sunset-curve-fantom

[sunset-curve-fantom]

We Couldn’t Stop

Title: We Couldn’t Stop Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader x Steve Rogers 

Summary:  During a sweep of a forgotten HYDRA lab, you, Steve, and Bucky trigger an old aerosol dispersal system. No one realizes what hit you until it’s too late. Now stuck in quarantine- burning, aching, and caged in with two dominant, unraveling super soldiers- you’re forced to ride out the drug’s effects together.

Word Count:  7k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Sex Pollen / Drugged Lust, Threesome MFM, Dubious Consent (due to drug influence), Double Penetration, Oral (F & M receiving), Praise Kink, Rough Sex/Overstimulationm Fingering, anal ply, cum play, Competitive Doms

A/N: my entry for  @avengers-assemble-bingo  for April Kinky Bingo Square: A3- Threesome Card Number: KB003

The mission was supposed to be a simple sweep- an old HYDRA lab buried deep beneath the forest floor, long abandoned, just a routine retrieval run for leftover tech and encrypted files that could pose a threat if they fell into the wrong hands. You, Steve, and Bucky had done that sort of thing more times than you could count. Clear the rooms, grab the drives, secure any volatile tech, and call for extraction. In and out. Easy.

You should’ve known better the moment you stepped inside. The facility was too quiet, too intact. Dust settled thick on the floors, but the lights still flickered dimly overhead, and the security systems were half-alive, humming low like they were waiting.

You were the one who found the sealed door- reinforced, heavily protected, and drawing power. It was locked down tight, tucked at the end of a corridor where the flickering lights didn’t quite reach. You called the others over.

"You think it’s storage?" Bucky asked, frowning at the biometric pad.

"Locked and powered," you muttered. "Could be data. Or maybe just a lab they forgot to scrub."

"Let's not poke the bear," Steve said, but he stepped up beside you anyway, scanning the door. "Looks like it's sealed for a reason."

That should've been the moment you backed off. But your fingers were already dancing over the keypad, overriding the old security system. The panel blinked. Clicked.

"I’ve almost got- "

The door hissed. Not wide- barely a few inches.

A soft spray hit you all in the face.

It came fast. Silent. A puff of pressurized mist like compressed air, followed by the faintest scent- ozone, chemical sweetness, almost floral.

You stumbled back, coughing once.

"What the hell was that?" Bucky barked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Steve grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the door. "You okay? Did you breathe it in?"

"Yeah, but- I don’t feel anything."

"We’re all covered in it," Bucky snapped, glaring at the faint sheen settling over Steve’s shoulders. "Fucking hell."

"Close it," Steve ordered.

Bucky slammed the door shut, sealing it again with a growl. "Old security measure. Shit."

"We’ll report it," Steve said, but his jaw was clenched.

The spray clung to your skin. Sweet. Heavy. And whatever it was, it was in all three of you now.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

By the time the jet touched down back at the compound, you were already flushed and aching, your heart thudding too fast in your chest. Whatever had come out of that door- it clung to your skin, settled in your lungs, and made everything inside you feel off. You weren’t the only one affected. Bucky was pacing the perimeter of the quinjet like a caged animal. Steve hadn’t spoken for the last twenty minutes, but his white-knuckled grip on the back of a seat said everything.

You’d hoped the decontamination shower would be the end of it. But blood was still taken. Swabs run over your skin. Scans. More questions. Until finally, they left the three of you in the quarantine room- one sterile space, no outside contact, and cameras in every corner.

You wanted to apologize. This had been your mistake. But Bucky’s expression was pure storm as he continued to pace like a tiger in a zoo. Steve’s face was unreadable- steely, distant, controlled. So you kept your mouth shut and tried not to scratch at your skin like you desperately wanted.

Soft static crackled, and then Tony’s voice filled the room over the speaker. "It’s biochemical bonding serum," he said. "Looks like it's engineered to push subjects into a state of hyperarousal and submission, designed to override inhibition and drive instinctual behaviors."

Your stomach dropped. What kind of mess had you landed yourself in?

"How long?" Bucky snapped, voice sharp.

"We'll have to check back on the decay and metabolic rate, and we- "

"What Bruce means is- we don't know," Tony cut in. "For you guys, it might be a matter of hours. Little Miss Curiosity might be stuck with it in her system a little longer."

You flinched and shied away from the speaker, burying your face in your hands.

"We're working on it, don't stress. It shouldn't kill you," Tony added casually.

"Big fucking whoop," Bucky growled, pressing a fist into the wall. Steve shot him a look of disproval. 

"Buck.." His tone warning. 

"Just, try and stay calm, guys," Bruce said, trying to sound optimistic. "It'll be alright."

"Don’t make a mess," Tony said, his voice laced with sarcasm. "We’ll keep you posted."

And just like that, you were cut off again. Biochemical- engineered arousal.

"Well, you heard him," Steve sighed, leaning back against the wall, scrubbing a hand over his face. "We just have to keep our heads. It can’t last forever."

That was easy for him to say. Both Steve and Bucky had super soldier serum in their veins- enhanced bodies that could regulate, adapt, maybe even resist. You… you were human. And you could already feel your body reacting in ways that made your skin itch and your blood feel like it was boiling.

You didn't say anything. Just shifted your weight, trying not to squirm. The heat beneath your skin pulsed steadily now, like it was alive.

"This is fucked," Bucky muttered, pacing again. "They just dumped us in here like we’re some kind of experiment."

"They’re doing what they can," Steve said, tone calm but tight. "We don’t know enough yet. Getting worked up won’t help."

"Worked up?" Bucky turned on him, eyes flashing. "You don’t feel that?"

Steve’s jaw flexed. "Of course I feel it."

"Then quit acting like you don’t."

You glanced between them, heart racing. The tension in the room was building again, only this time it wasn’t from anger- it was something heavier. Thicker. Clinging to the air like smoke.

And under it all, that hum beneath your skin only grew louder. 

Hours had passed.

You'd started pacing a little while ago, unable to sit still. Movement helped. Not much- but it was something. You were going through the water they'd left in the room like you were dying of thirst. You were hot, sticky, your tank damp and clinging to your body, and you were doing everything you could to ignore the throbbing pulse between your legs.

You kept moving. Pacing. Trying to shake it off.

Steve watched from the far cot, jaw tight. His shirt was damp, his breath shallow, but he was sitting like he was trying to pretend everything was normal.

Bucky was pacing again, eyes locked on you more often than not, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. “She smells different,” he muttered. “Fuck.”

His words made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rough, raw sound of his voice made your head twitch like it was a physical thing pulling at you.

"Gonna try and sleep," you muttered, not looking at either of them.

Maybe you'd be able to sleep through the worst of it. Maybe if you were lucky, your body would calm down. You slipped behind the thin curtain, stepping into the tiny corner of privacy around your cot. Laying down, the heat of your body only seemed to intensify. Your skin felt suffocated, and with a frustrated sigh, you peeled your tank top over your head, leaving you in just your bra, hoping the exposure would help you breathe easier.

It didn’t.

You curled onto your side, arms around your stomach, thighs pressed tight together. The ache between your legs was a constant, heavy throb now. Maybe… maybe you could just handle your own needs. Just enough to take the edge off. Anything to ease the ache.

Your hands trembled as you pulled the thin blanket around you and lay on the cot. There was a small curtain for privacy, but it did nothing to muffle the sounds when your fingers slipped beneath your waistband.

You tried to be quiet. Tried to hold your breath. But your body was on fire, and even the gentlest brush of your fingers sent you bucking.

A whimper escaped, broken and desperate.

And then you heard it- Steve’s voice. Low. Strained.

“Don’t- don’t do that.”

You froze. “I- I can’t- ”

Still, you didn’t stop. You rubbed faster, then slower, your fingers diving inside of you, pressing deeper, trying every angle- but nothing worked. Every shift of your hand sent sparks across your nerves, your breath hitching with each pulse of pressure, but the fire wouldn’t break. Your legs trembled, your toes curled, but it all stayed out of reach.

You changed angles, tried circling your clit with trembling fingers while your other hand held onto the edge of the cot like it could ground you. You rocked your hips up, whispered pleas into the dark, but it wasn’t enough. Not even close. You needed more- needed them- but all you had were your own shaking hands and the unbearable ache growing between your legs.

Your breath hitched again as frustration bloomed hot and frantic in your chest. You were soaking, your thighs slick, the air sticky with the scent of your arousal. Your skin was flushed and clammy, your body locked in this endless loop of need- and yet you still couldn’t fall over that edge. Not like this. Not alone.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want her?" Bucky asked, voice low and rough, growling on the other side of the curtain.

Steve didn’t move at first, but his voice followed, strained. "I can smell her arousal from here, Buck. You think I’m not affected?"

"She’s whimpering, Steve. Sounds like music to me."

"We’re not doing this. We can’t- "

"Fuck this. She needs someone."

"Don’t you fucking touch her," Steve snapped.

"Then you do something," Bucky fired back.

Silence followed. You pressed your fingers deeper, hips rocking, but it wasn’t working. You were going to explode- your body was wound so tight it hurt.

Your fingers weren’t enough. You begged, voice cracking, desperate and broken.

"Please... please someone- "

Someone pulled the curtain back. Bucky’s eyes were dark. Blown wide. He didn’t speak. It hurt. “I can’t…” you whimpered, barely able to speak. “It’s not working…”

Your hips shifted again instinctively, your fingers still caught between your thighs, but the tension was unbearable. You were so wet, so swollen with need, it was maddening- and yet release stayed just out of reach. Your body craved more than your own touch could give.

They both appeared, stepping past the curtain without a word. You could see it in their faces- this was affecting them just as much. Steve’s eyes were dark, jaw clenched. Bucky looked wrecked, barely human with how sharp and hungry his expression had become.

You writhed again on the cot, body shaking, and Steve moved first- his weight shifting over you as he pressed your shoulders down into the mattress with steady, unyielding hands.

"Stay still," he said, voice gravel-thick.

At the same time, Bucky grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from you.

You whined, hips arched up, as Bucky’s gaze dropped to your slick fingers. He looked transfixed. Obsessed. His mouth parted before he dragged his tongue along your digits, groaning low in his chest at the taste.

Then- without breaking eye contact- he brought your hand to Steve.

"Tell me again we shouldn’t do this," Bucky said, voice rough and knowing.

Steve hesitated, staring at your hand, your eyes, then your body.

"...Steve?" you pleaded, chest heaving. A bead of sweat slid down your ribs, slicking your skin as the heat inside you pulsed like a second heartbeat. "Help... please."

Steve’s jaw flexed. His eyes raked over your flushed, trembling body, lingering where your bra had ridden up from the way you were squirming, the curve of your thighs glistening in the low light.

Bucky didn’t speak. He just stood there beside him, wild-eyed and rigid, chest rising and falling with short, shallow breaths. The scent of you filled the air. Thick. Sweet. Desperate.

Steve exhaled through his nose, heavy and slow like he was trying to exhale restraint. It didn’t work.

"You’re going to regret begging so pretty, sweetheart," he murmured, finally moving closer, the promise behind his words like thunder rolling through your veins.

~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~#~

They were both on you.

You didn’t know who moved first- Steve’s hand slid up your thigh, firm and sure, while Bucky’s mouth was suddenly at your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. The tension shattered. Clothing came off in frantic tugs- your joggers peeled away, your bra unclasped and discarded. Steve’s tank was tossed aside. Bucky’s sweats hit the floor with a low rustle.

Heat and skin and breath surrounded you. Their bodies pressed in, solid and hot and overwhelming. Steve's chest pinned you down as he kissed you- hard and consuming- his tongue sliding against yours as he groaned into your mouth. His hands cupped your jaw, fingers splayed, tilting your head how he wanted it.

Bucky moved lower, lips trailing down your throat, teeth scraping along your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, dragging you down the cot toward him with a roughness that made you moan. He kissed your stomach, your ribs, your inner thighs, worshipping each inch like it belonged to him.

You gasped, arching into the touch of both of them. Their mouths- wet and demanding. Their bodies- slick with sweat, grinding against you like they couldn't get close enough.

You'd all held out for so long. Now there was nothing but the letting go.

Every nerve ending in your body sparked like live wires with every touch- every graze of skin against skin sent jolts of unbearable sensation through you. It was impossible to stay still. Your limbs twitched, your hips rocked, your breath came in short, gasping pulls as your body tried to process too much, too fast.

“Don’t move,” Steve growled, voice rough but laced with something gentler beneath. “Too sensitive? No. You’re just not used to being handled right.”

Bucky pushed your legs open wider, guiding your knees apart until your calves hung off the edge of the cot, completely exposed, completely theirs. “She’s soaking,” Bucky breathed. “Fucking hell- she’s dripping down her thighs.” The cool air kissed your slick folds and made you shiver. Then his hand slid between your thighs again, and fingers plunged into you- two, maybe three. You didn’t even know whose they were anymore.

Steve’s mouth found your chest, teeth grazing over the top curve of your breast before his lips closed around your nipple. You sobbed, your body already arching upward from the overload.

The blonde growled against your skin, one hand gripping your jaw while the other tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to bow your spine upward. You gasped, helpless, writhing between them, your body trembling from overstimulation.

“You’re taking it so well,” Steve murmured, voice low and rough. “Just like that. Good girl.”

“Look at her,” Bucky snarled. “That’s it, sweetheart- ride my hand. Come on. Take what you need.”

His fingers worked deep inside you, curling and thrusting, hitting that spot that made your legs twitch and your hips lift off the cot. His palm pressed against your clit with every motion, grinding you into the edge of bliss, holding you there with cruel precision. You could feel everything. Every ridge of his knuckles, every flex of his wrist. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You whimpered, your hands scrambling against the sheets, seeking something to hold onto as your body rocked with each relentless stroke. Steve bit gently at the underside of your jaw, his hand still twisted in your hair as he whispered praises that barely reached your ears over the rushing roar of need building inside you.

Steve’s mouth was on your chest again, sucking one nipple into the heat of his mouth while his hand massaged the other, groping you with a needy rhythm that only made it harder to breathe. His other hand had tangled itself in your hair again, gently tugging until your spine arched up off the cot, your body straining toward both of them.

Bucky’s metal thumb pressed into your clit, circling with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Your breath hitched, head tipping back as you let out a broken moan.

"OH FUCK." you cried, fingers clawing at the side of the cot, knuckles white.

He didn’t stop. His fingers pumped into you, slick and steady, coaxing the sound out of your throat again and again. You felt like you were vibrating- nerve endings lit up with fire, each touch sparking through you like electricity.

“You hear that, punk?” Bucky’s voice dripped with ego. “That’s the sound of my fingers making her cry.” Steve shifted beside you, sitting up to watch, his eyes locked on where Bucky's fingers slid in and out of you. One of his hands moved down, low and out of sight, and you could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep control.

Bucky glanced back at him, grinning as he curled his fingers just right and made you cry out again.

"Look at her, Stevie," Bucky growled, his voice rough and ragged with arousal. He didn’t even look up, just watched his fingers slide in and out of you like it was the most important thing in the world. "She’s writhing just from my fingers. What happens when I put my cock in?"

"You’ll wait," Steve snapped, voice sharp, strained with barely checked control. He was flushed, jaw tight, clearly fighting the same battle Bucky was already losing.

"God, look at her," Bucky muttered again, breath coming faster. "Fuck, I want her mouth. I want every part."

You couldn’t answer. Your vision blurred. Every nerve in your body felt like it had snapped tight, vibrating with unbearable pressure.

And then it broke.

You came- hard.

Your whole body convulsed as the orgasm tore through you. Your legs kicked against the cot, arms flailing blindly for purchase. Steve had to hold you down, one hand braced across your chest, the other still tangled in your hair as your back arched and a strangled sob tore from your throat.

It didn’t end quickly. The drug made it last- your climax dragging on and on, crashing over you in waves so powerful they left you gasping, wrecked.

You felt Bucky’s fingers slow inside you, easing off just enough to let you ride it out without breaking. But they didn’t stop touching you. They didn’t let you go.

And worst of all, the haze in your head didn’t clear like you hoped it would.

You were still shaking. Still needy.

Still burning.

You were a panting mess, your skin still hot and your chest tight when one of them scooped you up and lay you out on the cool floor. The shock of it made you gasp, the chill a sudden relief against your fevered skin. You blinked your eyes open, dazed, limbs slack and breath ragged.

"You’re such a mess for us, baby," Bucky murmured, crouched above you now. His voice was low, ruined with hunger. "That sweet little body of yours wasn’t made to handle all this, was it?"

Your eyes found him- Bucky, kneeling near your face now, his cock hard and leaking, so close it blurred your thoughts. He looked feral, undone, lips parted like he was barely restraining himself.

Your tongue slipped out to lick your lips without thinking. The taste of your own sweat clung to your skin, but all you could focus on was him. The way his chest rose and fell, the way his fist clenched at his thigh.

Your mind narrowed to a single point of clarity.

You wanted him in your mouth.

You leaned forward slowly, licking the bead of precum off his tip before taking him in fully- hungry, needy, your lips stretching around the thick, velvet length of him. Bucky’s breath stuttered, and he let out a ragged groan as your mouth sealed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not to guide but to anchor himself. “So fucking pretty like this- taking me so deep. Look at those lips- look at that mouth.”

You moaned around him, the vibrations making him hiss. He was hot, heavy, pulsing against your tongue, and you hollowed your cheeks to take him deeper, until your nose pressed against the base and he swore low under his breath.

“Messy little mouth,” Bucky panted. “So eager. You needed this, didn’t you? Needed something to suck while we ruin the rest of you.”

You were lost in it- the taste of him, the heat, the way he twitched when your tongue flicked just right. Spit gathered at the corners of your mouth as you worked him with sloppy desperation, gagging slightly as you bobbed your head in a steady rhythm.

Just then, you felt Steve’s hands at your hips, steady and sure. He shifted your lower body, pulling your legs open and up until you were spread out for him on the floor.

“You liked Buck's fingers? Let’s see how you do on my cock,” Steve growled against your ear, his voice dark and thick with restraint.

You gasped around Bucky’s cock, the moan caught in your throat turning into a garbled sound of pleasure as Steve aligned himself behind you. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you wide as his tip pressed against your entrance- already slick, fluttering, aching.

He pushed in slow, filling you inch by inch, and every nerve inside you lit up in electric spasms. Your muscles fluttered around him, clenching and pulsing as he stretched you open, the thick drag of him stealing your breath.

The pressure, the fullness, the stretch- it was overwhelming. You sobbed around Bucky, the vibration of your moan making him groan above you, his hips twitching as he fought not to thrust.

Steve bottomed out with a hiss, his hands gripping tighter like he needed the anchor. Inside you, he throbbed, deep and perfect. You felt stretched to the edge of your limits, your inner walls fluttering in frantic spasms around him, struggling to adjust and clench all at once. Your body didn’t know what to do- pull him in deeper or push him out.

It was too much. It was everything. Your head was spinning.

They started to move- slow at first. Steve dragging back only to sink in again, deliberate, controlled, while Bucky’s cock bumped the back of your throat as he rocked forward with a groan. You gagged, whined, clung to them both with your mouth and body.

You were stuck in it now. The lust. The drug. The heat. There was no thought left, only sensation. Only how it felt to be stretched open in two directions, trembling and gasping.

They didn’t talk to you anymore. They talked about you.

“She’s so sensitive,” Bucky growled. “Poor thing doesn’t know what to do with herself.”

Steve grunted, his pace picking up. “Tight as hell. She’s pulsing like she doesn’t know whether she wants to come or cry.”

You tried to moan but it came out a broken, garbled sound around Bucky’s cock. Your tongue dragged along the underside of him as he pushed deeper, your throat fluttering as you swallowed around the stretch. Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth, tears tracking down your cheeks, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Bucky’s hand tightened at the back of your head, not forcing, just holding you there, gazing down into your wet, dazed eyes. “That’s it, baby,” he groaned. “Fuck, look at you drooling all over me. You love it, don’t you?”

Your hips rocked back into Steve without meaning to as he thrust forward again, harder this time, grinding deep. Your nerves fired like sparks, the friction of his cock dragging against hypersensitive flesh sending bursts of pressure low in your belly. Your insides coiled, pleasure building with every thick, deliberate thrust, your body wound so tight it felt like you might snap apart.

“You’re doing so well for us,” Steve grunted, leaning down, his mouth hot at your ear. “Such a good girl, letting us use you like this.”

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle, driving in deeper. The stretch made you cry out around Bucky’s cock, throat flexing as your moan turned to a sob.

"That's it," Steve growled, pace quickening. "Fuck, so fucking wet and warm... you gonna cum, sweetheart? Gotta feel you squeeze me while you swallow Bucky."

Your body arched, heat crashing through your spine as Steve hit that perfect spot again and again, each thrust sending a jolt through your core. Your throat tightened around Bucky's cock, the vibration of your desperate moans making him curse under his breath.

“Fuck- she’s so close,” Steve panted, driving harder. “You feel that? She’s fucking pulsing.”

You sobbed around Bucky, tears streaking your cheeks, the pressure in your belly a coil tightening with no escape.

“She’s gonna lose it,” Bucky panted, watching the way you writhed. “Look at how she’s trembling. She needs cock.”

And then it snapped.

Your climax hit like a bolt of lightning, seizing your body with white-hot tension as your inner walls clamped down around Steve’s cock. You wailed around Bucky’s length, the cry vibrating through him as he let out a guttural groan.

“Fuck, that mouth- ” Bucky growled, watching your teary eyes roll back. “I’m gonna- shit- ”

He spilled down your throat with a grunt, his cock twitching between your lips, his hand holding you steady as you swallowed every drop of him while he pulsed. 

The clenching spasms of your climax milked Steve mercilessly, dragging his own orgasm from him with a ragged curse. He slammed in deep, staying buried as he came hard, filling you with warmth that only made the pleasure burn hotter.

“Take it,” he groaned, his breath broken against your shoulder. “Take it all. Good fucking girl.”

Bucky sat back on his heels, pulling himself from your mouth with a wet pop, still hard, his cock glistening with your spit. “"Fuck... you’re unreal..." he panted, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing..pupils blown as he looked down at you.

Steve finally pulled out with a groan, the loss of him sudden and jarring, making you whimper. His cum followed, warm and slick as it dripped from your stretched pussy, pooling between your thighs.

His gaze dropped between your legs, transfixed. His eyes went heavy-lidded as he watched it leak from you, dripping down to your slick, twitching rim. Slowly, his fingers moved to your core, smearing the mess down lower, spreading it deliberately to your other entrance.

You gasped, twitching from aftershocks, your body still sensitive everywhere. His fingertip teased your tight hole, rubbing softly, slicking it with a practiced ease. You whimpered, already overwhelmed, but the moan that spilled from you was pure need.

“Damn, Stevie- you didn’t fuck her right if she’s still aching like this,” Bucky drawled, voice hoarse and edged with a smirk, watching the way your hips shifted restlessly on the floor.

You whimpered, the heat still rolling inside you, every nerve ending alive and twitching. The aftershocks made your muscles flutter, your body too sensitive and still so hungry. Steve didn’t bite back. He was too focused- his fingers slick with his own cum as he spread it lower, smearing it over your pussy and then circling your tight, twitching rim.

And then one thick finger pressed inward.

You gasped, whole body jolting, a broken sound catching in your throat as your body tried to clamp down instinctively. But Steve worked slowly, steadily, easing the finger deeper, the stretch sharp and slow as he began to work you open.

You felt your core clench around nothing as Steve worked his finger deeper. “I need- please, I need more, I can’t- ” you gasped, voice trembling. Your head was a mess, fogged with lust and the aftershocks still sparking under your skin. Steve kept up the slow pump of his finger, pushing in deeper, working more of his cum into your ass to keep you slick and open.

“Hear that, Steve?” Bucky said, voice thick with amusement, already fisting his own cock in lazy, slow strokes. “She wants more.”

Steve’s gaze didn’t waver, his finger sinking deeper, curling. You whimpered again.

“Can’t say no, can we?” Bucky added, grinning.

“Oh, I think I know exactly what our girl needs...” Steve muttered, voice thick with heat and control, as his hand disappeared between your thighs.

Steve pulled his finger from your ass just as Bucky got down onto the floor, reaching out to haul you up into his lap. Steve’s arms hooking under yours, supporting your limp, boneless body as they moved you together like you weighed nothing.

“Let’s get you on Buck now...” Steve purred near your ear, voice thick and smooth, a slow heat curling down your spine.

Bucky’s cock was already there- thick, hard, and waiting. They guided you together, Steve steadying you from behind while Bucky angled his cock to your entrance.

As Steve lowered you, your legs wrapped weakly around Bucky’s hips, and you felt the first stretch as his tip slid inside. A guttural groan ripped from Bucky’s throat, his hands tightening on your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he gritted out, voice rough and reverent. “You always take me so damn good. Still so fucking tight- even after Steve blew you open? Shit.”

“That’s a girl,” Steve murmured, voice low with praise. “Nice and slow... Want you to feel every inch of him, don’t you?”

You just whimpered and nodded, the need to be filled consuming, overwhelming, as the pair of them helped you sink down onto Bucky’s cock, inch by perfect inch.

Your head fell back against Steve’s shoulder as you settled fully onto Bucky, who thrust up into you with steady pressure. The heat and stretch made your whole body tremble. You could barely breathe, still twitching from your earlier climax. Then Bucky's hands gripped your hips tight.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed, hips rolling upward as he began to move you, guiding you into a rhythm. “Look at you. Still aching. Like how I feel doll?”

The moan that spilled from your mouth didn’t even sound like you anymore- wrecked, raw, and desperate.

You were unraveling under Bucky’s rhythm- the way he filled you had your mind slipping, your thoughts scattering with every deep, slow thrust, how every thrust hit deep, high inside, brushing against that spot that made you shudder. Your head lolled back onto Steve’s shoulder, eyes fluttering, lips parted around desperate little gasps.

“She bites her lip when I go deep. You see that?” Bucky said with a rough chuckle, voice wrecked but smug. “She likes my rhythm.”

You didn’t even notice the way Steve bent you forward over Bucky, hands guiding your body like you were something precious and fragile and already ruined.

You didn’t have time to think too much before you felt Bucky’s hands grip your ass, pulling you open as Steve shifted behind you. It wasn’t until the thick, spongy head of his cock pressed against somewhere you’d never let anyone touch that your eyes snapped open in surprise.

The first inch pushed into your ass slowly, carefully, but it still stole your breath.

“It’s too much- I can’t- wait- ” you gasped, voice cracking with overwhelmed panic as your body instinctively tried to jerk away.

But Bucky rocked his hips upward, pushing deep into your pussy again, and the shockwave of pleasure was enough to paralyze your resistance.

“Shh... it’s okay,” Steve murmured, arms wrapping around you from behind as he continued to press in. His voice was thick and coaxing, his control iron-tight. “I’ve got you. You’re doing so good for us.”

You sobbed, your whole body fluttering around them as Steve sank in deeper, the thin wall between your holes trembling with every inch he took. The two of them groaned in unison, voices rough and reverent as they filled you together.

You were caught between them now. Two super soldiers, all three of you lost in lust and need. Your face twisted with sensation as they held you there- one thick cock filling your pussy, the other spreading your ass open inch by inch. Both sunk to the hilt. You were impossibly full. You were shaking. Overwhelmed. Unable to process the stretch, the heat, the drag of their bodies inside you. It was too much. And you needed more.

“You’re both so… big- I’m gonna- fuck- ” you sobbed. You couldn’t believe how sensitive you’d become- how just being filled, just being stretched, could reduce you to this. You weren’t even moving, yet your body was already bracing to come undone again. There was no going back. No holding on. Just surrender.

