbed into his mouth as you languidly caress his tongue with yours. One hand is firmly against your jaw to leverage it. The other begins to pump into you steadily. 

It's not until he touches an incredibly delicious spot that you freeze entirely. His fingers curled firmly against your g-spot that loves attention. You can’t kiss back anymore as Sanji relentlessly attacks that spot you’ve wanted him to. The sensations of pleasure hit you like a tsunami as your mouth freezes from dancing with Sanji’s.

He pumps his fingers into you slowly, coaxing a whine from you at the sensation. One that fills his open mouth connected so closely to yours.

Sanji’s face pulls from yours.

His hand follows suit as his fingers leave you. A whine of frustration comes out, but you aren’t unsatisfied for long. 

Sanji's lips glide from yours as he stares into your eyes, putting his hands up to his lips.

“If you don’t mind, I‘ll taste my craft now, darling.” He says, never breaking eye contact as he laps up your juices. He groans at the taste. You swear you saw his eyes roll back.

“How are you so sweet on my tongue?” Sanji grabs your chin to look into your eyes, searching in your hues to detect the answer. He thumbs your skin so delicately, pleading for some sort of explanation.

“You… you don’t mean that.” 

“No, my dear. Please know I’m going crazy for you.” Sanji whispered. “You think I would lie to you when you’re like this?”

“No… I don’t think so, but…” 

“Let me show you what I mean, then.”

Sanji leans into you, gently pecking the tips of your ears, then kissing down the length of your neck. He caresses and hugs your body as his lips slowly travel, each kiss gradually delving closer to the throbs you need satiated. 

Sanji handles you like a flower, so gently that you do not wilt but just enough to savor your essence.

“Your back is so beautiful.” He runs his fingers down the divot your spine makes. “Your shoulders are perfect,” Sanji brushes the skin atop your clavicle. ”Your face is heavenly, and…”

He faces your pussy, which he can describe as nothing but…

“Oh, how gorgeous you are, madam. More so than all the seas combined.”

His mouth dives into you.

Graciously, Sanji laps up the dripping wetness coming from your hole. His chilled tongue feels like ice against your magma core, hot to the touch–a seeping slick.

If that didn’t show his desperation enough, the fingernails that grasp onto your hips, rolling them back and forth, do. How he needily presses his tongue to your flower defines a prince finding his long-lost lover. The sloppy slaps of his tongue pillaging you as he rolls your clit between his lips are nothing shy of holy. Your praises come out of you like he were a deity.

Oh, he’s indulging himself, all right. The way he pressed his face to you had his nose scrunched up on your slit, firmly pressing into you as he slurped up his meal.

Your hips start to buck when his arms hug against your thighs, gripping onto them to help him leech onto you. 

Your mouth is cotton from all the panting. You feel irritation in your throat from the dryness that can’t be quenched.

“God, I- haah.” You wish to say more, but words lose you with every swell of pleasure.

He comes up from your plight at your words, panting hard to catch his breath.

“I wish I could savor your taste as long as…For a lifetime, madam…” A sweet exhale escapes from him.

He leans back into your delicate flower, smushing his finger pads against that swollen clit.

The rubs are slow and sensual. It seems that the more you groan and sigh in pleasure, the more he rewards you in pace and intensity. His acute eye for your tone since being touched tells him exactly what your body feels. He senses the rise and fall of your voice when he starts building up the pressure onto that small nub. 

It trains him to move into you the way you need right now. There’s no other way to please you than with his expert hands. His expertise can mold ingredients into masterful delicacies that latch onto your signals now. It’s cooking al dente , using every clue that ingredients give you to exact a recipe. To finish its course and bring it to completion. 

“Oh, beautiful. Like that.” 

His soothing words glide to your ears loud enough for you to hear. His volume is no more than the gentle rocks of the desk you lean on. You know it’s to mask his voice between the walls of his quarters, yet you cannot return the same favor. Your voice is loud and devilish and will no doubt be questioned by Sanji in the morning by the Baratie crew, but you know he won’t deflect why.

