lushfruit

[lushfruit]

GLUE MYSELF SHUT

it starts with ice on your tongue and ends with spencer trying not to picture what else his mouth might be good at

pairings: spencer reid x shy!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, not explicit smut but it's suggestive, post prison spencer, fem reader, fluff, reader has an oral fixation, talk of alcohol, alcohol consumption (wine), spencer having some semi super-naughty thoughts, he’s obsessed with her lips, he’s so down bad it’s not even funny. except it is. i find it hilarious. i feel like the ending was weird but i stared at it for like 6 business days and couldn’t figure out how to fix it so #word wc: 1.6k request: here

The autonomic nervous system, when overengaged, compulsively chases external release valves. Little, repetitive distractions employed to dissipate internal pressure. Cognitive behavior theory identifies these as primitive anxiety-management strategies. Lip-biting, skin-picking, hair-twisting.

For you, the chosen method consists of timed intervals involving ice cubes, precisely fourteen minutes apart. Pinching it between cautious fingertips, rolling it contemplatively, savoring the brief burst of cold against skin.

He watches, a reluctant voyeur to the slow meltwater streams trickling along your fingers in mercury rivulets, until finally disappearing past parted lips. His eyes shutter sideways, hurriedly silencing the part of his brain that longs to quantify the thaw rate versus thermal conduction properties of ice on the surface of your tongue.

You’re studying a painting in the corner of the restaurant — abstract oils bleeding into one another in nebulous fashion behind Emily’s shoulder. Spencer finds himself studying you, an equally abstract form of art. You’re a fan of art. He’s seen your tendency to pause at gallery plaques, eyes tracing curatorial notes while your fingers twitch involuntarily, as though fighting the impulse to physically touch the described textures.

He isn’t much different at this moment. 

You’re never exacting, never critical of the things you see. You’re easy to please in the purest sense, content to absorb shapes and colors simply because they exist, acknowledging beautiful things without demanding it prove itself worthy.

It makes him wonder, morbidly, if you’re easy to please in other ways. 

Do you make noises when someone kisses you properly? Would your thighs tremble if they whispered how lovely you were, over and over again? 

He knows how polymers behave under heat. He wants to know if you’re the same.

He shouldn’t be indulging these thoughts. He’s repeated the admonition several times already, a silent internal chant that does nothing to stem the tide because here you are, unknowingly feeding it.

Your lips gleam with condensation, a lone droplet suspended just above your mouth, a tiny, inadvertent physics demonstration awaiting disruption.

His thumb tingles impulsively, a raw, tactile curiosity urging him to test the exact point at which tension collapses, to feel moisture yield to pressure.

He blinks hard, almost violently, screwing his eyelids shut in an effort to sever the treacherous visual connection tethering him precariously to your mouth. His gaze then drops like ballast to the nearest neutral object — his plate, where a roasted carrot glares back up at him with bland contempt.

Spencer coughs into a closed fist, a pathetic smokescreen for the heat scalding up his throat, licking at his ears like flame-starved oxygen.

With determined resolve, he refocuses, or at least pretends to, zeroing in on Rossi’s dramatic discourse about the fermentation processes and barrel chemistry. Wine science, he assures himself, is safe, dry, deeply unsexy. Unlike you. Unlike the mental imagery of your mouth encircled around other, less work-appropriate things.

These team dinners are, in most cases, a slow bleed. A sensory minefield dressed in linen napkins and over-loud laughter. Spencer doesn’t resent the company, he loves them, every single one, but the sound never stops, the social current too nonlinear to keep up with.

Noise and light and movement pile upon each other until his nervous system blinks seven different shades of red.

So yeah, usually, he counts minutes and builds exit strategies.

But tonight, that never happens. There’s no grit behind his eyes, no anticipatory urge for flight. Instead, there’s only a strange sense of equilibrium and the certainty that it begins and ends with you.

Every shy laugh you offer at Morgan’s jokes, every awkward tuck of your hair behind your ear when attention veers too close to you, every furtive glance his way like you’re reassuring yourself he hasn’t dematerialized between breaths.

He notices it all. Worse, he likes it. Relishes it in a way that feels almost parasitic when he dares to think about it too long.

You inch closer, lowering your voice to be aimed at him. “Do you think Rossi would be crushed if he found out I genuinely can’t taste the difference between this and, like, Welch’s?”

Spencer bites back an immediate grin, angling himself toward you until the barest fraction of space remains between your shoulders.

“I won’t tell if you don’t.”

“So that’s a yes, then?”

“Pretty much.” He slides his glass your way. “Here, try this one. Rossi said it’s supposed to have subtle oak notes. I think that’s just the polite way of saying it doesn’t feel like lighter fluid.”

You accept his glass, fingertips brushing his as you take it. 

Spencer’s eyes cling to your mouth as you sip, lips parting over the same place his touched, sealing over it perfectly like you were made to erase him and replace him in one motion. 

When you pull back, the wine stains your lips in a dark, sultry crimson. He imagines pressing his mouth to yours until the color smears, until it becomes something new altogether — a hue birthed from shared breaths and synchronized heartbeats. He wonders what saturation your mouth would take on if it were shaped around his name.

Spencer recognizes that he might be one errant breath away from ruin.

There are other people here, he reminds himself. Polite company. His colleagues, no less, who are presumably not here to watch him experience this kind of deranged attention he’s directing toward you. He’s certain he must be blushing, overheating, or having a close, conversational strow. Each scenario feels equally plausible, equally shameful, equally likely to leave him socially incapacitated.

You tilt your head, eyebrows raised in patient confusion. Three long, interminable seconds crawl by before Spencer realizes you’re awaiting a response.

Shit.

“What?” he blurts, louder than intended.

“I said I don’t think I have the palate for this one. Kind of tastes like overpriced raisins.”

Spencer bobs his head eagerly. “Right. Yeah. No, I — agree.”

Your smile is soft but searching as you seem to follow his thought process and come up short. Spencer’s heart kicks harder in his chest. He fumbles for normalcy and overshoots.

“The raisin flavor, it’s probably residual sugar. Or the grape variety, certain grapes naturally have that characteristic. Sometimes they’re intentionally allowed to over ripen, concentrating sugars. Could also be oxidation. Or, possibly, microbial spoilage, though that sounds bad, it’s usually done on purpose, beneficial spoilage. Controlled spoilage.”

“What kind of grapes do they use for that, then?” Your voice is tentative, uncertain, as though worried the question might sound overly simplistic.

It’s not. It’s absolutely fine, ideal, even. Except Spencer’s concentration evaporates instantly when your tongue flicks gently across your lower lip, leaving behind a glossy sheen.

Suddenly, grapes don’t exist. Language doesn’t exist. Spencer himself might barely exist.

“Usually Muscat or Zinfandel,” he manages at last, “They, uh, leave them on the vine longer to intensify sweetness.”

You laugh under your breath, pushing the stem of the glass back toward him. “Makes sense, though I might not be the best judge. My mom used to say that anything that didn’t taste like peach schnapps wasn’t worth the bottle.”

Spencer’s mouth opens, poised to respond, but your hand is already in motion, fingers dipping into your glass for another cube of ice. He watches as your thumb gently glides over its edges. Checking for symmetry, perhaps. You bring it to your mouth and he doesn’t blink, can’t. There’s a fleeting glimpse of pink tongue against transparent ice, the slight hollowing of your cheeks.

All sentence structure evaporates, replaced by a pounding rush of blood to his temples and other less cooperative places. 

“That’s…” he rasps, then clears his throat. “That’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Your um. Your mom’s schnapps rule.”

“Oh.” You cock your head. “I always thought it was kinda trashy.”

“It’s not,” he says, too fast. “I’ve heard worse opinions about alcohol.”

“Yeah?” Your purse your lips and the ice shifts, creating a temporary distortion in the shape of your cheek. “Like what?”

Spencer watches the dent smooth out, watches how the overhead lights refract across your skin — warmer along the apple of your cheek, cooler where it softens into shadow near your jaw. A perfect gradient, like a masterwork in motion. A living chiaroscuro. Oil paintings where the subject glows not because of the paint, but because of its depth was coaxed out by patient and loving hands.

He wonders who has painted you in that light.

You mentioned your mother and he wants to know more. What was she like? Did she nurture your curiosity, or did she scold it? Was she tender, or tired? Did she sing while she cooked? Did she let you cry, or did she rush to clean it up? 

And your father, was he there? Was he gentle? Did he hug you with both arms, or with silence? Did he make you feel small in the way children should, protected, or in the way they shouldn’t, invisible?

Spencer hopes, deeply, that they were kind. That you were someone’s favorite part of the day. That you grew up held, not just housed.

He doesn’t think you’re seeing anyone romantically. Not seriously. He suspects he’d know, suspects there’d be signs. Someone waiting at the door. A name that surfaces too often. 

But you probably have been with people before. Respectful ones, preferably.

“Like how some people can’t tell the difference between a five-hundred-dollar Bordeaux and… grape juice,” he finally says, quirking a brow. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“Not everyone’s tongue works quite as well as yours, Doctor Reid.” 

Spencer sees the instant when your brain catches up with your words, cheeks flooding with heat, eyes widening incrementally, mouth parting in a mortified ‘O’.

“I mean — not like that.” You quickly stumble forward, hands fluttering uselessly in your lap, voice pitched high. “Refined taste buds. Taste buds, I meant, not… not tongue in any other context.”

Your expression is a fascinating disaster, eyebrows drawn tight, lips flattened into a line like you’re hoping the pressure alone might rewind time and vacuum every syllable back into your throat.

Meanwhile, Spencer’s imagination flickers to life, promptly supplying him with an intensely distracting scenario involving precisely how well his tongue works when applied directly to you.

“Right. Taste buds,” he echoes, voice two octaves higher than usual. “I knew what you meant.”

Except he hadn’t, not immediately. His heartbeat already sprinting ahead of him, generously pumping oxygen to regions he’d strongly prefer remain switched off. He briefly considers explaining the basis of verbal slips — the Freudian slip theory, perhaps — but decides against it. 

Better to pretend that his mind hasn’t already replayed your words more times than strictly necessary.

One day he’ll show you.

shy reader is part of a stand-alone series! you can read more here!

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[lushfruit]

A pt2 of invisible string is a NEED

what would you like to see? i didn’t initially have a part two in mind but i’d be very, very open to making one!!

[lushfruit]

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, 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 things, 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.

[lushfruit]

INVISIBLE STRING

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

summary: the many, many times fate has tried bringing you and spencer reid together, all of which failed until the two of you were ready.

content: mentions of being cheated on, reader is a bit of a genius, spencer’s eidetic memory is selective for the sake of the plot, reader is a medical student, i tried to avoid using l/n but i couldn’t 💔, not sure if this is fluff or angst but it’s kinda everything, like one mention of spencer being taller than reader.

note: my first spencer reid imagine loll. i have so many scrapped ideas but this came to me after invisible string came on and i opened that notes app with HASTE. hope you enjoy!!

There’s a saying that the act to bring you and your soulmate together was 500 years in the making. Interlinked souls, bound by fate itself.

Frankly, fate was getting sick of you two.

The first time wasn’t entirely your fault. It was arguably your dad’s, but it was fair to say that you were too young to be meeting your supposed soulmate, so it was probably for the better.

You were picking your dad up from work. He worked as a professor at Caltech, a job that he had recently landed and was very, very proud of.

Usually your dad preferred to drive home himself, but you’d recently obtained your license and, well, as teenagers do, you were finding quite literally every opportunity you could to drive, high off the freedom of it. Especially with the new car that you’d been surprised with as a result of your astronomical grades.

You pressed the ‘unlock’ key on your side of the newly used vehicle, smiling proudly at your father as he entered the passenger seat.

You stared at him expectantly, watching him buckle his seatbelt, adjust his satchel, and then stare straight forwards. It was only after about twenty seconds of waiting for the car to move that he finally turned to you.

“What?” he inquired, but he knew what.

You held your hands up dramatically, emphasizing yourself. “What do you mean ‘what?’”

“Ohhh,” your father dragged out the word. He looked away towards the window before looking back at you, mock surprise and genuine proudness washing over his features. “Wow, sweetie, you drove the whole way here?”

Your smile returned, this time accompanied by a laugh as you nudged the gearshift to drive. “The whole way. Hold the applause, please.”

You drove off shortly after, listening to your father rant about how work went today. You were mostly tuned in — the other part of you wondered if your mom would’ve found it just as boring as you did.

“. . . And the most interesting thing today was that the sixteen-year-old taking my class finally spoke up,” he said, a touch of amusement in his voice. That pulled your focus back.

Initially, you were slightly disbelieving. “You have a sixteen-year-old in your class?”

“One of the brightest students I’ve ever had in my life,” he confirmed with a hum. You frowned when your father poked your elbow. “He may even be smarter than you.”

“You need to work on your jokes, Dad,” you told him, only half-joking. “I think they get worse every year you age.”

