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mariasont · 15 days ago

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Craving Like A Lungful - S.R

you ask spencer a question about breath play. he gives you a lecture, a safety demonstration, and a mind-shattering orgasm. in that order.

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, AFAB, reader wearing a skirt, breath play, choking (consensual), fingering, dirty talk, praise, experimentation, soft dom reid, power exchange, pet names, 75% smut and 25% love letter to spencer reid's fingers wc: 4.1k

He’s torturing you. Actually, genuinely torturing you. Spencer Reid, certified genius, closeted sadist, worst man on Earth.

Except, well, obviously, he isn’t. You would qualify him as your favorite person in existence on any given day, and therein lies half the problem.

Because right now, he’s just sitting there, reading, while his fingertips scrap absent-minded shapes along the slope of your neck. Each harmless pass managing to turn your thoughts to mush and bones to jelly.

At this point, you’re convinced you’re less a person and more a limp collection of nerves slumped against his side, pretending (poorly, might you add) to watch a show you mentally abandoned about ten minutes ago.

You’re too busy contemplating just how blatantly you’d need to behave to distract him from those words and coax him into pursuits you deem far more exciting. Pursuits that involve significantly more touching.

His grasp on you briefly firms, just a heartbeat of strain if that.

You know it was surely accidental, but your body can’t compensate for the difference. You try to swallow the intrusion of indecent thoughts like sour medicine.

The dose doesn’t take.

You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be pinned beneath him, discovering firsthand the perfect contradiction that is Spencer’s innate gentleness and the strength you’re suddenly craving from his hands.

You’re not crazy for this, you reassure yourself desperately. He’s safe. He’s the literal personification of comfort, disguised in scholarly tweed and tender kisses.

Fantasizing him into something rougher, a little less cautious... it doesn't cancel that out. It just colors it deeper. Some might consider it acceptable, even. Right?

“Spence?”

“Hmm?” He answers preoccupiedly, the pad of his finger wetting against his tongue before flipping another page.

“What do you, um… what do you know about breath play?”

You hate the way your throat tightens immediately as the question leaves your mouth. (The universe is a huge fan of irony, you’ve discovered.)

“You know I love when you ask me questions,” he begins slowly. “But something tells me this one isn’t purely theoretical.” His regard eases as his eyes track over your shoulders, now curving inward. “Am I right?”

“Yeah.”

You could try to pretend otherwise, but you’ve come to realize, faking it is futile with Spencer. You’re sure he already knows. He’s had months to figure you out, and he treats that like a privilege — just one he’s very good at using to his advantage.

“Alright, sweetheart. Enlighten me. What exactly has you curious?”

You flap your hand, unsure what you’re even trying to say with it, and instantly feel ridiculous. Silly even.

But Spencer smiles like he thinks you’re charming and suddenly your embarrassment feels a little less terminal.

“I guess like, what’s the science behind it? Is it an adrenaline thing? A psychological thing? Or is it just, you know… a thing?”

Spencer’s hand drops from your neck, sliding to rest on your shoulder instead. It’s not exactly abrupt, but it’s unexpected enough to spark a little twinge of disappointment that sneaks out in the form of a tiny frown.

You hurry to erase it, but not fast enough.

“I only moved my hand,” he clarifies, “because I don’t want to introduce any external variables into this discussion.”

You stare, brows pinching together. “External variables?”

“Yes.” He nods. “If I kept touching your neck while describing breath play, I'd risk subconsciously steering your reactions. Maybe stirring up curiosity, maybe aversion, or maybe something more complicated. Removing the physical cue ensures you form your opinion independently.”

You squint at him. “That’s… weirdly considerate. And possibly a tiny bit intense, Professor.”

“It’s an intense topic.”

“Oh. Right. Guess that tracks.”

He’s got that look now, that particular smile he only pulls out when you’ve made him laugh without intending to. You should feel annoyed. You’re not. It's more like lucking into treasure when you were content sifting through scraps.

“Okay, so… think of it like this,” he starts, already slipping into that half-professor, half-boyfriend tone. “When you restrict airflow, even briefly, your body interprets it as a stressor. That triggers a fight-or-flight response. Your heart rate spikes, adrenaline kicks in, and your brain releases dopamine to counteract the stress.”

He pauses slightly, eyes searching yours to ensure you’re still with him. You are, mostly. Enough, anyway.

“That dopamine rush is what makes it feel so good to some people. It’s the same principle behind things like sky-diving or high-intensity workouts, the brain perceives a mild, controlled threat and rewards you with a chemical high.”

You open your mouth to interrupt but Spencer’s lips are already curling into a sideways grin, like he’s already one step ahead of you.

“And before you ask, yes, it’s completely safe when done correctly. The key is control. It’s never about actual danger, just the illusion of it.”

You hesitate for a second, then ask, “I mean… how do you know when someone’s doing it right versus, like, actively trying to murder you?”

“First of all, it shouldn’t feel aggressive or sudden. You should feel an edge of intensity without genuine fear or distress. Your body’s reactions shouldn’t tip over into panic or actual pain.” He leans forward, his proximity suddenly sharpened. “And secondly, it has to be with someone you trust implicitly. This isn’t the sort of activity you’d want to try after a few drinks at a questionable frat party.” He lifts a brow. “Selfishly, I’d much rather you not explore something this delicate with anyone but me.”

“Spencer.”

“Just being responsible, angel,” he says lightly, completely unrepentant as he dips forward, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’d hate to imagine you in the inexperienced hands of someone less qualified.”

You press your lips together, glaring in a way you hope reads as stern instead of hopelessly flustered. “Don’t make fun.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Which, given his shit-eating grin, is an outright lie. His hand finds your knee and squeezes. “Any other pressing questions?”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” You fumble momentarily, grasping to find footing that doesn’t involve imagining him with someone else. “Um, so, was it — did you like it?”

He tugs your knee a little closer. “I think you’re asking because you hope my experience will give you some clarity about your own feelings.”

You freeze, because, well, yeah, that’s exactly what you were doing. And hearing it out loud makes it harder to dodge.

“The thing is,” he continues softly, patiently, “my answer won’t really help, sweetheart. My role is fundamentally different, both physically and psychologically, from yours. You're the one feeling the rush. I’d be the one carefully controlling it.” He tilts his head, studying your reaction. “What you need to ask yourself is how the idea itself makes you feel.”

You stare down at your hands, willing an answer to manifest. But the truth is, you don’t have one.

Everything you know about this is secondhand. The way your friends talk about it, joking over drinks like it’s no big deal. The way it’s portrayed in movies, always intense and dramatic. The way a passage in a book makes you pause, reread it over again, just to be sure.

But all of that is distant, safely removed from your actual life. None of it feels like you.

“It’s complicated,” you admit, squirming under his gaze. “It feels interesting in theory. Like, hypothetically exciting. But actually enjoying it? That’s still an enormous, intimidating question mark.”

Spencer’s eyes flick over you once, assessing, before he nods.

“Alright,” he says. “Well, this is a safe, controlled environment. We can take it step by step, nice and logical, okay?”

You nod quickly — probably too quickly. Spencer’s mouth twitches, but he’s kind enough not to call you on it.

His hand moves back to one side of your neck.

“Let’s start by narrowing it down,” he continues, “If I touched you right here —” his voice dipping intimately, “— what’s the first thing you feel? Excited? Nervous? Both?”

Spencer’s hand is cold, just on the edge of uncomfortably so, but by now, you’ve learned to anticipate it.

The first time, he’d explained away the chill, intertwining your fingers while he launched into a gentle explanation about blood vessels, circulation, and temperature regulation, as if medical jargon might warm you up faster. Your dazed, crush-drunk state had earnestly tried to soak up every word.

The second time, however, there had been no hope of retaining anything. His fingers tracing circles around your clit, whispering against your neck something vaguely scientific — vasoconstriction, maybe? — the words entirely lost beneath your own breathy sighs.

Maybe some responsible corner of your brain caught it and tucked it away for later. But right now, all you can feel is the heat flooding your skin, surging up to meet those same chilly fingers, smothering any hope of remembering a damn thing.

You wet your lips. “Yeah, I…I think I like it.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Think?”

You try to swallow, but it’s clumsy. Like your brain forgot how, his touch is so light, it barely registers, and you're honestly not even sure he is touching you or if your brain's inventing it, already drunk on the idea.

“I do like it,” you clarify quickly, ears burning. “But it’s not like you’re doing anything unusual yet.”

“That's because I’d rather ease you into it than overwhelm you.”

His eyes remain locked with yours as he slowly adjusts his hand, four fingers resting on one side of your neck, thumb curving around to the opposite side.

“And this? How does this make you feel?”

You don’t plan to react, but your breath tangles mid-inhale, catching on something sharp. Too fast in, not enough out.

Your fingers tap aimlessly against your thigh, unsure where to go, what to do with all this feeling and nothing to burn it on.

Spencer must notice, because a second later, his free hand finds yours, cold fusing with warm.

“I like the weight of it,” you whisper, barely trusting your voice. “Feels… assertive. In a good way.”

Spencer hums before leaning in, close enough for you to see where his lashes clump at the tips, impossibly dark.

“Yeah, it probably does feel that way,” he says, thumb brushing under your ear. “Doesn’t mean I’m trying to take control. Just means I like knowing I have your attention.”

You almost laugh. He has your attention, your focus, your heart, and a few other things you probably shouldn’t name. But you just nod like he’s not entirely right.

“What now?”

“That depends on you,” he says. “We can take the next step, and I can apply gradual pressure to let you experience the sensation, monitor your response.” His eyes drag over your face. “Or we can pause. Talk it through. Or we can stop.” A squeeze to your hand. “There’s no wrong answer.”

“I want to take the next step,” you say, trying to hide the urgency. “But I might not react the way I’m supposed to.”

“There’s no supposed to,” he says, thumb sweeping over your wrist. “You don’t have to react in any particular way. We’re just exploring. No expectations.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Just… talk me through it?”

“Always.”

His fingers tighten. Just a little. Almost like a symphony getting louder, but one instrument, one beat at a time. You don’t breathe, just to feel it better.

“Let’s stay here a second. Let you get used to it.”

The size of his hand dwarfs your throat, fingers splayed wide directly over your jugular, encompassing delicate skin and fragile bone.

You’re not blind to the strength of him. But what strikes you is the control he exercises over it. The ease with which he could hurt and instead chooses to draw out something else entirely. Every move angled towards pleasure, not power.

He’s studying you now. You know it without meeting his gaze. You can feel the scrutiny everywhere, razor-sharp eyes stripping back every layer you thought you were hiding. Measuring. Tracking.

But you realize it’s more than just simple observation. It’s also craving, masked behind patience.

“Still okay?”

You nod.

“Alright I’m gonna tighten a bit. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He thumb sweeps over your windpipe without closing off any air. Your thighs clamp together accordingly, locking around your joined hands.

Spencer laughs, not at you, never that, but with the same quiet pride he gets when one of his obscure theories turns out to be correct.

Trust you to be another equation effortlessly solved by his clever fingers.

His hand slips from yours, redirecting to nudge your legs apart, stern enough that resistance doesn’t even cross your mind.

As he nestles between your thighs, you wonder if maybe you were purpose-built for this. Shaped by fate into the perfect receptacle for Spencer. It’s not the most absurd thought you’ve had when it comes to him.

“You know why this works?” His voice dips into something possessive, fingers kneading into the plush give of your thighs, sliding upward, a constellation of goosebumps being left in their wake. “Because you like knowing I could keep you here, but also knowing I’d never have to.”

You’ll never understand it — how Spencer manages to reach into the depths of your mind, extracting the exact words there, murmuring them back to you as though they were born on his tongue.

Your hips shift restlessly beneath him, craving friction you hadn’t even consciously acknowledged, your skirt climbs higher, revealing inch by betraying inch of skin without an ounce of remorse.

Spencer’s gaze falls instantly, eyes growing heavy, pupils expanding into endless darkness, mirroring the ache brewing inside you.

“I’m going to introduce something called intermittent restriction, okay?” he says. “That means I’ll apply pressure for just a few seconds, long enough for your brain to notice, but not long enough to make you light-headed. Then I’ll release. That cycle, restriction and releasing, triggers a rush of oxygen back into your system.”

His mouth finds your jaw, so softly that the rush of your pulse seems premature.

“Your nerve endings will become hypersensitive, responsive to even the slightest touch.” And just to prove a point, his fingertips slip between your thighs, tracing fire over already scorching skin. “This, for example,” he whispers, “will feel ten times as intense.”

The pressure on your throat fades as his hand shifts upward, finding a new home cradling the back of your neck, fingertips twining through your hair.

You’re left staring at his mouth, every heartbeat a fervent prayer — kiss me, please, please, kiss me.

Then, slowly, he tilts your chin upward, sweetening your unspoken wish.

When he draws away, your breath trembles, coming in shattered fragments. Your vision dims slightly at the edges, leaving only Spencer in vivid clarity.

“Is that something you’d like me to do?”

“Yes,” you breathe, everything in you reaching. “Yes, please.”

He nods slowly, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Good. You know the safe word, but if you can’t talk and want me to stop, just tap my wrist twice.” He demonstrates against your neck. “The second it stops feeling good, we stop. No explanations needed.”

His hand settles again at the column of your throat, fingertips fitting into the tender hollow beneath your jawline. He tilts your head back, and for a second all you can think about is how exposed you are. The weird crease on your collarbone. That one spot that gets blotchy when you’re turned on.

You wonder if he sees all of it. If he likes all of it.

He looks at you like none of it surprises you. Like he expected every detail and already decided it was his favorite part.

“What if I do it wrong? Like, should I be —?”

“Hey,” he soothes, thumb gently rubbing slow circles against the underside of your chin. Gentle kisses trail along the line of your jaw toward your ear. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He catches your earlobe between his teeth, tugging. “Just relax and let me do all the work, angel.”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly as every part of you goes warm and liquid.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmurs. “There’s my girl. You ready?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, “love you.”

His smile deepens, fondness glowing through him as he bumps your chin with his nose. “Love you.”

His breath is minty when it brushes yours again, tinged with that strange clove candy he orders from some European site. You’re still trying to place it when his hand moves — and just like that, you’re out of air.

It should set off alarms, should terrify you, but strangely all it does is strip away the noise, everything crystallizing.

It’s exactly like the first morning after you fell asleep beside him, waking up in tangled limbs, realizing you’d never truly rested before him, the world realigning itself in high definition, as though you’d finally found the perfect pair of glasses after years of blurry half-truths.

Time seems to move in slow motion, each elongated second stretching into something much more infinite. When his fingers ease up, you feel the air whoosh back into your lungs, somehow sweeter than before.

“Good girl,” Spencer praises softly, lips curving into a smile you can feel even with half-closed eyes. “How did that feel for you?”

You pause. “I think I need a little more evidence before I can give a definitive answer.”

You conveniently omit just how much you liked it. How every cell in your body is quietly pleading for him to do it again, and soon. Immediately, if possible. Though judging by the look in his eyes, you’re not exactly fooling anyone.

“Ah,” he chuckles softly, thumb stamping over your bottom lip, “spoken like a true scientist.”

“Well,” you breathe, “there are worse traits I could’ve picked up from you.”

His fingers squeeze around your throat once more.

You’re dimly aware that his other hand has taken up occupancy on your thigh. How long had it been there? Five seconds? Five years?

Both seem plausible, neither important. It’s there, and your lower half is already chasing the feeling, searching in desperate little movements. Anything — his palm, the couch cushion, a miracle — would suffice to ease the fever spreading through your hypoxic brain down to the sticky heat between your legs.

His fingers skim down to the edge of your panties just as his grip on your throat dissolves. One sensation gives way to the other, making it impossible to know where relief ends, and desire begins.

You, however, don’t take the opportunity to gasp for breath. Instead, you chase Spencer’s lips, gifting him your last lungful of air in a kiss that is decidedly messy and anything but falling under the category of graceful. He takes your clumsy devotion in stride, hands moving to haul you tighter against him, slotting your legs tighter around his waist.

You pull back only when your body calls for it, not your heart. And when you do, your head spins a little, most likely oxygen-related, but it feels more Reid-related.

His mouth lingers barely an inch from yours. “Take a deep breath for me, angel.”

One shallow inhale, and then it’s gone. But it doesn’t matter, because his fingertips are dipping beneath your panties in the same motion, stroking through your folds, dragging pleasure through you so intensely, you’re scared you’ll break apart right then and there.

He was right, you’re so unbearably sensitive, nerves bursting open beneath his touch, each one catching like a spark on dry glass, spreading before you can stop it.

He clicks his tongue softly, clearly pleased. “Look at you, making such a mess for me.”

There’s nothing rushed about the way he moves, but your body doesn't seem to know that. Frantic anyway, trembling anyway, gasping like he himself is a trap you’ve willingly walked into.

He doles out air like it’s been earned, a mercy, always paired to the slow tease of his finger gliding up and down your folds, spreading you open, painting your clit with everything he’s pulled from you.

He gives you just the tip of his index, barely inside, and then pulls back like he's punishing you for wanting more than he offered.

You’re soaked now. Slick enough that it’s starting to drip where your pelvis meets his thighs, a growing mess that’s probably already bled through to the couch.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmurs. “I wanna hear everything running through that beautiful head.”

“I’m not — there’s not much going on up there,” you confess. “Just need your fingers. ”

“You have them,” he says.

“Inside,” you whimper. “Need you inside.”

He releases your throat just as his finger slides in.

“That’s what you needed, huh?” He smirks. “You sound so pretty when you beg for it.”

And your body answers for you, clenching around the intrusion, like it’s trying to hold onto him, pull him closer, keep him.

You used to watch his fingers like a secret obsession. Long before he’d ever touched you. The slope of his knuckle, the faint ridge of old scars, the exact spacing between his middle and index finger — you’d count it, like maybe the detail meant something.

Now one of them is buried inside you, barely, and it’s already too much.

When the second slides in, it feels like being opened from the inside out. Again. Like every other time he’s had his fingers in you. Or his tongue. Or his cock. You’d think your body would be used to this by now. It never is.

A moan punches out of your chest unfiltered. Your hands reach up for something to hold, finding purchase at the overgrown curls at the nape of his neck, fingers tightening there.

He leans in, eyes half-lidded, voice hushed. “Always so tight for me.”

“Spencer…” You reach, fingers closing around his wrist, moving his hand back to your throat. Your voice comes out pleading, every bit as vulnerable as you feel. “Please?”

He stops. Breathes. Absorbs it like a gift he hadn’t expected to be given twice. But he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t need to.

“So polite, baby.”

Your next inhale gets caught beneath his palm. Your lungs stay empty, but your body lights up in its place. Pulsing. Drenched. Stretched open around his fingers. The sound of it is filthy, wet and messy and loud enough to drown out whatever noise you just tried to make.

You’re grinding down on him now, mindless, rutting against the heel of his palm like shame doesn't even exist anymore.

Your head is light, skin buzzing, orgasm barreling toward you like a tsunami you can’t outrun.

“I wish you could see yourself like this,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. “You’re so beautiful. Every single time.”

You want to answer. Maybe cry. Maybe laugh. Maybe beg. But your core answers first — vision goes spotty, thighs twitching uncontrollably.

And then everything clenches, cracks open and takes you with it.

There’s a second of silence, brain fogged with nothing but static. Heat, stars, white noise. You only notice his absence when your body jerks, still chasing pressure that’s no longer there.

Your hands find him clumsily, clutching at his wrist, trying to pull him back without a word.

“I’m here. You’re okay. Come here, angel,” Spencer says, already folding you into his chest.

Your face stays pressed to his shirt, breath still shaky where it escapes in uneven puffs. Spencer’s hands stay steady on your back, but you can feel his heart beating a little too fast under your cheek.

“Not gonna ask yet,” he says lightly, “but my brain is running a post-scene checklist at full speed. So just… squeeze my hand if anything feels wrong. Please.”

“What counts as feeling wrong?” You ask. His heart skips a beat beneath you, and you wince. “Not that I feel that way. I definitely don’t. I promise. I’m just curious.”

He strokes your hair once, twice.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as you nuzzle closer, lips brushing his jaw. “Mm. Yeah. Just a little floaty. And in love with you. But that’s normal.”

“Floaty and in love,” he repeats, pretending to consider. “Dangerous combination. Might have to keep you under observation.” He kisses your temple, voice gentling, “But seriously, if you feel off in any way. Dizziness, fingertips tingling, even a little headache, I need to know right away, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” you say, squeezing his shirt. “And, um… totally unrelated… how long is the average recovery time before we can do that again?”

“Realistically,” he starts, “we should wait a while. Especially since it was your first time experimenting with that.” Your lower lip starts to just slightly. He grins. “But… if you were interested in cutting off my oxygen, I might have a few ideas.”

You don’t even get the chance to react. One second, you’re in his lap, and the next — you’re airborne, guided up, forward, and set down over his face like he’s been planning this all night.

You let him take your breath. Now he gives you his in return.

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gghostwriter · 10 months ago

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You’re the Risk, I’ll Take it

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times Spencer followed advice and the one time he didn't (or as I'd like to better explain it, the three times Spencer fails to flirt and the one time it worked)

Warning: fluff! Just fluff!

A/n: I wanted to write something cute this time with Season 1 Spencer in mind--one of the best eras if you ask me. Hopefully I did him justice in this. The idea of this cute baby boy trying to flirt is too precious honestly. Also, if a guy did the last act for me, I'd fold like a lawn chair, yep. Risk by Gracie Abrams was on repeat while I was writing this and no proof reading was done. Let me know what you think!

Main masterlist

The first move Spencer tried was advised by Derek Morgan, the renowned ladies man

“Kid, admit it. You like her,” Morgan pestered him with a slight smile on his face.

Spencer scoffed, trying to throw him off from the truth but monumentally failing. “S-she’s my closest friend. We joined the team at the same time, of course I feel most comfortable with her,” he noted his companion’s eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word. “Plus, she likes hearing what I say even if it has no relation to the case. She asks me questions and genuinely remembers.”

Now it was Morgan’s turn to scoff. “You could be talking about Star Trek and it’s physics mistakes and she’ll still hang on to every word you say.”

“Actually, there aren’t that many scientific errors in Star Trek. Especially considering—”

“Reid.”

“Right,” he nodded once, trying to push away the urge to continue further. “That still doesn’t mean I like her.”

Morgan tapped the wheel twice before turning to face his partner. “Then answer me this. How do you feel when she walks through the office doors?”

