#i moaned when i saw the file (real)

[hana-no-seiiki]

hhh dddne for abuse and workplace harassment but yandere! employee who works his damn hardest to support his family. working 9-5 just to get a sliver of what his dear momma needs to survive or his poppa to get the healthcare he needs.

yandere! employee who regularly gets abused by his coworkers and manager due to his cute looks. so soft and demure. so easily bullyable.

then you came in, the business owner. at first he was afraid. the higher the ladder people were the harsher the harassment became. he shudders at the memory of being water boarded purely cause his hair looked better than his manager that day.

…but you weren’t like the others.

You didn’t scream.

Didn’t sneer.

Didn’t throw your coffee in his face just because he accidentally left it one degree too hot.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. Not at his trembling hands or the split lip he tried to hide behind a medical mask. Not at the too-pretty eyelashes that made his coworkers foam at the mouth with jealousy. No, you looked at him. The way his voice shook when he greeted you. The bruises he pretended were from clumsiness. The way he’d flinch every time you so much as raised an eyebrow.

You saw it all. And worse—you noticed.

The first time you called out his manager for yelling at him in the hallway, he thought he was going to faint. The second time you had HR “investigate,” his heart stopped. And the third time, when you pulled him aside to ask if he was okay…

Something inside him snapped.

No one had ever asked him that before. No one had cared.

He’d always held it together. Bitten his tongue until it bled. Kept his head down. But now?

Now he had you.

Yandere!employee who doesn’t just fall in love—he spirals.

Quietly. Obsessively. Gratefully.

You’re not just his boss.

You’re his savior.

The light in his bleak, 9-to-5 hell.

And he’s going to make sure no one ever hurts you the way he was hurt.

That barista who smiled a little too long at you during your lunch break? Gone.

That temp worker who flirted casually while filing papers in your office? Fired, anonymously.

That client who made you uncomfortable in a meeting? Let’s just say they’ve… withdrawn their contract.

Yandere!employee who stays late every night just to tidy your workspace.

Who memorizes your schedule, your lunch orders, your allergies.

Who takes the elevator at exactly 6:02 just to “coincidentally” ride it down with you.

Who sews tiny good luck charms into your coat pocket when no one’s looking.

He works hard. He always works hard.

Oh.

Oh, you noticed.

That trembling in his knees when you leaned just a little too close.

The way his breath hitched when you snapped at him for spilling your coffee.

The flushed ears, the bitten lips, the way he moaned—yes, moaned—so quietly you almost missed it, when you grabbed his jaw and told him to look at you when you’re being corrected.

At first, it was suspicion. Curiosity. Then you started testing.

Just a touch crueler. Just a little sharper. You’d “accidentally” push the pile of reports off his desk and make him pick them up on his knees. You’d assign him impossible tasks with tight deadlines, just to watch him pant and scramble to meet your expectations. You once made him redo a project six times—not because it was wrong, but because his face when you told him “not good enough” was so precious.

And he never complained. Not once.

He thanked you.

“Th-thank you, boss. I-I’ll do better next time… I swear…”

His coworkers thought you were just another tyrant. That he was just another soft little wage slave who didn’t know how to stand up for himself.

But you knew better.

Because one night, when you had him alone in the boardroom—just the two of you, lights low, door locked—you grabbed his face, forced him to look at you, and said:

“You like it when I’m cruel to you, don’t you?”

And he shivered. His eyes welled up. His breath stuttered.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes—please… don’t stop.”

“Then beg for it. Pray for my cruelty.”

That was when the real game began.

Sadist!boss!you who now makes your yandere employee earn every word of praise. Who drags him into your office, slams the file cabinet, and demands answers he already gave—just to watch him squirm. You make him beg for your approval. For affection. For punishment.

Yandere!employee who lives for it. Who whimpers when you raise your voice and gets hard when you scold him. Who bites back sobs just to feel your disappointed gaze on him. Who worships the ground you walk on, even when you make him clean it with a toothbrush.

Who would burn the world down for you with bloody, blistered hands and thank you for the privilege.

And when the lights go out, when the office is empty and only the two of you remain—when your heel presses against his back and your voice drips like poison into his ear…

“You’re mine, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. He never hesitates.

“Yes, Boss. Only yours. Always yours. Please—break me however you want.”

Because this isn’t abuse.

This is love—his twisted, perfect, all-consuming brand of it.

And in your hands, he’s never felt more alive.

[fictionismyreality3]

Learned your lesson? (18+)

Simon Riley x Reader

Tags: Smut, daddy!simon, angry!simon

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it, thigh riding, daddy kink, face slapping, slight impact play, spanking, face fucking, hair pulling, choking, exhibitionism if you squint

Notes: absolute dEBaUchErY 🤪 but I have no regrets 🤭 gimme a chance and I’d let Simon ruin my-

In hindsight, the situation you were in was probably your fault.

You hadn’t meant to make Simon angry, and he wasn’t really, but you were being a brat. In your defence, having him away from you all the time got a little lonely, and you could only fuck yourself with the dildo he got you so many times before you started wanting the real thing.

That’s why you had blown up his phone all day, sending him video after video of you fucking yourself in every room of your apartment, moaning his name as you came. In the back of your mind, you knew it was a bad idea, but it felt so deliciously good to imagine his eyes widening as he stood on base and got all your little gifts, especially when you were riding the dildo with his t-shirt on.

Your hands gripped the black marble countertop of your shared bathroom as you bounced your ass back against the wall, the hyper-realistic dildo hitting you just right. When Simon showed up with a clone-a-willy kit in hand before a long deployment, you nearly spat out the soda you were drinking.

“What the fuck is that?” You managed to sputter as you coughed, trying not to spit soda all over the living room carpet.

“Your stress reliever, luv’.” Simon’s eyes sparked behind his balaclava as he chuckled with mirth.

The rest of that night consisted of you whispering in his ear and tracing his neck with your tongue, keeping him hard as you carried out your diy sex toy production.

And now, as you fucked yourself on your clone of Simon’s cock, your phone propped up to record, the dildo did its job, but it wasn’t Simon.

It wasn’t him.

That’s why you made sure to look directly into the camera as you felt the familiar sparks building up in your core, and when you came, you let him know how much you missed him.

What you couldn’t have known, was that the wifi on base was horrendous. You’d think with the budget going towards the military, they could at least invest in a new router, but no. Simon often had to struggle through paperwork, which he already detested, waiting for the tiniest files to load. In your eagerness to tease him, you sent all the videos at once, but couldn’t have known that they’d take ages to get delivered.

By the time they reached their destination, blowing up Simon’s phone all at once, it was hours after you’d initially hit send. It was nearly impossible for him to be away from you as it is. As soon as he saw your face the day you met, he knew that he’d be needing you for the rest of his life.

He didn’t like leaving you and he didn’t like sharing.

Two weeks away from the only reminder of having a normal life was already painstaking. It was the last day on base and Simon was counting down the minutes till he could get home and show you how much he missed you. The time spent rubbing himself in the barracks bathroom, jerking his cock to the thought of you, all it had done was provide temporary relief. He needed the real thing.

He needed to be buried so deep in your tight little cunt that he made himself a part of you with each thrust.

Simon was counting down the minutes as he sat through the last briefing of the day, just a few hours away from getting to let out all his pent up tension, when his phone began to buzz endlessly. His heart spiked, threatening to burst from his throat as he saw the texts from you. Instantly, the worst case scenarios of what could’ve happened ran through his mind. He wasn’t a paranoid man by any means, but when it came to you, the only thing that mattered more that keeping you happy was your safety.

What if something happened? What if you were hurt? What if you’d been taken hostage and someone was sending him videos of you being tortured?

Okay, so, maybe a little paranoid.

Not wanting to wait in agonizing curiosity, he clicked open the attachment.

Within seconds, sounds of your wanton moaning filled the room, your breathy whimpers of his name silencing the rest of the 141 who had been debriefing. All eyes snapped to Simon as he fumbled with his phone, dropping it to the floor in his haste to mute the video. This interrupted Soap’s guffawing, as his eyes locked on the screen, the video of you riding the dildo he got you playing on repeat.

“Jesus Christ, Lt! Tha’ yer woman? She’s a sight to-” Gaz smacked him upside the head as Price tried to avert his eyes, clearing his throat.

“Watch your fuckin’ eyes, Johnny, before I rip ‘em outta your skull.” Simon snapped.

Finally, he managed to switch the video off, but the damage was done. Even though he sat as still as a statue for the rest of the brief, his balaclava hidden face betraying no emotion despite Soap’s repeatedly cheeky comments, Simon was livid.

From the time he first took you, he ruined you for anyone else. Nobody could replace him, nobody could break you or make you scream like he did. But you’d ruined everything else for him too. And just the thought of someone else getting to have you, getting to touch even an inch of your skin, was enough that he had to ball his fists so as not to throttle Johnny’s neck.

He trusted his guys with his life, even if he’d never tell them that. But this was different.

This was you.

While you giggling conspiratorially to yourself, thinking about the fun you’d have with him when he got home, Simon was whiteknuckling the wheel of his truck, trying not to break the speed limit to get home to you faster. His cock was achingly hard as he ran over how he planned to punish you again and again in his mind. You’d love every second of it, he always made sure you did, but he wanted to tease you just like you did him.

This is what he loved about you. How you were so eager to please, but so eager to rile him up, it was the perfect combination to make Simon’s cock scream at him to fuck your pretty throat.

He nearly ran a stop sign imaging cumming in your greedy mouth.

His dirty girl.

His greedy girl. He definitely couldn’t give you the usual treatment this time. The thought of your ass marked up with his handprints after a spanking was tempting, but you would enjoy it far too much. He wanted to see you struggle to get even the slightest bit of relief after the stunt you pulled.

The rumbling of his truck signalled his arrival to your keen ears, and you jumped up from the couch, running to the front door of the cozy house you’d bought together to stand on the porch waiting for him.

Simon got out of his truck. He knew you were standing there, where you always were to welcome him home after a deployment, but he didn’t look at you. Getting his gear bag from the back, he slung it over his shoulders and trudged up the front stairs. His kit was well over 100 pounds, but he still managed to carry it with one hand. The other hand shot out to wrap around your throat, causing you to stumble on your feet.

“Simo-” Your greeting was cut of by your now restricted air supply, and your hands instinctively clawed at his grip on your throat. He didn’t utter a word, only reached around you to open the door, pushing you inside as he followed, closing it with his foot.

You were pinned up against the wall as soon as his gear bag had hit the ground, and you could already hear his ragged breaths.

“D’you have any idea,” He huffed, trying to restrain himself from just fucking you against the wall. “how much shit you’re in for… love?” He ground out the pet name like it took effort for him to keep from swearing even more.

You quickly ran through everything that you could have done wrong in your mind. Sure, you’d been a brat all day, but Simon liked when you were bratty from time to time. Nothing you could think of could explain the tightly contained anger that was rippling off of him.

“What? Did you not like the videos?” You managed to say breathily, the grip on your throat keeping you perched on the edge of loosing your breath. “Did I not like the-” Simon stopped to let out a low, raspy chuckle, his head dropping to the crook of your neck.

“I loved the videos, sweetheart. An’ so did the boys.” He whispered slowly into your ear.

Immediately your face scrunched up as you tried to decipher what he meant.

“What do you mean, Si? I only….oh.” The reality of your mistake hit you all at once.

Oh.

How could you have forgotten that Simon would probably be around the rest of the 141, not to mention how inept with technology he was. No wonder the rest of the team saw you. Your swirling thoughts were broken up by Simon releasing your throat, only to grab your arm, and roughly drag you over to the couch.

“‘Oh’ is right, luv’.” He murmured as he sat down, pulling you on top of his lap to straddle him. Your hands instinctively went for his balaclava, wanting to take it off and see his face, a permission only you were granted.

Before your fingers could even meet the fabric, Simon was grabbing both your wrists with one hand, pinning them to your lap. You really had poked the bear in all senses of the word. Simon was utterly massive, and he could easily palm any part of you that would take most people two hands to hold.

With his free hand, he pushed his balaclava up so it rested just underneath his nose, his lips free to kiss you. Your stomach was churning with a mix of apprehension and excitement. You knew the look in his eyes, the look he only got when he was going to break you. It was nearly impossible to keep from leaning down and pressing a kiss to his inviting lips, but you knew that you were already in as much trouble as it was.

With the way you were straddling his lap, the thin material of your shorts allowed you to feel his cock growing ridged underneath you. Heat bloomed in your core and Simon’s grip on your wrists suddenly felt electric.

“You’re a greedy cockslut, aren’t you?” He slipped the hand which wasn’t keeping your wrists trapped underneath your shirt. “So desperate you jus’ had to be a brat, hm? Had to let everyone see wha’ a needy girl you are.”

The low, condescending tone of his voice made your head swim, and your breaths began to come faster and faster as he palmed your tits, beginning to play with your nipples. You couldn’t exactly be sorry when he was making you feel so good, but there was still some guilt in the back of your mind for putting him on the spot.

“Simon, I’m-” Simon’s large hand slapped you lightly across the cheek, tugging your hair to refocus your gaze on him. “Don’t fuckin’ call me that.” He pinched your nipple hard, causing you to reel forwards into his chest.

“What’s my fuckin’ name, huh? Only good girls get t’call me Simon.” He dug his fingers into the skin of your wrists, the pain warning you of what would come if you weren’t more obedient.

“…daddy?” You tried quietly.

Simon’s grip on your wrists lessened instantly, and his hands began to tease at your tits again. The whiplash of pain to pleasure was something that he had perfected, and he loved the way you’d bite your lip as you struggled to catch up. All it took was just getting you to call him daddy and he could already feel you melting in his lap, your eyes getting half lidded and foggy.

“That’s right, bunny. And daddy teaches his baby how to behave doesn’t he?” Simon said expectantly, beginning to peel off his t-shirt you were wearing.

“Y-yes, daddy.” The cold air hit your skin, sending a shiver through body as you were left in just your thin pajama shorts, straddling your hulk of a boyfriend. Without the t-shirt in the way, Simon had easy access to your gorgeous tits, and took the opportunity to take a nipple in between his teeth, his other hand running up and down your back.

He was rock hard by now, the feeling of your soft skin on top of him sending his mind into a buzzing haze of desire. All he wanted to do was rut up into that precious pussy of yours and make you cum around his cock. But he had to be patient. He had to make sure you knew what you did wrong.

As soon as he felt you begin to rock your hips, a movement so imperceptible that only those who knew you would realize what you want, he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave bruises. Simon’s eyes were narrowed in warning, and a dark chuckled left his throat.

“You’re so greedy.” He growled, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Show daddy you’re more than jus’ a needy little girl.”

“How, daddy?” You breathed.

A whine fell from your lips as you slipped further away from being rational, your head fuzzy with want as you felt Simon’s cock pressed underneath you.

“Can’t get off without my cock, hm?” He thought back to the videos of you fucking yourself on the dildo he got you. Simon loosened his grip on your hips, allowing you to move, only to shifted you so that he could tear your pajama shorts off. He lifted you slightly so that you were straddling one of his thighs instead.

“You wanna cum s’badly? You need it s’much that you’re a brat?”

“Fuck yourself on my thigh then, luvie.”

Your breath left you in one big whoosh, and the moment Simon gave you permission to move, you were grinding down on his thigh. The fabric of his jeans rubbed against your clit, sending little jolts of pleasure through you.

Simon watched as your eyes got droopy, half opened through your haze of pleasure. He was still angry but right now all he could focus on was how pretty you looked. Your cheeks all flushed from his words and the exertion of grinding on him, your little hands holding onto his shoulders, and the wet spot on your panties.

“That’s it, pretty. Jus’ like that.” He groaned.

His cock felt impossibly hard, raging with need every time he looked at the way your tits bounced. Fumbling with his belt, he pulled his cock out. The noise caught your attention, and you faltered, going to reach for him. You didn’t get very far, because as soon as Simon felt you stop moving, he delivered two quick spanks to your ass.

You cried out in surprise and pain as he fisted one hand in your hair, and the other around his leaking cock. His hands were so big it made him look normal sized, but you knew he was easily almost ten inches.

“Such a whore.” He whispered, pulling your hair so your head was forced back. “Jus’ had t’get my cock in your mouth.”

Simon stroked himself lazily, savouring the wave of heat which coursed through him every time he ran a thumb over his tip. It wasn’t your touch, but it would do for now. Your gaze was forced to the ceiling as Simon kept you locked in position, observing you like his own personal work of art. The sound of his quiet groans filling your ears was torturous knowing you weren’t allowed to touch him. You could feel yourself leaking into his jeans, and knew he no doubt felt it too.

“Are you- oh, gonna be a good girl f’me?” His mouth latched on your exposed neck as he sucked a hickey into your skin, marking you as his. You were panting, practically trembling as he forced you to keep still. Simon was closer than he’d like to admit. It had been weeks since he’d touched you and just seeing you writhing on lap, trying to get whatever friction you could, made his cock leak.

“Say it, bunny.” He rasped into your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

“I’ve learned my lesson, daddy. Please, can I…” You trailed off, afraid that if you asked for his cock you’d seem ever more needy.

But Simon was thrilled.

Having the love of his life, almost naked on his lap, desperate to touch him was like a dream. The hand in your hair pushed your head down, his palm big enough to cover the back of your head.

“Suck.” He growled.

Rubbing the head of his cock along your mouth, demanding entrance, you parted your lips. Simon pushed inside of your mouth, heavy on your tongue as he let out a long, drawn out groan you wished you could have on repeat.

“Shit, sweathear’- oh, fuck..” He hissed. You could feel him twitching in your mouth.

He tried to focus on anything but the warm, wet-

Oh, god.

Simon bucked his hips up and began to fuck into you without warning, sending your hands shooting out to his stomach to catch yourself. His cock hit the roof of your mouth and your throat tightened on reflex as you tried not to gag. You could feel Simon’s nails digging into your scalp as he bobbed your head up and down.

“Sorry, luv’ I jus’,” He squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of your lips around him. “Been achin’ for you, bunny. All those videos y’sent me.” He moaned, no longer able to keep himself from being gentle.

“Let daddy cum in y’mouth, sweetheart.”

The words flooded your pussy with heat, and Simon took notice of the way you moaned around his cock. He was strict, but he wasn’t cruel, and you had been good so far. Taking a little pity on you, Simon used his free hand to grab your hip, bouncing his leg so you could get a little relief. The sudden stimulation sent your dripping cunt into overdrive, and as Simon rammed his cock into your throat, you began to rut against his thigh.

He would’ve told you to keep your eyes on him, but they looked so pretty rolling back into your head.

“Yeah, yeah jus’ like that.” He said, his voice raspy as he tried to hold himself back. “Be good for daddy. Get close, luv’.”

You didn’t have to try with the way your cunt was clenching around nothing. Every bounce of his leg rubbed your clit against his jeans, and he pushed you further by holding your hip to help you grind against him. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of release, and Simon knew it too with the way you were moaning around his cock. Every noise you made sent a vibration through him, and he began to fuck your mouth with abandon, his balls tightening in anticipation.

“Oh, god. Oh f-fuck, bunny keep-” He spasmed in your mouth. “Keep suckin’ just like tha’. Daddy’s gonna cum in your pretty lil’ mouth.”

His words made your head spin. The only thought on your mind was drawing as much pleasure from him as you could, so you took his balls in your hand, rolling them a few times to push him over the edge. Your core was fluttering with need as you rutted against Simon’s leg, which he kept bouncing, hitting your swollen clit mercilessly. It was too much for both of you after weeks without each other.

Simon’s hand left your hip so he could tangle both hands in your hair, the need for his own pleasure taking over. You managed to glance up, wanting to see his face as he came.

“Luvie.. luvie, oh sweatheart.” His mouth hung open as he let out a noise he didn’t know he could make. The sight of you grinding desperately against his thigh tipped him over the edge.

“Oh, fuck. Bun-”

Ropes of hot, thick cum shot down your throat, filling your mouth and spilling past your lips. The taste of Simon on your tounge was enough to break you. Your mind shattered as you began rutting on his thigh, not caring how needy you looked, the heat in your pussy sent you spiralling. Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, and you gushed all over Simon’s leg as he pressed himself so deep into your mouth that your nose hit his stomach.

He sent the last of his load down your throat and pulled your head up as you gasped for air. The world was fuzzy, but you felt two big, strong arms pulling you up from where you’d collapsed forward onto Simon’s stomach.

Taking you into his lap, he ran a hand through your hair as he rubbed your back in slow, comforting circles. His cock lay resting against his stomach, big even when it was getting soft. Simon’s hand found your chin and he turned your gaze to his, helping you come back to reality by taking off his balaclava to let you see his face.

“Did so good f’me, pretty.” He pressed a kiss to your nose, making you giggle.

“Thank you, daddy.” You managed to say, your eyes getting droopy as sleepiness began to creep in.

“I think you learned your lesson, sweetheart.” He mused, noticing your breaths begin to slow. “Jus’ rest here, luv’.”

“Daddy’s got you.”

Simon watched with reverence as your head rested against his shoulder, your flushed cheeks making you look even cuter than you did choking on his cock. This was good. This was right. He’d take care of you forever, he knew it from the moment he saw you. You didn’t realize yet, but you had one hell of a guardian angel on your side.

[januaryembrs]

I MIGHT JUST BE IN LOVE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [8]

GIF by fightingdragonswithwho

decription: the FIVE times they hide that they're dating + the ONE time they tell everyone

word count: 17.5k

warnings: blood, gore, usual cm stuff. FLUFF, OH GOD FLUFF. mention of sex (minors DNI in this one), no actual smut but very close to it (actual smut chapter of their first time to come soon), tiny sprinkle of angst because its ME.

author note: WE'RE BACK POOKIES. I'M SO SORRY MY BRAIN STOPPED FUNCTIONING.

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‘oh god I’m gonna marry him, if he keeps this shit up,

I might just be in la la la la la love’

The one with the revenge.

“This is so against company policy,” Bugsy murmured, her fingers twined in Spencer’s hair as he pressed urgent kisses to her neck. 

“Only if they have evidence,”  Spencer replied, his brows furrowed as she attached her lips to his fervently. They’d held it together until this point, kept the touches minimal, left the make outs and needy hands for home when they could be themselves without exposing their best kept secret to the rest of the team. But today was different. Virginia had reached an unnaturally hot peak, and the whole team had been forced to swap out their usual professional attire with something more casual. Spencer had forgone his sweaters, which had been a mourning in itself, and instead had been rolling his sleeves to his elbows in some attempt to cool his thick veins. 

Bugsy hadn’t needed to voice her opinion of the new look. Spencer wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t blind. He saw how she looped her fingertips between his, the second they had a minute alone, how her eyes trained on his hands when he drove them home, how she would press a quick peck to the back of his hand in between moments of silence when she had little more to do with her mouth. 

“Isn’t that funny, the evidence locker doesn’t have cameras, that’s almost-” She cut herself off with a jolted moan as he kissed over her collar bone, nipping so gently that it wouldn’t leave a mark. 

“And you guys say I talk too much,” Spencer said, a hint of teasing in his voice as she looked at him with a gaping mouth, learning very quickly that Spencer was a downright menace when they were sneaking around, the boy who never broke the rules, who ironed his socks and folded his underwear almost devilish at the idea of doing something in secret.

She pinched his bottom cheekily, and he jumped slightly, only to find her giggling to which he cut her off with an even harsher kiss. 

She was addictive, which was a strong claim to be made by a man like him. Yet he found himself thinking everything about her lips was laced with a toxin he couldn’t keep away from, like he’d had a taste of fresh air and couldn’t be without or he’d begin to turn bluer than Violet Beauregarde. He’d found the golden ticket, the key to the factory. For once in his life, Spencer Reid had come out the other side and won. 

Bugsy’s hands were yanking at his locks, their lips sliding against one another, and he pushed to the back of his head that they only had about three more minutes before it became suspicious that they were gone from their desks so long. 

And as if some being up in the heavens was sat back watching with popcorn, the door handle rattled as someone entered the room, and the two of them sprung away from one another. 

David Rossi strolled in, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand as he sat through his second batch of paperwork, looking for the file from the Milwaukee case to use as source material, His shirt had been unbuttoned, the Virginia heat stifling and he was already starting to regret picking a hot drink over the cold crap that wasn’t even real espresso that Penelope liked from Starbucks, yet he thought he might take anything that would cool him down when he strolled into the back room that was known for no open windows, and the sight of two sweating agents greeted him. 

Spencer’s hair was messed from where he must have ran his hand through it a bunch of times, trying to get it off his neck, Bugsy’s shirt was tucked where she probably attempted to cool herself off in the obnoxiously stuffy four walls as they both flicked through separate files, standing about ten feet apart from one another. 

“It’s a hot one today, kids,” He said, sliding his coffee on the table and strolling past the two of them towards the ‘M’ section. 

They stole a glance at one another, knowing smiles passing between them because it felt entirely clandestine what they were doing. 

“Don’t suppose the director would mind if we pulled funds to invest in a BAU swimming pool, would they?” She chimed in, fanning her blouse out because it really was stuffy in there, she had just assumed it was the feeling she got when she kissed Spencer. 

“We fuel the jet once a week, what’s a pool between co-workers,” He shrugged, smiling when he heard her giggle. 

Spencer pulled the folder he was actually looking for off the shelf, making his way to the exit, watching her eyes shy away from him because they both knew it was entirely obvious when they looked at one another, mainly because his cheeks heated up beyond what he could excuse as being the heat wave.

