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chahnniesroom · 8 months ago

Text

night again

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: in hindsight, visiting chan's studio right before a comeback isn't one of your best ideas. what was supposed to be a pleasant surprise leaves you spiraling into self-doubt, wondering if chan even wants to be in a relationship with you at all.

word count: 6.4k

tags/warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, insecurities, reader not eating due to stress

a/n: the long awaited 'he calls you clingy' fic! title is from the english translation of 또 다시 밤 (twilight)

read it on ao3 | masterlist

You love your job. It's challenging for sure and the expectations from upper management are often unforgiving, but you’re proud of how hard you've worked and everything that you've accomplished in the past few years at your company.

As you've gained experience, you've slowly been given more and more responsibility. You've grown out of your junior role and though you're thrilled by the pay raise and prospect of being a team lead rather than being led by one, it's also daunting.

When you and your new team are assigned an important project with tight deadlines, you're determined to prove yourself. It's implied that you're going to have to have to dedicate a significant amount of time to finish it and while you're no stranger to long hours, it means that any plans you have of seeing your boyfriend, Chan, are out the window.

The timing is not terrible, Stray Kids has a comeback scheduled in about a week so you didn't think that you would be able to spend that much time with Chan anyway, but you usually try to surprise the boys at one of the music shows with a cake and some home cooked food.

Luckily, you've already been planning for this. Although nothing had been confirmed, you had expected that this project would be awarded to your company and you've already been trying to spend more time with Chan than usual in preparation for the busy season ahead for both of you.

Still, you can't help but agree with your best friend at work after she complains how little she's going to see her partner this month. Jinjoo doesn't know who your boyfriend is, but the two of you are close enough that you’ve shared that you have one and that work takes up a lot of his time. You've gushed to her about the sweet things that Chan has done for you and you've admitted that you think he's the one.

“You should bring him dinner sometime!” she exclaims when you mention you're not sure when the next time you'll be able to see Chan will be.

“Well, he’s really busy-” you start to say.

“That’s the beauty of it. I’m sure he would appreciate if you brought him food at work, especially if he’s anything like my partner and gets so caught up with work that they forget to eat sometimes,” she insists.

“That’s true.”

“Just trust me, Y/n. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I wasn’t sure that it’d work. My partner loves when I do this. It’s literally the perfect way to take some time for each other before you’re both too busy. Even if he's super busy, his work can't be bad enough that he’s not allowed to eat, right?”

You agree somewhat reluctantly. You're still unsure about whether or not Chan would appreciate you barging in unannounced, but it is a cute idea and Jinjoo's confidence is enough to convince you.

The next day after work, you head to the company and order takeout for a late dinner for you and Chan, picking it up along the way. It reminds you of earlier in your relationship before you had gotten your current position and when Stray Kids were just gaining popularity. Both of you enjoyed having more casual date nights that provided more privacy as opposed to going out to fancy places and it makes you even more excited to see his reaction.

About a year after you started dating Chan, he insisted that you get a pass to get into JYP Entertainment without having to fill out a visitor's form and have someone pick you up. It has definitely come in handy more than a few times, although you try to limit the number of visits you make. Even though you're allowed to be there, it still feels intimidating to be in the building, like someone is going to recognize that you're not an employee and accuse you of being a sasaeng.

Luckily the late hour means that you make it to Chan's studio without having to interact with anybody except the security at the door, who had waved you through without a second thought. You had double checked with Felix earlier in the day to make sure that Chan didn't have any schedules or dinner plans, so you directly knock on his door without texting or calling him beforehand.

“Y/n?” he asks, a bit baffled when he sees you. “Did we- Did I forget that we had plans tonight?”

“No,” you say, a little nervous for some reason. It's just Chan, you tell yourself, but it doesn't make you feel any better. “I didn't think that you had dinner yet and wanted to see you.”

“Oh, I see. Come in,” Chan responds slowly, still processing your sudden appearance. “I just have something that I need to finish up-”

“It's fine! You can work,” you assure him quickly. “I don't want to interrupt you too much, I just wanted to drop by since I don't have plans and wanted to make sure that you're eating well.”

Chan’s studio isn’t messy at all, but he still gets up to clear some space on a side table for you, before returning back to where he has Cubase opened up. You pass over his food and feel relieved when he immediately digs in, but your appetite seems to have vanished, you can only get yourself to pick at your meal.

Chan is short with his responses all evening and continues to work on his laptop, even while eating. It throws you off a bit, you thought that he would be able to get to a stopping point and at least make a bit of time for you, but you did tell him that he could. Even so, you're determined to make the most of the last time that you’re going to see them for a while. You know they’ve been super busy the past few days, or more like the past few weeks, but still you had thought he would be a little bit more engaged or at the very least seem happy to see you.

Finally, after half an hour of eating with minimal conversation, you decide to broach the subject that’s been on your mind this entire time. Chan’s finished his food and you know that you won’t be able to get yourself to eat anymore, so you shuffle everything off to the side and inch closer to Chan.

“You know that client we’ve been trying to work with for a while?” you start tentatively.

Chan hums noncommittally, continuing to type on his computer. Not quite the reaction that you're hoping for, but you forge on anyway.

“We got awarded the job! It’s a great opportunity for the company and everyone is really excited, but-”

“Y/n,” he interrupts. “I’m sorry, that’s amazing and all, but you know that it’s not a good time for me right now. I have something I really need to work on and now that you’ve finished eating, can we please not bother with the small talk?”

“Oh,” you say, a bit caught off guard. Chan has never been the type to cut you off when you're speaking. “No, yeah, I get it. Uhm. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, just-” he sighs, sounding frustrated. “Next time can you please ask me when you want to visit in advance so this doesn’t happen again? You chose the worst timing to come by. I just need some space, from all of… this,” he says, waving a hand between the two of you.

“Sorry, I know it’s a busy time, but I just wanted to see-”

At that moment, an alarm on Chan's phone goes off, interrupting you. When he turns it off and notices the time, he swears lowly, unlocking his phone and typing out a message to somebody. You’re scared to break the silence. Less than a minute later, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in,” Chan calls. When Changbin and Jisung step into the room, they eye you curiously. You keep your head down and try to prevent your hands from shaking as you stand and start to haphazardly shove away all your belongings and the garbage from your dinner into bags.

“Noona, it's good to see you!” Jisung says brightly, although his smile dims when you make eye contact and can only manage to weakly return the smile. “Sorry for interrupting you two.”

“Hi Hannie,” you reply quietly, not wanting to make conversation, but not wanting to be rude.

“It’s okay, Y/n was just leaving,” Chan says, his obvious annoyance making things even more awkward.

You say bye to the boys quietly and apologise as you shuffle past them to the door.

The handles of the bag from your dinner are digging into your hand painfully and your purse can’t close with the way that you’ve thrown everything into it. You only take a few steps before you have to stop for a moment to save a container from falling and decide to put down everything and reorganise it all.

When you crouch down, you take a second to mentally berate yourself. Everything you had worried about had come true. Instead of being a pleasant surprise, you had come across as a nuisance.

In your rush, you hadn't fully closed the studio door behind you and you're close enough that you can just barely pick up the conversation that happens inside.

“Sorry,” you hear Chan say faintly. “I don't know what's been going on, but Y/n has been… really clingy these days. She just showed up today without asking and I hate-”

You leave before he has the chance to say anything else. You look like a mess for sure, you had just grabbed all the empty containers without bothering to put them back into the plastic bag, your jacket is partially dragging on the ground, and your purse is hanging off your elbow, having slipped off your shoulder. You're pretty sure you hear an empty drink bottle clatter to the floor behind you, but you don't look back to check.

You don't have it in you to care, you just need to leave.

Even waiting for the elevator feels humiliating, so you bypass it and stumble down the stairs. You dump the garbage into a bin on the first floor, not bothering to sort it properly, and step out onto the street, bee-lining to the nearest subway station.

The ride home passes by in a blur.

It hurts, of course it hurts.

Honestly the reason that your relationship had worked out so far was because you weren’t the kind of person that needed a lot of attention. You understood that both of you were busy and were content to just exchange messages every couple of days because you knew how important Stray Kids was to Chan. Of course you did, they were just as important to you.

If Chan wanted space, well. You were more than capable of giving it to him.

In fact, your upcoming schedule had been the reason that you had wanted to meet up in the first place, the source of your so-called clinginess. You’d never been called that before. You were hyper-independent and tended to get lost in your own mind, easily distracted by different thoughts. It had gotten to a point that most of your exes had complained at least once about you being distant or inattentive.

With Chan, you had been determined not to be the same. It had been difficult at first, to make the effort to send messages throughout the day. You had to convince yourself not to spend too long drafting replies in your head and try not to worry that you were bothering him, especially if you knew that he had schedules at the same time that you were texting.

By the time that you make it to your apartment, your pain has faded into a mixture of resignation and numbness. You don't want to talk to Chan about how you feel, it's your clinginess that he didn't like in the first place, and you don't think you'll have time or the energy for a long, emotional conversation in the next few weeks anyway. If you keep your distance for a while, it just benefits both of you, you tell yourself. You won’t be a distraction to Chan as Stray Kids has their comeback and he won’t be one to you as you take on this new project.

As much as you want to spend the rest of your night overthinking- something you’ve done more than you’d like to admit- you know that you have a busy day at work tomorrow. Feeling a bit like a zombie, you force yourself to shuffle through your usual nighttime routine, swallowing a melatonin pill before climbing into bed.

Normally, you would send Chan a good night message. Actually, normally you would have sent him a message the second that you arrived home. It was something that he was insistent on starting from early on in your relationship, wanting to make sure that you were safe.

Tonight, you just turn off your phone, plug it into its charger, and sleep.

—

In the morning, you allow yourself to wallow in bed for 5 minutes, before you get ready for work. You’ve never been good at eating breakfast and today’s no exception. Your stomach turns uneasily at the thought of food so you only force yourself to drink some water before you leave.

Your team at work has agreed to get to work earlier than usual just to get a headstart on everything. Though you’re more of a night owl, you’re grateful to find that deviating from your usual routine means that the subway is empty enough that you can find an empty seat, a luxury that you’ve rarely experienced.

It feels eerie to walk through the streets of Seoul when the sun has just started to rise and you’re relieved when you finally make it to your office.

Unsurprisingly, you’re one of the first to arrive. You’re grateful for the time that you have to unpack your things and make a much needed coffee before the rest of your team shows up.

“How did it go last night?” Jinjoo asks you excitedly when she comes in.

“Uhm, it was okay,” you reply noncommittally. “He was definitely surprised.”

“Oh,” Jinjoo pouts at your lack of enthusiasm.

“I mean, it wasn’t bad,” you backtrack, hating to see her disappointed. “It was just so short, he was kind of… busy. But that’s what I expected anyway so that's fine I guess. Thanks for suggesting it to me though! I really appreciate it.”

“That’s good,” Jinjoo brightens. “At least you got to see him one last time.”

“Oh yeah for sure! I think that after seeing him yesterday, it’ll be easier to deal with how busy we’re going to be for the next few weeks,” you say truthfully.

It’s not a lie, you justify. For the first time since you started dating, you’re not looking forward to the next time that you’re going to see Chan.

You know that your communication is about to reduce to an all time low for the next few weeks, and while you had originally been worried about how Chan would react, now you’re thinking that he’s just going to be relieved not to hear from you. You’ve never thought yourself to have been overly chatty with Chan during the day though, preferring in-person conversation over texting and knowing that he’s generally not available to read your messages anyway, much less send you a reply. It seemed that you were wrong.

Luckily your team now has to use a shared box that you’re required to put your personal phones into during working hours and only have a little bit of time during lunch and dinner breaks, if you take them, to fish them out. It’s a policy that your company enforces when teams are working on confidential projects and you can’t blame them due to past litigation that they’ve been involved in after a former employee leaked sensitive information.

For once, you're glad for this excuse to not look at your phone, even if you feel a little bit naked to look at the side of your desk or reach into your pocket and not have your phone there. You’re relieved to bury yourself in your work and forget all about your personal life. Even though your project is just starting, you feel like you're already behind.

When you're finished work for the day and take back your phone, you find yourself reluctant to check your notifications. It's only when you're waiting for the subway to arrive at your station that you finally force yourself to take a look.

No new messages or calls from Chan.

You’re not sure what you expected, but somehow you’re still disappointed.

You get back to your apartment late, you had wanted to finish a couple of things before you left the office and it had led to you being one of the last to leave. You had also stopped by the convenience store closest to your place, not having the energy to cook anything for yourself.

You pick at your dinner half-heartedly. You're used to eating alone, Chan often had his meals at odd times due to his schedules, but tonight the silence feels more oppressive.

It haunts you, the tail end of the overheard conversation. You have no idea how Chan was going to complete the sentence, but your mind unhelpfully fills in the blanks with worse and worse suggestions.

He hates the timing of your visit.

He hates that you visited at all.

He hates that he has such a clingy girlfriend.