You came without moving, the sensation of fullness alone tipping you over. Your body seized in the middle, core clenching violently, squeezing down on both of them at once as pleasure ripped through you like a lightning bolt.

Your voice cracked into a scream. You were gone- shaking, convulsing, burning from the inside out as your orgasm dragged through you with devastating force.

Both of them groaned at the way your body squeezed them- tight and hot and trembling.

“Fuck,” Bucky grunted, rocking his hips once more. “Didn’t even have to move. Just had to be inside you.”

Steve chuckled darkly, voice low and wrecked in your ear. “She’s that sensitive. That fucking perfect.”

You couldn’t even answer. Your lips parted in a silent gasp as Steve’s hands slid up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing across your stiff nipples as he started to move again. Slowly at first, easing back before pressing forward, dragging against that thin wall with every thick stroke.

Bucky's grip returned to your hips, steady and possessive, guiding you to rise and fall on his cock. Your body jolted with every motion, your moans soft and slurred.

“That’s it,” Steve cooed, hips snapping gently. “We’ll start slow…”

“I-I can’t- ” you whimpered, but your body was already moving, driven by instinct and need.

“I know you can take more,” he murmured. “Look how beautiful you are when you come apart. It'll feel better- just gotta keep going.”

And it did. It felt better than the denial. Better than the ache that came from holding back. The pleasure rolled through you like a drug, heavy and all-consuming.

Your hips started to move again, slowly grinding into Bucky as your walls fluttered around him. You didn’t know if it was need or instinct- maybe both- but you couldn’t stop. You were cock-drunk. Barely aware of anything except how good it felt to be filled this way.

“Breathe,” Steve whispered. “Just like that. Hold it- good girl.”

Then Steve pulled your hips back into him and pressed all the way in.

“You think you’re fucking her deep?” Steve growled at Bucky, voice low and wild. “Watch this.”

Bucky shoved his hand flat to your lower stomach and lifted his hips with a brutal thrust. You cried out, the stretch making your eyes roll back as he ground up into you. It was obscene how deep he reached, how thick he felt. You pawed at his chest, clinging to him with trembling fingers.

“..fuck fuck fuck...” you gasped, the breath knocked out of you before he eased his hips again, smug and steady.

“Told ya,” Bucky muttered with a grin.

But it didn’t stop there.

Bucky answered your gasps with harder thrusts. Steve listened for his name and answered with praise. His mouth latched to your neck, nipping and licking along your skin as he squeezed your breasts roughly, molding them in his palms.

“Did you hear that one? That was mine,” Steve muttered against your skin when you gasped his name.

Bucky answered with a sharp thrust that made your breath catch. “She moaned louder for me, sweetheart. Don’t get cocky.”

Each of them was locked into the game- testing reactions, adjusting pace, trying to claim the sounds that spilled from your lips. One made you cry out, the other drew a gasp. They used your body like a live wire for their competition, and you were helpless in the storm.

“She whimpers when I kiss her right here,” he growled, biting just beneath your ear.

Bucky’s hands gripped your hips tighter, fucking up into you hard enough to rock you against Steve’s chest. “She clenched around me when you said that,” he rasped. “Bet she’s trying to pick a favourite.”

You couldn’t keep up. Couldn’t think. You only managed to gasp whatever name escaped your lips first, and they both heard it- every time. And they responded with sharper thrusts, filthier praise.

“You’re so cock-drunk, you don’t even know who’s making you come anymore, do you?” Bucky said, voice rough.

“She’s beautiful like this,” Steve murmured, licking the sweat off your throat. “All wrecked. All ours.”

Then Bucky’s metal hand slid between your thighs again. His fingers brushed your clit, the coolness of steel a shocking chill of metal against your heat made you jolt, gasping as sparks danced up your spine.

“Oh- god - fuck- ” you sobbed, trembling uncontrollably as sparks shot up your spine.

“Breathe,” Steve ordered again. “Just like that. That’s our girl.”

They started to move faster now- driving into you in sync, pistoning in perfect rhythm. The slap of skin echoed, the slick sounds of your soaked cunt and the obscene wet pressure of being filled from both ends breaking whatever was left of your mind.

“You want to make her come, punk?” Bucky growled. “You gotta fuck her harder than that.”

“Shut up, jerk,” Steve snarled, thrusting harder. “We don’t need to break her. Just ruin her a little longer.”

“She’s shaking so bad. You keep her steady, Steve- I wanna see her face when she comes again.”

Your next orgasm ripped through you with a small wail, your features contorting as your body locked up tight. You clawed at them both- gripping Steve’s forearm, Bucky’s shoulder- as your walls fluttered around their cocks, milking them, begging for more without a word.

They didn’t stop. Didn’t give you time to come down. Steve groaned, his thrusts picking up as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. Bucky cursed, gripping your hips tighter, lifting and dropping you into him with growing urgency.

You felt them both losing control- felt their restraint slipping with every second you squeezed around them, heat and slickness pouring down your thighs.

“Fuck- fuck, she’s doing it again,” Bucky grunted.

Steve’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “She wants it. She’s not done. Not till we are.”

Then the pace shifted- harder, rougher, deeper. Their moans grew louder, matched only by the slap of skin on skin. Your head spun, your vision blurred.

And then they were coming again- Steve first, pulled tight to your back, his groan muffled in your shoulder. Then Bucky, buried deep beneath you, eyes locked on yours as he spilled inside you with a strangled moan.

You collapsed between them, limp and boneless, your body a trembling wreck held up only by their hands. You didn’t even try to move. There was no fight left in you- only the slow hum of satisfaction and overstimulation. Somewhere in the haze of your mind, a flicker of disbelief passed through you- how had you endured that? How had you survived the storm of them inside you? But there was no room for shame or second thoughts. Only surrender. And the quiet, overwhelming hum of being utterly, deliciously wrecked. You were too dazed to understand what was happening at first, the haze still thick behind your eyes. The humming under your skin hadn’t stopped, but it had dulled- muted to a low thrum that echoed in your bones. They were careful, even if your overstimulated body didn’t register it that way.

You whined, squirming, as they slowly pulled out of you. The stretch reversed, the heat slipping away, leaving you empty and raw. It wasn’t pain, but your body protested the loss with soft whimpers.

Someone pressed a water bottle to your lips, coaxing you to sip. You obeyed without thought, the coolness trickling down your throat a small mercy.

Another set of hands gently wiped you down. A cold, damp cloth slid between your legs, easing away the slick mess with slow, tender strokes.

Then your head was lowered into someone’s lap. Fingers carded through your hair.

“You did so well,” Steve murmured. “Look at you- perfect.”

You blinked slowly. Steve’s voice again, closer now: “Easy, sweetheart. Just breathe. I’ve got you.”

Your limbs twitched weakly, still responding to phantom pleasure. A quiet laugh came from Bucky.

“Still twitching. Still fucking gorgeous.”

You felt him kissing up your leg, mouth trailing along your calf, your knee, your inner thigh.

Then your legs were being moved again- lifted, spread with a gentleness that contrasted starkly with the earlier frenzy. There was no rush now, no urgency- just the soft reverence of Bucky's hands as he cradled your thighs like something precious, something breakable, as though he hadn’t just wrecked you minutes ago. You blinked, barely aware, as Bucky settled himself between them, laying flat, his breath hot against your oversensitive core.

He pressed a kiss there, soft and reverent, and your whole body jolted in response.

“And I’m not done tasting her,” he muttered, voice thick with need.

“Buck- she needs to recover,” Steve warned again, but his voice had softened to something indulgent.

“I’ll be gentle…” Bucky promised, his mouth already lowering, tongue dragging slow and careful over your aching folds as your head lolled back into Steve lap, eyes fluttering closed, lost to the warmth and the wetness and the impossible pleasure building again

TAGS: @buckybarnesfic, @ruexj283, @yesiamthatwierd @trojanaurora, @hextech-bros

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Hiii so just wanna start off of how i am so in love w ur fics, and uhm a request here lol, so if we got jealous reader- can we get more jealous severus? Like, to the point hes thinking of going harder (👀) that night just so in the morning, when resder is absent or limping, full of hickeys, wrong tie/something with serverus would wear daily (can be placed in their students era w reader same year as him or as professors), anyway- yapping again, hope you feel better! *not forcing on this ask lol*

I have to say I nearly had a mental break down writing and adding the finishing touches.

But well Here it is.

Jealous Severus and a huge dash of Possessive claiming. (It's filthy and I feel ashamed...👀)

Hope you like it and it actually makes sense!❤️

18+ Content ahead.

(contains: Bondage, overstimulation, overuse of 'mine', multiple orgasms, hard unprotected sex and excessive marking.)

Marked

You came to Hogwarts quietly, without fanfare. Madam Pomfrey had requested a qualified healer to assist her with the increasing number of magical injuries and long-term spell damage cases. You accepted eagerly. Working in the Hospital Wing seemed like a dream job—peaceful, stable, tucked inside ancient stone walls full of magic and history.

You met Severus Snape your second day on the job. He was... terse. Condescending. And painfully observant. At first, he only visited when students turned up in his class with cauldron burns or potion poisoning, muttering curses under his breath about dunderheads and incompetence. He never stayed long, and he barely acknowledged you.

But over time, something shifted.

He started lingering. Offering dry commentary while you worked. Leaving tea on your desk and pretending he hadn’t. Watching you from the doorway longer than necessary.

He grew irritated whenever other professors spent too much time speaking with you. Whenever a visiting Auror complimented your potions work. Whenever a student dared to flirt. You saw it in the way his jaw would clench, how his voice would drop into a lethal calm, how he'd slide between you and the offender with just enough presence to make them shrink back.

Still, the two of you tiptoed around each other.

He never said anything. Neither did you.

You built something tentative—quiet cups of tea after long shifts, shared books, shoulder brushes that lingered. The feelings between you became impossible to ignore, but neither of you dared speak them aloud. It was too uncertain. Too fragile.

Then one night, you laughed at a joke in the staff lounge. A visiting Curse Breaker had said something charming, and you laughed without thinking.

You didn’t notice Severus approaching until his hand closed around your wrist and he pulled you into the nearest corridor.

You barely had time to ask what was wrong before he kissed you.

Now, years later, you live together in a tucked-away corner of the dungeons. Mornings begin with the scent of tea, the rustle of parchment, and Severus muttering darkly about dunderheads. You patch up his hands when he slices them during potion prep.

You bicker.

You laugh.

Your evenings end with his head on your shoulder as he reads in bed, your legs tangled beneath a thick wool blanket. There is comfort in the rhythm. In the quiet domesticity you’ve built.

And through it all, Severus remains the same man: brilliant, brooding—and unmistakably, undeniably possessive.

Then Gilderoy Lockhart arrived.

He bursts into the Great Hall like he owns it, dressed in layered cerulean robes and a smile so white it looks enchanted. The man sparkles. Literally. His cuffs are dusted in shimmer, and his teeth catch the light like glass.

Your first interaction comes during breakfast. You’re seated beside Poppy when he saunters over, balancing a plate of fruit and cheese.

"Ah, you must be the radiant healer everyone’s been talking about," he says, voice syrupy smooth. He takes your hand in both of his. "And just as enchanting as I imagined."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

"I’m Gilderoy Lockhart. Order of Merlin, Third Class, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile."

You gently tug your hand free. „And I’m trying to eat my toast."

Undeterred, he laughs. "Witty, too! Marvelous."

From across the room, you feel Severus’s stare—sharp, unwavering, and heavy enough to press heat into your skin. You glance his way just in time to meet his eyes.

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t look away. And as Lockhart continues his syrupy routine beside you, you and Severus share a glance so loaded with mutual what the actual fuck that it nearly makes you laugh.

But you don’t. Because Severus isn’t amused.

His jaw tightens, and you can see it: the silent calculus of which hex would leave a lasting enough impression on Lockhart without landing himself in front of the Headmaster.

You raise a brow, as if to say Don't do anything dramatic.

He raises one right back, eyes narrowing as if to say:

I promise nothing.

—

Over the next week, Lockhart makes a sport of haunting the Hospital Wing. 

The first time, Lockhart stumbles into the Hospital Wing dramatically clutching his wrist.

“Broom mishap,” he explains with a wounded wince. “Such a shame, really. Happened right as I was landing—a rather daring flip to impress a couple of second-years.”

You roll your eyes and gesture for him to sit. “You’ll live.”

As you wrap his wrist with precise, efficient movements, he leans in, placing a hand on your thigh and murmurs, “You have the hands of an artist, did you know that?”

“If you touch my thigh again, you’ll be dealing with broken fingers.” You reply dryly while tightening the bandage.

He winces dramatically removing his hand. “Ah—delicate and commanding. You’re an enchantress.”

You step away and snap your gloves off. “You're bandaged. Don't sprain the other one fishing for compliments.”

He chuckles. “You’re delightfully fierce. It’s very flattering.”

—

The second time, he arrives cradling his side and groaning.

“Cursed quill,” he announces. “Exploded mid-sentence while I was autographing a fan letter. Nasty thing. You wouldn’t believe the magical backlash.”

“Sounds harrowing,” you mutter, inspecting the small burn that easily could have healed on its own.

You turn before getting the burn salve.

“I think your touch alone could heal me.” He winks.

You grit your teeth trying not to smack the grin off his face. “I am trying to do my work here.”

“No one’s ever looked at me like that while applying burn salve,” he says, tone heavy with faux intimacy.

“Get. out.”

—

The third time, you hear him before you see him.

“Slipped on a stair,” Lockhart exclaims, limping dramatically into the Hospital Wing. “Right foot caught the edge, spun me around—nearly cracked my spine!”

You glance up from your logbook. “You walked in here just fine.”

“I have a high tolerance for pain,” he says with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to cause a fuss, especially not when it means I get to see you.”

You sigh and rise. “Let me check your back.”

He sits on the edge of the bed and, with unnecessary flair, peels his outer robes off his shoulders. “Right here,” he says, tapping between his shoulder blades. “Might need a healing salve... or a massage.”

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you pull out your wand, cast a diagnostic charm, and mutter, “Nothing’s bruised. Not even strained.”

He grins over his shoulder. “Your presence alone must be curing me.”

You deadpan, “I’m giving you five seconds to get off this bed before I summon Peeves and tell him you’re hiding lemon drops in your pockets.”

—

The fourth time, he walked in the Hospital wing.

You were with Severus. He had come to restock the Potions cabinet that was tucked in the corner of the Hospital Wing. You had just finished when he pulled you close and kissed you.

Slow. Lovingly.

That's when the door slammed open. 

Gilderoy’s voice boomed, carrying cheerfully through the space. "I’ve been meaning to stop by all morning, I’ve had the strangest cramp in my shoulder after breakfast—could be a sign of magical strain, perhaps even a touch of curse residue. Thought I’d get it looked at by Hogwarts’ finest."

You and Severus froze mid-kiss, mouths still close, breath mingling. Together, you turn your heads and fix him with identical, unimpressed stares.

Gilderoy was stepping into the ward, grinning like a fool, a stack of autographed portraits tucked under one arm and his wand waving vaguely in the other.

You and Severus exchanged a slow, deadly glance.

Yours said: Is this man serious?

His said: I will kill him.

Severus’s hand flexed where it rested on your hip.

You exhaled sharply. “Unless that shoulder pain is fatal, turn around and leave.” 

He stepped into the corner and hesitated when he saw Severus. "Oh, apologies, was I interrupting a... discussion?"

"A discussion," Severus said flatly, not moving, one hand still on your waist, the other clenched behind your back. His voice was taut silk—the kind you could strangle someone with. "Is that what it looks like?"

Lockhart blinked, glancing between you both. Finally, recognition flickered in his eyes. 

For a moment, he looked at Severus. Then at you. Then back again. His grin faltered slightly. 

“Of course. Right. Message received.”

He gave a theatrical bow and backed toward the door, nearly bumping into a supply trolley as he turned. 

The door clicked shut behind him a moment later.

He didn’t get the message.

One afternoon in the staff lounge a few days later, Lockhart corners you with tea and pastries.

"You know, I’ve been meaning to ask—have you ever considered modeling for a book cover? The way you carry yourself—it’s spellbinding. We could use a healer heroine. You’d be perfect."

"Absolutely not," you say.

"You mean now, of course," he smiles. "You just haven’t seen the right concept yet."

You’re saved only when Severus enters, eyes flicking between you and Lockhart with lethal calm before making his way over to you with slow, calculated steps.

"Ah, Professor Snape!" Gilderoy beams. "I was just telling your charming Woman about how she would be perfect modeling for a book. I do believe she’s intrigued."

Severus stares. "I am certain she isn't."

You try not to laugh leaning against Severus. He looks down at you his gaze softening slightly before pressing a kiss to your head.

Gilderoy watches the interaction an almost sly grin appearing on his face.

„Severus I was meant to ask," Lockhart says. "You and I. We could perhaps do a duel demonstration for the students? of course if you dare to take it up against me.“

You sent Severus a warning look but he ignores it and gives Gilderoy a pointed glare.

"When and Where."

The dueling demonstration is announced two days later. The Great Hall is transformed: long tables replaced with open space, a raised platform, students gathered at every corner.

Lockhart appears on the dueling platform in absurdly shiny periwinkle robes embroidered with gold runes and rhinestones. His cape flares dramatically as he turns, soaking in the applause like a rock star on tour. He bows once—twice—thrice, flashing a grin so bright it has to be charmed.

Across from him, Severus stands stone still. Cloaked in his usual severe black.

You stand just off to the side of the dueling platform, flanked by Minerva, Pomona, Poppy, and Filius. The student body buzzes with excitement around you, but the staff area is noticeably more tense.

Minerva’s arms are crossed, her eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel like I’m about to witness a homicide?” she mutters under her breath.

“Because you might,” Poppy says flatly, glancing toward Severus, who stands utterly still—arms crossed, wand already in hand, gaze locked on Lockhart like a predator waiting for the excuse to pounce.

“He looks... extra broody today,” Pomona offers carefully, sipping her tea with both hands. “More than usual.”

“He didn’t speak once in the lounge this morning,” Filius adds quietly, peering over his spectacles. “Just glared at Lockhart like he was calculating how to vanish a body without leaving magical residue.”

Minerva snorts. “He probably was.”

You cross your arms, staring toward Severus—shoulders tense, jaw clenched.

“I’m worried he won’t hold back,” you say.

Minerva hums. “I’m worried he’ll hold back too little.”

Filius sighs. “At least we’ve got four trained magical adults here in case something explodes.”

“Or in case we need to restrain Severus,” Pomona adds brightly.

You all go silent as Lockhart calls out, voice booming across the hall. “Ladies and gentlemen! Today, you will witness an elegant display of defensive magic. A Duel in style, precision, and power! Of course, I’ve agreed to duel our own Professor Snape—though he insists on no applause until after he gets up.”

You exhale slowly. “Merlin help him.”

Minerva mutters, “He’s going to need more than Merlin.”

Severus doesn’t react to Lockhart's taunt.

He simply raises his wand—slow, controlled, deliberate. His dark gaze locks onto Lockhart with the kind of intensity that makes the hair on your neck rise.

Lockhart grins wider, clearly mistaking Severus’s restraint for hesitation. “Now, students, observe closely. This is what a seasoned professional looks like in a duel. Grace under pressure. Style with strength—”

A sharp flick of Severus’s wrist sends a shimmering blue arc of magic whipping across the space. It hits Lockhart square in the chest.

He stumbles back, robes flaring, nearly tripping over his own feet. The charm doesn’t harm—it’s designed not to—but it’s enough to rattle him. He straightens, laugh loud and forced.

“Ah! A bold opening move from Professor Snape! Very clever. I let him have that one, of course. All part of the show!”

Severus's eyes narrow. His wand twitches again.

This time the jinx is faster. Tighter. It whistles through the air, forcing Lockhart into a desperate duck and roll. He hits the platform hard with a theatrical “oof”.

Still, he tries to play it off, scrambling upright with a lopsided grin. “Ah, testing my agility! That’s right. Stay limber, students!”

Severus says nothing. His movements are surgical. Controlled. He steps forward once, casts a nonverbal binding charm that winds toward Lockhart like a silver ribbon.

Lockhart jerks back, barely blocking it with a flamboyant pirouette and a muttered counterspell that shouldn’t have worked.

Your brow furrows.

That spell should’ve locked him down.

You glance at Severus.

He’s already clocked it.

A heartbeat later, Lockhart pulls something small and glittering from the cuff of his robe—quick, subtle, but not subtle enough. A charm crystal, preloaded with a burst spell.

He mutters an incantation under his breath and slams it to the ground at Severus’s feet.

The explosion of light blinds the front row of students.

Gasps erupt. Several stumble back.

Severus staggers back shielding his eyes. When the glow fades, he’s still standing, unharmed—but his expression has shifted.

Cold. Flat. Lethal.

“Cheating,” Minerva mutters under her breath from beside you. “Dear Merlin, he actually tried to cheat.”

The next spell from Severus is not theatrical. It’s not for show.

It’s fast. It’s sharp. It knocks Lockhart backward with enough force to drop him to one knee.

Lockhart wheezes, trying to mask his panic with another grin. “Aha! Professor Snape keeping me on my toes! Just—testing reflexes! No need to worry!”

But his eyes flick toward you.

And winks at you before blowing a kiss.

An actual kiss.

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose, taking deep breaths and shaking your head in disbelief.

“Oh dear,” Minerva mutters softly beside you.

“That was stupid even for him,” Pomona says into her hand.

Filius doesn’t speak. He just shakes his head once with a sigh like he’s mentally preparing for a funeral.

Poppy, seated just behind you, whispers, “Is he suicidal?”

Severus hasn’t cast again. Not yet. But the shift in his posture is clear: his stance tighter, one foot forward, jaw locked. His grip on his wand has gone white-knuckled.

You know what it means.

That’s the moment right before he stops pretending to care about consequences.

You barely have time to process before Severus casts again.

This one slices the hem of Lockhart’s cloak and splits the air with a snap loud enough to make the students flinch.

You step forward just as he is about to cast again.

His eyes snap to yours. The fury in his gaze wavers—not gone, but caged. For now.

You don’t break eye contact with him as you give him a shake of your head and you keep holding it until you see his shoulders drop by half an inch.

His next spell is slower. Measured. A soft, almost lazy disarming charm.

Lockhart’s wand flies from his hand and clatters across the platform.

He stares at it, red-faced and panting. There’s a long, stretching silence.

Then Gilderoy forces a chuckle and turns to the crowd of wide-eyed students.

“And that, children, is why you must always stay alert in a duel! Quick reflexes, good posture—never underestimate your opponent!” He laughs as if he hadn’t tried to cheat mid duel and lost anyway.

You glance at Severus. He lowers his wand, but his shoulders are still tense. His eyes—when they flick toward you—are burning.

There’s a beat of silence before cheering erupts from the students.

You exhale, watching how Severus descends from the dueling platform in measured strides, cloak billowing behind him, expression cold enough to freeze stone. His eyes are fixed on you—not in anger, but in singular, furious purpose.

You don't hesitate and move instinctively toward him.

Lockhart hops down from the platform, dusting off his robes as if he'd done more than stumble through the duel. He cuts across the floor with a speed that doesn’t match his usual saunter, clearly determined to reach you first.

„That was quite the Duel wasn’t it?“ he says breathlessly, inserting himself between you and Severus like he’s the hero of this story.

He flashes that ridiculous smile, eyes still glimmering with self-congratulation. “You looked a little anxious back there. But I assure you, I had a dozen counters lined up—just didn’t want to overshadow Severus too badly.”

You arch a brow. „You barley stayed on your feet at all.“

“I had everything under control, of course. Just a few... strategic slips.” He steps closer to you.

You stare at him, expression flat. “You cheated.”

He laughs, waving it off. “Misdirection! Classic dueling technique. Very advanced. Don’t worry, I’m absolutely fine. No need to fuss over me—though I wouldn’t say no to a quick evaluation later, if your hands aren’t too full.”

Then—like he hasn’t just lost a duel, cheated, and nearly earned himself a coffin—he reaches for your hand.

Minerva, standing nearby with her arms crossed, mutters, "Don’t do it, Gilderoy."

But he does it anyway.

Before you can pull away, he is bowing theatrically to kiss your knuckles.

Severus moves instantly. He’s beside you in two steps, hand shooting out to grab Lockhart’s wrist. Hard.

The entire Hall goes quiet.

Severus leans in, voice low and lethal. “Touch her again and you won’t have a hand left to sign your fan mail.”

Lockhart swallows.

You can feel the tension pulsing off Severus’s body like magic ready to snap free.

You gently lay your hand on Severus’s arm—not to stop him, just to remind him you’re still here. You don’t pull him back. You just anchor him with touch, not command.

He releases Lockhart’s wrist and storms out of the Hall, cloak snapping like a thunderclap behind him.

The silence he leaves in his wake is heavier than any spell.

Minerva exhales quietly, glancing toward you. “Well,” she says dryly, “that’ll be a storm in the dungeons.”

The other Professors just nod in agreement as you make your way to follow Severus.

—

The last straw came on a late afternoon in the staff lounge. Sunlight slants through the tall windows, casting warm gold across the old rugs and worn armchairs. 

Minerva is knitting with sharp precision in one of the armchairs, Filius reading the Daily Prophet at the table, while Pomona sipping tea with a warm biscuit in hand. You’re flipping through a medical journal in relative peace when the door bursts open.

Lockhart enters with his usual flourish, arms full of what appear to be newly printed photographs of himself mid-duel.

"Ah! There you are," he says, striding toward you, ignoring the eyes that flick his way with mild disdain. "I’ve wanted to come back to you about a proposal I made not long ago. You’d be perfect for one of my upcoming book covers."

"No," you reply without even looking up.

"Come now, don’t be so quick to dismiss it again," he insists, dropping into the seat beside you. "It’s a series on famous magical duels—what better face for the healing heroine than yours? Poised, intelligent, alluring. Readers will fall in love with you by the end of the introduction."

You exhale slowly and close the journal. 

"Lockhart, I am not interested in being on any of your books. Or being near you. and if you truly believe that I would then you are more delusional than your Fanclub."

He winks. "You’re funny when you’re flustered. Very photogenic, too. I’ll have to talk to my publisher—"

"Don’t," you cut in, voice like steel. „Just leave. I was trying to enjoy the quiet afternoon."

Flitwick doesn’t look up from the Daily Prophet. "And we were enjoying the quiet too, before you arrived."

Gilderoy grins, undeterred, and sits far too close, leaning in. "Just five minutes of your time. I thought perhaps we could schedule a photoshoot? We could try a few poses—maybe something by the lake? Windswept hair, dramatic expression, healer robes slightly open—"

„I said I’m not interested."

"Oh, come now. You’re far too stunning not to be on a cover. I thought perhaps we could chat about it over tea? Or dinner? I simply meant to say I admire you—and I’d love to get to know you better. Properly, I mean."

From the corner of the lounge, Minerva speaks up her tone a warning, "Gilderoy. You know she’s with Severus.“

"Yes, yes, of course. But can’t blame me for trying. If he truly cared, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?"

"He is," comes a voice low and venomous from the doorway.

The room stills.

He crosses the lounge in slow, lethal strides. Before Lockhart can retreat, Severus grabs him by the collar and yanks him away from you.

"Don't you know to keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to you?" Severus snarls, each word laced with fury.

Lockhart stammers, cheeks pale. "S-Severus, it was just a bit of harmless fun—"

"You will not touch her. You will not look at her. You will not speak her name. She is mine."