Yet he was feeling brazen, and maybe a little embarrassed at the way he’d leapt up as she’d grabbed his butt, and with a quick glance back to make sure David was nose deep in the bookshelves, he reached out and gave her ass cheek a quick pinch as he waltzed passed her, hearing her yelp and drop her folder as he did so. 

He left the evidence room with a smirk, heading back to his desk and keeping a low profile though he knew she was scrambling to collect the papers off the floor in the wake of his shameless grab. 

“You okay?” Rossi asked, his brows raised and watching the girl rearrange all the papers into a neat pile, a flustered look on her face. 

“Yeah, just thought I saw a spider,” She said, her voice breezy though her heart racing was anything but. She would have her revenge for that, she swore. 

If Spencer wanted to play that game, then it was on. 

-

Two days later, she had all but strolled into work with a shit eating grin, and he knew she was plotting something then. She had been unnaturally quiet on the car ride, had tried to keep her glances at him sparse, though he caught the little smile that tugged at her lips whenever he looked at her. 

“What?” He tried, despite the fact she shook her head in refusal, her eyes already sparked with mischief, “What? What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, just concentrate on the road, Spence,” She said, though he heard her toes tapping together with delight, and she sighed dreamily as she looked at him. Though he was under no illusion that it had come from a place of endearment, no matter how much she adored him. Because of course she loved him more than anything, he had no doubt about that, yet he also knew she loved a sweet serving of revenge just as much, and it was for that reason her smile alone worried him a little.  

“Oh, nothing, really?” He said with narrowed eyes, though he felt the infectious beam spreading on his face because he loved seeing her happy even if it undoubtedly was coming at his expense, “So I shouldn’t be expecting salt in the sugar shaker, hm? Or a water balloon under my seat?” 

“No, absolutely not,” She feigned innocence, reaching over to squeeze his hand in hers with a guiltless expression, “I am much more creative than that, Spence. I’m going big or going home, honey, you should know that by now,” 

Spencer snickered, pulling her hand up for a sweet kiss to the back of her knuckles, “I don’t know why I expected otherwise,”

The look of the cat that got the cream returned, and she merely hummed along to the radio. And oddly enough, Spencer was excited to see what she had hidden up her sleeve if it meant he could make her so childishly excited. He thought about embellishing his freight when she inevitably jumped out at him or had a can of worms pop out of his desk drawer, just to have her seem fulfilled just that bit longer. 

He didn’t care how much of an idiot it made him look, he was already a fool in love. 

Spencer trailed a few paces behind her as they stepped out onto the sixth floor, and he knew she had something truly diabolical planned because she was so brazen as to lean up and press a kiss to his mouth in the elevator, pressing her body against his and letting her velvet tongue slip into his mouth tenderly. He could have slammed a hand on the emergency stop button right then and there, could have devoured her mouth and her lips and her hot kisses some more until he stumbled out of the doors drunken and idle on her intoxicating touch. 

He made a move to caress the back of her head with one of his large hands, weave his nails through her scalp to hold her tight to him, only for her to part quickly, leaving his cheeks flushed and his lungs craving more than just oxygen. 

“For good luck,” She said with a chirp, a skip to her steps as the metal doors slid open, and she danced away from him with a grin that told him his day was about to be swiftly ruined by whatever it was she had organised. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked with a mildly worried tone, not letting her get away from him too easily as he paced behind her, his lean legs weighed down and skittish by the fact his cock was quickly getting hard at the spritely woman who had him trailing her like a dog begging for a bone. He tried not to think of the irony in those words, his expression conflicted between interested and hesitant, “Bugsy?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a genius. It means good luck, Spence,” She teased through a wry smile as she plonked herself at her desk chair, swivelling around to face him almost immediately, looking up at him through thick, roguish lashes, “Oh! Hotch says he wants the Oregon files done today, pretty boy,”

Because it couldn't be honey or baby or the other nice names she’d taken to calling him, but she could get away with the same name the entire team had called him for over ten years. 

Taking a final glance at her face that had chaos written all over it, Spencer held his tongue, looping the strap of his satchell over his head and gently placing it on his desk, his forest hues watching as she logged onto her computer, trying to keep her excitement subtle as she grinned into her keyboard clicks. 

Spencer Reid had learned quickly never to start something with that girl that he couldn’t finish. And yet, by a stroke of boldness and lust, he had gotten caught up in the whirlwind of their excursions. He had forgotten in between the soft touches and gentle kisses and soppy exchanges just how hellish she could be when she wanted. 

Shaking off whatever that look on her face meant, he rolled his draw out of his desk, the report he’d been half way through typing up laying where he had left it last night before Hotch had told them to wrap up for the day.

Pulling the manilla folder from his desk, he swore his heart leaped into his throat as a piece of thin, lacy fabric had appeared beneath his scribbles of handwriting, laughing at the look on his face when he spotted it sitting there in his drawer. 

He’d never seen her wear the satin, red thong before, but judging by the way his mind raced like a gelding let loose to conjure images of her in them, he didn’t seem to find it difficult imagining it. The lining was a gossamer mesh, small posies decorating the front in subtle detailing, but it was the floss-like string that trailed down the back that made him stutter, because there was no way that was covering anything important even if it tried. 

He heard a small giggle, and his head shot up to the offender, only catching the back of her head as she hid into her keyboard. He knew his cheeks were already flushing with poker hot flames, he felt them as much prickling and biting with heat, and he swore the shudder that ran down his spine was involuntary when he reached out to brush the fabric with his fingertip, testing the waters to see if there were really even there. Spencer’s jaw had slacked open uselessly, and she made it a mental note to tease him that she had finally been able to render the man who could tell her Thomas Edison’s childhood pets in alphabetical order speechless. 

“You alright, Spence?” JJ asked with concern lacing her fair brows, because her heels seemed to have made no sound as she had been walking by, unless they had and he’d been entirely wrapped up in his punishment to notice.

He slammed the drawer shut, loud enough to attract the attention of Morgan who was nose deep in his own report, and Spencer nearly cursed when his thumb got caught in between the pieces of wood, choosing to smash his lips together tightly instead and nod wordlessly.

“Something the matter, pretty boy?” Bugsy asked, feigning naivety as she swivelled around in her wheely chair, and he could do nothing but look at her with terrorred eyes, because he had hugely underestimated her with the can of worms idea. Though he couldn’t help but think that’s exactly what she’d opened in showing him that underwear. 

He wondered, in between thinking of excuses to give JJ as to why he had looked so disoriented, if she had a matching set. 

“T-tired,” He managed to bleat, his thumb throbbing where the pain had surged up his arm, and it seemed his pathetic justification half worked as JJ shot him wary eyes and a small smile, one that said she would let him off with that dumb response for now. 

Bugsy blinded him with a grin entirely cheshire, and she drew her file to her chest as she stood from her seat, following in JJ’s footsteps towards her boss’s office. 

“Oh, just so you know, I have it in black too,” She said almost too casually, sticking her head over his desk with a sly pull of her lips, as if she was doing nothing more than letting him know to expect rain in an hour or so. 

And he could do nothing but stare after her, his finger still aching from his mistake, begging himself not to take another peek at the divine material sitting just inches away from him. 

Spencer knew then, if he hadn’t figured it out already in the seven years he’d wanted her, that he was fucked.

2. The one where they almost get caught on a date.

She sipped the straw with a coy smile, the whipped cream and cherry only making the thick drink sweeter to the taste as he watched her intently. 

“Good?” He asked with a cottony mouth and her lips popped off the straw, her mouth exploding with strawberry goodness. 

“Gotta admit, it’s kind of living up to the ‘best milkshakes in town’” She replied swooping in to pop the glacé cherry between her painted lips as Spencer took a sip from his own double chocolate delight, not missing the way her eyes lit up as she crunched into the fruit. Pushing her cone shaped glass onto his side of the sticky wooden table, she gestured the straw his way, “Swaps?” 

He smiled, because he loved sharing his things with her. He might have found it annoying had it been anyone else because he had always had his things and other people’s things separate. He’d always kept his things to himself, not selfishly or maliciously, merely for the fact he liked having his own things uncontaminated. But with her it was different. Spencer would give her anything she wanted, which included a sip of milkshake here and there. His whole left leg if she asked.

Spencer’s almond curls fell over his forehead as he leaned down to sip the strawberry shake, sliding his own over to her awaiting hands, the cold glass moist with precipitate under his fingers. Yet he watched her, her lips pulling into a satisfied smile as she took a gulp, the two of them staring each other down with sickly sweet, adoring glances. 

“Good?” She repeated back to him, and he nodded, a large, broad hand reaching over the table to swipe a touch of whipped cream from her cheek, her skin soft and hot as hell under his advance. 

“Delicious,” He said, and without really thinking of the consequences, licked the cream from the tip of his thumb, his pink lips making a lewd smack as he did so. 

She watched him with hawk eyes, and he had a glowing sense of smugness as she shook her head to herself. 

“You’re not being fair,” She grumbled, huffing and slumping back in the squeaky diner seat, and his hand quickly chased hers over the table, grabbing it into a loving entwine of fingers and palms. 

“What’s not fair?” He asked, though the shit eating grin told her he knew exactly what he was doing and she nudged him with her sneaker for it. 

“You. Looking like a damn porn star drinking your milkshake.” She said, and he felt his cheeks twinge with a blush as she chuckled, squeezing their fingers together to tell him she was only joking. 

“Seems I’ve moved up in the world of explicit professions. First you called me a stripper, now I’ve been bumped up to porn star,” He teased, remembering the confusion that had written on her face the day they’d met. Spencer knew it had nothing to do with his freaky memory, he’d known she was special the second that door had opened, he knew everything Bugsy was committed to memory for the fact he couldn’t forget her even if he tried. 

She shrugged, a smirk on her lips, “What can I say, you’re a sought out man. You could charge double if you got Morgan in on it,” 

He laughed, shaking his head, “Only double?”

“Maybe throw in a Valentine’s day discount for your loving girlfriend,” She added with a million watt grin, and he rolled his eyes, hating how he could do nothing but indulge her when she was like this. 

“Ofcourse, I can't have pretty girls paying for things,” Spencer said, because he was somewhat confident now about flirting with her, knowing it would have the full desired effect and more. “Just out of interest, are we still talking about Morgan being involved?” 

“Well, I was going to give him the evening off to spend with his own girlfriend, but if you’re really so insistent-” He shot her a raised brow and she giggled, leaning forward to kiss the thumb that had been slowly stroking the back of her hand, “Always just me and you, honey,”

He smiled earnestly at that, and they exchanged a look that said those five words were much more set in stone than the teasing may suggest. Just them, always. Spencer could get used to that.

She leaned over the table for a quick peck on the lips because as much as she loved him, and god did she love him, they had quickly found they were just as embarrassed by affection in public as the other. 

“I’m going to use the bathroom before food comes,” She said, slipping out of the latex red seats, his head following her as she waltzed over to the loo, the two of them looking back at one another with small smiles like lovesick children. 

She loved the rhythm they had found, albeit the secrecy. It was nights like this, when they were able to act like a normal couple, when they were able to kiss and hold hands and flirt and look at each other with such heat it should have been public indecency, that she knew she wanted him forever. Because if this was how good it felt in private, she could only wonder how good it would be to tell people she was enamoured by one very handsome, very clever, Spencer Reid. Yet she loved having something for just them. In the lives of people who examined each other for a living, having secrets were like gold dust. Let alone a secret between profilers. That was pure jackpot material. 

He smiled into his lap, because he was truly happy for the first time in years. He had everything he’d ever wanted handed to him on a silver platter. He had the girl he’d loved for nearly seven years playing footsies with him while he eyed her lips and tried to analyse just how much she would hate being one of those couples that made out over milkshakes and burgers even if it was all he wanted to do. 

Spencer Reid had drawn the winning hand, no cheats or tricks or card counting needed. Just being him, awfully, nerdy, awkwardly him. 

He leaned in to take another sip of his milkshake, because they really were the best, only for his contented face to drop the second he saw four people walk through the door all smiles and fancy suits and heels, entirely unaware of what they were stumbling on. 

Spencer had never fumbled around his pockets for his phone faster, hitting the call button on her profile picture, which happened to be her asleep on the sofa with Sergio’s feet in her face while Niko peeked out at the camera from under the blanket, because Spencer thought it was possibly his favourite photo of their little family. She answered on the first ring, and he could just see the confusion written on her face before she even spoke. 

“Spence, I love you but I’m peeing right now, did you miss me that much-”

“Garcia and Morgan just walked in,” He whisper yelled, cupping his hand over the mic, whipping a look over his shoulder where their friends were standing at the host’s desk, waiting to be served. “They brought their partners, they’re staying in, we gotta go,”

Bugsy’s face tightened, her panties down to her ankles, Brittany Spears’ If You Seek Amy blasting in the women’s bathroom and she wondered, on bated breath, if this was exactly what her life had come to. 

“...Shit,”

“I’ll pay the tab and try to distract them now, you slip out and we’ll meet in the parking lot,” Spencer rushed, his brow sweating as he saw the waitress lead Morgan and Garcia’s new beau, Sam, over his way, no doubt towards the free booth next to them.

“Alright, I love you,” She quickly rushed, and he whispered it back, before the two of them hung up and realised just what a miracle it would be if the two of them got out of this undiscovered. 

Morgan’s dark eyes lit up in recognition as they neared their seats, just as Spencer grabbed her purse and stashed it under his shirt, dragging her milkshake over to his side of the table to make it seem like he was alone. Not the most convincing of cover ups, but it was all he had. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek called, and Spencer faked shock as best he could, though his mind was entirely consumed with whether or not Bugsy’s side of the plan was working out. 

“What are you guys doing here, I thought you were taking Savannah to that fancy place on fifth,” Spencer said, his gaze trailing behind his best friend to see Savannah and Penelope too wrapped up in chatting to catch up to the boys. Savannah turned to the woman with a polite smile, excusing herself for a moment and heading towards the bathroom. 

Shit. Spencer thought for a moment, watching the stunning vermillion dress trail off to the toilets, and Spencer was convinced then and there they were done for, Shit, shit, shit. 

Derek looked a little guilty, “You know how it is, man. We got home late from the case, missed our reservation, had to bring my lady to the next best thing. Patty’s.” Derek chuckled and Spencer smiled fleetingly, though Derek could tell it was bothered, “You here with someone-”

“Pretty boy!” Garcia cut Morgan off, bouncing over in her pretty Dorothy-red heels to where their genius was shuffling out of the booth, fidgeting with his hands nervously. “Are you here with someone, are we totally destroying your street cred?” 

“No, no. I’m here on my own, I had a hankering for milkshakes,” Spencer nodded convincingly with a taut smile as Penelope and Morgan simultaneously turned their heads to the two glasses half drunk on the table, before they looked at him with raised brows as if to wordlessly question his alibi, two milkshakes for one guy, Reid? Feeling their eyes on him, he baulked, “Like I said, hankering.”

Bugsy felt like this was some sort of Greek tragedy. 

After doing her business and washing her hands in possible record time,  Bugsy cracked open the door to the bathroom just enough to stick her head out, eyes scanning the restaurant for Penelope and Derek. She caught Penny’s Barbie blonde hair almost instantly, her sing song laugh travelling straight across the room into Bugsy’s ears and it was then she realised she was with a woman. The red dress spoke for itself, her hair was luscious and silky like she’d popped straight out a shampoo advert, her skin that of a bronze goddess, and she immediately clocked that it was Savannah, Derek’s new girlfriend, which made all the more sense when she caught their hunky co-worker talking to a very flustered Spencer. 

The girls had shamelessly stalked her instagram in Penelope’s lair at lunch just that week and sweet heavens was a catch, if not for her job as a nurse then for the toned figure Bugsy was convinced was god playing favourites. She stared at the back of the woman’s head, whatever she’d said making Penelope chuckle and turn towards her, her head pointing right towards where the women’s bathrooms were.

Bugsy slammed the door shut, quickly retreating back into the loo and yanking at her hair in a flurry of white hot panic. God, she hoped Penelope hadn’t seen her, or things were about to get ten times more difficult to explain why the two of them were out for a meal on Valentine’s Day, whilst claiming they were entirely platonic ofcourse. She wished the door had a window or she had X-ray vision or something-

A window. A window. That was it. 

Head whipping around, her eyes locked in on the two windows above each lavatory, the stall walls luckily low enough that she could see they were big enough for her to slide through if she was careful enough. 

Heading back into the cubicle she had been in, she shut the door behind her, and slammed the toilet lid down to give her a step. Her chest pounded, lips pursing when she cursed Derek and Penelope for possibly the only time in her life, because their date had been going so well. And yet here she was, cracking open a window in the diner’s toilets and she wondered for a second time if this was what her life had been reduced to. But Spencer was worth it, she told herself. She’d crawl through a million diner windows if it meant she got him all to herself. 

As if the universe was laughing at her, the second she’d swung the window open far enough for her to pull herself through, the bathroom door opened and she froze. 

Flashing a guilty look over her shoulder, her eyes widened in fear as she made direct eye contact with the woman who had entered, her lucious brown hair falling like silk over her shoulder as she stopped in her tracks, seeing the girl clear as day over the top of the stall. 

Bugsy prayed, on god’s she had never believed in she prayed that Savannah didn’t recognize her, though why would she. Unless she herself was a serial stalker. Though there seemed to be no hint of recognition in her eyes, just shock horror. 

A beat of silence passed between them. 

“Terrible date,” Bugsy said, thinking quickly on her feet and Savannah’s face melted into understanding. 

“Ah,” She nodded, “Is he a Catfish or is he a pig?” 

“Both,” Bugsy nodded with a tense smile, anything to get away from the situation where Penelope could walk in on any moment and catch her in the act. And it pained her to lie, because Spencer was the furthest thing from both of those things. 

Savannah rolled her eyes, “Sorry you have a crappy date on Valentine’s day, that sucks. Need a leg up?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” Bugsy said, standing on the cistern and yanking herself up, hoping she wasn’t flashing Derek’s girlfriend a nice shot of her ass. “You should try the calamari, it’s real good!” 

And with that she’d pulled herself through the window legs first, dropping onto the top of Patty’s garbage bins with a ‘urgh!’, hopping off the lid immediately and dodging a heinously large rat that eyed her up for desert and flicking Spencer a quick text to say she was by the car. 

Savannah chuckled with a shake of her head, heading to the toilet herself and hearing a loud bang and a curse from the other side of the wall.

Derek and Garcia watched him look down at his phone with a perturbed expression, “I really should be going anyways,” Spencer excused, his mind reeling at just how she’d managed to slip past the lot of them, though the text only read ‘Meet by car. Window.’ and he could only wonder just what the fuck she’d meant by that. 

“Are you sure we’re not interrupting, Spencer?” Garcia asked, and he only shook his head. 

“Nope, definitely not. The only date I’m late for is between me and Lord Tennyson,” He said, which was almost too on brand for him that they didn’t question it. Spencer nodded to her date and wished them all a good evening before rushing to the front desk, his card in hand as he asked quietly if they could get their burgers to go instead. 

Morgan’s eyes narrowed at his skittish behaviour, his fidgeting fingers that tugged at his shirt, the cufflinks his mom bought him for his graduation that he only wore on special occasions glittering under the swinging, overhead diner lights. 

“Is it just me or is boy wonder acting extra shifty just now?” Penelope muttered, her blonde brows furrowed behind her glasses as Morgan nodded in agreement, Savannah returning to their table with freshly washed hands, her lipstick spruced up in the bathroom mirror. 

“I was thinking the exact same thing, baby girl,” Derek smelled a rat as Reid took a brown paper bag from over the counter, flashing a swift nod back to them as he all but ran out of the restaurant, his long legs carrying him even faster than usual. 

He saw her dusting herself off by his car, and before he could even question what her message had been, she had turned her attention onto him with a spritely excitement and launched up to give him a hungry kiss to the lips. 

“I’m so sorry, I had no idea they were coming, they told me they were going uptown,” He said, his expression worried that their night had been ruined. He gripped their to go bag pathetically, and it was only then he realised she was laughing. 

“Spence it’s fine, it’s not your fault,” She reassured, pressing another delicate kiss to his face as if to ward off the negative thoughts, and he rested his free hand on her hip, trapping her between his body and the car. He pressed into her, letting himself enjoy the affection a little too much in the cover of nightfall, “We probably shouldn’t be-” He kissed her again, because he couldn’t help it, because it was like the adrenaline of almost being caught together had set his body on fire, “-doing this here though, maybe-”  Again, his hand shoving the bag of food onto the roof of his car so he had free reign to cup her face entirely, -”wait until we get home just incase they come looking for you,” 

He nodded dumbly, “Probably,” He agreed, though he watched her with those eyes that looked dark in the moonlight, pressed against her wanton hands that clawed at his chest, pulling him closer as an impossible oxymoron to her chaste words, because she didn’t want him to let go of her, not really. 

He kissed her again, hard, because his chest was still pounding from the close call and her fingers scraped his waist, the feeling jumping straight to his crotch that was already well aware of how close they had become. 

“I love you,” He said with a slight slur, idle from their affection and it was only then he opened his eyes to look at her. She looked impossibly more ravishing in the cloak of night, her eyes sparkling in the street lamps, her lips wet with his own spit, her gaze adoring and soppy and so in love, “I’m sorry if our Valentine’s day got ruined,”

“Ruined?” She said, slipping a hand into his back pocket to grab the car keys, leaning in to kiss his chin gently a couple times, “I get to spend the most romantic day of the year with my very hot boyfriend eating amazing burgers and making out on the couch until the sun comes up,” 

He smiled, cheeks warmer than the freshly cooked beef steaming through the paper bag, and he couldn’t resist shooting a hand out to stop her from rounding the car to the passenger side, grabbing her jaw in one fell swoop, lifting her head to attach their lips once more, ‘one for the road’ he would excuse when he let her go, and he felt her smile into his affection. They let go with a sweet smack, and the second they did her mouth watered for more. 

“That really is the best Valentine’s Day,” He agreed, swapping the car keys in her hands for the food and walking round to her side to open the door for her like a gentleman. 

And that was exactly how it went. Until making out turned into more, more kisses, more intimate, more parts of themselves bared to one another for the first time, and they sat in naked silence afterwards, enjoying each other's body heat until their eyes got heavy and they fell asleep. 

And Bugsy swore she would love Spencer Reid with every part of her he’d touched until the day she died. 

3. The one with the fake boyfriend.

Spencer was pouring kibble when she screamed. The bag was all but spilled over the kitchen tiles as his head shot up, his entire body diverting to the direction of her yell, and before he even had time to put the bag down, perhaps step over the two shadows that dived for the rogue biscuits tumbling to the floor, he heard her footsteps tearing from their room and into the kitchen. 

Because it was their room now. Not just his. 

She wore black pants and a tight, white shirt with her buttons only half fastened shut. His eyes shamelessly dropped straight to her chest, a black lace bra staring back at him and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the week before, wondering for a second if they had a spare half an hour before work. 

It had been eight days since they’d had sex for the first time, and the two of them were struggling all the more to keep it together. He was like a man starved of oxygen, she was a woman let out of a cage, craving one another more than they had ever thought possible. Because before he hadn’t been given that taste of sweet heaven, hadn’t known every inch of her the way he did now, and Spencer thought he might not be able to ever know anything more intoxicating than how she looked in his bed when she-

He was quick to put his hands over her cheeks as she panted, horror in her gaze as she held her phone in her hand, damn near shaken for words, “What? What is it?” 

“Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick,” She murmured, her eyes never tearing away from her phone screen, and he promptly took the device out from her grasp, his hazel hues roving over the bright light. 

His lips parted, and he felt his stomach flurry into life as he saw the raunchy photo she’d taken of her lingerie, their shared bathroom in the background and what looked to be a toothbrush in the top of the photo, clearly having been in the middle of brushing when she’d taken the photo in the mirror. 

His gaze went to the top of the screen, because he certainly hadn’t heard his phone buzz on the counter, nor would it have been such an issue if she had sent it to him, though he suspected he was the intended recipient anyway.

Spencer frowned, “Who’s MILF?”

Bugsy looked at him guiltily. “It’s JJ.” She said through a cottonmouth. 

“You know what that word means right?” He said, and she rolled her eyes because of course he was focusing on all the wrong things, though she guessed that was down to his tented trousers and the rouge that crawled up his neck into the apple of his cheeks because Spencer always found an excuse to cram silences with words.

“Yes, don’t worry, you’re the only one I want to ilf for real.” She said, a hand running through her hair in panic as she looked over his shoulder at the text conversation.

“Can’t you just delete it?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning the photo again because it certainly would have made his morning receiving a photo like that. 

“Not on messenger, not when- oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” Bugsy’s voice got louder with every with every curse, and she ripped the phone from his hand when the three little dots appeared, letting her know JJ was in fact typing. Spencer was knocked from his daze staring at the photo, realising that JJ was a profiler just like any of the rest of them, and she could very easily figure out who that photo had been meant for, “She’s typing, she’s typing!”

Spencer took a deep breath for both of them, his hands resting on her upper arms in gentle motions, “Alright, let’s just calm down, she might just be a little confused, I mean you don’t usually send her photo’s like that do you?” He said soothingly, only for her to let out a small screech, and he saw ‘incoming call from MILF’ written in bright white across the top of the screen, “Okay, I’m begging you to change that name, that is so weird thinking of JJ as-”

“SPENCER,” She barked, handing him the phone, “I can’t speak right now, I don’t know what to say, I’ll screw it all up,”

His eyes widened, ushering her hand back to her ear, “I can’t answer it, then she’ll know we’re together while you look like- like that,”

“We live together, I don’t think I’ve worn pants here once in the past five years,” She whisper yelled to him, the ringing going on only longer with every dial thrumming right to her already racing heart, “Oh god, I’m gonna answer it, I’m going to- Good morning, Jennifer, how’s the oatmeal in the Jareau-LaMontagne household?”