“Happy, I get the same feeling when I see you or Elle come in too,” he found his fingers very interesting then. Like they held the key to unlocking the mysteries of Dark Matter and the answer to the controversial scientific theory ‘Do parallel universe exist?’. He wasn’t telling the whole truth—didn’t want to because how could he, a man of science, explain the other bodily reactions he has when you walk in a room. How he hears his heart stutter in his chest with just a glimpse of you—the first time it happened, he thought nothing of it, but by the third, he considered making an appointment with a specialist for possible heart arrhythmia. How he sees the room brighten when you smile in his direction—perhaps light sensitivity, and how he feels his body heat up when you utter the words ‘Good morning, Spence.’—possibly hot flashes. Self diagnosis that he ruled out once he found you to be the common denominator. That left him with a riddle, a personal conundrum he lost countless of sleep over trying to solve.

“That’s a lie, Reid. You can’t be that happy to see me. You never blush like a tomato when I enter the room. For Greenaway, I could see it but for me, nu-uh,” he argued back. “Okay, what about when she’s not there, what do you feel then?”

“Sad, similar to how I’d react with you and Elle,” he blurted out another half truth. Another surface level answer that doesn’t fully cover how lost he feels without your comforting presence beside him, how gloomy any room he enters in without you in it, and how incomplete his days were without hearing your voice.

Morgan snickered. “Lies, you have to learn how to lie better to fool an FBI profiler, Reid. You don’t think I—the team, notice that you’re quieter when she isn’t on the case with us?”

“Wait. Wait, the whole team?” His voice goes up an octave. You were part of the team, did that mean you knew of the effect you had on him too? “D-Does everyone have the same idea as you do? Everyone?”

“Not everyone, kid. Your secret is still safe,” He smiled wide like a cat that caught the canary. “So it’s true then, you like her.”

Spencer knew there was no escape from trap, he was just glad that his secret still remained classified from the other party involved. His shoulders sagged as he nodded to confirm Morgan’s findings.

“So what’s your play then?”

His head whipped to face his companion so fast he felt his meticulously styled hair escape the confines of his ears. “Play? There’s no play. Nothing. I’m not going to do anything and this conversation stays between us.”

“Oh c’mon lover boy, you have to do something,” Morgan challenged. “Y’know she likes you back, right?”

“No she doesn’t! I mean, why would she?” Spencer rambled on, unable to comprehend what Morgan was saying. “She’s her—beautiful, smart, and cool. Every case we get, there’s at least one police officer hitting on her. And I’m me—I talk too much and get awkward in every situation. The exact opposite!”

“Reid, don’t sell yourself short. She likes you, trust me on this.” He paused, listening to the update on the intercom before continuing on. “So here’s what you’re going to do. Compliment her outfit, girls appreciate that. Easy enough, don’t you think?”

Spencer really didn’t think so after all he had the tendency to go off on a tangent whenever he talks to you but he agrees nonetheless. If Morgan believes he could do it then he couldn’t mess it up, right?

———

Wrong. It was wrong to take Morgan’s advice. Never mind he can recall everything he has ever read, never mind he has an IQ of 187. What good were his talents if he, Dr. Spencer Reid, couldn’t string the proper sentences along?

It started when you walked into the office wearing this light yellow blouse that made you more radiant than he thought possible. It was as if the a ray of sun had graced the bullpen and stunned his mind into silence, rendering him tongue-tied. All his monologues and hypothesis bouncing around his overactive brain fell away and the only thing he could think of was how pretty you look.

Morgan cleared his throat, bringing him back to the living. Spencer averted his awestruck gaze and busied himself with an imaginary lint on his red sweater.

“Hey Y/N, did anything good this weekend?” Morgan asked as you settled into your desk adjacent to his.

You shrugged nonchalantly and teased back. “I bet it wasn’t good as yours, Morgan. Picked anyone up last Friday or are your charms no longer working?”

“Huh, i see where this is going. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of bed today.”

Morgan chanced a peek at Spencer and internally groaned. How you didn’t notice the kid’s crush on you was beyond him—all the staring and blushing he does when you’re near was a dead giveaway.

“Reid. Reid,” Morgan called out.

He closed his mouth and gulped. “Hm, what?”

Morgan pointedly stared at him and titled his head towards your direction. A movement lost to you as you noted Elle leaving Gideon’s office.

Spencer opened his mouth to catch your attention but before he could even utter your name, Elle intervened. “Question for you, the foot path killer. Why’d he stutter?”

You swiveled to face her, not having caught Spencer’s intent to speak to you. The unit chief then called them in for a case—an arson case in a university campus. His shoulders drooped as they rushed to the jet afterwards with no chance of small talk.

When there was a lull in the plane—case discussion finished, he steeled his already apprehensive nerves and took the chance, quickly wishing he hadn’t.

“S-so, your shirt’s yellow,” he stated out loud like it was some sort of revelation.

“Yes,” you drawled out, unsure as to where he was going with this. “That’s right, Spencer.”

He drummed his fingers on the table and continued on. “Did you know that airplanes tend to avoid the color yellow as it causes dizziness and nausea? A number of studies have shown those exact results and that’s why it’s almost never used in interiors of various forms of transportation and rarely use in advertising. It’s like how the red is the most common color used by restaurants as it psychologically makes the viewer hungry.”

You looked down on your top. Yellow was one of your favorites and you specifically chose this as Penelope said and you quote, it looks good on you, brings out your eyes. Boy genius would probably react to it too so naively you splurged on it. But this—this wasn’t the response you were hoping for. “Spence, are you saying my shirt is making you feel nauseous?”

He blushed and stammered out a strong refusal. “What, no! No! I—I meant to say—you, you look nice.”

You giggled under your breath, finding his long-winded route to giving you a compliment cute. “Nice nice or airsickness nice?”

“Nice! Just nice!” He defended on, his voice cracking at the end. He caught Morgan’s wide eyed gaze then as if he couldn’t believe what train wreck he just witnessed.

Cheeks heating up further, Spencer slouched in his seat and busied himself with the files wishing that he could build a memory eraser so he could wipe the events from his and the team’s minds or better yet, a time machine to redo the whole thing all over again.

The second move Spencer tried was advised by Elle Greenaway, the new recruit

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?” He questioned during one of their cases in San Diego. It bothered him since the start of the case. How Morgan had teased him about his incapability of asking out the opposite sex. Never mind that you defended him right back, that’s a lie, it made him feel special that you did but the joke was still true. A cold stone truth.

Elle laughed, flipping her phone repeatedly on the table while waiting for the unsub to take the bait. “I don’t know how you know half the stuff you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t get a date?” He asked as he fiddled with the unfinished Rubik’s cube in his hands.

“Have you ever asked her out?”

There was no need to ask who Elle was referring to, everyone knew of his innocent—well maybe not so innocent at times specifically during his state of dreaming—crush for the second youngest member of the team. He shifted his eyes to focus a few tables before his—at you, sitting beside JJ. “No."

“That’s why you can’t get a date.”

One of the precincts phone then rang, it was the unsub, causing him to table that conversation in his vast memory.

———

There’s an English saying that states ‘the second time is the charm’ and Spencer was hoping there were some truth to the idiom even with no scientific explanation to back it up.

A few cases after San Diego, he got an opening that he was unexpectedly looking for. The team was on their way back from a case in Virginia. It was late and the profilers were all tucked in their little corners of the jet decompressing while you and Spencer were huddled on the sofa quietly discussing Doctor Who.

“How could you say your favorite is the Ninth Doctor when you haven’t even seen the older episodes?” He rambled, clearly he would have to do something about your limited knowledge in the great universe of Doctor Who. He’d like to explain it all, 695 episodes of the classic era to you. He’d take any topic really just to have your interest.

You stared into his hazel speckled eyes and smiled, amused by his reaction. “It’s a bit hard to catch up on a show that’s been around since the 70s. Plus, it’s a challenge to look for copies.”

“Actually, the show started in the 60s—1963, to be exact,” he clarified. “Garcia has copies we could borrow and watch together. If that’s—” he cleared his throat and clenched his fists closed, feeling his nails dig into his palms. “—that’s alright with you. If—if not, there’s a convention happening this weekend. I have an extra ticket, if you want to come with—only if you’re not busy, I mean.”

“And risk you spoiling every episode to me? I’d rather watch it alone, if you don’t mind.”

That dragged his optimism to a crash as if a twenty ton weight landed on his chest, rendering him immovable. Of course you were going to say no. There was no proof that you’d reciprocate his interests—he inwardly cursed himself for believing otherwise.

“But, I’d like to go with you to the convention,” you said and silently added as your date to yourself, shifting in your seat with a blush blooming on your cheeks at the thought. “Always wanted to go to one. If you’re fine with me not being in a costume. I think it’ll be too late to find one, don’t you think?”

Just like that, the weight on his chest lifted, making him feel weightless with glee. A wide smile grew on his face, threatening to burst his cheeks as he shook his head. “That’s alright! But you—you can always dress up as Rose!”

You titled your head to the side. “Rose?”

“You know, the Ninth Doctor’s companion?”

“I know who she is, Spence. I just thought you didn’t watch the revived series?”

He softly scoffed. “I never said that! I watched it too, mainly to compare it to the classics but I’ve seen it.”

You leaned in, wanting to ask about his opinion on it. “Well, what do you think? I happen to be part of the minority who think the actor who reprised the role did alright.”

He liked seeing you like this. It made him feel like a puppy who had his owner’s undivided attention. All wide eyed and interested in his conjectures as to why the actor was alright himself but the problems were his short stint—making people vilify him over that decision—and the material some of the writers came up with. He appreciated you nodding along and supplying your own thoughts on the subject. It warmed his heart that here was a beautiful, smart, and cool person—way out of his league, he might add—giving her precious time away to discuss a nerdy sci-fi show that he could not rant and rave to about to anyone on the team, except for Penelope, and she’s rarely on the field with them.

Your show of interest made him feel seen. Not as an agent with 3 PHDs, not as a genius with 187 IQ, but rather as a person with a right to express himself and occupy space. He wasn’t Agent Spencer Reid with you nor Dr. Spencer Reid, he was just Spencer who likes to watch Doctor Who and read literature in their original language.

The third move Spencer did was proposed by Penelope Garcia, the spirited tech analyst

“What do you mean you took her to a convention? For a date?” Penelope squeaked out, unable to comprehend the logic behind the genius’ actions.

“She said she always wanted to go,” Spencer stated as the elevator stopped on the fourth floor. He had fun over the weekend. Going around booths with you, listening to invited guest panels talk about the behind the scenes, explaining the reference every costume that you’ve pointed out, and just basking in your presence beyond cases. It was a memory he had replayed over and over after it had ended. It occupied his whole mind, and that’s saying a lot, causing him to do nothing and sit in his leather sofa and smile like a lunatic during the rest of the weekend.

“Well yeah, but that’s not date material! A date is supposed to be intimate—you and I go to conventions together, do you count that as a date?”

“What? No! No, of course not!”

“Exactly, boy wonder. Then what makes you think she’ll count that as a date?” She countered back as she entered her office with Spencer in tow.

Silence. Oh.

Penelope sighed, having read the despair painting his face. “Did you at least dress up as the Ninth Doctor?”

“What? No. No, I went as the Fourth Doctor. I even hand-knitted the scarf myself.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before repeating what she just heard. “You didn’t dress up as her Doctor?”

“No,” he paused, unsure where she was going with this. “Should I had?”

“Yes! Yes, you should have!” Penelope slapped his arm out of frustration. “Why didn’t you call me once she said yes? We could have talked game plan or strategy or at least have gotten you a leather jacket to match her choice of companion.”

“Oh, I messed up then, didn’t I?” He slumped despondently on the office chair. “You—you don’t think she thought of it as a date at all?”

She played with her feathered pen, trying to find a way to salvage it for Spencer. “Did you take her out to dinner after?”

He shook his head, finally realizing his mistake.

“Oh Spencer,” she approached gently. “I can scoop for details with Y/N later on and report back to you?”

He shook his head. It didn’t feel right to have Penelope betray your trust and go behind your back over a mistake that he made. You were a honest person and you deserved to be treated with respect and reverence even though all he wanted now was peer into your viewpoint of the date—not date—and figure out once and for all if you saw him as anything beyond a co-worker and a friend.

“Hm, I think I might just a solution,” Penelope blurted out of the blue.

He looked up with a sliver of hope blooming in his chest. Maybe third time’s the charm. Besides, Penelope was the colleague you spent most of your time out with. You once mentioned that you considered her your best friend, besides from him of course.

“You can bake her a batch of cookies! No one can say no to that,” she excitedly explained, believing it to be full proof—except for the fact that he doesn’t know how to bake. He wants to ask you out on a date but not to the expense of burning his whole apartment building down.

“I can’t—I can’t bake, Garcia,” he squeaked out. “Did you know that 44% of all reported home fires are caused by cooking and baking. Those fires have resulted in an average of 470 civilian deaths and 4,150 civilian—”

She interrupted. “I’ll give you my recipe and detailed instructions to follow. That’ll make it easy peasy for you, boy genius.”

“C-can’t I just buy from her favorite bakery instead?”

“No can do, Doctor. Her favorite cookies just so happen to be my creation. She told me so herself.”

“Well, can’t I just ask you to make it for me? I’ll buy the ingredients!”

“Nope,” she dragged out her refusal. “Think of it as an act of service to her. Plus don’t you think it’s highly romantic when she finds out that you baked them yourself?” She swooned just thinking about it.

“Romantic? It won’t be romantic when I burn my apartment down, Garcia.”

She sighed. “Fine, I’ll supervise if you want. This weekend, granted if we’re free. But you—” she pointed her feathered pen at him. “—better be prepared and I’m just supervising, okay? I’m not baking it myself.”

He sighed. At least having Garcia around would make it easier.

———-

It did not in fact make it easier. Spencer burnt two batches before six pieces were considered edible. Garcia couldn’t understand, hell, he also couldn’t. Baking was precise and from his scientific viewpoint, it was a lot like chemistry. He loved science and anything academic, so how is it that he failed miserably, twice, when it came to baking?

He shook his head as he entered the office. The first one—he stole a glance at Hotch’s office and saw movement—correction, the second one arriving early. Sometimes he wondered if the unit chief ever goes home, first in and last out.

He settled in his seat before promptly fidgeting from anticipation. Statistically speaking, you arrive earlier than Morgan or Elle which gave him enough time to gift the paper bag of cookies sitting hidden in his satchel without bringing attention to and embarrassing himself. He’d like to have little to no audience if he ever does mess it up for the third time.

He brought out the cookies, afraid they’ll get crushed between his hardbound books, and placed them on your desk before standing to wash his clammy hands and make coffee. Counter intuitive of him to do as he was already a bundle of nerves and by drinking caffeine he was doubling that but maybe the smell would calm him before shooting up his energy by drinking.

As he exited the mens room, Penelope stepped out of the elevator and squealed. “Is she here? Is she? Did I miss it?”

He shook his head vigorously, trying to silence her excited glees. “No, she’s not here yet. She’ll—” he looked at his watch and ran the numbers. “—be here soon. I’m about to brew coffee. Do you want some?” He opened the door for both of them to enter the bullpen.

“Ick, no thanks,” Penelope said, scrunching her nose at the thought of drinking even a sip before scurrying away to her cave. “I’d rather not ruin my taste buds on bad coffee.”

He laughed and turned towards the kitchenette. With the coffee brewing, he drummed his fingers on the counter and mentally rehearsed what he would say to you. If he practiced, there’s less chance of messing it up like the first time, right? In his state of concentration, he missed you entering the office in all of your beautiful glory.

“Ooh cookies!” you exclaimed as you opened the unknown package on your table.

Spencer abruptly turned, hitting his side on the corners as he did. His eyes widened as he registered you holding the unsigned paper bag of treats on your desk.

“They must be from Penny,” You continued on, oblivious to his presence and the devastation your remark caused him. Of course, he’d find another way to mess it up. You glanced around and your smile widened as you took in his handsome presence. “Oh hey Spence! Look, Penny made me cookies!” You tip-toed out of excitement.

He smiled at your enthusiasm for something as simple as treats in the morning. The giggle you gave out as you entered the kitchenette was enough for him to slightly care less for the truth. He loved bringing out the happiness in you. It was like his own personal sunshine shining down on him, soaking him with vitamin D and boosting his overall sense of wellbeing. “Do you want coffee with that? It’s still hot,” he offered.

You tapped the side of your hips with his as a sign of good will. “Thanks, Spence! This is turning out to be a great day, don’t you think?”

He watched as you busied yourself with putting cream and sugar in your of cup and sighed wistfully. “I think so too.”

And the last move Spencer did was recommended by no one but himself, the awkward 187 genius

With all three acts not delivering, he promised to try one last time without any outside interference besides from yours in his memory. You always did tell him to be himself in any situation, no matter how much he stumbled through any awkward situation—always there giving him a pat on the back for encouragement.

Over the weekend, he spent his time reading two of your favorite books—which didn’t take much but he did read them again and again, regardless of his eidetic memory, trying to understand why these specific books were your comfort. Always pushed within the confines of your go bag, dog-eared and brown from age. He wanted to know how they’ve become an extension of you and how it had shaped you to the woman he has fallen in love with.

He found himself hunched over his dining table, underlining sentences that made him think of you, scribbling away on the margins (and sometimes on post its too), and tabbing the written pages with a variety of colors that each represent an emotion. The act in it of itself made him feel closer to you than he thought possible. Lines in the books that made him think, ah so this was what formed your kind spirit. This is why your empathy knew no bounds. And this is why your beauty is inside and out.

Spencer laid down to rest, anxious for the next day, Monday, to come. His heart threatening to beat out of his chest but his mind oddly calm as if it had a precognition that everything would turn out just right.

———

You arrived earlier than he did, throwing him off balance.

“Hey Spence!” You greeted with a smile. “I got you a croissant and some coffee from that shop near my place.”

He blushed and stammered out a thank you. You were wearing a deep purple blouse that matched the scarf around his neck—the birthday gift you’ve given. He was no believer of the mystics but he took all of these as a sign from the stars. There was no way he would mess this up now.

“I—I got you something too,” he looked inside his satchel, hands shaking from it all. Gods, he wished this would go well or else, he might just die from embarrassment. “It’s nothing much but—I read your two favorite books and just—I wanted to discuss it with you,” he brought out the tabbed copies and presented them to you. “These are for you. I know you have copies of your own but I-I put my own notes on which lines reminded me of you.”

Your face turned red at the notion behind it all. Here was the BAU genius, the certified lover of the classics and the academia, the man who had your affections since day one, reading two contemporary literatures just for him to present you a gift like no other. You reached out and hugged the precious copies to your chest.

“Thank you, no one’s ever done this for me before,” you breathed out, falling deeper into attraction with the perfection in front of you. “ Hey Spence, I may sound delusional asking this and you can say no if you want to but—” you visibly gulped, unaware of the audience nearby. “—would you like to have dinner with me? I make a mean lasagna.”

He turned red and vigorously nodded. “Y-Yes. Yes, I’d love to have dinner with you.”

You giggled, sounding like wind chimes to his ears. He did too, giggle I mean, from the triumph of finally knowing that his feelings were willingly reciprocated.

“Finally, you love birds!” Morgan shouted as he swung his arm around Spencer. “Didn’t know how much we could take from this pretty boy—” pointing at him “asking for advice and you—” pointing at you “—pretty girl is as dense as a rock. Tell me again how’d you end up as profiler with those observation skills.”

A hand whacked him at the back. “Way to ruin the moment, Morgan.” Elle chided before turning to Spencer with a smile. “See told you, you could get a date.”

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #gw fics

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gay-fieri-05 · 1 year ago

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Okay but how does Slime know what Aloe Vera is?

#slime svtfoe #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #questions science can’t answer #unless aloe is somehow a natural plant in Mewny

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pathologicalreid · 7 months ago

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litmus test | s.r.

in which Spencer needs your expertise to help solve a murder, but crime fighting is most decidedly not for you

find more chemist!reader here!

who? spencer reid x chemist!reader category: flangst (like. the end is a little angsty and it has case details) content warnings: typical cm violence, science talk, fem!reader, reader is not built for crime, morgan being an older brother, some fun banter!! death by firework is crazy lmao word count: 1.68k a/n: this is one of my favorite fluff pieces i've written in agessss i missed chemist!reader so much i learn so many things when i'm writing her. this was a request! i hope you like it as much as i do!!

“Do you have a second?” Spencer asks, his voice slightly choppy over the phone. Between his ancient phone and being inside concrete police precincts, some disconnect was bound to happen.

Saving your document to your computer, you rest the lab phone between your shoulder and ear, “If you’re asking me if I have any corrosive chemicals in my hands, the answer is no.”

He chuckles lightly, “I never know with you.”

You roll your eyes in response, even if he can’t see you, “It was one time and I needed a new phone case anyway.”

“You fused the plastic of your phone case to the material of your phone,” he retorts far too quickly for your liking.

“Yes,” you acquiesce, “but I know the exact chemical reaction that caused that phenomenon.” You cross your legs one over the other, maintaining your balance on your lab stool as you speak to Spencer over the phone.

He gave a light hum in response, “Speaking of chemical reactions – I need your help.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, “You’re asking me for help in chemistry?” There really was a first time for everything, you suppose.

Spencer was more than capable of navigating a lab on his own, even so, he admits, “You have more applied practice than I do.”

Pursing your lips, you nod to yourself, “Fair enough. What’s stumping you, Dr. Reid?” Your inquiry, while innocent enough, garners a wolf whistle from your graduate assistant.

“There’s something burning a hole in these bones, and I’m not sure what would be causing it to happen this fast,” he explains, giving you minor background information on how long the bones were out and if the medical examiner had treated them with something.

You clear your throat, frowning at the notes you had scrawled down in front of you, “Burning or corroding?” What was seemingly a meaningless distinction would actually allow you to filter through approximately half of the possibilities.

“Corroding,” he corrects himself, “My mistake.”

Crossing off some of your notes, you purse your lips at the new possibilities, “No worries. Did you try flushing it out with water?”

You hear papers flipping on his end of the call before you get a response, “That would destroy evidence.”

“Well,” you raise your eyebrows, “It sounds like your evidence is destroying itself.”

“Baby,” Spencer says in a no-nonsense tone reserved for when he was deep in a case. You could’ve sworn you heard Morgan in the background of the call mocking him for the pet name.

Turning back to your notes, you sigh, “Yeah, yeah, all work and no play. Was the body buried?”

“Partially,” his reply intrigues you, “I can have Garcia send you the crime scene photos if you think it’ll help.”

Wrinkling your nose at the thought, you made an unsure sound, “Right, because nothing says lunchtime like getting up close and personal with a homicide victim.”

“What lunchtime? It’s three pm in D.C. right now,” he caught you, a slight chiding tone in his words.

Ignoring his questions, you ask more of your own, “Was the body near water? Did they test the pH of the soil and water?”

There were more papers flipping, likely someone presenting the results of those tests to him, “Yeah, the soil was a five-point two and the water was a seven-point eight,” he listed off for you.

While your knowledge of the pH of the soil in Iowa was limited, you did know that those levels were pretty on par for the northern Mississippi River. “O-kay,” you say, extending your vowels, “and they didn’t find anything else on the scene that points to corrosive materials. Hydrofluoric acid?” You posit, “No, you know what – maybe you should send me those files. My work email is encrypted, you can give it to Penelope.”