He hates that you are his clingy, annoying, bothersome girlfriend.

He hates you.

In moments of clarity, you can recognize that it's not true. That's not the Chan that you know and he would never say something like that about anybody, least of all you. It's just hard when a small part of you has never really been able to believe that someone as talented and amazing as Chan would want to date someone as unremarkable as you.

You find yourself falling into a new routine, waking early, working overtime, and trying not to cry yourself to sleep. You succeed most of the time, you keep yourself occupied by thinking about work and you're so physically exhausted by your long hours that you fall asleep the second that you get into bed. Luckily, your coworkers are just as overworked as you are and it’s easy to blame your declining condition on the project. Weekends don't help you rest at all, you've committed to your manager that you can work on Saturdays and Sundays are spent completing the chores that you've neglected during the week.

You still talk to Chan sometimes, either right when you wake up or on the way home after work. The conversation is stilted though, both because of the long delays between messages when you text and the limited time that you have when you call. It's enough of a difference that Chan asks you multiple times if everything is okay. Even though you try your best to assure him that you're fine, just busy, you're sure he knows that something is off, although he doesn't question you further.

Most exciting is the day that the new Stray Kids album releases. You've already heard most of the songs for this comeback, perks of dating the member that's the most involved in the writing and production of the album, but it's different now that they're available to the public too. You make sure to organise your schedule so that you're on break when the music video drops and you send a number of messages in the group chat that you have with the group cheering them on. Usually, you try to take a day off to deliver some food to them at the music shows, but you've had to settle for arranging with one of their managers to treat them to a meal.

You can tell when they get breaks because when you check your phone after work, notifications from the members are all in the same blocks of time. It's mostly them thanking you, taking pictures of the food you sent, flowers that they've been gifted, and letters from fans. They have a short promotion period this comeback, but it's packed with different interviews, performances, and fanmeets. At one point, Felix even sends you a picture of Chan sleeping slumped over on one of the waiting room couches. As much as you're relieved to see that he's able to get some rest, the picture has your stomach twisting uncomfortably.

You're proud of Chan, of all of the boys. They've worked so hard and each comeback seems to be more and more successful. Even if you're not confident in what's going to happen with you and Chan in the future, you want to celebrate with them while you still can.

—

After almost four weeks, your project is nearing completion and you've never been more grateful to have a deadline arrive.

You only have a couple more days left until your last submittal is due and after getting off work, you want nothing more than to collapse into bed even though your stomach has been growling the whole walk from the bus to your building. You had caught a significant mistake in a document right before it was going to be sent to a client and the whole afternoon had been spent trying to fix it in time. Your team had just barely managed it, but your head has been pounding for hours and your whole body is tight with stress.

You’re not quite sure how you make it to your apartment, your exhaustion has made you clumsy. You struggle a couple times to enter in the code to unlock your door and trip over a pair of shoes that are scattered in the entryway.

You manage to catch yourself before you fall, then squint back. Yes, you haven’t had the chance to tidy your apartment in a couple weeks, but you’ve never been the type to leave your shoes on the walking path.

A light is on, further in your apartment. You know for a fact it wasn’t like that when you left this morning, it would have been obvious since you've been leaving before the sun rises. Someone else is here.

You stare at the light for a few seconds in disbelief, then slowly reach to grab something, anything that you might be able to use to defend yourself. Your shaking hands close around a full sized umbrella that you keep beside your closet.

You’ve already made enough commotion that there’s no way the intruder didn’t hear, but you try to keep your footsteps light as you creep down the hall to where your kitchen is. It’s stupid to try and confront them, but the idea of someone in your space, potentially taking your things, is enough to inspire a sudden bout of bravery.

You hold your breath as you turn the corner, launching forward to attack the second that you see someone. You recognise the figure halfway through your swing, and though it’s too late to fully stop, you manage to pull back enough that they’re able to easily catch the umbrella before it hits them.

Chan wraps his arms around you then eases the umbrella out of your hands, resting it against the wall. You sag into his embrace, adrenaline draining away, leaving you exhausted again.

“Chan?”

You've missed this. His warmth, his comforting scent, the reassuring steadiness that he always provides. You can almost pretend that everything is fine.

“Sorry for scaring you,” he says, sounding more amused than apologetic.

“You should be,” you grumble into his shirt. “I could have seriously injured you if I didn't realise it was you!”

“I don't think that was going to be a problem.” Even though you can't see Chan, you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hey!” You lightly smack his arm. “You take that back!”

“Fine, fine,” Chan acquiesces, holding up both his hands in surrender. “I'm very glad that I didn't have to experience the full power of your self defence.”

“Yeah yeah,” you huff. “What are you doing here anyway? Other than trying to give me a heart attack, that is.”

“I made you dinner,” Chan says shyly, turning pink.

“For what?” you ask suspiciously. It's easy to fall back into the banter that you typically exchange with Chan, but you can't help but be a bit wary these days.

“No reason. I uh, just haven't seen you in a while,” Chan says sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck where it’s now flushed red. “We had so much preparation to do and then all our schedules… Anyway, I wanted to surprise you, so I thought I could cook for us.”

Now that he's mentioned it, you can see that he's set your tiny kitchen table and that there's a couple of pots on the stove. Chan doesn’t cook often, but he’s expressed a desire to learn before and you’ve taught him how to make a few of your favourite recipes.

You stare at him for a moment, lost for words.

It's only been a few weeks, but you feel like you've forgotten how to act around Chan. Instead of a comfortable silence, it's almost awkward, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Oh,” you say finally, touched and still a little shocked that he's actually here. “That's- that's so nice, I just- is it okay if I wash up a bit quickly first?”

“No, yeah, of course. I'm sure you had a long day,” Chan says. “Go ahead, I’ll- the food should be reheated anyway so I’ll get on that. Take your time.”

You skirt around him to go to the bathroom, taking a moment to splash yourself with water. This feels like a bizarre dream and you wonder for a moment if you’re making this all up. But when you leave to go to your bedroom, Chan’s still there, puttering around in front of your kitchenette. You change your clothes slowly, mind racing as you try to puzzle together why Chan has decided to visit all of a sudden.

You eventually settle on the most logical reason that you can think of.

He’s finally decided to break up with you.

You’ve figured that this was coming for weeks by now, but somehow it still hurts. Instead of feeling resigned, it feels like you’re shattering into little pieces. You twist your work blouse into a tiny ball as you try not to cry, even though you know the fabric is going to wrinkle terribly. You finish cleaning up in a daze, already drafting what you're going to have to message your manager later. There's no way that you're going to be in any shape to work tomorrow if you’re right.

“Y/n?” Chan calls eventually. You know you're procrastinating leaving your room, but you want to put this off for as long as possible even though you know it’s just delaying the inevitable. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a heavy heart. “I’m fine. I'll just be another second.”

You can tell that Chan doesn’t quite believe you. He hovers around you when you emerge from your bedroom, knocking away your hand when you try to pull out your own chair from the table.

He's set the table, going so far as to fold little napkins under your utensils. There's even a tiny vase with your favourite flowers as a centrepiece. All this effort just hurts more.

“You look exhausted. You got home so late. Where were you?” he asks.

“I was at work,” you reply stiffly. You know that if you try and say any more, your emotions are going to spill over and you're either going to scream or cry. Maybe both.

“So late?” Chan's forehead creases with some sort of emotion. You can't quite tell if it's concern or scepticism.

“You're not the only one that has a demanding job.”

“Y/n, you know that's not what I meant-”

“Sure,” you say. “Whatever, let's just eat. Thank you for the food.”

You don't want to deal with this. You're so tired.

You have no idea why Chan’s dragging this out longer than it needs to be. Why he’s forcing you to sit through a meal with him like he’s not about to break your heart. Chan is one of the kindest people you know, he’s probably trying to make this easier for you, giving you one last nice memory, but it just feels cruel.

Chan reaches out, stopping you before you can pick up your chopsticks. He stares at the way his fingers overlap each other around your wrist.

“You’ve lost weight,” he says quietly. You look away, watching steam curl from the bowl of rice that has been set in front of you instead of returning eye contact.

“I’ve been busy.” Is all you can say in response.

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve been basically subsisting on iced americanos and various convenience store meals in part because of your work schedule, but mostly because of your lack of appetite. Every time you thought of Chan, it made your stomach turn and well, everything reminded you of him. You hadn’t realised how much it had actually affected your physical condition until now though.

“You're not taking care of yourself,” he scolds you. You can feel yourself bristle at his comment even though you know it’s true. “I haven't been around to take care of you either. I'm sorry.”

“Chan,” you protest. It has been weeks since you last saw him in person and you’ve spent more time that you’d like to admit micro analysing your relationship, but you still can’t make sense of his behaviour, especially how he keeps switching between criticism and tenderness.

“What?” he asks in genuine confusion.

“Why are you here?”

“I missed you,” Chan says, sounding hurt and confused. “I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“I just- I don’t understand what you want from me!” You run your hands through your hair in frustration. “One day you don’t want me around, we go weeks without seeing each other, then you’re at my place cooking me dinner? You said you needed space, I gave you space."

“Woah woah woah, what do you mean I don’t want you around?” Chan asks, alarmed. “When have I ever said that?”

“You made it pretty clear that you didn’t appreciate it when I went to bring you dinner that day,” you start.

“No, baby!” Chan stands up abruptly before you can say anything else. He falters when the loud scrape of his chair causes you to flinch back. He slowly walks towards you and kneels in front of you, reaching out to hold your hands in his. His eyes are wide with earnestness. “Of course I wanted to spend time with you. I always want to be with you.”

“So why did you call me clingy?” you ask in a small voice. Gone is your anger, replaced with a self-consciousness that you can’t hide. You look away as tears prickle your eyes.

Gently, Chan lets go of your hands and cups your cheeks instead, turning your face so that he can see you better. His thumbs swipe under your eyes, brushing away the tears that have managed to escape.

“Baby,” he says, sounding even more upset and angry than you feel. “I'm sorry. Did someone tell you I said that?”

“Nobody had to tell me, I heard you say it myself!” you burst out, pushing Chan away. You know that you’re being dramatic, that you keep oscillating between different emotions, but you don’t care. “That day, in your studio, you told Han and Changbin that I was really clingy.”

“You heard me talking to Binnie and Hannie?” Chan asks slowly.

“I didn't mean to eavesdrop,” you sniffle. One of Chan's hands shifts and he carefully tucks behind a lock of hair that has fallen in front of your face. The gentleness makes even more tears well up.

“It's okay, I think I know what you overheard now. It must have hurt, right?”

You can't muster up a response, choosing instead to just nod slightly.

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry,” he soothes you. “Can I explain myself?”

You pause for a moment, then slowly nod again.

“I don't mind that you're clingy, actually, I like it. I shouldn't have used that word. I like that you want to spend time with me, Y/n,” Chan says carefully. “I like that you take time to visit me, even though I know that your work is busy too. I think that it's cute and thoughtful that you think of me and try to take care of me by bringing me food. I know that you intentionally take the time out of your day to text me because you know that I like hearing from you, even though I might not see it or respond right away.”

Chan pauses for a second and you use it as an opportunity to pull away slightly. His hands tighten briefly, before he lets them fall away, giving you the space to process.

It's not that you don't like what Chan is saying, it's just hard to reconcile it with the thoughts that have been eating away at you for the past few weeks. You still don't understand what you overheard though, how it fits into all of this. When you voice your concerns to Chan, he sighs, before continuing to speak.

“I don't know what I did to have someone as caring and thoughtful as you in my life.” You want to protest, but Chan carries on before you can say anything. “It's just that- you visited me without notice and were the sweetest person in the world. I wanted to spend time with you, believe me, I did, but I can't just ignore my deadlines when the rest of the members are relying on me. It makes me feel like garbage when I can’t give you all my attention. That's the thing I hate the most. That I can't be the boyfriend that you deserve. That I can't show you how much you mean to me the way that I want to.”

It makes sense, in some sort of twisted way. You know that similarly to you, Chan often feels insecure. It had taken a while before you had been able to convince him that you really did want to be in a relationship with him even with all of the difficulties that were associated with being an idol. You hadn't realised that your visit had fed into his worries that he wasn’t enough.

“I didn't know,” you say quietly. “I'm sorry.”

“Hey, I didn't tell you how I was feeling and that's on me. I’m the one that’s sorry, you have no reason to be. I should have been clearer about what was going through my mind and it wasn't any excuse for the way that spoke to you. Even if I wasn't at my best, I can't believe that I made you feel like I didn't want you to be around.” Chan shakes his head and you can tell that he's beating himself up about it. This time, you're the one that reaches out to him, grabbing one of his hands in both of yours.

“I am sorry that I put you into that position, though. I got caught up in the idea of how fun and romantic it might be, that I didn't give enough consideration to your schedule. Even though I wanted to surprise you, it would have been better to check with you beforehand. I don't ever want you to have to feel like you have to choose between me and work.”