No one in the lounge moves. Minerva lowers her knitting slightly, watching but not interfering. Flitwick raises an eyebrow slowly folding the newspaper. Pomona sips her tea completely unbothered.

Severus releases Lockhart with a shove and turns to you, expression still thunderous. He takes your hand and, with that same silent authority, he pulls you up from your chair and out of the lounge, fingers laced tightly with yours, cloak billowing as you disappear down the corridor together.

Severus doesn’t speak a word as he leads you into your quarters. His grip is ironclad—unyielding, uncompromising. You watch him closely knowing that whatever is going to come from him, he needs it.

The door clicks shut behind you, and something in Severus breaks.

No words. No warning.

He grabs your face and kisses you like he’s drowning—like the only way to breathe is through your mouth. His hands are bruising on your jaw, his tongue insistent, almost violent. It’s need—sharp, feral, possessive.

You moan into the kiss, dizzy from the force of it, from the way he moves like he’s starved. Your fingers knot in his robes as he backs you into the wall with relentless purpose. His hands are everywhere at once—gripping your waist, sliding up under your blouse. 

His mouth trails to your throat, the bite he sinks into your skin is sharp, punishing. You gasp—and then his tongue follows, softening the sting, marking you with care wrapped in cruelty.

“Mine,” he snarls, voice wrecked and dangerous against your neck. “He looks at you like he has a right. Like you’re something he can claim.”

Your breath stutters, but your answer is instant, sure. “I don’t want him. I want you. Only you.”

He lifts you into his arms and carries you to the bed like a man who can't bear a second of space between you. 

Clothes are ripped, not removed. His fingers tear through fabric with a purpose that borders on cruel. You’re bare in seconds, and he doesn’t give you time to shiver. He mutters a spell and with a flick of his wand, silken ropes snake from under the bed, coiling around your wrists and ankles, binding you spread wide to the four corners of the mattress.

And then he stares. Drinks you in like you’re the last thing keeping him sane.

“Fucking perfect,” he rasps, crawling onto the bed between your legs. “Tied open for me. Nothing you can hide. Nowhere to run.”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear.

“Everything I’m about to do to you—he’ll see it on you tomorrow.”

You shiver at the sight of him above you—his eyes black with hunger, the furious flush in his cheekbones, the way his chest rises like he’s trying not to tear you apart too fast.

“You’re mine,” he growls, crawling over you like a predator. “Say it.”

“I’m yours, Severus. Only yours. Body, soul—everything.” you whisper, your voice shaking with need.

His mouth crashes into your neck and he bites—hard enough to bruise. You cry out, but it turns into a moan as his tongue follows, licking and sucking, leaving hot, dark hickeys blooming across your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach.  

His mouth works you like he’s stamping every inch of you with his claim. And you’re panting for him, back arching, tugging helplessly at the restraints as heat coils hard in your belly.

His hand moves between your thighs sliding two fingers through your slick folds.

“Already dripping,” he growls, voice low and dark with satisfaction. “And I’ve barely started. All this because you know you’re mine.”

He circles your clit—slow and tight—never breaking eye contact as he watches you squirm, moan, beg. He builds you up with cruel precision, rubbing you faster, harder, until your hips are bucking, legs trembling. 

“Don’t even think about holding back,” he says. “You’ll come when I say. And you’ll keep coming until I say stop.”

You gasp, thighs trembling. “Please—”

“Now.”

It hits like fire.

Your back arches off the bed, wrists yanking against silk that doesn’t give. You scream his name as your orgasm tears through you, long and sharp and blinding.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even pause.

He leans down, mouth sealing around your clit, tongue flicking with devastating force while his fingers plunge into you—fucking your soaking cunt through the aftershocks, dragging them higher.

He fucks you on his fingers until you come again—louder this time, hoarse and wrecked and trembling uncontrollably.

“Like a Goddess,” he croons, voice gone dark with lust. “So greedy. So desperate. Taking everything I give you.”

He pulls back. Your body limp and completely undone. Standing above you, he strips—piece by piece. His outer robe hits the floor, followed by his frock, then his shirt—each movement slow, calculated, deliberate. He’s peeling away the layers, the armor, everything that’s ever separated you from the storm of him.

And then you see him—stripped bare, cock in hand, already thick and leaking. The hunger in his eyes is savage.

“Beg for it. Beg for me.”

“Please, Severus, I—I need it—need you—make me yours.”

He groans like he’s breaking.

“Good girl.”

He climbs back between your thighs, presses the head of his cock to your entrance—and slams into you with one brutal thrust.

You cry out and your back arches hard off the bed, wrists pulling helplessly against the silk restraints. You’re wide open and trembling beneath him, every inch of you laid bare.

He hears the sound of your bindings stretching—your desperate, futile attempts to escape the unbearable pleasure—and it only spurs him on. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. “You feel like heaven. So tight. So perfect. You were made for me.”

Severus watches your face twist in pleasure, in helplessness, in surrender. And it breaks something in him. He braces himself above you, elbows on either side of your head, nose brushing yours, his cock driving deeper. Every muscle in his body screams to be closer, to bury himself inside you so thoroughly that you forget anyone else ever existed.

The only thing you can do is take it. You’re nothing but sound and sensation—bound, open, filled again and again until your thoughts scatter like ash and you’ve never felt more wanted.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he growls into your ear. “How much I want you. How much I need you. My sweet treasure... all tied up, helpless, aching for me.”

Another thrust, brutal and precise, leaves you sobbing into the sheets.

“Mine.”

“Yours!” you cry, barely coherent. “I’m yours, I’m yours—”

He kisses you then—rough and possessive, swallowing your words as he pounds into you harder, the bed rocking beneath you with the force of it. 

“That’s it,” he growls, leaning down to bite at your breast, sucking hard until another hickey darkens your skin.  “Give yourself to me. You want this—every thrust, every inch. You want what my body’s doing to you.”

You sob his name, already feeling how yet another orgasm builds. Severus watches every reaction. Every twitch, every sob, every gasp fuels the heat surging through him.

“You’re mine,” he snarls against your neck. “You love this. Love the way I make you feel. You’re so needy. So vulnerable. Only for me. I own you. Every fucking part.”

You can’t answer. All you can do is cry out as he slams into you, over and over. Your head turns to the side, mouth slack, eyes glassy. Every thrust punches a sound from your lips. Your wrists pull at the ropes again, but you’re not trying to escape—you’re trying to survive the pleasure.

“You’re taking it so well,” he breathes, almost reverently. “So fucking well.”

He leans down and grabs your chin, turning your face toward him. “Look at me.”

You do—barely—and he kisses you again before thrusting harder, deeper, rougher. One hand slides between your thighs and finds your clit.

You cry out, shaking.

“Yes. That's it,” he murmurs. “You’re so close. Let me feel it. Come for me. Again.”

Your third orgasm hits like a lightning strike—your legs shake violently, hips jerking as you sob his name. Your body clenches around him, back arching off the mattress so hard the ropes creak. 

But there’s no relief. No mercy. Severus doesn’t stop—doesn’t slow. He fucks you through it, harder than before, every thrust deep and punishing, pulling gasps and sobs from your throat.

“That’s three,” he groans. “Still not done my love. You’ll be too sore to walk tomorrow. He’ll see what I’ve done to you. You’ll wear me like a damn medal all over your skin.” 

He licks a stripe up your neck, sucks just below your jaw until the bruise blooms like a signature.

You can’t speak. You’re shaking, every nerve lit up, too sensitive and too needy all at once.

He shifts just enough to get closer, to press more of himself onto you—his forearms bracketing your head, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. His hips never stop, cock slamming into you with feral rhythm, thick and hot and insistent.

His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “Look at you. You’re shaking for me. Writhing. Crying. And you’re still taking me.”

You moan—a broken, pleading sound—as his hand slides back down your stomach, between your thighs.

“Too—much—can’t,” you whimper, your body twisting against the ropes.

“Yes,” he hisses. “You can. You will.”

His fingers return to your clit—merciless. The contact makes your whole body jerk, overwhelmed, desperate, breath stuttering in your throat. You can’t pull away. Can’t run. Can’t do anything but take it.

“You’ll give me every drop of yourself,” he growls. “Until you can’t think. Until all you know is me. Until your body forgets anything but the way I own it.”

You scream. The pressure is building again—impossibly fast, impossibly much. You thrash your head against the pillow, tears streaking your cheeks, your hands white-knuckling the ropes.

Severus leans down, mouth at your ear, voice low and cruel.

“I want you ruined. Fucked so deep into this bed you forget what it’s like to walk. I want my cock to be the only thing you remember. You can take it. You’re my good girl. You’ll give it to me.”

“I—I can’t—” you sob.

“Yes,” he snarls. “You fucking can.”

His thrusts turn brutal, his cock slamming deep over and over. The rhythm is punishing, his grip on your hips bruising, grounding you as he takes every inch of you.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his mouth dragging down your neck. “This cunt is mine. Your cries are mine. Your fucking soul—mine.”

Your fourth orgasm rips through you like a goddamn detonation—violent, unbearable, unholy. You scream, full-throated and raw. Your vision whites out, your back bows off the bed, ropes straining with the force of your body’s helpless reaction.

Severus groans loudly as you clench around him, his own body starting to unravel.

“Fuck—yes, that’s it, that’s it—” His voice is hoarse, falling apart. “You’re so fucking perfect—so tight—taking me so well—mine—fucking mine!”

He slams in one last time, deep and rough and final, with a growl so raw it sounds like a roar.

His cock pulses deep inside you, spilling heat in long, desperate bursts. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Just presses deep and stays there, shaking with the force of it, his hands gripping your thighs like anchors.

You’re shaking violently, tears streaking your cheeks, body twitching from the aftershocks. Sweat slicks your body, and your skin is painted with his marks. 

You feel owned. You feel loved. You feel his.

Severus doesn’t move right away. He slumps over you, panting hard, his body shielding yours like a second skin and his forehead pressed to yours.

His voice is hoarse, ruined. “Mine,” he whispers. “My good girl. My perfect, ruined girl.”

You’re trembling, boneless beneath him. With a whispered word from him, the ropes loosen.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your swollen lips.

“He will never dare touching you again,” he breathes and holds you tighter. “You own my heart and life."

His lips brush your cheek, your jaw, the tip of your nose. His hands cradle your face.

You try to say his name, but your throat catches—raw from moaning, from screaming, from sobbing out every piece of yourself for him.

His hand cups your cheek instantly. “Shh.” he whispers, voice wrecked but warm. “Don’t move. Let me take care of you.“

He slowly eases himself from your body with care that borders on reverence. You whimper at the loss, at the sensitivity, at the way your body clenches instinctively in protest.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know. My love I got you.”

Severus slips from the bed, and for a moment you feel cold—empty—but then he’s back, cradling you in his arms. He lifts you like you weigh nothing, holding you close and carries you to the bathroom.

He murmurs soft spells as the tub fills with warm, jasmine-scented water. Candlelight flickers to life around the room, casting everything in gold. Eventually sinking into the tub with you in his lap, your back against his chest, arms around your middle.

You can barely keep your eyes open, but you feel him everywhere.

He reaches for a soft cloth and begins to gently wash you—between your legs, down your thighs, over every bruise he’s left behind. Each touch is careful, like he’s trying to kiss the soreness from your skin through his hands.

“My gorgeous love,” he whispers, cloth gliding over your stomach. “I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anything in this world.”

He tilts your head back against his shoulder and kisses your temple. „I’m yours, You own me, love. Completely. You’re my everything. You’re my peace.“

When he’s rinsed you off, he lifts you again—drying you with the fluffiest towel you’ve ever felt, dabbing between your legs with exaggerated gentleness. He doesn't miss a mark. Not one. He kisses your rope-burned wrists, your bruised thighs, your shoulder.

Then he whispers a warming charm into the fabric of one of his old and worn shirts and slips it over your head. His hands glide down your arms, smoothing the material like he’s wrapping a gift.

You’re almost asleep when he carries you back to bed, tucks you under the sheets, and climbs in beside you. He curls himself around you, chest to your back, arms tight around your waist.

“I meant it,” he says, voice low, full of weight. “You are my peace.”

You murmur his name, voice slurred from exhaustion.

He nuzzles into your neck. “You gave me everything. Now rest my love I will watch over you.”

He kisses your shoulder one more time.

Then your jaw.

Then your cheek.

Then your lips.

Over. And over. And over.

Until your breath slows. Until your eyes finally close. Until sleep takes you again in the safest place you know.

His arms.

—

You are very late the next morning.

The staff room door creaks open and you step inside—slowly, carefully, like every step sends another jolt of soreness through your thighs. Severus is right beside you, his stride perfectly composed, while you walk with a limp that’s impossible to disguise. Your face is unreadable, but your eyes flick sideways, shooting him a glare that he pointedly ignores.

He looks smug—obscenely so.

You, however, are doing your best to maintain dignity, clutching a book against your chest and pretending your body isn’t on fire. You’re dressed in one of Severus’s black button-downs, oversized on you, falling just to mid-thigh, and hangs off one shoulder as if even fabric knows it shouldn’t try to contain you today. The collar is wide, stretched, slipping low to reveal your throat and collarbone.

Your neck is an unapologetic canvas of possession. The hickeys are bold and brutal—angry red and dark violet, the kind of bruises left by a man who needed the world to know you were his. Some are sharp, singular bites of color just beneath your jawline; others are sprawling, almost violent in their spread, traveling in a map of passion from your throat to your collarbone and disappearing beneath the parted buttons of Severus’s shirt. They’re layered—some overlapping—proof that he returned to the same spots again and again. There’s no mistaking what they are. And there’s absolutely no effort to hide them.

Every head in the room turns. There’s a ripple of quiet laughter. Not cruel. Not mocking. Just amused. A little impressed. And entirely unsurprised.

Your voice is hoarse, wrecked. "Don’t. Just... don’t ask."

Severus peels off and moves toward the corner, his robes sweeping behind him. With casual precision, he starts preparing tea with an unmistakably smug gleam in his eyes.

Minerva hums, her eyes meeting yours, and one finely arched brow rises in dry, wicked amusement. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it, dear. We all know Severus."

Poppy looks you up and down with practiced healer eyes, noting every limp and mark with a knowing smirk. "Honestly, darling," she says, half amused, half teasing, "you should take the day off. Merlin knows you've earned some bed rest."

Pomona chuckles warmly behind her teacup. "Well, that explains the noise ward I noticed around the dungeons last night."

Filius nearly chokes on his own tea, coughing into his sleeve with suspiciously twinkling eyes.

Then the door opens.

Gilderoy Lockhart strolls in, humming as if he owns the place and sees you from behind.

"Ah, there you are! I was looking for you last night—wanted to clear up that little misunderstanding. Surely we can start fresh—"

You turn around to face him.

He stops mid-step and eyes widen at the sight of you.

Before you can speak, Severus does.

"She was busy," he says simply, not even looking up from preparing tea.

You shoot Severus another glare as you limp toward your usual seat. You lower yourself into your chair with a soft hiss. He meets it like a man wholly satisfied and just calmly pours another cup of tea, adding a potion from his robes and sets it down on the table in front of you. He stays standing right beside you.

Gilderoy blinks. "Right. Yes. Of course.“

His eyes flick from your neck to Severus’s face—and linger. There’s a beat of tension. A challenge unspoken.

Severus meets his stare, cold and unreadable. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t need to. His gaze alone says it clearly: 

Try, and see what happens.

For a second, Gilderoy almost looks like he might. His mouth opens, the glimmer of a smirk starting to form—as if he thinks this is a game.

You cut him off with a hoarse voice sharp enough to slice.

"If you try to flirt with me again after everything that’s painfully obvious right now, you’re even dumber than your smile suggests."

The smirk dies. Gilderoy’s mouth snaps shut.

"I’m with Severus, and I don’t want anyone else so whatever fantasy you’re clinging to—kill it. Publicly, if possible."

Minerva lets out a quiet, impressed hum, the corners of her mouth twitching despite her best effort to appear composed. Filius hides a cough behind his hand that sounds suspiciously like a poorly suppressed laugh, his shoulders shaking with barely-contained mirth. 

Pomona lifts her teacup in a silent toast of amusement, while even Poppy lets out a snort.

Severus lifts his teacup to his lips, slow and deliberate, smug eyes still locked on Lockhart.

Gilderoy backs away with a forced smile and a muttered, "Quite right. Understood. Perfectly clear.“

He turns sharply and leaves without looking back.

Laughter bubbles again around the room—quiet but no more hidden.

You sip your tea letting the potion in your tea soothe your raw throat, and allow yourself one small, smug smile as you lean your head against Severus’s side.

He leans down pressing a gentle kiss to your head.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Easy to Love | G.W. 🩷

feat George Weasley x bsf!reader

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day. Thankfully, your best friend George is ready to give you the Valentine's you deserve.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hurt/comfort, cheating on shitty boyfriends, idiots to lovers, petty!George, dirty talk, oral, piv, dom!George, all the Valentine's fluff

AN: happy valentines day!!!! you all have my heart 🫶

masterlist

Your hurried footsteps echoed along the empty corridor, dampened by the screaming rain pouring from the thick blanket of clouds over the castle.

Fucking perfect, you thought, bitterly wiping tears and splattered rain from your cheeks. It was like the universe was taunting you.

Stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Forced to walk back to Hogwarts in shame? Here, have some torrential downpour to really set the mood.

You still couldn't believe Jack stood you up. Left you looking like an idiot in the Three Broomsticks, alone and glowering into your fruity red drink, surrounded by pink streamers and heart balloons larger than your head. Completely humiliating.

Of all the shitty things he'd done to you over the last six months, this took the cake. And bizarrely, you felt like you deserved it for putting up with his bullshit for so long. You should have seen this coming from a mile away.

But you were too native, too stupid to see the red flags right under your nose. Well, that wasn't true. You saw them. You were just too scared to do anything about it.

Too scared to be alone. Too proud to admit you were wrong about him.

Merlin, George was going to be so fucking smug.

Your best friend, George Weasley, hated Jack. He hated Jack more than you'd ever seen him hate anyone. George had never had a problem with your past partners, albeit there was only two. But something about Jack brought out a side of George you’d never seen: vindictive, petty, mean.

Never directed towards you, of course, Jack and his friends bore the brunt of his wrath. It was enough that Jack steered clear of both George and his twin, who always matched his energy.

You knew George was just looking out for you, trying to protect you from, well, this. What you were feeling now. But you'd be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of being right.

Finally, the Fat Lady greeted you with a warm smile as you reached the top of the stairs. “Not out celebrating, lovey? Look at you, you're soaked!”

You sighed, looking down at your new dress, a babydoll in your favorite shade of pink, the fabric mottled with water and clinging to your skin. “Men suck,” you said.

The Fat Lady laughed. “They certainly do! What's the password, dear?”

You gave it to her, and she swung open, a waft of thumping music and the week of alcohol washed over you.

Shit. You'd completely forgotten about the Valentine's party tonight. While a drink sounded lovely, a drunken grind-fest was the last thing you wanted to participate in.

You pushed your way through the crowd, trying to make a beeline towards the girls dormitory. The crowd was thick, pushing and shoving, while music thumped loudly in your brain. Red hearts and cupids and streamers, were everywhere, a sheen of pink glitter starting to collect on your still-damp skin. Everywhere you looked, couples were all over each other, making out of dancing to the music, cuddled up on every available surface.

Tears burned behind your eyes again, and you tried pushing through with a little more force.

You popped out into a quieter area by the roaring fire, a circle of chairs occupied by the Quidditch team and a few others, which meant—

“Y/n?”

You looked up from your feet and locked eyes with George, who was hurriedly shifting a girl off his lap, ignoring her whine of protest while she grabbed at his white shirt.

The knife of hurt inexplicably twisted deeper in your gut, and you turned your back to him, pushing the other way through the crowd.

“Hey—wait!”

You made it to the stairs, but there was no outrunning those long legs—a lesson you'd learned countless times.

George snagged your wrist, turning you back towards him. “What happened?” The furrow between his brows deepened when he took in your tearful, soaked form. “Why are you wet? And where's the bilge-rat you call a boyfriend?”

You yanked your hand out of his hold. “Fuck if I know,” you snapped, trudging up the stairs, George on your heels.

“What do you mean? Didn't you have a date?” He asked, his tone getting angrier by the second.

You didn't respond, opening the door to your dorm and trying to slam it in George's face, but he caught it and pushed in behind you.

“Fuck, will you just tell me what happened? Are you okay?” He made an effort to soften his voice, catching your purse when you flung it at him.

“No, I'm not okay!” You cried, finally facing him, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Jack stood me up. He left me at the bar and—” emotion pinched your throat, cutting off your words.

You watched George cycle through the five stages of grief, frozen in the middle of the room. Then—

“Do you want me to find him?” He asked, voice a carefully measured calm.

“And do what?” You wiped at your cheeks, beyond frustrated. You couldn't decide if you wanted him to fuck off, or give you one of those big bear hugs he was so good at.

“Break his teeth in? Throw him in the lake? Set his hair on fire—”

“Stop it, George,” you muttered, sounding more defeated than angry.

He crossed the room to you, taking your trembling hands. “How can I fix it, love?” he asked, peering down at your pitiful, makeup smudged face.

You shook your head, avoiding his perceptive gaze. “Unless you have a time-turner to make me less of an idiot—”

“Oi.” George squeezed your hands, shaking you. “Don't talk about my girl that way. You did nothing wrong.”

You jerked your hands away, pushing past him and stalking over towards you vanity. “Please. You wanted me to leave him before we even got together. You made it abundantly clear how much you hated him.”

“Of course I did. He’s a prick—”

“So, clearly, you think I did something wrong by staying with him.” You angrily tugged your hair out of its style, wet strands tangled and getting frizzy, and started scrubbing off your makeup with a towelette. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you were right. You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”

George looked like you'd struck him, hovering behind you in the mirror. You hated that he looked so handsome tonight in his white button down and dark wash jeans, his copper hair messy and flecked with glitter and heart-shaped confetti. It made it so much harder to be angry with him.

“You think this is what I wanted?” He asked. “The last thing I want is to see you hurting. Of course I'm not fucking happy that you're heartbroken. Even if it is over some limp-dick weasel.”

You scoffed, though you knew that was true, but it was easier to be angry right now. Easier to push him away than let him in.

George pressed on. “I'd like to hang him by the bollocks from the Whomping Willow for leaving you out in that storm, for all the shit he's done to you—”

“Just—go back to your party, George. I'm sure that doe-eyed girl is still waiting for you,” you hissed. It was a low blow, but you just wanted him gone so you could wallow in self-pity alone.

Suddenly, he was moving. His hands griped your waist, spinning your around and pressing you back into the vanity. His expression was severe. “Don't fucking do that,” he bit. “Don't act like I'm the bad guy when all I've wanted—” his voice caught in his throat, and he turned his head away, like he couldn't look at you.

His hands were burning through the thin fabric of your dress, his grip tight enough to ache, and you felt a long-suppressed heat kindle in your belly. George had manhandled you plenty of times: throwing you over his shoulder, dragging you by the hand through the halls, lifting you to retrieve a book from a high shelf. But this felt…different. Charged in a way you'd spent years trying to ignore for the sake of your friendship.

“What, George?” You asked, gripping the edge of the vanity so you didn't reach out to touch him.

He sighed. “When all I've wanted is to make you happy.” He looked at you again, his dark eyes filled with hurt and something warm, honeyed, that you refused to acknowledge.

Your anger crumbled into guilt. “I-I should have listened,” you croaked, tears rising once again. “I'm sorry, I—”

“No, no. None of that,” he shushed, bundling you into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I just feel so…so stupid,” you whimpered, crying into the safety of his chest, enveloped in the spiced, slightly sweet smell of his cologne.

“You aren't stupid, love. Far from it,” he soothed, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “This is on him, not you. You don't deserve to be treated like this.” He rocked you gently while you cried, cooing softly in your ear and keeping you grounded with his touch, until finally, your sobs ebbed to sniffles, and you drew a full, shaky breath. “There you go,” he said. “Take another one—that’s it. I've got you.”

“Thanks, Georgie,” you sniffled into his shirt.

“No need to thank me. I'm sorry that your Valentine's was ruined,” he murmured into your hair.

“I'm sorry yours was ruined too,” you mumbled, your fists tightening in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him a fraction closer, unwilling to part just yet.

“Ruined?” He chuckled. “Got my Valentine right here.” He squeezed you a little tighter, the air wheezing for your lungs until you laughed.

“Since when am I your Valentine?” You asked, pulling back to look up at him, a traitorous stab of affection making your heart skip. Shit, you should not be feeling these things for your best friend. It was just your hurt feelings, the holiday—nothing more.

“Since second year when I gave you that heart-shaped box of chocolates,” he said, pretending to be offended that you didn't remember.

“The one that exploded pink powder all over my face?”

George grimaced. “I forgot it did that…sorry, by the way.”

You smiled, pinching his freckled cheek. “You're forgiven.”

He grinned back, glancing down at your wet dress. “C’mon, get out of this wet cupcake and meet me in my dorm, I have something for you.”

“Cupcake?” You rolled your eyes, finally stepping out of his arms, though his hand lingered on your waist until you were fully out of arms reach. “It's a dress!”

“If you say so,” he teased, perusing your legs as you walked away. “I prefer your bunny pajamas, but—”

You chucked your shoe at him. “Fuck off, I'll see you in a second.”

He held his hands up in surrender and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

What on earth could he have for you? Probably his usual box of chocolates, you mused as you peeled off the soggy fabric. Hopefully the non-explosive variety.

You riffled through your trunk, searching for something oversized and comfortable. But to your dismay, nearly everything large enough was your boyfriends, and you absolutely refused to wear something of his.

But at the very bottom of your trunk, something familiar caught your eye. You pulled it out, unveiling an old Quidditch hoodie, the letters faded and fabric soft from countless washes. George had lent it to you before a particularly cold match, and Gryffindor won in a landslide. It became a good luck charm of sorts, one you wore to every game there after.

But when you started dating Jack, he'd gotten pissed at you for wearing it, and you'd hidden it at the bottom of your trunk, never quite ready to give it back to George.

It smelled of green grass and open sky, and you tugged it over your head, letting it's warmth envelop you. Then, you put on a pair of sleep shorts and fuzzy socks, and padded out of the room towards George's, knocking twice before letting yourself in.

Fred and George were standing by the window, arguing in hushed voices, and straightened abruptly when you walked in.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Fred said, crossing the room and pulling you into a back-breaking hug. He reeked of beer. “How are we?”

“Peachy,” you replied tightly, glancing at George over Fred’s shoulder. He was scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish.

“Naughty girl, lying to me.” Fred winked, and you swatted his shoulder. “But don't worry, love. The boys are on it!”

“The boys? Wait—Fred!” But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You glared at George, and he held his hands up.

“They were worried about you!” He said defensively. “We care about you, y’know…” his voice trailed off when his eyes landed on your hoodie. “You still have that?”

Heat creeped up your neck. “’Course I do.”

“I thought shit-for-brains made you—”

“He tried,” you replied, tension coiling around the two of you once again.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “My good luck charm,” he chuckled, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“So, what do you have for me?” You asked, sitting on the edge of his bed like you always did. But something in his eyes flashed, making your lower belly heat.

What was going on with him?

He pushed himself from the wall and walked towards his trunk, just to the left of you. He rummaged around, withdrawing a pink gift bag with heart-covered tissue paper sticking out from the top.

“Oh, George…you didn't have to do this,” you said when he sat beside you.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, setting the bag on your lap.