“Please tell me that photo was meant for a guy. Or atleast Penelope,” JJ’s voice was full of surprise, and Bugsy already knew she had her fingers rubbing her eye sockets, “Are you seeing someone?”

“Uh, y-yeah?” Bugsy stammered, exchanging a wide eyed glance with Spencer, “A guy from… a bar! I’m seeing a guy from a bar,”

“Oh, Bugsy, why didn’t you say?” JJ asked with a girlish delight, and Bugsy shrugged before she remembered JJ couldn’t see that, and she had to think on her feet for a response.

“It’s just casual- it’s new and totally casual right now,” She stammered, hoping the lie was convincing enough that JJ wouldn’t poke for more answers. But it was JJ, the same JJ who loved filling Emily’s shoes as big sister when she was away, and ‘totally casual’ seemed to not make the cut for explanations. 

“Is he cute, how old is he?” JJ rebutted as she submerged Henry’s empty cereal bowl in the sink full of soapy water, pressing the phone between her shoulder and ear.

The girl’s gaze trailed over Spencer’s face, where he had gone deadly silent to listen in on their conversation. He flashed her a devilish grin at JJ’s mothering tone, and she shyly looped a finger through his belt.

“The cutest,” Bugsy replied, with a small beam, and she watched Spencer’s gaze turn doting and sweet. And that time, she hadn’t been lying.

–

“Oh come on, I want to meet this guy,” JJ said, bringing her coffee cup up to her lips. It wasn’t even that Emily had asked her to look after Bug the first time she’d left for Paris, then again when she left for London, that made her so protective. Moreso that fact Bugsy was a little sister if she’d ever had something close to one. Being the youngest herself, she knew what it was like to live in her own sister’s shadow, a feeling that had followed her around her entire life. 

If JJ was missing Emily, she knew Bug was feeling the same tenfold.

Either way, the second they’d gotten into the office all of three days ago after the incident, JJ hadn’t stopped badgering her about her new secret fling she had.

“He’s busy, super super busy,” She brushed her off and Spencer smirked into his book, his desk chair turned away from where JJ leaned against her desk. Penelope’s heels clicked against the BAU floor as she wandered over to them, a steaming mug of tea in her own hand.

“Who’s super super busy?” She asked, cutting in half way through the conversation to hear only half of the story, and Bugsy shied away into her lap. 

“Bugsy’s secret boyfriend,” JJ raised her brows at the woman who almost dropped her mug, her jaw hitting the floor as she looked at the girl incredulously.

“Did my ears just deceive me? Have you been hiding something from me, cause you know I’ll hack into your social media before you could even say Barbie Dream House,” Penelope said with an aghast expression. 

“He’s just a guy I met at a bar, it’s not a big deal,” She brushed them off, already digging the lie deeper, and she only could hope the reward would be a bigger pay out when she thought back the night after the restaurant. 

She’d tell them anything if it meant she could spend another night like that. 

“Not a big deal?” JJ said doubtfully, flicking a look at the girl, “Come on, I want to meet the guy who’s the best sex you ever had,” 

Spencer slammed his book shut, and twirled around in his office chair with just enough time to watch her groan, and bury her face in her hands. 

“What was that?” He asked, his eyes lit up with a boyish excitement as he resisted the urge to smirk at her, because he felt the glare before he’d even seen it. 

“Nothing,” She snapped at him, eyes laced with an unspoken warning for him to watch his step because they weren’t stupid enough to ignore his sudden interest in her lovelife, “Don’t you have a report due?”

He shrugged with rosy cheeks, his expression that of barely concealed delirium as he watched her flush under the pressure of his prideful grin. 

“You know me, I’ll catch up on that later, let’s talk about this new thing you have,” He brushed off, just as Rossi paced past their mother’s meeting, heading for the roundtable room. 

“We have a case, kids. Life waits for no man, no matter how juicy his gossip,” David said profoundly as ever, and the four of them rose to follow behind him like a trail of ducklings. Penelope’s heels clicked at his side, and she cast a quick glance over her shoulder at where JJ was interrogating their youngest agent some more. 

“You want the 411?” She mumbled, and the old man sighed, watching the girl's floral hair ties bounce with her pigtails at every step. 

“Shoot. Wife number one ruined Real Housewives for me, I guess I need something good,” Rossi said with tired eyes, as Penelope scooched closer. 

“Bugsy has a new secret boyfriend,” The bubbly woman said in between a million watt grin.

He raised his eyebrows at her, flicking a quick look back at the girl who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole when JJ pushed her for details on their first date. 

“No kidding,” He murmured, tilting his head in consideration how he hadn’t seen the signs, he knew well enough now to know the look of a honeymoon phase. He’d had about fifty of them. 

“Still awaiting details on how he looks, but I reckon a quick deep dive in her socials will get me what I want,” Penelope added as if putting together a report on an UnSub, though the tech wizz would argue mystery man was just as much a person of interest than any of the others they went after. 

He looked at her for a moment, her chirpy tone almost a dichotomy of the invasive stalking she was revving herself up for, and he nearly stopped in his tracks for a second. 

“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” He said, with a serious undertone, shaking his head, “I’d hate to be the guy on the end of your wirey maze, Garcia,”

But Spencer’s smile had yet to be wiped from his face, in fact he thought he might just get JJ to say it again into a microphone because the ego boost was set to last a lifetime. 

He promised he’d make it up to her for the annoyingly arrogant attitude he was sporting, but then any man with half a brain would if he’d been told he was the best she’d ever had, let alone one with a brain that had already engraved the sound of that into his hypothalamus. 

And Spencer knew just how he was going to say sorry. 

–

“Wait, so does this mean that your new hypothetical boyfriend is better than Sean?” Penelope said through the screen as they lounged on the jet on the way home from the case. Hotch’s head shot up from where he was reading the newspaper, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look at the youngest agent before he had practically thrown himself out of his seat. 

“I’m going for coffee,” He said before anyone could interject and the sight of their boss all but running down the aisle towards the kitchenette made her throw her head in her hands once more. 

“I’m begging you, never make me talk about sex infront of Hotch ever again,” She groaned, and Rossi huffed, clamping his own book shut and shuffling past them to meet where Aaron was spending almost too much time with his head in the cupboard, “Better yet, don’t make me talk about sex with his brother infront of him again,” 

“For the record, old man number two doesn’t want to hear about who jiggles your Jimmies either,” He grumbled, and Bugsy carded her fingers through her hair, too embarrassed to look at the two men that cowered in the back of the jet. 

“Jiggles your Jimmies?” Blake repeated, her brow furrowing, “At least, I’m not that old,” 

“Stop avoiding the question, Princess,” Penelope chided, and Morgan laughed as Bugsy huffed, turning her head away as if she hadn’t heard, “Is he?” 

“That’s usually what ‘the best I’ve ever had’ means, Pen,” She snipped through blazing cheeks, and she could feel the smug-shit eating grin coming from Spencer before she’d even looked at him, “Now, could we talk about literally anything else, please?”

There was a lapse of silence where Morgan exchanged a look with JJ, and the blonde picked under her nail, trying to think of anything else to say before she cracked, because it was rare that Bugsy ever sought anyone out so fondly. 

And possibly because she knew Emily would need the complete, padded out, full update when JJ inevitably called her to rinse her with details. 

“How many kids does he want?” The words fell from JJ’s mouth, not really thinking much about the way Reid’s face was claret red. He had never liked lewd conversations. 

And he wanted to blurt out three, as many as possible, as many as she wants and then another one, but he couldn’t because that would inevitably give their secret away completely. 

“Does he have a stable job?” Blake chimed in, ever the mother considering if the mystery man would be a practical partner, “Is he gentle? Angry men make for terrible fathers,”

“Is he gentle in bed?” Penelope added, her glasses glinting in the light of her computer screen, “Does he do the thing where he-”

Bugsy growled, half way between a groan and a scream, looking between her team with wide eyes, “You’re all perverted, hedonistic, gossip girls, and I beg you leave this alone before I join Hotch and Rossi in the cupboards,” 

“Cupboards are full,” Hotch barked, almost warningly because he didn’t think he could look at her until the subject of her and Sean banging was entirely out of his head. 

And they went quiet again, seeming to take the hint that Bugsy didn’t appreciate their poking. Morgan gave her an apologetic yet amused smile as he slipped his headphones on, Blake pulled out a puzzle book, JJ retired to her side of the couch for a moment of shut eye, though her brain was filled with what she guessed Emily would say about her little sister having a real life boyfriend. 

God help the kid who tries screwing that psycho over. 

Spencer smiled dopily into his book, his hands gripping the leather bound spine tightly, and it was the first time she’d looked at him the whole plane ride. His chest puffed as he met her with a cocky smile that he barely tried to hide, and he swiftly received a kick to the shin for his rare ego. 

But he didn’t care, the sting in his leg all but none existent because she hadn’t been too cruel with her chastising, and he couldn't wait to kiss the anger out of her the second they were alone. He loved her temper, loved her fire and the warmth it gave him, and he thought then there wasn’t a single thing about her that he wished to change. Even if the scowl and pout on her face didn’t exactly suit her. 

His smile was blinding the entire way home, even when they hopped into his car, and he looked at her with ill-concealed excitement, “Better than Sean?” Spencer asked, hopefully, and she tutted, swatting his thigh. 

“Spencer,” She hissed, though his eyes didn’t leave her, waiting for a response, “Fine, yes, better than Sean. Best I’ve ever had, right?” 

Spencer all but pranced up the stairs into their apartment ready to live up to his new moniker. 

4. The one where someone finds out.

“Can I borrow your deodorant?” Bugsy asked, as she slowly slipped a piping hot cup of coffee onto Penelope’s desk, making sure not to spill so much as a drop over the edge of the cute octopus mug.

“Oh, of course!  I always have something spare for my girls.” The tech wizz was quick to fish through her bag for the aerosol, handing it to the woman as she snuck a hand under her armpit to apply. “You ever need tampons, a box of cookies, or prescription painkillers, Garci is your gal. Though preferably don’t tell Hotch about that last one,” 

Bugsy smiled, “You’re an angel,” She said, as she sprayed herself quickly, “I left my stuff in, uh, secret boyfriend’s car. If you got a spare bra lying around your bag, you’d really be a life saver,”

Penelope’s eyes turned catlike as she narrowed them at the girl, “I said I’m your gal, not Mary Poppins,” She replied, looking up at Bugsy with a smug smile as she played with the fluffy end of her pen, “So, you guys hook up in his car or something?” 

Bug pressed her lips together tightly, wondering whether she could let too much slip to the woman who was known for tracking her friends’ phones like they were damn Sim characters on the loose. And despite their relationship being so top secret, it had been five months of sneaking around. Five months of keeping her smiles and butterflies and silly little notions of just how great Spencer was entirely free from girl talk. She knew the moment they told their team, there would be questions and rumours across departments. There would be prodding and interrogating and paperwork to fill out with Hotch, and they more than likely wouldn’t be allowed to be in the field together. 

Which brought her an even more worried thought. What if she was forced to move teams? 

Spencer certainly wouldn’t be the one to move, he had practically made a home in the BAU before any of them even knew she existed. And despite the fact they felt more like a family to her than the houses in every country ever had, she would leave them if it meant Spencer could stay. 

It was different with JJ and Will. They were together, yes, had been in the field together once or twice, but it wasn’t as if they were on the same team, liable to letting their relationship muddy the waters of worklife. She wasn’t entirely sure what the rules were of relationships in the team, and she knew Hotch would become suspicious almost instantly  if she asked; knew she could only lie to him for so long about this so called secret boyfriend before he became overbearingly fatherlike and weaselled his way into her head with those stern eyes and that patient law degree. 

She nodded after considering spilling her thoughts out to Penelope, because as much as she loved Spencer and loved that he was her best friend even before he was her boyfriend, she missed girl talk. The same girl talk he had no idea how to navigate, that was a complete mystery to him with its hidden politics and rules that he was convinced were purposely made up to confuse guys so they wouldn’t be able to figure out what women were talking about. She missed having someone there to hear just how Spencer would stroke her hair before they went to sleep, when her eyes were closed and her breathing was slowly evening out and he thought she was already dozing, when she would glance at him through bleary eyes because she knew he would be watching her, his eyes wide and fat with love as he looked at her like he was a kid seeing his Christmas presents lined up neatly beneath the tree. She wanted someone else to know how he managed to make her coffee perfectly, how he would wake up five minutes before her, drag himself out of bed to brush his teeth and cook her breakfast at the weekends, how she was trying harder to stay tidy for his sake because she saw the way he cleaned her messes up for her without complaints or grumbles. Bugsy wanted someone else to know that he would kiss her like she was going to be ripped away from him at any given moment, and that she melted into a puddle at his feet when he asked to shower with her just last week and they got to spend forty minutes under the relaxing hot water, just holding each other close enough to feel every breath and smile and laugh and everything else they ended up doing when they were naked. 

She loved having him all to herself, truly. Yet there was part of her that wanted to scream to the entire office the second there was a lull in conversation that she was in love with him more truly, deeply, insatiably than she had ever imagined anyone could be. 

Penelope squealed, kicking her legs and pulling her second wheely chair out for Bugsy to sit down in, “Tell me everything, were you in the back or the front? Oh my god were you in the trunk, can you imagine that? Didn’t the seat belts get in the way? What about the handbrake? And the wheel-”

Bugsy laughed with a shake of her head, but she obliged her anyway as she threw herself into the seat, if not for a spare five minutes of relaxing before she started her paperwork. 

“Slow down! I’ll give you three questions, tops, and that’s all you’re getting out of me, Garcia,” She chuckled, cracking open her Dr Pepper can and taking a sip of the cold fizz. 

“Three?” Garcia cried incredulously, “You’re like a genie in a bottle only you withhold secrets instead of granting wishes,” 

“I can make it two if you want, smartass,” Bugsy teased, and she giggled at the way Penelope glared at her, like she was ready to lay one of her perfectly manicured nails around her throat and wrangle her for the truth in a rare bout of Penelope Garcia rage.

“Okay, umm, first question,” Penelope held a finger up, pressing her peach painted lips together because she only had three magic wishes, “What was it like, your guys first time?” 

Bugsy smiled, melting inside because speaking to Spencer about how good he was in bed seemed like a little too on the nose even for her, and she’d kept it hidden for god knows how long, “It was good, but not just good in that way. Although believe me it was good in that way too,” She said with a bashful giggle, her cheeks heating on impact and Penelope squealed, “I felt safe, and he kept telling me he loved me, and when we were done he went to the store and bought me strawberry milk because I told him it was my favourite,” 

Penelope’s eyes melted into puppy dog ones, her lips pulling to reveal her pearly white smile and she quietly ‘aww’ed at the sentiment, her brows tugging together in earnest joy as she watched Bugsy flick the metal tab of the can lid to avoid eye contact. 

“What an angel, who did you pay to find you this guy?” Penelope asked and the girl’s chuckled together. She rocked side to side on her desk chair, mid thought of her very important question, “Alright, alright, next one! Have you told Spencer yet?”

Bugsy froze, flicking a look to Penelope because surely there was no way she could have guessed from that short exchange. She knew Garcia was a hotshot behind a screen, but she would have to be given a spot as a profiler if she’d managed to figure out just from that one question who it was she was trying so desperately to keep a secret.

 “What do you mean?” She said, trying to hide the way her throat had run dry, and Penny looked at her as if she had lost a few brain cells in the midst of the honeymoon phase. 

“I mean, it sounds like you guys spend a lot of time in your room. Spence surely must have crossed paths with him by now?” Garcia clarified, and Bugsy’s brows lifted in what she hoped was well concealed panic. 

“Yes- yes,” She cleared her throat, wishing the stuttering away as she scrambled to cover her tracks, “Spencer has met him, he said he’s a great guy, real baseball whizz,” 

‘Great guy’ didn’t quite cut it, she thought with a chiding voice in her head, but she was sure Spencer would forgive her with a small bat of her lashes, a sweet kiss even. She even thought of a way that would convince him just how sorry she was for limiting him to just the word great, because he was so much more than that to her; she thought of an apology, one where he would be so smitten and drunk on kisses and other things that she could tell him he was the dumbest boy alive and he wouldn’t care. 

Because she was all his, loved him far beyond ‘great’ and the idea of that alone cut his IQ from 187 to a mere 5 on a good day. 

Penelope smirked, like she knew a sudden shortcut in her system, “Remind me to interrogate Reid later about this ‘Home Run’ you’re bringing over for bang bang,” 

Bugsy snickered, making a mental note to remind Spencer where he suddenly fell in her lie, when in truth she had been thinking about the time he’d subbed for someone on Morgan’s team. She’d been thinking about how proud he looked, how he’d smiled for days after, how Morgan and Hotch picked him up and screamed with happiness at their younger agent, but she definitely hadn’t been thinking about how his hair had looked sweaty and full of curls on his neck, hadn’t at all been thinking that his face looked that extra bit kissable when he laughed. 

If it had been Emily, she might have been screwed. She swore her sister could sniff out a lie from her like a bloodhound to a body. It was why she had always been caught sneaking out, always been caught smoking blunts behind the shed, it was why Emily knew for a blatant fact whether she was really sick when she’d claimed she was too ill to go to school. If it had been Emily, she would have been six feet under for that small white lie alone, but Garcia wasn’t Emily. And so Garcia believed her. 

“Oh, third question, you guys are being like, safe right?” Penelope said, with rare concern swirling in her dark brown eyes, and Bugsy sighed with a knowing smile, because it felt like the team did nothing but mother her nowadays, “Because as much as I would love to be an aunt all over again, I don’t think the world is ready for a baby Bugsy,”

“I know what I’m doing, Pen. My IUD doesn’t run out for another couple years, we’re totally fine,” She replied, subconsciously running a thumb over the inner part of her arm where the rod lay under her skin until she felt the odd poking of the device. Spencer had insisted he wore a condom the first few times just to be extra cautious, had begun to tell her the fact sex was only safe 99 percent of the time with an IUD alone before she had kissed him to politely and lovingly tell him to stop overthinking things. However they had run out after the sixth time, and instead of stopping to go run out and get more, he’d decided perhaps they would be safe enough, or perhaps he had stopped caring the second she took her clothes off. 

Penelope grinned, pretending to wipe her brow, “Okay, phew. If you ever need anything, I’m talking condoms, lube, maybe you guys are getting it on and you realise you’re out of batteries for your-”

“Ah,” Bugsy winced, sticking her fingers in her ears and hopping out of her seat to head for the door, the feeling that Penelope was toeing the line of boundaries the way she usually did only this time she was unknowingly talking about Spencer, “Thankyou, Garcia, however I’m going to get going, breakfast is calling, and Dr Pepper is not cutting it this morning,” She said backing away towards the door, looking at the bubbly blonde who watched her go with a cunning smile. Because Penelope always meant well, even if she trampled over boundaries sometimes, or lacked the perfect words to say, she always had the best of intentions, and for a moment the guilt tugged at Bugsy’s stomach for being so abrasive in leaving. 

“As long as you’re being safe, I am happy to know you’re getting some,” The woman brushed off, whirling around her desk to log into her software, her manicured nails clicking against her keyboard at the speed of light. 

Pausing with her hand on the door knob, she looked back at Penelope with softened eyes, a small dose of sentiment trickling into her tone, “Pen?” She said in a quiet voice and Garcia stopped, looking back to the youngest agent with wondering eyes, “Don’t ever change,”

And with that she left to grab herself a coffee, because the guilt of keeping secrets was too much for the early morning.

–

She saw him coming mid way through lunch, Penelope tucked behind Morgan’s desk, stirring a spoonful of peanut butter into her oatmeal pot, steam whirling from the container with a sweet scent. Morgan leaned against Bugsy’s workspace, his arms crossed over his chest as the two of them chattered, Bugsy picking at a punnet of fat, red grapes. 

Spencer came down the stairs, his eyes already trained on her the second he’d left Rossi’s office after handing some files over to the veteran agent, and he fought the small blush away from the apples of his cheeks. Because even after five months of calling her his girlfriend, just the sight of her glancing up at him with that look in her eyes had him bashful.

His hand dived into his bag before he could forget, a rare and near impossible occurrence for him only he’d found he had the tendency to get sidetracked when she was around, usually looking at her expressive face when she was talking, or getting lost in the light scent of her hair that wafted over to him, watching the way her hands fiddled with her stationary when she was thinking. Bugsy made Spencer Reid forget things, and it was for that reason he knew she wasn’t like anyone he’d ever met before, not that he needed reminding of it. 

“Here you go, you left your deodorant in my car,” Spencer exclaimed, producing a pink can from his satchell and handing it over to her with little thought to the chaos those ten words had created. 

Because Spencer had unknowingly just set off a time bomb, one that threatened five months worth of covert operations. Unintentionally, ofcourse, because those five months had been just as hard on him. He had just been excited to see her. 

Bugsy felt herself go a sickly colour, felt her stomach drop and the wind whoosh from her lungs at the sound of it and her head whipped to Garcia before she could think to be even the littlest bit subtle, because never had there been a clue about their little secret so blatant and open for the taking. 

And as if that hadn’t been the nail in the coffin, as if the small look of confusion that washed over Penelope’s face hadn’t given away the small feeling of puzzle pieces slotting together in that wonderfully big brain of hers, Spencer plonked a drink from the cafe down the street on her desk. 

It was a pink liquid, thin and sickly looking, with a whipping of fresh cream on top, and a glacé cherry to make it look extra delicious. 

“I got you a strawberry milk as well because I know you wanted one last night,” He said, a helpful smile on his face as he slid it over the table to her. It wasn’t the brand that she loved, or the Nesquik powder she kept stashes of in their cupboards, but he knew she would devour it nonetheless. 

And yet she didn’t look at him with that loving gaze like she usually did when he brought her presents. Didn’t throw him a ‘thankyou’ dipped in hidden affection, or a small squeeze of his hand that they usually could get away with because they’d always been affectionate. 

Instead, the second the words had left his mouth, her eyes went so wide he saw the whites of her sclera, saw her pupil shrink as her head jerked around to Penelope who sat in Morgan’s desk chair, the oatmeal in her hands shaking as she lifted her dirty spoon to point at the young woman. 

“Pen-” Bugsy started with a warning tone, the panic laced in her words that were quickly overtaken by Penelope’s voice yelling, her eyes equally as peeled back wide with horror.

“OH! OH! You- YOU- And the- and the milkshake- and you said- OH,” Penelope screeched flicking her porridge covered utensil like a teacher pointing at a naughty student, and she was quick to turn her attention to Reid, “AND YOU! YOU- OH GOD-” 

“Woah, woah, what’s with the yelling, baby girl?” Morgan asked earnestly, holding his hands up in surrender to the woman who had cut through the working silence of the office, some of the other agents lifting their heads from their work to see what the commotion was about. Even Hotch had shot a look to the BAU floor from his office, and judging by the annoyed look on his face as he stood up from his desk, they didn’t have a whole load of time to shut Penelope up before Hotch began demanding answers.

This was it, Bugsy told herself. This was the moment she’d been dreading, when they would be outed to the whole office, not even getting to decide when or what they told the team that could soften the blow of a cover story so huge. The moment when Hotch would likely get her to put in a transfer form by the end of the week with a slap on the wrist.

But she wasn’t ready to leave; Bugsy didn’t want to be anywhere that wasn’t with her team, even if there was a grey area in the rules about what she and Spencer could and couldn’t do in the field. 

And so she sprung towards Penelope, a hand grabbing the arms of the wheely chair Penelope sat on, looking the woman dead in the eye. 

“Hey, Pen, quick question about IT for you, I think we should head to your office, don’t you?” She said quickly, already rolling the woman back towards her lair with frantic eyes while Penelope hopped between five trains of thought, her oatmeal all but slipping from her hands, “Spence, get the door for me would you?”

“And Spencer- you said Spencer spoke to him- you said-” Garcia muttered on like she’d opened pandora’s box and peered inside to see the great wonders of the universe and returned a madwoman, her words only made more dramatic by the way she pointed in Spencer’s face as he passed by them, his own expression curved into worry as he’d quickly clicked what the tech whizz was babbling about, “BASEBALL, SPENCER- SHE SAID YOU LIKED BASEBALL-”

“Okay, am I missing something or was that an extra dose of weird and wonderful from Garcia this morning?” Blake said with narrowed eyes as the genius boy held the door open and Bugsy wheeled a yelling Garcia down the hallway to her office, the youngest agent with an oddly harsh tone as she shushed the woman. 

“Pen, I’ll explain-”

“But you- YOU!” 

“Shhh!” 

“Something’s ruffled her feathers, I can tell you that for free,” Morgan said, his eyes trailing Spencer as he strolled behind the bickering women, tucking his hair behind his ear worriedly, “That right there was a level nine Garcia freakout,” 

JJ’s brow creased, as Hotch headed down the stairs towards the trio, all too aware of the commotion Penelope’s yelling had caused while the rest of the office attempted to settle back into their reports. But it seemed everyone’s eyes trailed after the three agents heading towards Penelope’s office, watching the car crash of a moment through the freshly cleaned windows as Pen tried speaking, though yelling may be a better term for it, and Bugsy barked at her to calm down. 

“What’s level ten?” The blonde asked, her arms crossed over her chest, and Morgan shook his head.

“You don’t wanna know,”

–

“YOU TWO ARE SEXING LIKE BUNNIES AND YOU DIDN’T TELL US?” Penelope all but yelled the second Spencer shut the door behind him, and Bugsy ran a hand over her face out of embarrassment, her cheeks hot and painfully tingly. 