He speaks to someone else in the room with him and you resist the urge to ask him if he’s enjoying Iowa, “It’s sent,” he confirms with you.

Pulling up your email only takes a moment, and once you get over the initial shock of seeing a dead body on your computer screen, you lift your lab glasses to the top of your head in order to get a better look. “I mean,” you think for a moment, “those look like alkali burns to me. I’ve never seen them on bones before, but you should do a litmus test to check either way.”

“So, we rinse it with water?” He asks, seeking instruction from you in a way that makes you feel oddly powerful.

Your eyes widen, “No, no, no. If it’s a metal compound then it’ll be covered in a mineral oil, so rinsing it with water would actually make the burn worse.”

Pausing for a moment, you consider the possibility that Spencer didn’t have the luxury of time – he was trying to solve a murder, not do experiments in a lab.

“Alkali burns can be serious, it all depends on what caused them, and most are helped by rinsing with water. So, unless you have the time to test for metal compounds, I’d go ahead and rinse it. You might want to brush the damage to the bones with a dry brush first. If there’s lime on the bones it’ll foam, which not only will corrode the bones even further but it might release a toxic gas,” you have no idea how the corrosion would interact with bone marrow, but something tell you that you don’t want to know

“Wait a minute,” Derek interjects, being included in the conversation now that Spencer put the call on speaker, “I thought things like alkaline water were good for you.”

You scoff instinctively, “Oh, there’s no definitive evidence that shows alkaline water as having any real health benefits. Especially not the benefits that the internet says it has.” Straightening up in your stool, you continue, “In fact, there is evidence from the NIH that says drinking alkaline water could cause kidney damage. There’s a particular-“

“My bad,” he interjects, effectively stopping your rambling before it really took off, “I forgot whose girlfriend I was talking to.”

Groaning at your new vexation, you huff, “Oh, fuck off, Derek. Go kick down a door.”

Spencer quickly switches the phone back, “Thank you, angel.”

Squinting at the photos that were still on your laptop screen, a crude, disturbing thought came to mind, “You know, sparklers can cause alkali burns. It might be something to consider because of the diameter of the burns.”

Your boyfriend was silent on his end of the call for so long that you had to check and make sure the call hadn't dropped. “Did you say sparklers?”

“Yep,” you confirm, “like the ones you can get everywhere this time of year.”

He says something to Morgan, placing his hand over the receiver so you can’t hear, “There’s only one spot in this town, though. I’ve gotta go, see you soon.”

“Stay safe, please! I prefer your bones unburned,” you rattle off into the phone before it clicks, placing the phone back on the stand and deleting the crime scene photos from your inbox.

The front door to the apartment opens and shuts quietly, with Spencer under the assumption that you already went to bed, he was surprised to find you on the couch, nursing a cup of tea. “Hey, baby,” he chirps, unusually peppy for this time of night.

“Hey,” you say half-heartedly, threading your fingers through the handle of the mug.

Your somber tone gets Spencer’s attention, “What’s wrong?”

The slight panic in his voice causes your eyes to snap up to his, “Nothing,” you murmur. “It’s just… the woman who was in those pictures. There- the burns on her bones, they were signs of torture, weren’t they?”

You’d been thinking about the burns ever since Spencer showed them to you, “Yes,” he answers with a reciprocating softness, sitting down next to you on the couch. “The medical examiner concluded that she was burned antemortem.”

That woman had been burned alive by fireworks, sparklers had seared their way through skin and muscle until it finally met her bones. You blink a few tears from your eyes at the thought, “I like my lab, Spence.”

The confusion on his face was palpable, “I know you do.”

“I like my minimal human interaction and my chemicals, and I like knowing why certain things cause certain reactions. I like it when things make sense.” You take a deep, shaky breath, “Killing someone. Torturing someone with fireworks. That just doesn’t make sense to me.”

You had no interest in hearing the excuses that the killer had provided. You had no interest in hearing the psychological breakdown of that woman’s killer. Spencer knows that, “The photos got to you?”

Taking a sip from your mug, you nod solemnly, “I can’t stop thinking about the way it must have felt. Oh, the smell must have been horrible. That poor woman.” In theory, it was a ridiculous notion, killing someone with fireworks seemed neither probable nor possible. Yet here you are.

“But we got the person who killed her,” Spencer reassures you, resting his hand gently on your knee. “We couldn’t have done it without you,” he adds.

Your face warms at his compliment, “I wish I could have helped before she was killed.” You were grateful that Spencer hadn’t passed on any personal information about the woman, it was easier for you if you kept things in separate storage files in your mind.

Spencer hums, reaching out and sweeping a strand of hair behind your ear, “There’s always going to be another one. I’m sorry about the photos, I should’ve made sure Garcia only sent the necessary ones.”

Nodding absentmindedly, you look at him thoughtfully, “This will pass, but for tonight I just feel bad for the victim.”

“I can have Penelope share some of her favorite baby animal videos, if you’d like,” he offers softly, resting his head on your shoulder.

In return, you give him a small smile, “Well, I suppose it really can’t hurt.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #chemist!reader

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kesujo · 30 days ago

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Baby, Mommy's Here

I HAD TO WRITE AN EMERGENCY TAEYEON FIC BECAUSE OF THESE PICTURES (those who follow me sorta have gotten some not-so-subtle hints of the release of this fic :p)

ALSO, ENJOY THIS ONE TOO

I didn't edit/revise this b/c I'm sort of in a hurry. Please let me know if you find any mistakes! :D

Word count: 12.8K

Never in your life did you think you’d be in such a relationship. The past you might’ve judged you for it—scratch that, the past you would’ve hard judged you for it, maybe even going so far as to looking down on you for letting yourself acclimate to such a relationship. However, now that it’s happening, it’s like you’ve been truly awakened. This is the best way life is to be lived; sure, there are many people who give you weird looks, sure, some of your friends make fun of you and in fact, you get the feeling that some of them have distanced themselves from you upon learning of the type of relationship you’re in, but you’re long past the point of caring about that. In fact, Taeyeon herself has helped you get over the judgmental attitudes the ones who were close to you have adopted towards you.

What have you ever done to deserve your current lifestyle? You figure you must’ve been Mother Theresa or Mahatma Gandhi in your previous life to get this type of treatment and attention from the peak specimen of a woman that is Kim Taeyeon.

Beautiful, sexy, confident, but also kind, caring, gentle, empathetic … what does she not have? Money, certainly, isn’t the answer to that question: and while, as you’ve experienced, her level of wealth very much grants Taeyeon the ability to live as lavishly as any other multi-millionaire CEO, and the combination of her attractive appearance and personality makes it so that she should be able to get together with any man in the world. But, for some reason, she settled for you.

Rather, it’s not ‘for some reason’.

“This is a secret from the public, and I prefer you keep it this way.” Of course, you nod frantically. It was one of the first times you’ve seen Taeyeon in person, and being this close to her is making your heart go haywire and turning your brain to goo. “I am … shall I say, nearly infertile.” It was one of your first meetings, so hearing her being so vulnerable to you makes you feel thankful that she feels like she can be this way with you but also unworthy of bearing this knowledge. Still, you say nothing and let her continue. “That is to say, there are only certain men that I am compatible with, and even amongst those men, it would still be troublesome for me to become pregnant. And, as a woman who wants to have children of her own, you can see where my issue lies.” You nod again. Frankly, you don’t trust your voice to crack or to not stammer out even single-word replies.

“And that’s where you come in. I believe you participated in a test group regarding your own fertility?” You rack your memory – did you? You’ve signed up to participate in all sorts of studies, because you figure, why not, really? It can’t hurt that much, you’re helping the advancement of science, and you’re so unremarkable that you figure no one would the type of information these test groups ask for. “The researchers did indeed, use your specimen for its intended purpose, but in return for funding them, I had them also test for compatibility with me.” That sounds … vaguely illegal? But honestly, you can’t care less. Of all the test groups you’ve participated in, this is by far the greatest outcome, the best reward you’ve ever gotten. “And, it turns out, we’re compatible. Also, it doesn’t hurt that you’re quite cute.”

As a man, you perhaps shouldn’t have felt so happy hearing that from a woman. However, given that Taeyeon is almost a decade older than you, you’re more than happy to be her cute little partner. “Th-Thank, Thank you.”

Your face turns beet red, but Taeyeon simply smiles at your stammering. “No need to be shy. You’re mine now, and likewise, I’m yours.”

So she says, but the dynamic of the relationship quickly becomes clear: because Taeyeon has a lot of business to attend to, it’s often times you helping take care of the house along with the staff of house caretakers Taeyeon has at her disposal. She’s the one with the money, and she’s also insisted that your only job to be help her out with her job whenever she so asks for it, which you feel is much less frequently than she could be.

Essentially, realistically, Taeyeon is your sugar momma. And this relationship, while you figured might’ve felt a little demeaning at first, is perfectly fulfilling.

When Taeyeon is home, she’s the typical caring, doting wife, albeit with the caveat that she sometimes requests massages from you after a long day of work or vents to you about a project that’s being bottlenecked by something or another. When you’re outside with Taeyeon, the paparazzi that seems to be perpetually following you probably would never guess this bit about your dynamic: you pay for the meals as much as Taeyeon does, you still hold the door open for her, and you still drive the car more than she does if you two ever feel like not utilizing her personal chauffer.

In private is where the dynamic is a little more obvious: whenever Taeyeon requests something of you, you instantly drop whatever it is that you’re doing and rush to her side—but then again, that could just be seen as a doting, caring partner. And, of course—

“Ooh, honey, yes…”

It’s an absolutely hypnotic sight, seeing Taeyeon grinding against your crotch with your dick buried inside her to the hilt, her head thrown back and her hands on your waist. You’ve, of course, seen pictures of her all over the place, but the novelty of seeing those sizable tits hanging out in the open, each decorated with a squeezable bud at the tip that’s begging to be squeezed, but you don’t dare act out of line. In the first few months of your budding relationship, you feel like you’re fighting to show her your worth.

“Gosh, it feels so good…”

The sex is amazing, and you can’t get over how great Taeyeon’s pussy feels, and that in combination with the soft, velvety texture of her skin against your hands drives you insane, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel that this is still somewhat transactional.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

That thought only slightly detracts from the sex. The moment you entered this relationship with Taeyeon, she requested you to leave your previous job and to work for her—she doesn’t give you much work, though. It’s more like menial tasks, like, ‘please sort through my email inbox every morning and delete all the obvious spam and junk mail’, ‘please help me find a good place for a dinner with some stockholders’, that kind of stuff. You don’t particularly mind: you want to make yourself as useful to Taeyeon as possible.

“Does that feel good, honey?”

You can tell Taeyeon is putting in effort into this relationship, though: from day one, she all but ditched calling you your real name in favor of these pet names, such as ‘honey’, ‘baby’, ‘sweetheart’, et cetera. You’re thankful of her for that. In fact, it only makes you want to prove your worth to her even more.

“Yes, it feels so good, Taeyeon.”

You, on the other hand, don’t feel like you’ve earned the right to call her those pet names yet. It almost feels like you’re a puppy wagging its tail at its owner, seeking approval and validation and attention, something you might’ve ordinarily felt as demeaning now feels actually somewhat fulfilling. Every day, you strive towards this singular goal: be worthy of being the man Taeyeon chose as her partner.

“Are you close?”

“Almost…”

Taeyeon takes your hands and places them on her boobs. “You like these, don’t you?”

Would it be ruder to blatantly, but honestly say, ‘yes, I love them so much, I sometimes find myself unable to stop looking at them’, to not say anything at all, or to deny it?

“You don’t have to deny it, baby.”

Seeing the reassuring smile on Taeyeon’s face is what lets you respond with, “Yes, I love them.”

“You know, you’re my partner. You don’t have to sneak peaks at my boobs, you can just look at them.”

It’s a growing process, for sure. Gradually getting used to each other, getting over your initial feeling of intimidation of Taeyeon after learning about how much of a sweetheart Taeyeon is outside her sharp, crisp, always-fashionable and always-beautiful CEO look takes some work, and Taeyeon is helping along with that process tremendously.

“Thanks, Taeyeon.”

You try to resist squeezing those almond nipples for as long as possible, but in the end, you’re only human. And then, hearing Taeyeon moan when you finally give in feeds the fire, and suddenly, you’re all over her boobs, grinding and smacking into her pussy while your hands carefully knead and massage her tits and give her nipples the occasional squeeze that sends Taeyeon into another moaning frenzy.

“Yes, keep going!”

“Taeyeon, I’m close. Where…?”

“Go ahead, baby! Inside me!”

You almost don’t know why you asked. Every single time the two of you have had sex, without fail, Taeyeon has insisted that you cum inside her—and, despite the sheer number of times it’s happened, she still has yet to become pregnant. It’s gotten to the point where you’re starting to wonder if it’s an issue with you, but Taeyeon has reassured you that isn’t the case—the test group that you partook in also returned results of your own fertility, of which is in the normal range for the average male.

“Fuck, cumming—”

And, without fail, every time you burst inside her, the hot, sticky walls of Taeyeon’s pussy squeezes you dry, coaxing out every last drop as if milking you for all that you were worth.

After letting you ride out your orgasm, Taeyeon dismounts you and lays by your side. “That was great, honey.”

How kind and considerate Taeyeon is only makes you feel worse, knowing that you still have yet to make her cum a single time. At least, as far as you know. You don’t dare bring this up, though; it’s an awkward subject, despite how many times you’ve came inside her already, and you don’t want to remind Taeyeon of your inadequacy.

“Yeah, it was,” is all you can say, for now.

In any romantic relationship, mutual attraction is a must. At least, in your books, it is. Maybe it’s the nature of a CEO like Taeyeon to take a more calculative stance on romantic relationships—but then again, you don’t believe that, seeing how Taeyeon takes the time out of her busy day to spend time with you: watching movies, having meals, chatting about random things, going golfing or go-karting or renting out an entire amusement park for a few hours to have fun in. For you, attraction to Taeyeon is instant, and only solidifies over time: for Taeyeon, you can tell it’s taking some time.

You do everything in your power to expedite the process: you take on cooking, taking lessons from Taeyeon’s personal chef so that you can cook meals for your 100-day and 200-day anniversaries, and although you consider yourself more knowledgeable than the average guy in this area, you still take more time to learn about fashion and makeup so that you can be at least somewhat presentable next to Taeyeon in public, you carefully plan out surprise dates for her to get her to stop thinking about work for a bit, and as time passes, you can start noticing the difference. Taeyeon is gradually, actively, making more effort to spend time with you, even going so far as to push deadlines or forgo work once every month or so, and it’s immensely gratifying to see your hard work paying off.

There are other ways you can see your hard work paying off, too.

“Oh my gosh, baby, I’m—!” Taeyeon, relentless as ever, demanded a second round before going to sleep that night, and it’s before your second orgasm that you’re finally able to see Taeyeon succumb to hers, purely by your efforts. “—I’m cumming, oh my go—!”

Her svelte frame shudders and convulses beneath your own, her eyes now fully shut and her head pressed deep into the pillow. Her hips violently buck against your crotch, so you obey the unspoken request of her body: you don’t relent, you continue to fuck her fiercely, to let her ride out her orgasm by adding pressure your right index finger and thumb are applying to her clit, and drink in this marvelous sight. It’s a whole other type of novelty, to see Taeyeon’s climax before your very eyes. If you thought the sight of her nude body was a mind-shatteringly sexy sight, the sight of seeing that body rocking and vibrating as your cock continued to slam into the deepest parts of her womb is on a completely other level—and then, to know that it’s you who did this, who turned Taeyeon into this moaning, screaming, convulsing mess brings you to your own orgasm.

“Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m also cumming…”

“Let it all out, baby! Give me everything!”

When your orgasm subsided, you spent a few seconds recovering from the sheer intensity of that climax, taking a second before pulling out of her and letting your body fall onto the bed next to her.

“Wow … baby, that was amazing.”

“It was. You were amazing.”

“Mmm. Thank you so much, honey.” She gave you one last peck on the cheek before drifting off to sleep, a normally harmless and cute gesture of her gratitude that kept you up far too late. However, when you drifted off to sleep yourself, you found that, the next morning, you felt more refreshed than ever.

There were certain complications with their night activities, first and foremost being how often they needed to get their bedsheets cleaned. The fact that Taeyeon always went to sleep with your cum still leaking out of her pussy is definitely the reason behind it, and you’re somewhat shocked to find out that the normally pristine and proper Taeyeon didn’t think twice about soiling the bedsheets every time you bred her.

The second complication was, as the two of you grew closer, the sex started happening in places outside of the bedroom: at first, it was relatively private places like the shower or her wardrobe, but gradually evolved to such places as—

“Mmm, yes, right there, babe!” The sound of her ass slapping against your crotch echoes about the spacious kitchen. Taeyeon’s knuckles having turned white from the intensity of her grip on the kitchen’s island table as you relentlessly pound her into it. “Keep going!”

Taeyeon’s house is rather big—not mansion big, but still big enough to mandate a cleaning staff. In addition, Taeyeon’s personal chef comes every morning and leaves around noon: the schedule of the caretakers of her house is very precise, but there is still some kind of novelty in having sex somewhere other people frequent.

“Fuck, Taeyeon…”

It’s something you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft waist in your hands, the sputtering of her juices onto your groin, the way your hips bounce off her bubbly butt, the beautiful melody of her moans, the sight of her, sweaty and hot and aroused, her back arched and her sizable tits jiggling with the force of your every thrust, watching your cock disappear between her flopping, glistening pink folds over and over again, all of it.

“Yes! Pound me into the table! Harder!”

Of course, you’re all too willing to comply. Given her rather small, frail-looking frame, you’ve learned that Taeyeon is able to take quite a bit of punishment, something you are more than willing to dish out whenever she asks for it. This isn’t the first time she’s asked you to be rough on her, so you’re more or less used to this type of dirty talk: however, what she says next is not something you’re used to.

“Grab my hair! Push my face into the table!”

You’re a little hesitant at first, but with how fervently she’s taking your cock, you realize she isn’t really giving you much space to argue. So, as always, you obey.

“Yes, mommy.”

As you reach out to grab a fistful of her hair, she turns a surprised eye to you. It’s only then that you realize what came out of your mouth.

“‘Mommy’?”

Why did you say that? You try to be careful with your words, but have lately been finding it easier and easier to let words slip out of your mouth without a second thought. And now that she was looking at you, a sudden pang of fear crept up inside you. Did you fuck up? “Um, I’m, I’m so sorr—”

“No…” There is clear conflict on Taeyeon’s face. On one hand, she’s surprised to hear you call her that, and part of her feels like she ought to be repulsed by it in some way, but part of her finds it hot. It’s not lost on Taeyeon that the nature of your relationship with you makes you her sugar baby, especially with the age gap that exists between you two. It’s … fitting. “…don’t be sorry. Keep going, baby.”

What happened? Is Taeyeon not mad? She seemed to be … somewhat accepting of it?

You don’t decide to push your luck though, and when she turns back around, you continue where you left off by grabbing her hair and, gently, pushing her face into the cold marble surface of the island table.

“Fuuck…”

You’re genetically compatible with her, and even your physical build is compatible with her: you’re at just the right height to comfortably drill into her from above like this, with her feet slightly raised and her ass in the air, smacking into your damp groin repeatedly. The wet sounds of the impact echo about the otherwise empty residence: outside, the gardener should be attending to the multitude of flowers and trees that surround the house, but there is no view inside the kitchen from anywhere the gardener might be.

“Yes, keep going, ruin me!”

“Fuck, Taeyeon—” you other hand leaves her waist and comes down, hard, onto her ass. She lets out a noise that lays somewhere between a squeal and a moan. “—you’re so much.”

“More, babe! Keep going!”

It’s second nature to you, by now, to obey her every command, but this is something you don’t need her to tell you to do. The second smack, then the third, the fourth, the fifth, and by the sixth, you can start to see a red imprint in the rough shape of your palm appearing on her otherwise pale, snowy-white romp.

“Fuck! Babe, please, it’s so good!”

Her words are slightly muffled by the fact that you’re pushing her face into the table; her face is turned to the side, but even still, her cheeks are so slim that even the slightest bit of pressure nearly causes her lips to be touching the marble.

“You’re so insatiable.” You’re using your knees to keep yourself aligned with her, one hand adjusting its grip on her silky, chocolate hair while the other alternates between caressing and smacking her juicy ass. “I love it.”

“I’m so close! Babe, please!”

The coolness of the marble surface is also pressing into her tits, and specifically, her erect nipples. On top of the ferocious pounding you’re giving her, the ass-smacking from one of your hands and the pressing on her head into the table from the other, the temperature play at yet another one of her erogenous zones is stimulating Taeyeon to the max. The longer it draws on, the more the intensity of your thrusts and the force of your hand onto her ass increases, and the higher she pushes herself onto the balls of her feet, doing everything she can to maximize the contact between you and her.

By now, you can more or less tell how close Taeyeon is to her climax; although you haven’t gotten it down to an exact science yet, you can tell that you’re going to reach your peak first. Ever since you’ve gained the ability to make Taeyeon climax, you selfishly want to make sure she’s reaching it every single time: of all the things you can never get tired of from Taeyeon, seeing her coming to an orgasm because of you is at the top of that list.

So, you use the cheat button. You stop slapping her ass, the red imprint on it just about glowing by now, and your hand dives between her legs. It takes a second to find her clit, but when you do, you don’t use it right away: you’ve learned that it’s more effective if you do what you’re doing now, which is to tease it by rubbing the perimeter of it first. Taeyeon, on the other hand, starts losing her mind; her moans become desperate yelps and whines, and when you finally reward her patience by squeezing on her pleasure button, she unfolds all at once.

“Fffuuuck!”

The goal was to at least align your climaxes at least somewhat, but you definitely weren’t expecting to make Taeyeon cum first. In fact, you’re so stunned by this that you momentarily stop moving, only reminded to keep going by Taeyeon’s urging.

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming so hard, oh my god, oh my—”

This is the first time that Taeyeon has reached her climax before you. Try as you might before, even doing foreplay such as cunnilingus or using your fingers, it was always you that buckled first. But now, seeing your misses unravel so completely, shaking and lathering your cock and your groin with her love nectar, turns you on so completely that your climax follows shortly after.

“Fuck, cumming—”

Taeyeon jolts again as the jet of warm, viscous liquid enters her womb. “Unng, fuck, yes, fill me up, babe!”

This time, Taeyeon didn’t have the benefit of the bedsheets to soak up the fluids flowing out of her hole; you help her clean up, and when she’s done, she pecks you on the lips. And that’s another thing you can never get tired of: the feeling of her soft, velvety lips on yours, and the fragrant aroma that wafts into your nose when her face presses into yours.