“It was a really nice surprise,” Chan agrees. “I wish that I hadn't been so wrapped up that I wasn't able to enjoy spending time with you. I really hated not being able to see you these past few weeks.”

“It was really hard for me too,” you admit.

“I missed you so much. I missed your beautiful voice, hearing your laugh, seeing your smile. I missed all the texts that you usually send, they make me feel like I'm not as far away, that I'm a part of your day too. You kept saying that everything was fine and- I know it's hard for you, especially during comeback periods when I'm not as responsive. I didn't want to pressure you into messaging me more often if I'm not able to do the same.”

“No, it's not that. It doesn't bother me. Work was, is still really busy for me,” you explain. “I was trying to tell you that day, but-”

“But I basically shut you down,” Chan realises. He laughs bitterly. “I’m just the worst, aren't I? No wonder you were so confused by why I was here.”

“I thought you were going to break up with me tonight,” you whisper. Chan looks devastated by your statement.

“No- you know I wouldn't-” Chan stumbles on his words in his haste to correct you.

“I don't think that anymore,” you reassure him. “I understand everything now, it was just that we didn't communicate well and I assumed… It's okay, we're together now, this won't happen again.”

“I promise that I will make it up to you. I love you and I will prove it to you in every way possible. And I'm going to start right now. You still haven't eaten yet, please go ahead.” Chan moves back to his abandoned chair and doles out a portion of the stew from the pot that's on the table.

“I am really hungry,” you confess. Your stomach chooses that exact moment to growl loudly and the two of you can’t help but burst into laughter.

Just like that, it feels like things are back to normal.

You know that there's still more that you and Chan have to talk about. The two of you have only scratched the surface on your insecurities, communication, and how those things led to such a significant misunderstanding.

But tonight, it's enough that you get to share a meal with the man that you love.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

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it-was-summer · 1 month ago

Text

Busy Woman

A/N: I do not wanna see ANY Minors in this bitch. Seriously. Like you'll get it when you get older I promise. This worm has been wiggling around in my brain for MONTHS. Things have been so busy that it's been a real struggle trying to write. I really hope you all like my excuse to write porn. Thank you to @cafekitsune for the border/dividers used. Thank you to @beenreidingaboutyou and @alsofoundinpeas and practically the WHOLE discord server for letting me send this google docs to you and yapping with me about logistics (positions at one point I'm sure). Enjoy!

Link to the AO3: Busy Woman -> Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Smut with plot. Reader is a maneater, some she/her pronouns at one point or another, PinV sex yall, wrap it up!!!! condoms my beloved (they are not used here, reader and the team go out drinking, spencer reid yapping, reader is a dommy mommy idc Spencer Reid would have a mommy kink, he’s a whiner, SUB SUB SUB SUB Spencer, nothing too crazy sexually (in my eyes), i forget something else this is porn, no creampie for you!!! (I know... i know..).

Genre: Smut w/ Plot. Pairing: ManeaterBAUFem!Reader x Season4!SpencerReid

Plot: After spending countless months watching you break men's hearts, Spencer is surprised when you call a sudden dating hiatus. Amid your 'break,' you confide in your lanky coworker how much you miss certain physical intimacies. Spencer is quick to offer a solution.

Word count: 11,827

A man-eater… by definition, is a woman who uses men to have a series of sexual relationships but does not love the men. The thought of being one of those men has been lingering in the back of Spencer’s mind for the past eight months.

He knows, of course, that you’re more nuanced than that feeble definition. The team never misses the opportunity to tease you; your dating habits are an ongoing joke and mystery within the bureau. Derek often jokes that the two of you are peas in a pod, which, in turn, makes you respond that he’s the one with commitment issues, not you. You insist that you’re just picky.

You’d give any guy a chance until they disappoint you, and then you’re gone. You knew what you wanted from them, and if they couldn’t fulfill those ‘duties’ (as Emily jokingly puts it), then it wasn’t worth it. Spencer hates to admit it —to you or anyone else— but he loves how you detach from them.

He likes how you lure them in with honey and how they drop like flies at your feet— that trap of yours working effortlessly. It feels strangely voyeuristic, which makes him feel like a creep, but he swears it isn’t like that. If he could describe it better, he’d say it was more like a form of admiration. He likes that you know what you want out of your relationships. The way you don’t stick around and accept bad behavior. It’s exceptional and incredibly intimidating. Maybe femme fatale would be a better title, though he doubts you’ve ever destroyed a man’s life, as that definition suggests. Distress? Most definitely.

His eyes are glued to you now as you brush a stray hair behind your ear, how your brows knit together when you’re concentrating, watching as your left hand plays with the chain of your necklace. Tearing his eyes away from you, he focuses on the map on his desk, circling the location of the recent body discovered earlier that morning. JJ leans over his right shoulder, her blue eyes looking at the work-in-progress geographical profile with silent intrigue.

She leans away from him, folding her arms across her chest, getting lost in thought until her gaze lands on you. You were so focused a few minutes ago, but now you’re looking at one of the officers across the station. He was young, about the same age as Spencer, if she had to guess. His uniform is a little loose on him, the material around his arms droops, and his shirt hangs off his body in a way that makes it obvious he’s wearing a size too big for him.

She watches with you as he tucks it into his pants nervously, his fingers adjusting his collar as he mutters something under his breath. He’s handsome, boyish, with decently styled brunette hair. His dimples pop when he gives one of his fellow officers a slight grin— just your average prey. “Don’t give him that look.”

Your eyes are on her in seconds, and she holds back a laugh when she sees your offended expression. “What look?” You sound shocked, glancing at the young officer. “I was just people-watching.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is hunting.” JJ counters as Emily walks in with a coffee in hand.

“Oh? She’s on the prowl away from home? Down girl, down!”

You frown, eyes narrowed as you look between the two women taunting you. “I’m not a dog. A girl can’t make an observation anymore?”

Emily shakes her head as she pulls her coffee cup away from her lips, “Not when the girl is you.”

Your frown deepens, looking at Spencer with a look that silently pleads for help. He can never resist that look— it’s one he knows well. He looks over his shoulder at JJ and gives her a light pout, “I don’t think that’s a fair assumption of her character.”

JJ’s eyes shine with amusement. This is how the dance usually went. You’d be selecting some poor gentleman as your next meal, they’d tease you about it, and then Spencer would come rushing in to protect your honor— assuming you had any, to begin with. “Spencer the Valiant enters into the arena, ladies and gentlemen.” Her hand comes up to playfully ruffle his hair.

Spencer fails to dodge her efforts. “Don’t,” he grumbles as he swats at her hand as it touches his already messy curls. “Do that.” He can never catch a break when it comes to being teased by the team.

You grin, watching Spencer flatten out his hair carefully, rearranging it until it’s slightly neat and wavy. You silently motion to him that part of his hair is still sticking up and watch as he blindly tries to fix it. Watching him struggle with his hair, you break the usual respect you show for his personal space, leaning over and smoothing down the cowlick with a soft chuckle.

His cheeks are red, watching you lean away from him, his gaze awkwardly avoiding yours. “Besides,” You begin, looking at the young officer with a charming smile. “You and Will make it work, don’t you?” You ask, talking to JJ without looking at her.

JJ scoffs a little, watching as the young officer looks up from his desk and across the station— he won’t last. You give him a little wave and flirty smile combo before looking at JJ. “Don’t even think about it,” JJ warns, but you technically don’t have to do anything. You shrug a little, looking down at the evidence pile on your desk.

Not while the young officer stands up, smoothing out his too-big uniform and taking large strides over to you. You don’t have to look to know he’s coming. JJ shakes her head with Emily when he arrives at your side. When he clears his throat, you don’t look up from your task, twirling a pen around your fingers.

The way you look up with gentle doe eyes and a polite smile on your lips as you turn to face him has Emily holding back a giggle. You blink a little, eyes reading the name tag on his uniform— David Miller. “Can we help you with something, Mister…” You trail off, acting as though you hadn’t just read his name tag.

“Miller and I don’t need help from all of you, maybe just you.” His voice is slightly deeper than you expected, and he sounds confident— which is fine— you just thought he’d be the shy type.

You let out a soft ‘ah,’ nodding slowly like the idea just occurred to you. “Well, as sweet as that is,” you don’t even let the poor guy officially ask you out. You just openly assume. “I’m afraid we’re all swamped working on this case— myself included.” You watch his broad shoulders slump slightly— the action doesn’t even last a full second— and you sigh like you’re contemplating something. “But maybe we could get a coffee in the break room?”

His demeanor brightens, eyebrows raising as he asks, “Now?”

You shrug, looking at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes.” Standing, you brush off your jeans, as if this sudden coffee date weighs heavily on you. “You coming?” As you walk towards the breakroom, the question hangs in the air, and you don’t even bother looking back to see if he’s following you.

Three days later, Spencer watches you frown at David. Words can not describe how much he hates David. Well, many words could describe how much he dislikes David, but Spencer Reid is not a man to spit petty remarks at a man undeserving of them (though some may disagree). In truth, he only dislikes David because he envies him a little… he’s lying to himself. Spencer Reid envies that man with an intensity that rivals forest fires.

Spencer watches as David’s lips form words he cannot hear— words he’s sure you know all too well— Stay. He watches as you give David a small, sympathetic smile. His gaze lingers on your plump lips as you lean in to press a chaste kiss to another man’s lips, and he can imagine the sticky, sweet tone of your voice as you tell him that you have to leave.

Once you’re in the backseat, you relax your shoulders with a huff. Derek shakes his head at you in the front seat, staying quiet as the black SUV drives off towards the airport in this small Maryland town. Spencer knows that he should stop watching you, but it’s like he’s bewitched.

Your lip gloss is a faint pink— messy. You probably left some of David’s lips. Spencer wonders if it has a taste; he’s seen you use a cherry lip balm a handful of times. He can imagine kissing you, slow and sweet to start, if he had the time, getting hungrier and hungrier with each press of your lips on his. He wonders if you’d let him drag his tongue on your bottom lip and let him get a taste of cherries and skin. Could he pull on that full bottom lip with his teeth– “Spencer!”

He blinks, hazel eyes focus on yours. You chuckle, airy and slightly concerned, “Are you okay? You’re staring.”

Derek barks out a laugh from the driver’s seat, “When isn’t he?”

Spencer shakes his head, mainly at Derek’s idea of a joke, but also because he doesn’t want you to think something is wrong with him. His smile is unconvincing and quick: “I’m fine.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, trying again. “Just thinking about you and David. H-He seems nice.”

You shrug, hair falling into your face, “I guess he’s nice, yeah.” Then you lift a hand, waving the idea off like it’s bothersome. “I don’t think I’m going to see him again.”

Derek groans out, “Surprise, surprise.”

Spencer manages to keep the smile off his face, but his voice gives him away: “Why not?” he sounds elated.

You move with your hands, throwing them up before letting them rest on your outer thighs, slumping a little in the seat. Your eyes search the car’s floor, as if it’ll help you find a good enough answer. Why not? He’s not what you envisioned in a romantic partner. He wasn’t gentle, well-spoken, or even stimulating.

He seemed like a good conversationalist during that ten-minute coffee break, but he kept pushing for a late dinner with you. When you finally relented, you found he lacked any real substance. He was… dull, hot, but bland. He didn’t have strong beliefs like you, lacked wit, and seemed entitled.

Sure, you could have let him take you home and given him something to remember you by. But, considering how dull he was over dinner, you doubted he could impress you in the bedroom. Why go looking for disappointment?

You force a small smile, gentle eyes leaving the SUV’s flooring to look at Spencer. “Didn’t pass the benchmark, I’m afraid.” It’s meant to be a joke, but your delivery is slightly off. You sound somewhat saddened by the fact, and Spencer debates asking you what’s wrong. However, discussing your dating life is not his strong suit. Instead, he simply delivers a curt nod, lips drawn into a tight line as the car falls silent on the way to the tarmac.

A week later, it’s one of those rare days when the BAU team stays in DC. Indeed, this week is a way to make up for lost time. Spencer has heard about two coffee dates, one dinner date, and how you’re going on a lunch date this upcoming Saturday. Not that you’re telling him necessarily; he tries his hardest not to ask about your dating habits out of fear that you’ll eventually catch on to his hopeless crush on you and break his heart before he’s mentally prepared for such a tragedy.

No, he hears about your escapades from Penelope, Emily, or JJ. Mostly in passing gossip sessions, he hears when he shouldn’t be eavesdropping. He’s not the biggest fan of gossip, especially when said gossip is about a coworker, but he can’t stop listening when it’s about you.

The second he hears your name leave one of their lips, he pours his coffee a little slower in the break room or takes smaller bites of his lunch. He even held the elevator doors for the group of women on a handful of occasions so he could silently listen in. Morgan says he’s whipped (and after Spencer gets clarification on what that terminology entails, he nervously disagrees).

He’s just a naturally curious person. His high IQ can be blamed here— you’re a constant question on his mind. He cannot solve you, and every time he thinks he’s close, you switch it up on him.