“You’re sucking all of the humor out of me,” he quipped. “Just like you took your mom’s wit.”

You gasped dramatically. “Wow. Okay. I’m definitely telling her you said that.”

“Do it,” he challenged.

“So, this sixteen-year-old boy?” you prompted, trying to circle back.

“Keep dreaming,” your dad sang, though the seriousness was pretty damn evident on his face.

“Oh, come on. He must be a genius if he skipped, like, six grades and he goes to Caltech,” you defended your case sincerely, though, you had absolutely no idea what he looked like. Or was like, for that matter. “And you know him—Is that not boyfriend material?”

“You’re too young to date college boys.”

You gasped louder than you intended to. “He’s sixteen! And I could’ve skipped a bunch of grades, too. But I’m choosing to enjoy my youth.”

“Enjoy your youth then,” he said. “Without my student.”

You huffed dramatically. Then again. And again. And when your dad finally opened his mouth to speak again, you thought it would be him caving. “It’s a shame. I think he’d be perfect for you.”

“Dad!” It became evident that he was going to continue to tease you like this without any legitimate intention of you meeting him. “Can I at least get a name?” you bargained, squinting your eyes slightly.

“Walter.”

You looked away from the road for about two seconds to glare at him. “That is not his name.”

Your dad bit back a smile. “No, it is not.”

And that was that. You dropped it—for now. But the same questions lingered in your mind on the drive home. Was he real? Was your dad just messing with you? If he was real, what kind of person was smart enough to get into Caltech at sixteen?

You’d learn he was real soon enough. Your dad brought him up more than once over the next few months—in passing, usually, like something he couldn’t help but mention. The kid asked this. The kid solved that. The kid said something that reminded me of you. The kid is a germaphobe. Blah, blah, blah.

You never met him though. And when the school year was over, you forgot all about him.

The same couldn’t be said for Spencer, though.

During the semester, somehow, you had shown up to the exact same class that Spencer happened to be in, too caught up in rushing your dad out after his lecture ended so you wouldn’t miss some party you had been invited to later.

If only you had seen the way Spencer looked at you then. Like a Prince Charming who had just seen his Cinderella for the very first time. And Spencer was never one to believe in fairytales—as a matter of a fact, he debunked them more often than not.

But he was sure he was in one when he heard your laugh. God, he would play it on loop for a million years without any breaks if that were possible. He’d drink it like a glass of water every morning, afternoon, and night if he could. He would spend twenty-three hours hearing it in his head and then spend the other hour wondering if he could ever be funny enough to be the cause of such a heavenly sound.

You never saw him. Not the way he looked at you like a love sick puppy. But your dad did.

And one stern look disrupted the sixteen-year-old boy’s daydream. Off limits. He had never seen a clearer look in someone’s eye. It wasn’t like he intended on acting on this newfound feeling. But it made him scared to ever imagine you again.

Definitely not that laugh, though. Even as you faded from his memory, your laugh certainly didn’t.

That was fate’s first attempt. And it couldn’t even count as an actual attempt because the two of you hadn’t exactly crossed paths yet.

Fate decided to give you more of a push the second time around.

Not that it went much better, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

This time was at a New Year’s party. It had been years now since you’d last heard about the boy genius at Caltech. And as stated before, you’d forgotten all about him.

Your friends dragged you there as an attempt to get you to finally leave the house after the semester was over despite your many, many, many protests to stay home and rest. You’d been resting for two weeks now.

Medical school was definitely a challenge, and you knew that. But you’d graduated college a year early and knew that if you could handle that, you could handle this. You were now twenty-two, in your second year.

Back to your influential friends, though. What you’d initially believed was going to be a girls’ night out turned out to be a decoy to set you up on New Year’s. You done that stupid trend of eating twelve grapes under the table a year prior with your best friend, and now, apparently—you had to actually put the work in since it technically failed.

Which, first of all, made no sense to you. The whole concept was that it attracted good fortune and true love to you. Why would you go out seeking it?

You voiced that, though you were shot down immediately, your friends claiming that you were reading too much into it.

Your friends scattered throughout the party, mingling with guests. Some people you’d seen before, and some strangers. And when you felt Brooke’s arm cling onto yours, you already knew what she wanted.

Your best friend sent you an innocent smile, though you could’ve sworn you were looking into the very eyes of the devil herself.

Brooke began scanning the area, prompting you to furrow your eyebrows, “What are you doing?”

“Finding your New Year’s kiss,” she answered calmly. “And possible husband.”

“You’re insane,” you told the girl with a quiet giggle. “That’s not happening here.”

“Well, if you don’t believe it then it isn’t gonna happen,” she frowned, slapping your shoulder playfully. “What you put out into the atmosphere comes true.”

“Let’s test that out,” you began, causing her to finally meet your gaze. “Brooke’s cheating ex-girlfriend is going to get hit by a b—”

A hand was over your mouth quicker than you could comprehend. The minute you realized that it was Brooke’s fingers draped over your lips, you stuck out your tongue and moved it until she retracted her touch in pure disgust.

“Oh, that’s so gross,” she grimaced. “Don’t you learn how dirty this is in medical school?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, unfazed. “Actually, the enzymes in saliva have mild antibacterial properties. Amylase, for example—”

“No,” Brooke cut in immediately, pointing a stern finger at you like she was warding off a demon. “You’re not distracting me with your genius facts. We’re finding you a man tonight, and I swear to God, if you say the word ‘enzyme’ again, I will throw you off this rooftop.”

“Geez,” you shuddered dramatically. “Fine.”

You were just humoring her, not intending to actually find anything tonight. Your first New Year’s kiss wasn’t going to be some stranger.

But someone caught your eye. You couldn’t see his face. His hair went just past his ears. What mostly caught your attention was the book he was reading.

Ignoring the fact that he was reading a literal book at a party, you also took note of the fact that he was reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. You were on your second reread of that book.

You lowered your eyebrows when you realized just how fast he was reading. He would barely spend more than ten seconds on a page before flipping. You were a fast reader, but you were starting to think he was doing some sort of social experiment.

Spencer wasn’t sure how he felt about the book. Someone had recommended it to him and Spencer, in dire need of recommendations, bought it.

He wasn’t even sure why he came to this party. But that same friend that recommended the book to him, that also happened to bring him to this party, claimed that he needed to go outside for once. And here he was, outside at a very large rooftop party.

Reading a book.

He knew how it looked. But he also knew it would mean that nobody would bother him. As long as he pretended that he was still reading the book despite finishing it almost twenty minutes ago.

Maybe he wouldn’t have still been doing that if he knew that you were looking at him. And maybe you would’ve approached him out of curiosity. Partly to make your best friend happy—and partly because he was the only person who seemed even remotely interesting.

Brooke grabbed your jaw, redirecting your attention to someone on the opposite side of the roof. He looked like a frat boy who’d peaked in high school. Yet, Brooke looked like she’d just hit the jackpot for you.

“What about him?” she suggested. “Take a look at those muscles.”

You met Brooke’s gaze again, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Bless your heart. I’m so glad that you weren’t born cupid in this life.”

She scoffed, shaking away from your grasp.

Brooke then hooked your arm with hers, walking some distance from where you two previously were. It was then that you realized you were now much closer to the stranger that had caught your attention before.

You still couldn’t see his face entirely due to his long, disheveled hair, but you caught a glimpse of his side profile, an involuntary smile tugging at your lips.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until Brooke followed your eyes and shifted her stance.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” she rejected immediately, finally pulling your attention again. When you sent her a look of confusion, she repeated the same word, much louder, “No!”

“What?”

“You have no sense of safety, my love,” she told you sweetly, though it didn’t make you any less offended. “You go for guys in groups. That’s how you know that they’re not a sociopath with murderous tendencies.”

“It’s rude to assume,” you countered with a sigh.

“It’s also safe to assume,” she argued back, tapping her index finger on your nose. “Better to be wrong than dead, right?”

Brooke was quick to drag you the opposite way, presumably to find someone who didn’t appear to be a loner. When you registered her words, a laugh escaped from your lips. Much louder than the ones you’d allowed to erupt from you earlier in the night. This one was the full package— loud, vibrant, genuine, shoulders shaking type of laugh. Most of all, it was contagious.

Spencer froze.

His fingers stopped fidgeting with the pages. The ambient noise of the party music, clinking glasses, overzealous shouts of half-drunk strangers—faded into nothingness. Spencer sat straighter, blinked slowly, unsure if he’d truly heard it.

His head turned instinctively toward the sound, heart climbing up into his throat, that old ache from years ago sparking in his chest again like an old wire finally finding its current.

It had to be her.

He hadn’t heard that laugh since he was sixteen. Once. Once. But he remembered it in the most inconvenient, vivid ways, like when he was walking through the halls of Caltech, or when someone said something funny and he found himself silently wishing she had heard it instead.

And now, somehow, impossibly, it was here again. Warm and electric and just slightly offbeat, but exactly how he’d remembered it.

He whipped his head around, scanning the rooftop, eyes darting over the crowd, the lights, the clusters of people chatting near heaters and the snack table and the bar. Searching for her. For a face that he remembered only in fleeting pieces.

But she was gone.

The laughter didn’t come again.

Spencer lingered in place, chest still rising and falling just a little too fast. A strange sort of weight settled on his shoulders. It was the uncomfortable feeling that came with thinking you’d seen a ghost.

Or maybe a mirage.

Maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe he imagined it. His brain had done stranger things before, pulled long-buried memories from the corners of his subconscious when he was least expecting it. Maybe he was projecting. Maybe it wasn’t her laugh. Maybe it was someone else’s.

But it wasn’t. Spencer didn’t know that, though, turning back to his book with a frown.

And you continued to disappear in the crowd, missing how your harmonious laugh captured the attention of said ‘sociopath.’

Surprisingly, fate didn’t give up on trying for the night. There was one more pathetic attempt made. An elevator. All Spencer Reid had to do was hold the fucking elevator.

He’d decided to leave immediately after New Year’s. You didn’t get your kiss, thankfully. You convinced Brooke that you were feeling nauseous enough to the point that you’d vomit in someone’s mouth if you’d kissed them. She probably didn’t believe you, but it got her off your back regardless.

You decided to leave right after as well, deciding you’d spend enough time outside. It was time to retreat back into your cave and hibernate for at least another week.

Spencer had beat you by maybe thirty seconds. And when you realized the elevator was closing, you picked up the pace, holding a desperate hand out.

“Hold the door!” you pleaded, and you could see that he made an effort to do so, but the space was so small that he would’ve probably crushed his fingers if he tried.

You sighed heavily, knowing it would take a while before the elevator returned to you.

And as you waited for it to come back, a man joined you. The same one who had been eyeing you for almost the entirety of the party. His name was Ethan. You guys were in the same circle, but you’d never been alone with him like this. Well, as alone as one could be.

He greeted you, saying your name to test the waters. When you nodded with a smile, he introduced himself.

“I know you who are, Ethan,” you informed him, shaking his hand. “I’ve heard about you.”

“All good things, I hope,” he teased, earning a laugh out of you.

That laugh. A guy caused it, but it was the wrong guy. But how were you meant to know that?

The elevator chimed, opening its doors seconds later. Ethan gestured to it, “After you.”

You pressed a hand on your heart. “Ah, a gentleman, too. I’ll add that to the list.”

If fate wasn’t fed up before, it most definitely was now.

The next one wasn’t fate. It was by chance. Seriously.

And that was because you weren’t ready. Far from it, actually, considering the fact that you were walking away from your now ex-boyfriend’s apartment after discovering him cheating on you.

Now, fate has a funny way of correcting things, but from an objective point of view, this method was slightly fucked up. A two-year relationship down the drain. You should be celebrating the completion of med school, but instead, you were being rewarded with this.

On the bright side, Ethan didn’t see you cry. He couldn’t really see much after you dumped the paint you’d bought to help him decorate the new place over his head. You’d left the girl alone—she looked to be just as clueless as you.

And now here you were, rushing out of his apartment, mindlessly brushing through the busy streets of Washington, D.C. because you just needed to be. . . anywhere else.

You were doing pretty well at not bumping into anyone through teary eyes for the most part. But alas, the power of a jinx is not to be underestimated.

One second you were on your feet, and the next, you were on the floor. It could’ve been a sweet moment. Fate would’ve patted itself on the back for such a perfect meet cute.

If only you hadn’t just found out you were being cheated on.

Maybe you wouldn’t have brushed yourself off, taking note of the fact that your bag didn’t feel any lighter, and scurry off without a second thought.

Maybe you would’ve spared the person you bumped into a glance. Something more than a brief, but genuine apology before disappearing.

Maybe you would’ve realized you left your second copy of Middlesex on the floor. The one you were going to lend to Ethan. And maybe you would’ve heard Spencer call out for you.

However, once again, looking on the bright side, there was a sticker on the book. A library sticker. One that he recognized from a library he frequented.