“I can’t believe how amazing that was, babe. You were … wow…”

You let out a laugh. “I’m glad you liked it. You were so sexy, as always.”

There wasn’t a room in the house that was spared from your and Taeyeon’s antics: the dining room, the living room, every room in the spacious abode became witness to your breeding attempts. Each had their own benefits, too: the dining room had the comfortable chairs that you could use, the living room had the open space and a TV to use to add into the fun, the game room was filled with various makeshift tools that enhanced the experience—such as using a pool stick as a yoke or restraint bar, forcing Taeyeon’s arms behind her back and leaving her completely helpless to you—and the music room, which she apparently had installed into her house because of some vocal lessons she eventually dropped due to lack of time, but something for which you can personally vouch for her insane natural talent of, whose excellent acoustics allow you to hear Taeyeon’s beautiful, musical moans in ways you’ve never heard them before. It wasn’t an everyday thing, though, nor even necessarily a once-a-week thing—in fact, there would even be stretches of two, three months with no sex. Someone as busy as Taeyeon simply didn’t always have the time, or would just come home and let you guide her to her bed and fall asleep to the full-body massage you’ve spent so much time learning to do.

It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, though—being the publicly-known boyfriend of perhaps the world’s first idol-CEO, who first garnered attention for her immaculate looks at the fashion shows she would attend, then further fame from appearing on the Forbes’ ’30 Under 30’ list. What would the fanbase of an idol-CEO look like? It turned out, pretty similar to the fanbase of a singer-idol: from the moment your relationship with Taeyeon went public, the two of you were met with waves upon waves of backlash. Taeyeon, being used being in the spotlight and frankly, not particularly caring for these kinds of matters as her job wasn’t as closely tied to public sentiment as a singer-idol’s was, was barely phased by it. You, however: someone who was a nobody before this, who was a five or six out of ten at best, and now with the amount of effort you put into fashion and your appearance now, is perhaps a seven or maybe an eight if you squinted real hard and captured the exact perfect angle, but who looks like a four next to the perfect ten out of ten that Taeyeon always was, was bound to be met with heaps of jealous, indignant, angry fans.

It was easy enough to stop using social media—‘easy’ enough, that is—but when you’re just walking about normally, shopping for furniture or new shampoo or fetching some new makeup products that Taeyeon has you pick up? When Taeyeon proposed to hire a bodyguard for you, you immediately shoot it down. You, need a bodyguard? Who are you to require such a thing?

The answer was simple: the news articles of random people on the street harassing you, throwing junk at you, something you tried to keep quiet about but met Taeyeon’s wrath regarding when she found out, not from you telling her, but from a news article.

“How could you not tell me?!”

“I’m … I’m so sorry…”

“No! It’s not—” Taeyeon sinks into her chair and buries her face in her hands. “—it’s not you who needs to be sorry.” Her voice softens considerably, and it doesn’t take long for you to realize: she’s crying.

“Taeyeon? Honey?”

“You need to tell me about these things!” When she lifts her head to speak to you, your suspicions are confirmed: eyes sparkling, cheeks glistening with tears, lips pulled into a pronounced frown. “I can protect you! Why would you—”

“Because I’m a man!” You don’t intend to yell, but it’s too late. “I don’t want to need my girlfriend to protect me! I have a pride as a man, too, even if you’re the—” you don’t dare finish that sentence. You’re already yelling at her, you don’t need to step over that line.

“I’m the what?” she snaps. “I’m the CEO? I’m the older one? I’m the one with the money?”

“It—none of that matters. It wasn’t that big of a deal, anyway. A bruise here and there, it’s fine.”

“But it’s not fine! What if something worse happens down the line? If you continue to let these people walk all over you, what if they start throwing bigger, heavier things at you? What if you get hospitalized? What would I do then?”

“Why would you care, as long as my penis works fine.”

…

Wait.

What the fuck did you just say?

The silence is deafening. You can hear your heart racing inside your chest. It’s painful. It’s a twisting, churning sensation inside you, but worse than that is the fact that Taeyeon isn’t saying anything. You want to take it back. So badly. But, you can’t. What would you say?

“I—I need to go.”

“Honey, wait—”

For the first time since you’ve started this relationship, you disobey her. You continue walking, straight out of her office, and don’t stop until you reach a bar.

Is doing this going to ruin your reputation, and more importantly, Taeyeon’s reputation even more? Almost definitely. But at that moment, you don’t care. You probably don’t need to care much about Taeyeon’s reputation for much longer. You don’t remember the rest of the night at all, and wake up the next morning with a terrible, pounding headache. It takes a while to acquire your surroundings, and when you do, you realize you’re in the VIP room of the hospital Taeyeon’s doctor works at: a place you’ve visited to make sure you are, indeed, fertile, and for a few vaccines that you didn’t think of getting until Taeyeon suggested it.

Taeyeon, Taeyeon, Taeyeon. Your whole life revolves around Taeyeon. And now, what did you do to her? Imply that she’s only using you as a breeding horse, as if you can’t feel how much she loves you in the voice messages she sends you when she can’t come home about how she misses you, or the meal she cooked for you on your 400th day anniversary, or the various other gifts she showers you with because of some passing comment you don’t remember making the next day. All of that, and then that terrible thing you said to her, and she’s still taking care of you?

When the nurse bursts through the door and calls your name, your head is buried inside your hands. “Do you still have a hangover? I’ll get—”

“No, it’s ok.”

“…ok. Ms. Taeyeon is on her way.”

“I—” who are you to make demands of others? Especially since you’re only in this room because of her. Does she still love you? Does she still believe in you?

The next person to burst through the doors and call your name is none other than Kim Taeyeon herself. “Oh my god, sweetheart, I was so worried when I couldn’t get a reach of you and couldn’t find you at home…”

You listlessly try to escape her embrace, but Taeyeon is having none of that. She squeezes your head against her chest, and from the way you can feel her shaking, you can tell that she’s crying. Again. Because of you.

“I don’t deserve you, Taeyeon.”

“What?”

“Let’s be honest. I’m a nobody. You’re … you’re probably the only CEO in the world who has such a dedicated fanbase. Or, one of. Yet, you’re tying yourself down to me?”

“Don’t say that! I chose you because I love you!”

“No, you didn’t.” Taeyeon releases her embrace of you. This time, you meet her gaze. You feel like you need to. “You chose me because I’m compatible with you, right?”

“Oh…” Why does Taeyeon look so crestfallen? Seeing her in such a state twists at your heartstrings, so you stay silent and let her gather her thoughts. “…that’s not what I meant. It’s true, that I initially chose you because of that, but … I meant, I chose to stay with you because I fell in love with you. I chose you. Not because of your compatibility with my condition, but because of you. Not because of your penis, or your genes, or anything.”

And, the thing is, you know this. Is it simply because it’s hard to believe? That an amazing, a perfect woman like Taeyeon would ever want to be with someone like you? Is it that pride you have, as a man, that makes you want to be stubborn?

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t matter what it was. Taeyeon, just her being here with you, despite how busy she must be, despite the fires she must be trying to put out regarding news articles that have probably been released about the boyfriend of the famous idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon found passed out drunk at some random bar, is enough to forget all of that. “I didn’t mean to say those words. It was wrong of me.” Taeyeon’s lips are already being pulled into a frown, and her eyes are already starting to tear up again, but when you say, “I know this is asking a lot … but can you forgive me?” she bursts out into a sob.

“Of course! Of course, I forgive you, honey!”

The bodyguard was only necessary for the next two months; after Taeyeon released a public statement, threatening to sue for damages and the netizens for their defamatory comments, you found being in public much more bearable. That hurdle in your relationship seems to have flicked something in Taeyeon, who finally started giving you more work after you asked her so many times for it, in the hopes that you can help alleviate her immense workload. Was it your comment about still having pride as a man? Who knows, really. What was important was that, now that you could help Taeyeon with her duties, she could be home much more often. The times she couldn’t be home, for the various business trips her duties as a CEO dictated, however, she decided to start taking you along.

As any multi-millionaire CEO, Taeyeon has her own private jet and her own crew for the jet, including a pilot and co-pilot. However, what was different about this jet was one aspect—a rather large aspect, honestly. One room inside the jet, with stabilizers in three dimensions to reduce the impact of turbulence for the people inside the room. Why would that be necessary when seatbelts are the common solution to turbulence?

“Mmm, ooh, ooh yeah…”

Taeyeon’s face is inches above your own, her eyes gently closed as your cock, firmly wedged between her legs and inside her swelteringly hot pussy, pries apart her tight walls. With every thrust, more of her juices sputter out onto the comforter covering the bed you’re lying on, and with every thrust, Taeyeon’s moans split through the loud hum of the jet’s engines.

“Fuck … I’m going to miss this so much…”

“So this is why you had this bed installed in your jet, huh?” Your hands are firmly planted on either side of her hips; even though the room is being stabilized in all degrees of motion, you still need to keep her in place so you can plow into her with the force her tight pussy demands of you. “To get some last-minute cock before toiling away on this business trip?”

Taeyeon smiles at you. It’s a mischievous, playful type of smile, one that reminds you that Taeyeon is more than the strict, calculating CEO, or even than the warm-hearted, kind and caring girlfriend, that she makes herself out to be. “So what if I did?”

“I would’ve said, ‘I didn’t know my girlfriend was such a fiend for my cock’, but then, I would be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Ever since that incident, the two of you have grown closer than ever before. It’s maybe something about voicing your insecurities about the relationship, how you feel inadequate in your desire be the protector despite Taeyeon having more of the means to act in that capacity, but after smoothing all that out, the hesitance of teasing Taeyeon too much or of belittling her a little in jest has gone away once you realize, ‘Oh. Taeyeon just wants me to treat her like any other girlfriend would. Just because she’s my sugar momma, doesn’t mean she’s my superior. In a relationship, both partners are equal, and this one shouldn’t be any different.’

“I would be sad if my boyfriend didn’t already know how much I loved feeling his cock destroy my wet, tight little pussy.” There’s something about Taeyeon’s dirty talk, too. It just … gets to you. Taeyeon has such a regal appearance in public, and in private, such a cute, traditionally pretty appearance, that hearing such filth coming out of her lips almost feels wrong. It feels like it doesn’t belong somehow, and that contrast is exactly what does it for you. “And how I love it so much, I spent millions to get this built for us, just so I could squeeze in an extra few hours of feeling his thick, veiny cock splitting my walls apart and feeling his hot, creamy cum spill into me.”

You’re going to go crazy. That’s for sure. It’s how you feel every time Taeyeon dirty talks to you, which you have noticed has been increasing in frequency as of late.

“God, I can’t believe you, Taeyeon…”

“I’m right here, babe. Believe in me.”

“You’re … what did I ever do to deserve you?”

Taeyeon doesn’t answer, and instead places her hands on your cheek and leans in for a kiss. It’s an incredible feeling every time, feeling the warm, plump, soft texture pressing against your lips, and then feeling her tongue against yours, but especially when in combination with the feeling of her body pressed against yours, and feeling her wet, hot snatch trying to squeeze the life out of your cock—you feel even further above the clouds than you already are.

Your bodies move in unison, both of you moaning into the kiss that are subsequently drowned out by the ever-present roaring of the jet engines. For privacy reasons, Taeyeon had the room soundproofed and doors locked; even meals were served on a food tray through a tiny slit that could only be opened from inside the room. And here lay the millionth benefit of dating the finest specimen of a woman on planet Earth: Taeyeon was always so thorough, especially when it came to your combined private time, that you knew you could enjoy it thoroughly without fear of any interferences.

“God, I love you so much, babe.”

“I love you too, Taeyeon.”

“You always tell me that you feel lucky to have me, but haven’t you ever stopped to consider how lucky I feel to have you?” Your movements aren’t forceful and vigorous as they are usually; this time, they’re slower and more sensual. This time, it feels more like lovemaking than baby-making, and you don’t really know how to deal with that. “You adapted to such a different lifestyle so quickly, you’re always willing to help me even in ways I couldn’t imagine, you’re always so patient with me, and you’re even willing to learn all the weird and highly-specified parts of my job so that you can help me with it, all so you can spend more time with me. I’ve met with and talked to many men in my life, but I doubt a single one of them could do as amazing of a job as my partner in life than you.”

It’s pretty overwhelming. Scratch that, it’s insanely overwhelming. Taeyeon, as any doting girlfriend, gives you compliments all the time, but none feel as heartfelt and sincere as this one. It feels like a balloon growing inside your chest, that you can imagine is your ego or sense of self-worth or something, and Taeyeon is pumping air into it with all the strength her skinny little arms can manage. Which is a surprising about, mind you.

What can you do with all this … this elation? A sense of pure love and warmth and caring and everything—it feels too much to bear. So, you do the only thing you know to do in such a situation.

“And none of them could fuck you like I do.”

The loving gaze in Taeyeon’s eyes shatters, her eyes disappearing into upside-down crescents and her lips pulled apart to allow for her laughter to spill out. She smacks you on the shoulder. “I’m trying to be serious here!”

You laugh along with her. “I love this. I love you. Everything. I’m the luckiest person in the world right now, to have you with me.”

“To feel such a hot, tight pussy squeezing your cock?”

“Oh, now who’s being the unserious one here?”

Taeyeon grins at you. “I’m like this because of you. You know that, right?”

“What? Little old me, corrupted the pure, innocent idol-CEO Kim Taeyeon?” Taeyeon smacks you on the shoulder again.

“I told you I don’t like being called that.”

“What? Kim Taeyeon? But that’s your name.”

“No, the other thing.”

“Oh, you don’t like being called pure or inno—” this time, Taeyeon interrupts you by suddenly starting to ride you, hard, causing your words to be cut off by a groan. “—fuck, babe…”

“Looks like mommy has to punish you for being such a naughty boy.”

Even with the constant droning of the jet engine’s roar, it’s like your ears can selectively pick out Taeyeon’s musical moans as she reaches her climax, and as you watch her ride you even more fiercely, you can only watch in absolute awe at the spectacle of Taeyeon succumbing to her orgasm atop your body, and the following visual of the creampie filling her cunt slowly trickling out of her hole and onto your body, and then onto the comforter when she rolls off you.

“So you’re coming around to that word, huh?”

Taeyeon nods. “I can’t believe I’m saying this … but it’s really hot.”

“Hmm, but not as hot as my mommy.”

Taeyeon nudges you a little, albeit with a smile on her face. “Shut up.”

Her response brings a smile to your own face. “Seeing as we’re not going to sleep, since it’s still probably around 6pm in our time, are you sure you don’t want to clean up?”

Taeyeon shakes her head. “I like feeling it inside me. Your cum. It’s so warm, and it feels like part of you is still inside me.” She leans against you and rests her head on your shoulder, which just so happens to fit perfectly into the crook of your neck. “Which, of course, it technically is. Or, was. Now, it’s mine.”

You let out a chuckle. “I didn’t know you were so possessive of my sperm.”

“I am! Your first baby should be with me. And all your babies in the future.”

“That’s the plan.”

Because of the privacy of the room, neither of you have to put on your clothes again, which are neatly stored in the modest closets that are also attached to the room. A little while after, the two of you enjoy dinner in the seats sat on the opposite side of the bed, facing it, while watching a movie on the TV hanging above the bed’s headboards, and then resume the movie cuddled up on the bed, watching it on the other TV situated between the seats, facing the bed.

There have been many instances in this new life that Taeyeon has pulled you into that made you realize that the wealthy actually live entirely different lives than most other people, and this is one of them. Even closing in on three years together, you’re still discovering all these new kinds of luxury that you couldn’t even fathom before meeting Taeyeon.

As the second movie’s credits start rolling, Taeyeon turns to you. “Ready?”

“Hm?”

Taeyeon swings her legs to the other side of your legs, her hands reaching down to rub your now growing erection. “I want more.”

The next time Taeyeon took you on a business trip, you immediately notice something different.

“Honey, who’s that seat for?”

Situated underneath the TV facing the bed is another, slightly wider, seat, with its backrest folded down. There seem to be some other things attached to it, but you can’t quite make out what they are.

“What do you mean? That’s for us.”

Taeyeon doesn’t elaborate further, only giving you a mysterious smile as you buckle yourselves up into the seats for takeoff. Once the captain notifies you that you’re free to move about the cabin, Taeyeon unbuckles herself from the seat and beckons for you to come.

“I still don’t understand…” you watch as she pushes the TV into the wall, pulls the seat out a little, and pulls up the backrest. And, as you watch it unfurl, you can start to see what she was going for.

“What are you doing with your clothes still on?” You chuckle but obey, storing your clothes into the closet, with Taeyeon following shortly. “Go ahead, sit down.”

“You seem … awfully excited about this.”

“I am!”

Both you and Taeyeon are switches. Sometimes, Taeyeon takes the lead and you’re more than ok with it, and sometimes, she lets you take the lead; sometimes, Taeyeon comes home from a long day of high-stress situations and you make sure she doesn’t have to make any more decisions, and sometimes, Taeyeon’s extended leave of absence from home makes both of you miss each other, which would more often than not result in Taeyeon exerting her will on you and you more than happy to be with her again. So, when you saw the wrist clamps extending about neck-level on either side of the backrest of the seat, you wondered who they were for: both of you, is probably the correct answer, but today, it was evident that Taeyeon wanted to use them.

“Hmm…” As your cock slides into her hot pussy, Taeyeon lets out a low moan, leaning back a bit onto your chest as she feels her walls being pulled apart, once again, by your girth. “Mmmm~”

“Always so tight for me, babe.”

“Always so hard for me, baby.” You plant a kiss next to her ear, eliciting a giggle; when you’re fully inside her, she directs you, “Help me with this?”

You turn your eyes to her hands—or, more accurately, her wrists, both of which are already inside the open wrist clamps. “You really want this?” Taeyeon nods fervently, so you waste no time in locking her wrists in place. And, just like that, her arms are suspended in the air, giving you full, unadulterated access to her entire body, left entirely to your whims.

“I’m all yours, baby.”

Such a situation is a dream-come-true for any sane, straight man: one of the most attractive, sexiest woman on the planet—in your eyes, the most attractive and the sexiest woman on the planet—giving herself up to you, fully. The only limbs she can control are her legs, but after you start pounding into her, even those start shaking about helplessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, babe—”

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” You take advantage of her raised arms and wrap your arms around to grab a handful of those voluptuous boobs she was so carelessly showing off at the walkway to the airport—because, as an idol-CEO, fans still congregate to take pictures of her airport outfits, for some reason—and start palming them. Taeyeon lets out a sigh, arching her back and pushing her tits further into your hand. “You want a break from everything and just want to be coddled and pampered, right?”

Taeyeon nods, and although you can’t see it, you can feel how her head bobs up and down against your cheek.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take great care of you.”

“Ooh…”

Her voice hitches when you give her nipples a light pinch, but just as quickly as the stimulus surges through her body, so too does it dissipate. Your motions slow down to a sensual grind, and you can start to feel Taeyeon’s impatience building.

This is her doing. She chose to submit herself to you, and she should know how much you like building up the tension. As much as her display of ultimate submission makes you want to pound her into next Tuesday, you know this will yield a better result, for both you and Taeyeon.

“…baby…”

You plant kisses on her crown, then move to her cheek. She tilts that side of her head to you, giving you better access to her ears, which you take advantage of by nipping slightly. Every time your lips touch her face, Taeyeon seems to be holding in her breath a little bit more, and every time your fingers come dangerously close to her nipples, you can feel a sigh waiting to be released, desperately wanting to be released, but being held in at the last possible moment.

“Your boobs look so good in that outfit.”

“You told me this morning, honey.”

“So you can’t blame me for wanting to play with them a little bit more right now.”

“You can play with them while you’re fucking me harder, ri—” you interrupt her by planting a kiss right next to her lips, but not on them.

“You put me in charge, right?” Taeyeon nods. “Then, relax. Don’t think. Let me do everything for you, baby.”

Taeyeon follows your commands to a tee, sinking and sinking into your slow movements, practiced motions that you’ve taken years to perfect. Every square centimeter of Taeyeon’s body, you know, and you use that knowledge to tease out every last ounce of desire and wanting from her small, skinny, but somehow curvaceous frame.

“Ooh … my god…”

Your left hand leaves her boobs and travels south, and all it takes is one careful swipe of your finger along her entrance to reassure you how absolutely aroused Taeyeon has become.

“Hmm…”

“Open up.”

Taeyeon obeys, and you stick the finger slick with her juices inside her mouth. Instantly, her velvety lips close around the digit and her tongue goes to work, swirling around the finger and licking it clean. It’s not the first time you’ve done this to her, and it’s also not the first time you’ve wondered what letting loose a load between those pretty lips of hers would be like. To this day, all these years you’ve been together, all the various ways you two have fucked, and Taeyeon has still yet refused to let you cum anywhere but inside her. Not that you particularly mind, but every now and then, your mind starts to wander—what would she look like after a nice facial? How sexy would it be to see those slim cheeks puffing from an overabundance of your cum, with trickles of it escaping the corners of her mouth that she captures with her finger and feeds back into her mouth? What would these delectable tits, that have been the object of your fascination since Taeyeon put her airport outfit on this morning, look like with your cum smeared all over them? Or what about the juicy ass that she’s currently grinding against your crotch?

“You’re so unbelievably fucking beautiful, and so irresistibly sexy, Taeyeon.”

Taeyeon only responds with a sigh. You can hear the impatience in it—and, frankly, you’re nearly at your limit, too. You can start to feel her juices start to trickle down onto your legs and it’s this that becomes the last straw. The next sound Taeyeon makes is a loud yelp, in response to your fingers suddenly squeezing both nipples at the same time. “Ffuck!”

You start pounding into her, using the grip your hands have on her boobs as leverage to push her back and forth in your lap. Eventually, as you build up momentum, Taeyeon starts raising and falling, each time she lands back in your lap creating a nice, satisfying smack! sound that gets quickly drowned out by the airplane’s engines. Coincidentally, some faint rattling sound cuts through the air that you’ve come to realize is turbulence, something that the stabilizers attached to the room have prevented you from ever feeling. Unfortunately, you can’t make use of the bouncing of the airplane, but Taeyeon is light enough that you don’t need much help anyway.

“God, yes! Baby, please, more!”

You’re letting your hands follow the wild bouncing motion of her boobs as you bounce her on your lap, giving them the occasional squeeze as it does so. It always marvels you, how someone so small and so skinny can have such proportionally big boobs. She usually dresses a bit more conservatively in public, which is what made her choice of outfit this day so mouth-watering—Taeyeon rarely gives hints of her cleavage to the public, so when she reveals this much? You can only assume she was trying to seduce you, and it worked beautifully; before you even boarded the plane, you were having trouble trying to hide your boner. And now that it’s buried deep inside her, and now that her boobs are filling up your hands, especially since she’s given you full reign to do whatever you want to her, you intend to act on your horniness to its fullest extent.