Penelope is trying to be discreet—genuinely— she’s walking at a normal pace, a rested smile on her face, and the feathered flower pinned into her blonde curls shakes slightly as she approaches Emily’s desk. Her eyes look towards your desk, glad to find you lost in conversation with Anderson. Spencer watches her anyway.

Emily’s eyebrows raise as Penelope leans down and whispers something into the small space between them, which is effective because Spencer can’t hear anything (much to his dismay). Emily reels her head back, shocked as she mutters in disbelief, “No way.”

Penelope beams, nodding quickly and letting out a drawn-out “Mhm!”

Spencer wonders if it has anything to do with Anderson. Could they be alluding to the two of you getting together? Spencer would feel nervous about the idea, but you never dated coworkers. Besides, Anderson didn’t have that boyish charm you so adore. Spencer thinks he can mark him as safe.

But what else could it be? He’s trying his hardest not to stare at Penelope and Emily as they whisper to each other a few feet away, his eyes darting around the case file in his hands as his mind runs away with him. His gaze occasionally flits over to your desk, taking note of that polite smile you’re sporting. Yeah, you’re definitely not into Anderson.

Something work-related? No, that sounds ridiculous the second he thinks it. He blinks, forcing himself to set down the case file and mull over all the probabilities. He feels like it’s too obvious to be a date. You go on those all the time. And he doubts it's a second date update because those never end well for you. However, there is a slight chance that this time, it did.

He’s still in the process of analyzing every bit of information related to you when he hears an open laugh from Penelope as she follows Emily over to your desk. Anderson is nowhere to be seen as you settle back into your desk chair, barely looking up when Emily asks, “You’re taking a break from dating?”

“Derek is such a gossip.”

“Don’t blame him, he can’t resist me.” Penelope sighs out.

Emily dismisses the comment with a slight wave, “For how long?”

You shrug, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “I don’t know. Until I feel like talking to a man again?”

“Oh my god, an indefinite hiatus!”

You chuckle a little, “Why do you care so much?” You couldn’t imagine your dating life being that interesting. Then again, you have dated some questionable people.

Penelope gasps, hands reaching her chest, “Why do we care? You’re the only thing that saves us from boredom. You’re water in this gossip dessert. Don’t let us dehydrate, please, please.” Her palms press together as she begs you.

A strange laugh escapes you, your shoulders shaking as you giggle. “Listen, I really need—” You gently swat at Penelope’s still clasped hands, “I need a break from all the disingenuous compliments and ploys to get into my pants—” you scoff. Spencer’s heart stutters in his chest; he’s empathetic towards your feelings. He wants what’s best for you, of course (that and this could be his once-in-a-lifetime chance to see you be wholly unattached, his chance). “I need to be alone and work on some things before I date again, simple as that.” Well, so much for his chance.

“She’s so wise.” Emily turns to Penelope, her tone mocking. “Isn’t she so wise?”

“Oh, on par with Buddha.”

Your eyes shine with amusement, though you keep your tone serious, “Yes, laugh at me all you want for being a healthy person.”

Two months later, your hiatus is still going strong. Spencer has not seen or heard of any flirty endeavors surrounding you, much to the other’s dismay. It’s true in a way, gossip is drier during your dry spell. There’s been no mention of terrible dates nor any mention of bad kisses on first dates, or worse, lousy lays.

Spencer has never had any issues talking to you, but lately, he’s noticed you’re prone to daydreaming. You’ll stare off sometimes during a lull or mutter to yourself in the breakroom. He wants to ask how you're feeling amidst your break from dating, but it feels like such an intimate topic that he’s hesitant to approach it.

So now, he’s watching you watch Emily flirt with some stranger at the bar. This week has been grueling, with case after case. It never gets easier, but moments like these—the whole team spending time together—make it less painful at the end of the day. Spencer’s nursing his whiskey, always a slow drinker, but his attentions are on you as you roll the straw of your mojito between your fingers.

Eventually, after a quick sip of whisky, he gains the courage to ask, “Everything alright?”

You jump at the sound of his voice beside you, but you still smile at him when you turn to look at him. You open your mouth for a moment, then close it again, then open it again, “Yes.” You say in a strange voice— a twisted mixture of confident and drained.

Spencer raises an eyebrow, his expression letting you know that he doesn’t truly believe you. You laugh a little at that look of disbelief before your shoulders slump, and you mutter a soft, “I sort of miss dating.”

“Sort of?” It's more confident, more teasing than he’d like, but it just slips out of him. His cheeks are tinted the prettiest shade of pink, and you try your hardest not to stare at him.

Your eyes shift to the drink in your hands, fingers leaving the straw as you elaborate on the topic. “I don’t know. I didn’t think I would miss the flirty conversations or feeling wanted.” You trail off for a moment, eyes not meeting his for a moment. “Does that make me sound,” Your eyes finally reach his, “Conceited?” Your gaze is so full of worry that he has to stop himself from shouting his answer upon impact.

Instead, he swallows down a shocked breath, shaking his head. “No! No, you’re not conceited. That’s normal, considering all the attention you…well, attract.”

“Great,” You murmur, frowning. “You think that I’m some shameless, attention-seeking seductress,” gazing downcast at your mojito.

Spencer laughs nervously, “What?” He can’t deny that the seductress part might be true— you could seduce a saint, he’s sure. “I think a lot of things about you when I think about you, but shameless, attention-seeking seductress is not one of them.”

He’s melting at the look you give him. Head slightly bowed, looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, full lips in a slight pout. “Really?”

“Really.” He squeaks, much to your delight— the alcohol is messing with your head.

You sit a little straighter at that, sighing, “So, what do you think about when you think about me?” You ask, teasing Spencer wasn’t something you did often. The team teases him so much that you feel bad joining in. But you can’t help yourself, not when he’s looking at you with his gorgeous, honey eyes. All wide and deer-like, fuck, he’s pretty.

You would feel bad for thinking about your coworker like this, but in the dim lighting of this bar, you find that you don’t mind. Truth be told, if Spencer Reid weren’t your coworker, you would have worked some charms on him a long time ago. He was so pretty, so receptive to new ideas, a genius, a man of his word. God, he was so sincere. Why is that such a turn-on?

You drag your tongue along your bottom lip, lost in thought, a movement not lost on Spencer as he can’t seem to take his eyes off your lips. His mouth is dry, and his voice is caught in his throat as he stammers out a gentle, “What–” he clears his throat, trying to stop his voice from sounding so high, “What do I think about?”

That slow smile makes his heartbeat skip a beat, he’s seen that smile before, and he’s screwed if you decide to do anything more than teasing him. “Yeah, you said you think lots of things when you think about me. I’m curious.”

“Well, I, uhm,” He swallows, his tongue feels like sandpaper. His eyes shift down to his whiskey, his gaze shifting between you, his drink, and the table. “ I think you’re kind. You’re always willing to help a friend, like when you made all those meals for Penelope after she got shot.” Your expression softens at that, your teasing smile melting into something warmer. He takes this as a sign to keep going, “You’re considerate. I think you could make Hotch smile, I’m sure you have, all because of your sense of humor. You rarely judge people; you’ve never judged me. You’re empathetic, seeing you connect with people so easily, it’s— you have this gift for shifting your perspective, and I—”

“Spencer,” You cut him off with a gentle touch of your hand on his. You’re quiet for a moment, eyes searching his, looking for some kind of sign of deception, but finding none. Your gaze warms him to his core, melting away anything cold residing within him. “Thank you.”

He lets out a soft stammer of confusion, about to ask you why you’re thanking him, but instead, he regains some of his composure and nods. “Anytime.” He hates how cold his hand feels when your fingers leave his skin. Everything about you is so warm: your smile, your laugh, your touch— and against all reason— he’s sure he could survive frigid winters as long as he spends them by your side.

An hour later, you’ve ditched the idea of feeling sorry for yourself. You were seemingly determined to make your own fun. And you were. Penelope had bought a second round of drinks, and you chose something a little stronger than the mojito from before, and drank it fast. It wasn’t enough to get you drunk, but it did give you a slight buzz, feeling looser now as you spun around the dance floor with Penelope.

Penelope’s sure that your voice will be gone from how loud you’re singing to the song the DJ just started playing, laughing harder as you place a finger to her lips, grab hold of both of her shoulders, and dance to the beat.

Spencer isn’t a dancer, well, he can slow dance, but he doubts he could keep up with you right now. So, he lingers on the sidelines of the bar. He —like many of the men at this bar— can’t take his eyes off of you as you spin around in a sloppy circle. The way you move your hips in a circle has his head cocking to the side, focusing on the slope of your lower—

A chuckle can be heard beside him, making Spencer stand up straight, turning to look at Derek. Derek, who has the biggest grin on his face, is shaking his finger at Spencer. Spencer rears back his head, giving his friend an odd look. “What?”

“Nothing.” Okay, so he’s lying. Derek stuffs his hands in his pockets, acting aloof as Spencer stares him down. Derek, however, has his attention on you and Penelope. “You know,” there it is, “She’s gonna need someone to walk her home.”

“Who?” For a genius, Spencer can be incredibly dense at times.

Derek sends a deadpanned look his way, eyebrows raising, waiting for Spencer to catch on. Spencer blinks, his brows furrowed in confusion, oblivious to what Derek is saying. Derek groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose before dragging his hand down his face.

He then points over to you, Spencer’s gaze following his finger. “Ms. Vixen, Pretty Girl, the Man-eater of the BAU, the temptress of the —” Spencer holds up a hand, cutting him off.

“I get it, okay?” Even though he knows that Derek’s joking, Spencer’s tone still comes out clipped. He forces his shoulders to relax.

“She’s going to need someone to walk her home,” Derek says in a calmer tone, his shoulders shrugging slightly.

Spencer stammers, flustered with the idea of walking you home. To be honest, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He wouldn’t let it. His imagination runs wild when it comes to you, and he daydreams about the oddest things— the taste of your skin, his palm on your lower back. “Didn’t she come with you and Penelope?”

Derek clicks his tongue, “Nope, she lives two blocks over, walked here.”

“Oh,” He responds lamely, his arms crossing over his chest. He chews lightly on his bottom lip, thinking it over. He had his whiskey over an hour ago and had been nursing a water, but it didn’t matter much, considering he, too, walked here. “Well, I mean, I can’t assume, wouldn’t it be rude to think she’d,” He bounces around before he drops his arms at his sides. “You think she‘d say yes?”

“What makes you think she’d say no?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer tries to think of a good reason as to why he’s worried you’d turn him down, but finds nothing but his own insecurities. He knows that you’re kind; he knows if you didn’t want to do something, you wouldn’t. Spencer finds that very reassuring. “Just don’t want her to think I’m weird.”

Derek barks out a sharp laugh as if he knows something that Spencer doesn’t. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Pretty Boy.”

Spencer wants to ask why, but Derek looks away from him before he gets the chance. Spencer steals a glance over to the dance floor, watching as Penelope and you giggle yourselves away from the crowd.

Your pupils are dilated, and Spencer is sure that if he pressed a hand to your cheek, your skin would be warm, either from the alcohol or light giggles still leaving your lips. He feels his lips twitch upwards at the sound of them, broken up with soft gasps of air as you and Penelope hold onto each other in front of them. His heart clenches in his chest as he hears your giggles die away, and your gaze meets his. He wishes he could keep you this giddy all the time.

Your face relaxes into a gentle smile, and you let out a slow sigh. “Hi,” you motioned between Derek and Spencer with a wave of your hand. “What are we talking about?”

Derek cuts Spencer off before he has the chance to embarrass himself. “We were actually discussing leaving,” Derek says, much to Penelope’s dismay.

She’s frowning, and Derek knows he can’t tell the blonde his plan to get these two together, not yet, anyway. Spencer’s pining is evident to anyone with eyes, and you aren’t exactly smooth either, always choosing men who look strikingly similar to your lanky coworker.

“It is getting pretty late,” You mutter, sobering up a little at the idea of walking yourself home at this late hour.

Worry must be written across your face because Spencer is softly clearing his throat. “I can walk you home,” he offers in a soft voice. You don’t even question how he knew that you walked here. Instead, you can feel your cheeks flush. The idea is tempting, but it feels somewhat… intimate.

“That’s okay,” You begin, “You don’t have to go out of your way–”

“I don’t mind!” He’s leaning into you, nodding his head slowly. “I’d sleep better knowing you got home safe.”

A little tiny voice inside of you is shrieking with delight at that, but you answer him in a reasonably calm voice. “Well,” you tsk, “if it’ll help you sleep better.” Your tone is flirtier than you’d like it to be. You’ll be the first to admit it: It’s hard controlling yourself around him, and being dehydrated and tipsy isn’t helping. “Let me grab my things.”

Spencer is nodding, discarding his plastic cup of water and ensuring he has everything on his person before he looks at Derek, who has very clearly filled Penelope in by now in fast whispers. Derek gently taps a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, “Breathe. You’re just walking her home. Remember, you’re already friends with her. She won’t bite… hopefully.”