He had no idea who you were, (at least, that’s what he thought) or why you were crying. But he knew that losing a library book would only pile onto whatever you were feeling, and the least he could do was return it to the library so you wouldn’t have to pay any fees.

Spencer planned to do just that, actually. Until his phone buzzed with a call from Hotch.

He sighed. He’d have to put that off for a few more days. Hopefully it wouldn’t ruin your week too much.

A few days turned into three weeks.

It wasn’t his fault. Not exactly. The cases were heavy, and Spencer could barely find any personal time himself. And the book just sat on his desk for some time, not forgotten, but just constantly being put off.

Eventually, he did go to the library. And fate decided to make itself known again.

Maybe it was too soon. But it was getting harder and harder to bear this torture any longer.

The library that you’d gotten the book from also happened to be the library that you volunteered at. Nothing major, but you knew the woman who owned it and knew that she could use some help.

You had about two more weeks of freedom before you started your residency.

Mrs. Copeland was her name. She was middle aged, and her husband was doing something that made them rich, you just weren’t sure.

You definitely were no saint. A part of you volunteered out of the good of your heart, but another part of you volunteered on days that you knew would clash with events you actively tried to avoid. It was a win-win if you thought hard enough about it.

Spencer strolled in, fidgety for no particular reason. He knew Mrs. Copeland. The nervous twitching of his lips twisting into a polite smile when he met her gaze.

“Good morning, Mrs. Copeland,” Spencer greeted, checking his watch. He was on a time crunch. “I. . . uh. . . this isn’t my book, but I found it after. . . Nevermind, sorry. I just saw the tag and recognized it so I wanted to bring it back to you.”

“Thank you, dear. You are too sweet,” she spoke gratefully, taking the book from his hands. She watched him look at his clock again. “Do you have somewhere to be, Mr. FBI?”

He gave her a brief laugh. He did have somewhere to be. But a part of him wanted to ask if she knew the name of who checked out the book. Just to make sure she was okay. But what if that came across as creepy? The last thing he wanted to do was make the owner of his favorite library think he was a creep.

“Yep. Duty calls,” he said with a nod, regretting the last two words as soon as they left his lips. “You should check up on the person who checked out the book, just in case.”

“I will,” she responded gingerly. “You be safe now.”

As soon as Spencer left, you emerged from the backroom, carrying a new shipment of books that needed to be sorted.

Maybe fate just sucked.

It was decently early. You usually wouldn’t have customers for another thirty minutes or so. The sound of the door’s bells is what made you open the box slightly quicker to come outside.

“Who was that?” you inquired curiously.

“Oh, he’s one of my frequent customers,” she answered. She held up a book. Your book. “Returned this, said it wasn’t his.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as Mrs. Copeland continued. “That boy’s a bit strange, though. He me to check up on whoever checked it out.”

“I’m. . . almost certain that’s mine,” you confessed, walking close enough to softly take the book from her. You opened it to see your sticky note still on the front page. It was meant to serve as a bookmark for Ethan. After a beat, you glanced back up at Mrs. Copeland, leaning onto the freshly dusted wooden counter. “You said he said to check on me?”

She hummed in confirmation. “Like I said, strange,” she paused, and you could see the gears turning in her head. “But, you know, that I think about it—that boy would be perfect for you,” she noted aloud.

“You just said that he’s strange,” you pointed out.

“Strange in an endearing way,” she clarified, waving a dismissive hand. “Really. You two would fit well. You wanna be one of those forensic doctors, and he’s in the FBI.”

Saying he was in the FBI definitely altered what you believed that he looked like. You still had no idea how your book ended up in said stranger’s hands. You just remembered that when you eventually crawled out of bed and ended your self pity weekend, it was no longer in your bag.

You were so out of it that day that you didn’t even remember bumping into someone, you just remembered your boyfriend—correction, ex-boyfriend, and how badly he’d ruined your week.

“He’s pretty smart, too. Just like you,” she continued mindlessly. “If I could just. . . remember his name.”

“It’s okay, Mrs. Copeland. I’m not interested in dating anytime soon,” you reassured her, though she was only half-listening because the other part of her was still trying to remember the boy’s name.

“Reid, or something,” she mumbled after some more thought, making you slightly narrow your eyes.

“Guys with a last name for a first name are red flags, don’t you know?” you responded in the form of a question, partially joking. You were just trying to shift the conversation. “Reid who reads books. That doesn’t sound right.”

The librarian didn’t even realize she’d only given his last name. She couldn’t remember the first. Either that or she thought it was his first name. All it did was throw yet another obstacle in the road of their supposed path.

“Just let me know, sweetie. I think he’d be your type,” Mrs. Copeland attempted one final time, but her suggestions fell upon deaf ears. If you ever got into a relationship again, it would be too soon.

At least you knew some part of his name, right? It was the most progress made in the last eight years.

Maybe fate got a little too eager this one time. You weren’t ready. And you weren’t going to chase some guy out of a library because a middle-aged (but very sweet) woman told you that she thought he’d be a good fit.

Although, you didn’t hear that very many times in your life. You were decently picky with guys, and the only other time you’d heard that saying and it was genuine was from your dad. But that was nearly ten years ago. And what were the odds that it was the exact same person?

Very high, apparently. But of course, you didn’t know that. You never would. At least not for yet another two years.

Twenty-six. Not the worst age to meet your soulmate. But taking everything into account, it was now or never. Literally. Fate would’ve gone against its own beliefs and just quit on you two. It had been ten years.

This one was a Christmas party. A bit more hopeful than New Year’s. And definitely no setups from Brooke, since this was a party that your dad made you be his plus-one to. Your mom was working Christmas Eve so she wouldn’t have to work Christmas day. Dad didn’t wanna be alone on Christmas Eve, and you didn’t want to go to another party that your friends would drag you to.

You figured most of the people here would be your dad’s age so you could hide in a corner, sparing an occasional smile to men who were staring at you like they didn’t have wives in the same room. And then you’d have to act like you didn’t feel their wives glares on you.

Contrary to your initial beliefs, though, not everyone there was old.

This party was hosted by someone named Derek Morgan. Apparently, he was in the FBI and your dad consulted on a case of theirs and they hit it off. You felt like your dad was living a million lives, because you hadn’t heard that he had buddies in the FBI until about five hours ago when he brought up the event.

You met Derek briefly before he was whisked away by other guests. He seemed nice for the most part, and he was kind of exactly what you imagined an FBI agent to look like.

Some people there were FBI agents as well, some people weren’t. You had made yourself busy by guessing who was and who wasn’t.

There was a pretty, blonde woman that stuck out like a sore thumb. Sore wasn’t the right word to use for her—she was more like a sight for sore eyes. She lit up the room with her smile. Her hair was twisted up into curly pigtails that bounced, streaked with lavender and gold. Thick-framed glasses framed eyes that sparkled, and her dress was a kaleidoscope of patterns—florals, polka dots, something glittering beneath it all like sequins in rebellion.

A tray of cupcakes floated beside her in one hand, and in the other, she cradled a vintage-style phone case that would probably make your eyes hurt if you stared at it for too long. Derek was next to her, smiling the widest you’d seen him all evening.

Dating? Maybe.

You didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, but she seemed much too perfect to be of such an angsty organization. It probably wasn’t angsty, but you weren’t an expert on the FBI.

Around the table were two more people.

One woman had black hair and red lip. Definitely an FBI agent. Next to her, was another man. He had dark hair, and although he looked like he hadn’t smiled since he’d left his mother’s womb, the slight tug on his lips made it clear that these were his people.

Judging by the stereotypical angsty look he had going on, he was definitely an FBI agent too. So maybe the blonde woman was one, too. Thank God you weren’t a profiler.

By now you had stood up to go get some refreshments. And you didn’t realize how hard you were staring at the group of alleged FBI agents. You had a tendency to do that.

You felt a presence fill the empty space beside you. You met his gaze briefly, offering a smile before looking away. When his head turned back to the bar serving drinks, you glanced back over to drink in his features. Not in a weird way, just out of curiosity. The first person who looked close enough to your age.

He looked oddly familiar, you just could not put your finger on it. Definitely not an FBI agent, though. He had messy brown hair and a slightly ruffled shirt. Though the thing that stuck out the most was his cardigan. You didn’t see a lot of men wear cardigans.

Even after he’d gotten his drink, he stayed next to you, and you’d assumed that he was just as bored as you were.

Hoping to make a friend, and also figure out if you genuinely knew him from somewhere, you hummed, “Do you think the blonde woman wearing the hot pink glasses is an FBI agent?”

He blinked at you momentarily, and you were quick to clarify, it suddenly clicking in your brain how odd of a conversation starter that was. “Sorry, I just meant, like. . . I’m playing this game since I only know my dad here. And I know that one—” you pointed at Morgan. “Is an FBI agent, so I’m trying to guess who else here is. I figured that the broody one is probably one, along with the woman with the dark hair, but I’m going back and forth with the blonde woman.”

You realized how hard you’d been rambling and prayed that he wouldn’t give you a funky look and scurry off out of fear.

Another second of silence felt like eternity to you. Your stomach dropped and you shifted your weight, more words tumbling out, “Not that I would ever judge someone by their appearance, or anything. She just seems too—bright? Which I know is an awful assumption, and I’m not, like, judging her. I mean it in a really good way. I just thought. . . actually, never mind. I’m just gonna stop talking.”

You gave a small laugh, awkward and self-deprecating, and took a sip from your cup to shut yourself up. There was a prayer in your head that the sun would collide would the Earth any second now and this would be over.

Spencer watched you take a sip of your drink, an involuntary smile playing at his lips that he didn’t even realize was there. It dawned to him that he still hadn’t replied and was probably making things worse for you.

Spencer shifted slightly, clutching his drink in both hands like it gave him something to do. He cleared his throat. “Well. . .statistically speaking, you’re not wrong. Most people don’t assume someone with glittery accessories is trained in federal law enforcement.”

You gave him a look.

He froze. “I mean—not that glitter has nothing to do with. . . competency. That came out wrong.”

You raised an eyebrow, amused despite yourself. “Uh-huh.”

“What I meant,” he rushed on, “is that, yes, Penelope does stand out. That’s her name, by the way, Penelope. She’s kind of our, um, technical analyst. She can hack into almost anything, and she also bakes cupcakes, and somehow she’s very good at both. Which is rare. Not—uh—not that you can’t do both things. I’m sure you could. I’m just saying—”

You stared at him, biting your lip to stop a laugh. “I’m joking,” you said finally, a grin breaking across your face. “I’m just messing with you, sorry.”

He let out a breathy laugh, one that dripped of relief more than anything. “Oh.”

There was an awkward beat of silence where you both looked around like two idiots. Your gaze dropped to his bag, and the novel peeking out of it. The same one from all those years ago. Middlesex. Spencer was lending it to Prentiss. He didn’t even know why he chose to bring it today. He saw it before leaving his apartment, and he was compelled to pick it up.

You pointed to the book, “Nice choice. I’ve read it like a thousand times.”

He was confused for a second before following the direction of your finger. “Oh, me too. I was actually bringing it for a friend.”

“Cool,” you replied. “I kind of hate it now, since I lost it because of my cheating ex-boyfriend. Terrible day. I was more concerned with the book, but some stranger returned it a few weeks later, so the universe doesn’t hate me completely, at least.”

“I’m sorry about your ex,” Spencer apologized on his behalf, though he didn’t even know the guy. The story definitely raised some flags in his mind, but he didn’t want to voice anything and end up being wrong. That didn’t stop it from nagging in his mind.

A similar thought nagged your mind. He looked so, so familiar. And when someone looked familiar, you had a habit of picking apart your brain until it came back to you.

You waved a hand dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m definitely over it. And it was for the better.” You were quick to try to shift the topic off of your ex, considering you had been doing pretty good at not dwelling on him. You thought about the information he had on Penelope earlier. “So, you’re in the FBI?”

He bobbed his head once, pressing his lips together. “Behavioral Analysis Unit. That’s some of my team over there. Other than Garcia, you actually hit it on the nose.”

“Maybe I should get into profiling,” you joked.

Spencer’s lips quirked, caught somewhere between a real smile and an awkward reflex. “Yeah. You definitely shouldn’t apply because you’d. . . take my job from me, and that would suck, so,” he joked, or attempted. Either way, the admirable attempt was enough to make you laugh.

Genuinely.

And the sound wrapped around him like warmth, like familiarity, like something he hadn’t let himself believe he’d ever hear again.

And just like that, time slid sideways.

There it was. That laugh again. He hadn’t heard it in years. Had you not been standing in front of him, Spencer might’ve pinched every inch of his body in efforts of reassuring himself that this wasn’t some dream that would haunt him for the coming years.

He’d only heard that beautiful sound two other times in his life, and Spencer Reid would forever swear that it was the closest he’d ever come to getting a taste of heaven in this life.