“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll give you more.”

Among the many beautiful things about Taeyeon is her natural speaking voice, and that doubled for the voice with which she moaned her pleasure with. It only ever invigorates you more, to hear her moaning so animatedly, and your intensifying actions cause those moans to come out more frequently and with more frequency. It’s a self-feeding loop, a loop that only ends one way.

“Oh my gosh, babe, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum so hard—”

Your climax follows shortly after hers, and as you slump back into the backrest of the seat and Taeyeon rests her head against your chest, the salacious mixture trickles out of Taeyeon’s battered hole and onto the cushiony seat you’re seated upon. Your dick is still wedged inside aforementioned hole, and while you can feel some fatigue settling in, your dick’s efforts to soften is met with the fierce resistance of Taeyeon’s tight snatch, ever the hard worker.

“Baby…”

“Sorry, honey, just give me a minute…”

“…there’s a setting. On the right, there should be a button. On the armrest.”

When you first saw the button, you assumed it was to lean the seat back like any normal airplane economy-class seat, but now that you think about it, you realize how dumb that assumption was. There’s barely any space for this seat to lean back, and this seat is clearly not ‘like any normal airplane economy-class seat’.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Press it.”

“Hm, ok—oh, what the—” the seat starts bouncing, causing your dick to push a little bit deeper inside her. Taeyeon lets out a soft moan.

“Mmm, I’m so glad that works.”

“Taeyeon, what—”

“Do you mind?”

You can’t help but think of the meme that you aren’t sure is exactly a meme, ‘soaking’, the Mormon work around for couples to have sex without going through the physical motions of it. If it is indeed a thing, you wonder how much this kind of a chair would be worth to them.

“Does it feel good for you?”

Taeyeon nods. “Yes. God, yes, I love that feeling, of your cock fucking our creampie back inside me.”

If you weren’t being hit with your refractory period, Taeyeon saying such a filthy sentence would’ve caused you to instantaneously jump her—now, all you could do is let out a groan and put your hands back on her boobs.

“Fuck…”

“Do you like it?”

“I … I’m still, I still can’t, but fuck, I love the feeling of your boobs in my hands.”

The bouncing of the chair is rather slow—Taeyeon makes a comment about how she needs to tell them to modify it to have varying speeds, and then you briefly think about the poor engineers who have worked on this plane and have installed all sorts of various, weird things in it, with a probably pretty good idea for its use case but having to go along with it anyway—but the two of you stay like this while you recover. The chair pushes you in and out of Taeyeon while your hands continue to knead and squeeze the addictively soft and plush texture of her tits, and as your refractory period fades, you start adding to the chair’s efforts. You eventually transition to a standing position, with Taeyeon now facing the seat, her wrists again trapped by the wrist clamps, and you standing behind her.

“Fuck, yes, please, more!”

No longer having to fight gravity, the sound of her ass smacking against your drenched groin nearly overpowers the roar of the airplane’s engines. “Fuck, Taeyeon, I’m so close…”

“Give it to me, give it to me! Fill me up to the brim, baby!”

You let out a final, warning grunt before exploding, your second load bursting inside her—a notably lesser load, but one that still sends Taeyeon into a moaning, squirming frenzy. By the time your orgasm subsides and you pull out of her, it’s like a dam burst; Taeyeon’s poor cunt barely had a few minutes in the last hour or so not being stretched open by your cock, and the rough shape of it can still be seen by how widely her labia is still parted. Out that hole, the combined cum of two orgasms, from both herself and from you, are gushing out, following the curve of her ass and down her leg. Somehow, Taeyeon doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest and throws herself onto the bed.

“What do you want to watch, baby?”

How Taeyeon can switch from sexy seductress to adorable girlfriend is beyond you. All you can do is smile and join her in bed. “I don’t know. Let’s take a look.”

Slowly, you started to notice a reduction in your workload, but it somehow didn’t come with less time with Taeyeon. In fact, Taeyeon’s workload seemed to decrease along with yours, and when you asked her about this, she confirmed your suspicions: she’s slowly offloading her duties and responsibilities to others so that she can focus on the baby that you finally managed to impregnate her with.

The dream didn’t last long though; a few false positives from the past has taught you two to be cautious about your excitement, but when the two-week mark passed and everything seemed to be going well, you could feel Taeyeon’s excitement building and building, and you couldn’t help but get infected with that same excitement. So, when news came a month later that the fetus suddenly, inexplicably died in the womb, Taeyeon was beyond devastated. It took Taeyeon a full three days to get back to work, which, for such a hard worker as her, was a long break. Between taking over some of her basic day-to-day duties in that down time and comforting her, your own hands were quite full those three days, but honestly, you’re thankful to finally be able to give back to Taeyeon.

Over the next few weeks, Taeyeon slowly got back on her feet, and after the third month passed, it was almost like nothing happened. You’re sure you helped, but the timing couldn’t be any more immaculate: or, perhaps, you could say that the news came at a terrible time. Taeyeon had been preparing to step down as CEO for a while, and move to a chairwoman position in her company, but there was one last thing she couldn’t offload any work with: a merger with a smaller company, but still one that ate through a lot of her time and effort. In the final stretches of the process, after a stretch of one week without being able to come home, you decide to make a surprise visit to her office, to which she welcomes you with open arms. Open arms, or rather, parted lips.

“Yes, fuck, I needed this so bad~”

Taeyeon’s hands are gripping the edges of her desk, holding on for dear life as you plow into her from behind. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly about the room, the door firmly locked and, without the threat of interruption, you feel free to use 100% of your efforts into alleviating all the pent-up stress the merger has caused Taeyeon.

The view from the front, of seeing her face twisting with pleasure as you slam into her; the view from the side, seeing her ample tits jiggling wildly with the force of your thrusts; the view from the back, the one you’re currently enjoying, watching her juicy romp rebounding with every pistoning motion—there isn’t a single view of Taeyeon that isn’t immaculate.

“I missed you too.”

Taeyeon can barely hold it together, her entire body shaking in response to your vigorous movements, her legs only able to stay upright thanks to the support your own legs are giving them. The whirring of the air conditioning mixes in with the wet clapping of her ass against your crotch, and the cool air only serving to further stimulate the CEO, devoid of all clothing, being plowed from behind at her own desk.

“I-I, I love you so much, so much, baby.”

Taeyeon gave you only a minute after you arrived before jumping you. Honestly, this wasn’t your plan in the slightest, but who are you to complain? When such a bombshell beauty is so horny for you that she physically cannot contain it, especially if that bombshell beauty happens to be your girlfriend of just about five years.

“I love you too, mommy.”

Although you’re fucking her from behind, it was clear from the moment she crashed her lips onto yours that she is the one in charge. And, of course, you don’t mind. You also don’t mind how readily she slipped into the roleplay, her first words to you after the kiss being, “Mommy needs her baby’s cock, now.”

When she’s submissive, you find yourself wanting to thoroughly fuck her and ruin her in every way imaginable; but when she’s assertive, you find yourself instantly kneeling in obedience, worshipping the ground she walks on. Which leads you to this moment, where her pleas of, “faster!” and “more!” and “harder!” are instantly met with obedience. It isn’t long before Taeyeon isn’t able to maintain her grip of the desk any longer, so you take her arms and use them as handlebars to fuck her harder.

“God, mommy’s cumming, mommy’s cumming!”

The office fills with the beautiful, ecstatic sounds of Taeyeon’s climatic screaming moans, and not shortly after, it’s joined by the sounds of your own moans as you imbed stream after stream of your seed straight into her womb.

“Oh … my god…”

“Do you feel better now?”

Taeyeon nods, but when she turns around, it’s clear that this isn’t over yet. “You know what would make mommy feel better?” You shake your head. “First, in the second drawer from the top, there’s a false bottom that you can bypass by pushing on the side.” You nod, and sure enough, the false bottom gives way. “You see that plug?” Again, you nod, and take it out. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this, nor even the first time you’ve done this in her office really, but what follows after she inserts it inside herself is a first. “You know what else I’ve been thinking about recently?”

“Hm? What?”

At this point, Taeyeon has directed you sit down in her chair. You obeyed, confused, and now that she’s pushing you away from the desk and kneeling between your legs, you can start to see why. “Mommy.”

“Sorry. What have you been thinking about, mommy?”

Satisfied, Taeyeon smiles. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, but it’s only this past week that I could get it out of my mind.” You’re still recovering, but Taeyeon is certainly making the recovery process easier. “That warm, thick, creamy cum that you always fill me with, that’s inside me right now … I want to taste it.”

At this point in your relationship, you figure nothing about Taeyeon can really surprise you. You’ve even talked about some of the deeper aspects of your relationship, such as why Taeyeon doesn’t want to get married yet: her parents only stayed together because they had her, and eventually, their relationship healed to the point where they, now, are perfectly happy in their retirement. It’s this experience that molded Taeyeon’s opinion of relationships: if she were to have a romantic partner, she wanted to only have one, and to ensure that, she wanted to have a child with that partner before getting marriage, as a sort of insurance.

It’s why Taeyeon seemed so eager to bear your child recently, and why she became so utterly devastated when her first pregnancy ended the way it did. Many aspects of Taeyeon, you figure you already know, and every aspect of her, you cherish and love.

But this?

This is not something you expected.

“Are … you sure?”

Taeyeon nods, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Yes! Do you mind?”

“Of—Of course not, mommy!”

You have become so accustomed to releasing every load inside her womb—or at least, going into sex with the idea of that being your target—that even the thought of unloading anywhere else seems foreign. But, of course, over the years, your mind has drifted and fantasized, and you’re for the most part able to quash these fantasies pretty easily. After all, the price of being in a relationship with Taeyeon, and having somewhat frequent sex with her, is just that you’re only allowed to cum inside one of her holes? It’s a trivially easy price to pay.

“Oh, thank you, baby!”

That thought, of being able to unleash your first load deep inside her throat, combined with the kisses Taeyeon peppers all about your length, shortens your refractory period down to just about ten minutes. That feeling, of her soft, succulent lips pressing against your member, the audible smacking sound of the kiss as she presses her lips against it, the careful way in which she almost caresses your cock with her lips and her tongue sends you straight to cloud nine, and when she swallows your glans, you’re rocketed straight into outer space.

“Ffuck, mommy…”

It isn’t often that Taeyeon gives you blowjobs, but she’s done it enough that she can take your entire length in one go. She wastes no time, deepthroating you with all the enthusiasm the excited gleam in her eyes showed you, and all you can do is grip the armrests of the chair and buck your hips to the rhythm of her lips.

“Fuck, oh my god, please, mommy, it feels so fucking amazing…”

The feeling of her lips gliding up and down your shaft, her tongue caressing and massaging every square inch of your dick, all the while suffocating it with the sheer tightness of her throat quickly overwhelms your senses. This blowjob—this deepthroating is unlike any Taeyeon has ever given you: she’s more intense, she spends less time coming up for air, spitting on your cock, and rubbing it along your length with her hands, and without needing to care about your orgasm, she completely loses herself in it.

More and more intense, faster, harder, you’re losing your goddamn mind, Taeyeon slobbering all over your dick, the excess drool dripping down her chin and all over your thighs, but she somehow looks ten times sexier like that. Her normally slim face and sleek jawline are now noticeably bulging from your girth, her plump lips stretched wide across its circumference, her head bobbing up and down and her hair flying all over the place, chasing after the wild motions of the head it’s attached to.

“Fuck, mommy, please, I’m so close…”

Hearing this, Taeyeon’s eyes, which were previously glued to your lap, dart upwards, and she adjusts her position so that she can look you in the eye, full-on. You’re unable to tear your eyes away, every bobbing motion of her head and every suction that hollows her cheeks pushing you further and higher until—

“Mommy, I’m cumming!”

Taeyeon doesn’t break eye contact the entire length of your climax; it’s your second load of the session, so it’s not so much that she can’t handle it, but her cheeks still noticeably bulge as her mouth fills with your semen.

Carefully, making sure she doesn’t spill a single drop, Taeyeon’s lips come back up your length. In that moment, you, for a second marvel at the fact that your seed is now occupying two of Taeyeon’s holes, but that fact remains short lived as, shortly after, Taeyeon’s throat flexes and your fluids disappear down her gullet.

“Mmm…”

“So, how was it?”

“I think I like it.”

The two of you didn’t have much time to talk afterwards as she had a meeting to prepare for. Being someone who essentially knew everything Taeyeon did about the company, you figured you would sit in on the meeting in case she needed help with anything, but ended up being distracted with the thought that Taeyeon had yet to take the plug out yet, and was talking to her stockholders, present and future, with your cum still sloshing about inside her.

After the merger successfully resolved, Taeyeon stepped down as CEO and transitioned into a chairwoman position, as promised; and, with the increased amount of time on their hands, and with the memory of that fiasco in her office fresh in her mind, Taeyeon began proposing you to cum elsewhere quite frequently: a few more times in her mouth, but also on her ass, on her tits, smearing that tight little tummy of hers, splattering across her legs, and after a fair bit of experimentation, inside her ass.

The most memorable moment, by far, was—

“How do I look?”

Taeyeon insisted your first load be across her chest; needless to say, Taeyeon’s boobs are as sexy as she is beautiful, so to see them smeared with your cum amplifies that tenfold.

“So unbelievably fucking sexy.”

“I feel sexy too, so I was hoping…” Taeyeon reaches into the nightstand next to the bed and procures a bottle of pills. “…that you would help me feel even sexier.”

The pills turned out to be a performance enhancer mixed in something that helps increase ejaculation density. That night, the two of you went through all sorts of sex positions, every load being sprayed across a different part of her body: her stomach area followed a mixture of missionary and cowboy, then her face after a blowjob, then her back following doggy and her legs following prone-bone. Even with the drugs, you had to take considerable breaks in between sessions, especially at the tail-end; the end product was Taeyeon caked in a fine layer of your cum, smeared across just about every square inch of her body. When the two of you fell asleep, it was well past 5am, and the following morning—rather, the following afternoon, being the time the two of you awoke—you enjoyed a nice shower together.

That wasn’t to say you stopped entirely in your baby making attempts. Far from it: now that Taeyeon’s workload decreased so severely, the two of you had much more time to fuck—there even was a stretch of two weeks where you had sex every day, only paused by your need to rest and recover from all of the intense activity. None of it seemed to affect anything though: weekly pregnancy tests, all resulting in negatives or false positives; you can feel Taeyeon start to get impatient, not with her failure to get pregnant, but holding off marriage for so long.

By now, over half a decade together, you can’t imagine life with another person. If, God forbid, the two of you ever broke up, you figure you would just stay single for the rest of your life; after all, how could you settle for any other woman after Taeyeon? It was clear that Taeyeon was hoping to get married around the time she stepped down as CEO, but now that a year passed since that day, Taeyeon began to talk to you, in more earnest, about getting married first.

So, about 7 years from the day you two solidified your relationship, you got married. It was a very small and private affair, consisting only of the immediate families of both parties, seven of Taeyeon’s closest friends, and the handful of friends that had never judged your relationship with Taeyeon after learning about it.

The sex following the wedding night was easily the most rambunctious the two of you have ever been, lasting well until the sun rose the next day, and during the honeymoon was … a different kind of intense.

“Mmm, that smells so good, honey.”

Taeyeon lets out a soft gasp upon feeling your erection pressing against her bare ass. “I had Andre teach me.”

It was a quaint, quiet, isolated destination, your and Taeyeon’s choice of honeymoon. The house was packed with enough food to feed a family of four for two weeks, probably, enough wine for a battalion for one night’s celebration—the backup generators had backup generators, and there were at least five failsafe methods of communication in the worst case scenarios. The fact that you two don’t require a single other person to live luxuriously in the sizable estate, and the fact that other people are forbidden to enter even the premises of the estate, serve the singular purpose of allowing both you and Taeyeon to follow one rather simple rule: no means of covering one’s body is allowed except for an apron while cooking, gloves or other protective gear when handling hot surfaces or otherwise dangerous objects, or clothes if you’re, for whatever reason, expecting company.

Which explains this scenario, in which you are teasing at her hole as Taeyeon tries to focus on making brunch for the two of you.

“Baby, please…”

“You should focus on the food, babe.”

“I can’t … I can’t focus, your dick is driving me crazy…”

“Then all the more reason why I shouldn’t put it in, right? Because then, you’ll be even more likely to burn the food.”

“Just … babe, please, I need it so bad, just—”

“Are you gonna burn the food if I listen to you?”

“No! Please, I promise, please—”

You don’t need to hear much more, and when you shove yourself inside her, Taeyeon lets out a loud yelp. “Hmm, fuck, so hot and so tight, baby…”

“Fuck, oh my god, after all these years, it still feels like you’re stretching me out so much every time…”

Being near a hot stove, you can’t be as relentless as you have been the last few days, but seeing her trying her best to focus on the food she’s cooking while moaning and trying, but failing, to maintaining a steady hand, ending up sprinkling in a bit too much salt.

“Baby!”

“But you wanted this, didn’t you?”

“But you don’t have to—unng, fuck!”

You finish inside her, and shortly after, Taeyeon finishes her cooking—some of it did, in fact, get slightly burned, but otherwise was great.

Taeyeon instigates nearly as much as you, though—like, when you were napping on a lounge chair by the poolside, something only possible to do while naked in the winter because of the tropical climate of the destination, and awake to the feeling of Taeyeon climbing on top of you.

“Taeyeon?”

“I miss you.”

“How long have I been napping here? An hour?”

Taeyeon pouts, and your heart completely melts at the sight. “That’s an hour too long.”

“Aww, poor baby.” You lean forward and plant a kiss on her lips, which instantly turns the pout into a smile. “Is that better?”

“Mmhm. But, I could be even better…”

It turns out, having sex on a lounge chair isn’t exactly the most comfortable thing, especially if you’re being as vigorous as you and Taeyeon are. You end up breaking it, so you finish inside the pool and then go back inside to do some couple’s yoga in one of the estate’s living rooms.

In the two weeks that you two spend there, every room becomes witness to your hot, sweaty activities—in fact, you aren’t even sure if the bedroom is where you and Taeyeon end up fucking the most. For the span of those two weeks, Taeyeon insisted on having every drop of cum being deposited inside her pussy, although you end up cheating a little and cumming a few times in her other two holes, once on her face, and once on her boobs after a mind-blowing blowjob mixed with a titjob.

And, it turns out, getting married is all it takes—either that, or the two weeks of what essentially amounted to nonstop sex—for Taeyeon to get pregnant. After various double and triple checks, her personal doctor is able to confirm it: finally, again, after all these years, Taeyeon is pregnant. You can’t describe why exactly you feel this way, but there’s something about things—how much more solid your relationship with Taeyeon is, the fact that you’re married now, the significantly less stress Taeyeon deals with on a day-to-day basis—that makes you feel confident that it’ll work out this time.

“Have you thought of a name?”

“Hm…”

You laugh. “After all this time?”

“Well, I have though of a name if it’s a girl.”

“Hm? What is it, then?”

“How does ‘Minjeong’ sound?”

#kpop smut #smut #snsd #snsd smut #taeyeon #kim taeyeon #taeyeon smut #creamp1e #mommy k!nk #mommy Taeyeon #sugar mommy Taeyeon #this might be the fastest I've ever written almost 13k words holy shit #Taeyeon making me go feral for no reason #breeding k1nk

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worldoshaking · 2 months ago

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I find Y’shtola so interesting; I think she exemplifies some very fascinating dilemmas, but what’s unique about her is that they’re externalised as ways of seeing the world rather than internal emotional states. Her perspective is also a really important aspect of the story and the world.

The most fundamental thing about her is that she’s a scientist. It’s not just what she does, it’s who she is. It represents her strengths, her ambitions, her temperament, and the way she interacts with the world.

Unlike the other scions, she’s a scientist who grew up outside of Sharlayan’s academic structure, and is unbounded by its strictures and politics. She represents unbounded theoretical curiosity, independent of institutions and all their dampening considerations. It’s a beautiful, idealised vision of what science could be, if unbound by considerations like institutional approval and funding. It’s something Y’shtola learned in part from Matoya, who rejected the confines of Sharlayan academia and accomplished stupendous things in her cave.

I think this complements G’raha Tia, who represents an idealised vision of what academia could be: he explores the limits of what people can achieve together if they can throw aside clout-chasing, nepotism, petty politicking, biases, and the other things that cloud the idealism of academic institutions. G’raha is someone who fell in love with what Sharlayan represented, and came back to point out how they fell short of their own ideals. G’raha is someone who works to reform institutions; Y’shtola simply works independently of them, pushing the limits of what one person can accomplish.

Another very scientific characteristic of Y’shtola is her refusal to acknowledge limits: when she finds a thing that can’t be done, she hammers at it until it budges. She is convinced that there are answers to everything, and that science can find them. This is really something that’s fundamental to the scientific method: the idea that there’s always an answer to the question of ’why,’ and that that answer is something we can find and comprehend. What are atoms made of? Why are there only so many fundamental particles? Why do voidgates form? What is the fate of the universe? There is an answer, and she’ll find it. This is part of her initial clash with G’raha; she is insistent on the truth, and doesn’t like his keeping secrets.

She is also committed to seeing the science through, no matter what she’ll learn from it. She was ready to hear the Ea’s answer about the fate of the universe, no matter how terrible it was. And when she finds it, she’ll greet the unknown with delight; when she meets Zero, she looks the void in the face and smiles.

She’s also just a little remote, in the way of one who has spent too long staring into the heart of things. This doesn’t change the fact that she is a brave, steadfast, loyal companion to her friends, and a staunch champion of what’s right in the world. It’s something very personal; she sees things beyond the others’ sight, and her heart is preoccupied with things that are very removed from the considerations of everyday.

The Sharlayans’ performance of scientific objectivity is shown to be rooted in their very human prejudices, something that’s very true of institutional science in our world too. Y’shtola’s objectivity isn’t that sort of cold, inhumane objectivity; it isn’t a pretext for bigotry, or an abdication of responsibility. It’s something much more remote and whimsical, a commitment to a way of approaching things rather than a badge of superiority.

These are all, in a way, things that characterise the WoL, and I think they underlie the curious solidarity that builds between them post-Endwalker. The WoL, in a different way, is someone who doesn’t acknowledge the limitations of common sense, someone who looks truth in the face without flinching.

It’s also a delightful contrast, because the WoL is someone who repeatedly defies the limits of possibility, and that makes it even more interesting that they’re drawn together. Y’shtola is someone dancing at those very limits; the point where the preposterous becomes fact is where scientific discovery is born.

It’s also a very fun way of seeing science. Science as an institution is actually preoccupied with a kind of individualism - with the performance of individual merit, with the idea of the lone genius. (As we see in post-ARR, Alphinaud is misled by the accolades of the Studium to disastrous hubris.) Y’shtola might be fiercely independent, but she also isn’t that lone genius. She is utterly preoccupied with finding the answers, and not at all with any idea of personal success. The thing that lets her transcend her limits, the thing that lets her accomplish more than Matoya could, is friendship. When she works with the Scions, or Nidhana, or Zero, she can accomplish more than she ever could on her own.