Heart pounding in your chest, you carefully removed the tissue paper, finding a pile of candy: chocolates and gummy lips and heart-shaped lollipops. There were also a few sachets of your favorite tea, pilfered from the kitchen, you imagined, and a copy of the book you'd been eyeballing your last trip to Hogsmeade with him and Fred.

Your heart was so full you feared it may burst. “Georgie, this is so sweet, thank you—”

“There's one more thing,” he said, gently taking the bag from you. He stuck his hand all the way to the bottom, and withdrew a small, pink-wrapped box with a ribbon tied around it.

The air was sucked from your lungs, ears ringing with shock as you gingerly took the box from him. He fidgeted beside you as you slowly unwrapped the paper, fingers trembling. The energy was taught around you, practically humming with tension.

A velvet box fell into your palm, the most gorgeous shade of burgundy with a delicate golden latch.

You almost didn't want to open it, terrified of what this meant, but so giddy you could sing. George, the poor guy, looked ready to burst out of his skin with impatience.

Carefully, you opened the lid. Inside was a gorgeous chain bracelet, the metal polished to perfection, with two charms resting against the velvet pillow. A tiny heart with your initial etched onto it, and a small fox, George's favorite mischievous, red-haired critter.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears pooling on your lower lashes. It was the most thoughtful gift you'd ever received. “George, I—”

“And you can get more charms, there's a shop in Hogsmeade with loads, books and birds and stars--”

You flung your arms around his neck, cutting off his nervous rambling. “I love it, Georgie, thank you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck.

He relaxed, his arms looping around your waist. “Of course,” he replied.

You pulled back, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, inspecting the little fox. It crossed your mind that if Jack saw this, he'd be livid, probably go so far as to threaten George, break off the precious little fox, and your smile fell.

“Hey, what happened?” George asked, shifting to kneel in front of you as you curled inward. “You don't like the fox?”

“No, no—” you tried to suppress the tears forcing their way up. “I love the fox. I just—”

George's expression hardened. “Jack won't like it,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You're not going to stay with him, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm not. But we're technically still together—”

“That's bullshit,” George snarled, pushing to his feet and stalking away from you. “He fucking forfeited his right when he left you alone like that. You could have gotten hurt. He just fucking abandoned you and is probably off with some other bird—”

A sob broke free from your chest, and he halted his tirade, shoulders sagging.

“Do you want him?” George asked, crouching in front of you again.

You shook your head. “No, I don’t,” you admitted.

George reached out to cradle your face, catching your tears with his thumbs. His eyes were so sweet, so sincere, it made your teeth ache. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words still felt like a punch through your chest.

Your mind was reeling. Of course, a part of you always wanted more with him, but… “I do, of course I do…but what if that ruins everything?” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I don't want to lose you—”

“Never,” he said, shaking you so you met his eyes. “Never.”

“Relationships are different, though. What if we don't work like…that?”

His hands moved down to hold your neck, his touch gentle but insistent, your pulse thundering under his fingertips. “I’m still me, and you're still you. Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about it? That you haven't felt the pull?”

You don't reply, averting your eyes from his face.

“Not even when you're all alone, and Jack’s left you half-loved, tangled in your sheets…you don't think about me coming in there and taking care of you?”

Heat scorched your cheeks, your thighs clenching at the low purr of his voice, a pitch you hadn't heard before.

“Because I think about it all the time.”

You pussy throbbed and you gasped, shocked by the way your body was reacting to his words alone, your mind scrambling to keep up with this new reality you've stumbled into.

“Knowing I could treat you better, love you better—it keeps me up at night, baby. Imagining all the ways I could take care of you, make you happy, make you mine—”

Unable to stand it any longer, you yanked him forward and connected your mouth with his, cutting him off. He groaned, surging up to tackle you back onto his mattress, his lips hungry and rough against yours. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, his lips, his touch, his heat, burning you from the inside out.

No one has ever kissed you like that before, desperate, ravenous. With an eagerness that was palpable, his heart thundering against yours as he pressed impossibly closer to you.

He pried open your lips with his, his tongue plunging into your mouth with fervid strokes. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, caressing the bare skin of your hip and up your side, leaving tingles in the wake of his calloused palm. His other hand found the crook of your knee, lifting it up to hug his waist, opening your legs so he could press closer, harder…

“George!” You gasped when he rolled his hips against yours, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, your tiny shorts offering next to no barrier.

“Fuck, I've wanted to hear that for so long,” he panted, burying his face into your neck to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin. “Sound so pretty, baby.” He rolled his hips again, and your whole body arched closer to him, desperate for more as a weak whine spilled from your lips. The seam of his jeans caught your swelling clit just right, making your entire body hum with desire.

“Merlin’s fuck—what are you doing to me?” You keened, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, starving for the feel of his skin against yours.

“The bare minimum,” he teased, nipping at your earlobe. “You make it so easy to love you.” His hands squeezed at your flesh, his breath hot against your neck as he continued rocking your hips together. “So fucking sexy, so responsive. I knew you'd be perfect—” he grunted when you thrust your hips back up against him.

You finally managed to get his shirt off, pushing it over his shoulders and he tossed it onto the floor. The pale stretch of freckled skin on his chest made your mouth water, but you didn't get to admire him for long. He tugged your hoodie over your head, casting it across the room, and revealing the near see-through lacy red thing you'd selected for the evening and didn't bother changing out of.

A broken sound hissed through his teeth. Jealousy bloomed in his eyes, his jaw feathering with irritation.

You reached up to caress his cheek, drawing his eyes to your face. “He never got to see it,” you cooed, petting the hard line of his jaw and coaxing him to relax. “All yours now, yeah? No one else's.”

His eyes searched your face, anger melting into scalding desire. “Say it again,” he rasped.

“All yours,” you hummed, pecking his lips.

His hand spread across your collarbones, long fingers stretching nearly shoulder to shoulder, and he shoved you roughly back onto the bed. The next moment, his mouth was on your chest, hot and warm through the thin lace as he smeared open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue lashed one peaked nipple, drawing a cry from your lips as he sucked the bud and fabric between his teeth.

Your hands flew into his hair, tugging and guiding his mouth where you wanted him, and he went willingly, eager for any and all contact, quick to repeat the tricks that made your breath hitch.

His hand slid down your stomach, beneath he waist band of your shorts, and he dragged his middle finger through your dripping slit, a high-pitched moaning making him smile against your chest.

“Merlin, you're soaked,” he purred, kissing up your neck and capturing your lips in a messy, top-lip kiss. His finger swirled around your puffy clit, applying just enough pressure to have pleasure radiating through your body. “You get this wet for him, baby?” He whispered, dipping his fingertips into your entrance, once, twice, before sinking down to the knuckle. “Little cunt sucking me right in. She was ready for me, hm?”

“G-George,” his name was a fractured whimper on your tongue, your mind going fuzzy when he curled his finger up, hitting a spot that you'd never felt before.

“Oh, you poor thing,” George cooed, adding a second finger and stroking the same spot again, your whole body hitching up the bed at the intensity of it. But his body weight held you down, his mouth painting gentle kisses along your skin to try and soothe you. “He never touch you like this? Never found that spot—fuck, right there, baby? That's it?”

You bobbled your head like an idiot, grinding your hips back into his hand as he started fucking his fingers into you more deliberately, the lewd, gooey smack of your pussy filling the dorm.

“Good girl,” he praised, propping himself up to peer down at you, eyes blown wide with lust as he took in your trembling, sweat-kissed skin. “How did I get so fucking lucky?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you again, all softness and affection, so different than the relentless way he was dominating your cunt.

You pawed at his jeans, tugging at his belt. “Mmph, please—need you,” you whined against his mouth, and he groaned.

“Fuck, you're killing me, love,” he grated, his hips bucking into your hand. “You want my cock that bad?”

You nodded, still struggling with his belt.

He pushed off of you and undid his belt, removing his jeans and shoes in record time, his flushed cock slapping up against his stomach. He grabbed you by the ankle and tugged you to the edge of the bed.

“You've got a slutty little thong under here, don't you?” He asked, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“Maybe,” you said, half-distracted by his cock jumping at the sound of your voice, the tip slick with precum.

He glanced down, following your gaze, and chuckled. “My eyes are up here, pretty girl,” he chastised with a light slap to your inner thigh. He pushed your shorts down your legs, followed by the red thong your wore underneath. He tossed the thong onto his bedside table, instead of the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You raised an eyebrow at him, about to make some teasing remark, when he dragged his cockhead through your messy slit, and all thoughts tumbled right out of your brain, dripping from between your legs.

“For later, yeah?” He said, smirking when your eyes rolled back when he tapped your clit with the head. “So next time I see that fucker, I can show him exactly what he lost.”

“George—” you started to chastise him for being cruel when he notched at your entrance, sinking halfway into your willing pussy, and you both cried out. The fullness, the stretch, was mind-melting. Better than anything you'd felt in your life.

George braced his hand beside your head, sagging forward as he hissed a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit, love,” he panted, his muscles locked up so tight he was practically vibrating. “M'done for if you keep squeezin’ me like that.”

You moaned, lifting your hips to take him a little deeper, needing more even though you felt like he was ripping you apart at the seams. “Please, Georgie,” you whimpered, clawing at his skin. “Want all of you.”

“I know, honey. I know. Just give me a second.” He leaned further down, peppering kisses across your cheeks and jaw. “Don't wanna hurt you, gotta relax f’me.”

You took a few breaths, trying to get your muscles to relax as his lips moved over your fevered skin. You felt him slide a bit deeper, the stretch not quite as intense.

“Good girl, that's it. Just a little further,” he praised, his hand gripping the flesh of your hip as he started rocking into you, slow, rolling thrusts that got incrementally longer each time, until his pelvis met yours and you were a moaning mess, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

George straightened, his hand on the bed shifting to your shoulder, and he snapped his hips forward, forcing a cry from your lips as pleasure struck you like lightning. He set a rough pace, fucking you deep and hard, his grip on your body keeping you locked in place.

You were lost in it, helpless to the pitch and roll of his ocean, completely adrift in the pleasure he was pulling from your body. You tried to fuck back against him, but your body refused to cooperate, dumb and boneless and cockdrunk.

“So fucking pretty like this. Tell me how pretty you are, baby,” he said, his hand leaving your hip to rub tight circles over your clit.

“Mmph—fuck, so pretty,” you managed, voice throttled with lust and desperation.

“Yeah, you are.” He grinned. “My pretty girl takin’ this cock so well. He fuck you like this? Have you a drooling mess for him?”

You shook your head, nails biting into his thighs as your release prowled closer, coiling tight in your belly. “No, never,” you keened, when ratcheted up the pace sensing your looming orgasm.

“That's right, all mine. Who does this pussy belong to? Who has your heart?”

“You, you! Fuck, George, I’m—”

“Go on, love. Come for me, I'm right there with you. Come on.” His thrusts grew rougher and sloppier as his own release approached, and with a final, punishing snap of his hips, you both went flying over the edge and into white hot bliss.

You screamed and he caught the sound with a kiss, fucked you through it as your pussy clamped around him. Wringing every bit of pleasure from you both until he sagged forward, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you both gasped for breath.

He kissed along the damp column of your throat, making his way to your lips, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your trembling thighs. “Did so good,” he murmured between lazy pecks. “I'm proud of you.”

You giggled, feeling almost giddy to have George in your arms, kissing you and praising you so sweetly. “That was amazing,” you breathed, and he smiled, giving one last thrust before withdrawing and using magic to clean you both up.

“You were amazing,” he corrected. “Like I said, you're easy to love.”

Butterflies rioted in your stomach. “So are you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before handing you your hoodie and shorts. You both got semi-dressed and snuggled into his bed, his bare chest under your ear, heart thumping steadily.

You grabbed the gift bag and took out the bracelet. “Will you put it on me?”

“Of course,” he beamed, carefully taking the the jewelry and clasping it around your wrist, kissing the tender skin of your pulse before releasing you. “Looks perfect on you,” he said, looking down at your smiling face as you turned your wrist this way and that.

“I love it, Georgie. Thank you.” You snuggled closer into his side.

“Always.” He dropped a kiss on top of your head, then grabbed the gift back from you, pulling out a handful of candy and popping one of the lollipops into his mouth. “Not as sweet as your pussy, but…”

You rolled your eyes and placed a chocolate truffle on your tongue, letting the deliciousness fill your mouth.

Bang! There was a fumbling outside of the door and George quickly yanked the curtain shut, just before what sounded like several people came tumbling into the room.

“Get the fuck off of me, Weasley—” Jack.

“Absolutely not, you're going to apologize,” Fred replied, his voice a little too chipper for the current situation.

George was up in a blink, his chest littered with the marks you gave you him, and pushed through the curtain. “Well, well. Seems you aren't dead, or maimed…so what exactly is your excuse for standing up my girl on Valentine's Day?” George asked.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, I—your girl?” Jack hissed. “She's mine.”

George chuckled. “Love, would you like to come out here and set the record straight?”

“What?” Jack barked. “She's not here—”

You slipped out of bed and tried to right yourself before stepping out of the curtain and into the room. Fred and Lee had Jack by arms, dressed only in his boxers. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, watching everything unfold with mild amusement.

George was leaning against the bed frame, lollipop in his cheek, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“We're done, Jack,” you said, getting it over with. But strangely, you didn't feel any of the guilt from before. And you shouldn't. Jack was a prick, and didn't deserve your tears or empathy.

“I miss one date and you shack up with fucking Weasley?” Jack spit, and George's eyes darkened. “Fucking whore—”

Fred and Lee shook him roughly, yelling at him to watch his mouth, and you recoiled a bit. George seemed to stay surprisingly calm, until you saw him reach for his Beater bat beside the bed.

“George, wait—”

George jabbed the tip of the bat into Jack's sternum, and the boy went pale. “If I hear you running your fucking mouth about her again, I will smash your jaw to splinters. Clear?”

Your heart lost its rhythm. You'd never seen George like this, and you loved it. Loved being his.

Jack bobbed his head yes, trembling in Fred and Lee's hold.

Lee snickered. “Prick looks like he might piss himself.”

“Now get the fuck out,” George ordered.

“Wait, one more thing,” you said, and the boys all turned their attention to you. You sauntered up to Jack, and you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

You thrust your knee up, nailing him right in the bollocks, and he howled so loud the other boys dropped him into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck you,” you spit, turning on your heel and stepping into George's open arms.

“That's my girl,” George cooed, taking the lollipop of his mouth to kiss you properly, the strawberry flavor sweet on his tongue. He waved at the others over your head as he deepened the kiss, and you heard them all file out, laughing and jeering as they dragged Jack behind them, the door swinging shut and locking.

“He deserved it,” you mumbled between kisses, giggling when George lifted you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“And now it's time you get what you deserve,” he smirked, laying you back down on the mattress and shifting down between your legs. “And I get my reward for absolutely crushing Valentine's Day.”

You burst out laughing, the sound shifting to moan as he licked a stripe through your slit. “You're right, best Valentine's Day ever.”

© agreeewrites 2025. do not copy, translate or claim my writing as your own.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

I Can See You- Spencer Reid x Reader

Y/N knew something was wrong but knowing Spencer he was not going to share it. His feelings are something he did not wish to share with the group, and Y/N had grown to accept that part of him. But the tension that crossed his features was something that struck a chord in Y/N.  

Since Y/N had joined the BAU, Spencer and her had become thick as thieves. From the moment he saw her copy of The Odyssey, they were glued together. But these moments of tension and unease were new to their friendship. It was something that started happening after prison. Y/N knew he was trying to find his way back, to still be the same Spencer even though things are ever changing. 

Y/N’s shoulder grazed his softly as she looked over the case file, this case came in late Friday night and the team had been working nonstop since. The tension was high with everyone trying to solve this case, but even more so the tension in Spencer was off the charts. 

"I can see you, are you okay?" she murmured leaning into his personal space. The gentle concern clear in her tone. 

His dark eyes met Y/N’s, like he was trying to figure out what to say, or more so how not to say what was going on. He knew whether he gave a straight answer, she would be able to read him like a book, she had always had that ability.  

“I’m fine” he murmured continuing to read the case file in front of him. The one thing she knew is the man who sat in front of her was not fine. In the years she had known him, she saw him through everything. Maeve, to the depression after her death, to his mom and her disease, but the biggest thing was prison. 

The more she visited him, the more he filled her heart. Without a shred of doubt, she loved that man day in and day out. Y/N vividly remembers going with JJ and Penelope to pick him up. The way his face lit up when he saw her standing there, tears filling her eyes as he held her close. The way he held her like she was going to disappear. The way she thought he loved her too. 

A graze of her arm brought her back to reality, “you, okay?” Spencer murmured as he sat another cup of coffee in front of her as her eyes re-fixated on the case in front of her. One thing he understood about her was her need for coffee was just as bad as his- with less sugar. 

A small thank you passed her lips as she took a sip, before turning back to him. “I can see you; something is going on. I know you don’t like to talk but I’m here if you need anything”  

He just watched you as you spoke, giving you a swift nod as he returned to his work. A sign escaped your lips as you got up, setting down her coffee. You just needed a minute, because if you sat there with him any longer you were going to explode and demand to know what is wrong. 

Y/N rounded the corner out of the conference room, running into JJ. 

Her eyebrow arched when she saw the frustration that crossed her face, even more so evident in her furrowed brows.  

“Are you okay?” JJ asked, looking at Y/N and then through the window of the conference room. 

The same frustrated look was crossing Spencer’s face as he tried focusing on the case file in hand.  

She gave her a knowing look, inciting her to spill. 

If anyone knew her better than Spencer, it was JJ. She could read every emotion that crossed Y/N’s face, never needing to speak a word. 

“I just... I don’t want him to feel alone. I can see that something is going on. I... I just want him to talk to me. I know he doesn’t want to talk, but I can see it and I don’t know what to do” she said, tears beginning to cloud her vision. 

“Hey, he’s gonna be okay. It’s Spencer” JJ murmured pulling Y/N into a hug. Tears streamed down her face. “It’s because he is Spencer, that I know he is not okay” 

Wiping her cheeks as she pulls away, she spoke softly, “I just need a break, I am going to run back to the hotel for a quick nap”  

JJ gave you a brief nod, “I will let Hotch know. Take it easy, okay?” 

Y/N briefly nodded before throwing on her coat and grabbing her purse off the desk. 

On the short walk back to the hotel, she thought of all the moments of Spencer and her over the years. Like how she camped outside his apartment with Penelope’s gift baskets after Maeve. Knowing he shouldn’t be alone, but didn’t want to bother his bubble of grief. She had sat outside his door for 2 days before he opened, not wanting to be alone anymore.  

She laughed when she remembered going to a Doctor Who convention with him, she only went with him because she didn’t want him to go alone. Low and behold the both of them ran into Rossi outside the convention center. Y/N would never forget the look on Rossi’s face that day. 

Tears filled her eyes when she remembered his Dilaudid addiction after being kidnapped on a case. How she would crash on his couch for weeks on end if he had the urge to use. The nights where he would wander out in the middle of the night, to make sure he wasn’t alone. The way he would curl up on the couch with you, just so he didn’t feel so lost.  

She reached her hotel in no time, spending the whole time with Spencer playing in her mind. The door creaked as she pushed it open, just sitting down on the bed.  

A sigh escaped her lips as she laid back. Her phone dinged multiple times. 

Spencer: Where did you go? 

Spencer: Why did you leave? JJ told me. 

Of course she did.  

Spencer: I am on my way. 

Another sigh left her lips, dreading the inevitable.  Spencer knew her just as well as she knew herself. She was concerned about him, and now he was concerned about her. 

A soft knock came at the door. She carefully got up and opened it.   

There stood Spencer, running his hand through his longer hair, “Can I come in?” 

She stood to the side, opening the door more so he could step into the room. Sunlight bled through the curtains, lighting the room with the evening sun. Silence fell over the room, as she stared at her feet.  

“Why did you leave?” He murmured softly standing in front of her, bringing his hand to run down her arm. Electricity pierced her skin as he touched her softly. 

Her eyes met his, trying to read his features. “I can see you. Something is going on; I left so I didn’t explode on you. I know you don’t want to talk to me” 

He sighed, with a hand running down his face. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk. I just don’t know how to do this” 

A confused expression crossed her features, “Do what? Spence it’s me. I have been by your side for years and now you can’t talk to me? What is going on?” 

Tears began clouding her vision, as her mind raced trying to find the words, trying to find what he didn’t want her to know. 

He stepped closer, wiping the tears that began to fall onto her cheeks. This isn’t how he wanted this conversation to go- 

“Fuck... no I just- You are my best friend” the words fell out of his mouth piercing her heart instantly. Best friend, nothing more. 

“No- fuck I am messing this up. We both know getting out of prison has been a hard adjustment for me. I just- I have found it hard falling back in the routine of my every day outside of a place that was hell, a world of solitude. Yes, there is something going on, and you see it because you know me. And you- you see me as a person. Not odd, not an outcast. Me. You see every part of me and embrace me no matter what the day brings. And- ah fuck. I love you. I love you so much my heart aches. You are hands down the most beautiful person I have ever met. You make the world brighter, the way it just radiates off of you. It brings the whole world into a different perspective. You make me want to be better even on my best days. You are my entire world, and I just need you to know this because I know you can see something is wrong. I love you so much, my heart is physically going to explode- not literally because that’s not possible but you understand what I mean-”  

Her lips cut him off as he started rambling, it took him a minute, but he began kissing her back softly. His hands cupping her face, and he tasted the saltiness of her tears.  

She pulled back, “You. Spencer Reid. I love you with everything that I am.” A soft smile of adoration crossed her face, as she pulled him into another kiss. 

The kiss was soft but intense, every kiss leading into the unknown ahead. But it was worth every boundary broken. 

She broke the kiss, leading him to the bed. Pushing him down, straddling him gently. He kissed her intensely as she began to rock his hips against his. She could feel his stiff cock with every roll of her hips. His hands roamed her body, bringing her close to him while taking the time to admire every piece of her.  

He stood up flipping them, her pink cheeks catching his attention as he leaned into her ear. “Can I?”  

She briefly nodded, feeling his hands travel down to her waist. His hands quickly undoing the button of her pants, slowly pulling them down her legs. A soft moan escaped her lips as she felt his breath on her cunt. The wet spot on her underwear made her squirm. 

“Stop moving” He murmured, fingers starting to loop around her underwear, pulling them down. “Make me” she murmured back as she felt his fingers trail up towards her cunt. 

He chuckled, sending her a look that could make one see stars. His breath was hot; she moaned as she felt his tongue brush against her clit. Her body squirming at the intrusion.  

His arm came up and held her hips down to prevent squirming. “I told you to stop moving” 

He settled his body in between her spread thighs; his tongue tracing circles around her clit.  

“Oh god” she breathed out, feeling the butterfly feeling in her stomach starting to build.  

His fingers made their way into your opening, pushing two thick fingers inside. Milking an oncoming orgasm while his tongue picked up pace. He could feel her body reacting to his movements. 

Her hips gently thrusted up into his face, trying to reach her peak. The room was buzzing with the feeling between the two of them. A connection that they haven’t been able to reach until right now.  

Her hand reached down weaving her fingers through his hair and pulling as she exploded on his tongue. He continued licking every bit of her orgasm as she came down.  

A dorky smile crossed his features as he crawled up her body, kissing her softly as her hands found their way into his hair. She pulled away staring at him, before speaking softly.  

“I think you are wearing too many clothes” 

He smirked before getting off the bed, eagerly shedding his clothes. First his top, gently pulling it over his head. Exposing his chest, she watched him with a dopey look on her face. Smiling as her eyes followed his chest hair all the way down to wear it met his pants.  

He carefully un-did his pants, taking his boxers with them. His cock was thick and hard, felt heavy in her hand as she reached out to grasp it. Wanting nothing more than to be choking on it, as her eyes watered.  

He gently grabbed her hand, murmuring “next time”. 

She shot him a smile, “Oh, you’re expecting a next time?” 

He shot her a smirk, pushing her back on the bed and pushing his cock deep into her. A gasp escaped her lips as her nails created a pattern on his back.  

He buried his head in her neck as his hips began to snap into her. 

“I couldn’t wait” He moaned. Knowing you both needed this kind of release. The pace he began setting was out of this world. Moans escaping the both of them as they both felt orgasms building.  

“God you’re so tight Y/N” he moaned, the sound of his hips meeting hers filling the room. Her cunt tightening around him as he kept a steady pace.  

Her eyes went wide, “I’m gonna....” she moaned, her cunt spasming as her orgasm took over all her features. She squeezed his cock hard. He moaned loudly as his hips started to stutter and lose rhythm.  

His grip on her hips began to tighten as he filled her. His warm seed flooding into her as he continued to fuck her. He collapsed on top of her, both of them breathing deeply.  

Before she let out a laugh, he gave her a look of confusion. 

Her hand reached up and caressed his face, “I told you I can see you, next time just talk to me” 

He chuckled, “Well I can see you too, and I think we found a new way of talking” 

[sunset-curve-fantom]

this is (not) fine [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x personal assistant!reader

personal assistant rules: don’t crush on bucky barnes. definitely don’t misinterpret a flower purchase and spiral into silent heartbreak, and absolutely never ever get stuck alone with him in an elevator.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, oral (f receiving), public (ish) sex?, wall sex (?), okay they fuck in an elevator guys, kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, insecure/self-conscious reader undertones, reader is an overthinker, reader is horny lol, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 9.1k

A/N: hi, hopefully this will keep you all fed while i work on part five to lessons in lovemaking. finally getting around to some of these requests in my inbox. this one is based off this request, but i changed it up so the reader is a PA instead of an avenger. lmk your thoughts thanx for reading <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You’d never pegged Natasha as the type who enjoyed flowers.

No, she struck you more as the encrypted-flash-drive-on-a-park-bench type, the kind of woman who appreciated mysteries with teeth. A custom leather jacket, stitched with the same precision she used to dismantle a glock. One of those sleek, low motorcycles. Not daisies. Not peonies. And definitely not whatever soft, pastel nonsense Bucky was currently handing over cash for.

You stood a few feet away, halfway hidden behind a sidewalk sign advertising oat milk lattes and gluten-free muffins, clutching a cardboard drink tray and a bag full of vegan pastries in a death grip. The barista had spelt ‘Bruce’ as ‘Broose’ again, and under any other circumstance, that would've made you laugh, but now it felt like the most irrelevant thing in the world.

You liked Natasha. You respected her. You just didn’t think she had it in her to giggle over roses like the girls in those sappy rom-coms Clint insisted he hated (right before he would watch three in a row, a beer in each hand). But there Bucky was, brushing pollen off a bouquet of pale pink ranunculus, face soft in a way you’d never seen during mission briefings or sparring sessions.

And suddenly, you were building a list in your head of all the things you were sure Natasha Romanoff would rather receive as a romantic gesture: a knife, balanced perfectly for throwing, an expensive bottle of vodka, a vintage chess set with hand-carved pieces, a bottle of expensive ink and a fountain pen with a sharp nib, cookies—messy ones—overloaded with chocolate chips, or simply just black coffee, straight from the pot, no sugar, no cream. Yet, as Bucky handed it over to the redhead, she smiled. Smiled. And suddenly you felt like you were witnessing a scene you were not welcome to. 

Truthfully, it stung. Maybe it stung a little more than what was appropriate. You’d been harbouring a quiet crush on the dark-haired, sullen supersoldier from the moment he joined the team. Fresh out of Wakanda, new vibranium arm in tow, and god, he was handsome. Not in the polished, television commercial way Steve was, but in a way that made your pulse skip and your thoughts stall mid-sentence. He had the kind of face you didn’t know how to look at for too long, sharpened jaw, stormy-blue eyes, and a mouth that always looked on the verge of saying something he’d regret.