He hadn’t forgotten it. How could he? Spencer remembered everything. But there were some things—some sounds, some moments that stuck out. That etched themselves into him like soft bruises, too tender to poke at even years later.

Now heaven was standing right in front of him. Laughing again because of him. Maybe he was dreaming.

And what was he supposed to do? Say, Your laugh has lived in the corners of my memory like a warm ghost for six years and I think if I hear it one more time, I might just believe in fate?

No. Definitely not. That would qualify as sounding like a psycho.

“You, uh. . .” he paused with another breathy laugh, wondering if he should stop while he could. He didn’t. “You have a really pretty laugh.”

His compliment caught you off guard. You’d never heard that one before. Once the initial surprise wore off, a much warmer and sincere beam broke out across your lips.

Fate was smiling like the devil at you two.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” you told him honestly. You could see his eyes slightly widen. “In a good way. That was very creative.”

He briefly broke eye contact to move his hair out of his face, granting you a clearer view of his side profile. It felt like the gears in your head began turning.

You snapped a finger in triumph, “New Year’s party. Around four years ago, right?”

His head dropped slightly. “Sorry?”

“You were reading that same book like a loner. I wanted to talk to you but my friend thought you were a sociopath,” you further elaborated, though you were beginning to wonder if you sounded crazy. “Am I insane?”

Spencer blinked, registering your words. So it had been you. That laugh that he thought he’d completely imagined was real. You were there. And he just barely missed you.

He scrambled to speak, “No, you’re not! I remember you, or your—your laugh, at least.”

You quirked a brow, “My laugh?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I heard it. And I was going to—”

“Spencer Reid is that you?” your father’s voice of disbelief flooded your ears, cutting your private conversation short.

Spencer Reid. At least now you knew his name.

You didn’t make the connection from the library either. How could you? All you had was Reid. And you thought it was Reed first name, not last name.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, temporarily snapping him out of the daze you had put him in. “Professor L/N? Wow, it’s uh. . .It’s been so long.”

“It’s been ages,” your father agreed, pulling the boy in for a hug. He quickly pulled back away when Spencer tensed up. “Sorry kid, I forgot you’re a germaphobe.”

You watched the interaction with curious eyes, waiting for your father to clarify how they knew each other. You would’ve chalked it up to your father’s assistance to the FBI if not for Spencer referring to him as ‘Professor’.

“Sweetheart, this is the famous Walter,” he introduced, confusing Spencer while simultaneously making things clearer for you.

Your jaw dropped slightly and your head tilted, matching the disbelief that your father wore about a minute ago. “Sixteen-year-old, boy genius, Caltech Walter?”

As your dad nodded, Spencer’s eyes rows lowered even more. “Uh. . . Walter?”

“My dad told me about you years ago. The brightest student he’d ever taught. And the student that he would die before ever letting me cross paths with,” you explained.

“I remember you,” he recalled, slightly more eager sounding than he intended. “You came to class once. At the end. And your dad. . . uh, threatened me with his eyes.”

You sent your father a playful glare. “That sounds about right.”

“I regret it now,” your father began. “Maybe it would’ve saved you from that other piece of shit, Eth—”

“Dad,” you warned, doing the exact same threatening with your eyes. He held his hands up in surrender and you turned your head back to the boy genius. “It’s nice to meet you, Spencer Reid. Officially.”

You two hadn’t been speaking for long, but you’d both already learned of two instances where you were in one another’s proximity, potentially meeting for the first time. It seemed that this wasn’t the universe’s first attempt.

One single thread of gold tied me to you.

You stuck out your hand after telling him your first name, offering him a handshake. Remembering the fact that he was a germaphobe, you almost retracted your hand.

Only, the feeling of his fingers intertwining with yours made you stop completely. You felt your cheeks heat up as a more genuine smile replaced the partially superficial one on your lips as you shook his hand, looking up to lock your eyes with his hazel ones.

Your smiles matched completely, as if the same though was running through both of your brains.

Where have you been all my life?

Although you two wouldn’t know how close you truly came to meeting each other over the years for some time—you two would eventually find out that all your life, both of you had just been within an arms reach.

And now, fate could finally pat itself on the back and get some much earned rest.

[lushfruit]

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[lushfruit]

love me an x black reader fic yesss

Apartment 224

pairing: Spencer Reid x neighbor!reader

summary: After Spencer Reid gets his parking spot stolen, he must confront the culprit to get it back.

warnings/tags: N/A

word count: 861

authors note: Hii! This is my first post on here. It's not exactly my best work, but I hope y'all enjoy!

Spencer couldn’t believe that he was so upset over something so trivial as this, but there he was: on the phone with Penelope using her expertise to track down the owner of a car.

Every day, Spencer parked last spot in the left corner of the lot furthest from the door. He knew he wasn’t home often, so his car typically stayed at his apartment.

Today was his day off, so he decided to ensure that all was right with his vehicle. He was only gone a few hours, yet when he got back, he noticed a car. A different car. A car that was not his parked in his parking spot. Parking spots don’t have names, yes, but Spencer believed that it was common decency to know that if someone parks in the same spot every single day, it is their spot.

Spencer hated her. No. Not hated. Hate was a strong word that he’d rather not use. Loathed or extremely disliked was better. Either way, he refused to let anyone disturb his way of life.

He parked next to the car.

He could do nothing about it besides storm off. He didn’t know her at the time, but he wanted to. He wanted to tell her that that spot was rightfully his and that he should be the only one to park there. 

“Found her,” Penelope said.

“Who is she?” Spencer paced around his apartment, car keys in hand.

Penelope said her name; he didn’t recognize it. Spencer didn’t talk to many people in his building, though. His apartment served as more of a house than a home. Penelope also said her apartment number: the one directly across from his. 

“Spencer, what are you going to do?” Penelope asked.

“I’m going to ask for my parking spot back.” Spencer stopped this time.

“Okay, and don’t hate me for this, but it is just a parking spot.”

To Penelope, it was just a parking spot. To Spencer, it was the most convenient place to park his car, especially for someone who was never home. In all of his years living there, he always parked in that spot. He would have liked to continue it. 

“Which is why she should have no problem giving it up. I’m going over there. Thank you for your help.” Spencer hung up his phone and shoved it in his back pocket. He ran a hand through his hair—all of this stress had given him a headache. Taking a deep breath, he trudged across the hall.

The door read “Apartment 224.” Music that he didn’t recognize blared through the door. He felt sorry for the eardrums of whoever lived in there. His hand rapped against the door harsher than he intended, but it still worked. He was coming with complaints, after all.

The door opened. There stood a woman with deep brown skin and blonde braids flowing down her back. She stared at Spencer. “Hi, can I help you?”

Every complaint he had left his mind as he took in the silk pajamas she wore. “Umm. Hi, I’m Spencer,” he muttered. In his head, he thought he was coming to lay down the law. “I know this is super menial, but the parking spot you’re currently parked in is mine.” His head lied. “Well, rather not mine, but I prefer to park there because I work a really weird schedule so my car just sits there and it’s the best way that I can keep it out of peoples way, so for future purposes, I would prefer you use any other parking spot than the one you’re currently using.”

He sounded dorky, as opposed to the assertive nature he wanted to put on. He couldn’t help it, though she distracted him. Her eyes never left his, and he was sure he was getting lost in them. 

The woman nodded. “Okay, that makes sense. Sorry about that, I also work super hectic hours. I guess we were thinking alike.” Her voice was like iced tea on a hot day to Spencer. He wanted her to keep talking. “Would you like me to move it now or…”

“No. It’s, umm, fine. You seem to be in a very relaxed state, and I’d hate to disturb you.” Spencer wanted to keep this going, but he didn’t exactly know how. His brain was scrambled, and the raging headache he had was not helping him. The music still raged behind them. 

The woman nodded again. “Sounds good. Thank you for telling me.” She went to close the door. Spencer had one last chance.

“What music are you listening to? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.” 

The door swung back open. “You’ve never listened to Beyonce?” Truth be told, he’d only heard her in passing from Penelope’s office, or if Savannah was playing it at Derek’s house. “No.”

The woman chuckled and smiled. Spencer’s knees went weak. “Why don’t you come in? I could give you a lesson about the greatest performer of this generation.”

Spencer smiled. “I’d like that.” He stepped into her house, music thumping in his ears. “But do you think we could turn it down a bit?”

[lushfruit]

the normalization of ai when it comes to fanfics it’s so scary to me. and a lot of people don’t even notice because it’s used so often now 💔

[lushfruit]

jude’s an arsenal player by association idc

[lushfruit]

Fake texts messages pt.2 ✧.

Notes : This is all fake do not take this too seriously plz!! If you want me to do this with other people let me know! 🫶🏼

[lushfruit]

Is This The Love That I Need? (Shuri x Blk!F!Reader)

Shuri x Scientist!Reader

Word Count: 11.8k

Content: fluff, a bit of angst that's made up by some good ole filth so if you aren't 18+, take yo ass ON SOMEWHERE <;3 

Summary: the one where your tumultuous relationship with the Queen crosses a line while you’re on an undercover mission.

A/N: heads up: this oneshot goes from past tense narrative to present only because tumblr deleted the parts that I changed to present tense. Tumblr get on my nerves, chile

But I hope you all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Babyboiboyega's Marvel Masterlist

You'd had no intentions of rising to become one of the best scientists in Wakanda, but once you had gained the status of lead scientist, you had no intentions of letting it go. Being one of the top scientists came with its perks, such as being one of the first to know of any new projects that could benefit Wakanda and of any that posed a potential threat. Another perk that came with the title was your constant work alongside the only scientist who ranked higher than you…who also happened to be the Queen of Wakanda.

There were many who would call it a perk- having the chance to work alongside a woman who was the greatest scientist Wakanda, and the world, had ever seen. She was a good ruler and an ever-better scientist; one who was known for her compassion towards her people whether they worked in the palace or not, and for her dedication to further improving Wakanda.

However, despite these true claims…there was another side to Shuri Udaku that you only saw, and that was mainly because you gave her a run for her money in the lab. Nothing disrespectful, as she was still your Queen and you still held a great deal of respect for her, as she did for you; but there was something in your DNA and hers that just automatically made you go at each other when the two of you were in close proximity.

Hell, even when the two of you were in the same room.

Whether it was debating over the best way to go about a project, or you asking her why she was constantly looking over your shoulder when you were in charge of one, there never ceased to be an end to your…less than harmonious partnership. It wasn't something that you could exactly hide, either. The rest of the scientists saw, and usually kept their distance when the two of you got started; and those closer to Shuri definitely saw it, usually rolling their eyes knowingly in the same instance. There was absolutely no chance that you two could hide the little competitive natures of yourselves and how they sometimes clashed.

But you could hide the abundance of feelings that had seemed to slowly accumulate the longer you worked with/for her. You hid the little spark in your chest at her relentless teasing as an agitated breath; you hid the brightening of your eyes as she challenged you with a project as a subtle eye roll; you hid the desire to reach out to her and pull her close even for just a second as fists that clenched in irritation.

You had thought that you were doing so well hiding all of those urges, but all it took was one raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk on Okoye's face for you to realize that maybe you weren't hiding them that well. After that, you had made it your mission to shove those feelings aside, as indulging in them would only result in something that hit a little too close to a fantasy that you knew would be false.

You were *just* a scientist. She was the Queen of Wakanda. The only thing connecting you two was your love for science. That and the urge to prove the other wrong whenever you could. That's all it would be between the two of you, and she seemed to never let you forget.

"Wait…is that the equation you're using? Are you still working on your project with the-?

"Underground sensors for unstable vibranium? Yes."

You didn't have to look away from your workstation to know that a raised eyebrow and a scrutinizing gaze would be awaiting you on Shuri's face. It could be heard in her voice as she continued to question you.

"And this is the project where you're using the methods of-"

"Uncertainty quantification, yes, Your Highness, that's exactly what I am working on, why?"

Sure enough, her expression matched the one you had predicted to be on her face as you finally looked up, removing your goggles and placing them on top of your pulled-back locs. Her lips were slightly upturned, a knowing smile that resembled more of a smirk than anything, and her eyes were slightly narrowed as she contemplated your question. They flickered between the projection of your equations and you before finally settling once more on the former.

"Well, don't you think it would be better to use an adjoint equation? You know, build another formula off of-"

"Off of the integrated parts of this original equation, yes, I'm aware. And I was just about to do that." The last few words were spoken through a tight smile as you set your hands on the table, turning your body more to look at her.

She had a knack for bringing out your most competitive side, and you shared that knack. But unlike you, she also had a specialty of seeking you out no matter which part of the lab you were in, so it only made sense for you to always argue with her, right? She had taken a few minutes out of her precious time to find you and grate your nerves in just the slightest; you couldn't let that time spent together go to waste.

"Oh, okay. Because…well, it kind of looked as if you were about to use that equation to solve the UQ."

You took a moment to let out a breath in her direction before turning back to your project, your hands swiping the appropriate variables of said equation until it formed a new, and more correct, one. Once it was formed, you turned back to her, a smile on your face that expressed exactly what you thought of her looking over your shoulder.