I also think it’s very relevant that she’s a woman; in both our world and theirs, academia is largely male-dominated, and a lot of its flaws have to do with upholding that hegemony and not being open to more diverse perspectives. The ideal of the lone genius is overwhelmingly associated with men.

I think there’s something deeply idealistic and joyous about this unfettered spirit of scientific curiosity persisting through and after the events of Endwalker. We met the god of everything and defeated her in a duel; that doesn’t mean we know all the answers, or even all the questions. We cross paths with a far more technologically advanced civilisation, and Y’shtola is still able to have interesting scientific conversations with them. Even if many things about our world are arbitrary and uncaring, Y’shtola holds to her belief in the scientific method, and is still wholly, exuberantly committed to seeking out truths.

#women in stem!!!!#ffxiv #my posts #ffxiv meta #y’shtola rhul

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aliteralsemicolon · 8 months ago

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Yours - 18+

Main masterlist | AU Masterlist

Spencer never thought he’d be lucky enough to find you, but he has. You have all his devotion and all he hopes for in return is for you to let him stay yours.

Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

DISCLAIMER This story contains strong themes and detailed descriptions of adult content. It is intended for mature audiences only, minors do not interact! You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING: Smut: softdom! Spencer, grinding, hickies, penetration, PinV, unprotected sex (this can lead to babies & stds btw, avoid this by being fivehead and using a condom), creampie. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 5.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

The question regarding the existence of soulmates is not a question that can be answered using science. Any individual’s answer to the question is more of a personal belief than a factual answer. And as a man of science, one would think that Spencer Reid would at least attempt to refute the ideology when asked.

The ideology that he himself is not whole, but only half of an intertwined soul. That another person is not only his other half, but also his better half. Somebody with whom he shares such a natural, deep understanding, that he feels complete simply by existing in their presence. It’s one of those phenomena he can’t explain, but only this one, he’s confident is true.

“Spence?” A light nudge accompanied by the whisper of his name breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Hm?” He blinks rapidly, focusing his eyesight on your curious face with a matching look.

The light from a singular bedside lamp only reaches half of his face. It casts a beautiful, soft contrast on his sharp features. The gold that’s usually hidden by the brown makes his irises look like sparkling pools of honey. Ethereal -not a word you would use when normally describing a man- but that’s how he looks.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

He hadn’t ever thought he could believe in such a thing. Mostly because he’d always been sure that he would never experience it.

“Do you?” His voice carries your question back to you.

You can hear the city buzzing outside. Cars honking angrily in a futile attempt to speed up the pace of the traffic. People conversing, arguing, laughing. Loud thuds of music from the upstairs neighbour who cares little about the piling noise complaints. Somehow, the hum of Spencer’s words is the only sound that your ears register.

“I asked first.” You playfully scoff, breaking eye contact and swivelling your head straight.

Spencer mirrors your motions, both of you now facing the ceiling as you remain side by side on his bed.

“Yes.” His answer is barely above a whisper.

It seems that your bodies want to make up for lost contact. You can feel his pinky reaching out to touch yours as you meet him halfway.

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence takes over the conversation. Everything feels still. The only movement is that of his fingers grazing against yours. He’s touched you in far more personal places tonight alone, and this is still one of your most intimate moments. There are no expectations or hidden agendas. This is simply the two of you existing in each other's presence; his preferred way to exist. It stretches until another inane question makes its way to the forefront of your mind.

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll get to meet them in this lifetime?”

He pushes his frame up and rotates to face you as he sinks back down to the mattress. His head rests on the arm folded below it. You turn your head back to him so that you’re both holding eye contact again.

“No.” He mouths the answer, his voice hesitant to raise at first. “I wonder whether mine is a romantic bond or platonic.”

Your stomach flutters at the insinuation and you shift to mirror his position this time. In the midst of shuffling, the two of you seem to have closed a good chunk of the distance between you.

“What do you want it to be?” You whisper, entranced by his gaze.

Two of his knuckles lightly skim your cheek before those fingers brush your hair away from you. The act alone is enough to make your face heat up, no matter how many times he’s done it before. He begins to lazily stroke your hair, scratching your head in the process. It gives you the same tingling sensation you get from some rare ASMR videos.

You don’t follow up on your question, unable to remember anything that was on your mind beforehand. His touch, combined with the minimal lighting and close proximity provides you with a sense of security you rarely feel otherwise. Your lids begin to grow heavy and you're forced to break eye contact when the weight of them becomes too much.

“That’s really distracting y’know.” You mumble, eyes closed and voice hazy.

“I know.” He mutters, almost without sound.

He can’t help his smile as he watches you drift to sleep. He’s studied every feature on your face at least a hundred times and he’s yet to find a single flaw. The fact that you’re okay with being this vulnerable with him is a privilege that he’ll thank any and every deity he doesn’t even believe in for. Faint snoring indicates that you’re now dead to the world, but he can’t let your previous question go unanswered.

“Whichever one allows me to be yours forever.”

Waking up to the warmth of your body pressed against his is by no means a recent development in your relationship with Spencer. Your back is to his chest and his arm is draped across your stomach, trapping you against him. Not that you mind. You’ve been lying still as you are for almost a while now, your thumb caressing the side of his wrist. With a yawn nuzzled into your neck, Spencer attempts to pull you closer to him, closing distance that was never there to begin with.

He can feel the rise and drop of your chest; you can feel the beating of his heart behind yours. Neither of you is fully awake yet, opting to enjoy the silence and comfort of the other's presence. Your bodies are so closely tangled that your skin is almost melding with each other.

Almost.

The unexpected brushing of his hardness against your ass sends a jolt of electricity passing through you, waking you up in an instant. If it were anybody else, perhaps you would’ve felt ashamed of how that passing moment made your insides jump. You definitely wouldn’t have arched your barely clothed cunt towards the obstruction. A sharp exhale fans across the back of your neck, and you can practically feel the corners of his lips pull into a lazy smirk.

“Well, good morning.” A groggy voice leans into your ear and the grip on your belly tightens.

“Morning.” You breathe out, barely audible.

You feel yourself clench around nothing when a hot, sticky kiss lands just behind your ear. Your arch intensifies when another one lands below your jaw and you unintentionally grind against him. It earns you a low grunt from him, which only prompts you to repeat the motion without thinking. His head drops in the nook of your shoulder, taken slightly off guard. He meets you halfway the third time, and it sets both your hips in a slow motion of rubbing against each other.

He can hear you hum each time his confined erection strokes your bundle of nerves and it sparks a determination in him to get more out of you. His hand trails from your abdomen to your pelvis, stopping just at the band of your underwear. He tugs the fabric, not making any further moves until you allow him to. You know that if you don’t take control now he’s going to prolong his foreplay, something you don’t have the patience for right now. He always makes it a point to make you finish at least once before he even considers himself.

Out of the four times you came the night before, three of them were with his head between your thighs. You can’t even count the number of times you’ve teased him about how he probably gets off on pleasing you more than you do. You surprise him when you grab his hand and push it away from you, swinging yourself around to straddle him. Your hands land on either side of his head and you lower your forehead to rest against his.

“Nuh-uh!” You taunt and it makes him snort.

His palms trace your sides, arms wrapping around you, pulling your torso down to him.

“You’re not allowed to touch me this time.” You add in a hushed tone.

“No?” His brows raise in amusement.

“No.”

You barely breathe out the word when his arms drop from around you. A slight chill takes over the area.

“No!” You repeat in a whiny tone, pushing yourself to sit up.

You’re looking down on him from this angle, and God, does he look beautiful. His fluffy, sleep-tousled hair frames his face beautifully, the faint light of the rising sun only adding to the sight.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it!”

“I don’t know. You need to be clearer with what you want.” He chuckles.

“I want you to stop being a little shit.” You retort, reaching for his hands.

You attempt to settle them on your thighs, but he removes them again.

“I’m not allowed to touch you. Remember?” He emphasises the word allowed on purpose.

Both of you know that he’s the only one allowed to touch you and vice versa. Even if it wasn't something you both agreed upon, you’d never let anybody else touch you like him. If they even knew how to.

“You can touch me.” You roll your eyes, pulling his hands back to your skin. “But you can’t fuck me with anything other than your dick.”

Your curt tone doesn’t surprise him. He’s used to your boldness. Using your hips, he pulls you down onto his bulge completely. You don’t anticipate the sudden friction and it takes everything in you to not topple over on him. Spencer wasn’t prepared for the impact of his actions either, his head lolling back as he hisses sharply.

“Yeah?” He questions through half gritted teeth.

He’s painfully hard and the current view isn’t helping. He can clearly make out the shape of your curves under your flimsy t-shirt. How it drapes on the apex of your breasts, how the hem pools just above your thighs. His grip tightens against the plush of your skin.

“Mhm.” You breathe out, eyes fluttering as you keep your core pressed to him.

“Words, sweet girl. Use your words.” His breathing is laboured and it’s taking all of his willpower to not rut his dick back up against you.

The praise breaks you. You can no longer hold yourself up, falling into his chest.

“Please fuck me.” You can only whisper in his ear, sending chills down his spine.

He groans, grabbing you by the waist and flipping both of you around so you’re the one lying on the bed. It seems that he’s become just as impatient as you, if not more. He captures your lips in a deep, demanding kiss as he tugs his boxers just enough for his length to spring free. His tongue swipes your lips, seeking entrance and you grant it to him. He finds your kisses addicting. It takes an incredible amount of willpower to break them, but he does, sitting up on his knees.

He parts your legs, placing one on either side of him and yanking you closer to him. You squeak in response, not processing the action until your cores are once again pressed together. You sigh when he pushes your panties to the side and runs a finger up your slit. A satisfied hum escapes him when he learns just how aroused you are. You sigh when runs his tip against you next, lining himself up with your cunt and pushing just the tip inside. Each of his hands intertwine with yours as he moves them above your head. He then leans in and plants a feather-light kiss on your cheek.

“Like this?” He whispers in your ear.

He pushes in a little more and pulls out just enough for him to stay lined.

“More!” You whine, breathlessly, brows furrowing from anticipation.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t properly acknowledge your desperation and instead latches onto the skin under your jaw, sucking gently.

You sigh at the sensation, arching more as his shaft pushes in again. This time, he doesn’t stop until he’s completely bottomed out. You moan and squeeze his hands, still intertwined with yours above your head. You never expect how full he makes you feel. Spencer squeezes your hands in return, still reeling in from how well your cunt accommodates him. He takes a minute, resting himself inside you to allow time for both of you to adjust to the feeling.

He releases your skin with a small pop and moves a new spot on your neck. You think about how you’re going to have to use concealer to hide the marks he’s surely leaving behind and it makes you clench around him. The effect on him is instantaneous, a harsh groan vibrating against your throat and he sucks harder. The sound only makes your walls tighten more and it cues him to start thrusting.

The initial pace is slow, but calculated; the kind that makes your joints loosen and jaw slack. He takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another long and consuming kiss. A loud moan ripples out from both of you and your hands deepen their hold on each other. Spencer’s not shy about letting you hear how good you make him feel and that drives you insane.

Your hands instinctively try to reach for his hair, but he’s pinned you down tight. You whine into his mouth, pressing your fingers between his knuckles. Your whine fizzles out into a series of smaller whines when his hips speed up, hitting that sweet spot with every thrust.

“Mm–Spence–mmph–”

You try to break the kiss to speak, but he simply drops a quick kiss on your jaw before reclaiming his place against your lips. He’s too lost in the taste of you to pay full attention. It takes you a moment to find the willingness to try again, but you do. You arch your hips too high for him to be able to follow from this position, forcing him to slip out from you and try to remove your hands from his grip. His focus is brought back to you and he lifts himself back on his knees, releasing you.

“What’s wrong? Have I hurt you?”

“M-mm” You shake your head and push yourself up on your hands.

You then shift into his lap, draping your arms around his shoulders. He gives you a curious look, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I want to be able to hold you.” You admit with a slight shyness in your tone.

A light smile spreads across his face, brows arching in surprise. Being a genius and all, he’s always known he was needed in some way or another. You’re the first person who’s ever made him feel wanted, truly wanted. With no motive other than simply existing with him. It sparks a new desire, one you see light up behind his eyes. He leans into your lips, his hold on your waist tightening and he moves one arm to cradle the back of your head.

You pull yourself flush against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your tongues dance together once more. He lifts you up and places you back down against the mattress, mouth never leaving yours. You feel his palm raise one of your legs by the back of your knee and he’s entering you again. He rests that leg on his shoulder, while the other hangs by his waist and begins to build an unrelenting pace.

You wail into his mouth at the intensity of his thrusts, eyes rolling behind closed eyes. It’s almost brutal, the way he’s slamming into you. Your hands desperately cling onto his bicep and shoulder, nails digging into the skin. His grunts and groans increase each time he gets deeper, if that’s even physically possible and it only makes you desperate for more. Your kiss breaks with a slight sting against Spencer’s lip. You didn’t realise how hard you were biting it in an attempt to stay grounded.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere that you can’t explain. Even though Spencer was railing you so hard that even the bed had begun to cry out, there was an overwhelming sense of longing between you two. An ache to express how you belong to the other, hidden behind an uncouth sight. It’s compensation for those lack of words, a physical exchange expressing your biggest secret. He’s everywhere; your current position has you feeling Spencer in places you didn’t deem possible.

His mouth works over whatever exposed skin it can access along your jaw and throat, leaving goosebumps and bruising stains in its wake. His cock is driving into you so fast that you swear it’s going to imprint on your walls. There’s a fire in you, one that only he can put out. Every inch of him can be felt within every inch of you. Now you’re truly melded with each other.

“Fuck–oh my God!” You scream out, your nails digging harder into his flesh.

He’s consuming all of your senses, at this moment you don’t know anything other than him. Eyes open or closed, all you can see is his sculpted face. You’re drowning in his scent. Melting at his touch. The taste of his kiss still lingers on your tongue. Your ears are flooded with the slaps of his skin meeting yours and your mixed moans and grunts.

“Spen–fuck–gon–fu–cum!”

He hasn’t even spared your ability to speak. With a short kiss, he brings his forehead back to rest on yours in a firm manner.

“Me too, pretty girl.” He pants his sentence in broken pauses. “Me too.”

He secures the leg on his shoulder from the back of your thigh and then brings the other leg on his other shoulder. It gives him room to drive himself deeper and makes you lose all control, every joint in your body threatening to fall limp. Your face contorts and you bite your lip, trying to control the flurry of screams. It results in high-pitched whines forcing their way out.

“Spencer! I can’t–I can’t–I can’t”

You can’t hold on any longer.

“I know. I know.” There’s barely any voice accompanying his words. “We’ll do it together, okay? Where do you want me?”

“Inside–inside–ins-shitshitshit…”

“Inside? Inside.” He struggles to keep himself together while talking you through it. “Ready?”

You nod fervently and he steals one long, final kiss from you as he finally empties himself in your spent cunt. Your own orgasm crashes through in a long passing wave. You feel like you’re floating in the ocean with millions of stars as your only view for miles. He follows up with a few final thrusts, burying himself as far in you as possible.

When you finally come to, Spencer’s pulled out and is lying right next to you. Peppering kisses over your face in intervals and muttering praises as strokes away hair glued to your face.

“Did so well.”

“So good to me.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

For some reason, the water always feels nicer running down your body when you use Spencer’s shower. He’s a simple man; he doesn’t really have a lot of products to use besides the basic shampoo, conditioner, soap, and body wash. The exfoliators, masks and such were your initial additions that he keeps topping up after they run out.

You haven’t said much since coming out of your euphoric state, only showing your gratitude and appreciation through small touches. Brushing a hand against his cheek, leaving a peck on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him in a hug. He doesn’t mind your silence. It doesn’t deter him from showering you with praise while he looks after you. You’re so disorientated that you’re letting yourself be guided from one instruction to the next.

“Lift your leg for me, sweet girl. Hand on my shoulder.”

He helps you act out his command, grabbing your wrist and draping it on his shoulder while helping you lift your leg. His touch is tender, but he’s careful to cover every area with body wash.

“Good girl.”

You don’t physically react, but his approval makes you swell with pride. Sex is the least intimate part of your time with Spencer. What you really enjoy is how safe he makes you feel. You know that even if you show him your worst and ugliest moments, he won’t reject you. You trust him with parts of you that you barely trust yourself with.

Anybody who’s touched your naked body before him doesn’t matter, because not one of them has gotten to touch it past the realm of physical pleasure. To you, the act of washing one’s body is so private, so sacred that it can’t be trusted with just anybody. How many are able to look past the lens of sexual release and view your skin and bones as something to cherish? Not even you can claim to view yourself in such a precious way.

But Spencer does.

Even as pats you dry and wraps you safely in a warm towel, he doesn’t demean your worth. They’d be thoughts he could easily keep hidden in the comfort of his own mind, but the thoughts simply don’t occur. You don’t realise how long the two of you are standing there, leaning into each other's arms against the counter. Nor do you realise how long it’s taken you to mentally return to him. The first thing you do notice is so trivial, it’s almost laughable.

“You’re out of apple juice, by the way.”

Even you’d laugh if you heard yourself bring up something so random.

“Do you want apple juice? We can go buy some more.” He replies in a quiet mumble.

In his presence, you can think such thoughts without the concern of being laughed at.

“No, I’m not gonna make you go to the grocery store just for apple juice.” You shake your head, expression oozing sarcasm.

“I need to buy a lot more than apple juice. I’m pretty sure I don’t even have enough to make eggs or coffee.” He snorts, running his fingers through your hair.

“Right. I forgot, Mister F.B.I.” You snort back, playfully poking his arm. “How was your time in Alaska?”

It’s really common for your brain to malfunction around Spencer. You don’t feel the need to think or stay on alert if he’s with you.

“Grim. Bleak.” He keeps it short on purpose.

He doesn’t want to taint what little time he has with you focused on the gory parts of his job. Or any parts of his job at all. He spends too much of his time there as it is, so he’d much prefer to keep that part of his life separate from you. Spencer didn’t understand what it truly meant to live until after you came into his life. He’d never admit it out loud, but being around you made him realise how much of his soul his job steals from him, piece by piece. You make it whole again.

“How bad was it?” Curiosity still gets the better of you at times.

“Awful. You weren’t there when I woke up every morning.” He steers the conversation again.

“Uh-huh.” You smirk, looking up at him. “You say that to all your girl-friends the morning after?”

He takes a small step back, creating space as he cups your face.

“Even if I had the social skills required, when do you honestly think I would have the time between being at work and being with you?”

“When you’re at work. Duh.” You tap his temple, playfully, voice dripping with sarcasm.

He scoffs, unamused. It’s something Spencer can’t honestly even imagine. You’re his solace, his best friend…his person.

“Get dressed.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “We’ll stop by that bakery you love and get some food in your system. Hopefully before your suggestions start becoming more and more insane.”

You don’t appreciate the awestruck look on his face when you’re certain you’ve got chocolate lining the corners of your mouth. You attempt to glare at him, but it doesn’t last and you find yourself fighting back a smile.

“Cut it out!” You groan, stringing out the end of your sentence.

The trolley comes to a halt as you stop to grab your phone, but he snatches it out of your hand before you can open the camera.

“Hey–”

“I’m revoking your phone privileges until your urge to keep checking your reflection fizzles out.” He states casually, slipping the phone into his pocket as he reaches for a loaf of bread on the top shelf.

“Revoking my– what are you my fucking mother?” You reach for his pocket, but he grabs your wrist before you can retrieve your phone.

You try to use your free arm, but he traps that one in his hands too.

“I don’t wanna walk around with chocolate around my mouth!” You whisper-shout, mindful of other shoppers passing by.

“For the fifth time, you don’t have chocolate anywhere on your face. It wasn’t there after you finished your shake and it won’t be there no matter how many times you check.”

You ignore him, trying to free yourself from his grip.

“You don’t believe me?” The look on his face is more entertained than shocked.

“Spencer, my fluffy-headed, genius bookworm, I would put my life in your hands if you asked me to but after that time you let me walk around with my lipstick smudged–”

“That happened one time!” He gripes, less concerned about his volume.

“I looked like I came straight off the clock from a circus!”

“It wasn’t that bad!”

“Six hours, you let me walk around like that!”

If he were to be completely honest, he was completely enraptured by your long tangent about why you despise dolphins. Most of it wasn’t based on facts and the parts that were, weren’t really a feasible argument since morals are a uniquely human concept. However, that was the day he uncovered how brightly you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about. He spent the rest of that time, subtly digging, trying to figure out the topics that made you glow so he could keep bringing them up.

“There’s nothing there. Your face is– looks perfect.” He fumbles on his words.

“I can feel it!” You protest.

“That happens because–”

“Reid?” An unfamiliar voice calls out from behind you.

Spencer lets go of your wrists as you turn to face the owner of the voice. Two blondes, one behind the other. One of them is a lot more colourful and bold, with large statement jewelry and a pair of gorgeous platform heels that match her dress. The other is less vibrant, but with no less confidence and blue eyes that stand out like diamonds shining under lights.

“Hey! What are you guys doing here?”

You’re not a profiler, but you don’t miss the immediate shift in Spencer’s demeanour. He seems a lot more reserved and shy, as compared to the confidant and playful version of him that you know.

“We’re picking up some things for my birthday bash this weekend.” The brown-eyed blonde chirps. “The one that I will definitely see you at, no excuses allowed!”

“Right.” He gives an awkward, tight-lipped smile.

Spencer loves his coworkers, he really does. They’re basically his family. However, he wants nothing more for them to go away right now. Not for any reason other than wanting to keep you away from them, because he knows them. For all their amazing qualities, there’s one that annoys him the most and that’s how nosey they can be. Especially when it comes to him.

“Hi. I’m JJ.” The blue-eyed blonde takes the initiative to introduce herself, reaching out her hand for a friendly shake.

He knows it’s from a place of love. He’s the youngest member of the team, they all want to protect him, but he detests how they coddle him. He can already sense the incoming invitation from Garcia to her birthday. He knows that it won’t take long for you to befriend everyone on his team, because, well, they’re all amazing people. Integrating you with that part of his life is something he’s just not ready for. Not like this.

“I’m Penelope and oh my goodness, you are just gorgeous!”

He enjoys how when he’s with you, he can exist in a separate bubble. Where all he is, is not the resident genius of the BAU. More than that, he knows of the dangers that come with integrating the two separate lives. He’s seen the losses that occur, whether they be by generic circumstances or unplanned deaths. And there’s nothing he can do to stop his worlds colliding, a fact he has to grasp as soon as he zones back in to find three sets of eyes staring at him, expectantly.