Spencer prepares to shoot back that he doesn’t need the pep talk because nothing is going to happen, but his mouth snaps shut as you materialize by Penelope’s side. “Ready?” You rock back and forth on your heels, eyes shining.

Spencer’s brows raise, smiling nervously as he hums a shaky-sounding, “Mhm.”

The night air smells fresh and clean with the promise of summer, warm and refreshing. You dragged in a slow inhale through the nose and hummed. A cool breeze brushed over your shoulders for a moment, and you felt awake again, your slight from earlier replaced with a second wind of energy. You glance over at Spencer, who is still holding the bar’s exit door for Penelope and Derek.

He doesn’t look bored or annoyed by the task, and though it’s the tiniest act of kindness, it makes you smile. You hug Penelope, tight and secure around her middle, muttering gentle goodbyes to her in a playful tone. Derek laughs when you bid him farewell in the same style, pulling away from the hug, smiling widely, and shaking his head. He then points at Spencer, “Stay safe,” his gaze moving to you. “Both of you.”

You wave his worries off, nodding, “Dr. Reid, lead the way.”

Spencer lets out a tiny scoff, waving his friends goodbye before doing exactly as you say. You seem incredibly awake, despite the last hour. His eyes are so focused on you as the two of you begin the short walk back to your respective apartments that he almost trips on a crack in the sidewalk, not even ten minutes in, and he’s already making a fool of himself.

You pause your movements, hands raising in the air as if you’re preparing to catch him, “Everything okay?” Your tone gives away your amusement.

He nods, “Yeah, yes, just distracted.”

“How out of character for you.” You tease lightly, sighing out as you lower your hands. You let out a soft hum, thinking about a tune they played at the bar, when you see two bodies pressed up against a wall in the not-so-far distance.

Your shoulders feel tense as you try your hardest not to stare at the couple as they kiss, soft sighs and moans of pleasure leaving one lover’s lips as you force your eyes straight ahead. Spencer, however, is staring. His eyes don’t stay on the couple long as he hears a frustrated sounding exhale from you.

His lips quirk up when he sees you walking with a rigid posture. “Does PDA bother you?” He asks curiously, keeping his voice low as he passes the couple to his right.

You shake your head, cheeks feeling warm at the sound of his voice. “What? No. I just,” You pause, unsure about how much you should be sharing with him anyway. Would he want to hear about how much you missed it, dating, kissing, sex, the touch of someone’s hand in your hair? Your eyes nervously glance at him, then the sidewalk, a soft laugh leaving you. “It’s going to sound so pathetic.”

Spencer finds that highly unlikely, “Try me.”

You bite your lower lip, considering it for a moment. It had only been two months, how could you be so… needy? You can feel the edges of your ears grow warm as the night air— you were so pathetic. How could someone become so touch-starved in such a short amount of time? How could you tell that to him? Then again, Spencer Reid was not quick to judge… though maybe he would be if he knew what you were thinking about right now.

You're slow to smile, and your face looks a little shy and awkward. You speak in a hushed tone, “I think I miss it.”

“Kissing?”

“No, I mean yes, but more than kissing. Touching, heavy-petting, dates,” You dare not glance at him, “Sex.” You can’t stop yourself now, the words leaving you against your will. “I’ve just been stressed, irritable lately, and I think sex… took my mind off things.”

Spencer’s throat fills with cotton, and he tries to swallow normally, going shockingly quiet for someone who always seems to have something to say. It doesn’t last long as he feels the growing silence crawl under his skin— he can’t stand it. “That’s normal, for someone— well, anyone who hasn’t had it, sex, I mean, in a while.” He stops himself from asking how long it has been before continuing. “Regular sex can boost your immune system, am-among other things.”

You grin, “Of course, it does.” You feel lighter hearing Spencer nervously ramble about sex, less judged, more listened to. You glance to your side, admiring the sharp slope of his jaw, the ends of his brown hair curling against his smooth skin. “Don’t stop on my account; I love learning.”

Of course, you do.

It seems to be Spencer’s turn to stare daggers into the distance, following you as you take a left turn. “In some women, sex can lower the risk of heart attacks. Which is funny, Men’s likelihood of a heart attack goes up with continuous sexual activity.” He chuckles lightly, sparing a glance over his left shoulder at you.

His knees feel weak seeing the way you’re looking at him. Your gaze occasionally glances at the sidewalk, but your eyes shine with curiosity. He’s always liked that about you. You’re always willing to listen to his random rants, never poking fun at him. No, it's not like you to laugh at someone for something as direct as knowledge, but you still smile at him.

He keeps going, his hazel eyes focused on you. “Rhythmic stimulation,” He should not look at you as he says this, “During an orgasm, has similar brain activity to dancing.” Your eyebrows raise at that, mouthing a gentle ‘huh’.

“So, what, like birds?”

“Yes! Dancing has been a long-standing method of seduction, so I suppose it stands to reason that muscular stimulation, in that way, would make our brain activity act that way.”

Your head tilts, trying to get the mental image of Spencer’s hands on your waist as you dance against him out of your mind. “I suppose it would. Though I wouldn’t consider orgasmic pulsing to have a steady rhythm.”

Spencer feels his heart stutter against his ribcage, his jaw clenching as his mind graces him with the mental image of you under him, shaking, hips stuttering against his roughly. He blinks, the tips of his ears turning red as he struggles to find something interesting to say. “W-Well,” he squeaks, and he feels panic flood his system, watching your grin widen when you hear such an embarrassing sound. He coughs, fixing his shirt collar, “Oxytocin— endorphins really— are released when dancing, same with uh,” His mouth hangs open for a second as his gaze dips down to your lips, “Climax.”

He’s your coworker, he’s your coworker, coworker, cowork— “Would you consider orgasms to have a steady rhythm?” Honestly? Not the worst question you could ask right now. You just hope that it comes off as you being curious instead of desperately horny.

Spencer needs someone to put him out of misery, cheeks hot as he answers you, “I suppose that maybe, possibly, they could, yes.”

Your chin tilts upwards, and a soft “Uh-huh” leaves you before the two of you are swept up in a slightly charged, albeit awkward, silence. You try to talk down the little voice in your head that seems to be screaming at you for making things so uncomfortable.

Why did you ask him that? What did you expect? Was Spencer supposed to drag you into an alleyway and immediately make you cum? Well, on second thought, that’s not such a bad idea— enough! You try to think of a possible escape from this silence, but all your dirty mind can think about are more inappropriate questions and remarks— just your luck.

“It wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Spencer’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea––” He clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up, “Having sex, to help with your, uhm, stress problem.” He holds his breath, waiting for your reactions. Morgan told him that the worst thing a person can do is say no, but Spencer disagrees. Said person could scream at him, slap him for being brazen, or stop talking to him altogether. He wouldn’t blame you if you did. Why did he have to say that? Why would he suggest something like that so openly—

Your laughter makes his brain short-circuit. What kind of reaction is that? Did you think he was joking, or did you find his suggestion so funny that you’re laughing at him? His laughter escapes him in a nervous attempt at self-preservation. If he can play this as a joke, maybe you won’t tell Penelope, and then Penelope won’t tell Derek, and Spencer can live another day free of embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” You stammer, “Is the Doctor Spencer Reid suggesting that we sleep together for a dopamine boost?”

He doesn’t know how to save himself from that; his poker face is not a good one, not when it comes to you. His emotions almost always show on his face; there’s no way you’d believe him if he lied. So, he mentally prepares himself for rejection. “Not necessarily, strictly, suggesting anything. I’m just saying that it could be beneficial to you— both of us— if you needed some help with your irritability, since you’re free.”

“Are you saying that I have nothing better going on, so I might as well have sex with you?” He’s not exactly wrong, but you don’t need to admit it.

His cheeks feel hot, burning as he rasps out a shrill, “No! No, speaking from a scientific standpoint, biologically it is one solution to your problem.”

You let out a soft chuckle, breathy and short-lived. He can’t be serious, there’s no way he’s serious. Not Spencer Reid. And if he wasn’t joking, what would you even say? Sure, sounds like a great plan. Do you have a condom, or should we stop at the store? Better yet! Let’s do it raw to reap the full biological benefits of sex together.

It’s not realistic.

Spencer says odd things all the time. Once, he told you about how the spread of ringworms between animals and humans works, solely because of one off-handed comment. Not that you mind, you do enjoy learning, that was no lie. Spencer was a plethora of knowledge, and you trusted every little word that came out of that pretty mouth of his.

He’s grown to be more than just your favorite walking, talking, human encyclopedia. Spencer Reid had the biggest heart, the best laugh, and the softest hazel eyes. He cares about other people intensely, is always willing to go out of his way to listen and help others, and is borderline selfless sometimes. Sure, that was part of the job, but Spencer made it into something more, something raw.

So, no, he couldn’t be suggesting such a thing. Not your Spencer Reid. “You’ve got a weird sense of humor, Reid.” You mutter, your feet falling into sync beside him. You can see your apartment building coming into view and feel your body beginning to long for your bed.

The rest of the walk is quiet, with soft mentions of summer plans and idle chatter. Spencer shouldn’t be so disappointed. You’re still talking to him, still laughing at his jokes, listening to his random facts mid-conversation. You’re willing to make everything go back to normal, ignore his odd suggestion, and go to bed. He should be grateful, and maybe a small part of him is, but the rest of him? The rest of him is so disappointed.

Not because you ignored him, but because you didn’t give him a proper yes or no. Even without a direct answer, he feels rejected, and he’s kicking himself for not being able to make a move like a normal person.

He walks you up to your door, staring at the number four on the outside of your apartment door for longer than necessary as you dig through your bag to find your keys. When you find them, you hold them up with a proud smile. “They materialize.” You muse, your back facing him as you push the key into the lock.

The last thing he wants tonight is for him to walk home regretting something. He could go home lamenting the fact that he didn’t make a move, or he could go home regretting the fact that he did. For him, one of those options is far worse than the other.

Pushing your apartment door open, you begin to turn back towards him, “Thanks for walking me home, Spence, I appreciate it—” A jolt of energy zips through you as Spencer’s lanky fingers wrap around your wrist, yanking your body closer to him. You barely have time to look down at your wrist before he’s inching closer, pressing his lips against yours in one swift movement.

The kiss is timid and far too quick for your liking, and when he pulls away from your lips, he immediately apologizes. “I’m sorry! I know I should have asked you first, but I got so nervous with everything I said earlier and—” The rest of his rushed apology is tuned out as you stare up at him with wide eyes.

In complete amazement, you stare at him like that for what feels like forever. You’d blame it on the alcohol for the way that you find his pathetic ramblings adorable, or for the way you’re reevaluating your conversation from earlier, when you laughed him off. And then there was that little, insistent voice in your head that demanded another kiss, claiming the feeling of a dim spark.

And who were you to deny it?

Spencer’s hands are moving with him as he talks, finger trembling as he explains that he “....couldn’t go home ruminating on the what-ifs and I needed to do something, and Morgan says that confidence is key and I was trying—” Your fingers hook into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your level with a rough yank.

Your lips meet his in a sloppy kiss for just a moment before he kisses you back, and when his head tilts ever-so-slightly to the side, it becomes something else entirely. His lips are softer than you expected, hungrily meeting yours. Spencer kisses like he’s starved for attention, for touch. His hands find purchase on your hips, holding you in place with both hands, like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

The way the palms of his hands squeeze at your waist makes you weak at the knees. The kiss has seemingly shifted from tender to needy in a matter of seconds, his lips pressing against yours with a delicious roughness. When you pull away, you can feel your bottom lip tingling, a feeling that leaves you a little lightheaded.

The soft pink of Spencer’s lips is the first thing you’re looking at before pushing him deeper into your apartment. His feet stumble as you force him into your apartment, the flat of your palms on his chest. When the door shuts behind you, the two of you are left in the dark of your apartment. Moonlight seeps through your living room curtains, illuminating the room with a softness so close to ethereal that it leaves Spencer wondering if he’s dreaming.

He’s sure you’re about to tell him that this is a bad idea and send him home, before you let out a frustrated groan and ask him, “Are you sure this is alright?”

Holy shit.

He can feel a faint squeeze in his lower abdomen, licking his lips as he tries to think clearly, for your sake and his. “I want this.” He’s clear with his feelings for once. “And I can promise you I want this and much more.”

As his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he can see the shine in your eyes. You're staring up at him with the eyes of a woman lost between admiration and awe. You nod slowly, your left hand grabbing his right, “Then don’t keep me waiting.” And while your tone is playful, he can’t help but take it to heart, letting you guide him toward your bedroom.

A soft giggle can be heard from you as you press a quick kiss to his lips, then another, and another, until the back of his knees are hitting the edge of your bed. You lean in slower now, with the tempting promise of a sweeter, sensual kiss—one where Spencer can enjoy the taste of your lips in full. Your lips brush against his as your hands press against his chest, his balance wavering, and then he’s pushed down on the edge of your bed with a light groan of disappointment.