Instead of replying, she simply stepped closer to your work area, her eyebrows furrowing slightly as she looked over the equation…as if she were critiquing it. She pulled her arms behind her back, walking around it until she could stand right next to you. You had to try your hardest to not draw in a deep breath of the subtle but almost always dizzying smell of her scent as she drew closer; amber and something else that beckoned for you to step closer and take another deep breath.

Even when she was looking over your shoulder and firing off slick comments toward you, your attraction to her didn't wane one bit.

"Your Highness, I think the General wishes to speak to you."

If you had been looking, you would have seen the way she subtly rolled her eyes as the title fell from your mouth to address her. *'Your Highness'.* She expected to be called that by the other scientists, the elders, and anyone else who didn't really know her. And one could argue that you didn't really know her…and Shuri would probably agree…to a certain extent. Despite that, the fact remained that you were no regular scientist *to her*.

She just didn't know exactly how to explain that to you, which is why she always picked you as the scientist who she would constantly tease and rile up. There was a line that she'd never cross, and whenever she saw that she was crossing it and riling you up *too* much, she'd make sure to dial it back.

But until that line appeared, she'd continue to poke every single one of your buttons; and she continued to do so as she urged you to 'look over that equation' before leaving your workstation and walking to Okoye.

The General watched as Shuri approached, her calculating eyes flickering back and forth between you and her. An eyebrow raised once the young queen stopped in front of her, and the sight of it only made Shuri pause in question.

"You needed me?"

"When are you going to say something?"

Shuri's actions paused, her hands gripping the edge of her own workstation at Okoye's words. Her head swiveled, quickly finding you before she let out a breath at seeing you oblivious to the conversation that was veering towards the topic of you. When she turned back to Okoye, her eyes held a warning, albeit, one that wasn't malicious at all.

"Okoye, now is not the time. Maybe we can talk about this when we aren't in my lab? Or at another time…or never."

A dismissive sound left Okoye's mouth, her hand waving slightly. While her eyes continued to glance over at you, her words were directed toward the young woman in front of her.

"Leave it to you, and you'll never say anything. Now I don't want to intervene, but-"

"But nothing, you will do no such thing."

The finger Shuri pointed at Okoye was not intimidating in the slightest, even if it held a good bit of power more than Okoye possessed. The General showed exactly what she thought of it as she rolled her eyes slightly, stepping closer to the workstation that separated them.

"Anyway…I'm here to discuss the mission plans you drafted. Specifically, the part where you planned on doing this *alone*."

Shuri's expression turned more stoic at the change in topic, her head nodding as Okoye spoke. Yet, at hearing the skepticism and disapproval in her voice, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Of course, I planned on doing this alone. It's an easy mission- easy enough for me to complete myself. Get into the gala, find the room with the correct computer system, get the needed information, and leave."

The first warning Shuri received came in the form of Okoye leaning her spear against her workstation with a dull thud, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her muscled arms crossed in front of her, and then she was taking a step forward.

"You're the sovereign ruler of an entire nation, Shuri; you can't just disappear from the gala without raising suspicions. The mission will be compromised before it even begins."

The second warning Shuri got was the sight of Okoye's head tilting and her lips parting in disbelief. One would think that she'd use all of the knowledge she retained about Okoye from the years of knowing her and put it to good use, but sometimes, the young royal just had to push her luck.

"I'll say I was in the bathroom or something. Shouldn't be too hard."

The statement had been more joking than not, as Shuri knew the excuse wouldn't fly in the slightest, but the small, shit-eating grin on her face quickly disappeared as soon as the words left her mouth. 

The darkening of Okoye's disapproval on her face was the third, and last, warning Shuri received before the General launched into one of her lectures about tactics, skills, and working smarter, not harder.

You, on the other hand, couldn't help but eavesdrop slightly on the conversation between the two women. Your proximity to them coupled with their hushed voices meant you could only make out a few words, but it was enough for you to realize that they were speaking of the computer system from the states that had managed to sneak past Wakanda's protective technological wall. It had been for just a second before you were able to shut it out, but that second could turn into more if you all failed to understand how they were able to do so in the first place. The last you had heard, they were busy coming up with a mission that would help them obtain the information necessary for the problem.

It'd be a field mission, and the computer system would be in the same building as a gala that would be hosted by the person you all suspected developed the program. It'd be much easier to get the program itself and find out about it than talk to a human who could, and probably would, lie through their teeth.

As far as you knew, your part would come into play after the programming was obtained. You'd take it apart link by link, firewall by firewall until you could find out every single thing about it. You'd be able to do it from the comfort of your workstation in the lab, which was normal. You were a scientist…you didn't do fieldwork.

So when your name is suddenly mentioned alongside the words 'undercover' and 'operation', of course, your head snaps up and in the direction of the two women only to see them already looking at you. Your eyes narrow as they met Shuri's gaze, your lips pursing in suspicion.

"Miss Y/L/N?" Okoye's strong voice carries across the lab, and when accompanied by the wave of her hand, you know what she's asking you to do. You have to press a few buttons in order to safely store away the chemicals you're working with, and you do so with an inaudible sigh before turning and making your way to them.

"Your Highness…General…you called?" There's a certain level of nonchalance in your tone as you address them, but they're used to it. Working alongside Shuri meant sometimes working alongside Okoye, and you had passed 'just a scientist' status in her eyes as well.

"What are you doing this coming Friday?"

You hear her question, but you're a little preoccupied trying to discern Shuri's thoughts just from her facial expression. Her eyebrows pinch together slightly, a prominent frown on her face, yet her eyes refuse to meet yours. It's a stark difference from the teasing look she had worn not even 10 minutes ago when had spoken to you…what could have happened between then and now?

"I don't think I'm doing anything, as of yet. Why?"

"Well, now you are."

Okoye doesn't give you a chance to respond in any way before she's explaining the plans that she's thrown you into. Her voice is the only one you hear the entire time, as Shuri busies herself with fiddling with the various tools on her desk. Your eyes continuously glance at her, trying to gauge any kind of reaction but to no avail. Even when Okoye stops, asking you if you have any questions, she still remains silent. But now, it isn't lost on you why she remained silent.

"So, let me clarify. You want me to attend a gala…in America…with The Queen. And then at this gala, I have to find the computer that broke through our defenses, hack into it while American miscreants are walking around with primitive guns, get the information we are looking for, and then go back to the gala as if nothing has happened?"

You thought it was outlandish coming from Okoye's mouth, but as you relay the plan back to her, you come to the conclusion that it's more than outlandish. It's preposterous; ludicrous; atypical; as a few Americans say, 'backasswards'. Your thoughts are clear on your face as you look quickly between the two of them, looking for any sign that they're both playing some kind of twisted joke. 

The apprehensive look in Shuri's eyes coupled with the firm set of Okoye's mouth tells you enough, and it only makes it more real for you. The prospect of what you're doing makes your heart skip a beat in nervousness as you shake your head quickly.

"Wait, I don't have a morsel of experience in the field. I can't do this, I'm just a scientist. I'm supposed to stay here, in this lab."

You try your hardest to keep the desperation out of your voice despite having the feeling tighten your chest. While you aren't too keen on the plan and having been introduced to it without prior knowledge, you also aren't too keen on seeming as afraid as you actually feel. 

There's a deep-seated knowledge that even if you do let your fear show, you know that neither of the women will make you feel bad about it. They'd both been in their fair share of situations that had resulted in the same heart-pounding, hand-sweat-inducing symptoms you were going through...but they hadn't complained. At least not in front of you...or anyone, for that matter. 

"I agree, this mission is too risky for it to be her first. There has to be something else we can do. Okoye...I can do this."

A desperation of her own laces Shuri's words as she attempts to sway Okoye once again, her eyebrows set in a determined frown. You don't know if it's a desperation for her to simply go alone...or a desperation to leave you there in the lab, and contemplating the latter option only opens up the door for more questions pertaining to Shuri's thoughts when it comes to your role in this plan.

"You agree that I'm just a scientist, that I can't do this, or both?" 

The words are falling from your lips faster than you can stop them, though as soon as they're out in the open, you find that you don't want to take them back. A sliver of annoyance quickly accompanies the fear you feel, spurred on by Shuri's determination to have you stay there. 

You had been included in the plan for a reason, and that was because your skills could be utilized. And while you're still incredibly hesitant to actually agree to it, the thought of Shuri already being under the impression that you wouldn't do it because you couldn't was enough for you to let the question fly.

It clearly catches her by surprise if her raised eyebrows and frozen movements are anything to go by. She looks at you for a second, presumably trying to pinpoint the change in your disposition regarding the plan, before slowly shaking her head. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

Frustration had already been radiating off of her when you had initially joined the conversation, but now, as you seem to challenge her in the slightest in regards to what she truly thought, that frustration seems to grow. 

The dynamic, unique to only you two, is being slightly stretched and warped. You were confused as to why. 

The easy answer would be something along the lines of this mission being an important one, as it would lead the search to find whoever had dared to try and gain access to Wakanda. It only makes sense that she wants to make sure nothing will go wrong, but does she think that it can go wrong if you were there? 

"I may be just a scientist, but I am more than capable of doing what is asked of me. Especially when it comes to Wakanda's security."

Shuri knows that better than anyone; that's something she has no problem admitting to herself. She's seen your skills put to the test multiple times, and each time, you'd come out on top. It doesn't matter if its a genuine problem that needs fixing or if it's just something she had given you to be a pest; this problem is the former. 

As soon as it had happened, you had alerted Shuri…after already fixing the problem, of course. It had been one of the few times where her words were only laced with gratitude and not an *almost* endearing amount of sass. Unbeknownst to you, it had been the moment her feelings had solidified for you; seeing you explain something so complex but in a clear and concise way in order to solve the problem quicker had been…well, to put it simply, attractive. She had admired you while you had explained the problem to her, and she had only torn her gaze away when you had questioned if she was alright, much to her embarrassment.

It had been one of the only moments where she had feared that her real feelings had leaked through her words and actions, and it had only led to the fear that it would threaten the peculiar relationship between you two. It wasn't exactly fragile, but she wasn't willing to risk it. 

Especially when she had no clue as to whether you viewed her as none other than a royal member who barked orders in the lab or as something else. 

"I agree, you are more than capable. It's just-"

"If you agree, then why don't you want me to join you on this mission?"

Shuri's eyes widen slightly in exasperation as you interrupt her. Instead of answering, she merely walks around her station until she's standing in front of you, her eyes meeting yours in an intense look that seems almost as if she's trying to convey something.

"I never said that I *didn't* want you to join me-"

"If that's the case, then you wouldn't mind me coming along." Purely to spite you, you added on silently. 

"I didn't say that either-"

A metallic thud echoing through the lab is enough to stop the conversation before it turns into one of your infamous debates that almost everyone has had a front-row seat to. The sound makes the both of you turn to Okoye, your mouth snapping shut in the face of the General's stern look of warning. She points between the two of you as if to admonish two children, which, in her eyes, you two are. 

"I will not allow you two to argue the entire time and potentially compromise the mission. Get this...bickering out of your system while you're here, because first thing tomorrow morning, you two will be on your way to the States."

She says the words quickly as if to chastise you, all in an attempt to make you two stop. She's seen exactly how long the two of you can go back and forth, and if she were honest with herself, she'd say that she was growing a little tired of the obvious avoidance and dancing around the two of you were engaging in. But it seems that even the mention of an important mission isn't enough to stop the inevitable debate and bout of bickering, as all it takes is another comment from Shuri for it to start back up again. 

The General can only shake her head and turn on her heel, leaving the lab with the sound of you two relentlessly throwing verbal jabs at each other floating after her. 

There's more than a good chance that the mission won't cut down the amount of arguing between you, but maybe it'll be good for something else.

*******************************************

The hotel's ballroom is filled with a crowd that shares the same demographic, status, and wealth, amongst other things. However, despite the homogeneity of the ball's crowd, you find that the universe may be on your side as you immediately notice a number of other attendees who have ranging shades of melanin dotting the crowd. It's a relief for two reasons: it fills that part of your chest that's used to hoping for more faces that look like your own whenever you leave Wakanda, and it also means that the majority of eyes in the room won't solely be on you.

That's not to say that there aren't any eyes on you, as you've already met more gazes than you can count that have already been focused on you, skepticizing and for the sole purpose of sizing you up. Though the weight of their gazes is bearable as you make your way through the ballroom, letting your lips curl into a smile that requires minimal effort. There’s not an ounce of sincerity behind the smile, but neither is there sincerity behind the smiles of every person in attendance. This is simply a get-together for those with deep pockets who like to pretend as if they’re satisfied in life; in truth, you can clock the competitive gazes most of them share with each other, always wondering how deep the other’s pockets are and wondering how’d they get that deep. They’re too busy comparing themselves to each other that they barely notice the unfamiliar and lone black woman with the black, floor-length ball gown and elaborately styled locs at the nape of her neck as you make your way to the open bar settled along one of the walls. 