“Penelope, would you please keep your voice down, okay, this isn’t a big deal-” Spencer tried to interject, his palms out in a non threatening manner like level nine Garcia was an unsub they were trying to subdue. The older woman looked at him wide eyed, as if he’d just told her the sky was falling, and her mouth dropped in aghast. 

“Not a big deal- NOT A BIG DEAL? Spencer Reid, two of my best friends are screwing around in his car- your car- and you mean to tell me to calm down?” Penelope shrieked, and Spencer wondered for a moment if he was getting yelled at or she really was just that shocked, “I mean, this is groundbreaking, like more groundbreaking than the Anniston-Pitt-Joley affair, you guys are messing around right under our noses- this is like the talk of the century-” 

“W-we’re not just messing around, Garcia,” Spencer spluttered, scratching at his neck awkwardly, “I mean not that that stuff isn’t great, cause, god, of course it is,” He looked at Bugsy who smiled with an unnatural shyness, rubbing at her mouth with an anxious touch, “But it’s not just that, I really-really love her,” 

Bugsy thought she might have just melted on the spot there and then as she looked at him over her shoulder, a meek simper spreading across her face and she flicked a look back to Penelope with pleading eyes. 

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and I know it's sudden,” She said quietly, and for once Penny listened, because it was like the air had shifted to accommodate the gooey feeling of love between the youngest agents, “But he’s right, it’s not just fooling around, Pen, we’re just being us. And we wanted to keep it that way a little while,”

If there was one thing about Penelope that Bugsy knew would tug on her heart strings, was that Pen, at her core, was a romantic. She gushed over the kisses in the rain, the soppy proposals, the cheesy love confessions. And judging by the way her horror seemed to have melted away, she was entirely right, because it left behind a sparkly look in her eye that flicked between the two of them, like she was a kid watching the prince get the princess for the first time all over again. 

“Wait, so you guys are like, in love love, like wedding bells and a white picket fence with kids in the yard and all that?” Bugsy grinned, feeling Spencer’s arm lay over her shoulder, pulling her close to his side, and in a rare moment of PDA, she looked up at him with the full extent of her adoring gaze. 

“I’m vetoing the white fence, but I guess so,” She said with crude humour, and he smiled down at her, raising his brows and almost instantly they’d flung back into how it was when it was just the two of them at home. 

“Vetoing the fence? How are the kids going to play in the yard, we’ll be raising a small horde of them,” He quipped back, and she laughed, burying her face in his chest as Penelope watched with fascinated interest how they fit together the same way they always had and yet now they were suddenly different. Glowing. Golden. 

“I was thinking more of a flock but okay-”

“Are you kidding me?” Pen interjected, her tone exasperated and sweet, besotted with the sight of the youngest agents poring over one another unapologetically and she felt like slapping herself silly because how had they not noticed before. “I take it back, you guys aren’t Pitt and Joley, you’re- you’re William and Kate, you’re Neeson and Richardson, you’re just,” She sighed dreamily as the two of them glanced at her with coy smiles, entirely exposed in their sickeningly loved up stupors, “Meant to be,” 

They looked at eachother, because Pen had hit the nail on the head, the fact they’d danced around one for so long that it felt like they had always been made for one another the second they’d kissed that day in her room. Bugsy couldn’t imagine a life without Spencer in it, didn’t think she started existing really until he came knocking on her door in search of a translator. Spencer never believed in god or heaven or angels, but he knew whatever it was that had sent her to him when he was ten feet below his rock bottom, was something even a man so smart as him couldn’t explain.

Bugsy grinned toothily at the tech whizz, pointing a reprimanding finger in her direction, “You can’t tell Morgan, this is top secret,” 

Penelope’s mouth dropped its smile almost instantly in moral offence, “Wait, what? But I always tell big daddy everything,” 

Spencer face scrunched in bafflement, his lips moving before he could stop them; “Big Daddy?”, whilst Bugsy brushed off the nickname almost too unsurprised at the woman’s words.

“Please, Pen, pleeeease,” She begged, her eyes round and wide with a pleading expression that made her seem ten years younger, and Penelope looked like she was ready to crack within mere seconds , “We’ll tell everyone soon, I promise, just please give us a few more weeks to figure things out,”

And Garcia showed signs of crumbling. Not that Spencer could blame her, because Bugsy could get anything she wanted from people when she really tried. He liked to think of it as her sixth sense, sometimes wondered if she had some sort of mind control over him that she hadn’t told him about because he seemed to bend and sway to her whims almost too easily, and it was almost comforting to see Garcia facing the same struggle as she huffed, turning away from the puppy eyes that stared into her soul. 

Penelope sighed, pouting a little at the fact she’d been given an explicit instruction to hide something from Morgan, the very idea of which setting her in a dampened mood. Yet she glanced back at the two agents that held onto each other like they were awaiting lottery results, their imploring eyes trained on her and patiently holding out for a response, knowing she was the only person in the whole world who had the power to put an end to their hypothetical romcom montage they’d been swept up in for months. She bet to herself for a moment that they would have some kind of cheesy seventies or eighties hit playlist running behind all of their hidden moments and secret affections, might have Cindi Lauper’s Time After Time running when they had their first kiss, She’s Always a Woman by Billy Joel when they danced in the kitchen at breakfast. 

Penelope Garcia was nothing but a hopeless romantic, and it was for that reason that she rolled her eyes with a wry smile, and Bugsy’s chest deflated with relief, her expression lighting up with joy, that Spencer was quick to replicate. 

“What would you kids ever do without me?” Garcia said with a dramatic huff, and Bugsy all but threw herself at the woman, grabbing her in a tight hug, squeezing her so hard she nearly popped a pom pom out of her hair. 

“Oh, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, I swear we’ll make it up to you, anything you want,” Bugsy said, her words flooding together with excitement as she buried her face in the woman’s blonde curls, “I swear, it’ll be a few weeks tops,” 

And with just a few more minutes of Penelope squealing over the sight of them holding hands, nearly fainting from joy when Spencer tucked Bugsy’s hair behind her ear lovingly with an adoring gaze, their secret was safe again. For a matter of a few weeks, that was. 

5. The one where he gets shot.

“We’ve got the suspect headed into El Lobito’s diner,” 

“Copy that, we’re on our way,” The sheriff reported, his radio sounding out as he approached the group where they stood around their table crammed full of suspect profiles. “We got him,” He said with a trace of relief, the preacher that had been murdering the prostitutes he pimped out finally within their grasp. 

Bugsy nodded, checking that her gun was holstered and reaching for her vest when Hotch put a hand out towards her, “Prentiss, I want you here with Rossi and I coordinating response here. Blake and Reid, you go with the sheriff to meet Morgan and JJ at the diner,” 

She opened her mouth to protest, maybe to exclaim that she was one of the best shots on the team, that there was nothing more that she could do here than if she was out in the field with the others, but Hotch’s word was always final, and she knew protesting on such a time constrained operation would only end in her unit chief giving her a timeout on the naughty step. 

So, instead, she bit the inside of her cheek, silenced whatever protest she was going to give because she knew he hated hearing her whine, and within a moment everyone seemed to jump at their orders. 

She caught Spencer’s eye as he trailed behind Blake, wishing now more than ever things could be different, because a horrible feeling settled in her gut like a rotten fruit, churning her stomach with horrid thoughts that Spencer was heading straight for the line of fire and she couldn’t so much as give him a hug without it seeming odd. 

She wished more than ever she could grab him in a kiss that Hotch would pretend to not see, that he would understand because the entire team fretted over one another when the cards were dealt and the guns were loaded, wished she could tell Spencer over and over that he needed more than anything to make it back to her safely because she wouldn’t know what to do with all the love she had for him if he wasn’t there to take it. 

Except she couldn’t. Not here. Not so public. 

So instead she flashed him a nod that said a million words and more. I love you, I love you, I love you Spencer Reid. Come back to me because I love you more than life itself, Spencer Reid.

And Spencer got the message, the exchange looking like a plain tilt of the head between coworkers, as he strolled out of the precinct, checking his gun was loaded in his holster. 

His eyes read clear back to her what his reply was, though maybe it was just their spidey sense working overtime, she could have swore she read his mind in the split second that their gaze met. 

I’ll try. I’ll try with everything to come back to you. 

–

“Copy that, two of ours, three of theirs,” Cruz said with little to no inflection as he held out the speaker phone to the middle of the room, and Bugsy felt her breath catch in her throat as she waited for Alex to go on, “Any casualties?”

“One,” She replied, and the Prentiss woman felt her head go funny at the sound of it, “Coleman. Morgan has a superficial wound to his shoulder, little winded from getting shot in the vest but Reid is..” 

Blake trailed off, her throat choking up with emotion as she watched the boy be loaded onto the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. 

“What?” Hotch pressed, and Bugsy would have to thank him later because she could have sworn words had failed her by now. 

“Reid’s been hit in the neck,” She felt her legs go numb, the world spinning around her like someone was playing a cruel joke on her, like she was falling down, down, down into the rabbit hole, down into wonderland, where Spencer was hurt, badly, and she hadn’t been there to stop it. “It’s looking… bad,” 

Hotch flicked a glance at her where they stood in the precinct, and it was only then she realised all the air had whooshed from her lungs in what she suspected had been something between a gasp and a ‘no’, though she couldn’t say for sure because her hearing had been knocked clean from her, a high pitched whine of white noise ringing in her ears, like she’d knocked the signal from a TV, like her brain had been filled with static the second Blake’s voice floated through the phone.

“Bugsy,” It sounded underwater, and suddenly it was too difficult to swallow, until she realised the feeling was that she might just throw up, and she stepped towards the precinct door in some sort of haze, rustling around her pockets for the keys to the SUV, “Bugsy, wait!” 

There was a hand on her shoulder spinning her around as she was hit in the face with cool air, and suddenly Hotch was there, his umber eyes full of concern, Rossi not too far behind him, and it took her Unit Chief all of one swipe to snatch the keys from her. 

“I- We have to go, Hotch- we have to see him,” She babbled, and she was surprised at the fact she didn’t feel like crying. She expected to feel the burn behind her eyes, the tingling and tightness in her throat, only to come up blank. Like her body had taken a back seat, her head working on autopilot because she needed to see spencer for herself, “They need to know he can’t have any narcotics- I need to make sure it’s on his sh-sheet,” 

Her teeth were chattering. It was the middle of July, why were her teeth chattering?

“I know, I know, he’s in good hands,” Hotch said, in a way that told her he wasn’t being Hotch, that right now he was Aaron. He put a hand on her shoulder, the size of it dwarfing her and he looked at her like he was explaining to Jack why he couldn’t have chocolate before bed, “I know, we’ll go tell them right now, honey. Just let me drive the car.” 

She nodded without really hearing him, and Rossi opened the front passenger seat door for her, a grandfather’s hand on her back that helped her up into the jeep, because she seemed ready to take a tumble at any point, walking like her knee caps were made from jelly. 

“Has Blake said anything else?” She said, her voice entirely childlike, and David would bet any amount of money that it was the shock. He took a look at her, the way her fingernails were picking around each other already in a bad habit he could already guess came from Emily, and Aaron hopped into the driver’s side of the car, leaning over to grab her seatbelt for her. 

“Not yet, kiddo,” Rossi replied, his eyes soft like a teddy as she nodded dejectedly, and he closed the door on her side of the vehicle, opening the back for himself, Hotch mother henning over her. 

Aaron had expected her to worry, god knows he was well aware that Spencer and Bugsy struggled to function when they weren’t close by. He chided himself for splitting them up, yet he’d thought he was doing his best keeping his team in two equal sized groups both in the field and in the precinct. With JJ’s suspicions of a mole in the police force, Hotch and Rossi needed back up just as badly as the others. And god forbid he had selfishly tried to watch over her. Not because he didn’t think she was capable, but because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened while he’d sent her after an UnSub. 

He knew it was wrong to pick favourites, and truthfully if he had to he’d say, his whole team meant something like family to him. But Bugsy was the youngest, the baby if you would, she was mellower than she liked to pretend she was, and she’d carved a small soft spot in his side that he would struggle to get rid of. 

Only now Reid was down, and with him went Bugsy. 

Hotch started the car, quickly navigating his way to the hospital where he knew his team would more than likely already be racing towards in the same state of panic. He caught the way her knee thudded on the carpeted floor, where she tapped her ankle and it took a small glance to his right to see her chewing at her cuticles silently. 

“Bug, he’s in good hands,” He repeated, and she nodded though she didn’t seem to really be listening, “He’s going to be alright,”

Yet part of Aaron felt like he was telling himself that as much as he was telling her. Because if something happened to Reid, he didn’t think any of them would be the same again.

–

Blake heard her before they saw her, the way Hurricane Bugsy usually went.

“I swear to god, you had better let me through this door right now, or I will have your superior on speed dial by the end of the week-” She snapped, her panic quickly turned vitriol anger as the desk assistant who tried blocking her way into the critical unit looked at her somewhat mortified that his job was walking along a fine line. 

Hotch and Rossi had gone straight to where Morgan sat resting in a separate ward, trying to gather more information about the shooter since Morgan had seen the UnSub first hand.

Blake’s head shot up, the wetness around her lashline stinging with guilt as she watched the youngest agent tear through the waiting room as if looking out for blood. Alex was out of her seat on shaking legs, heading towards the girl who she knew would go down in a blur of swings and insults for Spencer Reid. 

“Bug, honey, hey,” Alex’s tone was motherly, as were her soft hands that she placed on the girl’s shoulders, and it didn’t become clear that the source of distress was from a place of fear instead of anger until the girl whipped around to face the voice, and Blake saw the redness rimming her eyes where she had forced the weeping away, likely putting on a brave face and high walls to stop the real emotion swirling inside her. 

Bugsy looked at the older woman, and that was all it took for her lip to quiver. It didn’t help that Alex threw her arms around her, pulling her in for a soft hug, one she had never gotten from Elizabeth Prentiss, one she had been craving her whole childhood, a mother that held her tight and told her she was going to be okay. 

“What happened?” She said, the sob crawling up her throat, bleeding into her words and muddying them with tears, and Alex had to swallow thickly to keep down the wail that pressed tight against her tongue, “What happened?” 

“He pushed me out the way,” She said with a shaky voice, and it took everything inside herself not to cry right there with her. “UnSub was aiming right for me, Spencer grabbed me and pushed me out the way. By that point it was too late, he’d already pulled the trigger, I’m so sorry honey,” 

“Don’t be s-sorry,” She hiccuped pathetically, clinging onto Blake like she was her only lifeline, perhaps the only thing keeping her standing, “I’m glad you’re okay, I was s-so worried,” 

Alex nodded, knowing she might just start crying then and there with the youngest agent if she were to open her mouth, and instead she chose to press a delicate kiss to her temple, hoping it would have to do since the infamous Emily Prentiss wasn’t there to comfort her sister. She seemed to quieten down enough in the embrace that Alex could pull away, her hands still on the girl’s shoulders. 

“I was just doing a crossword if you wanted to join me?” Alex said, which was a half truth since she had been too bothered to get past even the first three clues, and Bugsy nodded, her mind immediately spewing a million mornings of her and Spencer fighting for space at her desk to do the daily crossword. 

She couldn’t think like that, couldn’t think of him as if he was gone. Because he wasn’t, he was simply down that hallway, in the hands of surgeons who could slash his throat if they made even the smallest of nicks wrong-

“Yeah, I would like that,” Bugsy nodded with a sniffle, wiping her cheeks with her cuff, feeling pathetic and entirely regretful for bursting into the waiting room with a million emotions and no idea which one to feel first. 

She had never been good at putting a name to how she felt, only this time, if Alex were to ask her, she knew she would say she felt guilt. Guilt for not being there to help them, for hiding things from them for almost seven months now, for not telling Spencer she loved him more, not reminding him every second of every day, guilt that everyone was hurting over Spencer taking a knock and yet she was the only one who couldn’t smush it down into a box and put on a brave face. 

Because she couldn’t even if she tried. The trojans had a horse, Rocky had Creed, and she had Spencer. She was all mouth and courage and stone faced until it came to him. He was her Achilles Heel.  

She looked over Alex’s shoulder, pointing at seven across, and sighed with the horrific irony of the clue. A feeling of deep regret and remorse. 

“Contrition” She said, slumping into the chair as Alex penned the answer in with a wobbly lip. 

It was going to be a long night. 

–

Hotch found her by the vending machine, looking between the Dr Pepper and the Full Fat Coke like one of them would be able to tell her how to feel. She knew he was waiting for her, knew they had a job to do, but she couldn’t make herself move. She felt like the hospital linoleum had claimed her as its own, like she had melted into the squeaking surface until further notice. 

He was out of surgery by now, already in his room resting. It was just a matter of waking up really, and then they would see how bad things were, though by the sounds of it the doctors had hopes for a miraculous full recovery. 

Two centimetres to the right and it would have been an entirely different story, that’s what the surgeon had said. She was two centimetres away from losing the person she loved more than she ever knew was possible, the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. 

She thought for a second then, that if Spencer proposed the second he woke up she would probably say yes. Because she’d said it herself, her life had never been her life until it had him in it. 

“Bugsy,” Hotch tried, but her head had turned down, her chin pressing into her collar and it was then her shoulders began shaking, “Bug, come on, he’s going to be okay,”

She shook her head, biting down hard on her lip to stop a whimper of raw pain coming out, “I should have been there, I could have stopped it, I could have covered him,” She mewled, feeling him wrap a hand around her shoulder, and it was only then he tugged her towards him, letting her whimper into his chest as she clung onto him. 

“I know, I know it’s hard, but he’s going to make a full recovery,” He said in that cotton soft, loving tone usually reserved for Jack when he woke up from nightmares, “None of this was your fault, sweetheart, you have to know that-”

“I can’t do this without him, Hotch,” She said, pulling away just enough to look him in the eyes, and it pained him more than he’d ever admit to see her look so distraught. Memories of when Emily left flooded him and he felt all over again the painful shell she’d crawled into make an appearance, “I can’t,” 

It was a beg, a plea for mercy, a cry for help, and he could do nothing but nod, because he understood. If any of his team died, his team who he loved like a family, he thought he would crumble all the same. 

Only he knew it was different. He’d always known, deep down, why it was different for them. He saw the way Spencer had always looked at her, how damaged and tormented Bugsy’s eyes were as she looked at him now. And he knew. 

“I know, honey,” He said soothingly, stroking hands over her cheeks to dry them for her, because he couldn’t stand to see her so sodden with tears, “But you know what? You’re going to pick yourself back up until Reid gets better, because we have an UnSub to catch-”

“Hotch, I can’t,” She shook her head, but Hotch only pulled her closer, his eyes boring into hers with more affection than her father had ever shown her. “I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. You know why?” He asked, and she went quiet, shaking her head with a pitiful sniff, “Because I have never once stopped believing in you, even when you hated me, even when you had a damn building dropped on you, even when you were a reckless kid running away from your own wedding, I never stopped thinking that you were the bravest person I’ve ever known. And Spencer never stopped believing in you either,”

Her throat closed up all over again, her eyes wide and threatening to wash her skin with tears all over again as she nodded timidly. 

“Okay?” Hotch said, and she nodded again. He rooted around his blazer pocket for a handkerchief, passing it off to her before he reached for the top button of her shirt. He unbuttoned it with a gentle thumb, poofing her neckline out so she could breath a little better through her dying cries, “Why don’t we get that collar loosened a little for once, huh? Get you a soda, and then we’re going to make this son of a bitch pay for what he did to Reid,” 

Bugsy nodded again, feeling a hundred percent better the second air got onto her throat, and she saw glimpses of what he was like as a dad. Part of her wished then that things would have been different, that maybe she would have had a dad like him, one that knew how to fix things. One that knew just what to say to make her smile. 

He produced a five dollar bill, holding it up for the vending machine to eat as he turned to her, “Alright, now which one are you having?” 

Bugsy thought she might just love Aaron Hotchner ten times more than she already had. 

+1. The one where they tell everyone

She swore she had never run through hospital halls so fast. 

Blake had called her to update her about Garcia shooting the UnSub who posed as a doctor to try and administer lethal doses of medicine to Spencer, and when that hadn’t worked, he’d pulled a gun on her boyfriend and her tech whizz best friend. 

And Penelope had shot him. Killed him. All to save Spencer. 

And she supposed she needed to thank Penelope soon, that she would need to get the girl her own bunch of flowers like the ones she’d quickly excused herself to grab while Hotch and Rossi went straight up into Spencer’s hospital room, even when Aaron had tried to wait for her thinking she was having another crisis of faith, she had ushered him along and told him it was bad form to show up without a card at least. 

She burst through the doors like a bat out of hell, and the sight of Spencer in the scrubs, thick gauze wrapped around his neck made whatever resolve she’d been storing dissolve immediately. Her face crumpled in a cry, and he barely had time to carefully turn his head towards the door, before she had launched herself at him, the flowers and card she had gotten him from the hospital gift shop forgotten and tossed to the floor. 

She would apologise later, because she had ruined his presents despite the sentiment being there; for now she needed to feel him, make sure he was real and breathing and alive the way she’d told herself he wouldn’t be. 

“Bug-” His voice was raspy, no doubt having been drifting in and out of sleep for the past few hours, or even if the doctors had told him to rest his throat so as not to affect the thin, delicate stitches. But it didn’t matter much to her, she didn’t even let him finish anyway before she threw herself at him, minding his wound as she wept onto his chest, her arms wrapping around his waist, “Bugsy, it’s okay, I’m okay,”

But she couldn’t even speak, couldn’t even tell him to stop trying to reassure her, stop trying to make her feel better because he was the one in pain. She felt like a coward; she hadn’t even pulled herself together enough to see him before, when he had still been sleeping. The sight of him on that bed, his eyes squeezed shut… she had turned tail and run before she even gave him a chance. Knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself together on the case if she went into his room and pretended everything was going to be fine the way Garcia and Blake were doing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll stop-” She hiccupped, lifting her head up to look at him through distraught, reddened eyes, and she saw his face morphing into pure sorrow, his own hazel hues wide with grief because he hated seeing her in so much pain. 

And she couldn't stop herself, her hands migrated to his cheeks, steering clear of the suture. She didn’t think of the other eyes in the room, or the fact only Penelope knew, she suspected Hotch might have caught on by now anyway, she didn’t frankly care. She wanted to feel him against her, to know he was still hers. 

Bugsy kissed him like he was about to be ripped away from her at any given moment, and had she been in any other mindset she might have cared about the fact she could taste the salt of her tears, that he froze under her brazen affection, or that she surely looked a state after what the past twenty four hours had put her through. She didn’t care when she heard a gasp, or felt stares, only that Spencer kissed her back, possibly the most tender he had ever been, his hands soft and featherlike as they traced over her waist to pull her closer. He tasted like Jell-O, and she thought it might just be her favourite flavour suddenly, because it was all him. 

She pulled away with a sniffle, looking entirely sorry for herself and like a kicked puppy, and she was quickly ripped out of her delirium that allowed her to look at him without guilt or hesitation by a loud whistle. 

“Now how long have you kids been holding that out?” Morgan jeered, and Bugsy cracked a smile, wiping her face on the back of her sleeve as she looked at her team. JJ and Penelope clung to one another with ditsy smiles, like they were watching John Cusack playing the boombox over his head at the bedroom window, Rossi stood with his arms crossed, a nostalgic smile on his face as he watched the kids he’d seen grow up finally seem like they were at home. Morgan looked ready to tease some more until Blake put a hand on his shoulder, entirely motherly and chiding, and Hotch looked at her and her alone like he was looking in a mirror.

He supposed, for once, the bau had found a happy ending. 

--

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[starlightsuffered]

Professor Chalamet

Warnings - Teacher and student (duh), oral (male and female receiving), secret relationship, spanking, name calling, needing to be quiet. Unprotected sex, breeding kink, mentions of masturbation, dirty talk

“That is the meaning behind the character of Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream, you are dismissed,” Professor Chalamet said.

“Except for you Y/N,” he called to me. I gulped. Was today finally the day that he picked up on the not so subtle hints I’d been dropping?

Drama 101 had been interesting since the first morning I walked in, and saw Professor Chalamet. He was gorgeous. Piercing hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, decadent curly hair. I was in heaven. I felt very happy that I’d arrived early out of anxiety. The two of us had, had a very nice conversation. Since then I’d made the very pornoesque decision, to get his attention.

He was just so damn stoic and calm. It seemed like nothing phased him. He never reacted. The semester was almost over, and I had no idea if I’d seen him again. I had to make a bold move. Our final was turning in a script for a short film. Our rough drafts had been due last week. I’d handed him “The Professor’s Secret.” A story about a Professor fucking his student. I’d even been so courageous as to name the Professor, Professor Chardonnay.

I was shaking with anticipation as I approached his desk. Students filed out of the classroom, giving me pitying looks. They didn’t understand this was all I wanted. I shivered as I remembered the door locked itself when you went out.

“Y/n,” Professor Chalamet called my attention back to him. I walked slowly to his desk. I made sure to swish my hips slightly. I was wearing a tiny, pink, skater skirt, and a white button down. I had dressed up just for him, and I desperately wanted him to know it.

“What is this?” He asked calmly, holding up my script.

“My rough draft sir,” I said politely. He ran a hand over his face, and when I looked at him again, I was shocked. The anger on his face was real and cold. Usually, he was all smiles and gentle words. This was different.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” He asked menacingly. This was going wrong, completely and utterly wrong. He was truly angry. What would he do? Would he tell the school board? Would I get kicked out? Fuck, why did I let my pussy do all the thinking? Now there’s going to be a Fox News segment about me.