“Right.” He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “These are my– um– this is Penelope Garcia and Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We work together.”

The introduction is hesitant and rushed at best, but you chalk it up to him being taken off guard. You want to gauge his mood, try and figure out where his head’s at, but that’s going to have to wait.

“Oh my God! I knew it!” Garcia gasps dramatically, taking your hand in hers. “You’re the reason he’s always in a rush to leave now! It is so nice to meet you!”

Garcia’s not wrong. You are the reason he’s always in a rush to get away. You’re his escape from the harsh realities he faces every day. You’re unsure of how to respond. In fact, you’re not even certain as to what’s going on. Nobody else seems to match Penelope's enthusiasm. Spencer looks mortified, while JJ looks like she wants to drag Penelope away. Still, everybody’s too frozen to stop her.

“Did you know that you have him checking his phone more than a lovestruck teenage girl? Him! One of the biggest technophobes I’ve ever met!”

This is also a fact. Spencer’s not an idiot. He’s not oblivious to the open-mouthed stares he gets every time he’s caught smiling like a dopey idiot after looking at the screen. He’s just never cared. It’s almost impossible to ignore any notification from you. He doesn’t feel great about that coming to bite him in the ass right about now.

Given different circumstances that were more in his control, Spencer would be elated to introduce the most important people in his life to each other. This whole interaction is actually shorter than he feels it is, but for Spencer, time moves too slowly. He can sense how the safety of your company as he knows it, the most valuable aspect of his life, is under threat of being ripped away from him with every second that passes. Without you, Spencer would once again find himself lost.

“Spencer, you have to bring her to my bash this weekend! Everybody would love to meet your girlfriend!” Garcia wiggles her eyebrows, eyes smirking beneath her glasses.

Because all he is, is yours.

“Oh! Uhm–” You begin.

“No Garcia, she’s–this is…my friend..” He adds at the same time, unable to hide his stutter.

At least, that’s all he wants to be.

“Right…we’re just…friends.” You confirm with a half-hearted smile at the reminder of your reality.

It was better this way. The two of you agreed on this at the start of your arrangement.

Spoilers: Mostly just fluff, a sprinkle of angst, smut, lots of mutual pining, friends with benefits.

AN - I felt a surge of evil take over my bones when I wrote this and any events that unfolded were out of my control. This is not my finest work, but once I thought of it I had to share it. Also I know I said not to bother me about fics bc uni and I still mean that, I just don’t know what happened. It’s like I got a bit of inspo and couldn’t help myself. Huge thanks to @mrs-dr-reid for beta reading! FWB Writing Challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins Prompt - "I wanna be yours" by Arctic Monkeys

No bc writing that opening scene on the bed might be my favourite and u should tell me if u agree bc I wanna write more like that, but if u hate it then I won't.

Thanks for reading.

2K notes · View notes

sweetiechenle · 5 days ago

Text

reading between the lines ✦ jeno

pairing: collegestudent!literatureprodigy!jeno x afab!collegestudent!scienceandmathgenius!reader

summary: jeno was the biggest problem you've ever had to solve, but for him you weren't quite an open book either.

w.c: 9.4k

warnings: mdni 18+, MATH, i did so much research i feel like i need to cite my sources, thank you quizlet, angst, hurt and comfort, frenemies to lovers, fluff, jeno and y/n argue a lot and yell at each other, teasing, misunderstandings, YEARNING, kissing, make-ups and confessions, plot WITH porn, love making very intimate, hard with feelings and refuse to listen to each other, unprotected sex (i better not catch y'all doing this), praising, crying, begging, groveling, pet names (baby), oral (f receiving), creampie (YUM), softdomtop!jeno (just as god intended), crack/humor, scientific talk because smart (i never took bio in college), if i forgot anything pls lmk. reblogs and feedback appreciated ♡ fiction ≠ reality. HAPPY BIRTHDAY JENO!!!

‘WHAT’ you gasped, not noticing you had barked it out until everyone turned around and glared at you.

‘i’m sorry?...’ your professor had stopped everyone to bring attention back, she gave you a quizzical look, ‘is there a problem?’

you shook your head, still surprised by your sudden outburst, ‘n-no, i apologize’ you hung your head in shame, red blooming on your cheeks from embarrassment. you had been dreading today, your world literature 1 professor had told you all a week ago that you would be paired up with a partner for your first project. your major in biology and minor in actuarial mathematics required some literature classes to help with ‘scientific writing and understanding’ as your advisor put it. so you figured world literature 1 was the easiest choice, it turned out to actually be hell on earth. your weakest subject was english and literature, you were never a reader growing up unless it was about different sciences, but you always opted for documentaries and videos than reading. growing up, you’d always dread english class, anxiously waiting for whatever science and math class you could have next.

when you tell people that your favorite subject is math and then science they would laugh and usually end it with an ‘i wish’, that was your english and history, you wish you could understand it better, but it always seemed impossible. what you were least expecting was getting paired with the best literature student you knew, jeno. he annoyed you at times, acting like a pretentious asshole going around and quoting shakespeare and some other century-dead author. when you went and quoted pythagroas near him it was now apparently a problem, you two bickered back and forth in class during group introductions about greek philosophers for almost an hour, debating if aristotle was more of a math genius or a linguistics expert.

after the heated discussion, jeno told you ‘i love a good debate, you have some crazy opinions though’ he ended up giving you his phone number. it was only the first week of classes, your first ‘friend’(?), you texted him that night, but no response came. the next week you were struggling with questions your professor had given you all to go with a reading.

you texted jeno:

‘hey is this correct? *PICTURE ATTACHED*

his response chimed on your phone five minutes later:

‘no’

and that was the only response you got, no help, no explanation, you didn’t even know what was wrong with your answer to begin with. fuck this, you ended up calling him, to your surprise he answered with a ‘what?’

you didn’t mean to blow up on him, but it just came out, ‘why can’t you be nice to me for one second and help me with this student homework?’

he sighed, making your ear vibrate with the sound, ‘take back what you said and i’ll help you’

you grumbled but obliged, ‘this homework and reading is not stupid, now please help me’

you guys ended up talking on the phone for almost two hours, discussing different themes from the reading, mostly arguing about who was right, but in the end jeno helped you get answers that were good enough. he talked you through the questions and the actual themes of the reading, the elements, and showed you how to better analysis pieces of literature. you were eternally grateful but absolutely mortified at the same time.

after that phone call, you were psyched, finally finding someone that could help you pass. you were always the person in math classes that everyone went to, you didn’t have to be that person for others anymore. although you remember all the emotional baggage and difficulty when trying to help others study and understand formulas, you wouldn’t ask much of jeno, only when you really needed it.

two weeks ago you found him in the library, doing homework with books scattered around him. the first thing you noticed were glasses that he had never worn before, big frames making his eyes look much bigger in such a cute way. you figured if you asked he wouldn’t mind if you joined him, and you figured that if you asked in an even nicer way, he could help you with the literature homework.

‘hey jeno!’ you greeted him, walking up to his table, he looked up, pink lips still in a straight line, ‘would you mind if i joined you?’

‘i guess not’ he shrugged and moved some of his books out of the way for you, now sitting across from him you smiled slightly and got out your own homework. abstract algebra was your favorite class so far this semester, you never thought getting homework would make you so giddy. you couldn’t believe some people found it excruciating, while it was just a ‘fun activity’ for you. you and jeno continue work in silence, you would steal glances every once in a while, his eyes scanning over the paper as he scribbled down notes and highlight sentences. eyebrows knitting together and whispering out words in order to analyze everything perfectly. you thought it was cute, his lips would curl up into a smile after every question got answered. sitting in front of him, you could see the perfect slope of his nose, his broad shoulders slouched as he leaned into the desk, his large hand brushing his black hair back sporadically. the golden ratio had nothing on him.

not long after the trance jeno left you in, you finished your math homework and now it was time for your enemy: literature. you looked up and glanced at jeno who was writing notes down, ‘hey’ he lifted his head, ‘do you think you could help me with this?’ you motioned down to the paper in front of you, he followed and noticed your blank page compared to his one that was filled.

‘did you even try?’ he questioned, ‘it looks like you haven’t even started’

‘well’ you started with a sheepish smile, ‘i did do the reading, but i could barely understand any of it’

he sighed, his hands reaching under his glasses so he could rub his eyes, ‘okay, and what part did you not understand?’

you grabbed your packet of papers and flipped until you found the sentence, reading out loud, ‘his sense of her inferiority—of its being a degradation—of the family obstacles which judgment had always opposed to inclination, were dwelt on with a warmth which seemed due to the consequence he was wounding, but was very unlikely to recommend his suit’, you looked up at him, offering the best pleading eyes you could muster.

he slightly rolled his eyes, ‘so, basically darcy should put away his pride of being in a higher ranking than elizabeth, but he cares more about her status than love. even while he is proposing, he still looks down on elizabeth and wants her to feel grateful that he is even considering her as a wife’

‘oh, i never thought of it that way’ you mumbled, looking down at your paper again.

‘don’t they teach you stuff like this in high school? god, i fear for your grade when we actually have to read and analyze a whole book and not just passages for exercises’

the sentence was a stab to the heart, taken aback you said nothing as shame burned through your body. growing up you’d have teachers, friends, and your parents comment on your lack of understanding for english and literature, but you’ve never heard a remark like this. it cut deep, you opened and closed your mouth, unable to give an actual response, incapable of making any snide comeback, you gathered your things, got up and walked away from him. before he started to see the tears that made its way down your face.

you avoided jeno as much as you could, you sat nowhere near him in your shared class, never looked in his direction in the courtyard and started taking different routes to other classes. it was working out great for the most part, that was until he had transferred into your biology ‘unity of life’ class three weeks into the semester, at the very last minute of course. rumors were going around that a lot of students had transferred out of his previous one due to it ‘being too hard’ and that the professor ‘was a nightmare’ and he needed a natural science requirement for his major, secondary education if you could remember correctly.

seeing him walk through the door of one of your favorite classes was a different type of personal hell, and you were having a great day so far. you softly groaned, trying to resist the urge to roll your eyes in annoyance. your desk partner seemed to catch on, jaemin turned to you, ‘whats wrong? forgot to do last nights homework?’

you turned towards him, ‘never, i was so excited for this assignment, i finished all the questions as soon as i got home… it’s just… that guy, the one who just walked in’ you glanced back to his lab table, jaemin followed with his eyes, ‘i’m in his literature class and he’s nothing but an egomaniac, basically called me dumb for not understand some passage from a book’

the blond haired boy frowned, ‘he might know some books, but wait until he gets a taste of a real challenge, he transferred too late into the semester, he’s fucked’. your lips twitched up into a smile. you met jaemin the first day of class, introducing himself as a veterinarian science major with a minor in biology. you two became quick friends after you got him coffee one morning, you ended up with two cups after the cafe got your first order wrong. he was nothing but thankful, long discussions in class that lead to topics that never related to science. you got to know him pretty well, often texting and meeting up for study groups with other students from class, you both always paired up in class whenever prompted.

‘that’s fair, would be satisfying to watch him struggle’ you whispered.

he giggled, ‘god you sound like such a sadist’

the professor pulled up his notes as he prepared for the beginning of class, ‘takes one to know one’

you opened your notebook to the current lesson: the cytoskeleton. the professor went through the slideshow while you happily took notes on cells and its structure and stabilities within the cytoplasm. once the professor was done with the lecture, he started asking students questions, seeing if they were paying attention.

‘okay, now what is a delicate coil held together by hydrogen bonding between every fourth amino acid?’ he looks over his roster of students, ‘jeno! why don’t you answer this for us’

on cue, everyone turned to watch him, his head shot up from his notebook in surprise. he obviously looked unprepared, hands nervously pushing his bangs back. ‘oh… um, i don’t know i’m sorry professor, i transferred late into this class and still need to catch up’ his hair looked wild as the tips of his ears shone a bright red.

the poor professor sighed, ‘does anyone want to help jeno out?’

you immediately shot up your hand, ‘y/n?’

you smiled dramaticly, before another breathe you answered, ‘alpha helix’

‘yes, thats correct! great job y/n… now you all need to pay attention, this will be on our first exam coming up in two weeks’ he went on about amino acids and different elements. jaemin leaned into you, ‘nice’ he whispered, a smile on his face. yeah, that would show jeno what you could do.

you peeked back at jeno who whispered ‘two weeks!?’ to himself looking distressed, you felt a pang in your heart. perhaps it wasn’t fair, stuff like this was never taught in secondary school science classes, obviously he was going to struggle. you weren’t going to seek him out and offer help though, he knew science and arithmetic were your strong suits, it was his turn to come running, beg for forgiveness and ask for help.

speak of the asshole, and it shall fart, jeno texted you later that night.

‘hey…’ you scoffed, the audacity of this guy, you resisted the urge to text him back a ‘you should know this already right?’

you texted back a simple ‘what?’

he immediately answered, ‘do you think you could help me with this bio homework and maybe study together for the exam ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡’. shameless.

giving him the benefit of the doubt, you relented. maybe it was an off day for him, ‘i guess, meet me in the library tomorrow, and we’ll start’ he hearted the message and that was the end of the conversation.

you woke up early the next day, grabbing every notebook you had kept over the years that could help jeno. you texted him right after noon, ‘this is an all day affair, meet me in an hour and bring me a caramel macchiato. don’t be late, pride & prejudice wasn’t written in a day’ he liked the message as a response. you left your dorm and headed to the library, setting up a space for a long study session. jeno comes right on time, with two coffees in his hand.

he places the bigger cup down in front of you, ‘large caramel macchiato, with extra caramel, extra vanilla, and extra drizzle’

you look up at him and give him a modest smile, grabbing the drink and taking a sip from the straw and swirling the ice around the cup, ‘thank you, lets get started’ he nodded and pulled out the chair next to you and sat down.

you got out all your notebooks, his eyes widened making you giggle, ‘jesus christ dude, how many notebooks do you have for this class?’

‘well, not all of them are from this class, i brought some from previous classes that i think could help you’ you handed over a stack of notes, which he begrudgingly took. ‘okay, now lets get started…’

you two had spent hours discussing carbohydrates, cellulose, and enzymes. sometimes arguing back and forth about answers, ‘okay so, a system of membranes that modifies and packages proteins for export by the cell?’ you asked jeno as he flipped through his notes.

‘um… integrins?’ he answered, totally unsure of himself in the process.

you smiled, ‘not quite, its the golgi apparatus, integrins are cell-surface receptor proteins… crazy how you don’t remember this from basic biology classes…’ you mumbled the last part.

but of course he still caught it, ‘what was that?’

you shrugged your shoulders, ‘i mean we learn about cells and stuff in secondary school… everyone knows that the golgi apparatus is the packaging and distribution center of the cells, i mean everyone talks about how the mitochondria is the power house of the cell, is that the only thing you remember from biology?’

his eyebrows shot up in surprise, ‘oh? so that's what this is about?’ he smirked, ‘you’re still upset about what i said last week aren’t you?’

your gaze diverted from his line of sight, thankful you wore your hair down this morning so he wouldn’t see the pink burning on the tips of your ears. ‘no… i’m just saying’

‘...saying almost the same exact thing i said?’ jeno smiled, and his eyes turned into crescent moons, happy that he caught you in the act, ‘understandable… well, uh, if you help me, i’ll help you’

you crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes at him, ‘not until you apologize, not everyone can be as good as you in literature’

‘okay, i’m sorry, you are a genius in math and science, now please agree’ jeno pleaded.

‘fine’ you answered.

another week passed and jeno finally felt comfortable taking the exam, on the other hand your literature professor started talking about a project for that class. jeno reassured you that he would help you in the best way he could, he helped you with literary analysis, notations, and rhetoric. you ended up getting an 85% percent on the most recent homework, excited to show jeno you made your way to the classroom.

‘so, jeno, i’ve been seeing you hanging out with that y/n person in our class’ you stopped before the entrance to the classroom, ‘they literally know nothing about literature and refuse to learn, how could you put yourself through that?’

‘oh, well, um, i don’t know, i’m just helping them with some stuff’ jeno answered. you peeked inside, he was with two other students, a girl and a boy, sitting together in a group.

‘must be pretty frustrating, i don’t know why they are even in this class, fucking moron, am i right?’ the girl responded and you could hear the others, but jeno, laugh.

you could feel your heart break as your mind begin to buzz. eyes watered, and you thought back to your discussion with jaemin, of course you guys were poking fun at jeno too, but nothing this extreme. ‘i mean, i guess one could think that, but everything about th-’ you couldn’t listen anymore, turned your heels and stormed off. stopping at the end of the hallway to through your graded paper away in anger and humiliation. after everything you both did for each other, it made your blood boil in anger and betrayal, you had to get back home. you paced to your dorm, keeping your head down so no one would notice you and your state of mind right now. skipping one literature class wouldn’t hurt.

so it did, and now here you are, sitting in your literature class with the professor reading out the pairings for the first project. for the rest of the week and over the weekend, you had ignored jeno’s texts and calls, you decided you were finally done with his games. ‘y/n and jeno’ the professor read out to the class.

‘WHAT’ you gasped, not noticing you had barked it out until everyone turned around and glared at you.

‘i’m sorry?...’ your professor had stopped everyone to bring attention back, she gave you a quizzical look, ‘is there a problem?’

you shook your head, still surprised by your sudden outburst, ‘n-no, i apologize’ you hung your head in shame, red blooming on your cheeks from embarrassment.

your professor nodded and resumed her list of partners, after she announced to the class, ‘now sit with your partners and discuss what you all want to do for your projects for the rest of class’

you groaned, you weren’t ready to face jeno yet, you probably never would be. you never wanted to see or speak to him ever again, you shuffled to his seat, taking your time to get over to him and sit down.

‘hey’ he said, ‘you’ve been ignoring me this whole week, whats up?’

fake ass bitch, you thought, he didn’t care, ‘nothing, just not a good week i guess’

he frowned, ‘damn, well, if it makes you feel better, i got a 90% on my first bio exam!’ he beamed, ‘so at least now you know your hard work is paying off’

‘that’s great, glad you’ve been getting at least something out of this’ you deadpanned.

he gave you a quizzical look, but decided to drop the subject, ‘so, for the project i was thinking about covering the tenant of wildfell hall’

you literally didn’t care and let him pick whatever, ‘yeah that’s fine’

his eyes narrowed, giving you a weird look again, ‘okay… so, the book has themes of double standards, religion, morality, and love. i can send you passages that we can cover for our project…’. jeno went on for the next thirty minutes with only little nods and comments from you, agreeing to anything he had to suggest. all you wanted to do was leave, once the professor dismissed class that's what you did, picking up your backpack and storming off with jeno still talking.

you rushed down the hallway, ignoring the calls coming from jeno behind you. with his crazy athletic built he eventually caught up to you, grabbed your shoulder and spun you around. you gazed up at him, he stared down at you, looking for any answer he could find. ‘what is your problem? i thought you’d be happy we were paired up?’ he started interrogating you.

you sighed, almost giving up, ‘jeno, can we just meet up later and talk about it? i’m exhausted right now’

he sighed and his hands fell from your shoulders, ‘i’ll text you’ he nodded, and you turned around and left. once at your dorm you threw your backpack to the side and climbed into your bed, taking a well needed nap. a few hours later, your phone vibrating next to you pulled you out of dream land.

3 missed texts from jeno:

‘y/n, are you able to come over to my apartment soon?’

‘plz stop being so stubborn its annoying plz just talk to me’

‘here’s the address lmk when ur on the way’

you texted him back:

‘sorry i was taking a nap’

‘i can be there in a bit’

you got up and got ready, grabbed your backpack and left for jeno’s. once you got there it took you a good five minutes to have the courage to knock on his door. hesitant you tenderly knocked on the door, after a second he opened up the door and let you inside without another word. he was in shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt and smelled immaculate, you gulped, raking your eyes over his body, strong arms and long legs, a face without imperfections. your heart burned in anger and panic, angry that he was so gorgeous it pissed you off, panic because all you could think was what the fuck am i doing right now? ‘do you want to sit down? i saw you brought your backpack, we can work on some stuff if you want?’

you nodded, walked over to the couch and plopped down, grabbing your backpack you opened it and got your laptop out, pulling up the notes from your calculus 2 class. jeno joined you on the couch, sitting a little bit to close for comfort, but you said nothing. his bare leg brushed against your clothed one, sending a buzzing sensation all throughout your body, trying your best to ignore him you stayed focused on your screen.

question 1: x³ + 2x² - 6z = 4 - 2y²

without a second thought you typed in the answer:

r³cos³0 + 2r² - 6z = 4

submitting it you smiled as the green checkmark popped up, correct on the first try. ‘damn, that’s crazy’ jeno broke the silence, you glanced over at him.

‘what?’ you said turned back to your laptop.

‘i literally understood none of that and you got it on the first try!? that’s literally fucking insane’

you laughed at his outburst, ‘it’s nothing really, it was kind of easy, just plug in the following x and y polar conversion formulas into the equation where possible, then you just rewrite everything and use the formulas to convert the equation into cylindrical coordinates’

jeno howled in laughter, which was contagious enough to make you laugh, ‘that’s insane, you’re amazing’

you cocked your head to the side, intrigued by his word choice, ‘oh? am i?’

his demeanor changed, the air felt heavy as he calmed down and moved closer to you. he leaned in, and you panicked, he glanced down at your lips and back up to your eyes. his long eyelashes met his cheeks, you followed suit and closed your eyes, ignoring the way your mind is screaming at you not to do this. heart says otherwise, as you could hear it beat in your ears, whole body buzzing as his pink, soft lips brushed against yours.

jeno moved in deeper, teeth clinking together as you ravaged your mouth, he was a starved man, and you were the last meal he would ever receive. it was warm and sensual, he reached around your waist and roughly pulled your torso into his. his nose bumped into yours as he moved his head slightly for better access, laptop completely abandoned to the side your arms lifted to his biceps, squeezing hard as you let out a soft moan. you broke the kiss as you pressed against his arms, your forehead leaned on his as you both caught your breath, between pants he smiled and laughed, you did not. anxiety ran your blood cold as now all you could think of was what he had said in the classroom about you. was this all a joke?

‘jeno…’ you started, and his smile faltered, ‘i can’t do this’ you stood up and grabbed your laptop and shoved it haphazardly into your backpack, heatedly rushing out of his apartment and down the hall to the entrance. again you ignored jeno as he called after you, his footsteps echoing behind you. you pushed the heavy door open and the air hit you with the wind flying through your hair. continuing down the lamp-lighted street, the boy was still trying to catch up to you.