Not to mention that the kinds of people who are in attendance are usually the ones who forget the faces of those who they don't deem 'worthy enough' of their time.

But there’s one pair of eyes that you can feel burning into your skin, even as she stands at the other end of the elegant bar, the people around her trying in vain to hear her opinion on whatever tone-deaf topic they’re talking about. You have the urge to turn and look at her, possibly find a way to communicate with her that maybe she should stop looking so damn hard lest the white people around see two black women looking at each other and automatically assume that they’re together…which would make sense because you are together, but it certainly wouldn’t make it easier to be inconspicuous.

But instead of doing so, you simply smile and order the first cocktail you can think of. 

“Hi, I’ll have a Rose Sangria, please.” Your words are lost amidst the other patrons giving their orders to the other bartenders, but one seems to hear you, as evident by the way she nods and sends you a stressed, and rather rehearsed, smile. She says nothing about your order, nor the way your American ‘accent’ also seems a little too rehearsed. 

You hadn’t been given an entire cover story, mainly because the point was to complete the mission before you would need to explain yourself to someone, but it had been recommended that you take on some kind of alternate identity. You weren’t going to alter your appearance in any way, so the next best thing was adopting an accent for the night. Okoye had critiqued the accent you had chosen- a woman from the southern states who shortened words to fewer syllables and who also held a rather charming drawl- and had told you that while it was always better to be prepared, you may not even have to use it. And while you were perfectly content using it just this once to order a drink, solely to keep up appearances, you admittedly found yourself wanting to look over at Shuri to see her reaction to the unfamiliar accent that left your mouth. 

Though it turns out that you wouldn’t have to look at her, as a confused sound echoed through your comms right after you spoke. 

“Since when were you a Southern bell?”

“Uh, about a minute ago, it seems,” You mumbled, knowing that she’d be able to hear you regardless. Between one glance around the room and the next, a glass was being pushed toward you on a small napkin. You only had time to send an appreciative smile before the bartender was off to the next drink. 

“And since when do we drink on missions?”

The urge to roll your eyes at Shuri’s teasing, yet curious, voice goes through you as you turn on your stool to face the room. With your back leaning against the edge of the bar, you give off the perfect appearance that you’re simply people-watching and not at all like you’re waiting on your cue to slip out of the large room and into a secured one. 

“Y’all may not drink on missions, but this is my first one, so I think I have an excuse.”

“...Did you just call us ‘y’all’? Okoye, did you hear her-”

“You two are doing a lot of talking for two people who are in public.”

You make it a point to stop talking immediately, your smile growing as you offer it as a greeting to whoever’s eyes you catch. You also know that Okoye has a point and that no matter how hard you tried to seem subtle, there was always someone watching, and the last thing you needed was to be seen seemingly talking to empty air. 

But in the absence of you and Shuri’s talking, you opt to let your eyes slowly roam over to where you had last seen her, which was a mistake. One that you couldn’t take back. One that you didn’t know if you wanted to take back. 

Almost as if to make the mission even more difficult, the universe decides to put you and Shuri in the perfect spots on opposite sides of the room that allow you a full and unobscured view of her. The last you had seen of her had been before the gala, where she had worn a white, almost skin-tight crop top, with a black, unbuttoned collared shirt over it, and black joggers. 

That outfit contrasted greatly with the suit she wore now in the best way imaginable. 

The suit itself was a deep black, the collar a smooth silk material that brought out every tone of melanin that had the pleasure of being on her body. A number of jewels, undoubtedly vibranium, wrapped over and under her shoulders before forming a harness-like piece on her back…which also allowed one’s eyes a glimpse at the smooth, toned skin of her back. 

Even from where you sat, you could see the sparkle of each jewel she wore- including the ones she wore as earrings. Despite the sparkles that screamed luxury and that caught the attention of nearby attendees, you were focused on her. It was hard not to; especially when she looked as good as she did. 

The gloss layered on her lips reflected the slightly dimmed lights of the ballroom, and each time she nodded or moved even slightly, that same light reflected off of her smooth skin, acting as an immediate beacon for your eyes.

How in Bast’s name were you expected to go about this mission regularly when you now couldn’t tear your eyes away from her? How would you be able to convince yourself that these feelings of yours were nothing but a phase that you *needed* to get out of?

“-/N? Y/N, are you in position?” 

Okoye’s voice and her words quickly broke you out of your…reverie? Daydream? Fantasy? Whatever it was, and only thrust you into another reverie. One that involved your own worries about being able to complete your part of the mission. 

“I am.” 

“Good, because you’ve got about a minute and 30 seconds to get to the target area. The camera feed is replaced.”

It's almost as if she literally lit a fire under your ass with the way you downed the small glass of liquor, trying your hardest to not make a face at the burn of it, before standing from your stool. Your eyes glanced once more in Shuri’s direction, only to realize with a small jolt that she was already looking at you with an undecipherable expression. 

Her eyes were unabashed as they regarded you across the room, and if you were close enough, you would’ve seen the reassurance in them. It was no secret that you were more than a little nervous about this…but there was no time to dwell on those nerves. Not anymore. 

“Alright. Heading up now.”

With every step you took toward the hallway, you sent a quick prayer to Bast, praying that you wouldn’t be stopped. You had seen multiple attendees pass through the doors leading to the hallways, and it was just your luck that there was also a stairwell that lead right to the floor you needed to go to. And it was an even bigger stroke of luck that the hallway was empty for the time being, allowing you to slip into the stairwell and ascend the stairs to the right floor.

You didn’t realize that you were holding your breath until you finally let go of it with a heavy sigh once the door shut behind you. The room was just the way you all expected it to be; filled with a variety of technology that looked too expensive and too advanced to be legal in the hands of its owner. The reason behind your presence just further proved that it was in the wrong hands, as a piece of technology in this room had been behind the momentary breach. 

“I’ve reached the target area. Scanning for the breach’s origin.” The scan consisted of a quick tap to one of your kimoyo beads and watching as it sent out a beam of light that roamed over the entire room. Once the origin was located, the beam stopped, pointing you right in the direction and allowing you to start the next part of the mission. “I’ll alert you when I’ve downloaded the program…hello?”

The confusion in your voice quickly gave way to caution as you waited, and failed, to hear a response from either Shuri or Okoye. Their silence didn’t stop your fingers from flying over the keys of the nearest computer, effortlessly breaking through each security wall that needed to be broken and patching each one that would keep your presence a secret. While the thought of you suddenly being alone without a clue as to what Shuri or Okoye were doing made you nervous, that didn’t take away from the fact that you had a job to do. It certainly made it easier to focus on the task at hand as you rifled through the various programs on the computer, each one more advanced and more invasive than the last. Wakanda hadn’t been the only nation the program had breached, but it had certainly been the hardest. 

Your eyes expertly scanned over every bit of information you could retain as your kimoyo bracelet downloaded the needed information, and it all made your eyebrows furrow in both confusion and concern. Whoever, or whatever, had created this program had done so with the sole intention of using it as a weapon, and you were willing to bet that their efforts to breach Wakanda’s security stemmed from a desire to get their hands on technology that would help. 

“Can anybody hear me?” You spoke softly, quickly collecting your kimoyo beads once more before locking the computer and turning toward the door. Your steps were quick but nearly quiet as you approached the door, your mind now turning to the task of joining the gala once more undetected. 

“If you can hear me, I’m on my way back to the gala. Those aren’t just regular programs, they’re some of the most secured ones I’ve seen for an American-”

Your words break off with a hitch as your steps quickly halt, and it's all because of the sudden appearance of a shadow that looms under the door to the room that you’re in. You hadn’t heard any footsteps and the appearance of it has you looking around in a panic, your eyes widening as if that could make a hiding space more apparent. Upon not seeing a space that could serve as one, you reach for the door handle with the intention of locking it…though the knob is turning and the door is opening before you can even grab it, and all you can think is ’I just completely ruined my first ever mission’.

“Oh, thank Bast you’re still here-”

“Shuri?!” 

Both of your voices are whispered yells as you come face to face with the monarch, her expression undoubtedly mirroring yours in its exasperation and shock…and relief. 

“I was just coming down- why haven’t you been responding?” 

Shuri glances back out of the door she just closed before her eyes are landing on you. There’s a certain look of confusion and frustration in her eyes, and you’re honestly too wired to contemplate whether its because of you or not.

“Okoye did a scan of the building and it showed a series of advanced EMP’s on each floor. The kimoyo beads made it past the EMPs, but we think a virus or program originating from this room scrambles any airwave that isn’t configured to the program’s specific signature. As soon as you came in here, your comms went dead. We thought your cover was blown.”

So that explains the wide-eyed, almost worried look in her eyes as she gazes at you. Even in the face of something as concerning as a series of technological programs that could be used as weapons, you still find your heart increasing and your chest tightening at the thought of Shuri being worried. 

Bast…you really need to get your priorities and emotions in check.

Your mouth opens, ready to relay to Shuri what you’ve found, only to watch as she tenses. Her shoulders raise slightly as she turns towards the door, her eyebrows raising as she seems to be listening to something you can’t quite hear yet. 

“Shuri…what is it?”

She responds by grabbing your wrist, her fingers lowering to deftly wrap around your hand as she pulls you towards the door. It doesn’t take long for you to hear the same thing she hears: two sets of footsteps walking towards the door you two are behind, the wide beams of the guards’ flashlights shining underneath the door. 

“Ah, sihogo,” Shuri hisses, her hand tightening slightly around yours as the footsteps grow closer. Her head turns back to the room, presumably looking for the same thing you had been looking for at her arrival: a hiding spot of some kind, or maybe an alternate route. Its apparent the second she realizes that there’s neither a hiding spot or an alternate route, as she lets out a deep sigh before clicking the lock of the door.

“Listen to me,” she starts, her hand tugging you to stand in front of her. Her eyes are slightly wide with the intention of using them to emphasize her next words; but unbeknownst to her, you have no problem concentrating on the words that leave her mouth. 

“When they unlock the door, I’ll distract them long enough for you to get past them. Don’t let them see your face or even touch you- just go back to the gala, and I’ll be right behind you-”

“Shuri, we can’t fight our way out of this- that’ll draw more attention than anything!”

“There is no we- you’re going back to the gala- I’ll make sure you get by them.”

The sound of the door handle rattling followed by the confused voices of the guards adds onto the air of chaos surrounding you two. The sound makes your eyes widen while also making an almost absurd idea pop into your mind. Though as Shuri moves to push you behind her, you find the idea a little hard to verbalize. 

“Let’s think about this- there has to be a better way than fighting guards in a sparkly suit, Shuri-”

“There’s nowhere to go!” She whispers back quickly, her hand raising and reaching for the necklace that encircles her neck; the same one that holds the nanotech technology of her suit. “We’re cornered in a restricted area. This is the only entrance and exit point-no windows. What do you want me to do, Y/N?” 

“Kiss me.”

Her look of confusion is immediate as her head whips to look at you, her body following as she turns completely. Her proximity allows you to see the way her eyes quickly flicker to your lips before meeting yours once again, widening slightly more as she comprehends your request. 

“You want me…to kiss you?”

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable-”

The sound of the door being unlocked goes through the room right as her lips part to offer another ruse, or maybe ask another question. You wouldn’t blame her; the ‘distraction’ seems like you’re trying to cop a feel on her under stressful circumstances, and the realization that it could be interpreted as that has you quickly shaking your head, your lips parting to take it back immediately. 

The last thing you’re expecting her to do is to pull you abruptly into her chest with the hand already wrapped around yours. You certainly didn’t expect her hand to tilt your chin up while her other hand let go of yours to wound around your waist, pulling your waist flush against hers. 

You sure as hell didn’t expect your next breath to be interrupted by the feeling of her lips moving against yours.

There are a number of sounds distantly registering in your brain: the door opening, the guards’ surprised exclamations, their stuttering as they grow uncomfortable with the embrace they’ve just walked in on; but none of them matter because Shuri is kissing you. Shuri is kissing you.

Shuri is kissing you, and you’re kissing her back with everything you’ve got, sacrificing each breath in exchange for another second of feeling her lips against yours. 

Her hand is sliding along the length of your jaw until her long, slender fingers can wrap around the back of your neck. Her thumb stays right on the edge of your jaw, and she uses it to tilt your head further back. It only prompts your lips to part, almost on instinct, and there’s a small part of your foggy brain that’s urging you to stop before it can go any further. To spare yourself the trouble of accepting the fact that a kiss that could potentially go so far ends up being just that: a kiss done in the heat of both of you’s adrenaline and desperation for some form of diversion. 

“Uh, e-excuse me. Hey!”

You pull back with a gasp, your eyes wide as you meet Shuri’s, who are just as wide as yours. Her lips have the slightest shine to them, a mixture of both of your lip balms covering them, and you can only watch breathlessly as she licks her lips with a hitched breath. 