“Can you even comprehend how many times I’ve read this? How I’ve poured over it? I’ve cum so many times from this alone, it is haunting me,” he explained desperately. My world was spinning at hearing him talk like this. Thinking of him cumming to just my writing was mesmerizing. Imagine what I could do to him with my real self.

“What are you saying Professor?” I asked coyly as I walked closer to him slowly.

“Do you know how many papers I’ve neglected, to read this again and again?” He growled.

“Maybe you should punish me,” I suggested.

He looked at me for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained look.

“I’ve tried my damndest this semester to not give into carnal pleasures. My resistance is reaching it breaking point.”

“What if I want it to break?” I asked. I slowly, slowly, lowered myself to my knees in from of him. “What if I want to help it break.”

“Holy Hell,” he gasped. “You can’t tell anyone about this, not anyone you understand? Not a friend, not a sister or brother.”

“Oh stop,” I said squeezing his package. He shakily reached out to grab his desk.

“I want this as much as you do, why would I ruin the fun?”

He nodded, and unzippered his pants for me. My eyes bulged at his impressive length, and my mouth was watering. I took him in as far as I could go. I moaned as I felt his hand pulling on my hair. I sucked at him, moving up and down his cock. My spit was dripping down my chin, and onto the floor, but I wanted so badly to be good for him.

“Off,” he commanded, and I whined as he removed his cock from me.

I stood up and he kissed me roughly, hands massaging my breasts that were still clothed. One of his hands went down to grab handfuls of my ass.

“Do you wear those slutty little outfits for me everyday?” He asked, after he’d pulled away

“Yes, for you, all for you.”

“So, you’re just fine with distracting your Professor, while he’s trying to make a living,” he growled.

“Did it work?” I asked.

“You little minx,” he pushed me away from him. He cleared a section of him desk, and pushed me down on it. He pushed up my skirt, and pulled down my thong. He hissed as he saw the wet patch he’d made me create.

“I’m getting my ruler, you stay there,” he demanded. I did as I was told, lightly rubbing my thighs together for some sort of friction.

I heard the slap of the ruler on his hand as he approached me. I shivered with anticipation.

“You deserve punishment. Only bad girls rile up their professors in class, only bad girls write such filthy scripts.”

A smack came down on my ass and I stifled a cry. He instantly was massaging the red skin.

“Were you worried I wasn’t noticing the way you whored yourself out to me every class?”

Smack! Another blow had landed on my ass. I was loving the mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Please Professor, may I have another?” I asked desperately.

“No, only good students get what they want,” he replied and there was no slap from the ruler. However, in seconds I was struggling not to scream out. He had gone under me, spread my legs, and was now devouring my heat with an expert tongue. I let out a mewl of pleasure and he stopped.

“Don’t make a sound, slut, then everyone will know our secret.”

“Yes, Professor Chalamet,” I choked out. He continued to bless me with his tongue. I was nearing my orgasm. He stopped for a moment, and bit the skin of my inner thigh before returning to his task. I’m seconds I was coming undone, thighs clamping around his head with the effort not to scream.

He walked around so he was in front of me. My slick coated his face, and he wore it like a badge of honor. I was panting, sweat dripping down my temples.

“Like that did you?” He asked with a smirk.

“A+,” I gasped. He chuckled, moving so he was behind me again.

“I hope that was enough to get you ready for me,” he said.

“More than enough, please fill me,” I begged. He pressed his tip to my entrance, and slowly pushed in. I relished how long it took him to bottom out inside me.

“Do you know how long I’ve imagined this,” he asked as he began to snap his hips forward. I couldn’t form the words to answer. My eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

“How many times I’ve wanted to cancel class and just have you in every way possible?”

I groaned, nails making marks in his wooden desk. I pressed my ass back to meet his thrusts and he let out a moan of approval.

“I know you thought the same of me. The way you’d eye fuck me from across the room was almost too much to handle. Did you go back to your dorm after and touch yourself? Did you play with your pretty pussy to the thought of me y/n?”

“Yes,” it took all I had not to scream.

“I have an alternate ending for your script,” he told me as he reached around to play with my clit. I bit down hard on my hand, it was the only way to keep silent. The only things to hear in the room was the wet sounds of us and his low, whispered, filthy words.

“What?“ I managed to asked.

“I think the Professor should fuck his naughty student, that part can stay. But I think he should fill her everyday, every free period. She should be bursting with him. She would walk around campus so full of him that it’s leaking down her thighs.”

“Fuck,” I said against my hand. I knew I would leave deep teeth marks there.

“Wouldn’t it be delicious if she got pregnant? She wouldn’t be able to tell anyone whose cum she was carrying around. No one would know who bred her cunt so well that she was completely full. She would have to keep it undercover as he filled her over and over.”

“I can’t,” I gasped, and I was tumbling into a orgasm filled with shining stars and white hot pleasure. I couldn’t contain myself and Professor Chalamet had to clap his hand over my mouth, yet he continued to rub circles on my pulsating clit

“You want my cum? Im going to fill you,” he moaned as I continued to squeeze around him. He spilled into me, rope after rope of cum pumping into me.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath as he pulled out. I felt some of him spill out of me onto the floor.

“You are to have tutoring session with me every day of the school week, do I make myself clear?” He demanded.

“Yes Professor Chalamet,” I said with giddy joy.

“Call me Timothée.”

[iwashie]

If Walls Could Talk | Spencer Reid

spencer reid x fem!reader; +18; coworkers; semi-public sex/kissing; workplace inappropriateness; unprotected sex | wc: 3k

Another night of extra work at BAU in which you squinted against the blue light of the computer and tried not to get lost in the countless words about the various cases that needed to be filed - which Penelope could easily help with, but had already left with the rest of the gyus - and then, on paper, placed in Aaron's hands the next morning as soon as possible.

"Being so close to the computer harms your eyesight." Reid's calm voice echoed, and you remembered that he was there too. So entertained at work that you forgot that he was present and the real reason he stayed. Well, he could have left with Hotch, but the look you gave him made him refuse, and Hotch trusted Reid more to keep the BAU locked safe and sound during the night. "Don't tell me, genius."

You sighed heavily and pulled away from the screen, straightening your posture with the back of your chair, stretching the aching limbs of your body and stared at Reid, who read a thick book and had been in the same upright position for a long time if you weren't mistaken. You were silent for a while, just watching him. You weren't profiling him or anything. You just let yourself get lost in the figure that was Reid; The hair arranged with gel, the eyebrows and eyes tight in concentration behind the lenses of the glasses that insisted on falling off, the tip of his tongue wetting his mouth, the neck and the collar of the T-shirt that covered the accentuated collarbone that you had already left lipstick marks in hurried kisses and bites. You ran your tongue over your lower lip, remembering certain moments shared with your genius colleague in that same office and in that same situation.

Maybe a little different, since when you and Reid happened to have sex at the office it wasn't planned or anything, you just happened to be dealing with extensive paperwork when Reid let a very suggestive question come out of his mouth, and you, tired and frustrated from so much work and no sexual reward with the few partners you've had, decided to combine two wishes at the same time, and dragged Reid to the nearest bathroom, ending up having the best orgasm of your life with your colleague kneeling between your legs, his hands grabbing your waist tightly as he ate you out, wet and munch, moaning against your pussy as you intertwined your fingers in his curled strands and pinned him against you, his name leaving your lips in a whine.

You came back to reality when he waved a hand in front of your face, still on the other side of the table. You blinked a few times, trying to push those images out of your head, but the warmth that filled your body just thinking about those hands touching you and his sighs, and his stayed there with you were too opportune for you to let slip through your fingers. "You've been doing the same job for a long time. I can see from afar that you are tense. I already told you, I can help with the work."

You ran your hands over your face and ruffled your hair, stretching your legs in the little space you had, and returned to face Reid, who was waiting for an answer, still reading the book. You smiled roguely as you thought of a way he could help you with all the tension in your body. You slammed your hands on the arms of the chair and stood up, pointing a finger at him, who finally looked at you. "I do my job, genius. But I know how you can help me."

Reid rested the book on the table and gestured with his hand for you to speak, and he would be ready to help you. You took a deep breath, controlling yourself not to leave your intention in your face when you saw him so helpful, so gulible with those beautiful bright brown eyes. "Come with me to get some coffee and take a break." Reid raised his eyebrows but stood up and followed you out of the bullpen, walking side by side with you toward the BAU kitchen while citing a few ways to relieve stress.

Before you got to the kitchen, you grabbed his arm and dragged him to the nearest door, entering the bathroom and out of sight of whatever camera had in the hallway. Reid let out an exclamation as he was pulled into the bathroom and shoved into a stall, falling sitting on the closed lid of the toilet as you locked the door, sharing the small space with him. "What about your coffee?" Reid swallowed hard when he saw your fingers undoing the first buttons of your blouse, showing some of your breasts held by the white bra as you approached him, trapping him sitting on the toilet, his hands automatically going to your waist.

You puffed out your chest, pushing it into Reid's face, who parted his mouth as he alternated his gaze between your face and tits, his fingers squeezing your waist. You slid a hand from his cheek to the strands behind the back of his neck and pulled his head back, smiling as you heard him grunt, and horniness spread through your body. "You're my coffee." You leaned in, bringing your lips close to his ear, giving light wet kisses under his ear, feeling him wince, and whispered. "You have an obligation to relieve the tension in my body and keep me awake the rest of the night, Dr. Spencer Reid."

Reid let out a moan as you sat on his lap, rolling lightly on his crotch and feeling your tongue on his neck. You held his chin, finding his brown eyes shining at you and Reid nodded, pinning you on top of him tightly. "Good boy."

You didn't know that kissing Reid, having him hold you tight like he wanted you attached to him was so good until you felt him for the first time; His inexperience, but the urgency of the act and the speed of taking what he had to do to have you rubbing against him, sighing against his mouth made everything more interesting. The second time kissing him and feeling his hands run down your body, the hot muffled breath, the wet noise of the kiss and his bulge poking your ass was electrifying. Maybe it was the way Reid kissed you with desire, his tongue in tune with yours, exploring your mouth, his hands passing and squeezing the right places, crumpling your clothes as intensely as you wanted his on the floor, his desire emanating from his body and the way when you separated the kiss he went after you until you had your mouth stuck to his again.

Spencer Reid was like a drug, once you tasted it was impossible to forget and you were always going to want more.

"Reid..." You sighed against his mouth, pulling back a bit to catch your breath, running your hands through his shattered hair to push him away, soon being shut up by his swollen and wet mouth in yours. You shudder as you felt his fingertips sliding down your back and rolled against him, feeling him push his waist against you, both squeezing each other with the sensation. "Reid... I need you... Now. Spencer."

Reid grunted as you separated from his mouth, a small alloy of saliva connecting your red, swollen mouths. He stared at you with those begging round eyes, rosy cheeks and spiky hair, the collar of his shirt rumpled from your hurried hands. You moaned when you saw him and lost control, lifting a little of his legs, enough for you to raise your pencil skirt, curling up your thighs covered by pantyhose. You grunted in anger, trying to get rid of the layers of clothing that separated you from feeling him better. "There you go." Reid said as soon as he unzipped the side of your skirt and helped you push the fabric up your waist, his fingers squeezing your legs in the process. 

He moaned at the sight of the white lace panties through the black pantyhose and you smiled, lifting his chin with a finger. "Take off the rest and I'm all yours, Dr." You slid a hand across the bulge of his pants, watching him hang his head and moan, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Your desire, my command." Spencer grumbled between sighs, his brown eyes shining with desire, and he brought his hands to the sides of your thighs, feeling the fabric of the pantyhose as he ran his fingers up close to where you needed him most. You mumbled his name, resting your hands on the sides of the cabin as you felt his long, nimble fingertips brushing your intimacy, rolling for more contact. "Oh, Spencer..." You moaned, squinting and throwing your head back as Spencer rubbed two fingers against your clit and circled slowly.

"I wished to eat you out again..." Spencer whispered softly, still working his fingers on you, having you sighing and rolling against his fingers. You forced yourself to open your eyes to look at him, finding the brown eyes focused on the middle of your legs where his fingers worked harder and faster. Spencer probably didn't realize that he had let that desire out and you were happy to know that you also was in his head since that day. The warmth spread through your body as you thought about what Spencer fantasized about you and how he would use his tongue and fingers on you; you moaned at the thought, tightening Spencer's fingers between your legs.

"Another time, baby." You answered, holding his arm where it was and used the entire length of his hand to his wrist to stimulate you, feeling your clitoris throb and panties get wetter. "Fuuck..." Spencer grunted at the sight, licking his mouth and used both hands to rip your pantyhose between your legs, pulling out a scream in surprise as he pressed his thumb against you in a slow press and two fingers sinking your panties into your folds.

"So wet..." He looked away to your face and smiled wide as he saw you biting your mouth to hold back loud moans, eyes shining with desire. "Thinking about sexual activities with co-workers during work hours is very unprofessional." You were about to make fun of him, swallowing what you were going to say when you felt him pull away your panties and rub his fingers between your folds, spreading your liquid all over your pussy. You squeezed a hand on his shoulder, feeling your legs tremble as you had two fingers penetrating you, the burning of the thickness of his fingers and the feeling of having them going deep made you moan his name and squeeze your fingers inside you. "As if you had a place to speak by saying that you want to eat me out again and sustaining all this bulge here." You squeezed his cock over the fabric, rubbing your palm and Spencer winced, moaning your name.

You undid the belt and zipper of his pants quickly, with his help by pulling his underwear halfway up his thighs, freeing his hard cock already expelling pre-cum on the pink head. The muffled voices of the two of you echoed through the bathroom as you masturbated; Spencer's fingers in and out of your pussy quickly as you accelerated the hand movements on his cock, squeezing his head only to see him whimper and sigh heavily.

"Spencer, I need you inside me. Now." You clasped your hands on his shoulders to accentuate your need. Spencer pulled his wet fingers out of you and grabbed you by the waist as you returned to his lap, lining up his cock with your entrance. His eyes widening when he noticed that you two were about to have properly sex, his cock inside your pussy, in the bathroom of the BAU. "I don't have a condom here with me. You..."

"I'm on the pill." You cut him and squeezed his shoulders as you went down on his cock, feeling his thickness and size widening you perfectly. You rested your head on his, controlling your breathing, feeling your body catch fire with the feeling of him filling you completely. "Oh my God, don't move now. Please." Spencer asked, pushing his forehead against yours and squeezing your waist tightly.

You stood still, smiling as you felt him pulsing inside you until he started to move calmly, going deeper inside you and making you sigh loudly and attach yourself to his body. "Spencer..." You had your face buried in the crook of his neck as you rolled against him, your ass meeting his thighs loudly and your clit brushed against his crotch, both moaning breathlessly into each other's arms.

"You... You're so good... So hot... Oh!" Spencer moaned loudly as you pressed your gummy walls to the head of his cock and went back down and up quickly, his waist finding your movements, making you moan at the pace he buried himself in you, his head hanging back against the tile as you dug your nails into the thin fabric of his rumpled shirt. "Spencer... Spencer... Oh-Spen... So good..."

You half-opened your eyes, watching Spencer struggle to keep his eyes open and glued where his wet cock appeared and disappeared inside you. You smiled roguely, running a hand up the warm, red skin of his chest and squeezed his chin, forcing him to look at you, his brown eyes blown in pleasure. "You're good, Spencer."

You pulled him into a languid kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck and his hands grabbed your back, squeezing you against him and moved at your pace. The muffled noise of the wet kiss and the moans, the crackling noise of skin to skin, the horniness, the heat, the desire of the two of you, the bubble that you both created in the comfort of that bathroom cubicle that you even forgot you were still in the BAU.

"I.. I'm going to cum... I-" Spencer stammered, squeezing his fingers on any part of your body, his waist movements losing rhythm and his thighs trembling. You knew he was close to cumming just by the way his cock twitched inside you, but you were also close to cumming, feeling that knot in your lower abdomen tightening. "It's okay, baby. I'm also close..." You whispered against his lips and slid a hand to your clit, being stopped by Spencer, who stared at you incredulously and did the work for you.

A little more and you two would be in paradise, trapped in each other's arms and high.

Suddenly the bathroom door crashed against the wall, startling both of you who widened your eyes and looked at each other scared, stopping in the middle of the act. You two disheveled, red and panting, swollen mouths, totally surrendered in the act. If you were caught at that moment, it was the end of the line for both of you. There was no denying the situation of the two and the smell of sex in the air.

Noises were present in the bathroom and you deduced that it was someone from the cleaning, forgetting that they worked at night and not in the middle of the BAU's people rush in the morning.

Spencer squeezed your waist, bringing you back to reality and stared at you, his brown eyes wide and lost, his mouth gesturing something you didn't understand. You clasped a hand in his mouth and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "Be quiet and we'll end up unnoticed." Spencer nodded quickly and you silenced again. "You don't want to be seen balls deep inside a colleague at BAU during office hours, do you?"

Spencer shook his head, but the pulse that his cock inside you gave, was no mistake. You smiled widely, pressing his head against the tile and muffling the moan he let out when you started moving again. You were so close to cumming and relieving all that tension and giving a reason for that stressful night that it wouldn't be the risk of being caught and expelled permanently from the job that would make you stop now.

You continued to move, searching for your high and taking Spencer along, who returned his hand to your clit in slow, circular motions, making you smile and bite your lip. "Does the idea of being caught fucking a colleague excites you? Huh, baby?"

Spencer squeezed his eyes, panting against your fingers as he felt the orgasm approaching and felt your pussy squeezing him, speeding up the movements for you to cum too. You giggled at his exasperation. "We have a little perverted doctor who wants to get caught having sex at work. Mmh, dirty boy."

You rolled your eyes as you felt the head of Spencer's cock hit deep inside you, making you rest your head against his neck. "You can cum inside, Spencer. Please." You clasped your hand on his mouth as you felt the hot jet filling you at the same time you came on his cock, biting his neck to muffle your moan.

After the cleaning person left the bathroom and you calmed down from your high, cleaning yourself with what you had in the cabin and adjusting your clothes as best you could, you unlocked the door and went out to check if you were alone.

You threw water on your face and calmed down, looking at yourself in the mirror for any clue that gave away the activity you were doing. You saw in the mirror Spencer leaning against the cabin door, his eyebrows knitted together as he looked at the floor and his legs trembled.

You chuckled and got a curse from him. You helped him walk to the sink and did his hair in the best way, you also fixed the collar of his shirt to hide the marks you left. "You owe me a pair of new pantyhose, Dr. Spencer Reid."

Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, incredulous with you. He snorted and regained his posture. "Well. I'm glad I was a help, agent."

You laughed out loud, running your hands over his chest and held him by the shoulders, standing on tiptoe to kiss Reid's pout. "Thank you very much, dear co-worker. I hope we can help each other more often."

Reid widened his eyes, his mouth dropping open, his posture unarmed. You could see the thoughts forming in his head and you laughed once more, pushing his chin close, and left the bathroom adjusting your skirt, running your hands over your tight ass in the skirt, knowing that Reid's eyes were following your movements and smiled as you walked out the door, leaving him behind.

@iwashie 2025, please do not translate, modify or republish my work

[rylem33]

Better by Design

Trevor rushed into the restaurant, breathless, eyes scanning the room. His heart pounded in his chest—half from running, half from the dread that had settled in his bones for days. Madison had vanished. No calls. No texts. No note. She hadn’t even taken her phone. One minute she was unwrapping the second-hand YSL bag he’d spent weeks tracking down for their anniversary… and the next, she was gone.

He’d called everyone. Her sister. Her friends. Her old boss. Nothing. He’d filed a missing person’s report. Checked hospitals. Drove aimlessly through the city like a man chasing ghosts.

And then, this morning, a single message lit up his phone: “7:00. Bellamy’s. Wear something decent.”

No explanation. Just a message from an unknown number. 

Finally, he saw her. She was waiting in the lounge, legs crossed elegantly, a martini in one hand, the YSL bag draped over her shoulder. She didn’t look distressed. She didn’t look missing. She looked…flawless. 

“Madison,” he said, breath catching.

She didn’t look up. “Took you long enough.”

“I’ve been looking for you. For days. You disappeared. I thought— I thought something happened.”

She finally met his eyes, and there was nothing soft in them. “Something did happen,” she said coldly. “I realized I’m done playing the frumpy little housewife to a man who still buys his socks in packs of five.”

Trevor’s face twisted. “What does that mean?”

Madison exhaled slowly, bored. “It means I don’t belong in some two-bedroom rental with a man who thinks a dusty bag from a second-hand shop passes as a proper gift.” She tapped a manicured finger against the YSL logo. “This bag? This changed everything.”

“But I gave you that—” he started.

“Exactly,” she cut in. “You gave it to me. And the moment I put it on, it felt like I woke up from a coma. I saw myself. Who I was meant to be. And you? You’re just the charity case I settled for.”

Trevor’s voice cracked. “You used to say love mattered more than money.”

She laughed—a sharp, humiliating sound. “That was before I knew what money could do. Before I knew what it felt like to be wanted by a man who actually has power.” She motioned for the waiter without even looking at Trevor. “You think I was ever satisfied with your pathetic two-minute missionary routine? I faked it. Every time.”

Trevor’s hands balled into fists, but before he could speak, the door behind him opened.

He turned.

And froze.

Derek.

His older brother. Rich. Arrogant. Estranged for a reason. And now, striding toward them in an expensive suit like he owned the world, that smug smirk etched across his face.

Trevor barely had time to react before Madison stood up with a moan in her throat and launched herself into Derek’s arms. She kissed him—long, wet, desperate. Tongue and all. She didn’t hold back, didn’t care. One leg even lifted, pressing her thigh against his hip.

It was obscene.

When she finally pulled away, she didn’t even glance at Trevor. She just whispered against Derek’s lips, voice thick with need, “You’re late, babe. I’ve been soaking through my panties waiting for you.”

Trevor stared, sick to his stomach. “You… you’re with him?”

Madison finally turned her head, slow and smug. Her lipstick was smudged, her pupils dilated, her smile pure cruelty. “Oh, Trevor,” she drawled. “Still clinging to your little fantasy?”

Derek stepped forward, possessive hand resting low on Madison’s hip. “I sent the text,” he said. “Wanted you to see it for yourself. I thought it’d be… educational.”

“You wanted me to see this?”

“Of course,” Derek said, laughing. “You think I’d steal your wife quietly? No. You needed to see what a real man does with a woman like her. You had her, and you didn’t even know what to do with her.”

Madison tilted her head, biting her lip. “He’s not wrong.” She ran a finger along Derek’s lapel. “With you, it was begging for vacations we couldn’t afford. Now? Derek books penthouses without blinking. He buys me expensive clothes just to tear them off of me.”

Trevor’s face went white. “You said you loved me…”

“I also said you were good in bed,” she shot back. “I lied about both.”

She leaned into Derek, her voice dropping. “Can we go? I need your cock in my throat before dinner.”

Derek chuckled, brushing his lips against her neck. “Anything for you, baby.”

Madison gave Trevor one last look—a cruel little smile playing at her lips.

“Guess the best thing you ever did for me… was buy me that bag.”

And just like that, they turned and walked out together. Her hips swayed with every step, the YSL swinging on her shoulder like a brand-new identity.

Trevor stood alone, surrounded by luxury he could never touch, as the sound of Madison’s laughter faded into the night.

[luckypunklemonade]

| Death of a Bachelor

[smut MDNI 18+; 1k words] coworker!Mitch Rapp who Needs This™ (it’s been too long)

“Look, I really need this.” Mitch looked up at you from his position seated on the edge of the bed. His hair had fallen down and his eyes sparkled pathetically underneath the mess. His mouth was open and his tongue distractedly lined the edges of his front teeth. Other than that, his shoulders rose and fell with each breath. He was right.

When you stepped closer, his hands magnetized to you as if your skin was a texture he’d never felt before in his life. He kept his face stoic, as if he had to think through the gravity of his choices like he always did. In the end, the decision was like sleep to the freezing. “I need this.”

He didn’t just need it, he needed it how only you could give it to him. Gentle and sweet like how you handed him files and coffee and pats on the back after returning from the field. He always wanted to see those curious eyes find out what he’d let you do to him.

Those hands, with the second fastest words per minute in your department. He wanted them in his hair. In his mouth so he didn’t embarrass himself, that’s why he was always so silent with you. Even in a blossoming friendship, his affinity for curt nods and responses with a strict maximum word count remained. You cracked his shell more than you could tell, but he was too disciplined of a man for him to show. That was a trait he’d dreamed of letting loose, even for ten fucking minutes. Your emails, which you so openly hated sending, were clever and funny and he wanted to hear what you’d come up with when you saw how he’d undoubtedly crumble at your touch. He’d imagined this and, though he’d like to say otherwise, he knew. If he ever had a chance with you, it’d be embarrassing and messy and needy. But it would be exactly what he needed.

He took your hand in his, cradled it in his palm, and brought it up to cup his face. “Just touch me.”

Guiding him to the headboard, lying against the pillows, he looked as if he passed out when you sat yourself on his lap. He was already hard, his hands grabbing your hips to try and keep you from noticing. His hands got distracted when you kissed him, shooting up to hold your head and pull your face further into his. Everything was so, so much. Your weight on his lap, your lips, the warmth you were providing physically and figuratively. He hadn’t had an actual, real, warm body in his lap for a very long time. And before he could move to kiss your neck, your hips rolled forward, deeper into his lap, and your hands finally touched down exactly where he wanted them. His head tilted back and he groaned.