There was something electric about his stillness. Like if you leaned in close enough, you’d hear the hum of danger beneath his skin. He walked like a man who never quite trusted, drifting through the tower like he expected a fight around every corner. He barely spoke, but when he did, his voice was low and gravel-worn, something that settled right in your gut and made its home there.

He never smiled. Not really. But sometimes—sometimes—you’d catch a flicker of it when Sam teased him, or when Steve nudged him just right, and it was devastating.

And yeah, maybe you had a soft spot for broken things trying to heal.

As the Avengers’ personal assistant, it was your job to keep everyone comfortable, informed, and running like clockwork. You were a one-person organisational machine, constantly juggling the chaos that came with managing a tower full of enhanced individuals with the emotional range of a brick wall to a nuclear reactor. Your days were a blur of colour-coded schedules, back-to-back briefings, and the never-ending group chats.

You coordinated mission debriefs, booked international flights with military clearance, and handled press requests that would make most people cry. You endured complaints when Thor overloaded the power grid again, trying to make toast, and even replaced the mugs he shattered before anyone noticed. You wrangled Clint’s kids when they came to visit, sourced obscure snacks from remote parts of the world because Sam liked those protein bars, not the other ones, and Steve wouldn’t touch anything processed. You replaced a record number of coffee machines, hunted down whatever special detergent could get oil out of Tony’s designer shirts. You knew which brand of muscle balm Banner preferred and how to order it without triggering a random Homeland Security check.

And then there was Bucky.

With him, it was always a little extra, whether he noticed or not. His schedule came first in your Monday morning rounds. You made sure the pantry was stocked with the Eastern European tea he liked but never asked for, and remembered the exact setting he preferred on the tower’s training room temperature controls. You adjusted group plans so he’d be paired with Steve or Sam, just in case the crowds and questions became overwhelming. When he disappeared for a few hours, you didn’t ask questions, but you made sure no one came looking. You even swapped out the scratchy tags in his mission gear with soft ones, because he never complained, but you noticed the way he fidgeted with them.

Every day, you’d beam at him like some hopelessly love-struck idiot when you handed over his usual coffee—black, two brown sugars, just the way he liked it—and in return, he’d offer little more than a grunt. A low, barely-there sound that most people wouldn’t even register as a greeting. But you did. Somehow, that grunt became the highlight of your day.

So yeah, maybe seeing him hand over flowers to Natasha broke something in you. Not just a hairline fracture, but a quiet, splintering break that left your chest aching in places you didn’t know could hurt. Still, you understood. Natasha belonged to his world, effortlessly cool, all smoke, shadows and secrets. Yet she was kind. Not cold or unapproachable, just… carved from something rarer than you. The kind of woman who didn’t need to try to be extraordinary, she just was.

And you? You were the sweet, well-meaning assistant who made people laugh in the kitchen, who fetched dry cleaning and remembered everyone’s birthdays. You were the one who labelled tupperware and chased down Clint’s kids with bandaids. You were an afterthought, the background noise in the buzzing hive which was the Avengers Tower. 

So maybe you could justify feeling jealous, but angry? No. Not really. They didn’t know. They couldn’t know. And it wasn’t their fault that you’d let yourself hope.

—

Two weeks later, and you timed it perfectly, like you always did.

Just as the door to Bucky’s apartment clicked open, you rounded the corner—folder in hand, clipboard tucked tight to your side. The hallway was quiet, save for the low hum of ventilation and the soft thud of your heels against the carpet. Bucky stepped out, his gym bag slung over his shoulder, hair tied back, and his hoodie sleeves shoved up just enough to show the gleam of vibranium. Predictable. It was routine, every morning just before six he would meet with Steve in the gym. On Mondays, you’d catch him just as he exited his apartment, unload the details for the week, a freshly printed schedule and all. 

“Morning,” you said lightly, handing him the week’s itinerary. His reply was his usual, a grunt. Not annoyed. Not grateful. Just Bucky. That gruff, barely-there sound that once felt like a small victory. The kind of grunt that used to warm your chest when he followed it with a question, even if you knew the answer was printed in the folder you’d triple-checked. You always answered anyway. You liked having his attention, even just for a few seconds.

You used to dress the folders up with care, multicoloured sticky notes marking key tasks (blue for meetings, yellow for reminders, red for anything urgent and green for personal events). You’d highlight sections like traffic lights, add stickers you thought might make him smile, sometimes even scribble little crooked cartoons in the margins with cheesy encouragements—seize the day! 

The folder looked rather sad today, just a plain manila folder packed with stapled papers. No colours. No stickers. No effort. Just the essentials. You didn’t let your fingers dawdle when he took it. Didn’t smile like you used to. Just handed it over and kept your gaze somewhere past his shoulder.

Bucky took it slowly, eyes flicking down at the cover like he was trying to spot something that wasn’t there. His brow pinched, barely, but enough for you to notice. His fingers lingered on the edge of the folder, like he thought maybe he’d missed a note tucked inside.

You nodded and turned to leave, forcing yourself to shift your mind to your next chore mentally, restocking med supplies in the Quinjet, cross-checking Clint’s revised travel forms, hunting down the coffee machine Tony had threatened to ‘repurpose as target practice’. You’d have to order a replacement before the morning debrief. Double-check everyone’s dietary preferences. Update Steve on the tech room schedule. Get maintenance to repaint the lines in the training room because someone (probably Thor) had scuffed them again.

You stayed busy. It helped. Kind of.

But the guilt still trailed you like a shadow.

It was probably obvious how abruptly you changed. The way your voice had lost its warmth. The way your gaze dodged his like it might burn you. You wondered if he noticed, if he thought you'd simply grown tired of him. Maybe he had. That was better than the truth that you couldn’t stand to be near him, not when every glance felt like pressing fingers to a bruise you’d caused yourself. 

You had made your choice, professionalism. The kind of cool, curated detachment you admired in Natasha, only it felt all wrong on you, like an ill-fitting coat. You knew it was for the better, not mixing up work and matters of the heart. You’d already let your little crush spiral too far, thinking maybe—just maybe—if you tried hard enough, you’d earn more than a grunt. That he might see you as something more than the charming assistant with her clipboard and her stupid stickers. But he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. And that was fine. It had to be.

You couldn’t afford to fall apart over a man who had no idea he’d broken your heart.

But it was Bucky’s voice, soft and unsure, that startled you from your thoughts. “Hey.”

You paused mid-step and turned, forcing a tight smile that didn’t quite meet your eyes as your fingers curled against the clipboard. “What’s up?”

He shifted his weight, clearly caught off guard by the fact that you stopped walking at all. He was rather devastating to look at when he grew all shy and unsure, fingers fidgeting against the edge of the folder like he didn’t know what to do with them. He didn’t quite meet your eye as his weight shifted nervously, like he hadn’t thought before he called out. 

“Uh. Nothin’. Just—” He raised the folder slightly, an awkward gesture. “You usually give me the rundown. Y’know… what everyone’s doing. Who’s where. Who I’m stuck with.”

You swallowed. Of course, he’d noticed. Of course, he’d grown used to your chatter about meetings and mission rosters, about who was off-world and who was due back, like it was the weather. The casual, effortless way you used to tell him what movie was playing, who cheated at Monopoly the night before, or which team member had stolen the last protein bar. You’d always done it to help, keep him grounded, and make him feel like part of the team, like he belonged. 

But after what you’d seen two weeks ago, you were sure he didn’t need that from you anymore. Natasha would look out for him now. She’d keep him balanced, keep him fed, keep him from slipping through the cracks.

“Nothing interesting’s happening,” you shrugged. “Just the usual.”

He didn’t move. “Well… there’s that dinner. On Friday.”

You gave a curt nod, tone clipped. “Yes.”

“Wanda’s dinner,” he added, as if you hadn’t already acknowledged it.

“Correct.”

He hesitated again, brows drawing together in a faint crease of worry. You could see him floundering, stuck in some internal scramble. It made your chest ache because you knew that look. You’d helped talk him down from that look more times than anyone else in the tower probably realised.

You sighed quietly through your nose, against your better judgment, against every wall you’d tried to build in the past week, you caved. He looked five seconds away from spiralling.

“It’s in there,” you offered gently, nodding toward the folder. “On your schedule.”

“Right. It’s just… for me, you usually…” His voice trailed off, frustration and uncertainty knotting in his brow. “Sorry. You’re probably busy—”

That felt like a punch to the gut. 

You shook your head and, before your pride could stop you, your feet were already moving back toward him. His eyes dropped as you reached into your pocket for a pen, scribbling ‘Wanda’s Dinner – Friday’ on a green sticky note. Green for personal events, always. You hesitated, then added a smiley face underneath. You peeled it off and stuck it neatly onto the folder in Bucky’s hands. 

His eyes dropped to it, finger brushing over the paper like he didn’t quite understand why it mattered so much. “Thanks.”

You just nodded, already stepping back, spine straight, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering in your throat.

“She said…” Bucky cleared his throat, clearly not done with the conversation. “Wanda said she’s going to do curry.”

You paused, unsure what to do with the information. Why was he telling you that? Why was he still talking?

“That’s nice,” you said carefully, not sure what to do with this strange, lingering version of him.

“Are you going?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned.

“I wasn’t invited—” You began, already covering from the invasive thoughts, already working to mask the sting. You didn’t want to imagine them next to each other over curry, leaning close, whispering in the way people did when they thought no one else was watching. It would only make the crack in your chest worse.

“You should go,” Bucky said quickly, cutting across your thoughts. “I’ll tell Wanda you’re coming.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be busy that night anyway…” You lied through your teeth, heart thumping hard against your breastbone as Bucky’s face crumpled a bit. You cut in before he could argue any further.  “You’re going to be late. For the gym. It’s nearly six.”

“Right, shit, yeah. Sorry, I just…” He trailed off again, rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. I’ll… I’ll see you around.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if you were more confused or stunned by his sudden jitters.

—

Before the whole flowers incident, you made it your unofficial mission to ‘accidentally’ bump into Bucky as many times as humanly possible in a day. Now? It was the opposite. Every hallway was a trap to avoid, every room a potential ambush. Navigating the Tower had turned into something between a tactical stealth op and a personal game of hide-and-seek.

Unfortunately, your strategy for quiet withdrawal hadn’t gone unnoticed.

In fact, Bucky had picked up on your sudden cold shoulder almost immediately. The folder debacle had only been the first of many increasingly awkward run-ins.

There was the time you’d practically sprinted away from the elevator when the doors slid open to reveal him standing inside, a brow raised and coffee in hand. Or when you turned a corner too fast and walked straight into him, muttering a rushed apology before disappearing again like you were being hunted. Then there was the silent, painful breakfast you’d shared at the communal kitchen counter, where you busied yourself with peeling an orange for ten minutes straight while he sat beside you, occasionally glancing over like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to begin.

You’d even pretended to be asleep on the common room couch when he walked in one evening, piles of paperwork scattered, laptop still open, only for him to drape a throw blanket over you before quietly leaving again.

And yet, instead of giving you space like you’d expected and hoped for, he seemed to find any excuse to be around you. He trailed after you like some misplaced puppy whenever he wasn’t buried in a mission or holed up in a meeting.

You’d assumed that the moment you stepped back, he’d naturally gravitate toward spending more time with Natasha. It made sense. Why wouldn’t he want to be around her? They were obviously dating, even if they hadn’t made it official yet. Maybe it was one of those quiet, close things kept just between friends, like Steve and Sam. Who were you to come barreling in and expose their secret entanglement? You expected Bucky to be relieved to no longer be on the receiving end of your babbling, your perfectly-timed coffee deliveries, or the not-so-subtle gifts you littered around. 

But if anything, Bucky seemed determined to figure you out. Like your sudden shift had become his new pet project, and he was personally committed to cracking the case.

You’d taken the back hallway, the long, winding route that steered well clear of the gym on your way to the shared office. High-traffic areas were too risky now—too many chances to run into him. But clearly, Bucky had caught onto your little detours, because as you turned the corner, there he was, headed straight toward you.

You froze for half a second, pulse quickening. Turning around would be too obvious. Suspicious. He’d know exactly what you were doing, and then your carefully-constructed avoidance strategy would unravel entirely. If he suspected anything now, you were one panicked backpedal away from confirming it.

It was a nightmare. And a daydream.

A part of you, some soft, hopelessly romantic piece, ached at the sight of him, at the quiet way he seemed to look for you, worry always etched into his brow like you were some puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. But the rational part of your mind, the part that had dragged you into this self-imposed emotional lockdown, screamed that letting him get closer again would only undo all the fragile healing you’d managed to piece together.

So you steeled yourself.

Shoulders squared. Laptop and paperwork clutched like a lifeline. Eyes locked on an imaginary point just past his shoulder. If you kept walking and moved quickly, calmly, maybe he’d let you go. Perhaps he’d pretend not to notice how your pace picked up and your gaze carefully avoided his.

You nearly made it.

But of course, he noticed.

“Hey, wait—”

His voice was hesitant, just enough pressure to pull you to a stop. Your footsteps faded into the hush of the corridor, your spine straightening instinctively as you turned. Bucky stood a few paces behind, one hand lifted halfway between reaching and retreating, like he’d almost grabbed your arm but lost the nerve. 

He looked sheepish. Timid, even. It killed you.

You swallowed. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, boots scuffing lightly against the floor. “Did I… forget to grab my coffee this morning? Or… did you not bring it?”

A pause. Too long. You could feel the beat of your pulse behind your sternum as you forced a casual shake of your head.

“No, sorry. That’s on me. Slipped my mind.”

The lie didn’t sit well in your mouth.

It hadn’t slipped your mind, in fact, it was still sitting on the corner of your desk, cooling beside a stack of unfinished paperwork. You’d brewed it, as always. Even used the brown sugar he liked. But then you’d walked away from it, deliberately, like some idiotic breadcrumb trail you hoped he might follow.

God, you were pathetic.

Your stupid fucking brain couldn’t even decide what it wanted anymore. One half of you was charting escape routes through the tower to avoid him, the other was fantasising about him pinning you to the nearest wall. From the way your thighs pressed together now, breath catching as his voice brushed over you, maybe the answer wasn’t distance at all. Perhaps you just wanted to taste him—

He didn’t move. Just stood there, one brow lifted, faint worry creasing the edge of his expression.

“You’re usually down by the gym by nine,” he said, his voice low. “It’s eleven.”

“I’m running a bit behind today.”

“You usually text me if you’re running behind.”

“Well,” you said, shrugging like it didn’t matter, “I didn’t this time.”

He paused, the silence between you laced with something dangerously close to concern. “Is everything alright?”

You forced a small laugh, trying to shake off how his low, worried voice made heat pool in your gut. “Yeah. Why?”

“You seem off.”

There it was. Soft, plain and far too knowing. He said it in that maddeningly sincere way that only he could manage. Like he actually gave a damn. Like this wasn’t unravelling you by the day.

Your shoulders tensed. “Off?”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Just… I dunno. You’ve been quiet lately.”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t know about the hours you spent spinning in your head like a lunatic, trying to compartmentalise this crush until it shrank into something survivable. About the way you’d stared blankly at Tinder profiles, your phone clutched in your hand, wondering why no one else ever came close, why none of them were him.

Why you couldn’t stop thinking that if you’d just told him—confessed that stupid crush before Natasha did—maybe you wouldn’t be standing here now like some stray mutt, sniffing around for scraps of attention.

Maybe then he’d be yours.

Maybe then you wouldn’t be fantasising about quitting just to put yourself out of your own misery like some lame racehorse.

“I’ve just got a lot on my plate,” you finally mustered, tone strained. “Tony’s soirée. The fittings. Admin crap. Didn’t even have breakfast today.”

His brows furrowed further. “That’s not good.”

“I’ll survive.”

Would you, though?

Would you survive the heat that flared low in your stomach every time he got too close? Would you survive the ache that gnawed behind your ribs every time he glanced over at Natasha like you didn’t exist? Would you survive the constant, desperate craving to be touched by him? To be looked at like she was looked at?

He didn’t speak for a second, and for a moment, you were sure he could smell the reek of desperation on you.

“The oranges in the fridge are gone.”

You blinked. “What?”

“And the tea. The fancy one,” he added. “The one with the dried raspberries in it. You’re the one who always restocks them, aren’t you?”

You looked down, fingers clenching around your folder. “I’ll add it to the list.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, stepping forward a half-inch, enough to make your breath hitch. “I just… I didn’t realise it was you. Doing all of that.”

Of course, he hadn’t because you’d made it invisible. Seamless. That was the kind of care you practised—silent, anticipatory, never asked for, never returned. You had cared for him with a thousand tiny efforts, but he never noticed until you stopped.

You looked up, and the hallway felt suddenly too narrow. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. Gentle, confused, like he was trying to work you out and couldn’t quite bear not knowing.

You dropped your gaze. “I said I’ll do it.”

He paused. You could feel him thinking again.

Then, to your disappointment, he slowly nodded. “Okay.”

But he didn’t move. Not right away. He lingered like someone who hadn’t yet decided if leaving was the right call, like he was caught between concern and curiosity. 

“I’ll leave you to it, I guess.”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You just nodded and turned, walking away quickly before he could see your face fall, before he could catch the naked want in your expression, the way your heart was clawing against your ribs, screaming for you to turn around and ruin everything.

—

If time travel were an option, you'd gladly launch yourself into a wormhole and strangle your past self for being stupid—no, lovesick—enough to organise this little errand. You deserve it, really. A swift kick to the gut from future-you for being this hopeless.

It had all started a month ago, when you, like a fool, volunteered to collect the tailored suits and dresses for some little soirée Tony Stark had decided to throw. Of course, in true Tony fashion, what was pitched as a ‘casual get-together’ had evolved into a full-blown, black-tie spectacle. The first warning sign? Tony footing the bill for everyone to have custom outfits made to their specifications. Translation…this was going to be a thing.

You’d spent weeks wrangling Avengers into fitting appointments, helping them choose fabrics and cuts, managing last-minute alterations and tracking shipments. It was exhausting but under control…until the catch. The aggravating, absurdly attractive, brooding catch currently sitting across from you in the tailor’s waiting room, his knee bounced like it was transmitting a detailed morse code manifesto on every possible way he planned to ruin your day.

The plan had been simple: grab an Uber, pick up the garments, pressed, stitched, and boxed to perfection and head back to the tower. But then you got the call. The one that told you Bucky Barnes had missed his final fitting, and that his suit needed some last-minute adjustments...

Of course he did.

Of all your perfectly laid plans, it only took one missed appointment to bring it all crashing down. Now here you were, stuck waiting beside the man who occupied far too much of your brain lately, silently praying the tailor would finish quickly so you could escape before your sanity, or your dignity, completely unravelled.

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said for what felt like the fiftieth time.

Between the brooding and the nervous leg tapping, he’d spent the last five minutes watching the side of your face with an expression so guilty it was practically carved into him.

“Like I said, it’s fine.” You replied, though it came out a little too tight, a little too forced, like you were speaking through clenched teeth. Which, maybe you were. Not that it mattered. Not when you could smell his cologne from how damn close he was sitting. God, you wanted to lean over and bury your face in his chest and just inhale—

You straightened abruptly, shoulders stiffening as the tailor entered the room, and mentally reacquainted yourself with the concept of boundaries.

It had been an hour—sixty minutes of waiting while Bucky’s suit got its final adjustments. An hour of you trying to distract yourself with work emails and unanswered texts, pretending the man beside you wasn’t single-handedly causing your emotional stability to nosedive. At least when he’d stepped away to get re-measured, you could breathe without risking spontaneous emotional combustion.

This wasn’t like you. You weren’t usually this wound up. Maybe it was the exhaustion, days of juggling your regular duties with Tony’s ever-growing list of soirée demands. Perhaps it was the heartbreak. Or the missed meals. Or the fact that you genuinely had no idea what day it was anymore.

“Would you like to try it on before we package it up for travel?” the tailor asked, her voice gentle. A measuring tape hung loosely around her neck, her pinned bun fraying slightly at the edges.

Bucky looked at you again, eyes flicking toward yours like he needed permission. You swallowed what was left of your pride and gave him a slight, strained nod.

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “Go on.”

“I’m sorry—again—this is probably eating into your whole afternoon, I know how busy you are—”

“It’s fine. Really. Just go.”

He offered a sheepish smile before disappearing behind the velvet curtain, tugging it closed with a rustle. You pressed your fingers to your temples, let your head drop into your hands, and exhaled through your nose like it might stop your heart from trying to break out of your chest.

Across the counter, the tailor glanced up at you with a sympathetic look as she readied the boxes for the other garments. “Long day?” she asked gently.

You lifted your head, managing a tight smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only going to get longer.”

You were still nursing the tail end of your sigh when the velvet curtain swished open again.

And then your brain stopped working.

Bucky stepped out in full formal attire, sharp navy suit, tailored within an inch of its life. The cut of it hugged his frame perfectly. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, long legs. A deep navy waistcoat peeked out beneath the jacket, the subtle sheen of the fabric catching the light just enough to look expensive without being flashy. His tie was already perfectly knotted, like he’d done this a hundred times, and the sleeves of his shirt revealed just enough of the polished metal edge of his vibranium arm to make your mouth dry.

He cleared his throat softly, tugging at one cuff. “How’s it look?”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it again.

Words? No. Words were gone. Your vocabulary had packed up and left the building.

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly mistaking your slack-jawed silence for disapproval. “It’s weird, right? The waistcoat maybe doesn’t work, I told her I wasn’t sure about it—”

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. “No, it’s… It’s perfect. You look… great. Seriously.”

His brows lifted slightly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his face. Relief, maybe? 

“Yeah?” he said, glancing down at himself, tugging slightly at the jacket hem. “I feel better about it now. The sleeves fit properly this time. Thanks for waiting.”

The tailor beamed from behind the counter, clearly proud of her work. “Wonderful. I’ll box it up immediately once you’re out of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the tailor turned to you with a friendly smile before he could disappear again.

“And for you, would you like to try your gown on as well before I pack it away?”

You blinked, suddenly snapped out of your holy-shit-Bucky-hot-hot-hot haze. “My what?”

She gestured toward the row of garment bags. “Mr. Stark sent over your measurements earlier this month. There’s a gown here for you.”

You frowned. “That must be a mistake. I’m just the assistant. None of those are for me.”

The tailor hesitated. “I don’t think so… He was very clear. Your name was attached to the order.”

Before you could argue, Bucky cut in smoothly, like he’d seen this train coming and stepped in to redirect it.

“Tony probably just wanted you to look the part, too,” he said, voice low and casual. “You’ve done all the work, he probably figured you deserved to enjoy the night a little. Might as well try it on, just in case.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t look smug or teasing. Just… earnest. Calm. Like he meant it. Which made it all the harder to protest.

“Fine.” You sighed, scrubbing a hand down your face. “Just to check it fits.”

The tailor clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. It’s a beautiful gown, I promise.”

You gave Bucky one last side-eye before following her toward the changing rooms, the fabric bag already in her hands.

From behind, you could hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Just wait 'til you see her,” the tailor murmured to herself, and you weren’t sure whether to be flattered or deeply, deeply nervous.

The gown was heavier than you expected. Luxurious fabric slipped off the hanger like water, pooling in your arms as she handed it over with the kind of reverence usually reserved for wedding dresses.

“I’ll give you a minute,” she smiled, disappearing to finish boxing up the suits.

Left alone in the changing room, you peeled out of your clothes, letting the gown slide on over your hips, your waist, up past your ribs. It clung like it had been sewn directly onto your body, the bodice snug, the neckline just daring enough to make you blush. 

You twisted to try to reach the zipper at the back, fingers fumbling and straining, but the angle was impossible. You spent the better part of five minutes twisting in the mirror like a lunatic, trying to reach the zipper that refused to budge. Your arms ached. The corset bodice was half-fastened. You were flushed, annoyed, and far too aware of the sliver of bare spine still exposed.

You were about to peek your head out and ask the tailor for help when a low voice cut in behind the curtain.

“Need a hand?”

You flinched, fabric clutched to your chest. “Jesus, Bucky! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was rougher than usual, like he’d just cleared his throat. “Heard you cursing. Tailor said she’d be a minute out back.”

You hesitated, and your voice came out thin. “Yeah. I—I can’t get it up.”

“Okay,” he replied, oddly determined. “Turn around.”

You cracked the curtain open a pinch. He ducked inside, too broad for the narrow space, his frame practically filling it. He was careful not to look at you directly, at least at first.

You turned slowly, presenting your back. “Just the zipper,” you murmured, barely trusting your own voice.

“Sure,”

A single fingertip, cold metal, dragged up from the base of your spine to the dip between your shoulder blades. It barely touched the skin, but you shuddered from the sensation. Bucky wasn’t even fastening yet, just tracing the line the zipper would follow. The sound you made was too soft to catch. 

The zipper came up slowly. Agonisingly. His knuckles brushed your skin every inch of the way, not by accident. No, this was too slow, too precise, to be innocent.

He was savouring it.

His other hand steadied you, palm ghosting just over your hip. His breath fanned warm against your shoulder.

“You’re trembling,” he commented.

You swallowed hard, unable to muster a response. 

When he reached the top, his hand didn’t fall away. Instead, he swept your hair off your shoulder completely, fingertips grazing the line of your throat as he let it fall over one side.

He leaned in. Not touching, but close. Mouth just behind your ear. The heat of his breath against your neck. 

“Should’ve let me help sooner,” he whispered, voice like a purr. “Would’ve had you dressed in seconds.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your lips parted slightly, breath caught somewhere halfway as your lungs deflated in shock. And maybe it was the gown. Or the silence. Or the way your thighs pressed together of their own accord, but you didn’t move. You didn’t step away.

You leaned in.

Only a fraction. Just enough.

He noticed.

You could feel it in the slight shift of his stance. The faint sound of him exhaling a chuckle through his nose. The way his hand brushed ever-so-slightly along the small of your back before falling away.

And then he was gone.

He stepped back like nothing had happened. Like the tension wasn’t choking the air between you. You turned toward the mirror in a daze.

The dress shimmered in the soft light. Deep, elegant, form-fitting. The neckline exposed the curve of your breasts, the slit at your thigh scandalous enough to make you self-conscious.

You caught his reflection in the mirror. He was watching you, but not with the restrained professionalism you were used to. It was only the sudden reentrance of the tailor that made him hesitate in whatever words were forming on his tongue. He stepped aside, finally giving you space to exit. And you did—legs shaky, palms sweating—like a deer walking straight back into the forest fire, pretending it wasn’t about to burn.

—

Your plan to avoid Bucky after the tailor incident had gone off without a hitch, maybe a little too well. You'd buried yourself in helping Tony pull together the final touches for his ‘soirée’ (which, if you were honest, was less soirée and more ‘black tie circus in a penthouse’).

You'd been so laser-focused on your tasks that you'd almost managed not to think about Bucky in that goddamn changing room. His fingers ghosting up your bare spine like a spark setting fire to dry kindling. You’d folded instantly. Your body betrayed you instantly while your brain screamed to keep it together. Pathetic.

The moral implications of whatever that moment had been were filed away for another day. Were you the other woman? Was Natasha going to slit your throat in your sleep? What was Bucky doing, touching you like that—in a public changing room, no less—when he had a bombshell redhead waiting for him back at the Tower?

No time for that now. Not when Tony’s precious ‘soirée’ was already in full swing upstairs and the caterers had somehow forgotten an entire section of the food. You’d scrambled together an emergency order from some overpriced restaurant Tony swore he was ‘basically family’ with, and by some miracle, they came through in the nick of time.