“Did you hear me? I’m gonna have to ask you two to go back downstairs-”

“We heard you,” Shuri’s voice is too steady to match the undecipherable expression on her face or the slight shakiness in her hands as she takes yours in hers. You’re being tugged towards the door before you can gain your bearings, and only Shuri’s tight grip around your hand keeps you from stumbling slightly. 

“We’re leaving.”

Her steps lead the both of you to the elevator at the end of the hall, in the opposite direction of the stairwell you’d used to get there. The sound of the guards’ confused voices float down the hallway as they close and lock the door behind you two, their gazes staying on you until the elevator opens and you two step in. 

Your gaze stays on the elevator doors as they close, your breath still heavier than usual. The sensation of Shuri’s lips on yours linger even when you two aren’t embracing anymore, making your lips tingle. Its borderline disorienting, as it makes your mind replay every moment leading up to and during the kiss in great detail. It nearly causes you to miss the sound of your comm’s device coming back on, Okoye’s voice sounding in you and Shuri’s ears. 

”Hello? If one of you don’t respond in the next 5 seconds-”

“We’re okay, Okoye.” Shuri is quick to respond to the General, her voice still low and steady, though if the way she clears her throat means anything, you’re willing to bet that she’s just as shaken at the moment that just passed. Albeit, for different reasons; reasons that you feel like you have to apologize for. 

“We’re in the elevator now. We’re on our way back to the rooms.”

The thought of finally being able to leave the gala and this role of yours behind makes a small, relieved breath leave you. But your heart only speeds up as Okoye confirms that she’ll be there as soon as you two alert her that you’re ready to leave; it gives you time to go to your own hotel room, of course, booked under a different name, and think even more about what happened. You can’t say for sure whether it's a good thing or bad thing to do, but you know it’ll happen regardless. 

All of your thoughts quickly halt as you feel Shuri’s eyes land on you, and in the small space of the elevator, her heavy gaze feels as if it allows her entire presence to wrap around you. 

“We’re going to have to talk about it at some point.”

Her words are patient, though there’s something in her voice that not only makes you freeze but also alludes to the fact that there are more words coming; words that you know for a fact you aren’t ready to hear.

“...You’re right. I want to apologize,” You begin, turning to face her, after schooling your features into one of impassiveness. Nonchalance. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position, Your Highness. But to be fair, I didn’t exactly want to end the night with running in heels while you knocked out two security guards-”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it, Y/N.”

She turned slightly in your direction, her eyebrows furrowed and her gaze unwavering as she did so. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and it only took a quick glance at them to see that they were clenched slightly, the veins in her arms and hands becoming slightly more prominent. Those hands that had just been pulling you closer, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss-

Your breath shakes slightly as you draw it in, and your eyes flicker away from hers. They’re too intense in the moment; you know that they can see each unspoken word and every hidden emotion you’ve tried stuffing down during the mission. You know that they’re analyzing every breath you take and every time you shift, putting all of her findings together to come to the conclusion that the kiss now took over every thought you had. 

Your words are a sorry attempt at convincing yourself and Shuri as you reply, the edges of your voice shaking slightly. 

"The kiss was just a diversion, I don't know what else to tell you, Your Highness-"

A flurry of movement happens in your peripheral, and as much as you want to turn to look at her, her heated gaze on the side of your face stops you. It takes everything in you to not turn and let go of the words that seem to be trapped in your throat. Instead, you focus on the climbing numbers of the elevator, willing the elevator to stop on the floor that holds both of your rooms. Willing for the doors to open so you can o to your room and maybe drown your troubles and spiraling thoughts in the cheap mini bottles that had been provided.

"You know very well that it wasn't just a distraction, and for Bast's sake, stop calling me that- I hate when you call me that-"

"What, you hate when I call you by your title? That's what you are, Shuri, you're the Queen!" Your heart beats so quickly that you can physically feel it threatening to break your rib cage. It makes your breathing slightly heavier.

"You're my Queen and I'm nothing but a scientist that you like to annoy for some Bast-forsaken reason! That's all I am- that's all we are!"

You planned for your words to be fueled by the irritation brought on by the night's events, but instead, they're only by raw emotion. The relief at finally knowing how her lips would feel on yours bleeds into your words, as well as the desperation of wanting to feel them again; the desperation for her to tell you that you’re wrong and that that isn’t all that you are.

You find your voice cracking in the slightest, and it only prompts a soft curse to fall from your mouth as you turn further away from her. The muscles of your jaw tense as you clench your teeth as if that will hold back the words that remain just at the tip of your tongue.

The silence following your words is deafening, interrupted only by the soft, incessant beeping of the elevator climbing the floors. You have to strain your ears to pick up on the sound of Shuri's breathing over your own, though you don't know why you listen for it. The one thing you need right now is space from the Queen- enough so that you can wrangle your thoughts that you had mistakenly allowed to cross the line drawn between the two of you.

But space isn't what you want, and that realization alone makes you clench your fists hard enough to leave indentations in your palms. It's all in an effort to push back the desire crawling up the length of your arms and the rest of your body, urging you to pull yourself closer to her and continue where you two had left off in that damned room.

But in order to do that, you'd have to know how Shuri felt…and she was still silent, her gaze concentrated on the profile of your being.

The subtle lurch of the elevator accompanied by its ding is your saving grace, and as soon as the doors open, you're hurriedly stepping out and in the direction of your room. Your steps are quick and nearly silent on the carpeted floors, effortlessly leaving Shuri behind to look after you with furrowed eyebrows and a downturned mouth.

"Is it? Is that all you think we are?"

You just barely have your room key out when Shuri's voice floats down the hallway to you, her voice both questioning and frustrated. It grows closer, louder, as she follows you.

"Because I don't. And I know you don't."

With a shaky hand and frustrated breath, you finally swipe it across the door's sensor before pushing it open quickly and s stepping past the threshold. The door doesn't have a chance to shut before Shuri is slinking in behind you, letting the door shut harshly behind her as you throw your bag down onto the couch. There's a line of heat on your back as you do so, courtesy of Shuri's close proximity and the effect only she has on you, and it only makes your actions choppy.

"I know you, Y/N- as much as you may think that I don't." The tense air follows the two of you further into your hotel room, moving and increasing with each breath and each word you two exchange.

It's a tension that had been building ever since you two laid eyes on each other at the beginning of the night, your gazes drawn to the other like a moth drawn to a flame in a darkened room. It's a tension that continues to grow as she continues speaking, stepping so close to you that you can feel her chest brush your back with every breath.

"Like right now. I know what you feel…because I feel the same."

Even with half your mind telling you to step away, to make space for yourself for your own sake, you find that you're unable to move; especially so when she raises her hands. The one that lands gently on your waist is used to keep you in place while the other raises and settles lightly over your heart from behind; it only makes the organ work double time, something Shuri is more than likely aware of.

"I can hear and feel how fast your heart is beating right now. The beating of my own matches yours, and it's all because of you."

Your hands clench into tight fists in an effort to keep them to yourself, disregarding the feeling of unabashed longing that travels through your body.

The way she speaks and touches you is a far cry from how the two of you interacted only earlier that morning. Then, in the comfort of the Royal Talon fighter, your regular teasing and banter filled the cabin with Okoye occasionally telling you two to take a break from said banter.

Now, the dynamic that usually existed between you two was gone. It had been smashed to pieces as soon as you two had embraced in that room and placed your lips against hers, and attempting to pick up the pieces would leave your fingers a bloody mess.

Though as she continues speaking, you find yourself wondering if picking up the pieces was something that you really wanted to do.

"I can feel each breath you take. I know how they quicken whenever I touch you… because your touch does the same to me." Her words are emphasized by her placing her flat palm against the middle of your chest, which proves her exact point as it rises and falls quickly with each, shuddering breath you take.

It feels like a beam of heat traveling through your body, all originating from where her palm presses against your skin. Her breath ghosts over the exposed skin of your shoulders as she continues, leaving a trail of goosebumps that only her touch can soothe.

"And I know…that that kiss wasn't 'just a kiss'. What I don't know is why you won't admit it to yourself or me."

The frustration in her voice quickly fades until it sounds like acute desperation mixed in with apparent longing. Her hands are gentle where they still rest against your body, and even more gentle as she uses them to turn you around to face her.

You're afraid that if you move too much, you'll wake up from whatever dream you've found yourself in, so you turn stiffly and hesitantly. Eyes raising to meet hers, you brace yourself to wake up to the sight of your room back home in Wakanda; but as they meet hers and you see the vulnerability and genuineness that seem so natural in her eyes, your heart skips.

And then when her hands raise to gently cup your face, her thumbs rubbing soothingly and almost reassuringly into the skin of your cheeks, your heart nearly stops. It's enough to make a quick breath leave your mouth, your eyes closing and your head leaning further into her palms.

"You are more to me than a mere scientist."

She tilts your head back, prompting your eyes to open and meet hers once again.

"Yes, I am a monarch. And you are a scientist…one of the best ones I've ever had the pleasure of working with. But that isn't all.

"These labels only dictate how others see us; they don't dictate how we see each other, and I want nothing more than to tell you, show you, how I see you, and how much you mean to me."

The edges of your lips are traced by her thumb as she speaks, sending a very apparent shudder down your spine; one steeped in pleasure and longing that was becoming harder to tamper down.

But then she steps more into your space, every aspect of her being invading your senses. Your breaths mingle in the small amount of space between your faces, echoing each other in terms of heaviness and pace as her hand splays against the small of your back, almost dangerously close to the zipper that holds your dress together. She lowers her head, her lips brushing just slightly over yours with a question; one that sends a shiver so intense down your spine that it pushes you closer to the Queen. 

"Let me show you, sithandwa sam."

The roughness of her voice contrasts greatly with how slow and careful her hands are as they explore as much of your body as they can with you still fully clothed. They ghost over the curve of your ass, pulling you closer until your waist is flush against hers. Her eyes are half-lidded as she waits for your answer, though they’re patient.  And understanding. The look in them acknowledges that this mission started off as just that, but had now quickly delved into something else. 

You’re just barely able to nod when she’s leaning forward once more, her hands slow but firm where they grip you, and her lips soft but unyielding as she places them against yours. The small groan of anticipation and desire that leaves your mouth is quickly and effortlessly swallowed by Shuri’s mouth on yours. 

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to become an echo of the one you two shared under the guise of it being a diversion, except this one is so much more. This one is brought on by nothing but desire and longing that’s been pushed down too much by the both of you. 

***

Her hands that land on the curve of your ass trail lower until both of them have a full grip, and she doesn’t hesitate in squeezing and kneading the skin that she appreciates. She takes your gasp and uses it to let her tongue explore your mouth as she walks you backwards, her hands firm while they make sure you don’t trip over anything. Your body already trembles with the anticipation of seeing how far this goes; how far Shuri is willing to go to show her sentiments physically. 

Your hands raise, twisting into the fabric of her suit’s coat, using it to pull her impossibly closer. Every sense of yours feels as if its dialled to 11: you can feel every caress and squeeze of her fingers on your skin; you can hear every gasp she takes in order to continue kissing you longer; the smell of her fragrance surrounds you until you’re almost dizzy with the arousal it evokes from you; and the taste of the drinks you both had mingle to make the kiss even more intoxicating. 

Her movements are quick with lust but not rushed; she makes sure to take her time unzipping your dress until the fabric is loosely sliding down your frame, leaving you in your black bra and underwear set, though it leaves little to Shuri’s imagination due to the practically see through lace. She certainly isn’t complaining as she disconnects her lips from yours, her eyes roaming hungrily over your body and the skin that's exposed. They linger on each curve, each mark, each dimple- every aspect that has a role in making you, and with every pass of her eyes, her hands follow. 

If your breath shuddered before, it all but stops as her hands ghost over the shape of your breasts, her thumbs seeming to pay special attention to your nipples that push against the fabric. Each pass of her fingers over them makes a jolt of what feels like electricity streak through your body, and you don’t realize that you’re pushing yourself more into her hands until her head is dipping. 

A throaty hum leaves her mouth as she presses hot, open mouthed kisses against the swell of your breasts peeking over your bra. Her hands cup both of them, almost pushing them together as she continues her ministrations on your skin. Your eyes flutter slightly, though they’re quickly drawn to the mirror across the room and how it gives you a perfect view of what she’s doing. 

The sight of you standing before Shuri in nothing but a pair of underwear and a bra while she still wears her entire suit makes another wave of arousal wash over you, and it makes itself known with the warmth and slickness between your legs. Your soft breath of anticipation is only joined by Shuri’s deep inhale that only turns into a groan of her own. Your eyes remain on the mirror even as she pulls back just enough to step around you, her chest pressing to your back. Her eyes meet yours in the mirror before dipping down to take in your body once more, and its nearly impossible to keep your thighs from clenching together, the slightest bit of your stimulation making your breath hitch. But it isn’t enough. It won’t be enough until you’re shaking under Shuri’s touch; until you forget which way is up or down.