It was inevitable and he was grateful. Begging, rambling in that sweet, raspy voice of his. Nodding up at you, “Just like that. Fuck- please.”

Your hips rolled back and forth, up and down, and he swore his eyesight went blurry around the edges when you clenched around him and circled your hips again. When you saw his fists clenched, you unfurled them and encouraged him to hold your hands.

“Like this?” your eyes scanned him as if you were realizing how much he liked this. “Big, strong field agent.”

Out of breath and gaining confidence, hand lacing its way up the nape of his neck, “You need this, don’t you?”

Moans so satisfying, you opened your mouth, too. Twirling his hair in your fingers, you brought yourself up and sunk back down onto him slowly, eyes fluttering at how he twitched.

“Y’re just so sweet…wanted it so bad. Wanted it how you do it.” He explained as you brushed his hair out of his face. You took to kissing his neck, leaning down at the same time to gain the support you needed you really ride him how you wished you could after seeing him come into the office with a patched up nose or cheek, wishing you could see him all bloody and sweaty and have him fuck you like that. The thought made you tug softly at his hair.

“I’d have let you take it. Look at you, asking nicely.” Your hands braced on his chest, Mitch stared up at you with the most pitiful, needy expression. He wanted to agree, to tell you how easy he was for you. How he’d do anything for you if it meant you would end up staring at him, eyes fluttering, sinking down on his cock at whatever pace you wanted. Mumbling, now, he told you how close he was and you believed him. Your steady movements were shunted as he jerked his hips up to meet yours. However tired you were getting, the unbelievable things coming out of the most reserved man in your field station kept you going. “I know you’re pent up, I know. Look up at me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”

He nodded attentively as your head lolled forward. “I can do that. Tell…tell me to do something. Just tell me what to do, I’ll do it.”

“Yeah? Can you please-“

Mitch grabbed your hand and brought it up to feel his lips, the air leaving from them quickly, “Don’t be nice. I’ll be good, just tell me to be.”

You smiled softly down at him, eyebrows furrowing as you rolled your hips forward again, and took on a firmer tone. “Be quiet for me, Rapp.”

He smiled just wide enough for his teeth to show, but the expression was made serious in an almost sarcastic way. Mitch looked up at you with a half-lidded eyes and nodded dutifully, extending two of your fingers and sliding them into his mouth to keep himself quiet. He could feel himself tensing, the warmth rising, the frantic desperation, and he was gonna moan so loudly around your pretty fingers when he finished.

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

[palmtreesx3]

(Bonus Features for Burning Through the Pages)

Read the full fic and epilogue HERE

Title: Syllabus and Skin: A Forbidden Seminar

By: GradSchoolGirlie93

Rating: E

Tags: Academic Enemies to Lovers, Copy Room Smut, Forbidden Romance, Professor Harrington’s Hair, Power Couple Energy, Canon Divergence (but not really)

Author’s Note: I don’t know what inspired this… probably just too much caffeine and the way they said “interdisciplinary collaboration” like it was foreplay.

EXCERPT FROM CHAPTER 3: “The Office Hours Incident”

Professor H was leaning against the filing cabinet, arms crossed, sleeves rolled up like he knew what it did to her. Dr. L didn’t flinch. She never did. Not when he smirked. Not when he said her name like it was a challenge.

"You’re five minutes late,” she said, tossing a red pen on his desk.

"You missed me,” he replied, voice low. He took a step closer. Then another. Until the air between them was sharp with unsaid things and stupid decisions and last week’s conference hotel hallway.

"If I missed you,” she said coolly, “you’d know.”

"Wanna prove it?”

And then?

She kissed him like tenure was on the line.

He kissed her like he’d already burned his contract for a second chance at her.

She moaned something into his mouth about APA formatting and he swore he blacked out.

---

TOP COMMENTS:

@blonde_bitch_gradtrack: I’m sweating in the student union rn WHY IS THIS SO GOOD

@Feral4Frogs: I’d pay actual tuition to see Prof pin him against a whiteboard and make him beg.

@majoring_in_yearning: I knew they were real. THIS FIC IS VALIDATION.

@HarringtonsHairline: The author clearly took notes during class. This is basically ethnographic research.

By: GradSchoolGirlie93

Chapter 4.5: “Field Research”

---

“Tell me again,” she hissed, pinning him against the whiteboard. “Why you decided to argue learning theory with me in front of the dean.”

"Because,” he gasped, “you’re hot when you’re condescending.”

She gripped his tie.

He whimpered.

A dry-erase marker rolled off the ledge and no one noticed.

“Shut up and prove you understand deep inquiry.”

"If I go down on you in your office chair, does that count as experiential learning?”

"Depends,” she said, smirking. “Are you going to assess the outcome?”

Chapter ends with a broken chair, muffled moans, and someone outside the door loudly going: “I SWEAR TO GOD IF THEY’RE IN THERE AGAIN.”

---

TOP COMMENTS:

@tenuredbutferal: This is the most educational thing I’ve read all semester.

@icedcoffeetears: I had to close my laptop in the library. Twice. I’m not okay.

@notliketheothergrads: Are they real? Like real real? Because I saw her wearing his flannel and I have feelings.

@polytheoreticalmethod: I am convinced they make each other flashcards before sex.

@gimmeaplusandaprofessor: The way he said “experiential learning” and she just LET HIM?? I blacked out. I’m suing.

@yourmomsrubric: "Are you going to assess the outcome" is the single filthiest academic line I have ever read and I want it tattooed on my body.

By: GradSchoolGirlie93

Chapter 6.3: “Crisis in the Lecture Hall Closet”

---

The door slammed shut behind them.

Her voice was a whisper: “This is a janitor’s closet.”

His hands were already at her waist. “This is a learning environment.”

"You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re not wearing a bra.”

She gasped.

He grinned.

Somewhere in the corner, a bucket rolled over.

"We have twelve minutes before my next class.”

“Twelve?” he asked, dropping to his knees. “So like... a warm-up?”

She didn’t answer—just grabbed his hair like she was writing her thesis in it.

--

Top Comments:

@goththesisenergy: Can’t believe she said “This is a janitor’s closet” like that wasn’t a setup for the hottest scene of the semester.

@academicallyunclothed: I’m gonna start checking closet doors before every class just in case they’re still in there.

@ragingsenioritis: The mop witnessed war. And I envy it.

By: GradSchoolGirlie93

Chapter 7: “Citations and Cunnilingus”

---

“You’ve cited everyone in this paper,” he said, flipping through her binder.

"Everyone but you,” she replied, tugging his belt open.

"APA or MLA?” he rasped.

“Oral.”

He dropped to his knees with reverence.

Her thighs parted like the gates of academic enlightenment.

He murmured her name like a thesis title.

She graded his performance with an A+ and a moan so obscene, the neighboring office filed a noise complaint.

---

Top Comments:

@feministpedagogy: This isn’t erotica. This is theory. This is praxis.

@sapphicTA: “Oral” sent me into the void. I’m not even mad. I’m inspired.

@taintedtenuretrack: If I don’t have someone who worships my mind and my thighs with the same intensity, I don’t want it.

By: GradSchoolGirlie93

Chapter 9: “Peer Review”

---

She caught him rereading her latest article.

He caught her staring at his mouth while he did it.

"Any feedback?” she asked.

"I have some... notes.”

He kissed her like a rebuttal.

She kissed back like she’d already revised.

They ended up horizontal.

The article ended up crumpled.

Neither of them regretted it.

He gave her a ten-page review.

She gave him rug burn.

---

Top Comments:

@emotionalTAtrauma: "Kissed her like a rebuttal" has permanently altered my DNA.

@doyoureferencesparkjoy: This is my Roman Empire. I think about it every day.

@powerpointandpanties: Not the rug burn. NOT THE RUG BURN.

Time: 1:37 AM. Someone had too much boxed wine and opened AO3.

Jules: okay WHO is writing the “Syllabus and Skin” fic bc I just read the chapter where she called his lecture voice “foreplay with a learning objective” and I need answers

Emma: I TOLD YOU. I TOLD YOU IT WAS TOO SPECIFIC

Liam: “peer review” gave me a nosebleed. I was at Panera. My sandwich was never the same

Tasha: I can’t even look at Prof anymore. She asked me if I’d “submitted my materials” and I BLUSHED

Ben: no bc the author said “his fingers trailed across the thesis of her desire” and I cried into my reusable coffee sleeve

Emma: no listen

Emma: LISTEN

Emma: "she moaned in APA”

Emma: WHO SAYS THAT

Jules: the levels of accuracy??? the emotional damage??? the CHALK DUST DETAIL???

Tasha: it’s Lexie. Has to be Lexie. She took both their classes and has a tattoo of a fountain pen.

Lexie (just entering): hi. sorry. just joined. what’s happening?

Liam: …nothing

Emma: talking about taxes

Jules: yeah. FAFSA. lol

Lexie: oh cool. hey btw. did anyone notice the exact font used in that fic is the same one in Professor H’s syllabus?

Everyone:

Everyone:

Ben: ok BYE

Tasha: she said ✍️ forensic fanfic

Emma: THIS IS WHY WE DON’T TRUST LITERACY MAJORS

He meant to check his email.

He really did.

But the browser was already open. And it said:

“Chapter 10: Lecture Hall Lust & Curriculum-Based Moaning”

Which, okay. Fine. That could mean anything.

Until he sees the tags:

“Enemies to Lovers,” “Copy Room Smut,” “Dean Martinez Has Seen Too Much,” “Hot Professors Who Should Be Illegal.”

And then— He sees the character names.

Not their real names, of course. But the descriptions?

“Smirking Psych Professor with rolled sleeves and emotional depth of a teaspoon.”

“Snarky Education Chair with a gel pen kink and thighs like policy enforcement.”

His mouth drops open.

His coffee drops onto his shoe.

“Holy. Shit.”

He keeps reading.

And reading.

And somewhere around the line,

“She pinned him to the whiteboard like tenure depended on it,”

he makes a sound that can only be described as a noise previously reserved for playoff wins and orgasms.

He doesn’t stop until the final line of the newest chapter:

“He graded her on a curve. She curved against his mouth.”

“I need to tell her,” he whispers, wide-eyed and reverent.

---

You're in your office.

Grading.

Peacefully.

Until your door slams open and Steve bursts in holding someone’s MacBook like he just found the lost Dead Sea Scrolls.

“They wrote fanfiction about us.”

You blink.

“What?”

“Fan. Fiction.” He’s waving the laptop. “They wrote us into a fic. We have tags. I HAVE A TAG.”

You set your pen down. Slow. Suspicious.

“What’s your tag?”

He flips the screen around.

You read:

#Hot Professors Who Should Be Illegal

#Smug and Sensitive (the duality of man)

#He’d Eat Her Out Mid-Tenure Review

Your hand flies to your mouth.

Your brain short-circuits.

Your body? Not immune to the phrase mid-tenure review.

“I’m going to die,” you whisper.

“I’m printing it,” he says.

“You better not.”

“There’s a whole peer review scene. You call me a ‘mouthy complication with a doctorate in destruction.’”

“Why does that kind of turn me on?”

“It should.”

---

You’re in bed.

He’s shirtless. Glasses on.

Reading it aloud.

"And then she said, ‘Get on your knees, and show me what a real thesis defense looks like.’”

You groan into your pillow.

"Burn it."

“Frame it.”

“Burn me.”

He pauses.

“...Can I send them a thank-you basket?”

[whoskimii]

11 w gojo pls?

❝ ¡ JUST ENᡣ𐭩UGH ! ❞

★ ¡ needy quickie ft. gojo ! ★

❤︎ summary ❤︎ prompt 11 wıth gojo — ❝ quıckıe where you don’t take any clothes off, just tug and pull and expose the essentıals. ❞ for @spyxfamilyy. 𖹭

❤︎ warnings ❤︎ nsfw, smut. fem!reader, reader wıth female genıtals, rough sex / quıckıe, unprotected sex (pull-out), oral (fem!reader receıvıng), dom / sub dynamıcs (lıght chokıng, dırty talk, ...), overstımulation (if you squınt lol), porn wıthout much plot, slıght degradatıon (❛ slut ❜ used consensually), creampıe on lower back / external ejaculatıon, establıshed relatıonshıp (marrıed couple), reader ıs non-sorcerer.

❤︎ wordcount ❤︎ 1,138.

it started with nothing more than a tilt of satoru’s sunglasses, and the lazy, shit-eating grin he always wore when he was thinking about doing something beyond stupid, almost as if he had been counting down seconds since breakfast just to get you alone and get his hands on you.

satoru didn’t waste time — never. that wasn’t his style, something you’d known long before marrying him.

he had you pinned to the hallway wall before you even had enough time to fetch your bag, his breath already dragging heat up the side of your sensitive neck as his hands tugged your coat half off your shoulder, just to be able to plant kisses on it. “mhm, ‘toru, wait...” you giggled, weakly, more aroused than resisting. “wait, honey, the neighbors. y’know they’ve already filed a complaint.” you breathed.

your cocky husband rolled his eyes, letting out a scoff at the same time. “they can go to hell. let ‘em hear. what they gon’ do, anyway ? fuckers are scared of me.” satoru murmured against your soft skin. “mhm, ‘kay, well, i have a meeting. really important.” you whispered, finger dragging down his torso lazily. “can't miss that.”

“what ‘chu mean ? i’m the real important meeting.” your back met the plaster hard, his warm lips smashing into yours with a surprising tenderness. he kissed you like he hadn't had the chance to in weeks, like he had been starving himself, only to feast on you now.

he didn’t slow down.

his fingers, deft, impatient, curled under your wool sweater, and yanked it up just far enough to expose your pink bra, then shoved the cups down without even unclasping it fully— it earned a gasp from your pretty lips, which widened his grin. fucker.

cold air struck your hardening nipples, although it barely registered with the heat rising off satoru’s skin.

he sighed quietly once he saw your tits, thumb brushing your left peak teasingly, just to hear the shaky whimper it pulled out of you. “fuck, baby... you should jus’ skip work.”

you tried to shove him back playfully, but he caught your wrist, and — fuck — used it to turn you around, pressing your tummy to the wall, with your ass jutting out behind you. one big palm splayed across your lower back, keeping you right there as the other clawed at the waistband of your pants. “mphm, ‘toru— at least take off your clothes first...” you babbled clumsily. “nah, don’t need to,” he answered in a breath. “jus’ like that. jus’ enough.”

that was all the warning you got.

your man yanked your pants down to your knees in one, rough tug, soaked panties tangled in the slide, baring you just enough to expose the glistening heat between your thighs. he groaned like it physically hurt him. “shiiit, look at her... cryin’ already, huh ? knew she missed me.”

he dropped to his knees, wandering hands grabbing a handful of your ass, spreading you open with no shame at all. his warm breath ghosted over your needy folds. “nngh, ‘toru— ahh—!”

next thing you knew, his tongue was on you, sliding up your pussy, swirling messily over your throbbing clit. fast, furious strokes, almost as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to taste you or make you cum first.

your cheek hit the wall softly when your head fell forward, moaning loudly as he ate you out from behind. “mhm, shit, tastes so good, doll,” he spoke, words muffled by your cunt. the wet sounds of his tongue dragging through your soaked heat were obscene — slurp, lick, flick, suck — punctuated by his low grunts, as if he was trying to get drunk off your pussy alone.

once your knees began buckling, he stood up in one smooth movement, pressing his broad chest to your back. satoru was panting like he had just run a mile. “need you,” he breathed, almost to himself, already fumbling with his belt. “i need to fuck you right now, baby.”

you turned your head slightly, flushed and dazed. “condom—?” he hesitated for a second, just one. “fuck it,” he shrugged, pushing his pants down just enough to free his cock, already leaking at the tip. “i’ll jus’ pull out, honey, i promise.”

satoru lined himself up, the thick head pushing blunt against your quivering hole. you cried out, clawing at the wall as he sank in with one thrust. “aah— sat— oru !” he stretched you wide in a single slide, giving you little to no time to adjust.

he moaned right into your ear, jaw clenched. “ah, shit, still so tight f’ me, huh ?” his hips slapped against your ass, fast and hard. the hallway filled with the wet, rhythmic smack of skin on skin — slap, slap, slap — and your whimpers got higher, louder, less coherent by the second. “mphm, you’re— ah—! you’re fuckin’ me so hard, ‘toru !”

the blue-eyed man wrapped his hand around your throat from behind. “yeah ? you like that, sugar ? gettin’ fucked against the wall like a lil’ slut ?”

your only answer was a sharp moan and the way your pussy tightened around his cock. he chuckled breathlessly and slammed into you even harder, pretty eyes dropping to where you were connected. “aw, look at that,” he cooed with false sweetness. “she’s so messy ‘round me, mhm ? right, baby girl ?”

your hands were scrabbling for grip on the wall, poor legs trembling as he drove into you again and again, his cock bullying that sweet spot so perfectly you couldn’t even catch your breath. “fuckfuck— ‘toru, mhm ! ‘m gonna— fuck, ‘m gonna—” your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “yeah, that’s it, sweet girl, cum f’ me. make a mess on my dick, c'mon.”

that was all it took.

your mouth dropped open in a silent moan as your orgasm washed over you, the bubble exploding in your tummy. your pussy clenched down hard on his cock. “ahh, satoru— yesyesyes !”

he groaned something unintelligible before slamming into you one final time, pulling out rapidly. he poured himself all over your lower back, some droplets sliding to your ass. “...fuck,” he hissed, breathless, letting his head fall to your shoulder. you both stayed there a moment, panting.

he chuckled before tucking himself back into his pants, belt still hanging open lazily. “thank you, love.” he whispered, bending down just enough to kiss your flushed cheek. “next time, ‘m just gonna bend you over the kitchen table ‘n rip that shit open.”

you scoffed a laugh, still clinging to the wall. “you’re insane...” he smirked lazily at your words, biting your ear gently. “yeah. you love it.”

may the stars help you — you really, really loved it.

you were still catching your breath when — shit — you realized. “fuck, what time is it ?” you gasped. “uh, nine-thirty. why ?”

damn — you sighed. “the meeting ended five minutes ago...”

۶ৎ all rights reserved to ©whoskimii. do not copy, translate, or modify my work on any platform without my consent. thank you for reading, my love. 𖹭 comments & interactions are greatly appreciated ! 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯

[supercap2319]

"Wow. Now that's what I call a nice view." Y/N grinned as he entered the specialists' locker room. The male locker room Various specialists were in different states of undressing and dressing. Some were fully clothed, having just showered, and ready to return to their dorm rooms. Others were naked, half-naked, or in the process of becoming naked.

Y/N made his way further into the locker room as it smelled like sweat and guys. Some of the guys were whispering to each other about why a fairy was here. To the far left, Y/N saw Riven talking to Dane and Luke. Both Riven and Dane had fluffy white towels around their waists. Luke, on the other hand, was naked, and his frontal package was in full view.

Riven saw him looking at them and smiled as he winked with a laugh. Dane and Luke turned around and chuckled as well when they saw him ogling them. But the real prize came out of the steaming showers as the golden boy, Sky, walked out of the showers in nothing but a blue jockstrap. probably specialist issued. It outlined his cock perfectly and made it look big and tight, as it matches the color of Sky's eyes. When he saw Y/N, the specialist put a hand over his junk and blushed.

Riven, Dane, and Luke chuckled as Sky blushed. "Y/N? What are you doing in here?"

The ice fairy smiled as he got closer to the blonde specialist. "The new headmistress asked me to bring these files to Silva." He held up the files for emphasis as he walked around Sky and examined his almost naked frame. Specifically, his plum white ass in those tight straps hugging his bum "I thought I'd take a shortcut through bare-man's land." He indicated this to all the half-naked and naked specialists.

Sky flushed again as he tried to compose himself. "Right. So, I assume you'll want to get there? Bye." He tried to walk away, but suddenly he gasped as he felt like someone was touching his cock through his pouch and felt like fingers were in his asshole. He moaned softly as he turned around and saw Y/N looking at him with eyes flashing bluish-purple. "What are you doing?" Sky tried not to moan as the other specialists behind him chuckled at what was happening between him and the fairy.

"A trick I learned from Rosalind I'm helping you out. I'm sure you need to unwind after such a hard practice. A guy needs to take a load off. Blow his load."

"Y/N, please?" Sky begged. The invisible hands were all over his body, and he was panting with desire.

"I'll stop. But you have to fuck me. Deal?" Y/N told him, increasing the power of telekinesis Rosalind had taught him as Sky moaned loudly, catching the attention of the entire locker room.

Sky nods. "Deal! I'll fuck you. Just please stop this."

Y/N's eyes went back to normal as he smiled at the young man. "Excellent. Let's get started then." He opened his pants and dropped them around his ankles in front of the Specialist boys.

[leejenowrld]

Girlll.....Y/n is feeling like an assassin today! Wdyt?

I asked abt a scenario , sorry if u didn't understand 😅

the world she moves through isn’t ruled by governments. not really. not anymore. it’s ruled by syndicates, by shadow cabinets and sovereign contracts, by those who deal in information, surveillance, and flesh. the borders are gone. the wars already happened. now everything is currency—names, secrets, bodies, loyalties. and in that brutal new order, y/n is the kind of woman people whisper about in freight elevators and bloodstained penthouses. a name you never say unless you want to disappear.

her job isn’t to kill.

her job is to end the game before it starts.

she’s known by many aliases. mirage is one. phase agent 0773 is another—used in upper syndicate briefings when discussing leaks that need to be “corrected.” there’s no real photo of her on file. the only evidence she ever existed is the way powerful men flinch when they hear her boots echo down a marble corridor.

her world is vicious. hypersexual. weaponized at every angle.

there are no safe rooms, only mirrored ones. every deal is laced with seduction. every betrayal tastes like lip gloss and gunpowder. and in that ecosystem, y/n uses her beauty, her body, her mind with terrifying precision. she’s slept with enemies. she’s slit the throat of someone who just called her beautiful. she’s laughed mid-mission. she’s cried after a clean kill. she’s layered and haunted and never once made a mistake she didn’t choose.

she wears red under her gloves because it helps hide the blood. her favorite weapons are compact—blades, garrotes, the pressure point of a heel. but her real weapon is her mouth—what she says, what she doesn’t, what she makes people believe long enough to burn them alive from the inside.

sex is part of the work. not all of it. not always. but often enough that she’s stopped flinching when someone tries to seduce her in exchange for their life. she’s fucked for intel. been fucked for it, too. sometimes, when the job’s already done, she lets someone touch her just to remember what it’s like to be a person. but most of the time, she doesn’t feel it.

not until jeno.

not until someone like him shows up again.

jeno is the only part of her life that feels unsanctioned because he saw her when she was real. when she was younger and too soft and still believed in mercy. because he met her in the middle of a warzone and kissed her like it mattered. because he lived. and no one who sees her like that gets to live.

except him.

and now? he’s part of the very system she dismantles. a bodyguard. a security plant. a weapon with orders. he’s leaned into the darkness she tried to pull him out of. he wears suits that smell like copper and death, and when he touches her, it feels like a test. when he fucks her, it’s even worse—because he still knows her body. because he still makes her moan like she doesn’t care who hears. because part of her still wants to believe they’re more than enemies on opposite sides of a bullet.

the world doesn’t allow for love.

not hers. not his.

so their story is written in scars and surveillance. in knives under pillows. in stolen orgasms and half-finished apologies. in eyes that flicker toward each other across high-profile events knowing one of them is there to kill someone the other’s protecting.

and still—

they keep orbiting.

keep returning.

keep bleeding in silence.

in a world that runs on secrets and seduction, nothing’s more dangerous than someone who remembers your real name.

[starlightsuffered]

Professor Chalamet

Pairing - Timothée Chalamet/Fem!Reader

Warnings - Teacher and student (duh), oral (male and female receiving), secret relationship, spanking, name calling, needing to be quiet. Unprotected sex, breeding kink, mentions of masturbation, dirty talk

"That is the meaning behind the character of Puck in A Midsummer Night's Dream, you are dismissed," Professor Chalamet said.

"Except for you Y/N," he called to me. I gulped. Was today finally the day that he picked up on the not so subtle hints l'd been dropping?

Drama 101 had been interesting since the first morning | walked in, and saw Professor Chalamet. He was gorgeous. Piercing hazel eyes, sharp cheekbones, decadent curly hair. I was in heaven. I felt very happy that I'd arrived early out of anxiety. The two of us had, had a very nice conversation. Since then I'd made the very pornoesque decision, to get his attention.

He was just so damn stoic and calm. It seemed like nothing phased him. He never reacted. The semester was almost over, and I had no idea if I'd seen him again. I had to make a bold move. Our final was turning in a script for a short film. Our rough drafts had been due last week. I'd handed him "The Professor's Secret." A story about a Professor fucking his student. I'd even been so courageous as to name the Professor, Professor Chardonnay.

I was shaking with anticipation as I approached his desk. Students filed out of the classroom, giving me pitying looks. They didn't understand this was all I wanted. I shivered as I remembered the door locked itself when you went out.

"Y/n," Professor Chalamet called my attention back to him. I walked slowly to his desk. I made sure to swish my hips slightly. I was wearing a tiny, pink, skater skirt, and a white button down. I had dressed up just for him, and I desperately wanted him to know it.

"What is this?" He asked calmly, holding up my script.

"My rough draft sir," I said politely. He ran a hand over his face, and when I looked at him again, I was shocked.

The anger on his face was real and cold. Usually, he was all smiles and gentle words. This was different.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" He asked menacingly. This was going wrong, completely and utterly wrong. He was truly angry. What would he do? Would he tell the school board? Would I get kicked out? Fuck, why did I let my pussy do all the thinking? Now there's going to be a Fox News segment about me.