Now you were in damage control mode, hauling three boxes of overpriced canapés up to the penthouse. Your heels bit into your feet with every step, your dress clung too tightly to bend properly without your tits spilling out, and your patience was hanging on by a single goddamn thread.

You pressed the elevator button with your elbow and exhaled as the doors slid open.

Drop off the food. Grab a free drink. Drown your Bucky-related sorrows. Maybe, just maybe, keep the beast between your legs from waking at the mere sight of him.

The doors began to close. You shifted your weight, careful with the boxes balanced in your arms—

Then someone slipped through at the last second.

Him.

Bucky fucking Barnes.

Tall and devastating as usual in his dark navy suit, his tie loosened just enough to suggest mischief, or maybe carelessness. You weren’t sure which one made you feel worse.

Your breath hitched. Instinctively, your gaze dropped to the floor, feigning sudden, all-consuming interest in the stability of your precarious tower of hors d'oeuvres. But teetering stacks of overpriced finger food or not, Bucky didn’t seem inclined to play along with your avoidance act. Not now. Not when the elevator doors had sealed you in together, finally, and you were without escape.

You winced at the sound of his sharp inhale, the question already pressing past his lips before the elevator even jolted into motion.

“Did I do something to piss you off?”

You didn’t look up. Eyes fixed firmly on the floor, you muttered, “What?”

“I just…” His voice was rough. Tired. “It feels like you’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit.

He stepped forward slightly. Not enough to be invasive. Just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You hardly talk to me anymore,” he continued. “Won’t even look at me unless it’s about work. And even then, it’s like you’re somewhere else. Did I do something to offend you? Hurt you? Just tell me what I did so I can fix it.”

The elevator hummed to life beneath your feet, gliding upward smoothly. You shifted your weight, bracing against the cool metal rail, eyes stubbornly fixed on the buttons, anywhere but his maddeningly perfect face.

“You haven’t done anything,” you said quietly, the words tasting sour the second they left your mouth.

“Then why are you doing it now?” he asked, eyes searching yours. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

“Bucky…”

“Please. Just tell me.”

You hesitated. His hand twitched like he meant to reach for your arm, then faltered, falling back to his side. Your grip tightened on the containers, your fingers slick with sweat. “It’s not you,” you murmured. “It’s me… I just…”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

“Please,” he said again, quieter now. “Tell me the truth.”

And that was what did it. The tremor in his voice. The way his brow creased like he couldn’t stand not knowing. Something broke open inside your chest, raw and unhealed. The dam cracked, split, then gave way completely, and the truth came spilling out before you had the chance to swallow it back down. You were exhausted. Wound tight. Running on fumes and nerves and far too many feelings. You’d tell him, you decided. Then drop off the canapés, quit on the spot, and flee the country if necessary. Stark would write you a killer reference. You’d survive.

“Okay,” you said, breath hitching as a nervous laugh bubbled out, half-bitter, half-resigned. “You want the truth? Fine. You’re going to think I’ve completely lost it.”

He stayed quiet, letting you spiral.

“This is so stupid,” you muttered. “I like you, Bucky. There. I said it. I like you. And it was fine—manageable—until it wasn’t. Until I started imagining things. Thinking maybe… maybe you liked me too.”

His eyebrows lifted, surprised but unreadable.

“I’ve had this massive, embarrassing crush on you since the moment I met you. And I know it’s weird, and probably unprofessional because you’re kinda my boss, but not. Technically, Tony’s my boss, but I basically manage everything around here, and—ugh, I’m rambling.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “I like you. And I’ve been avoiding you because it was getting out of hand. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And it felt wrong. Especially since you’re dating Natasha, which just made everything worse—”

“What?” he interrupted, voice sharp. “I’m not dating Natasha.”

Your eyes snapped open. “That’s what you took from all of that?”

“No, I—wait. You think I’m dating Natasha?”

“Yes!” you burst out, cheeks flaming. “I saw you! At the Sunday market about a month ago with the flowers—”

His brow furrowed. “What flowers?”

“The bouquet you gave her.”

“I didn’t give Natasha flowers.”

You let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. “I saw you. It was that dumb little market Tony makes me go to for those overpriced vegan pastries Pepper loves—”

Bucky stared at you, confused. And then, slowly, understanding clicked into place. His face contorted like he’d just remembered he’d left his stove on.

“Oh my god,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “The flowers. Those weren’t for Natasha. They were for Wanda.”

Your heart stuttered. “What?”

“Vision,” Bucky groaned. “It was their anniversary. He was stuck on the phone trying to get a fancy reservation and begged me to pick them up. Natasha tagged along because she was hunting for jewellery for Maria’s birthday. That’s all it was.”

You blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Bucky replied earnestly. “I didn’t know you thought that. I swear, I’m not with Natasha. I never was.”

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god.”

“Hey—”

“No. No-no-no.” You squeezed your eyes shut, wanting to sink straight through the floor. “This is mortifying. I literally thought you were in a secret relationship. I’ve been avoiding you like the plague. I’ve been thinking about moving cities. I googled how hard it is to change your name legally.”

He snorted. “You’re not serious.”

You opened your eyes, and the horror must have been plain on your face because Bucky’s expression melted into something far too amused. “Oh, you are.”

“I might never recover from this,” you mumbled. 

“Hey, c’mon. It’s not that bad.”

“I confessed my undying crush and accused you of being in love with someone else in the span of like, sixty seconds.”

His mouth twitched, lips threatening a smile. “You’re kind of adorable when you’re spiralling.”

“I’m going to chuck these hors d'oeuvres at your head.”

As if mocking your attempt at dignity, the elevator gave a slight mechanical whirr, nearly at the top floor. The distant hum of the party pulsed just beyond those sleek doors.

You straightened suddenly, panic creeping into your chest. “Okay, I’m going to deliver these and then I’m leaving. Possibly forever. Please never speak to me again.”

But Bucky, ever faster than you, stepped in.

And before you could react, he pressed the emergency stop button.

The elevator jolted to a halt. The tower of overpriced hors d'oeuvres wobbled dangerously in your arms. “Oh my god,” you gasped, teetering.

Bucky was already moving, steady hands catching the top box before it could topple, plucking the rest from your shaking grasp. He crouched to stack them on the floor carefully, then rose slowly, smirking as you stood frozen, mouth agape in pure horrified disbelief.

“Bucky, what the hell are you doing?”

“No more running,” he said simply, as if that explained everything.

You could barely breathe. “You stopped the elevator?”

“Didn’t want to risk the doors opening and you disappearing into the night,” he said, a little too pleased with himself.

“I hate you,” you whispered, eyes wide.

He leaned in, just close enough for you to feel his breath. “No, you don’t.”

You were going to die right here in a metal box. With your dignity in ruins and the man of your dumb, desperate daydreams giving you that look.

And somehow, somehow, you didn’t even want to stop him.

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t shut down. Please.”

You glanced up at him, finally meeting his eyes and immediately wished you hadn’t. They were dark. Hungry. That gaze alone could melt you to the floor.

He stepped closer again. And again. Until his frame caged in you, his arms braced on either side of your head, the heat of his body swallowing you whole.

“I like you too,” he said, low, rough, like it was pulled from deep inside. “Christ, I was so blind. I didn’t see it. It didn’t click until that day at the tailor, until I saw you in this damn dress.”

Your breath hitched.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured. “I’ve been looking for excuses just to be near you. I keep the notes you leave me with the stupid little drawings. I like looking at them. Thinking about you.”

Your heart felt like it might crack your ribs.

“I smelled every shampoo at the store one day,” he confessed, almost sheepish, almost proud. “Hoped I’d find the one you use. Because you smell so fucking good. It’s been driving me crazy.”

“Bucky…”

“I don’t know. You make me feel special. Seen. Like I’m not some monster, like I’m normal. And then one day you were just… gone. I didn’t realise all the little things you did for me that I never noticed.” He groaned, somehow pressing closer. “I missed the sound of your voice… and it made it hurt even more… I lie awake at night, every night, thinking about you and how much I want to kiss you—”

“Bucky.” You interrupted, and he looked back at you with a barely contained hunger. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

And then his mouth was on yours.

Hot. Messy. Desperate.

You gasped into it, and he swallowed it whole, groaning as he pressed harder, deeper, hands sliding down to your thighs as he grabbed one and hitched it up around his waist. You clung to his shoulders, lips parted as he slotted himself between your legs, guiding you up until your ass was perched on the elevator’s handrail bar.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your mouth. “Tell me that you want this, tell me that you want me.”

Your head fell back against the wall, lips swollen, breath shaking. His mouth travelled to your jaw, your throat, hands digging into your hips.

It was dizzying. Chaotic. Perfect. 

“I want you, Bucky.” You panted.

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered again, but this time it was different, lower. Hungrier.

His hand slid along your thigh, fingertips brushing beneath the hem of your dress. You panted as he kissed across your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin. His hands settled on your knees, then slowly, deliberately, he spread them apart.

“Bucky—” your voice was barely more than a whisper, a tremble of anticipation and disbelief.

But he didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees.

Right there. In the goddamn elevator.

You almost came on the spot at the sight, lips swollen and slick with saliva, pupils blown, the slight smudge of your lipstick on his chin. His hands slid up the back of your calves, kneading into the flesh like he was savouring the shape of you. Your dress inched upwards, his mouth suddenly pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee.

Your breath hitched. Your hands shot to the railing behind you, clutching tight.

“You have no idea,” he said, voice wrecked with want, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, dark with something dangerous. Devotion, desire, something molten and drowning. Then his mouth moved higher.

Another kiss. Inner thigh this time. Then another, and another, slow, lingering, like he was memorising you. He disappeared until the fabric of your skirt, only the back of his head, dark locks messy peaking out from between the slit. 

You moaned, soft and involuntary, your hips twitching at the heat of his breath through the thin fabric of your panties. He nuzzled in close, his nose brushing against you, and his hands pressed firmly to your thighs to keep you spread.

“I’ve thought about how you’d taste,” he muttered, lips grazing the soaked lace. “How you’d sound.”

You whimpered.

And then, he peeled your panties to the side.

The groan that tore from him was obscene.

“Jesus,” he hissed, voice muffled. “You’re fucking perfect.”

And then, his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Relentless. You cried out, one hand flying to his hair, tangling in it as his tongue licked into you with precision, with hunger, with something close to worship. He devoured you like he was starving. Slow circles, then quick flicks, his mouth dragging across your clit with maddening rhythm. You writhed against the rail, your leg still wrapped around his shoulder, the other trembling against the elevator wall.

“Oh my god—Bucky—fuck—”

Your words slurred together, breath coming in ragged gasps as he groaned into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. One of his arms snaked around your thigh, pinning you in place, as if he thought you might try to escape. As if he’d let you.

His tongue slid down, dipping into you, then back up, his mouth latching onto your clit with a filthy, wet sound that made your spine arch. You were unravelling, fast, dizzy, overwhelmed.

He pulled back just enough to pant. “I could stay here all night.”

His mouth was merciless. His grip was unrelenting on your thighs, mouth working you over like a man possessed—

Bzzzzt.

A shrill, sudden buzz sounded from the elevator’s emergency panel, followed by a crackling voice.

“Hello? This is Tower Maintenance. We’re registering an emergency stop on lift three. Is there an issue?”

You froze. Every muscle in your body went rigid, as if someone had cracked open your spine and poured ice water down it. Dread spread like frost through your veins. Your heart thudded painfully in your throat, threatening to climb up and out entirely.

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

This was it. This was how you died—legs spread, Bucky between them, and Tower Maintenance on the fucking line.

Bucky, in sharp contrast, did not freeze.

He groaned softly with wicked glee, his mouth still very much between your legs. The sound vibrated against the most sinful part of you, and then he doubled down. Mouth and hands working with infuriating, diabolical precision, like he’d just taken the intercom as a challenge.

You clamped a hand over your mouth, the other shaking as you reached blindly for the emergency call button, trying not to sound like you were seconds away from being ruined.

Your voice came out like a panicked squeak. “Hi! Uh—h-hi, yes, sorry! Must’ve been a—a small electrical fault. I’m fine! Everything’s… fine!”

Bucky nipped at your thigh in response.

There was a pause. You could feel the suspicion through the line.

“Ma’am, we’re not showing any electrical inconsistencies in that shaft. Did you press the stop button?”

You shot a wide-eyed glare down at the man currently devouring you.

Another wave of pleasure threatened to knock the air from your lungs. You were barely holding it together, every nerve ending aflame, skin flushed, thighs shaking. The cool metal of the elevator wall against your spine did little to ground you.

You cleared your throat, struggling to piece together something—anything—resembling human speech. “Oh. Oh, that—um, I must’ve bumped it. With my elbow. While holding a tray. It’s, uh—crowded. In here.”

Bucky chose that exact moment to suck hard, and you slapped your hand over your mouth to muffle the helpless sound that nearly escaped.

A longer pause. You could practically hear them frowning.

“…Right. Well, we’re releasing the stop now. Please remain calm.”

The line disconnected.

The elevator jolted slightly as it roared back to life.

Bucky gave a dark chuckle. “Crowded, huh?” Then—with zero mercy—he sped up.

“Bucky,” you gasped, head falling back against the wall, “I’m—I’m gonna—”

You shattered.

It hit hard, hot and blinding. You cried out, thighs clamping tight around his head as he groaned against you, mouth not stopping for a second, drawing it out, milking every twitch, every whimper. You barely had time to breathe, let alone moan, your hands flying to steady yourself just as the elevator dinged cheerily and the doors slid open.

Right into the penthouse. Packed full of people, who by some miracle, were utterly oblivious to your predicament. 

You staggered slightly as Bucky stood smoothly, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, one arm slipping around your waist to steady you while the other casually reached down and grabbed the stack of forgotten canapés off the floor like he hadn’t just—

“Evening,” he greeted a passing staff member, utterly unbothered.

You were glowing crimson, pupils blown, lips parted, trying hard to fix your face. Bucky guided you forward, his hand warm on your back, keeping you between him and the crowd as your legs trembled. You barely managed to set the tray on the nearest table before someone whistled.

“Well, damn,” came Sam’s voice from the drinks bar. He gave you both a once-over, a wicked grin spreading. “Buck, next time you’re gonna eat face in the elevator, maybe wipe the lipstick off your chin first.”

Bucky only smirked and licked his bottom lip slow, on purpose, you were sure of it.

You nearly combusted on the spot.

“Bathroom?” he murmured into your ear, low and gravelly.

You nodded quickly and wordlessly.

He guided you with all the smugness of a man who had no regrets, his hand just a little too low on your back to be innocent.

---

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[sunset-curve-fantom]

Jethro Gibbs An undercover job turns to romance

Wrd count: 4,313

Warning: adult content, knife cutting (no self harm)

Jethro Gibbs (I know nothing about the military protocols so just believe it lol)

(Y/n) P.O.V

My morning was going just like all the others. I'd wake up, eat breakfast, fill my travel mug with coffee, and go to work. However halfway through my eggs, bacon, and toast when my cell phone rings. I sigh as I place my book down, and answer.

"(L/n)." I answer.

"(Y/n) we need you to come in. We have a… well the best type hinky." I hear Abby's cheery voice.

"Okay I'll be right there." I hung up with her.

I quickly get dressed into my scrubs, pull my hair into a high ponytail. Once on the road I make a quick stop for gas, and a couple drinks for my fellow colleagues. As I walk into the NCIS building I greet security and others as I get into the elevator. I hear heavy metal music as the doors open, and it brings a smile to my face.

"Good morning, Abby." I smile at her as I place her big gulp next to her quick fingers.

"Y/n you doll." Abby gives me a big smile before she takes a sip.

"What's the big hinky?" I laugh at her excited smile.

"Well this morning Gibbs and his gang had a call to this military housing neighborhood, and found a newlywed couple completely torn apart." She informs me.

"And?" I push because I know there's more by here turning to the computer screen.

"I've already found a handful of murders that were just swept under the rug, because they didn't have any sort of evidence." She walks over to a table. "Until I figured out the weapon is both a hunter's knife, and a scalpel." She then smiles in triumph.

"It's like you're a psychic, and you just give us pieces to throw us off." I laugh with her, but it's short lived by Special Agent Gibbs walking in with a box full of evidence.

"Abby, this is for you. (Y/n) I need you upstairs." He walks back toward the door. "Thanks for getting her here, Abbs." He says just as he walks out.

I give Abby a quick look before quickly walking to the elevator. Gibbs and I stay in silence the whole way until we get to the group looking at multiple people's pictures on a screen.

"(Y/n) great." McGee says. "We need you to go on an undercover operation. I just need you to pick a male that will pass for a Marine." He runs off like I knew what he was talking about.

"Gibbs?" I look at him with a pointed look, hoping he'd fill in the spots.

"We know the killer is going after newlyweds, so you are the bride." He smirks once he's finished. "I already have an idea of who it is, but of course we need to prove I'm right. I picked you for this." He ends his speech there.

"Okay." I turn to McGee. "What do I need to do?"

The rest of the day I'm given a crash course on how the undercover business works, and once I was done with my three hours course I found out that Gibbs is going to be my husband. I returned to the gang's area, and saw Gibbs watching the others talk.

"So my dear husband, how will our wedding work, hmm? Quick courthouse, or are you just gonna throw me over your shoulder like a caveman." I joke as I sit on the corner of his desk.

"Well I was thinking the club over the head would be easier." He smirks at me when I gasp. "You asked."

"So seriously, does this start immediately today?" I ask, grabbing the file about the suspect.

"You are a free woman until tomorrow night, and then we will sign the marriage certificate. I will get my uniforms, the address we will set up, and we will begin then." He puts away his belongings, and as he stands he pulls on his coat. "Chinese or pizza?" He asks.

"Chinese." I respond as I follow behind him.

This has been a new norm for me and Gibbs for a couple months now. I was pretty bad when I had to end my engagement, because my fiance was sleeping with our neighbor. An entire five year relationship down the drain. I didn't leave the lab for two weeks before Gibbs and Abby came knocking on my door. Apparently Abby had some concerns for my sanity so she went to Gibbs, and he came straight to the lab. Ever since then he has taken me to dinner every other day, or brings me dinner in the lab.

Tonight, we sit inside a little Chinese restaurant eating in a comfortable silence. With Gibbs I've learned, to much relief, I don't have to speak unless I absolutely want to.

"How's the boat coming along?" I ask as we throw away our trash.

"Pain in the ass." He chuckles.

-next morning-

I walked into the office a little bit early with coffees, and sat at Gibb's desk until I saw DiNozzo walk in with Kate in a heated discussion.

"Oh please DiNozzo all because you think it's him doesn't mean it is." Kate rolls her eyes at him, but lights up when she sees me holding a coffee cup in the air for her.

"(Y/n) you've read the files right?" I give DiNozzo nod in response. "Okay so don't you think it's Corporal Simon. He just fits every creepy fib." He acts like he's shaking.

"All because he's creepy doesn't mean anything, DiNozzo." Gibbs says before I could open my mouth. "And you. Why are you at my desk?" He says in my direction.

I simply hold up the coffee cup.

"Aw lovely wife boss." DiNozzo gets smacked in the back of the head for that.

For the next couple of hours I'm with Abby in the lab testing blood samples, fingerprints, and retesting the little bit of evidence for the past murders. By two in the afternoon Gibbs came to the lab to collect me, and my bags to go to our new home. Once there we five the whole moving in show I'm giving direction to Gibbs and DiNozzo as they carry furniture. Inside I'm dying of laughter, because every time Gibbs gives me a side eye I know he wants to tell me something smart. We had pizza delivered and sent DiNozzo back to the office.

"How do you want the sleeping arrangements to go?" I ask as I clean up the trash.

"Well I usually fall asleep in my boat." He speaks in a voice full of normalcy.

"Gibbs! That's not good." I fuss. "You told me "you can't do things that harm your body, or we won't solve shit" and look at you breaking your body down." I continued to fuss, and didn't realize Gibbs had gotten up from the table.

"Yea. I know." His voice comes right behind me as his hand drops the fork into the sink. "Then tell me where to sleep." He looks into my eyes.

"I put bedding in both rooms, so just pick one." I nervously turn back toward the sink.

"I'll take the room closer to the living room just in case." He grabs our bags by the doors, and goes toward the rooms.

Over the next couple days Gibbs, Kate, DiNozzo, and McGee have ran around the entire Marine Base to find who's actually the murder, but since I'm the stay at home wife I'm doing home things. I've taken broken down boxes to the trash, messed in the garden in the front yard, and went grocery shopping at the grocery store on base to meet other stay at home wives. As I'm taking the groceries into the house I hear a female yell hello through the front door. I secure my gun in the waist of my pants before walking to the door. A brunette woman is standing with a big smile, and a wrap covered plate.

"I didn't mean to intrude. I just wanted to say hello, and welcome you to the neighborhood." She smiles at me. "My name is Christine."

"Well that's so kind. I'd invite you inside, but the place is a complete mess." I give a smile as I take the plate.

"Oh I understand. I just wanted to drop off some sweets, and let you know if you need anything I can help. I work in the main office, so I can pull some strings." She gives me a wink.

"Well that's comforting to know." I laugh. "Thank you again, but I have to get dinner started before my husband Jethro comes home." I give a small wave as I shut the door watching her walk down the driveway.

I place the plate on the counter as I call Gibbs.

"Yes Mrs. Gibbs?" He answers.

"I was wondering when you will be back. I just met the most wonderful person." I vaguely respond.

"Be back in an hour. Everything okay?" He asks quietly.

"Yes, perfectly fine." I reassure him, and he hangs up.

Just like clockwork, an hour later Gibbs, and Kate walk through the door. I'm pulling the chicken out of the oven as Kate walks into the kitchen.

"Smells great (y/n)." She comments.

"Thank you. I love cooking." I hand her a plate, which she takes with a great smile.

"So who was this neighbor you met today?" Gibbs gets to the point as I walk to the table where they have everything set up.

"A woman named Christine. She didn't exactly say she was a neighbor, just that she worked in the main office and could pull some strings in case I needed anything, and handed me the plate of cookies there on the counter." I say pointing to the still wrapped plate. "Told her I had to get dinner ready for my new husband Jethro." As I fill him in on what else happened in my day I'm fixing both of our plates, because I realized he hasn't even looked in the kitchen direction.

"She does have access to high documents, and can cut through a lot of red tape." Gibbs informs me, and gives me a thank you nod when he takes the plate.

"Wait, can I see the witness report again?" I ask, and Kate hands it to me.

I read through the report, and found where a witness saw a brunette white woman, with long legs, short torso, and pointed face. I place the paper down as I point out the passage I read.

"This describes Christine." I inform them.

"I figured." Gibbs sighs. "We'll follow up on this in the morning. Thank you." He holds up the paper as he drinks the rest of his beer.

Once dinner is over Kate leaves. Gibbs goes to the garage, and I to the bath. I can't help but think how this is so simple for us. How we fit into the role perfectly, but I know it has to end. After I clean the rest of the kitchen I come out to find Gibbs glaring at the evidence board from the garage door. I take his empty bottle, replacing it with a new one.

"You already know who's doing this, don't you?" I lean against the table.

He leans next to me with his arms crossed.

"My gut tells me it's Christine. The evidence we have points to her office." He shakes his head.

I give him a hum in response as I stand on my feet. I can feel his eyes watching me while I walk toward my room. I do turn back at him with a soft smile before going to the door. I throw on my tank top and shorts for bed, and end up just laying there in frustration. I haven't had any sort of touch since my ex, but I can't do anything like that here with Gibbs' falcon hearing. I lay there for three hours until I've had enough, and I throw the blankets off me. I grumble under my breath as I open my bedroom door, but I quietly walk down the hall to the kitchen. I pull pb&j stuff out only for the garage door to open. I grab the large knife from the knife stand, and throw it at the door, only for it to get stuck in the doorframe.

"Whoa! It's me." Gibbs holds his hands up as he comes into the light better.

"Oh my God Jethro I'm so sorry." I run toward him, but he grabs my hand before I could grab his.

"Good throw." He keeps my hands into his one while he pulls the knife out of the wall.

"Good throw?! Gibbs, that's all you can say?" I keep freaking out.

"I thought it was Jethro." He looks into my eyes with a smirk.

He lets go of my hands to go put the knife back. He then starts making a sandwich.

"I…well..it just came out." I stumble over my words, and my face heats up.

"I think you should get used to calling me Jethro." He keeps his back to me while he speaks.

I'm too nervous to say anything, but he soon turns with two sandwiches in his hands. He holds out one to me with a paper towel wrapped around it as he takes a bite of his.

"Thank you Jethro." I smile as I take the sandwich.

We end up sitting on the counter, and Jethro telling me stories. We laugh, I joke about his military days, and he jokes about my technical "support" skills. The sun is starting to rise as my eyes become heavy.

"You should go get some sleep." He softly says.

"You're right, but so should you." I look over at him as he gets down.

"I will." He softly holds my arm as I get off the counter.

We separate into our rooms, and he is gone by the time I wake up. I stay inside for the day, and just watch movies. My phone rings as I'm stepping into the bath, and it's Jethro. I sit on the side of the tubs as I answer.

"Yes Jethro?"

"I have pizza for dinner." He simply tells me.

"That's nice." I sarcastically respond, trying not to laugh.

"I'll get you garlic bread. What is that noise?" He has the most annoying hearing.

"That is the bathtub water running." I run my foot in the hot water.

"I'll be there in an hour." He then hangs up causing me to laugh.

I'm too relaxed to hear the front door opening, but when I hear doors opening I call out for Jethro. When I don't get a response I slowly get out of the bath, wrapping my house robe on. I'm about to reach for the gun I have in my nightstand when the door is burst open. I give a scream of surprise, but I'm quickly shut up by a gun being pointed at me. Christine comes creeping into the room with a hard look in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" I keep up the act, hopefully I can stall until Jethro gets here.

"Living room, now." She demands.

I timidly walk to the living room with my hands raised, and slowly sit on the couch. I watch her look around the living room, and kitchen before she comes in front of me. She points her gun at my head as she sits on the table directly in front of me.

"So tell me how long have you and hubby been together?" She asks, sounding sweet.

"Y..year." I look confused.

"Ahhh newly newlyweds." She stood to go over to the bag she had put on the loveseat. "I was with my husband for six years before we decided to get married." She turns with rope and a knife in her hands. "We then were married for two before he was deployed. He was a Marine that was sent overseas, obviously that's all he could tell me. I was kept in the dark the whole time while my husband was tortured by terrorists." She takes her seat back on the table. "Tell me what do you think Jethro would do if you were taken."

"I…I don't know. I'd hope he'd help me." I shake from her moving the knife closer.

"Sad isn't it? Shouldn't the answer be something on the lines of "he'd burn the whole world apart" or "he'd never stop looking"?" She cuts the arms of my robe open to the elbow. "You want to know what the US military does to help their Marines?" I scream from her cutting a short cut going down my arm. "Quiet!" She shoves pieces of robe into my mouth. "Four men died because the US tried to play into the terrorists computer, instead of simply allowing the terrorists into the Union, and they would let the Marines go." She cuts another line. "They could've said they would allow it, get the Marines, and then grab the terrorists!" Her voice gets louder as she goes.

I see movement from the corner of my eye, but I keep watching Christine move the knife around. She goes to cut my arm again when the front door, garage door, and backdoor open.

"Freeze NCIS!" I hear from my three favorite people.

Jethro comes in through the backdoor, DiNozzo through the garage door, and Kate comes in the front with their guns raised. Christine looks at me in surprise as she drops the knife and gun. Jethro softly grabs my face to make me lock eyes with him.