She steps forward, using her body to guide you towards the bed behind you, and as you fall onto the mattress, she doesn’t waste a second in climbing over you. Her lips are hungry as they kiss, lick, nip every inch of skin she can reach. Her path takes her down the valley between your breasts, her lips pressing against one nipplie while her hand gently kneads the other. 

Her hands are gentle as she uses them to push your thighs apart, prompting a heavy breath to leave you. You can feel your own arousal dampening your underwear…and the feeling of Shuri’s tongue pressing flat against your clit through them makes them even damper. 

Your hands immediately twist into the covers beneath you, your hips involuntarily bucking off of the bed. The quick breathing leaving your lips grows closer to pants of desperation as you watch her press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, her eyes closing as if she’s drawing her own pleasure from the taste of you, which she is. As much is evident in the way her eyes open, even darker than ever, and hold yours while her fingers slip beneath the waistband of your underwear. The pace with which she pulls them down makes shiver after shiver wrack down your spine.

“Shuri, please…” 

There’s no hiding the pleading in your voice as your voice breaks the heavy silence, and there’s no stopping the way it quickly morphs into a small whine as you see her eyes focus on your pussy before flickering to yours and back.

“Give me a second…” Her voice is a mumble, though you can still hear the slight shakiness of it. Her eyes, half lidded with pleasure, remain on your pussy, as if she has no problem kneeling between your legs for the rest of the night and just taking in the sight of you. 

“Do you know…how hard it was, watching you from across the room? Knowing that I couldn’t take you somewhere just big enough for me to have you the way I’ve been longing to? Hm?”

There’s nothing in the world- in the universe that can prepare you for the feeling of Shuri’s tongue licking a stripe through your folds, and the sound that it brings from your mouth is loud and sinful. 

She doesn’t give you a chance to catch your breath after that. Her fingers tighten where they’re gripping your thighs, and with a small growl in the base of her throat, she’s lifting your knees towards your ears. A gasp leaves your mouth at the action, your eyes fluttering shut as her breath puffs lightly against the slickness gathering between your legs. 

“Bast, I’ve never wanted to a rip a dress so badly.”

One of her hands leaves your thigh only to replace it with yours, her fingers guiding yours to hold your thigh in the same place while hers lowers. The sensation of her fingers dipping beneath your folds, gathering every bit of your essence before spreading them. Pulling your bottom lip into your mouth doesn’t stop your wanton months from spilling out, just as taking a deep breath does nothing to prepare you as you see Shuri’s head descends more. 

The only warning you receive is the soft hum that leaves her mouth, and then her lips are closing over your pussy. Her tongue is dipping, caressing, and licking relentlessly, each lap bringing you to another height of pleasure that you’ve never experienced before…and that you know you’ll never experience from anyone ever again. 

Your hips buck as she presses deeper, her eyes closing as she gladly looses a few seconds of breath in turn for a few more seconds of her senses being filled with you. Your taste, the feeling of your hips moving in the perfect way that allows your pussy to ride the expanse of her tongue that she gladly offers. 

Time continues to distort the longer she’s buried between your legs. It speeds up and slows down as she uses her tongue and her fingers to the best of her ability to bring you to another level of pleasure, one that has your entire body trembling. It certainly helps that she continues her actions in complete silence, allowing you to hear every hum, grunt, and moan of hers as she eagerly laps up everything you have to offer. It allows you to hear every sinful sound resulting from her tongue or her fingers dipping into you before pulling out. 

Two of her slender fingers press past your folds, her wrist rolling and changing the angle of them until her thumb could swipe firmly across your clit, making a ragged gasp leave your mouth. Your walls tighten around her fingers, and it brings a drawn out moan from her mouth. 

Its unbelievable how well Shuri is able to read your body despite this being the first time, hopefully out of many, that she’s found pleasure and a strong desire within it. Her fingers separate with each thrust, reaching a depth within you that seems almost impossible and making a band of white appear behind your eyelids. 

Your lips part on a number of moans, pants, and soft cries as you try your hardest to hold onto your sanity, though with every stroke, a piece of it crumbles away. 

Her mouth is soon added into the experience, covering the entirety of your pussy as her hand speeds up. It isn’t long until your breathing speeds up, matching each thrust of her fingers as she lets her tongue run over your clit in a pattern that's…that's as disorienting as it is intoxicating. It changes from time to time, each lap gaining more meaning the closer you grow to cumming. It takes a while for your muddled and disoriented thoughts to t to put together each rotation, each sharp curl, each languid lick of her tongue; and when you finally do, your breath becomes trapped in your chest, and your orgasm is crashing over you and muddling your senses.

Your mind completely blanks as your lips part on a silent moan, your back arching away from the bed and more into Shuri’s mouth. Up becomes down and left becomes right because…as if to further prove that you’re hers, the letters her tongue spells against your clit join behind your eyelids until they form her name. Her name.

Shuri was spelling her name.

It crests over you in waves, each one more intense than the last as a ragged gasp tears from your mouth. Her fingers continue their motions, rubbing at that spongy spot inside of you that, for the time being, controls every part of your body. You can only hear static, and you don’t know if your eyes roll back completely or if you close them from the pure pleasure wracking through your body, alighting every nerve of yours on fire.

Shuri's hand that that’s holding your thigh moves until it snakes up your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps before settling on the curve of your breast, her thumb tweaking your now oversensitive nipple. It makes a jolt go through your body while also prolonging the waves of pleasure that threaten to drown you.

Your back arches off of the bed beneath you while your hand moves on its own accord, one fisting in Shuri's curls while the other clutches tightly at her hand. Her nose rubs against the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, prompting you to pull her closer by her curls.

Your legs threaten to close around her head, but by sheer willpower, you manage to keep them open. But that's before your hearing returns, enabling you to hear Shuri's voice from where she’s still buried between your thighs. Her hand clutches at yours, threading your fingers together, acting almost like a lifeline for when the waves of pleasure finally take you…ironically, the waves of pleasure she’s causing.

"Breathe, usana. Breathe through it, love. Bast…you're so pretty…and you're all mine, aren't you?"

You want to answer, to confirm that you’re in fact hers in every sense of the word, but her actions suck all of the air out of the room. You think that she’s pushed you over the edge before, but then those words of praise leave her mouth…and then she angles her hand in just the right way and curls her fingers…and that's what makes the world fall away from beneath you.

Her words coupled with the vibrations they send through your core makes a choked moan fall from your lips as you attempt to follow her words. Her thumb rubs soothingly against the back of your hand, reassuring and comforting as you sag against the bed, your body shaking slightly at what it’s just gone through.

Your eyes flutter open, looking around aimlessly until they settle on Shuri. Her eyes are already on your face, her lips curled into a small, self-satisfied smile as she kisses your hipbone, then your torso. Her lips skim over each breast before she’s closing her lips over yours with a small sigh. Her body presses firmly into yours, the warmth of her body mixing with yours and only heightening your senses. When she pulls away, her eyes are still dark with desire and longing…infatuation, even, but they’re also soft. Caring. Loving. It makes your heart skip a beat or two.

“You okay?”

“‘M okay,” you reply breathlessly, your head nodding slightly. You want to say that the word ‘okay’ is such an understatement for the abundance of feelings flowing through your body at this moment in time, but you’re too busy finding and identifying the number of emotions in Shuri’s gaze. Each one you find makes your gaze soften more until your lips are curling into a small smile.

“Good…because you don’t think I’m done with you, do you?”

You find it unbelievable how her words are said with a heat that contrasts so much with the soft look she gazes at you with, and your acute surprise is apparent judging from the amused look on her face. It stays there as she raises onto her knees, her hands going to the buttons of her suit jacket. 

Despite the heat in her words and the way that heat slowly returns to her gaze, you find yourself letting out a soft laugh, lifting onto your elbows to grow closer to her. You only let out another one as she raises an eyebrow at you, her hands still slowly removing her own clothing. 

You can see the question in her eyes, though you only place your hands on her waist, running them up her sides before you can gently caress them over her breasts. The shiver that wracks down her spine makes your smile grow, and your voice is soft but with slightest hint of teasing as you speak. 

“I bet you’re glad you brought me on this mission, aren’t you?”

Shuri’s answer isn’t verbal. It’s very much physical. Though she makes sure to whisper a number of affections throughout your night together, the most important one being ‘I love you’.

************

I hope you all enjoyed this! It's been a while since I've written any smut and I know I could've done better, but I really wanted to get this out. I started this one shot monthssss ago y'all, but I just remembered it and wanted to finish it before classes started!

You know the drill! Like, reblog, and please comment! I love y'all's comments! I love the interactions!

TAG LIST FORM

@luvvspice , @motherlanddrip , @vivisspam , @oceean , @sleepystarzz1 , @amaberry20 , @randomhoex , @euph0ricx0 , @motheroffae , @shinsousliya , @mrswrightt , @niyahwrites , @thadelightfulone , @shuriislut , @playhousedistee , @sapppy-cocktail , @honey-teaaaaaaaa , @tchhairbandhere , @zane2408 , @barkbarkbo , @butterflyybabe , @angelsmist , @ventingfanfics , @pocketsizedpanther ,

[lushfruit]

if he thinks he’s dying in LA heat just wait until he gets to houston 😭 i’m actually concerned because we don’t even stay outside in the daytime during the summer

LMAOOOO HES GONNA BE GETTING COOKED DURING PRACTICES

[lushfruit]

i KNOW jude is dying in that la heat bro 😭 shit is noooo joke

[lushfruit]

"who's going to stand up for us men" when have you ever stood up for a single woman that's been subjected to abuse by your teammates and friends. crickets when there's actual proof of domestic abuse and when female trauma is discussed but now you wanna be vocal. don't try to make us look stupid and twist the narrative so that it fits your fucked up idea of justice

[lushfruit]

rekindled flame — jude bellingham

social media au

summary: in which two old friends that fell out end up rekindling a spark that never once flickered.

note: it’s been a while and for that i’m sorry. i may still do shuri imagines but this something that’s been in my drafts for months and i wanted to post it in honor of jude’s birthday 🩵

*face claim: renee downer

liked by ayrastarr, and 178,412 others

yourusername and that’s a wrap on our european tour 🥹🩵 athens you showed up and showed out, and we can’t wait for the next time ! but for now, i’m taking a much needed vacation cos i’m absolutely knackered ☀️🇬🇷

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user5 she’s so fit 😩

jorjadouglas i could stay in mykonos forever omds liked by yourusername

user1 they need to come to america fr

stellaquaresma_ 😍 liked by yourusername

user2 isn’t jude in mykonos as well ?

⤷ user3 oop 👀

yourusername via instagram stories

yourusername via instagram stories

liked by jorjadouglas, stellaquaresma_, and 201,028 others

yourusername date night w myself 🤍

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user1 yourself…sure 👀

tyla stunner

⤷ yourusername all you 😍

user2 must’ve not checked theshadeborough then 😂

user3 I MET YOU LAST NIGHT

user4 we are onto u girl

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judebellingham what a place 🇬🇷

tagged yourusername

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stellaquaresma_ can’t believe me and jorja are third wheeling for the rest of this trip 😞

jobebellingham finally

trentarnold66 congrats bro 💪🏽

jorjadouglas better not make a mistake this time brutha we're watching u

⤷ judebellingham noted 😅

liked by judebellingham, bukayosaka87, and 763,802 others

yourusername greece you are now officially my favorite place 🩵

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[lushfruit]

Please continue your writing youband your wonderful pices of work are DEFINITELY WANTED here 💗💗💗

i’m sorry i uninstalled tumblr for a while but thank you so much 😭😭 i hope the shuri fandom isn’t dead i might get back into it

[lushfruit]

i’m so inactive on here i’m sorry y’all 😭 i’m around but idk if anyb still wants me to write stuff

[lushfruit]

Hii! It’s me, again. Greet me as I greet you:). Today I’ll be listing the very few pet names, phrases of endearment kwasha kwacima… that I know. It’s Valentimes asibe happy sibe merry.

ps: Don’t hold your breath I’m not good at this.

Xhosa and Zulu translated to English(barely)

Sphalaphala sam = My pretty one

Phakade lam = My forever

Soka lami = My partner

Izinyanya zivumile = The ancreators have agreed

Impilo yami ngeke ibe lutho ngaphandle kwakho = My life would be nothing without you

Inhliziyo yami eyakho, uthando lwami lungangolwandle = My heart is yours. My love for you is greater than the ocean/ ocean deep

Mandibon’ ubuhle bakho ikhanda livele lidume = Your beauty makes my head spin

Ngiyocaca naye = I’m going to marry them/him/her

Noma bengathini wena ungowami = Nevermind the naysayers you’re mine.

Inhliziyo yami ishaya kancane mangizwa izwi lakho = My heart beats settles when I hear your voice

Thandiwe = Beloved