His head is spinning from the teasing brush of your lips, his eyes lingering on them as you smile down at him, the look of innocence. “Did you think I’d make this easy for you?” Your teasing words shoot an electric shiver down his spine, a breathless laugh leaving him as your hands rub his shoulders.

“I don’t believe easy is in your vocabulary.”

“Oh?” You muse, your hands stopping the gentle massage of his shoulders, your left hand leaves a trail of fire up his neck to his chin, tilting it up slowly. Your head cocks to the side, he’s never seen you this smug. Were you like this with everyone else? Or is this just for him? He’s too scared to ask. “Care to elaborate?”

Spencer swallows slowly, trying to keep his voice steady. “You like the challenge. You like having to work for it. I used to think it was because you wanted to be intellectually stimulated, but seeing you like this makes me think that you get off on it. ”

You try to hide your smile, the grip on his chin slacking as your thumb traces a soft pattern on his lower jaw. “God forbid a girl has a bit of fun.” He cracks a smile with that, letting out a low hum as he raises his hands to pull you closer towards the bed, your knees hitting the edge of the bed that lies between his thighs.

Spencer’s pleading eyes almost make you cave, those soft chocolate pools of desire almost too alluring to resist. Almost. Although you guess he deserves a little treat before the night begins. You lean down, cupping both cheeks to press a slow kiss to his lips. Spencer matches your energy, not taking the kiss up a notch until you do, one of your hands straying to the root of his hair and pulling lightly at his brown curls while your tongue slowly slides against his bottom lip.

Fighting back a groan, Spencer eagerly parts his lips for you. Your tongue drags against his, exploring his mouth at a torturous pace. Spencer can feel his cock, begging for some friction, jump inside his pants as you softly suck on his bottom lip. He’s breathing hard, your mouth swallowing most of his groans and sighs, until your teeth pull at his bottom lip and he lets out a sweet, quiet whimper.

You pull away, and Spencer can feel himself spiraling before you push his hair back and whisper a breathy, “So good, baby.” His genius mind is out of commission after that, and whatever energy, whatever brain cells he has left over are now yours to use as you like. “Lean against the headboard.”

It’s a direct order that he immediately follows. He’s kicking off his shoes as fast as possible, moving around on your bed until his back hits the headboard.

His enthusiasm both excites you and amuses you, your eyes rolling with a playful shake of your head. He watches as you crawl over to him on the bed, swallowing hard as his eyes take you in. He’s waiting for his alarm to go off and for him to wake up in bed, without you, alone, and painfully hard.

You let out a short laugh, seeing his wide-eyed expression, “You’re sure you still want this?” You ask as you reach him, your eyes on his.

Spencer’s answer is a quick, “Yes!” which makes you smile wide at him, “Are you?” His fingers are itching to touch you, but he keeps them in his lap, fidgeting.

You let out a playful hum as you swing a leg over his lap, carefully straddling him. “Yes," you answer, looking down at him. You lean in, teasing his lips with a light brush, leaning away whenever Spencer tilts his head up in a vain attempt to kiss you thoroughly.

“Patience is a virtue.” Your lips brush against his as you whisper, kissing the corner of his lips, much to his dismay.

Spencer would say he’s not usually this needy, but he doesn't have ample experience to draw from anyway. He can only blame his neediness on you. You who is grinning from ear-to-ear as you kiss his cheek, you who is hovering over his lap, you who is laughing when you see his pleading expression. You mutter something that Spencer can vaguely make out as disappointed, “Greedy.” Before your lips press firmly onto his.

He could spend hours kissing you. In fact, if nothing else happens tonight, he’d walk home happy knowing he kissed you like this. Your languid kisses easily turn hungry as Spencer slides his hands to your waist, guiding you to sit on his lap. He can feel a ghost of a smile against his lips, his hands squeezing gently at your sides as you resume your earlier task of exploring his mouth with your tongue.

You swallow a groan from Spencer as you take a moment to suck on his tongue, his hand gripping your waist tighter. Letting out a muffled hum of pleasure, you grind your hips down on his with almost perfect precision.

Spencer’s back goes rigid, feeling the way your hips grind against his, unsure if it’s okay for a moment before lust wins out against logic. His large hands tighten around your clothed hips, pulling your hips down against his until he’s rutting his hips against yours like a dog in heat. He can feel your grin against his lips again, and he’s already whining by the time you pull away from him. Your hips lean away from his, sitting up on your knees.

His eyes look dazed, lust and confusion dancing in them as he tries his best not to come off as anxious, “Why’d you stop?” His breathy voice sends a shiver down your spine, right to your core.

“You want to take my clothes off, don’t you?” You leave his lap, moving to the side of his outer right thigh to properly strip.

His parted lips snap shut, nodding as fast as he can, immediately playing to your whims. You raise an eyebrow, “You need to learn to let a girl have her fun with you.” You muse as your hands reach for the edge of your top. Spencer’s heart rate doubles as he watches your fingers curl around the bottom hem.

His gaze darts between your fingers and your face, but his brows knit together, clearly confused. “What do you mean?” You’re pulling your top off painfully slow, and he’s debating asking you if he can do it for you.

Your top is passing your midriff. “If I’m on top,” His breath catches in his throat as he sees the bottom swell of your breast, “And if I want to tease you, learn how to take it.”

“Jesus Christ,” He shifts under you, your words reminding him how his erection is going ignored. “I’m going to need a good teacher.” It’s meant to be witty, but his tone sounds so strained that he’s surprised that you aren’t laughing at him right now. His eyes, not knowing what to stare at, barely meet yours before the sight of your lace-covered breasts enthralls him.

His strained, whiny voice has your body feeling hot all over. Making a mental note to make this man whine some more, you throw your top off to the side of the bed, hands making a beeline for your pants. “Oh, how exciting.” You slide out of them, leaving you in your bra and panties. “Your first lesson.”

Spencer, feeling awkward that he’s still fully clothed, begins to pull his shirt off. But when he goes to undo his pants, your fingers cover his. Your fingers are quick to pull his pants down to his thighs, and Spencer kicks them off without needing to be told.

You were a professional; you didn’t sleep with coworkers, no matter how tempting. Spencer Reid, however, is your forbidden fruit. His hazel eyes, wide and soft with need, make your chest clench with affection. You can feel some part of you salivating for another taste of him, knowing you’re too far gone to listen to reason.

Your gaze is slow to drop to his lap, eyes flickering across his bare chest, then down to the bulging outline of his cock against the thin material of his boxers. You hesitate, just for a moment, hand hovering in the air before you gently trace the outline of his cock through his boxers— undeniably pretty.

“Just for me?” Your head is bowed, eyes looking up through your lashes. Spencer lets out a shaky sigh, nodding a wordless response. You drag your index fingers roughly against the tip of his clothed dick. “Words, Spence.”

“Yes,” He whines, groaning as your hands pull down his boxers. “It’s all for you.”

“Very good.” Then, you're pulling his boxers down, gaze hungry as you expose Spencer’s hard cock inch by inch. You shift slightly to help him pull his boxers off, but your eyes are locked onto his cock. Red, hot tip with a slight curve towards his stomach, thick and twitching. You swallow the saliva pooling in your mouth slowly, and millions of ways to tease him immediately come to mind.

He tries to stop himself from feeling hot under your intense gaze, fighting the urge to beg you not to stare. He’s about to cave when you reach your left hand into your panties. A gentle groan leaves your lips as you swipe your fingers along the entrance of your warm cunt, “I can do that—” Spencer begins, but you’ve already stopped touching yourself, pulling your left hand away from your heat, fingers covered in your slick. You wrap your hands around his length, and Spencer has to stop his hips from immediately bucking at the feeling of your slick-covered hand.

“What was that, pretty boy?” Your hand slowly begins to move up and down the length of his cock.

Usually, Spencer would say something in rebuttal to that nickname, but the only thing you can hear right now is the sounds of him letting out tiny moans. He sputters, trying to reply, but your grip grows tighter as your hands move down his length, and all you get is a pathetic-sounding whine.

Leaning in to press a wet kiss to his shoulder, you watch as Spencer’s hips jolt when your index finger does a quick sweep over the pretty pink head of his cock. “Feels so much better than your hand, huh?” You read his mind, looking up at him.

Spencer’s head nods, breathing picking up as your lips suck on the sensitive skin of his neck as your hand steadily strokes him. “I–” You pick up the pace, teeth dragging against his pulse point. “Mmm, I’ve fantasized about you touching me like this.” He has no reason to lie, not now. He has pictured what it could feel like to have your fingers wrapped around his cock instead of his own, how you’d spread the pre-cum around the head of his cock, how you’d look licking his cum off of your hand.

His breathy admission earns him a soft groan, “Often?” You sound excited as you pull away from his neck. The idea of fulfilling one of his fantasies leaves you with an oddly triumphant sense of pride. Truth be told, he was fulfilling your fantasy: having Spencer Reid whining and moaning at your touch—a guilty pleasure on lonely nights.

Spencer doesn’t want to look you in the eyes when he answers, but he does anyway, your lustful gaze making it hard for him to look away. “Yes.”

You let out a satisfied sounding hum, looking away from him to lean down closer to his cock, for a second he’s sure you’re about to take him into your mouth. But, he isn’t disappointed when he sees a long trail of spit leaving your lips and coating the head of his cock.

Your hands helps coat your spit all around his cock and he’s in heaven. His head leaning back against the headboard as your hand brings him closer to the best orgasm he’s ever had. “ I-I’m, oh god,” He pants out, head rolling to the side to catch your gaze. “I won’t last very long if you keep this up. I’m not as experienced as,” His mouth falls open mid-sentence as you move your hand faster, letting out a cry of pleasure.

“I’m not, shit—” He swallows hard, “I’m not as experienced as I’d like to be, can–can’t last that long with you doing that!” He practically shouts at the end of his sentence.

“With a cock this pretty,” You give his length one last pump, “I find that hard to believe.” Carefully letting go of his cock, after all you want to have fun too. If Spencer thought his cock was being ignored before, he wasn’t expecting this. He whines, feeling the warmth of your hand leave him, his breathing heavy.

Your hand, covered in remnants of spit, dips into your underwear where you haphazardly smear the spit against your folds. Spencer’s heart skips a beat, enjoying the show you make of pulling your panties off your body. He almost sobs when you straddle his lap again, carefully sitting with your dripping core pressed directly onto his aching cock.

You let out a shaky groan when Spencer’s hips buck into yours, a wild look in his eyes that makes him seem more animalistic than needy. You can feel your walls squeeze around nothing as the head of his cock slowly grinds up into your clit. You bite your bottom lip to muffle a low moan, shuddering above him.

Your lips part, staring down at him with half-lidded eyes as Spencer’s brows furrow and eyes flutter shut with every needy rock of his hips. His hands grab at your hips, pushing and guiding you down to meet his. It’s not nearly enough and the both of you know it, the desperate urge to fill your sopping cunt to his heart's content growing with every pleasured sigh that leaves your lips.

“Please,” Spencer’s hands move to swell of your ass, gripping the skin hard as he uses your pussy lips as his personal toy. His breath is hot against your chest, lips leaving sloppy kisses below your collarbone. To him, you’re ethereal, a seraph, as you grind your pussy lips against his length and he desperately needs to be inside you. He needs to know how the cunt of an angel feels as soon as possible. “Let me fuck you.”

Fuck. It’s not a question, nor a demand, but a plea. His wording makes you groan, the idea that he has to beg to fuck you like this, that you have control over him like this. You’ve imagined Spencer in bed a handful of times, assuming that he’d be timid, yes, but fantasies are nothing compared to hearing that desperate plea.

You reposition your knees, pressing your chest into his face as you reach between your legs to guide him to your entrance. Spencer’s hands knead against the plump skin of your ass as you slowly sink down on him, a shaky exhale can be heard from the both of you. The fact that you haven’t been stretched out on his fingers dawns on you as you struggle to relax around the girth of his cock.

And Spencer seems to have the same thought, his hands snaking up your back to unlatch your bra. Once off, his lips sucking and nipping at the skin around your right nipple before his lips latch around its aroused bud. Your discomfort is partially forgotten as the flat of his tongue drags against the sensitive bud. A gasp, followed by a small, “Mhmm, that’s it.” Your hands leave his shoulders to push his hair back and away from his face as he focuses on his task, threading your fingers into his brown locks.

Your core swallows the rest of him whole, and you experimentally grind your hips down on his cock. His eyes, previously half-lidded, widen for a second before looking up at you. His lips still attached to your breast, eyes silently pleading for more, for anything, he has you teasing him with a light clench of your walls around him.

“Remember what I told you, Reid,” Spencer remembers… well, practically everything. But memories are hard to conjure when he’s buried deep inside you, velvet walls pulsing around him. Leaning away from your breast, a trail of spit still connects your skin to his tongue. “Learn how to take it.” You playfully scold, right thumb trailing down from his hair to swipe at the spit on his lips. “You can do that, can’t you?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a soft smile, your thumb tracing a soft pattern against his bottom lip. “I can do that.” He confirms with a gentle tone, eyes searching yours. The man beneath you looks lovesick, drunk on your touch, perfectly content to spend his days doing whatever you tell him, obedient.