"I'm here. Come on." He helps me stand, walk to my room while the others handcuff Christine.

I'm quiet as Jethro cleans up my wounds with the first aid kit I keep in my bag. I'm so out of it my robe opens slightly, and I didn't realize until Jethro closed it more. He gives a deep sigh as he cleans up the trash.

"Thank you Jethro." I timidly tell him as he goes to walk out.

He turns back, and kisses me hard with a hand on my cheek, his other on my thigh. I grip his shirt in my hands as I kiss him back. We pull apart after a moment, and rest our heads against each other.

That night my nerves were level, and everythings calmed down. I start packing up, and put the bags in the garage for the guys to load up. Tomorrow the movers will come for the rest.

"Ready." Jethro walks up to me, grabbing my bag.

"Yes. I checked everywhere to make sure nothing was left." I tell him as we walk to his car.

"Tomorrow morning we need to meet at the director's office." He informs me, once we are on the road.

He helps me carry my bags into my apartment, and shuts the door. I softly smile at him as he walks toward me. I rest my hands on his shoulders as his hand rests on my waist. He kisses me deeply as he pulls me to his chest. I melt against him, having my fingers run along his shaved hair. I gasp when we pull back, but his warm hands moving up my back makes me softly moan.

"Room." He orders.

"Yes sir." I give him a sly smile as I walk him toward my room.

I hear him chuckle as he follows me, but once to the door he pulls me in from my waist. I throw my shirt off so I can feel his hands again. While he works on the buttons of my pants he gives me soft kisses to my neck. I lean my head against his shoulder just melting against him. The feeling of being protected feels so much more different, but amazing. He flattens his hands to slide my pants down, and he lets me walk out of them. I turn to him, locking eyes with him as I lay on my bed.

"You sure about this?" He asks me while untucking his shirt.

"I'm more than sure." I give him a straight answer.

Once he gets down to his boxers he crawls over me with a dark look in his eyes. I put my hands on his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss. His skillful hands unhook my bra, making me throw it behind him. I move my hand along his shoulders while he kisses along my neck to my chest.

"Jethro." I moan softly when his lips wrap around my nipple.

He wraps his arm around my lower back pulling me closer, biting lightly on my nipple. His other hand moves my underwear down, but once he got to my thigh, he had pulled back to snatch them off my ankles. My legs open back up for him to lay comfortably in between them. He looks me in the eyes as he slides his boxers off. My knees rest on his hips, relaxing into the bed, feeling him rub against my entrance. Him slowly entering me makes a shiver take over my body, but Jethro deeply groans. His hand grips my thigh in a tight grip, causing it to rise higher.

"(Y/n)." He rests his head on my shoulder.

"Please move Jethro." I whine.

He starts to move back some only to piston back inside. My body arches up to his chest, and my throat closes on the scream that wants to leave. All I could do was grip his bicep, lock my ankles together, and enjoy the feeling of him stretching me. The feeling of his hands, his deep harsh movements, and the tightening feeling in my stomach. I start to lose my mind.

"Let go for me." He groans in my ear before he kisses my neck.

He kisses me as he goes harder making it very difficult to let my moans out, but I just hold onto his back as he just lets go. With a deep groan and final thrust Jethro and I finish together with a loud moan from me. He lays next to me with an arm under my head as we catch our breath.

"Wow." I breathed out.

He chuckles, turning over, and grips my lips with his forefinger and thumb. I giggle as we kiss a lot more softly now. We lay together for a while before finally getting in the shower. I did think Jethro was going to leave, however when I went back to lay down he joined me. I slept amazing with his warmth next to me whenever I would turn.

When I wake up I see a hand placing a coffee mug on my nightstand, and a hand rubbing along my side.

"You got to wake up. We still have to work." He talks quietly in my ear.

"Thank you." I smile as I reach for the mug.

"You are quite welcome." He chuckles as he grabs his clothes.

"Jethro!" I giggle at his joke, placing my hand over my eye.

"I'll see you at the office. I have to change." He says as he throws his clothes on.

Once he leaves I finish my coffee, get dressed, and try to keep the smile off my face as I walk into the office.

"Well what made you so smiley this morning?" Abby asks as I walk into the lab, and pull on my lab coat.

"I'm just glad to have my bed back." Is all I tell her.

"Is that so?" I hear behind me.

I turned to a smirking Jethro holding a cardboard cup holder with two coffees, and in his hand was a big gulp for Abby.

"Jet…Gibbs." I exclaim almost messing up.

"Morning Abs." He hands her the drink, and walks back to me.

"(Y/n)." He hands me a coffee. "Director needs us." He leans me with a hand on my lower back to the elevator.

"I'm sorry I didn't know if you were okay with me saying anything, or if…" I'm stopped by him stepping closer to me.

He kisses me softly like he's been doing so for his whole life. I'm just about to relax into him when the elevator opens, and there stands Kate and McGee. They are shocked when they finally realize what they just saw. I step out of the elevator, quickly getting to the director's office. I stop at his door, and wait for Jethro. Jethro walks up the hall with purpose, and goes right into the office.

"Alright let's get you two divorced." Director Morrow places the papers in front of Jethro.

"What if we don't sign?" Jethro asks so nonchalantly.

Director Morrow looks lost as he turns his attention to me, then back to Jethro. I'm just frozen from shock.

"I'll let you two talk." Vance leaves quickly, and once he's gone Jethro turns to me.

"What are you doing Jethro?" I timidly ask.

"Well I was thinking how easy it was for us to be together this week." He starts. "We don't have to sign just yet. Let's give it some time, and then if you want we can sign these papers." He lifts them as he speaks.

"So you're making me number three?" I sass.

He shrugs as he throws the papers back on the director's desk. The rest of the day DiNozzo gave Jethro so much crap about how he didn't get to throw a bachelor party. I also got an ear full from Abby about how I should get a big dress. Kate was like an older sister asking me if being married is what I wanted. Her being Catholic marriage is a big thing, but after telling her how I felt, she understood.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Idea for request. Some woman flirt with Severus and y/n is jelaous. Severus handles the situation well and show Y/n that she is the one.

(If you write smut, he can show her at home in bed how he love her 😈, but it doesn’t have to be)

uffff!😭

I am telling you I was shaking and screaming and had about three mental breakdowns writing this but I have done it. (I am sorry)

After years I actually wrote real smut again.

I hope it is enjoyable.😅😂

This story contains sexual happenings

This is only for those of age so anyone under 18 I have loads of other stories you could read please fo not read this one.

Authors Note: contains a dumb bitch who is trying to steal our man, Possessive behavior, Marking, Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (female receiving) basically just some good hard fucking (again Im sorry). There is also aftercare because I don't do sex scenes without proper care afterwards.

My Only One

The dungeon quarters are always quiet in the early hours—before the castle wakes, before the halls fill with adolescent chaos. Down here, it’s just the low crackle of the fireplace and the gentle clink of mugs as you set two on the small table.

You’re in on of Severus's robes, hair pulled up haphazardly, sleeves rolled to your elbows. Steam curls from the teapot. The scent of bergamot mixes with something faintly smoky—Severus’s blend, always sharper than yours.

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind.

You don’t need to turn to know it’s him. The way his hands settle—firm, steady—says everything. Not a request. A claim. You lean back into him with a small, content sigh.

“You’re up early,” you murmur.

His voice is rough with sleep. “Didn’t want you leaving the bed without me.”

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

You smile.

His lips brush the side of your neck, not quite a kiss—just enough heat to make your breath catch. One of his hands slides over your stomach, fingers flexing possessively through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Severus,” you say, soft but amused, “I’m trying to make tea.”

“You’re always trying to do something,” he mutters. “Just stand still for a moment.”

You do. And he holds you, cheek resting against your temple, arms tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

This is what most people don’t see—the version of him that’s quiet and warm and a little selfish when it comes to you. Not the fearsome professor, not the sharp-tongued Potions Master. Just a man who likes to hold you before the day begins.

Eventually, he releases you with a final squeeze. You pour the tea. He sits, black robes already pulled on, collar askew from rushing. You cross the room and fix it without a word, fingers brushing the hollow of his throat.

He watches you the entire time.

“Professor Selwyn arrives today,” he says, breaking the silence. “Arithmancy.”

You hum. “I read her file. Transferred from the Prague Institute. Good reputation. A little…flashy.”

He arches a brow. “You’ve seen her?”

“No,” you say. “But anyone who writes a seventeen-page self-introduction for a faculty dossier is looking to be noticed.”

He snorts. “We’ll see.”

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Play nice.”

His hand wraps gently around your wrist as you pull away, and he looks up at you with something unreadable in his eyes. There’s a pause—weighted.

Then “You look particularly ravishable in my robe.”

You blink, surprised, heat blooming in your cheeks.

“Breakfast,” you say quickly, grabbing your wand to transfigure your clothes. “Now.”

He smirks, but doesn’t argue. That look follows you all the way to the Great Hall.

The staff table buzzed more than usual at breakfast.

Professor Flitwick was animated, chatting with Hooch about Quidditch prospects. Minerva wore her usual stern expression but with a flicker of amusement as the conversation floated around her. And at the far end of the table, freshly seated between Sprout and Vector, was her.

Professor Selwyn.

Blonde, sleek, poised—dressed in tailored navy robes that hugged her figure in all the places most people pretended not to notice. She smiled easily, laughed even easier, and introduced herself to every staff member like she’d already memorized their biographies.

You watched, not with malice—but with curiosity. She was pretty. Clearly intelligent. Magnetic in that effortless, practiced way.

It wasn’t until she turned her eyes toward the seat beside your partner that your stomach began to shift.

“Oh, Professor Snape,” she said, standing as he approached. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

He stopped short, only just concealing the pause.

“Have you,” he said flatly.

“Oh yes,” she purred. “Your papers on counter-poisons are still referenced at Durmstrang. I’m actually hoping you’ll let me audit a few of your sixth-year classes—strictly for professional development, of course.”

Severus slid into his chair beside you with a nod that was neither warm nor dismissive. “As long as you don’t interrupt my teaching, I don’t see why not.”

You sipped your tea slowly.

Selwyn sat too. But not before placing her hand briefly on his shoulder.

It lingered.

You didn’t react. Not yet. But you felt Severus go still beside you, just for a second. Then he reached for his tea as if nothing happened.

Throughout the meal, Selwyn continued: asking him questions about potion storage, classroom ventilation, ingredient sourcing from the Balkans.

She never looked at you once.

When breakfast ended, you moved to stand. So did Severus, silently beside you as always. Selwyn leaned forward.

“Oh—Professor Snape,” she said, voice dropping slightly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to give me a tour of the dungeons sometime this week? I hear you’ve made some… personal modifications.”

He glanced at her, then at you.

Your expression didn’t waver.

“I’ll consider it,” he said curtly.

Her smile widened.

You walked out of the Great Hall without speaking. He followed.

When you reached the end of the corridor, you finally said, “She’s bold.”

“She’s transparent,” he replied. “And annoying.”

“She knows we’re together.”

“Yes.”

“And she still touches you.”

He stopped walking. Turned.

“Would you like me to publicly hex her?” he asked, deadpan.

You tried to hide your smile. “Not yet.”

He stepped closer, voice low.

“Then stop looking at me like you think I’ve already betrayed you.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t,” he added. “And I won’t.”

With that, he turned and walked away, robes sweeping behind him.

You watched him go, stomach tight with something hot and unspoken. Something told you Selwyn wasn’t finished.

And neither were you.

--

You weren’t looking for her but she was always there.

In the staff lounge, draped over a chair near Severus, flipping through some textbook she clearly didn’t need, laughing too loudly at something he didn’t even say.

In the corridors, catching up with him conveniently right outside your classroom door, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

At staff meetings, leaning across the table, whispering something behind her hand, smiling like a secret.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You knew Severus. You trusted him. He wasn’t warm to strangers and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna fall for a flirtatious giggling woman who believed she was above everything.

But Selwyn didn’t care about subtlety—or boundaries.

You watched it happen again that afternoon.

The two of them walking ahead of you down the dungeon corridor, Selwyn’s laugh echoing off the stone. She reached out and touched his arm—again.

You caught up. She didn’t move her hand.

“Oh, Professor Y/L/N,” she said with false surprise. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously,” you said flatly.

Severus didn’t look at her just stared straight ahead, jaw tight.

She dropped her hand but didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“I was just telling Severus—can I call you Severus?—that I might need some help re-stabilizing my supply closet. I’ve had so many issues with shrinkage spells lately.”

“Hire a house-elf,” you said, not bothering to smile.

Selwyn laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “Oh, you’re funny.”

Then, sweet as sugar: “You’re so lucky, really. He’s… a mystery, isn’t he?”

You stared at her. “He’s not a mystery to me.”

“Mm.” She leaned in a little, voice just low enough. “Well, I know he takes a little...melting but I am sure if I tried more he wouldn't be able to resist me.”

Something snapped behind your ribs. Severus stopped walking. Turned around slowly.

Selwyn froze.

His voice was ice. “Professor Selwyn, I suggest you remember who you’re speaking in front of.”

She blinked. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything. it was just harmless fun.”

You didn’t wait to hear more. You brushed past them both and kept walking. You knew better than to show weakness in front of her but your hands were trembling by the time you reached your office.

That night, you said nothing. Not during dinner. Not during your grading beside Severus. Not even when he leaned over and kissed your shoulder before bed.

You turned off the light and stared at the ceiling, every nerve buzzing.

You trusted him. But she was chipping away at something you didn’t even realize was fragile.

And worse?

She knew it.

--

It was late.

The halls were dim, lit only by the occasional torch. Most of the castle had gone quiet, students tucked into dormitories, staff tucked into their routines.

You were heading to Severus’s office, planning to drop off the final version of the interdepartmental syllabus revisions—mundane, but necessary.

Then you saw her.

Professor Selwyn, stepping out of his office.

She wasn’t in work robes anymore. Just a soft, fitted blouse that had way to many buttons open and dark trousers. Hair down. A single glass in her hand—half-drained wine, dark red.

She didn’t look startled to see you. If anything, she looked... smug.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, pausing in the corridor. “I didn't expected to see you here. We were having an intense... discussion.”

She tilted the glass as if to toast you. “To my success”

You didn’t answer her. You didn’t need to. The door to Severus’s office was still ajar. You pushed it open and stepped inside.

He looked up from behind his desk, startled. The glass in front of him still full. His posture was rigid, arms crossed, dark eyes unreadable.

“She just left,” he said coolly.

“I saw.” you replied, closing the door behind you.

There was silence. Thick and sharp.

“She brought wine,” you said. “And dressed like that. To your office. At night.”

“I didn’t drink it.”

“She still came.”

“She comes everywhere,” he muttered, standing now. “I didn’t invite her.”

You stared at him, heart hammering.

“Do you enjoy it?” The question came out low. Raw. “The attention? The way she fawns over you? Touches you in front of me like I’m not even there?”

His face darkened. “You think I want her?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Severus,” you said. “She walks around like she’s already won. Like she knows something I don’t.”

He moved quickly—around the desk, toward you. Not angry. Focused.

“You think I’d throw away what I have with you,” he said, voice hard, “for her?”

“What am I supposed to think? You never say anything.”

He stopped in front of you. Close now. His voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“Then listen now very carefully.”

His hand came up—slow, controlled—and curled around the back of your neck. Not rough. Steady. Grounding.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I had to. Because I thought what we had was obvious. Unshakable.”

You swallowed.

His thumb brushed your jaw.

“But if she’s made you question it—question me—then I’ve failed to show you something I should have from the start.”

He leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“So let me show you now.”

His mouth crashed into yours, messy and hard, teeth knocking yours as he shoved you back against the stone wall like he couldn’t wait another second. One hand curled around your waist, the other buried in your hair, anchoring you there. Not hurting—but holding. Claiming.

“You really think I want her?” he rasped into your mouth, voice gravel-rough and low, his breath hot against your skin.

“You think I’d look at anyone else when I already have you?”

His mouth dropped to your neck, biting hard—no gentle warning, just teeth and tongue and a sharp inhale from your lungs. You gasped, fingers clutching the back of his cloak as his body pressed against yours, thick and hot and unyielding.

“I see the way you burn when she touches me,” he growled, dragging his mouth down your throat.

“I feel it. Do you really think I’d waste a single fucking second of my life on anyone who isn’t you?”

You whimpered—because you didn’t have a good answer. Because you’d let the insecurity get in. Because the way he was holding you, speaking to you, consuming you—there was no room for anyone else in this heat. It was him. Only him.

“Get over here,” he snapped

He yanked you up into his arms like you weighed nothing, sweeping everything off his desk with one arm and set you down on the edge. Papers scattered, a quill rolled to the floor, the still full wine glass shattered on the floor.

But you didn't care you were pulling at his robes with shaking hands. 

“I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you won’t remember your own name,” he growled, dragging your clothes off piece by piece. “The only thing in your head will be me.”

He kissed you again—filthy, tongue and teeth, nothing controlled. His fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding you wet and ready, and he groaned into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re already soaked for me”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Only you—always you.”

That made something inside him break. 

He dropped to his knees ripping your panties off you, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed. He didn’t tease—he devoured. Tongue licking up your cunt before sucking on your clit, hands gripping your thighs so tight you knew there’d be bruises. And you wanted them.

Your head fell back. Legs spread. Voice gone.

“Fuck—Severus—oh god—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice against your core sending shocks up your spine.

“Make those sounds. Let the whole castle know who’s got you like this.”

You were already trembling, fingers twisted in his hair, thighs trying to close around his head. He growled, shoved them open again.

“Don’t fucking hide from me.”

You sobbed his name, trembling, unraveling as he worked you with relentless focus—like he needed you to fall apart to breathe again.

You came the first time with his name on your lips, body jerking, vision blurred.

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue only left you long enough for his fingers to take over—two of them sliding deep, curling just right, and then three—stretching you, fucking into you slow and deep while his mouth came back down over your clit with maddening devotion.

The sounds—wet, obscene, perfect—filled the room, and you couldn’t even form words anymore. Just broken moans and sharp cries, your thighs shaking violently as he dragged another orgasm out of you like it was his purpose.

Another.

And another.

You were crying now—literally—tears slipping down your cheeks from the sheer, overwhelming intensity. The pleasure blurred into pain, back into pleasure. Your whole body burned.

And still, his fingers pumped into you, slick and relentless, his mouth murmuring praises against you like a prayer.

“Look at you,” he said, lifting his head just long enough to see you falling apart. His mouth glistened, his fingers still buried in you, slowly curling just right again.

“Fucking ruined. And I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

His voice was reverent—darkly tender.

“Everything she wants? You already own it.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging your slick across your inner thighs like a mark, then brought them to your lips.

“Open.”

You did. And you tasted yourself as he slid them in, watching you with dark, burning eyes.

“She’ll never get this,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “She’ll never get to feel me like this.”

He licked his lips when he stood, eyes black with hunger.

“You’re never going to doubt me again,” he growled. “I’m going to make you scream so that she can hear.”

He stripped fast. Shirt, trousers, everything gone and slammed his mouth against yours again—deep, messy, consuming. You clawed at his back, dragging him closer, needing him like oxygen.

He lined himself up—thick, hot, already pulsing—and pressed the tip of his cock right against your entrance.

And stopped.

You gasped. Eyes flying open, body trembling with frustration.

He didn’t move.

Just held you there—stretched just barely, the threat of fullness teasing your every nerve ending. He looked down at you, gaze wild, jaw tight with restraint.

“You want it?” he asked, voice dark silk. “You want me to fuck you like she doesn’t exist? Like there’s never been anyone but you?”

“Severus, please—”

He dipped his head to your throat, biting gently.

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

You were already breathless, already wrecked from the buildup alone. Your hands clutched his arms, thighs shaking.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please—I need you—I need you to fuck me.”

And that was all it took.

He growled—deep, possessive—and then snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one, brutal thrust.

Your cry echoed through the stone room.

And then he was moving, fast and deep, every thrust a declaration, every groan a claim.

“You feel too good,” he gasped into your neck, moving hard and deep. “I could live inside you. I could stay like this forever.”

He moved fast, rough—hips slamming into yours with purpose, desk rattling beneath you. You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. His name left your lips in broken sobs, your legs wrapping around him like you were afraid he might disappear if you didn’t hold tight enough.

“Tell me who owns you,” he snarled, his breath hot against your throat.

“You—fuck, Severus—you.”

“That’s right.” His hand wrapped around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding you in his intensity. “And you own me, love. All of me. There’s nothing left for anyone else. There never was and never will be.”

He kissed you again—ravenous and claiming. And then, suddenly, he pulled out, just enough to flip you onto your stomach against the desk. Your hands scrambled for purchase, cheek pressed to the cold wood as you panted, blinking hard to stay grounded.

Then he was back.

Thrusting in deeper this time, from behind—your back arched, his chest pressing over your back as he folded himself around you, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly it bordered on bruising.

He fucked you like he needed to erase her—like he was carving it into your soul that you were his and he was yours.

“Let me fucking ruin you.” he growled into your ear.

You keened beneath him—helpless, soaked, completely gone.

He kept moving—deep, relentless, his cock dragging against every sweet, swollen nerve inside you—and your body betrayed you again. The orgasm hit with no warning, crashing through you like a tidal wave.

You sobbed as you came, whole body spasming beneath him, your voice breaking on his name.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pace savage now. “So fucking desperate for me. You were made for this—made for me. You’re mine. You’re mine.”

And still, he didn’t stop.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, soaked, wrecked in a way that left no doubt—you were completely, irreversibly his.

“I should stop,” he growled, hips still punishing. “But I can’t. Not when you feel this good. Not when your body’s begging me to stay.”

He pulled you up suddenly, pulling out to turn you around again chest to chest. He sat you on the edge of the desk again, his hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your thigh as he sank back into you again, deeper, over and over, voice raw against your ear.

“Let her fucking look,” he hissed. “Let her dream. She will never know what it’s like to be this full. To be this loved by me.”

You cried out again, the pressure mounting in your gut, your muscles tightening as you clung to him with everything left.

“One more,” he whispered. “Come for me one more time. I want to feel you fall apart while I fill you. I want to watch you break.”

And you did.

You shattered around him, body convulsing, voice torn from your throat as you came with everything you had left. His name was the only thing you could form, whispered like prayer, screamed like surrender.

Severus’s rhythm faltered—And when he came, it was violent—a full-body convulsion, a broken moan into your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, burying himself to the hilt with one final, brutal thrust.

He held you through it, breath ragged, mouth pressed to your jaw as he whispered:

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. And I’m yours. Every fucking inch.”

Your body was limp against him, muscles twitching in the aftermath. The world had narrowed to his weight pressing into you, the soft sting between your legs, the heavy warmth of his release still inside you. Every part of you felt raw. Open. Owned.

Severus didn’t move right away. He just held you. Breathing hard. Face buried in your neck. One hand splayed wide across your back like he was still anchoring you. Like if he let go, you might disappear.

Eventually, he pulled back—just enough to see your face.

Your skin slick with sweat, your mind blank in that fragile, blissed-out way that made everything feel distant. But his hands were still steady. His voice, low and grounding. His body, wrapped around yours like a shield.

Then, without a word, he eased out of you, murmuring a quiet apology when you whimpered at the loss. He took his pants and pulled them on without a word before he reached for his robe and draped it around you still a little warm from his body, still smelling like clove and parchment and dark spice.

You blinked, dazed.

“Don’t want you getting cold,” he murmured, pulling the fabric around your shoulders and fastening the top button with gentle fingers.

Then, with one sweep of his wand, he cast a charm that tidied the desk, vanished the mess, and reset the room with practiced ease. He hooked one arm under your legs and the other around your back.

You didn’t protest.

He carried you through the hidden door that connected his office to your shared chambers, the one only you and he used. His grip on you never faltered—tight, secure, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He laid you gently on the edge of the bed, then disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

You heard the sound of water running. The clink of bottles. Steam began curling into the bedroom, scented faintly with lavender and bergamot. When he returned, he had shed the last of his clothes, his expression softer now—still intense, but more... tender.

He picked you up again—no warning, just warm arms, strong and sure.

“You’re not walking anywhere,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not after that.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself melt against him.

The bath was deep and hot, the surface scattered with herbs and oils that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. He stepped into the water with you still in his arms, settling you carefully in his lap, the robe slipping away as the warmth enveloped your skin.

He held you there, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other running a soft cloth over your thighs, your stomach, your chest.

Just taking care.

His hands were reverent. Almost... apologetic. Like he was giving back something he’d taken.

He kissed your shoulder. Your jaw. The inside of your wrist. Every inch of skin he could reach, he honored.

“You did so well for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Took everything. Gave me everything.”

Your breath hitched, eyes closing.

“Severus...”

“I mean it.” Another kiss. Another slow sweep of his hand across your stomach. “You let me lose control. And you still trusted me.”

“I always trust you.”

He stilled for a second.

Then pulled you tighter to his chest, lips pressing to your hair.

When the water began to cool, he stood again, holding you like you weighed nothing. He dried you with a charm, then towel-dried the rest with care—rubbing gentle circles into your back, your arms, the soft insides of your thighs.

He vanished briefly into the wardrobe, returning with one of his old black undershirts—soft, worn, and smelling like him.

“You sleep better in my clothes,” he said simply, tugging it over your head.

You did. And he always remembered.

When you were finally dressed, warm and boneless, he lifted you once more and laid you down on your side of the bed, then slid in beside you and pulled you against his chest.

You pressed your face into his throat, your body melting against him.

For a long time, there was only breathing.

Then, his voice—quiet, vulnerable, honest.

“She means nothing. She doesn't have a chance against you.”

You didn’t move.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew,” he continued. “But I should have. I should have told her and made it clear. That there is no one else but you.”

You tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I know that now.”

“I’ll make it clear,” he murmured. “Although she can keep trying. I hope she does.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Because it’ll kill her,” he said, leaning in, “to see you tomorrow—glowing. Sore. knowing I was the one to cause it.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced slow circles on your back.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

He chuckled once—low and tired. Then kissed your temple and whispered, “Sleep, my love.”

And you did.

Safe. Claimed. Loved.

--

The staff lounge buzzed with quiet morning energy. Flitwick stirred honey into his tea. Sprout flipped through seed catalogs. McGonagall read the Daily Prophet, her expression already unimpressed by whatever was on the front page.

Near the window, Severus Snape sat like a shadow in silk—silent, unreadable, hands wrapped around a cup of black tea.

And beside him, far too close, was Professor Selwyn.

She leaned in with a soft, fabricated laugh, her fingers brushing his sleeve.

“Oh, I just adore the smell of chamomile in the morning,” she said lightly. “Don’t you?”

Severus didn’t look at her.

McGonagall’s eyes lifted from her paper, unimpressed. Sprout sipped her tea louder than necessary. Flitwick tapped his spoon that sounded suspiciously like the funeral march.

“I was thinking I could stop by your office again this evening,” Selwyn continued, voice dropping. “Just to go over—”

“I have papers to grade, Professor Selwyn,” Severus interrupted, his tone clipped and cold. “I don’t have time for unimportant matters.”

She laughed too loudly, undeterred, her hand drifting too close to his again.

“Oh, I’ve always thought there’s nothing more attractive than discipline,” she said, voice laced with false intimacy. “And I do mean discipline in every sense...”

Still, Severus didn’t react. He sipped his tea like she wasn’t there.

Then the door opened.

You stepped in, unhurried. Your teaching robes hung loosely around you, hair undone, expression composed—but undeniably glowing.

Selwyn looked up and smiled, too fast. “Professor Y/L/N,” she said sweetly. “You look a bit tired.”

You nodded. “I am, actually.”