"Can you even comprehend how many times l've read this? How I've poured over it? I've cum so many times from this alone, it is haunting me," he explained desperately. My world was spinning at hearing him talk like this.

Thinking of him cumming to just my writing was mesmerizing. Imagine what I could do to him with my real self.

"What are you saying Professor?" | asked coyly as I walked closer to him slowly.

"Do you know how many papers I've neglected, to read this again and again?" He growled.

"Maybe you should punish me," I suggested.

He looked at me for a moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose with a pained look.

"I've tried my damndest this semester to not give into carnal pleasures. My resistance is reaching it breaking point."

"What if I want it to break?" I asked. I slowly, slowly, lowered myself to my knees in from of him. "What if I want to help it break."

or brother."

"Holy Hell," he gasped. "You can't tell anyone about this, not anyone you understand? Not a friend, not a sister

"Oh stop," I said squeezing his package. He shakily reached out to grab his desk.

"I want this as much as you do, why would I ruin the fun?"

He nodded, and unzippered his pants for me. My eyes bulged at his impressive length, and my mouth was watering. I took him in as far as I could go. I moaned as I felt his hand pulling on my hair. I sucked at him, moving up and down his cock. My spit was dripping down my chin, and onto the floor, but I wanted so badly to be good for him.

"Off," he commanded, and I whined as he removed his cock from me.

I stood up and he kissed me roughly, hands massaging my breasts that were still clothed. One of his hands went down to grab handfuls of my ass.

"Do you wear those slutty little outfits for me everyday?" He asked, after he'd pulled away.

"Yes, for you, all for you."

"So, you're just fine with distracting your Professor, while he's trying to make a living," he growled.

"Did it work?" I asked.

"You little minx," he pushed me away from him. He cleared a section of him desk, and pushed me down on it. He pushed up my skirt, and pulled down my thong. He hissed as he saw the wet patch he'd made me create.

"I'm getting my ruler, you stay there," he demanded. I did as I was told, lightly rubbing my thighs together for some sort of friction.

I heard the slap of the ruler on his hand as he approached me. I shivered with anticipation.

"You deserve punishment. Only bad girls rile up their professors in class, only bad girls write such filthy scripts."

A smack came down on my ass and I stifled a cry. He instantly was massaging the red skin.

"Were you worried I wasn't noticing the way you whored yourself out to me every class?"

Smack! Another blow had landed on my ass. I was loving the mixture of pain and pleasure.

"Please Professor, may I have another?" I asked desperately.

"No, only good students get what they want," he replied and there was no slap from the ruler. However, in seconds I was struggling not to scream out. He had gone under me, spread my legs, and was now devouring my heat with an expert tongue. I let out a mewl of pleasure and he stopped.

"Don't make a sound, slut, then everyone will know our secret."

"Yes, Professor Chalamet," | choked out. He continued to bless me with his tongue. I was nearing my orgasm. He stopped for a moment, and bit the skin of my inner thigh before returning to his task. I'm seconds I was coming undone, thighs clamping around his head with the effort not to scream.

He walked around so he was in front of me. My slick coated his face, and he wore it like a badge of honor. I was panting, sweat dripping down my temples.

"Like that did you?" He asked with a smirk.

"A+," | gasped. He chuckled, moving so he was behind me again.

"I hope that was enough to get you ready for me," he said.

"More than enough, please fill me," | begged. He pressed his tip to my entrance, and slowly pushed in. I relished how long it took him to bottom out inside me.

"Do you know how long l've imagined this" he asked as he began to snap his hips forward. I couldn't form the words to answer. My eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

"How many times l've wanted to cancel class and just have you in every way possible?"

I groaned, nails making marks in his wooden desk. I pressed my ass back to meet his thrusts and he let out a moan of approval.

"I know you thought the same of me. The way you'd eye fuck me from across the room was almost too much to handle. Did you go back to your dorm after and touch yourself? Did you play with your pretty pussy to the thought of me y/n?"

"Yes," it took all I had not to scream.

"I have an alternate ending for your script," he told me as he reached around to play with my clit. I bit down hard on my hand, it was the only way to keep silent. The only things to hear in the room was the wet sounds of us and his low, whispered, filthy words.

"What?" I managed to asked.

"I think the Professor should fuck his naughty student, that part can stay. But I think he should fill her everyday, every free period. She should be bursting with him. She would walk around campus so full of him that it's leaking down her thighs."

"Fuck," I said against my hand. I knew I would leave deep teeth marks there.

"Wouldn't it be delicious if she got pregnant? She wouldn't be able to tell anyone whose cum she was carrying around. No one would know who bred her cunt so well that she was completely full. She would have to keep it undercover as he filled her over and over."

"I can't," I gasped, and I was tumbling into a orgasm filled with shining stars and white hot pleasure. I couldn't contain myself and Professor Chalamet had to clap his hand over my mouth, yet he continued to rub circles on my pulsating clit.

"You want my cum? Im going to fill you," he moaned as I continued to squeeze around him. He spilled into me, rope after rope of cum pumping into me.

"Fuck," he said under his breath as he pulled out. I felt some of him spill out of me onto the floor.

"You are to have tutoring session with me every day of the school week, do I make myself clear?" He demanded.

"Yes Professor Chalamet," I said with giddy joy.

"Call me Timothée."

[moncherriecoups]

"Like clouds kissed by the sun, some people leave behind a color you can’t name."

✧ moon junhui x f!oc

✧ kwon hoshi x f!oc

✧ summary: She came to Seoul to escape—what she found instead was him. Jun, unreadable and magnetic. Hoshi, warm but just out of reach. As feelings blur and moments slip by, Min Ah realizes not everything beautiful is meant to last. Some storms come softly. Some leave a mess behind.

✧ word count: 3.4k

✧ tags: emotional angst, fleeting connection, unresolved tension, office romance, love triangle, slow burn, banter, eventual smut

✧ warnings: one-night stand, heartbreak themes, drinking, suggestive scenes, alcohol use, suggestive content, emotional pining, sexual scenes

✧ MINORS DNI

Chapter 6

Wednesday, 10:34 AM – Artois Office

Min Ah had been staring at her laptop screen for exactly twenty-seven minutes and thirteen seconds. She knew because she had blinked once at 10:07, then never again. Her pupils were probably dry.

It wasn’t creative block. No, she had ideas.

The problem was every idea led to Jun.

And not the polite, clean-cut, slightly awkward Quantix finance bro version. But last night’s Jun. The Jun who had whispered filth in her ear while pulling her head back by her hair and fucking her so deep her eyes rolled.

Her cheeks burned. She physically had to squeeze her thighs together under the desk.

The cursor blinked on the Figma mockup like it was judging her. “New Client Rebranding Proposal” it said. Cute. Clean. Professional.

But all she saw was the exact moment Jun had gripped her hips, breath hot against her neck, and said—

“God, I missed this pussy.”

And it was only last night.

She was sober, very sober, and very aware of everything. Which made it worse. Or better. Depending on how one looked at it.

Jun’s cock—oh, fuck— She had finally gotten a clear, undrunk look at it, and she was right: it was huge. Not just long, but thick. The kind of size that made you wonder if your body would actually survive. And yet somehow, she had taken all of him. Every goddamn inch.

She shuddered.

God. The first time he pushed into her last night—slow, deep, almost reverent—she almost cried. She didn’t know a body could feel that full. That stretched. That worshipped.

“I want to watch your face when I fill you up,” he’d whispered. “I want to see you fall apart.”

And oh, he did. He watched. He stared at her like she was something holy.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, tapping her keyboard. “Focus. Please focus.”

Her file hadn’t moved. Her hand hadn’t even clicked anything.

And just when she thought she might be getting back on track, she remembered that moment.

The moment she climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and Jun looked up at her like she was the entire fucking galaxy. His hands had slid up her thighs, stopping at her waist as she sank down on him slowly, inch by glorious inch. She’d felt him twitch inside her when she moaned his name.

And his face?

That gorgeous, flushed face, eyes glazed over, lips parted, like he couldn’t believe she was real. He kept whispering—

“So pretty, so fucking tight, you feel like heaven—”

—until she ground down hard enough to make him curse and dig his fingers into her skin.

She’d never felt more powerful in her life.

He let her ride him at her own pace. Let her take control. Let her tease. Let her push him to the edge over and over again until he finally begged.

“Please—Min Ah, I’m gonna come—fuck—”

And she’d smirked.

She actually smirked as she leaned down and whispered, “Then be a good boy and give me your birthday gift.”

Jesus Christ. Who was she?

Her whole body tingled just remembering it. Even her toes curled.

“You’ve been zoning out,” Dahyun said, suddenly leaning on the side of her desk. “That blue box’s gonna sue you for harassment.”

“I’m working,” Min Ah said flatly, rotating the shape exactly three degrees.

“You were hovering like it’s giving you life advice,” Eunji muttered from her seat. “Is it telling you your star sign compatibility too?”

“I’m refining the layout,” Min Ah insisted, avoiding their stares.

“Refining your fantasies maybe,” Dahyun grinned. “Come on, you’ve been floating since yesterday.”

Min Ah sighed. “Why are you all so obsessed with my life?”

“Because we’re emotionally under-stimulated and your life is more exciting,” Eunji said. “Now tell us: is it your not-a-date with Hoshi-oppa you’re thinking about?”

As if summoned, Hoshi’s head popped up from across the room. “Did someone say my name?”

“We were just wondering how your candlelit rendezvous went,” Dahyun said with faux innocence.

“There were no candles,” Min Ah muttered, cheeks already warming.

“But there were giggles,” Eunji added. “I heard you two in the pantry this morning.”

“We were not giggling,” Min Ah said, scandalized.

“I was,” Hoshi admitted cheerfully. “But I do that a lot.”

Mr. Kim passed behind them and tossed in, “Just don’t start filming TikToks as a couple. One office ship is enough chaos.”

“Wait, we’re a ship?” Hoshi turned to Min Ah, eyes wide and too pleased.

“No, we are not a ship,” Min Ah said firmly, resisting the urge to hide under her desk.

Eunji smirked. “You know how it goes. First it’s casual dinners, then subtle glances, then confession outside a pojangmacha while it’s raining.”

“I give it two more team dinners,” Dahyun said thoughtfully.

“Three,” Hoshi replied, totally playing along.

Min Ah glared at him. “You’re not helping.”

Eunji didn’t miss a beat. “We’re romantics.”

Min Ah turned back to her screen with a dramatic sigh, hoping the blue rectangle would absorb her soul.

But then—

“You’re blushing again,” Dahyun whispered. “Hard.”

“She’s been glowing since she walked in,” Eunji added. “What did you do, Hoshi?”

“I just exist,” he said innocently, folding his arms and leaning on her desk divider. “Min Ah’s the one staring into space like she’s got a secret.”

She laughed awkwardly, but inside, she was combusting.

Because it wasn’t Hoshi.

It was Jun.

The image slammed into her brain, again, like a freight train: His mouth against her ear, low and rough—

“You look so pretty like this. Taking it all like a good girl.”

God. Her skin still buzzed. The way he filled her—deep, deliberate, unrelenting—like he had all the time in the world and wanted to ruin her slowly.

And now she was here, pretending to care about packaging layout while her body still remembered every inch of him.

Her eyes darted to her phone.

Still nothing.

No text. No meme. No “good morning.” Not even a stupid “you alive?” message.

He was probably busy. Quantix was chaos during budget week, right? She swallowed, fingers tightening slightly on her mouse.

“You’re smiling again,” Eunji said without looking. “Absolutely repulsive.”

Min Ah forced a laugh. “Would you prefer I cry?”

“Only if Hoshi gets to wipe your tears and whisper something like ‘come here, angel.’”

Hoshi perked up immediately. “Wait, I can do that.”

“Do not,” Min Ah warned, flinging a paperclip at him.

“You’re just scared of your feelings,” he teased, easily dodging.

“And you’re scared of commitment.”

“Same difference,” he shrugged, beaming.

Mr. Kim passed by again and sighed. “I should start charging rent for all this drama.”

“Make them pay in TikToks,” Eunji replied.

As laughter echoed through the room, Min Ah slumped deeper into her seat—smiling, laughing, pretending.

But all the while, her thoughts stayed locked on the silence in her inbox.

And the boy who’d ruined her for rectangles.

—

Lunch was supposed to be a break.

But with the Artois marketing team, it was more like entering a tornado with a dress code. Loud, chatty, chaotic—their energy bounced off every surface as they walked together toward the elevators, hijacking the hallway like a sitcom ensemble.

Min Ah stayed in the middle of the group, nodding along, but not entirely in it. Her eyes were glazed over, her smile distracted. She hadn’t even noticed when Hoshi held the door open for her until he cleared his throat dramatically.

“Your Highness,” he said with an exaggerated bow.

“Oh—” Min Ah blinked and stepped through, flushing. “Sorry. Brain’s still booting.”

“Still?” Eunji asked, already eyeing her suspiciously. “You’ve been zoning out since 9 a.m.”

“Maybe it’s the post-meeting coma,” Dahyun offered helpfully, sipping her iced americano like it was laced with tranquilizer.

“Or,” Eunji leaned in, narrowing her eyes at Min Ah, “she’s lovesick.”

“Here we go,” Min Ah muttered, half-laughing.

Manager Kim, ever the enabler, perked up. “Lovesick? Who is it? Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No one,” Min Ah said quickly.

“Oh c’mon,” Dahyun nudged her. “You’ve been all floaty today. Not even my excellent memes got a proper reaction from you.”

“Maybe she’s hiding a boyfriend,” Manager Kim gasped, clutching his chest dramatically.

“She has been spending a lot of time with Hoshi,” Eunji pointed out, very casually not being casual.

Min Ah snorted. “Please.”

“What’s wrong with me?” Hoshi said, feigning offense. “I’m hot, employed, I have two air fryers—”

“—and the attention span of a squirrel,” Dahyun finished.

“Don’t forget I’m your team leader,” Hoshi said, shaking a finger. “Respect your elders.”

“Elder? You're like five minutes older than me,” Dahyun muttered, and the entire group burst into laughter.

As they approached the elevator, the teasing didn’t let up.

“You’d make a cute couple though,” Manager Kim added. “Like a rom-com—sunshine girl meets neon boy.”

“I vote wedding in the spring,” Dahyun said. “Sakura trees. Pastel theme.”

“Let me finish onboarding first, jeez,” Min Ah said, cheeks warm with secondhand embarrassment.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open.

Inside were three men.

Min Ah’s stomach dropped.

Wonwoo, arms crossed, leaned casually against the wall. Mingyu, tall and effortlessly glowing like he’d been cast in golden hour, stood near the buttons, scrolling through his phone. And beside him—

Jun.

His expression was unreadable. He didn’t blink when the doors opened. Just stepped slightly to the side to make room, his eyes flickering—once—to the group stepping in.

And then away.

The chatter from Artois dimmed immediately, like someone had hit a mute button.

Eunji let out the tiniest squeak. Dahyun’s eyes widened when she saw Mingyu. Manager Kim coughed into his fist, adjusting his glasses. Even Hoshi fell quiet, nodding politely as he stepped inside first.

Min Ah followed, heartbeat loud in her ears.

She could feel him.

Even without looking.

He was standing close enough to touch, just one polite body-width away, but the air between them felt thick. Tense. Like walking into a room that still smelled faintly of last night.

Min Ah focused on the elevator doors, trying not to let her thoughts spiral.

But her skin was already remembering—his mouth on her neck, his fingers on her waist, the raw sound he made when she moved on top of him. How his eyes had darkened when he whispered her name in the dark.

And now, he wouldn’t even look at her.

Jun could feel the weight of her presence beside him. Every tiny movement—how she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the way her hair tickled the air between them—registered with such sharp clarity it almost hurt.

He kept his hands in his pockets.

Steady.

Don’t look.

She was laughing with them earlier. Smiling like nothing happened. Hoshi stood in front of her like he always did, his voice teasing, light, loud. They looked good together, in that effortless, picture-perfect way—bright colors, matching steps.

Jun hated how much it affected him.

He didn’t want to feel it. That irrational possessiveness. That heat crawling up his chest when he saw her laughing at someone else’s joke. Someone else's touch brushing her arm casually like it meant nothing.

He didn’t like this version of himself. But now that she was standing here, close enough to touch, he realized just how badly he already wanted her to be his.

The elevator dinged again.

Ground floor.

Everyone filed out slowly. Jun kept walking, didn’t glance back. Mingyu and Wonwoo followed, still silent.

Behind him, he heard someone say something about lunch spots. Laughter. Hoshi’s voice again.

But he didn’t look back.

He couldn’t.

—

Wednesday, 12:47 PM - Lower Ground Cafetaria

The food court smelled like garlic, beef, and capitalism. A well-known battlefield of lunch-hungry professionals and the chronically indecisive. Jun followed Mingyu and Wonwoo through the crowd, trying to focus on the mundane—tile floors, neon menus, an overworked ahjumma slamming tteokbokki trays onto a counter. Anything but the ghost of her perfume still clinging to his skin.

He hadn’t even looked at her in the elevator. Not really.

Just one glance. That was all he’d allowed himself. Because if he looked longer, he was afraid he wouldn’t stop.

“Dude, you’re walking like you just got dumped,” Mingyu said, glancing over his shoulder as they navigated toward the table already half-claimed by Jeonghan, Joshua, and Seungcheol.

“I wasn’t dumped,” Jun muttered.

“So you were dating someone?” Joshua quipped from where he was peeling the label off his bottled tea.

“No,” Jun said too fast, dropping into the empty seat beside Wonwoo. “I mean. No one was dating anyone.”

“Ominous,” Jeonghan said dryly. “This better not be another situationship. I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to coach you through one more.”

Mingyu slid into his seat, unbothered. “Don’t worry. He’s already in the final boss stage—‘quiet and mysterious heartbreak.’”

“I’m just tired,” Jun said.

“You’re never quiet at lunch,” Seungcheol said without looking up from his bulgogi bowl. “You and Mingyu usually lead the gossip circle.”

“That’s rude,” Mingyu said, offended. “I’m an informant. There’s a difference.”

“You just want to know who’s sleeping with who,” Joshua said. “And who bought a Dyson last week.”

“Okay but Da Mi from floor 11 got the pink one,” Mingyu said, eyes lighting up. “That’s commitment. It’s like a million won.”

Wonwoo finally spoke. “We’re deflecting.”

Everyone looked at Jun again.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t feel like talking.”

Jeonghan raised an eyebrow. “What did she say to you in that elevator?”

“Nothing.”

Mingyu leaned in. “And that’s the problem, right?”

Jun said nothing.

Because yeah. That was the problem.

The silence was worse than anything she could’ve said.

He remembered how close she’d stood. The scent of her hair. The slight brush of her arm when the elevator jolted slightly. The way she didn’t look at him—didn’t need to look at him—because she was already laughing at something Hoshi said.

Bright. Easy. Natural.

She glows when she’s with them.

And Jun hated that he noticed.

He hated more that it hurt.

“Alright,” Jeonghan finally said, spearing a piece of radish with unnecessary precision. “Let’s take bets. Did Jun catch feelings again?”

“I say yes,” Mingyu said immediately.

Joshua held up a finger. “Counter-bet: he caught feelings, then panicked, then convinced himself she deserves better.”

Jun didn’t say anything.

Seungcheol smirked. “So we’re all correct.”

“Look,” Mingyu said, nudging his arm. “She looked at you. We all saw it.”

“She was being polite,” Jun said.

“She almost dropped her phone when she stepped in.”

“Which also could’ve been because of Mingyu,” Wonwoo added. “He was standing like a golden retriever with a finance degree.”

“Thank you, but you’re not helping.” Mingyu said.

But Jun’s heart wasn’t in it.

Because all he could think about was how effortless it was for her to exist in that Artois circle. That noise, that energy—it suited her. Bright laughter, inside jokes, casual teasing, office banter.

Meanwhile, he was quiet. He was moody. He disappeared for days at a time without warning. His emotions dug too deep, too fast. He didn’t know how to keep things casual.

She deserves freedom.

That thought had been echoing since the moment he saw her again in the elevator. Since the way her smile didn’t waver when she spoke to someone else.

She deserves fun. Lightness. Someone who makes her laugh ten times a day and sends her dumb memes and knows the right things to say.

He wasn’t that guy.

Even now, he was sitting in the middle of six people and still felt alone.

He stabbed at his rice half-heartedly.

“Jun,” Jeonghan said, mouth full of kimchi. “If you keep sulking like that, you’re going to give me a rash.”

“You’re not even allergic to emotions,” Joshua pointed out.

“I am when they’re this obvious.”

Jun exhaled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m just… confused.”

“No, you’re not,” Wonwoo said gently. “You’re just scared.”

Jun looked at him, surprised.

Wonwoo rarely spoke unless he meant it.

“I’ve seen this version of you before,” Wonwoo continued. “That… situationship of yours? That girl who ghosted you after three months?”

“...I thought we agreed to never speak of her again.”

Wonwoo ignored him. “You spiraled the same way. You get too close, you panic. You shut down before anyone else can leave first.”

The table went quiet.

Even Mingyu didn’t crack a joke.

Jun swallowed hard. “I just don’t want to ruin it. Whatever it is.”

Joshua tilted his head. “Ruin it how?”

“By wanting too much.”

It was out before he could stop it. The raw, unpolished truth.

He wanted too much. Her attention. Her time. Her warmth. Her thoughts. Her body. Her voice first thing in the morning. Her sleepy texts. Her late-night calls.

He wanted to be the person she chose to lean on. Not just for a weekend. Not just for a night.

But that want came with risk. Need. Vulnerability. Things he wasn’t sure she’d welcome.

“I don’t want to be the reason she feels caged,” he mumbled.

Jeonghan blinked. “Bro. You’re not a jail cell. You’re a man with a big… heart.” He paused. “And apparently, according to the gossip, a big d—”

“Okay!” Jun cut in loudly. “Lunch is over. I’m going back upstairs.”

“Coward,” Mingyu called after him.

“Hopeless,” Jeonghan added.

“Take a probiotic!” Joshua chimed.

But Wonwoo just said, quietly, “You should talk to her.”

Jun didn’t respond.

He walked back toward the escalator, hands in his pockets, shoulders tense.

Because he wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

But if he opened the door to her again—if he let those feelings in—he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to close it.

And he wasn’t sure which would be worse:

Letting her go.

Or holding on.

— Friday, 9:42 PM – Min Ah’s Apartment

Three bungeoppang. Two already cold. One in her hand, soggy and half-eaten.

Min Ah lay curled on her bed in the dark, laptop paused on a scene from The Princess Diaries 2. She wasn’t watching. Just staring.

The only light in the room came from her phone screen. Which she had checked again. And again. And again.

Still nothing. No Jun.

Not even a reaction to her message from the night before: You alive?

It had been three days.

They’d seen each other briefly in the elevator on Wednesday—just a few seconds. A glance. Not even a word.

And since then, nothing. Not a single text. Not a single “good morning” or stupid meme or anything. It was like he vanished.

She flipped her phone over, face down. Sighed into the quiet.

He’d never even been to her apartment. Didn’t know she liked strawberry milk with ice cubes. Didn’t know she always cried at the same exact line in this movie. Didn’t know she named her plants after Disney princes.

And maybe now he never would.

What confused her wasn’t just the silence. It was the whiplash.

He’d looked at her like he meant it. Held her like he didn’t want to let go. And then—nothing.

She hated how much she checked her phone. Hated how it made her feel stupid. Small. Hopeful.

She wasn’t even sure what she wanted anymore. A reply? An apology? Closure?

The buzz of her phone snapped her out of it.

[Lee Dokyeom - Finance]

Not Jun. Of course not.

yo MIN AH saturday night. ur presence is IMPORTANT don’t ask hoshi surprise bday party. same club. u remember ;) we’re surprising him @ midnight bc his bday is sunday come around 10. wear something unhinged

Min Ah stared at the message. Same club. The one where it all began.

She swallowed.

Part of her didn’t want to go. Didn’t want the music, the crowd, the reminder.

But the other part— The part that still wanted to feel something— Clung to the distraction.

She texted back. okay. what if i wear a sweater with ducks Dokyeom replied, only if the ducks are smoking cigarettes DO NOT TELL HOSHI. I SWEAR TO GOD MIN AH also ily see u tmr

She cracked a small smile. It faded quickly, but still. It helped.

She placed her phone beside her pillow, lay back, and stared at the ceiling.

She wasn’t sure what had happened with Jun. She wasn’t even sure what they had been. But it was Friday night. And he hadn’t texted her back.

Maybe the party would help. Maybe it wouldn’t.

But at least at the party, she wouldn’t be alone in this silence.

Not completely.

— NOOO I MISSED HOSHI'S BIRTHDAY AAAAAA life has ben so hectic lately I didn't get a chance to update :((((

[kny-agere]

So I saw you and you petreg post and I just wanted to know if you’d be able to mouse regressor Zenitsu with caregiver Tengen? I don’t mind if it’s a Drabble or just headcanons, I also don’t mind if you don’t want to! Thank you in advance:D

Ahhh im so sleepy rn.,,, sud head canons. I jope these are ok bc my eyes hurt now and im goingk yo bed

★彡☆彡★彡

- I think Zenitsu fits a mouse well!