Sanji already knows how well you’re telling them the whole story, right now. He doesn’t need to elaborate on a plot that will be known by others once morning comes, yet he works on you knowing it won’t be a perfect story without proper buildup.

Your legs shake from his precise flicks and presses as he coaxes you further. From your mouth exits the voice of a siren but with the beauty of a mermaid swimming toward her pearly gates. To let you go without the grandest finale he could provide was a punishment no better than one a devil could give. Sanji was no devil to do such a thing, but he loved to make moments last. To savor and tenderize the course is what he does best.

His breath dissolves onto your pussy when he praises you. Quick hands switch to his mouth, and fingers divert to the spot above, protruding your pussy lips once again. This switch would’ve been undistinguishable to you if the solo work of his fingers hadn’t converged into a duo with the mouth. Nothing could’ve denied his incredible voice on your clit.

“What a princess, using a voice like that for me.”

You can't fight back the urge to voice another moan, unable to articulate any coherent words to say anything back. You needlessly jerk your hips into him, so desperate to feel more. It’s embarrassing how just his hands and mouth can undo so much of your dignity. 

“P-please, sir. Go faster.” Words slip out of you so quickly you almost miss it. The delirium from the stimulation makes your whole body act without a mind of its own. You stifle yourself, feeling flushed when he pauses.

“Darling, you don’t need to call me that anymore.” He says, “Just say my name.”

“Okay, okay…” 

“Well?”

“What?” 

“You have something you need to say.” 

You jerk your hips into him, trying to get more friction, but you know better than to disobey your superior. 

“Sanji… hah.” You whine, giving in to the cook's wishes.

“Good girl. One more time, please.” He sighs like your voice was the only relief he needed. 

Then Sanji curls his fingers. He curls them hard. You feel it massage your skin with force to poke through your stomach.

“Sanji! Sanji-fuck.”

“Yes, that’s it…”

You spit out his name vigorously when his pumps match your wishes. Your voice is an octave higher now, to Sanji’s delight. He conjures an angelical pitch from you that you can’t conceal. 

“So needy.” He coos. “A madam like you doesn’t need manners when you look as good as this.”

Sanji’s words caress your body and weaken your hold on rationality. 

You writhe in pleasure, instantly slinging your hand to grasp onto the grip he has on your hips.

“Since you’ve been so good to me, I’ll give you what you want. In return, please serenade me more.”

His two fingers relentlessly curled into his hooked fingers, now with his thumb resting on your clit. He thrusts his hand with force, using his fingers to stimulate both spots. They squelch together in a delicious harmony.

Your arms are now ironclad to the desk, threatening to tip it over with your weight collapsed onto it. Your feet threaten to hover off the floor, constantly quivering and jolting. Your chest heaves into the wood as you whimper. 

“Please, please.” You chant over and over again that begging has no more meaning. You couldn’t even put your finger on what exactly you were begging for. Sanji’s arm bursts through your rationality as a waterfall breaks into the lake below it.

Sanji’s mouth adorns your back, kissing and sucking down it like he knows exactly where each sensitive spot lies. It feels even more sensitive from each pump.

The rocking of your hips mesh into the thumb onto your clit perfectly. Even with Sanji’s speed, he can get his hand so steady. So expertly .

“Louder.” Sanji huffs.

You don’t need to think about it. The feelings come to you when he twists his thrusts to circle your clit and that mushy rivet in your pussy.

You can't keep going like this without folding.

And you don’t have to. The pressure tips over without your control. You don’t need to think when you involuntarily scream from your climax. One arm stays planted on the desk as the other latches onto Sanji’s hair. He sucks a hickey onto your nape when you restrict your hand around a golden patch of hair.

Sanji hums in delight as he rides out your high— groans like a ravaged animal enjoying its feast. Especially when he sees cream drip out of you.

“How exquisite.”

A look of pure famish decorates his face when you see him admire the gift in his hand. There’s no denying what those eyes crave the most. It was an insatiable hunger, one that only you could fulfill. 

He laps his tongue up and down his fingers to taste every drop of your cum. His groans are unabashed as he revels in the taste. 