The thought that he’ll do anything you say. The first move from you is a gentle roll of your hips, followed by a slow exhale. The sting of discomfort readily gets replaced with pleasure as you begin to ride him. Your palms move to grip the headboard behind Spencer’s shoulders, tilting your head to the side to carefully observe him, getting off on every little reaction he shows you.

A quick, lust-filled smile graces your lips as you move your hips up and down at a slow and steady pace. Spencer’s head tilts back slightly, soft sighs of pleasure leaving his parted lips everytime your hips sink down on his cock. “Is that good?”

You're teasing him, and he’d be dumb not to notice it; he knows that you can see—feel— how much he’s enjoying this, hear it even. Nevertheless, his head nods quickly as he rasps a mewl of a “Yes, so good.”

Canting your hips closer, you pick up the pace. The slight change in your position has his cock brushing against that sweet spot inside your pussy that has you shivering ontop of him, electricity coursing down your spine. Your eyes flutter closed, chasing after that feeling, panting as you use Spencer’s cock to bring yourself closer to your climax.

Spencer’s hips meet yours now as you ride him faster, the slapping and squelching of skin meeting skin can be heard alongside a cacophony of sinful-sounding moans and pants. Spencer’s head is thrown back, brows drawn together as he staves off his orgasm, wanting to drag this out for as long as possible. “Oh, god,” your name falls from his mouth in a string of pathetic-sounding moans, “Oh, Mommy—” He squeaks as he realizes the words that have escaped the dirtiest parts of his mind. His rosy cheeks turn slightly pale, eyes peering open to see your reaction.

Your cunt squeezes him tighter when his worried eyes reach yours. Your gaze isn’t filled with disgust, but darkened with desire. “What was that baby?” You gasp out, hips expertly snapping down onto his. Spencer’s mouth falls open to shamelessly repeat himself, but it’s too much for him. His words choking in the back of his throat as cries of pleasure replace them.

Pouting, you snap your hips down onto his with an abrupt stop. Spencer lets out a strangled sounding sob as you tilt his chin up, “Oh, Spencer, baby, do you need to say something?” You’re breathless and so, so, so, so close, but you need to hear him repeat those words before you cum.

Spencer’s chest softly heaves, blinking away the confusion in his eyes as you squeeze your tight walls around him, his hips struggling against yours. It’s hard to tease him properly as the head of his cock keeps grinding into your g-spot, your mind becoming hazy with pleasure. But you can’t risk stopping, not when you’re this close. Your lips part, a whine threatening to leave them as you speak, “I’m so s’close, you can handle a little more. Just a-a little longer.” Your voice trembles for a second, but it coaxes a gentle moan out of him nonetheless.

His cock feels desperate to empty into you as you deny him his orgasm with another sharp, “Not yet.” He feels he must obey your demand, his head becoming lightheaded whenever you order him around. He can feel tightening around him, walls fluttering against him with every second you get closer to your climax.

Spencer can feel his eyes prickle with tears, his bottom lip trembling, “I need to cum. Need to cum, let me cum, Mommy.”

You let out a broken laugh as he finally says the words you were so desperately waiting for, “You’re the one who asked for this, Spence.” You managing to speak so coldly to him while vigorously bouncing on his cock has him letting out another weak sob, “Look at you, you can barely handle it.” Your moans are becoming louder and slightly animalistic. “Let me use you while I can.”

You do exactly that, using him as you feel your orgasm crashing on you, your hands move to his shoulders, nails dragging against his skin as you loudly cry out for him. When your hips stutter against his, your body shuddering and melting into pleasure, Spencer is quick to buck his hips erratically up to yours, helping you ride out your orgasm to the fullest.

Spencer is quick to follow, grabbing your hips tightly to pull himself out of you with a curse, his seed coating your pussy lips and inner thighs. “I’m sorry,” He pants out, the ends of his hair sticking to his forehead, “I’m sorry, I’m–”

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You exhale, panting lightly as you look down at him with a lazy grin.

He’s quiet after that, his grip of your hips loosening as you dip your head to look at him, forehead slowly pressing against his. You let out a little laugh, exhausted and giddy, “You good?”

He lets out a soft ‘mhm’ that tells that all his energy has left him. You can’t judge him; your body is suspiciously close to crashing. You can hear him mumble your name, and you move your head away from his, “Yes?”

“Are you—” He stops, licking his lips, “I’d like it if we could be—” He struggles to find the right words, anxiety and exhaustion making him into a simpering fool.

But you’re grinning, so he must be doing something right. He’s about to attempt his messy request to be the only man in your love life when you mutter a soft, whisper-like, “I’d love to be exclusive with you, Dr. Reid. On one condition.”

You smooth his hair back, out of his face, “We keep this between us until we’re ready to tell the team, I don’t need a team of profilers in my love life— not while we’re together.”

Spencer can feel his chest tighten, watching as you move to hold your pinkie finger towards him. He links his pinkie around yours, “Deal,” He laughs. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Spencer finds acting normal around you increasingly difficult, especially when you keep leaving flirty notes telling him to meet you in the supply closet in ten minutes on his desk (for the fourth time this week). Ever challenging when you insist that your ‘innocent’ little rendezvous won’t lead anywhere, but your plump lips kiss his so hard that they’re swollen in seconds.

He knows the team knows something is amiss, but he can’t think to worry about it as his head finds a place between your hips, your fingers threading into his hair as you bite your swollen bottom lip in a weak attempt to quiet yourself.

JJ and Emily note your absence this fine Wednesday morning, something Derek doesn’t find too interesting until he sees that Spencer is also missing. But who is he to ruin it for Spencer? He’s sure the boy genius has you on a mini-coffee date at some café across the street.

Well, he was sure, until he rounded the corner to see you stumble out of a supply closet, your hair ruffled and makeup smudged. He almost calls out your name when he notices Spencer tailing behind you, his cardigan ruffled and hair equally tousled. Derek’s jaw drops open, waiting and standing in awe as you blow Spencer a kiss and head in the opposite direction toward the bathrooms.

The second Spencer turns to see his friend, the smile drops away from his face, and the color leaves his cheeks. Morgan’s smile is reminiscent of the Cheshire cat’s as he draws out a proud “My man!” and Spencer feels dread fill his soul. He’s never going to live this down.

2K notes · View notes

inseobts · 2 months ago

Note

hiiii! first of all, i love your fics sm!! i love the way you write Law 💙 can i request a fic with BIG LOSER Law? lmaooo like, maybe they go on their first date and he's so awkward and nervous. he has everything planned out but nothing is going according to plan so he's stressing constantly, or the crew is watching him trying to flirt w reader and they get second hand embarrassment (tbh anything you want to write is fine, just make him suffer a little bit bc i think it's funny)

Captain Loser

law × gn!reader

a/n: I tried my best to keep him in character — I hope I did a good job!

words count: 3.5k

tags: fluff, humor, awkward first date, loser law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Law is calm during battles.

Law is calm in surgeries.

Law is not calm when you say, “Sure, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

And now, he’s pacing in his room like a man being hunted.

“Captain,” Bepo says gently, poking his head into Law’s room “You’ve been… changing your coat for the past 15 minutes.”

Law stops, eyes wild “Which one makes me look more—” he stops. Then corrects himself “Never mind.”

Bepo blinks “More what?”

“…Like I’m not dying inside.”

Bepo nods solemnly “Go with the dark one, it's your color.”

The “date” starts with Law arriving twenty minutes early. Not because he’s eager, of course (he is.)

You show up with a smile, looking relaxed and easy-going, and Law immediately forgets how to stand like a normal person. He moves like someone’s remote-controlling him from across the street.

“You look good” he says.

You blink “Thanks! So do you.”

He dies.

Inside.

Law has a plan. It’s written in his notebook.

Literally.

He wrote a plan.

Phase 1: Get snacks from that café in town.

Phase 2: Walk by the docks.

Phase 3: Compliment them. Not weirdly. Normal compliment.

Phase 4: If going well, offer to take them stargazing. If rejected, die.

Simple.

Except that phase 1 explodes immediately.

The café is closed“Temporarily for repairs” the sign says.

Law stares at the sign like it personally betrayed him “This wasn’t in the plan” he mutters.

You peek over his shoulder “We can just get something from a stall?”

He hesitates. That’s not in the plan. That’s not in the plan.

But you’re smiling, so he nods “Right. Improvising. Yeah. I can do that.”

(He can’t do that)...

Meanwhile, across the street Shachi, Penguin, and Bepo are hiding behind barrels. Watching.

“He’s sweating” Shachi whispers.

Penguin squints “Can he even sweat? Is that medically possible for him?”

Bepo sighs “I don’t think he blinked in five minutes.”

Back on the date, Law is now trying to eat takoyaki. He stabs one with a stick, offers it to you, and then, mid-movement, panics.

“Wait—are you allergic to anything? Shellfish? Octopus? Gluten??”

You laugh “Nope. I’m good.”

“…Okay.” He hesitates “Do you want this one, or should I—”

“I’ll take it.”

Back behind the barrels, Penguin falls to the ground “I can’t watch this.”

By the time you’re strolling along the docks (Phase 2 is back on track!), Law is a wreck. Internally. Externally he still has that serious Captain face on.

“You don’t… date often, do you?” you ask, amused.

Law’s steps falter.

“…Is it that obvious?” he mutters.

You bump his shoulder lightly “Just a little. But it’s cute.”

Cute..........

You just called him........ cute.

Someone please sedate him.

He clears his throat “You’re… uh. You’re not bad yourself.”

You laugh “Was that a compliment?”

He looks away “Kind of.”

You grin “I’ll take it.”

Behind a stack of crates, Shachi is losing his mind “SOMEONE PUT HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY.”

“HE SAID ‘NOT BAD YOURSELF’—WHO EVEN SAYS THAT?!” Penguin wheezes.

Bepo watches calmly “I think it’s going well.”

“…Are we watching the same date?”

You’re sitting on the dock now, feet dangling over the edge, watching the sky turn orange. The date hasn’t gone the way Law planned.

Which is exactly the problem.

He stands next to you like he’s guarding treasure. Except he’s not relaxed. He’s tense. Like he expects an ambush.

From the moon.

“So…” you say, glancing up at him “You always this quiet?”

Law hesitates “I’m… thinking.”

“About?”

“…Phase Four.”

“Phase what?”

He freezes “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes “Law. Did you… plan this date like a battle?”

He clears his throat “No.”

“…You definitely did.”

He changes the subject. Badly “Do you like… stars?”

Meanwhile, behind a crate about 50 feet away, Shachi has his binoculars out.

“They’re sitting. It’s happening. Phase Four is happening.”

Bepo nods, whispering, “Do you think he’ll kiss them?”

Shachi nearly drops the binoculars “No way. No way. He’d combust.”

Penguin has snacks now “What if y/n kisses him first?”

There’s a beat of silence.

They all go, in unison: “He’d die.”

Back at the dock, you lean back on your hands “Stars are nice. But I like hearing you talk about things you like.”

Law blinks. That wasn’t in the plan.

“…Like medicine?” he asks cautiously.

“Sure.”

“Anatomy?”

You raise a brow “Within reason.”

He exhales slowly “What about… the ocean?”

“See?” you say “You’re doing fine.”

“I don’t think so.”

You tilt your head “Are you nervous?”

“…Extremely.”

You smile.

That’s when you both hear it.

“PENGUIN, GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY HEAD—”

Law stiffens “Wait.”

There’s rustling. A loud clunk. Then “SHHHHHHH!! THEY CAN HEAR US—”

Law turns slowly. You follow his gaze.

A barrel tips over.

Three grown men—one bear, two idiots—collapse into the open like spilled groceries.

“…Oh my god,” you whisper “Were they SPYING on us?!”

Law’s eye twitches.

Shachi pops up “Captain!! Don’t be mad!! We were just—uh—moral support!!”

Bepo waves sheepishly “You were doing great until now!”

Penguin gives you a thumbs-up from the ground “You’re really cute together!”

Law looks like he’s going to murder someone.

You, meanwhile, are wheezing.

“They were there the whole time?!” you gasp, laughing “How long have they been WATCHING?”

Shachi: “Since before the takoyaki.”

Penguin: “Since coat number three.”

Law: “…I’m going to kill you.”

Bepo: “But gently, right?”

You stand up and tug Law’s sleeve. He glances down at you, still visibly unamused.

“I thought it was cute” you say “Your plan. The awkward flirting. All of it.”

He stares “Even this?”

You grin “Especially this.”

His ears turn pink.

Later that night…

Law storms into the crew quarters.

“Meeting. Now.”

They scramble to attention.

He points at each of them “You are banned from surveillance. No more binoculars. No more hiding behind barrels. If I see a single one of you during a private moment again, I will operate your limbs off and sew them back wrong.”