‘y/n please, we forgot to talk about it’ he addressed your almost non-existent figure fading into the darkness.

he was hopeless by now, but still refused to give up, he moved again, ‘y/n!’

you stopped and turned around, walking up to him his build now growing hazy as water pooled in your eyes. ‘you wanna talk about it? you WANT to talk about it? FINE, you are such a stuck-up asshole, thinking i’m so stupid because i don’t have the best grade in our lit class. laughing about it with your friends when they call me a moron! you think you’re so great you didn’t even know what the chemical symbol was for sulfur, FUCKING SULFUR JENO’ you were yelling at this point, jabbing your finger into his chest with every emphasis in your anger. ‘you think you can play me in some fucked up game you have going on in your head, keeping me around so you can feel better about yourself and use me for help so you could pass an exam, i know i’ve asked you for help before, but at the end of it, all i wanted to do was be your friend, you could’ve said no, but i couldn’t. you gave me no choice but to give in with the deal that you’d help me in return, and you know what? i needed the help, badly. and you knew that and used it in a discussion with your friends that laughed at me because of it, you know how that made me feel? like absolute shit, i wanted to be your friend but all you have ever done was use me and hurt me, and guess what? you don’t have to fear for’ fingers motioning air quotations, ‘my grade because i got a good grade on my homework thanks to you, so thank you jeno! i really appreciate the help, i hope it really boosted your ego, maybe you can go fucking write a book about it or something, i don’t know and i don’t care, but i’m done’ your face was probably beet red at this point, while angry tear's avalanche down your face, you hastily whipped your face and snot that escaped during your outburst. his face focused into view, he was so pretty, and that made you tear up all over again, he could have been different.

he looked defeated, frustrated as his fists clenched into balls and relax over and over, ‘y/n, please let me explain, i di-’ you stopped him, placing your hand in front of his face.

‘do the math jeno, the probability that i would ever hear you out is slim…’ you turned and started walking away, briefly glancing back, he was still in the same spot. ‘it’s S by the way, the symbol for sulfur, maybe now you’ll remember it when you think back on this night… not so proud after all’ your voice cracked at the last sentence as your heart wrenched and stomach mangled, tears breaking through yet again.

you left him there.

you decided not to tell jaemin about what happened, but jeno’s absence was evident. you couldn’t sleep, all that replayed in your nightmare was his soft lips brushing against yours, and you swore you could still feel his strong arms pulling you forward, into him. the feeling that gave you clawed at your heart, beating you down every single time you closed your eyes and pictured his face smiling at you, laughing at you, annoyed at you. anything he gave you, you would take, no matter how much it broke you down. you liked him, no, you like him. even after everything he’s done, you still held a soft spot for him in your fractured heart. all the phone calls that turned into facetime when he would ask for help with math, and you had to show him the steps of a problem. laughing every time you would shake trying to hold your phone steady as he jokingly squawked, ‘keep still!’ when he would read passages to you over the phone late at night, and you’d have fallen asleep to his tender voice before he could even explain the motif. it had only been 5 weeks of class, but it felt like you had known him longer, despite your differences in subjects you both eventually subsided the arguments with long discussions and debates on why one answer was right and how the other was wrong. revelations that came to light after hours of going back and forth.

you stood in the shower, blankly staring at the white ceramic wall in front of you as droplets rained down. you thought about the day you and jeno were studying in the library, renting a study room within because you figured the discussion would be heated. it ended up in a feverish battle between the differences of cell adhesion and cell migration. by the end of it you were standing up, hands pulling at your roots in irritation trying to explain it to the boy sat down in front of you with a shit-eating grin adorning his face. ‘y/n, y/n, stop, stop, please, i can’t take it anymore’ he laughed, clutching his stomach, ‘i got it, while they are tightly associated, cell adhesion provides structural support and stability to tissues, while cell migration is the directed movement of cells from one location to another’

your arms dramatically dropped to your sides, ‘YOU KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME’ pointing, you accused him.

he laughed again at your reaction, ‘i just love seeing you like that, it’s cute, you know i just love a challenge’ he exclaimed going back to his notes.

you laughed to yourself, recalling the moment of the playful banter and subtle flirting that slipped out on occasion. you giggled, howled, and snorted a little too much at the memory, which silently followed into your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach, the shower masking the uncontrollable sobs that carried through every limb, appendage, and bone.

jaemin went on and on about some story about his roommates, you paid barely any attention, eyes glued to the door as you waited to see if he would show up. the blond boy slurred his words, leaning into you now, trying to get you to look at him. you turned your body, he was giving you a pouty face with big, shining eyes, ‘i asked you a question y/nnie. were you even listening to me?’ he tugged on the sleeve of your hoodie, his strength made you feel like a rag doll.

‘i was… and the answer is yes?’ you said, unsure about whatever he was yapping about.

he beamed and clapped playfully, ‘yippie! i knew you could use a pick-me-up, i promise it’ll be fun, the party is saturday so clear your schedule, i’ll pick you up’

your shoulder shook as you lightly laughed at his theatrics, rubbing your temple in exasperation as to what you just got yourself into, ‘sounds like fun’. you barely noticed jeno walking in out of the corner of your eye. he looked worse than you did, a hoodie with a stain, sweats that looked they were able to fall apart, mis-matched socks and unkempt hair. he kept pushing his glasses up his nose and rubbing his tired eyes. your heart skipped a beat when you noticed his dark circles that almost matched yours, his being a little worse for wear. before he could catch you staring, you quickly focused your attention to the professor starting class, going through the roaster and continuing the lecture on cells.

‘can anyone tell me the variations in cell types? jeno, got an answer?’ the professor smiled at him, everyone turned to spectate and wait for him to answer, except you.

‘um, prokaryotic and eukaryotic’ he dragged, sounding uninterested despite getting the question right.

‘yes! very good jeno’ the professor praised, moving on to the next question. you started to sweat, angry that he got it right and yet you were now holding on your high c- in literature class. how come he could now catch onto science but yet, you were still unable to grapple with the concepts of a victorian classic novel? or maybe it was the fact you had skipped every class this week, refusing to work with jeno on anything, you noticed the text and calls from him were dwindling three days after the confrontation, however everyday he sent pictures of his notes and analysis on the reading and how the project was going. as pathetic as it was, you continue to lay awake in bed nearly every night rereading his text from that night:

i know you are angry and probably hate me right now and that’s understandable, but i don’t want to give up on you, on us. do you think newton gave up on the laws of motion after he failed on the first or second try? you aren’t getting the whole picture, plz give me a chance to explain, i don’t even know if you are reading this, but if you are, plz hear me out you got it all wrong about that day in the classroom, and if it felt like i was using you, i’m sorry. that was never my intention, i just like being around you, you are always quick-witted and i was just trying to taunt you so you’d pay attention to me because i really like you, ig that backfired badly lol. anyway, i hope this will change your mind, and you’ll reach out, i’ll give you time.

followed by a very unserious message that you couldn’t help but smile at:

oh, i almost forgot, don’t worry about the project, but you could come to class, i’m starting to fear for your grade again (,,>﹏<,,) (only kidding!)

another biology class and 2 skipped lit classes pass and the weekend was finally brought upon the world. you held the pleasure of assisting jaemin to a party hosted by someone he knew from one of his health classes. it took forever for you to pick out a cute outfit, but opted for a sleeveless shirt and basic jean shorts and a pair of white sneakers you found buried in the back of your small closet. you carefully did your makeup, usually not taking it too far, but this was special, and you needed to feel like a bad bitch tonight.

jaemin showed up an hour later, deciding to walk to the house 4 blocks down, saying he wanted ‘to get turnt with you’ and that he refused to drink and drive. you agreed, walking sounded better than looking for a driver or someone having to stay sober throughout the night. you exited your building and found jaemin’s car in the lot, he climbed out to greet you and whistled, eyes eating up your form, ‘damn, you look hot’

you smiled bashfully, ‘thanks jaemin, even nerds can be hot you know?’

he turned to lock his car, ‘i mean, yes, but like, you always look cute, but this is like the freaky side of you, it’s different… it’s nice’

you cackled, ‘please never call me freaky ever again, i’m going to revoke your brain rot privileges’

he admitted defeat and dropped the conversation, you both now walked down the sidewalk in perfect silence with the sun now set, surveying the rows of houses in different stages of life in the moon glow. ‘it’s this one’ jaemin nudged you, stopping, he pointed to the house on the corner, you nodded and wrapped your arm around his, linking together so you immediately wouldn’t get lost in the sea of a potential crowd. he opened the old, green door, and you followed, as expected there was a good amount of people attending and as the night worn on you figured more would pile in.

jaemin turned to you, ‘do you wanna go find some drinks?’

‘yes, please’ you quickly nodded as he pulled you through the throng of people, trying to find the kitchen.

once you were there, the host of the party seemed to also be there, ‘jaemin! glad you could make it man’ they dabbed each other up and touched shoulders embracing in a ‘bro hug’.

‘hell yeah, no way i’d not come for the first party of the semester, i brought my friend along with me!’ he pulled you closer to him, now giving you the floor as all attention was pulled towards you, wincing as jaemin jabbed at your side, urging you to get closer to his friend.

‘hi, i’m y/n’ you said giving him a genuine smile, holding out your hand.

‘oh my, you are gorgeous, and you came with this sleaze bag’ he nodded towards jaemin who just playfully hit his friends shoulder, ‘i’m donghyuck, but everyone calls me haechan, its a pleasure to meet you’ he softly took a hold of your hand and bent down to give it a little peck, you giggled at the eccentric greeting.

jaemin tore haechan away, ‘alright, not too much now’ he joked, ‘it’s time for shots’ haechan clapped and guided you both to the kitchen island that was filled with different alcohol, he picked out a clear liquid and poured them into plastic shot cups he grabbed from a neat stack. jaemin lifted up his cup, ‘fuck pharmacology’ you snickered at his comment and raised your cup along with haechan who nodded in agreement. on cue, you threw back the cup and shuddered as the sweet nectar burned your throat. ‘hell yeah! another! at the end of the night i want to be able to forget about fucking blood urea nitrogen and blood glucose’ haechan laughed and poured another in all 3 cups. after that it was another, and then another, and after about 6 shots you tapped out and opted for a gin and coke that haechan was more than happy to make for you.

more time had passed than you thought as more people flooded the kitchen, wrecking havoc on the choices of liquor, haechan handed you your cup and jaemin motioned for you both to move to the living room. people were dancing, some were playing beer pong off in the corner, and others were chatting on various furniture. ‘want to dance a bit?’ he whispered in your ear because of the loud music that made the floor vibrate under your seat, you could feel it rattling your brain. giving him a silent nod he grabbed your hand and led you through the crowd, finding a spot and finding the rhythm of the song. you bobbed your head to the beat and moved back and forth with jaemin in front of you, you always thought he was attractive, but you saw him nothing more than a friend, you felt comfortable around him. you nursed your drink slowly, already somewhat tipsy from the shots, you didn’t want to get drunk too fast or blackout. jaemin grabbed your free hand and twirled you around, dramatically moved your joined hands with fever. you laughed along with him, indulging him in an embarrassing, yet fun dance that probably made you both look wasted to others.

his arm snaked around your waist, pulling you close much to your surprise, pleasanton’tkissmepleasedon’tkissmepleasedon’tkissme ran rampant in your mind as he leaned towards your ear ‘don’t look now, but a certain someone is staring at you from across the room, you let out a strangled breath.

‘do you know who it is?’ you whispered back.

‘jeno’ he mused and your lively spirited fell.

‘whats up? something go down with him?’ he pestered.

‘um, kinda, its a long story’ you faltered and jaemin frowned.

‘damn, that serious? his loss, he can look all he wants’ jaemin wanted to be lighthearted, make you smile again and keep jeno out of your mind. you were grateful as he pulled you into another whimsical dance, the joyful nature of his was infectious.

after a couple more songs had passed, you had downed your whole drink and let go of jaemin’s hand, ‘i’m gonna go find haechan and have him make me another drink, it was surprisingly superb’ jaemin nodded and said he would stay in the same spot for your return.

you hastily made your way to the kitchen, apologizing to others you had to push through. the small room was almost empty, haechan was nowhere in sight so you looked for a different drink. ‘having fun with jaemin?’ a voice boomed from behind you, one that you knew all too well. you slowly turned to find jeno smirking at you, leaning against the fridge adorned in a tight white shirt and ripped jeans, oh fuck this stupid earth, he just had to follow you here looking like that.

‘yes i am, actually’ you stated matter-of-factly.

his lips twitched up in amusement, ‘is that so?’ he moved in closer, eventually trapping you between him and the liquor table. jeno’s soft brown eyes met yours, searching for something inside, however, his eyes told you everything, hope, they screamed. his hand lifted towards your face, slowly brushed against the skin lighter than a feather, taking a piece of your hair and pushing it behind your ear, ‘so he wouldn’t mind this?’. his eyes fluttered closed as he bowed towards you.

before he could seal the deal, ‘jeno’ you stopped him.

he sighed, defeated, ‘just please talk to me, you said the probability was slim, but not zero, let me explain’ jeno begged, his large hands caressed your cheeks tenderly, they were soft and warm.

you could blame the alcohol as you finally let him speak his case, ‘fine, we can find somewhere private’

he smiled, eyes disappearing in relief. he grabbed your hand, leading upstairs and into an empty room, he closed the door behind him as you took a seat on the bed, ‘alright, grovel and explain’ you lifted your phone up to check the time ‘you have 10 minutes’

he gave you a smug smile, ‘that’s all i need baby, you know i love a challenge’ you rolled your eyes at his attempt to uplift the tension fogging the air. ‘that day in the classroom, you obviously didn’t stay long enough to hear what i had to say about you, at first i didn’t know how to respond being put into that position was hard, you didn’t ‘put me through anything’ though, i had nothing but fun with you, even if it was frustrating at times. we always figured it out. but when i heard what she said after i wasn’t just going to allow it, i said ‘yeah i guess one could say that’ because these people literally do not know you like i do, i finished with ‘but everything about that is completely untrue, they are willing to learn, but it's just taking longer than some of us who take a bunch of english and literature classes. if you got to actually know her you’d see how bright they actually are. a literal math genius and a real mastermind of science, could answer any question from the top of their head, it’s insane. so while we are strong in this subject, they are just stronger in other fields’ he explained, watching you intently. you wiggled under his gaze, making you feel same, but itched for him to go on, ‘i then told her that she should not speak on things she knows nothing about and left because i will not associate myself with someone who talks like that about people i care about’ he emphasized the last words carefully, grabbing hold of your hand and lifting you from the bed, ‘y/n, i’m so sorry, it was never my intention to hurt you, ever. i care about you so deeply, you show up in every romance novel i read, every poem i skim, the stories i write… it’s all you’ jeno gazed down at you, his eyes now searching for an answer, hope, and panic could only be found in his as you studied his features in the warm glow of the moon peaking through the window.

‘you really said that? you defended me?’ you questioned him quietly.

‘yes y/n, i would never let anyone hurt you, even if you aren’t in the room, because in that case, they hurt me too’

you hummed, the haze of your brain clouded any judgment you held, he was something different, the greatest math problem that needed to be solved. ‘thank you jeno, i guess it’s now my turn to apologize’

he chuckled at you, ‘no need baby’ you laughed softly, ‘now, can we pick up where we left off? you know, someone once told me that pride and prejudice wasn’t written in a day’ he wagged his eyebrows at you, moving you into an embrace as he kissed the top of your head. you held on tightly, holding him as you buried your face into his chest swallowing his scent so you could save it for later.

the hug ended, but he still held you close in his arms, ‘i guess i could pick up another chapter or two’ he laughed at your poor pun and drooped down, so his lips could meet yours. it was messier than the first kissed you shared with him, wet and heated as you could taste the soju on his tongue. he moved at a faster pace, devouring you like an animal, jeno walked you towards the bed, you gave in falling down with him, with him climbing on top of you, never breaking away. teeth on teeth echoed throughout the room as you moaned, his hands exploring every part of your body, making your core burn more and more.

jeno dipped down to attack your neck in kisses and sucking at the exposed skin, hands finding a way to his hair and tugging slightly at the intimate feeling of him being closer than ever. ‘please, tell me you’re mine, please want me’ he breathed out, the air softly hitting your ear, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. he was desperate, kissing you anywhere he could and waited for you to answer.

‘y-yes jeno, i’m yours’ you choked out, ‘i want you in every way’ satisfied with your response he growled and his mouth met yours once more, ‘p-please touch me’ you begged frantically, needing anything to ease the sensation that pooled in the pits of your stomach.

jeno hummed, fingers brushing up and down your exposed stomach, ‘where baby? use your words, remember what i taught you?’ it was your turn to make demands now, wasting no time you grabbed his hand and brought it down between your legs, he cupped your vagina. you groaned, you needed more. jeno grabbed the waistband of your shorts and pulled them down and threw them behind him, the cool air hit your core making you rub your thighs together in order to find little warmth.

he carefully pulled your underwear down, wanting to savor the moment of finally seeing you bare, he gulped, ‘god, you have such a pretty pussy’ he took his hand and rubbed the sensitive skin, ‘so wet. just for me, right? all for me baby’ you cried out at his words. he inserted a finger into your weeping hole, making you gasp out in surprise at the feeling of just one finger filling you up dangerously. as he pushed back and forth your legs trembled, he added another finger and brought his head down to your core, ‘i bet you taste amazing’ was all he said before he dove in deep, his tongue against your clit as he drank up your juices and sucked on the flesh.

‘f-fuck’ you mewled, grabbed a hold of his soft, black hair in order to keep you grounded, with every thrust he made as he fucked with his mouth you tugged on his hair, pulling when you would feel the band about to snap, jeno groaned, loving the way you’d use him for stability.

he stopped and removed his face, you whined from the loss of contact as his fingers also found their way outside of you, he smiled ‘don’t worry, my pretty baby, i’ll take care of you’. he threw off his shirt nearly getting drunker with the way you were taking him in, he loved being adored by you, in such a calculated way that made sense in every story. you followed suit and removed your top and bra, baring naked in front of him and laid back on the bed as he admired you from afar, ‘you’re so beautiful’ he breathed, discarding his pants and underwear he crawled back on top of you, whispering sweet nothing's as he peppered your collarbone and breasts with kisses.

‘are you sure you want this? it might hurt a little at first, but i promise i’ll go slow until you tell me otherwise’ he towered over you.

your glassy eyes met his in reassurance, ‘yes, jeno i want this’ you confirmed everything for him. he quickly lined up his cock with your cunt and gently pushed inside, his eyes never leaving yours. your hands grasped around his muscled biceps, digging your nails into them when the pain was strong. once he bottomed out he stopped to let you get used to his size, you shared sensual kisses and sweet touches, jeno doing everything in his power to make you feel loved and safe at that moment going forward, that’s all he ever wanted to do. for weeks, he had been beating himself up for taking the teasing comments way too far at times, poking fun at something you were obviously insecure about, but you did the same, he figured it was kind of the thing you two had. in reality, he wanted to push you to do better, making comments like that so you’d work harder and prove everyone wrong. no one could work with you better than him, so he had gone out of his way to ask the pressor to pair you up on the project, also making the forced proximity making you talk to him after you stopped answering his calls and messages. he should have gone a better way about motivating you, but now that he had your forgiveness, he could work on better strategies.

‘jeno, you can move now’ you rasped out, still holding on his arms like an anchor with a boat. he pulled out and pushed back in, taking it slow as you moaned at the feeling of him filling you up to the brim, jeno picked up the pace, setting a steady rhythm as skin clapping together filled the room, ‘oh fuck, just like that’ your chest heaving up and down.

he slammed into with vigor, bitting your bottom lip as you opened your mouth to let out a breathless moan, ‘yeah? you like that? fuck, you’re so tight, literally sucking me in, i never want to leave this pretty fucking pussy’ he husked, he licked your lips and kissed your jaw as he grunted, setting a faster pace, making you cry out in pleasure. he grabbed your legs and opened them wider, giving him better access to go deeper into your abused cunt. you cried as the flame in your belly raged with a thousand fires, ‘keep your eyes on me baby’ jeno demanded, automatically making you swallow as you moved your eyes to meet his, blown out pupils filled with lust as your vision of him became blurry as blissful tears threaten to fall with every snap on his hips digging into you. you’ve had flings and hook-ups before, but nothing as profound as this, the eye contact, togetherness of him never backing too far away from your hold, you were being wholly consumed by jeno. everything right down to your core, he was all you could feel, taste, see, and think about.

‘o-oh my god’ you sobbed, hips jerking up at the feeling of the ripples burning through you, the coil in your stomach tightening, craving to break open, ‘m gonna cum’ you clenched around him, making jeno hiss above you at the feeling of tightness around his throbbing dick.

‘go on baby, cum for me,’ he whimpered as the feeling for him also grew intense, the way your cunt hugged his dick was making his mind spin. jeno mumbled incoherently ‘i’m so close baby, let go, you can let go, i got you’ from his words and the way he pounded into you made you snap, legs trembling as liquid gushed from your core and past his cock and dripped onto the sheets. light-headed and dizzy you cried out for jeno as your orgasm burst over you.

you clenched again, feeling overwhelmed by the euphoric feeling, ‘oh, fuck’ jeno cursed as he stilled inside of you, painting your insides with his seed, he groaned at the sensation of finally filling you up and properly claiming you as his and his alone. he stayed there for a couple of minutes inside of you. savoring the static of the overstimulation and pleasure of release. you winced as the hot liquid poured out of you when he pulled out, the emptiness of it all. jeno watched as his cum slide down your hole and onto the sheet, he scooped up the remaining liquid that rushed out of you and shoved it back into your clit with two fingers, making you cry at the sensitivity. ‘fuck that was… one of the best experiences of my life’ he caught his breath and plopped down facing you, he gently caressed your chin, bringing your head to his as he softly left kisses on your lips, ‘let me get you cleaned up baby’

‘m tired’ you whispered, barely able to keep your eyes open.

‘i know, but let me take care of you and get you dressed, i know theres extra clothes somewhere around here’ he started rummaging around the wardrobes, digging into them in order to find anything adequate. ‘aha!’ he put on a clean pair of underwear and sweats, ‘i’ll be right back baby’ he left the room and came back after for what felt like an eternity with a warm wash cloth and clean clothes, ‘these are mark’s girlfriends pj’s i’m sure she won’t mind,’ he hummed, wiping you clean, and dressing you in the soft, clean clothes. he picked you up so he could throw the covers back, tucking you in with a kiss on the nose, ‘you’re so cute’

you lazily smiled at him, settling into the sheets as you clung onto his warm frame, ‘who’s room is this by the way?’ you whispered as jeno shut his eyes.

‘mark’s. doesn’t matter. you’re my girlfriend now right?’ he leaned his head on yours.

‘mmm girlfriend yes. mark who?’ words fell from your mouth as you yawned, sleeping coming to find you soon.

‘mark, shark.’ he dismissed you, ‘just be ready for a stern talk when we wake up from the man himself.’ he kissed your head as you drifted off to sleep, the morning was the least of your worries now, you finally figured out the solution, the obvious answer being: jeno.

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