- He enjoys getting “pet” less and prefers the small quick scratches

- Well he enjoys real petting too but gets embarrassed quickly

- A lot of his mouselike behavior is just him getting embarassed really fast and wanting to hide away

- Too be honest I think Tengen scares Zenitsu a lot because the man is not patient and doesn’t like luring him out carefully

- What does work is playing the “ignore Zenitsu” game until he eventually crawls over to wherever Uzui is

- Especially if Uzui is eating

- Zenitsu likes to steal food off of Tengen’s plate and it’s the only time he doesn’t care if he gets yelled at

- He likes crackers or riceballs, things he can eat with his hands

- At the same time he hates being messy so he eats very slowly and carefully

- Going back to his shyness sorry lol

- Zenitsu does not like regressing around others

- I imagine even regressing around Uzui started out as an accident

- Probably got “bullied” into regressing more because Tengen can see how stressed Zenitsu is and knows it affects him badly

- Zenitsu does want to be coddled when he age regresses but when mouse regressing he enjoys subtler affection and pampering

- Which is good because Tengen is soft without being *too* attentive

- They just enjoy existing in a space together

- He absolutely adores the actual mice

- Hides them in his pockets and sneaks them treats

- In turn the mice sneak Zenitsu treats too (especially if he’s in trouble)

- He’s a little more mischievous when regressed because he knows Uzui won’t punish him harshly

- The only punishment that gets him really upset is when Tengen puts his mice away

- If Uzui makes fun of Zenitsu’s overbite he gets bitten

- A very small friendly bite but Tengen loves to overreact and moan and whine

- Zenitsu ends up feeling awful each time and either ends up crying or head-butting the man until he gets attention

- The boy doesn’t like to crawl, instead shuffling around kind of hunched over

- He doesn’t like sitting on the floor either

- Very concerned about cleanliness

- Another reason he prefers not to be around other regressors… even Tanjiro is a bit “gross” at times

- That means baths are a very good activity

- Well actually Zenitsu likes to sit in the water but he hates being scrubbed down

- Once Tengen pulls out the loofa he squeals and tries to climb out

- Zenitsu also has an awful habit of chewing his nails so Uzui takes care of those too

- Another thing he hates

- He has a hard time sitting still and insists the filing sounds hurt his ears

[viacursecasting]

Dream.

ʌ ʀ ᴛ ᴇ × ɪ ᴠ ʏ

Warning: Mildly suggestive

“What kind of dream?” she asked. 🕸️

The words sat behind his teeth like caged birds: You touched me. You wanted me. You made me want you back so badly I woke up gasping.

But he only said, “One I can’t seem to forget.”

In the hush of moonlight, the wind whispered secrets to the roses. But within the marbled chambers of House Kingsley, beyond the velvet canopy of the feline's bed, Arte’s cool breath was the only music—soft, slow, seeking.

And then—she was there.

Ivy.

But not as she was by day, all iron eyes and silent vigilance. No, this arachnid wore a half-smile like mischief wrapped in silk, her braid loosened over bare shoulders, her steps silent as falling petals.

What really made him slack-jawed, though, was her short, low-cut dress that left little to the imagination.

"Intrigued?" she asked, her voice curling like warm smoke against his cheek.

He did not answer, could not speak, for his throat had gone dry with wonder. She approached like dusk swallowing the world—inevitable, breath-stealing.

One ungloved hand caressed his jawline, ghostlike—a touch he had fantasized about for as long as he'd known her—before she touched his chest, firm and slow. Her fingers drew patterns through the linen, deliberate. Their surroundings pulsed with heat, blurred and honeyed.

"Tell me what you want," she murmured, lips near his ear. "What you dare not ask for."

He tried to speak again, but her hand slid lower, tracing his defined abdomen before tugging at his waistband, waking every nerve as though she wielded her touch like a weapon. His body answered before his words could. Fire bloomed under every place she touched despite his skin of ice.

And then her mouth brushed his—light as a feather, sharp as a blade drawn in the dark. His breath caught as he pulled back, like he grazed the licks of a flame. But the huntress charged, kissing him deeper this time, and the world melted around them. His hands found her waist, pulled her closer. She straddled his lap, and her laugh was low and wicked.

“You’ve always looked at me like you held a secret,” she whispered. “Why not confess?”

His hands trembled at the small of her back. “I-Ivy…”

She pressed against him, warm and real and impossibly close. She rolled her hips, swallowing Arte's desperate moans with a fervent tongue. Drunk from her taste, he moved in tandem, arching into her, his core aflame. Soon, their cries harmonized, reaching their crescendo.

But then—

A snap. A shift.

Light struck his eyes as his arm shot out, grasping nothing.

He was alone again.

Sheets tangled, breath ragged, skin flushed with dreams undone. His heart thundered, aching with the cruel clarity of waking.

Outside, the dawn cracked gold across the horizon.

And in the hallway beyond, the real Ivy stood guard, silent as always.

He dared not look at her too long that morning, for the dream still lingered, the ghost of the kiss at the edge of his lips.

~

The sun spilled over the manor like warm wine, gilding marble, glinting on polished brass. But Arte, though adorned in his trademark silks and silvers, was not quite himself.

He sat longer over breakfast. Stirred his tea too long. Gawked at nothing in particular.

And Ivy noticed.

She always noticed.

She stood by the threshold, arms crossed, eyes unreadable as stone. But in her stillness was awareness—every breath, every twitch of his fingers, noted and filed like a threat assessment.

“The repair shop called,” she informed, her voice a low murmur—meant only for him, as always. “Your sword is ready.”

The cat nodded absentmindedly.

Not the reaction Ivy expected. “You’re quiet today,” she remarked at last.

Arte looked up, caught off guard. “Am I?” he said too quickly.

She tilted her head, braid brushing one shoulder. “You didn’t flirt with the maid. Or the cook. Or the mirror.”

He gave a soft laugh—meant to be charming, light-hearted, disarming. But it faltered.

Because when he looked at her now, he saw not just his guardian in polished black leather and steel. He saw the echo of her dream-self—the softness in her gaze, the press of her lips, the fire of her touch. It haunted him like a melody he couldn't place, yet was on the tip of his tongue.

“You look flushed,” Ivy pointed out.

Arte cleared his throat, bringing curled fingers to his lips in a poor attempt to hide his muzzle. “I didn’t sleep well,” he admitted. “Strange dreams.”

Ivy raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. “Nightmares?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Not… exactly.”

She stepped closer—two measured strides. He could feel her presence now, the heat of her body, the quiet weight of her gaze. She didn’t wear perfume, only the crisp scent of metal and wild roses. But it weaved around him all the same.

“What kind of dream?” she asked.

Arte hesitated, and for a breath, their eyes locked. The silence stretched, charged and golden.

The words sat behind his teeth like caged birds: You touched me. You wanted me. You made me want you back so badly I woke up gasping.

But he only said, “One I can’t seem to forget.”

And Ivy… paused. Something shifted behind her cool expression—a shadow of thought, too fleeting to catch. But it was there. A softening of her brow. A flicker in her eyes.

She stepped back without a word, turned toward the door.

“I’ll ready the horses,” she said.

Arte stared after her, heart thudding.

And though she moved with her usual unflinching grace, she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear with one gloved hand.

A small gesture. Unnecessary.

Perhaps she, too, had not slept well…

~

The road to Ashborne, town of blacksmiths, wound through low hills and whispering fields as the sky above bruised with oncoming storm. Ivy rode ahead, as always—sharp-eyed, silent, the glaive strapped across her back like a banner of warning.

Arte followed, trying not to look at her too often. Failing.

The dream clung to him, stubborn as the morning mist. Every sway of her hips in the saddle brought it back—the memory of her body against his, the sound of her voice lowered to smoke and seduction.

It was torture. Beautiful, lonesome torture.

They rode until the first fat drops of rain began to fall. Ivy turned in her saddle.

“There’s a hunter’s lodge half a mile through the woods,” she said, voice raised above the wind. “Better to wait out the storm.”

Arte nodded. Gratefully.

~

The lodge was abandoned but dry. Firewood waited stacked in the stone hearth, as if placed there by fate itself. Ivy worked quickly, building a fire with skilled hands, sparks leaping into gold.

Arte peeled off his damp cloak and sat a bit further than usual—but Ivy noticed, always.

She stepped toward him, shrugging off her own cloak. “You’re soaked.”

“I’ll dry,” he said, but his voice caught—because she was close again. Too close.

She knelt beside him, pulled a blanket from her saddlebag, and threw it around his shoulders with a soldier’s efficiency—but her fingers brushed his collarbone. He flinched. Her eyes met his.

That pause again.

The air between them was thick and humming. The fire crackled, spat.

“You’ve been staring,” Ivy said, tone unreadable.

Arte looked down, ears folding back in guilt. “Yes.”

Her brow knit, just faintly. “Why?”

He hesitated—but something broke in him, something too full, too long held.

“I dreamt of you,” he said. “You were… different. Warmer. You touched me like I was yours.”

Ivy stilled.

“And when I woke,” he went on, breath trembling, “I wanted to go back. I still do.”

The storm outside grew louder. Inside, only the fire dared speak.

Then, with reverence, Ivy pulled down her mask. Her gaze didn’t soften. But it deepened. She reached out slowly, fingers ghosting over the side of his jaw, tracing the curve where dream and memory met.

“You think I’m not warm,” she murmured. “Yet you burn like frostbite.”

“You’re fire contained,” he whispered. “But I feel it. Every time you stand between me and danger. Every time you watch me like I’m… more than a job.”

She leaned in, just a breath away. The flames danced on her skin, casting flickers in her amber eyes.

And just as her lips neared his—

Knock, knock, knock! came the sharp rap at the lodge door.

Both froze.

Hands pulled back. Masks re-fastened.

Ivy rose in an instant, hand already on her glaive.

Arte sat in stunned silence, the fire before him suddenly too bright, too cruel.

And the moment—like the dream—slipped through his fingers.

The knock came again—three times. Measured. Intentional.

Ivy moved like instinct given form, silent and precise, placing herself between Arte and the door, glaive drawn, its blade catching the firelight like a sliver of moon. She said nothing, but her posture spoke clearly: If it’s danger, it dies.

Arte stood behind her, breath still unsteady—not just from the stranger, but from the nearness that had almost been. His skin still tingled where her fingers had touched him.

She opened the door.

Rain veiled the world beyond in silver and shadow. A figure stood there, cloaked and hooded, water sluicing off the fabric in streams. For a moment, the only sound was the storm and the stranger’s breath.

“Forgive the intrusion,” came a low voice, masculine, gravel-soft. “My horse broke loose. I’m unarmed. I saw your fire.”

He pulled back his hood.

He was a young snake—perhaps Ivy’s age—with luminous ebony scales and sharp, clever eyes that flicked past her, toward Arte, before landing on Ivy once more. He smiled, slow and sure.

“I thought I might die of cold,” he said, fangs flashing. “You’ve no idea how glad I am to find such… generous company.”

Ivy didn’t move.

Arte stepped beside her, cautious but curious. “Let him in,” he said. “We can’t leave him in the rain.”

Without breaking eye contact, Ivy gave the smallest nod. “One night,” she told the stranger. “Stay near the fire. Try anything foolish and I’ll gut you before you touch the floor.”

He held up both hands in mock surrender. “Understood.”

As he stepped inside, he added, “I'm Damian, by the way. May I have your names, or shall I call you Prince and My Lady?”

Arte laughed softly. “Arte Kingsley. And this is Ivy.”

The reptile looked at Ivy for a moment longer—longer than was wise.

“Fitting,” he murmured. “Sharp and rare.”

Ivy turned from him without reply. But the line of her jaw tightened.

~

Later, they sat around the hearth, fire between them. The stranger spun tales—of cities under starlight, of narrow escapes and ballroom cons. Arte, as always, was drawn like a moth to a story.

But Ivy watched.

Watched the way the man kept his hand close to his boot. Watched the way he subtly shifted his body so he could keep both Arte and the door in his sightline. Watched the hunger in his gaze—though not for food.

She moved closer to Arte, sat nearer than she needed to.

The dream still burned in his mind. Her warmth was real now, not imagined. And her body between him and danger was no longer just duty—it was something more.

He leaned closer, voice low. “You see it too, don’t you?”

She nodded once, eyes still on the stranger. “There’s something he’s not saying.”

Arte swallowed. “Do we wait him out?”

Ivy’s fingers flexed near her glaive. “No. We stay awake.”

And though sleep called them both, they sat there, side by side on the floor before the fire. Close enough that their shoulders brushed. Neither speaking.

Not yet lovers.

Not yet safe.

But something had shifted.

The rain had not yet stopped.

~

The fire burned low, licking red tongues over the blackened logs. Outside, the storm had thinned to a gentle patter, but inside the lodge, the air had grown thick—quiet, watching, expectant.

Damian leaned back on his palms, long legs stretched before him. His damp curls had dried into soft waves, and his shirt—unlaced a bit too low—clung just enough to hint at a swordsman’s build beneath.

But it was his eyes that spoke loudest.

They danced toward Ivy again and again, too bold, too knowing.

“I must say,” he murmured, swirling a cup of Arte’s wine, “it’s rare to see a blade like yours wielded by someone with such poise. Deadly and beautiful—like a moonlit assassin.”

Ivy didn’t respond. Her silence had cowed kings.

But Damian grinned, undeterred. “Silent too. Hells, that’s unfair.”

Arte watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. “Careful,” he said lightly, but there was something tighter in his tone. “She’s not fond of flattery.”

“Oh?” Damian stood, slow and easy, like water uncoiling. “Not even when it’s sincere?”

Ivy rose as well, one hand already on the long shaft of her glaive. Her eyes—stormlight and steel—watched every movement.

Damian stepped closer, palms raised, mock-innocent. “Just a dance, Ivy. You move like you were born for one.”

And then—like wind changing direction—he struck.

A knife flicked from his boot. Ivy’s glaive came up instantly, deflecting it in a ringing flash. Sparks flew. Their shadows twisted wild across the walls.

Arte leapt back, heart lurching.

Damian’s other hand drew a short sword from beneath his coat—ornate, curved, designed not for brute force but elegance. He spun it once, then lunged.

Ivy met him head-on.

Their blades clashed like thunder and rain—his style a whirl of feints and fluidity, hers precise, brutal, disciplined. He moved like a dancer, all sweeping steps and flourishing twirls. She countered with sharp pivots, deadly efficiency.

But he was good. Too good.

He caught her off balance once—just once—and instead of striking, he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

“You’re even more beautiful when you’re trying to kill me,” he whispered.

Her pulse faltered.

Just a beat.

Just enough.

He knocked the butt of her glaive aside and caught her wrist, twisting her into a hold—not to harm, but to feel. His body was close, too close. She could smell wine and steel and danger.

“You could be so much more than a guard,” he murmured, lifting her chin with a claw.

She drove her elbow into his ribs.

He gasped, loosened his grip. She spun out, dropped low, and swept his legs out from under him.

He hit the floor hard, the wind knocked from him.

She stood over him, glaive point at his throat, chest rising and falling fast.

“Next time,” she said coldly, “I take your head.”

But her eyes flicked away—just for a second.

Toward Arte.

And Damian—smiling even through the pain—saw it.

“Oh,” he breathed, lying on his back, “it’s him.”

Ivy’s blade pressed down, just enough to nick skin.

“No more prattling,” she snapped. “Who are you, really?”

Damian laughed—breathless, wild, pleased.

He sat up slowly, one hand pressed to his side, the other raised in a gesture of truce. Ivy’s glaive hovered a breath from his throat, but his eyes… his eyes held no fear.

Only fire. And something more dangerous—want.

“Easy, soldier,” he said, smiling through the sting. “I yield.”

Ivy didn’t move, ambers locked on the snake.

He reached into his coat slowly, deliberately, and produced a crest—gleaming gold, set with an onyx stone carved in the shape of a serpent coiled around a crown.

Arte’s eyes widened. “That’s…”

“House Virelles,” Damian confirmed, brushing mud from his collar. “First son. Duke-in-waiting. Which, I believe, outranks even your House, Lord Kingsley.”

Arte’s mouth parted in disbelief, but Ivy’s glaive didn’t waver.

“Why the charade?” she asked, voice sharp as the edge she wielded.

Damian met her gaze, unflinching. “Because men of my station rarely get to see people as they truly are. Especially not legends like you, Ivy of the Iron Step.”

His smile returned, softer now. “You were a ghost story in the barracks of my youth. The soldier who never broke. The glaive who could cut wind. The rose with deadly thorns.”

She narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to be flattered or alarmed.

“I came seeking a bodyguard,” he continued. “But not just any. I need a blade that won’t lie, that won’t flatter, that won’t falter. I need someone I trust to guard more than my back.” He stepped closer, boldly, even as her blade kissed the skin of his throat.

“I need a partner,” he said. “A shadow. A match.” Damian’s eyes darkened with heat. “But most importantly, I need… a lover.”

Ivy froze.

Silence fell again. The rain whispered against the windows. The fire hissed as if it knew the weight of the moment.

“I’d pay you more than you’ve ever dreamed,” Damian said. “Gold, lands, a title if you want it. Your days of babysitting spoiled boys and sleeping on stone floors would be over.”

At that, Ivy finally moved. Not away—but a single step back, her blade still raised, though her grip was tight enough to whiten knuckles.

Arte’s voice broke the silence, quiet and raw: “Don't dare speak of her like she's a commodity.”

Damian turned to him, eyebrows lifted. “Is that why you’ve never claimed her?”

Arte flinched.

Damian faced Ivy again. “You deserve a man who isn't afraid to want you, one who sees you as a storm to be worshipped.”

And then, gently—so gently he barely moved—he reached out and touched a strand of her hair.

“What say you, Ivy?”

The question hung there like a sword over a throne.

Her glaive lowered. Just slightly.

And her heart?

Her heart was no longer still.

Ivy’s fingers tightened once more around the shaft of her glaive. That single strand of hair he’d dared to touch fell across her cheek, and she didn’t move to brush it away.

Her eyes met his—those dark, daring eyes—and for a breath, all was still.

Then, like a blade drawn from velvet, her voice cut clean through the silence.

“You speak of worship,” she said. “But you mean possession.”

Damian’s smile flickered, faintly. “You wound me.”

She took a step forward, and this time, her glaive rose again—not to strike, but to draw a line between them.

“You came into our fire with lies on your lips,” she said, low and lethal. “You played the beggar when you were a prince. You touched without consent. And you think I would trade my loyalty—for luxury?”

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t stop.

“I’ve fought for cowards and kings. Bled for tyrants and fools. But this fool…” Her eyes flicked to Arte, and her voice softened just enough to reveal something… tender beneath. “He sees me.”

Arte’s breath hitched.

She turned back to Damian, all fire once more. “You want a weapon in your bed. A queen with fangs, a conquest to tame. But I am not yours.”

The glaive’s blade lowered to his chest.

“I am not anyone’s.”

Damian stared at her—stunned, breath caught halfway between laughter and disbelief. But she was already turning, already walking away, leaving him kneeling in the dirt of his failure.

She passed Arte on her way to the door, paused beside him.

His eyes were wide, searching, full of a question he didn’t yet dare ask.

She looked at him—just looked—and for once, he saw more than armor and silence.

He saw choice.

She opened the lodge door. Rain had faded to mist.

“Let’s ride,” she said.

And without waiting, she stepped into the gray light, leaving crown and court and coin behind.

~

The road stretched like a ribbon of wet stone, weaving through pale mist and shivering birches. Ivy rode ahead, as always—shoulders square, spine unyielding. Her glaive rested across her back once more, as though the night before hadn’t happened…

As though the proposal had vanished into the fog.

Arte followed, quiet in his saddle.

He didn’t know what to say. How to reach her. How to name what was blooming wild and unspeakable in his chest.

So he said nothing, hoofbeats their only song.

They rode in silence for hours, the air cool and heavy with unshed rain. A river murmured nearby. A crow cried in the distance, solitary and strange.

But the quiet was not peace.

It was pressure.

It was waiting.

When the sun finally broke through the clouds, spilling gold over the dewy grass, the arachnid slowed before dismounting, leading her horse to a river nearby. Arte followed suit. Ivy didn’t look at him, but she felt his presence.

“Your thoughts are loud, yet I cannot hear them,” she said, voice flat.

Arte chuckled, the first sign of humor he expressed in a while. “They've been wild, indeed. I'm… not quite sure how to tame them.”

“Then don't,” she advised.

He glanced at her, saw that her eyes were shadowed beneath her hood. He contemplated. “You've always protected me. But last night was the first time I watched you protect yourself. It was admirable.”

Ivy looked at him then. Really looked. The platinum hair tousled from the ride. The fine cloak stained with dirt. The cyan eyes—usually sharp and sure—now clouded with uncertainty.

“Tell me, Ivy,” he began, “why do you ride in front?”

She blinked, thinking it was obvious. “I like knowing what’s coming.”

The wind stirred between them, curling the silence tighter.

And then, very softly, he said, “What if I don’t?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you getting at, Kingsley?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked down. Then back at her.

His throat tightened. “How would you feel if… I rode beside you?” He clarified before she could protest, “Not as a charge. Not as a prince. Not as some weakling who needs constant saving.”

She mused.

“You think I protect you because you're weak?” she asked.

“I don’t know why you do it,” he admitted. “Last night, when Damian—when he said those things—I realized I’ve never told you. How much you mean to me. You're more than a guard. More than a shadow. And though you matter to me, I want…” He swallowed, building up his courage:

“I want to matter to you.”

More silence. More ache. His heartbeat deafened his ears.

Finally, she moved. Her steps were measured, steady. Then she was in front of him, pulling him by his jabot to her level.

He landed a breath away from her lips, the tension snapping like thread between them.

“Idiot,” she muttered, her voice warm, like ice giving way to spring. "You think I would guard your life so fiercely if you did not matter to me more than life itself?"

He stared at her, stunned.

“I chose you,” she whispered. “Not for coin. Not for crown. For you.”

And then—finally—she kissed him.

No dream this time. No waking.

Her mouth was firm and sure, calloused hands curled around the lapels of his blazer like she might drag him closer still. The kiss was not gentle. It was everything they had never said.

When they broke apart, she rested her forehead to his, breathing fast.

“Next time,” she murmured, “you ride beside me.”

He nodded, dazed.

And this time, when they mounted, they rode as equals.

Not lord and guard.

But something new.

Something neither of them could name—yet.

[sugarpopss]

Lee Bodecker Blurb

So......I've been talking about Lee a lot with @bucknastysbabe which of course means I pooped out something kind of horny. Imagine he and Florence get a nasty divorce at some, feel how plausible that is, then come back to this. Also kind of some kink discovery but Lee is such a good vessel for feedism yknow

Lee had a routine. He got off patrol, drove forty minutes out to the cabin on the far side of the county, and ate a somewhat miserable dinner while ‘I’ve Got a Secret’ or ‘The Price is Right’ droned on in front of him, driving the stale silence into the corners for a little bit.

Sometimes he stopped at the diner in Meade for food that was more salt and bacon grease than real ingredients, ordered in a quantity that made the teenage girl working the register raise her eyebrows; sometimes he exercised the full extent of his cooking skills and put a TV dinner in the oven. Either way, he parked his ass on the sofa, let the sound of the television fill his head and ate his dinner in a scene that would not be out of place in the 1963 edition of ‘Pathetic Divorcees 12 Month Calendar’. 

Most nights, in an astounding display of disregard for personal dignity, Lee jerked off after eating. Sometimes he focused on the television and let Betsy Palmer float into his imagination, leaving the panel behind to show Lee what was under her tight little skirt. Other times he thought of his ex-wife, saw her chocolate dark hair and recalled the feeling of her breasts in his hands, how she’d tip her head back with pitchy moans when their sex was good. The only downside was that that usually led him into thinking about how nights like that had dwindled as he spent more time working-because to Lee, being on patrol or filing paperwork or meeting with Leroy all fell under the umbrella of ‘work’, at least for his purposes-how, coming up on the day Florence had served him the divorce papers, even their coupling became cold and distant and quiet, usually ending in yelling or tears if not both. 

Thinking about that made Lee feel like shit. 

The masturbation fodder Lee liked the best, though-or maybe just what he felt the least amount of guilt over-was the feeling of his own gut, packed with fatty diner food or ice cream and Nabisco cookies, skin warm from the stretch and stomach slightly aching as it tried churn through everything inside. He preferred not to dwell on why that feeling got him so absurdly hard-why palming his swollen belly made his cock leak like an old faucet. 

In any case, masturbation was the third part of Lee’s routine. The fourth part was really playing the washed up cop and passing out under the fog of a full stomach and an orgasm. At a different time he would’ve polished off the image with a couple of beers, something to add to both the haze in his mind and the bloat in his stomach, but. Well. He was trying, as pathetic as it sounded. 

As pathetic as ‘trying’ seemed to be, seeing as he still ended up conked out on the sofa, television illuminating how his undershirt was slowly creeping up over the curve of his gut like some slovenly sitcom husband. Except, that is, for the nights when Lee had the post-nut wherewithal and motivation to actually get into bed. It was actually a little bit sad how quickly he’d adjusted to sleeping alone. There was something almost reassuring about getting into a cold bed, as opposed to one warmed by a body that he knew has been waiting for hours; there was no one to disappoint or fight with or lie to in a cold bed, although Lee had done all three quite liberally throughout his marriage and didn’t feel so much guilt that he’d take them back, given the opportunity. He certainly wouldn’t give up what they’d gotten him…but it still felt safer to be alone. 

Besides, the warmth and weight of his packed gut was a close enough substitute for the comfort of a woman, the grip of his own callused fist a workable approximation of the tight, wet heat of a cunt. Shocking as it may be, there wasn’t a line of women out the front door of the creaky old cabin with one working sink and raccoons in the attic-but even those traits were probably a better draw than Lee himself. 

It didn’t matter. He was just alright by himself-it seemed like exactly the way he was meant to be.