Shachi gulps “Got it.”

Penguin: “Totally fair.”

Bepo: “What about just listening—?”

Law: “Bepo.”

“…Okay. Sorry.”

He turns to leave, coat flapping dramatically—until Shachi calls out “Wait! Did you at least kiss them?!”

Law pauses in the doorway. Silent. Then closes the door behind him.

In the hallway, alone, he leans against the wall, covers his face, and mutters “…Next time.”

Breakfast on the Polar Tang is loud.

Penguin and Shachi are fighting over eggs. Bepo is carefully peeling an orange like it’s surgery. The table’s full—shoulders bumping, chopsticks clattering, someone laughing every five seconds.

You walk in, hair still messy, and Law is already seated at the end.

He looks up the second you enter.

“Morning” you say, rubbing your eye.

He nods, quietly “Morning.”

You take the empty seat beside him.

On the other end of the table, someone yells, “Hey—who took the last piece of cake?!”

You glance up. Sure enough there’s one perfect square of fluffy, cream-filled strawberry shortcake sitting on a plate near the middle. Or rather was sitting.

In one clean, lightning-fast movement, Law grabs it and slides it across the table.

In front of you.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t explain. Just keeps drinking his black coffee like he didn’t just commit pastry theft.

You stare at him.

Then at the cake.

Then back at him.

“You like it” he says again, like that explains everything.

Which… it does. Kind of.

You blink fast and look away, trying not to smile too hard. He’s always the type to do something so sweet.

But then he notices your cup’s empty and, without saying anything, reaches over and refills it from the kettle. Still not looking at you. Still completely casual. Like it's just part of his morning routine.

Your brain short-circuits.

...And it gets worse.

A piece of hair falls into your face. You're about to push it back, but he does it first—absentminded, fingers brushing your temple like it’s nothing.

Like it’s normal. Like it’s just something he’s allowed to do.

You stop breathing for a second.

Law, meanwhile, is already slicing into an omelet, entirely unaware that he’s killing you one tiny gesture at a time.

You take a bite of the cake, cheeks warm.

It’s perfect...Of course it is.

Later, as you’re both standing up to clear plates, you bump shoulders.

“Thanks” you murmur.

“For what?”

“The cake. The tea. The hair thing. All of it.”

He looks at you for a second but then his gaze flicks from your eyes to your mouth and back again.

“…Wasn’t a big deal.”

“It kinda is.”

He blinks. Tilts his head a little.

You smile “You’re a lot cuter when you’re not trying so hard, y’know.”

He frowns “I wasn’t trying before.”

“Exactly.”

You pat his arm, grab your dish, and head toward the sink.

Behind you, he stands there, stuck in place.

Then mutters to himself “…Cuter?”

After breakfast you’re chatting with Bepo about the latest island rumors, sitting at the mess table again. Law’s standing nearby, arms crossed, pretending to read a report. But he keeps looking up every time you laugh. Every time you tilt your head, or say his name, or look like you might say something else.

He’s not subtle.

Not even a little.

You don’t call him out for it. You like it. The fact that he’s choosing to just be around you, even if he pretends he isn’t.

He’s calmer now than he was on your first date. Less fidgety. Less stressed. And way more dangerous because of it.

Like right now, he glances up from his report, sees you rubbing your shoulder absently, and immediately sets the paper down.

“You okay?”

You blink “Yeah, just slept weird.”

He steps behind you and before you can ask what he’s doing his hands are on your shoulders.

Firm, careful pressure. His thumbs move in slow circles against your neck, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. (He does. He’s a doctor, after all).

Your body goes very still.

The crew goes even stiller.

Across the room, Shachi drops a wrench.

Penguin inhales a peanut and starts coughing.

Bepo covers his mouth like he’s watching a sacred ritual.

Law doesn’t notice. Or maybe he does, but doesn’t care.

He just mutters, “Tell me if it hurts” and keeps working the muscle.

You swear you might dissolve on the spot.

Later that day, you're walking down the hall toward the storage room when you hear it “DID YOU SEE THE MASSAGE?”

It's Shachi. His voice echoes off the metal walls.

“That was intimate, right? That wasn’t just medical. That was spiritual.”

Penguin: “I choked on a peanut for a reason. That was fate.”

Bepo, calmly: “I think they’re in love.”

You peek around the corner.

They’re in a triangle of chaos. Whisper-yelling. Flailing. Dramatic hand gestures.

You clear your throat and all three freeze.

You raise your eyebrows.

“…We were just talking about the weather” Shachi says, very seriously.

“Peanut forecast” Penguin adds.

Bepo bows slightly “I fully support you and the captain.”

You blink “We’re not even dating.”

There’s silence.

Then, in unison “YET.”

You walk off, red in the face, trying not to laugh.

You don’t see Law leaning in the next hallway, arms crossed again, listening to the whole thing.

He exhales through his nose, quietly.

Then mutters to himself “…Idiots.”

But his lips twitch. Just a little.

Law finds you on the deck in the early evening.

You're sitting on a crate, swinging your legs, watching the lights in the distance as the town starts to glow with festival lanterns.

He approaches, hands in his pockets.

“Hey” he says.

You glance up “Hey. Festival looks nice.”

He nods.

There’s a pause.

You look at him, expectant.

He shifts his weight, like he’s debating something. Then “…You wanna go?”

You blink “To the festival?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, eyes on the horizon “Figured if I ask without writing a five-step plan first, I might not almost die.”

You snort “So this is you asking me on another date?”

He glances at you “Depends.”

“On?”

“If you say yes.”

You grin “I do.”

He exhales “Cool.”

You both try not to smile too obviously.

The festival is chaos but in the best way.

Kids dart through the crowd with candy in both hands. Music plays from a group of locals with hand drums. Lights swing overhead like constellations. There’s food everywhere.

You’re walking side-by-side, not touching, but close enough that your arms brush every now and then.

It’s comfortable.

It’s easy.

You pass a game booth, some kind of target shooting with cork guns. Law glances at it, then at you.

“You good at that?”

You shrug “Mediocre. You?”

“…Surgical.”

You grin “Prove it.”

Ten minutes later, he’s won you a stupid plush seal.

Not by being cool... no. He misses the first two shots, scowls at the gun like it insulted his ancestors, then mutters something about "cheap manufacturing" and *then* gets serious.

Tongue between his teeth. Narrowed eyes. Absolutely committed to this ridiculous task.

When he finally hits the last target, he looks so smug that you burst out laughing.

He shoves the plush into your hands “I said I’d get it.”

You’re still laughing “You’re so dramatic.”

He watches you, something soft in his eyes “…You like it though.”

You pretend to examine the seal “I mean, the craftsmanship’s a little off…”

He bumps your shoulder with his.

You both smile.

Later, you stop for shaved ice, sitting together on a low wall at the edge of the square.

You’re halfway through your dessert when Law quietly says, “This is better.”

You pause “Than what?”

He looks down at his cup “Last time. When I was trying too hard.”

You tilt your head “You were cute then, too.”

He huffs “I was malfunctioning.”

“You were. But it was cute.”

He glances at you, eyes a little narrowed “You call me cute one more time, I’ll—”

“What?” you challenge, grinning.

He leans in. Just a little.

You freeze.

“…I’ll get you a second plush” he says, flatly.

You burst out laughing.

He pulls back, lips twitching. He’s definitely not immune to how red your face is right now. And he likes it.

The sun dips lower, the festival softens. Lights blur a little more golden, music slows down, and kids start tugging tired parents toward "one last game."

You and Law are still wandering, side-by-side, when you pass a booth with a simple ball toss game, rings over bottles.

There's a kid already playing. Small. Serious. Determined.

Law stops. Watches.

The kid notices.

Their eyes lock.

You can feel the energy shift.

The kid slowly, silently, picks up another ring.

Law crosses his arms.

You look at both of them “…What is happening?”

Neither answers.

The kid tosses.

Hit.

Law steps up, drops a coin in the tray without looking away from the tiny opponent.

He tosses.

Hit.

It’s on.

The next few minutes are dead silent, deadly focused, and weirdly intense. Ring after ring. Perfect aim. Small frowns. No smiles. Just raw, quiet competition between a six-year-old and a warlord of the sea.

You’re trying so hard not to laugh you’re shaking.

Eventually the kid lands the final toss. Clean. The biggest bottle. Fireworks go off behind them (perfect timing), and they just nod like, obviously.

Law misses his last ring by a centimeter.

The kid walks over to the prize wall, selects a plush shark... huge, bright blue... and struts back to you.

Holds it out.

“For you, princess,” he says, with perfect, practiced swagger “I’m way better than him.”

You blink.

Law blinks.

The kid walks off without another word.

You look at Law.

You cackle.

Like, actual, doubled-over, wiping-your-eyes laughter.

Law is standing there in stunned silence like he just got outplayed in flirting by a child.

“Did he just—”

You nod, wheezing “He did. He called me princess. Did you hear that delivery?!”

Law glares at the shark plush like it insulted his honor.

You’re still laughing when he says, “It was rehearsed. He’s done that before.”

You lean against the booth, catching your breath “Oh my god. You should’ve done that on our first date.”

He mutters something about “not stooping to plush-based mind games” but he’s definitely not as grumpy as he pretends to be.

And when you nudge him, smiling, he just mutters “…I still won the seal.”

The walk back to the ship is quiet.

The streets behind you still glow with festival lights, but out here, closer to the shore, it’s all stars and sea breeze. A little cooler. A little slower.

You and Law walk side by side. No need to talk. No need to fill the silence.

You’re holding the dumb blue shark and the seal.

He hasn’t teased you about it since the kid incident. Maybe he knows you’d win. Or maybe he’s distracted.

You glance at him. His eyes are soft tonight, not sharp like they usually are. He’s not analyzing anything. Not overthinking. He’s just here with you.

“I had fun” you say quietly.

He nods “Yeah.”

You wait a second... “…That all you’re gonna say?”

He looks over “I didn’t almost die of embarrassment this time.”

You smile “True. Growth.”

A pause.

Then he says, voice lower “I liked being with you. Not just because it went better. Just… because it’s you.”

You stop walking.

He does too. Turns to face you fully.

The wind lifts his coat slightly. The moon lights the water behind him. His expression is unreadable for a second—then shifts.

Softer. Realer.

“I don’t really do this kind of thing,” he says “Dates. People.”

“I know.”

“But I want to try. If it’s you.”

Your heart stumbles.

You step closer “I was planning to kiss you tonight.”

His breath hitches, just a little “Oh.”

You grin “You okay with that?”

He nods once “Yeah.”

And that’s all you need.

You lean in. Your hands brush his coat. His breath catches. Then you kiss him. Slow. Steady. Warm.

He kisses you back like he’s memorizing it.

One hand rests on your waist, hesitant at first, then firmer, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you pull back, you’re both quiet for a moment.

Then he murmurs, barely audible “…Better than a plush.”

You laugh against his chest.

He doesn’t say it, but he holds you a little tighter and that actually says everything.

It’s late, the crew mostly asleep, lights dimmed, the ocean calm. You’re in Law’s quarters now. It’s neater than you expected, but still has that lived-in look. Folders stacked in perfect piles. Books arranged by subject. A single mug half-full of cold tea.

You’re curled up on his couch. Shark plush tucked under one arm. Law’s sprawled next to you, boots off, coat hanging on the back of his desk chair.

His head’s resting against the back of the couch, eyes half-closed. He looks tired. In that good way. The kind that comes after laughter and a kiss and not needing to pretend.

You shift a little and his hand finds yours without looking.

Fingers laced. Easy.

“You’re quiet” you murmur.

“Still processing.”

You glance over “The kiss?”

“No. The shark.”

You snort “Jealous?”

He opens one eye “Of a six-year-old with good aim and terrifying confidence? …Yes.”

You laugh, soft and warm.

Law’s watching you now, really watching you, and this time there’s no hesitation. No second-guessing.

He reaches up and brushes a thumb over your cheekbone. Slow. Gentle. Familiar now.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I want this.”

You nod “Me too.”

He shifts closer “You staying?”

You lean your head against his shoulder “Unless you kick me out.”

“…I’d operate the door shut before I let that happen.”

You smile into his shirt.

The next morning you wake up warm.

Wrapped in a blanket, shark plush tucked under your arm, head resting on something solid. And breathing.

You blink.

It’s Law’s chest.

His coat is draped over both of you like some makeshift shield. One of his hands is still loosely around your waist. The other is on his face, like he's already regretting waking up.

You smile.

“Morning” you whisper.

He groans into his palm “No.”

Then there’s a knock... or more like a bang.

“CAPTAIN!”

Law tenses.

You sit up, hair everywhere, still holding the plushes like a shield.

“Captain, are you—” Penguin bursts in and freezes.

Shachi appears behind him, sees the situation, and gasps like someone got stabbed.

Bepo peeks in last. Quietly says, “Told you they were in love.”

Law is already covering his face again.

Penguin: “Are these TWO cute plushes?!”