All you can do is quiver and listen to his words.

And with a man like Sanji, you have no choice but to believe him.

“A meal could never satiate me the way you have.”

Hopefully, this was only the appetizer. 

[dominicfikeme]

Moonlit Shores – Satoru Gojo

Summary A walk along the beach with your best friend, Satoru, should feel simple—easy. But not when you’re hopelessly in love with him. Maybe tonight, things will finally change. Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, best friends-to-lovers trope, Satoru being playful and tender, tension, unspoken feelings. Hiii thank you sm for reading! Likes and re-blogs are highly appreciated and I wish a cold pillow to sleep on to anyone who does so lmao <333

Cool air sweeps across the waves, carrying with it the salty taste of the ocean. A flavor you don’t particularly want to taste, but right now, you couldn’t care less. After all, any inconvenience the beach might bring fades away in the presence of your favorite person.

That’s the only reason you’re even here at this odd hour—Satoru and his puppy-dog eyes. You figure accompanying him to the beach is the least you could do, especially after you begged him to join you at an art gallery just the other week, a place he has no interest in. Yet, he tagged along, listening intently as you explained why a certain painting made you feel so nostalgic.

You find yourselves doing this often—taking every opportunity to be together, even if the setting isn’t your favourite. It’s not so bad; you’ve come to appreciate the beach a lot more. The soft sand beneath your feet, the chorus of waves crashing on the shore—makes the whole experience rather enjoyable. Well, that and the sound of Satoru’s excitement as he dips his feet into the ocean for the first time.

You’ve noticed he doesn’t do many things for himself. He’s never really had the luxury of being just a little selfish. Sure, he may come off that way to others, but everyone having known about his strength since childhood means he’s carried an unfair amount of responsibility on the same shoulders he dusts off so easily pretending as if it all doesn't get to him.

For whatever reason, Satoru feels comfortable being a little childish with you—wanting late-night walks on the cold beach, and for whatever reason, you indulge him.

You walk along the shore, arms brushing every few seconds but never lingering longer than necessary. Satoru’s telling you how he got in trouble with Yaga for being late to class, though it wasn’t his fault his alarm didn’t wake him up. You roll your eyes at his excuses and laugh—a laugh that Satoru loves to about.

He’s always looking for moments to joke, no matter how dumb, just to see that smile on your face. A smile you offer so readily, no matter how ridiculous the joke. Even now, you laugh at his complaints about the terrible alarm clock Yaga gifted him for Christmas in an attempt to fix his tardiness. The laughter is so contagious that Satoru can’t help but join in.

In moments like these, with both of you smiling your biggest smiles, time seems to freeze, Satoru’s eyes reflecting the soft moonlight, his white hair messy from the breeze and the natural high of laughter filling the air, you feel free of all inhibitions. You feel an overwhelming pull to take his hand, to pull him closer, to seal your shared laughter with a long yearned for kiss. You wonder if he feels it too, the magnetic pull, the need to be more than whatever you both are, the need to have you close. 

His laughter softens, trailing into a content hum as he looks out at the horizon. “Toru–” you say softly, a kind of sincerity in your tone that Satoru picks up on. He looks at you, something tender in his expression urging you to carry on. But you are unable to, you can’t find the words. Your fingers twitch at your sides, itching to close the small gap between you.

Satoru, unusually patient, simply reassures you with a kind smile, one that allows you to take a leap of faith, letting your hand brush his but this time not pulling away. He looks at your hands, a smile growing ever so slightly as he curls his fingers around your hands. He looks back up at you, eyes soft. You brush your thumb against his knuckles, savouring the feel of his hands in yours, savouring the smile on his face, savouring the electricity that's coursing body because of a simple touch.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence. Satoru raises a brow, clearly holding back a laugh which only makes you chuckle first. It doesn’t take long before you both are laughing again, the tension giving away to a shared amusement. “You know,” you say, “I think I like the beach a lot more now, I reckon we do this more often.” 

“Yeah? Is it the waves or the company?” he teases, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. 

You grin, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “Definitely the company.”