Then, without a word, your fingers slipped to the clasp of your robe. You undid it slowly and slid it off your shoulders, revealing one of Severus’s black button-ups beneath—oversized, rumpled, unmistakably his. Your collarbone and neck bloomed with fresh, unmistakable marks.

The room shifted.

Sprout made a soft sound behind her tea that might have been a laugh.

“Oh dear,” Flitwick murmured, “someone had a productive evening.”

McGonagall turned another page of the paper, a restrained smile curling at her lips. “Seems someone didn’t sleep through the night.”

You offered a cheeky grin, then walked calmly to Severus’s chair, draped your robe over the back of it and reached for a fresh mug. You poured your tea as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Selwyn watched you, stiff and silent.

Then, casually, you glanced at the space beside Severus still occupied by her—and chose instead to lower yourself directly into his lap.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just settled a hand on your thigh, possessive and casual, while his eyes drank you in.

You winced slightly as you sat. He noticed. Everyone noticed.

“My goodness,” Sprout said, feigning concern. “You look a little wrecked, dear.”

“Oh yes,” Flitwick added with mock-seriousness. “That’s the look of someone who got very little sleep. Must make teaching quite difficult today.”

Selwyn’s entire body tensed.

You took another slow sip of your tea. “I managed.”

Severus finally spoke—calm, precise, and utterly deadly.

“I’m actually surprised she can still walk,” he said, as if observing the weather. “But she’s always been impressively resilient.”

You choked on a laugh.

Sprout gasped, delighted. “Oh my.”

McGonagall didn’t look up from her paper, but her lips twitched. “Mm. Thorough indeed.”

Flitwick chuckled, lifting his tea in a subtle toast. “To resilience, then.”

Selwyn stood without a word. Face flushed, jaw tight, she turned and left the lounge in absolute silence.

The door closed behind her.

Severus sipped his tea.

You leaned back against his chest, utterly unbothered.

Victory never tasted so sweet.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

The Polar Express, 2004

Pairing: Buck x Reader

Word count: 3k

Notes: I don’t think you understand the phone shit I’m going through right now, especially with how I only write on my phone it hurts my FEELINGS so yeah this is not edited and I’ve done my best okay I literally am currently finishing it as I’m typing this

Buck stands at the counter, tapping his fingers against the smooth marble.

“Okay… the cookies are in, the bread is proofing, the cake is cooling, the scones have another 10 or so minutes until they’re ready to be iced…”

He scrolls on his iPad, reading through all his notes and recipes. He was stressed, incredibly stressed, he’d hesitantly asked Athena two weeks ago if he could host Secret Santa and then they’d all migrate over to her place for dinner and presents.

She graciously agreed, it gave her more time to get everything ready and less to stress about on Christmas Day. But now here he is, at one in the morning, the kitchen is a disaster zone that he’s disappointed in because he always cleans as he goes, the cookies aren’t going to have anywhere to cool if he doesn’t get cleaning and he hasn’t even started on buttercream.

Why the hell he thought this was a good idea he doesn’t freaking know, he doesn’t know why he volunteered, he doesn’t know why he put himself through this he doesn’t know why the bag of powdered sugar is on the floor, he doesn’t-

He jumps a little, he hadn’t even heard you pad softly down the stairs, he hadn’t heard you trying to get his attention. It’s like everything just stops as soon as you put your arms around his waist, your hands coming to rest on his chest.

“Buck? You in there?” You ask quietly, you sound sleepy. He takes a deep breath and turns in your arms

“Hey baby” He smiles softly, leaning down to kiss your nose “Did I wake you?”

“Nah, kinda woke up on my own” You rest your chin on his chest, blinking sleepily “You okay?”

“I’m fine, really”

You pull back a little, giving him a skeptical look. His disheveled appearance screams anything but fine. The mess around the kitchen is a little cry for help to sort through the mess that is his anxiety right now.

He just wanted everyone to be proud.

You pull away from him and go over to the little hooks in the corner, grabbing your small pink apron and tying it around you. You grab the matching pink scrunchie with it and pull your hair back.

“What do you need from me, Chef?”

“It would be a big help if you helped me clean up a bit? Maybe watched the cookie timer? And then helped me dip the scones when they’re ready and-“

You come over to the counter and start collecting everything and moving it to the sink, you stand on your toes as you pass and he bends down to peck your lips

“One at a time baby boy,” You tell him calmly “We can handle this”

He melts as you kick your stool in front of the sink and dump everything in to start washing. He always made fun of you for it, but it was easier to rinse from higher up okay.

He sits back for a moment, watching you clean the dishes without any complaining, just…getting straight to work to help him out. He comes over and wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in the back of your neck

“I love you, so fucking much” He mumbles and you smile, leaning into him a little

“I love you too, you’re doing really good Buck. They’re gonna be really impressed”

“I’m just, I’m so worried things won’t turn out”

“You’re seriously talented Evan,” You tell him, glaring at him a little “Don’t let your brain tell you any different”

“Easier said than done” He reaches forward, taking the dish from you and rinsing it

“This would be way sexier if you were helping me with the bread earlier”

You snicker and push him back a little, grabbing the dish and setting it on the rack

“Just start on your buttercream weirdo”

He takes a clean bowl and sets it up on the stand mixer, with you helping keep things clean suddenly his mind isn’t as cluttered, the cookie timer goes off and he doesn’t even have a chance to turn around before you’re pulling them out and setting them down on the counter space you’d cleared for them.

You check on the cake for him as he’s getting the bread into the oven next and then start on the glaze for the scones. He’s watching you mix it by hand while his buttercream goes in the stand mixer and his heart aches at the sight of you, you’ve got bubbles in your hair from the dishes and a little dash of powdered sugar across your face. You smell like fresh lemons and sweet raspberry scones, and god do you look good enough to eat… he doesn’t miss the tiny pajama shorts you’re wearing and one of his large t-shirts slightly tucked into it.

You reach over and pull the little lever to stop the stand mixer and he blinks rapidly

“You’re gonna over mix it” You warn him before going back to your glaze, he looks down at his perfect vanilla butter cream, his perfect raspberry scones you’re dipping and his perfect cake sitting on the counter waiting to be iced.

And then he looks at his perfect you, and suddenly everything isn’t so bad anymore… that anxious tension between his shoulder blades is gone, that slight tremor that nearly ruined his royal icing borders from a batch of cookies earlier is gone…

“What are you doing?” You watch as he puts the crumb-coated-cake into the fridge, lays a tea towel over the cookies and puts the rest of his dishes into the dishwasher

“We can finish those in the morning, it won’t take long”

You set another scone onto the tray and he hands you the next one, his body pressing against yours, soft and warm…and something hard pressing into your side

“I think you forgot to take one of your spatulas from your apron” you chuckle as you swirl the scone through the creamy white glaze and set it on the tray. Buck pushes your hand away as you reach for another and he reaches into the bowl, scooping up some of the sticky, white, mixture.

“Hey! I’ve still got four-“

Your words are cut off as he slides his fingers into your mouth, his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as he pulls you closer to him

“Clean ‘em up for me baby”

You do as he says, running your tongue over his fingers and sucking them clean, he kisses your neck softly, fucking your mouth with them before pulling them away with a wet pop.

“Good girl”

He unties your apron, setting it aside before taking your shirt off next, his hands come up your sides, leaving a trail of flour. He palms your breasts running his thumbs over your nipples and you let out a shuddering sigh as they pebble under the cool air and his touch

“Every day I fall more and more in love with you” He mumbles, kissing you with a heated passion, his tongue slipping past your lips as you gasp. He grabs your hips tighter and sits you on the counter, stepping between your legs

“I know what you mean” you reach behind you, twirling the honey wand before pulling it back out and letting the sticky substance drip down over your breasts

His eyes widen as he watches the golden liquid trickle down your chest, pooling in your cleavage. He licks his lips, his cock twitching with anticipation.

“Fuck, that's hot” he breathes, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to trace a finger through the honey, gathering it up before bringing it to his mouth.

“Mmm, you taste even sweeter than I imagined” he murmurs, his tongue swirling around his finger.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to lap at the honey on your skin, his hands cupping your breasts and kneading them gently. He takes his time, savoring every drop, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin.

His hands reach down, tugging on your panties and you lift your hips as he pulls them off. He runs his fingers through your soaked folds teasingly

“So fuckin’ wet for me already, aren’t you?”

He slips his fingers inside you, his thumb rubbing against your clit and you pant softly, leaning back on your elbows as he fucks you, his fingers curl upward and you gasp desperately, letting your head fall back, pressing your back into the flour covered counters. Your hands come up to tug at the roots of your hair, sugar sticking to your forearms as he works you open with his fingers. He pulls his fingers away, licking them clean and you whimper at the empty feeling

“Shhh baby” He drops his basketball shorts and his cock springs out, hard and thick, the tip leaking precum already. It drips down from the tip of his cock and you lick your lips as he steps onto your little stool

“Arent you already tall enough??” You poke at him and he grabs your hips, dragging you to his cock. He rubs his tip through your glistening lips, staring into your eyes with so much love and adoration.

“Just gives me a better angle to make love to you” He rocks his hips, shallowly thrusting the tip in and you gasp, biting your lip.

“You’re so pretty baby” He teases your clit again, rubbing slow torturous circles until he finally slowly pushes forward, his cock sliding deep inside your tight walls. He groans at the sensation, his eyes rolling back in pleasure and you sigh dreamily, your eyes rolling back too.

He sets a slower pace, flour covered hands leaving prints behind as he thrusts slow and hard, his hips kissing yours each time. He growls lowly, a primal noise coming from his chest as he works you on his cock.

His hands roam your body, caressing your tits, your stomach, your thighs, leaving trails of flour and sugar in their wake. He picks up the pace, his hips snapping against yours, the intense sound filling the kitchen and echoing in your ears as he slowly starts to lose control

“Holy shit, Buck” You pant, arching your back up and moaning for him, your heart pounds in your ears in time with his thrusts and you slowly remember the reason you’re always so gone for him

He moans deeply, placing his palms flat on the counter and rutting into you and you whimper with each thrust, your mind spinning at the way he fills you up.

“I want, I want to try something” He pulls out slowly, his chest heaving as he rubs his thumb through your soaked folds. You squirm underneath him and his finger keeps going, your eyes nearly pop out of your head as he pushes against that tight ring of muscle

“You think it’s been too long since we…?” He manhandles you onto your stomach, helping you place your knees on the counter

“N-no I think- I think I could handle that”

“You really think so?” He reaches forward and you just see a jar disappearing from your peripheral vision “I don’t wanna push you”

You put your forehead against your hands waiting with bated breath, his hand slides over your ass, pulling your cheeks apart and your back arches deeper. What he doesn’t know is that this was definitely going to be apart of his Christmas present this year and you’d been wearing a plug all week before taking it out before bed.

“Jesus you’re gonna give me a heart attack with the way you’re presenting yourself” He chuckles lightly. You hear a soft “tink” before you feel the sweet honey dripping over your ass, he moans as it slides down over your pretty, puffy lips and he can’t take it anymore.

You squeak as he dives in, your ass spread wide as he licks at your hole, his moans vibrate up your spine and pretty soon you’re moaning with him. He pulls away, drizzling a little more honey over your hole and kissing your cheek before pulling your legs down so you’re hanging off the counter.

“You ready for me baby?” He spreads your cheeks again and spits, and you squeak. He gives your ass a little smack, smirking

“Earth to bunny”

“I’m ready” you punctuate your words with a little shake of your hips and he takes the honey wand again, drizzling some over his cock and stroking it slowly before lining himself up. He taps your cheek lovingly before pushing into you carefully.

Your jaw drops slowly at the intense pressure as he slides into you. He groans loudly, his palms sliding over your body as he lays against you, his chest firm against your back.

“Feels so g-good Bunny” his hips stutter as he tries to keep from plowing right into you. He works you on his cock slowly, getting you used to his size again and you lay plastered against the counter, moaning softly and taking everything he’s giving you.

“You think you can take me harder baby? Faster?” His teeth are gritted, like he’s fighting even harder now to hold back and that sends a thrill right down to your core. He feels so impossibly big in your ass, stretching you in a way he hasn’t in a good while.

“I can handle it” You reassure him again, eagerly moving your hips on his cock and he grins wickedly

“Thats my slutty little Bunny”

He takes it slow for a minute, working you up to a faster pace before you’re making little squeaking sounds again with every rough thrust. His hands leave sticky fingerprints behind, marking your body with all the dirty things he’s doing to you. He drizzles more honey over his cock as he thrusts in and out, moaning at the little tendrils that stick you together over and over.

You reach out, holding onto the heavy stand mixer to brace yourself as he pins you down to the counter, his hand on the back of your neck

“You're so fucking sexy like this, spread out for me, taking my cock like a good little slut” he growls, his words filthy and degrading, but filled with a twisted sort of affection.

You babble in response and it just drives him crazier, he holds your hips in hands, definitely leaving behind bruises that you absolutely welcome.

Your eyes roll back and you dig your head into the counter, he reaches backward awkwardly for a second and rips a towel from the stove, he leans forward pushing inside you deeper and you cry out his name, your legs shaking.

“I’m sorry baby” he snickers, lifting your head gently and putting the towel underneath it, it’s not much but it’s something. His movements become a bit slower, deeper, and you grip that stand mixer with everything left in you as he makes love to you. His hand slides over your torso, his fingers rubbing your clit slowly, and you let out a shuddering little sigh

“There’s my pretty girl, nothin’ in that head of yours but my cock huh? Love it when you get this way”

You nod dumbly at him and he groans, his head falling back as his hips smack into yours rougher, his finger start rubbing your clit faster and you arch your back and bring your knees to your chest. He holds them in place, hissing at how tight you are around him, his pace becomes erratic again as he loses his mind inside you.

He messily places your hand over your clit and sinks his fingers inside you. You shriek as he plunges his cock in and out of your ass, his fingers working in tandem in your pussy

“Come on bunny, fuck cum for me please, I need to see you fall apart first please bunny please”

His whiny, begging, tone sends you over the edge as you scream his name, tears streaming down your face as your back arches fully off the counter and you squirt over his fingers, he moans your name loudly as he finishes inside you, fucking his cum as deeply as he can into you. He rolls his hips with each thrust before holding it inside you, pushing into you.

You lay on the counter stunned, your body shaking as you let your body turn to jelly underneath him. You weakly wipe at the tears on your face and he steps down off the stool, sliding you off the counter with him and staggers over to the couch. He plops down heavily onto it, before letting his body fall slump down, keeping his arms tightly around you.

You lay together for a while, panting softly in his neck while he rubs your back soothingly, occasionally placing weak little kisses to your temple. He can’t move very much either after that and neither of you have a problem with this.

He’s distractedly humming underneath the tree when he suddenly shifts a little, getting you both more comfy

“I think I broke my dick”

You snort into his chest as he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it haphazardly over the two of you.

“I don’t think you broke your dick” you tell him and he scoffs

“How would you know? It’s inside you, you can’t see it!”

“Okay. By that logic, neither can you. Buck I think we’d know if you broke your dick… if that’s even possible”

“Oh it is, I’ve seen it before” his eyes close and you lift your head, looking at his peaceful expression as he starts to fall asleep.

“You’ve seen a broken dick before???”

Suddenly his bread alarm goes off and he jumps, accidentally knocking you off of him and onto the floor.

“My bread!!”

“My kidneys”

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Muscle Memory (Rafael Barba x Reader)

Paring: Rafael Barba x f!Reader

Summary: You hadn't seen Rafael in nearly three years. When he left—and shattered your heart in the process—you didn't think you'd ever recover. But now, just as you finally starting to feel like you might be okay, he waltzes right back into the SVU precinct, into your life, and fucks everything up.

Word count: 5.3k

Warnings: angst with a happy ending, explicit language, canon typical rape mention (off-screen, no details), breakups + makeups, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, p in v sex, praise + dirty talk, mentions of a sex toy

A/N: Rafael Barba my beloved <3 my first SVU fic after being a long time reader! I love this show and I love Barba. Takes place during the episode "Sightless in a Savage Land." (Rafael Barba + a beard = my untimely death.) I was listening to Muscle Memory by Lights when I got the idea for this, so it's very loosely based on that song. Anyways, enjoy, and be prepared for more SVU fics in the future bc I am deep in that rabbit hole hehe.

The last time you ever saw or spoke to Rafael Barba was nearly three years ago, when he decided to leave both the DA’s office and New York City. And, in turn, you.

He asked you to go with him—begged you, really. Told you he loved you and couldn’t see a life without you. After years of casual flirting and simmering tension, you both realized how badly you wanted—no, needed—each other. At that point, you had been together for almost a year and you were completely, head-over-heels in love with him. You wanted to go with him, but you couldn’t leave your job at SVU and your life behind. As much as it hurt, you told him no. An explosive fight ensued and you both said things you’d later come to regret, but in the moment you were both too hurt to care. He stormed out of your apartment and slammed your front door behind him, leaving you a sobbing mess in your living room.

It took time, a whole lot of effort, and a little bit of booze along the way, but now you felt like you were finally in a good place. You were back to cracking jokes with Carisi, going out for girls' nights with Liv and Amanda, and Kat, the SVU newbie, even got you to consider starting to date again. You still missed Rafael, but the hurt had dulled over time, and you found yourself wanting to move on, once and for all.

All of that came crashing down, though, when you walked into work one morning and came face-to-face with Rafael, exiting Olivia’s office. When you saw each other, you couldn’t help the pained gasp that you let out. Hot tears started to well in your eyes at the soft look he gave you. The whole precinct seemed to come to a standstill—Amanda looked at you from her desk, concern etched on her face; Olivia looked a little guilty; Fin looked like he was waiting for a bomb to go off; and Kat’s eyes moved between you and Rafael, her brows drawn together in confusion before she finally realized what was happening.

Rafael breathed your name out in a pained whisper, and that’s all it took to break you out of your reverie. Before he could say anything else, you squared your shoulders and walked straight past him to your desk. You didn’t say a word to anybody as you got to work, focused solely on not letting yourself cry in front of everybody—especially him. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you and it made you want to scream.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Olivia place a hand on Rafael’s shoulder. She said something to him, her voice too quiet for you to know what it was, and he nodded his head solemnly. He looked over at you for a moment before he went to the elevators. Olivia turned to her squad of detectives, who were all still stunned from the quiet scene that just unfolded. With a small sigh, Olivia clapped her hands together, bringing everyone to attention.

“Back to work, everybody. We’ve got lives to save and people to protect.”

Reluctantly, your fellow detectives turned back to their work, but you could still feel their occasional glances your way. As Olivia walked past your desk to her office, she stopped and put a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Want to come into my office for a minute, detective?”

You followed Olivia into her office, plopping down on her couch as she closed the door. You sighed, running your hands over your face. The tears were still threatening to fall from your eyes, and you did everything you could to will them back inside your tear ducts.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting him to show up like that,” Olivia said, her voice apologetic. You looked at her and offered her a tired smile.

“It’s fine, Liv. I just… Was not prepared to see him again, not like this. Everything just came flooding back and hit me all at once,” you replied. “Why was he even here, anyway?”

Olivia sighed and shook her head. “When I heard he was in town, I asked him to meet up for coffee and may have suggested that he talk with Mickey Davis, just to hear his story and see if there was any way he could help him out. I didn’t think he’d take Mickey on as a client.”

You rolled your eyes at that. Rafael taking Mickey on as a client didn’t surprise you in the slightest. You didn’t blame the guy for killing his teenage daughter’s abuser—you probably would have done the same thing if you were in his position. And if you were in Rafael’s position, you would’ve been lined up to defend Mickey, too. But hearing Olivia say she didn’t expect him to take Mickey on did surprise you—she knew Rafael as well as you did and that he couldn’t just walk away from this once she brought him into it.

You weren’t mad at her, though. Just because you and Rafael had a rough break-up didn’t mean everyone else had to cut him out of their lives. You knew Olivia just wanted to help Mickey the best way she could, and you’d be damned if you didn’t agree that Rafael would be his best shot.

“Well, that makes sense, I guess. Can’t say I’m surprised,” you huffed. “At least I wasn’t on that case. Minimizes my interactions with him.”

Olivia chuckled. “Yeah, I guess there’s that bright side.”

You stood from her couch and gave her a small smile. You could tell she had more apologies in her, knowing how hard it must’ve been for you to see him so out-of-the-blue, but you waved her off before she could start. “Don’t worry about me, Liv. I’ll be fine. And I’m not mad. Honestly, if things were different, I probably would’ve gone to Rafael, too.”

You walked out of Olivia’s office and were relieved to find that everyone had returned to work as normal. Amanda looked up at you and gave you a reassuring smile, letting you know she was there for you if needed anything. Over the years, you and her had become two peas in a pod, and you were grateful to have a friend and a partner in her. You sat down at your desk and got to work going through your case files.

Your desk phone rang and you answered it, “Detective L/N, Manhattan Special Victims Unit.”

And now your work for the day has really begun.

***

You were dead on your feet by the time you got home. You and Amanda had picked up a new case—a rape victim found in Central Park—and spent a majority of the day working on that. Neither of you had gotten very far on it, which wasn’t unusual, but you always felt a little defeated when you went home at the end of the day with little to show.

When you stepped into your apartment, all you wanted was to take a hot shower, order take-out, and crash. After putting all your stuff away, you walked into your kitchen and pulled out the take-out menu for your favorite Chinese place. As you scanned the menu and thought about what you were going to order, there was a knock at your door. You looked up and scrunched your eyebrows together—you weren’t expecting company, and none of your friends were the type to just show up to your place unannounced, especially on a weeknight. With a sigh, you set the menu down on your counter and walked over to your front door. You looked through the peephole and took a surprised step back when you saw who was on the other side.

Rafael.

You stood there for a few moments, staring at your front door, too shocked that he was at your apartment to do anything. He knocked again, this time a little more insistently, and said, “I know you’re inside, Y/N. Please open the door.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. When you opened them, you lifted shaky hands to the locks on the door and undid them, slowly pulling it open. Without the hustle and bustle of the police precinct and the surprise of running into him at work, you could stand there and take him in. He looked different—a little bit older, a little bit grayer—but just as handsome as the last time you saw him. There was a pang of sadness in your chest. You were reminded then, standing in your doorway and just staring at each other, how much you still missed him.

“Hi,” he said lamely, breaking the silence. He looked just as nervous as you did, a hesitant smile visible behind his full beard. (You took note of his new feature a little ruefully—you had wanted him to grow out his facial hair, but he always told you, saying beards made him too itchy.) You stood there and stared at him for a second more before replying.

“Hi.”

Before, conversation always flowed so easily between the two of you. You hadn’t realized how much of a chatterbox Rafael was until you started dating, but you found it endearing. You liked hearing him talk about the things he was passionate about. Now, the uncomfortable silence felt so foreign, and it made you fidget.

“I, uh, I don’t know why I came here, to be honest,” Rafael said, clearing his throat. “After seeing you this morning, I just… I don’t know. I wanted to see you again.”

You felt your resolve start to crumble. You’d spent so much time trying to get over him, trying to move on with your life, and just when you felt like you were starting to get somewhere, he shows up out of the blue and wrecks it all. You wanted nothing more than to drag him into your apartment and pretend like the past three years hadn’t happened, that you were back to where you were before you broke each other’s heart.

Rafael must have taken your silence as disinterest rather than being at war with yourself internally. He sighed and shook his head, making to turn around and leave. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just shown up like this. I’m going to go.”

You felt panic rise up in you at the thought of him leaving again and before you could stop yourself, you said, “Wait! Don’t go. Come inside. Please.”

Rafael looked at you, surprise etched on your face. He hadn’t expected you to invite him in so suddenly, but he wasn’t about to let the opportunity to talk to you slip from his fingers. He nodded and stepped into your apartment. You closed the door and slipped the locks back into place before joining Rafael in the living room.

You cleared your throat and gestured to the couch. “You can, uh, sit down, if you want to.”

“Yeah, okay. Sure. Thanks.”

Rafael took a seat at the end of your couch and you moved to sit on the opposite end of it. Now that he was inside of your apartment, you didn’t know what to do, what to say. You hated how awkward and uncomfortable the air surrounding you two felt.

“I’m sorry,” Rafael blurted out after another few minutes of silence. He turned on the couch to face you, his eyes filled with tears and his face pulled into a grimace. “I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I shouldn’t have left you the way that I did. I shouldn’t have stormed out of here and took off without another word. I was an idiot—such a fucking idiot—and I’m so sorry for hurting you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I fucked it all up.”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, taking one of his trembling hands in yours. The tears you had successfully kept at bay all day had started to fall, and you tried to steady your breathing to avoid breaking out into a full on sob. You looked up at him and broke when you saw his tears falling, too.

“Rafael,” your voice broke and you could barely get another word out. Looking back on the fight that ended your relationship, you knew you were both to blame for it. You were both cruel to each other, saying things you didn’t mean but knew would cut the other deeply. You called him selfish and accused him of not truly loving you if he expected you to give up your career just because he gave up his. He said the only thing you were capable of loving was your job and that you were his biggest mistake. It was messy and awful and you wished that you could take that night back.

He lifted his other hand to push your hair behind your ear and cup your cheek. “I still love you, Y/N. I never stopped.”

You couldn’t find the words to express what you were feeling. Instead of trying to articulate everything going on in your brain, you leaned forward and kissed him. You figured that if your words were going to fail you, you could just show him.

Rafael was surprised at the first brush of your lips against his, but he quickly warmed up. He kissed you back with equal fervor, tracing his tongue against your bottom lip. You moaned quietly into his mouth when you opened up and felt the first touch of his tongue against yours. His hand slid into your hair, pulling you even closer against him. You pushed him into the back of the couch and moved to straddle his lap, not once breaking the kiss.

The hand that wasn’t tangled in your hair ghosted up your front, his fingers lightly tracing your skin over your shirt. He took one of your breasts in his hand and squeezed it, grinning into the kiss at the sound of your resulting groan. He wrapped his arm around you, planting his hand in between your shoulder blades so he could pull you flush against him. There was virtually no space between the two of you anymore, and you couldn’t shake just how right it felt to be back in his embrace.

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath, you leaned your forehead against his, your eyes still closed. You breathed in each other’s air, both panting heavily. When you finally opened your eyes, you saw Rafael staring up at you, his eyes a mixture of tenderness and wonder.

“Bedroom?” you asked him shakily. He nodded his agreement, and you reluctantly pulled yourself off of him. When he stood from the couch, he took your hand in his, pulling it up to his lips. He kissed each of your knuckles, looking at you through his lashes the whole time. The moment was both incredibly intimate and arousing. Your heart was practically beating out of your chest, your breaths were coming in short pants, and you were uncomfortably wet. He still knew how to get you riled up.

“Lead the way, cariño.”

You pulled him into your bedroom and once the door was shut behind you, you pulled him into another kiss. It was hot and desperate, all teeth and tongues. He gripped your hips tight enough that you know there’d be fingertip-shaped bruises in the morning. The thought sent a shiver through your body. He remembered how much you liked finding his marks on your body.

The next thing you knew, Rafael was gripping you even tighter as he lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he turned and took the few steps over to your bed. He laid you down gently, settling himself in between your thighs. He ground down into you, and you could feel his hard cock through his slacks, and you broke away to whimper.

Rafael took the opportunity to start peppering kisses over your cheek and jawline. He moved down to your throat, sucking and nipping at the base of it. You gasped at the sensation, your hips bucking up against his, and he groaned against your skin. Even though it’d been years since he last touched you like this, he still knew all the things you liked and all the ways he could unravel you underneath him.

He unbuttoned your shirt, trying to restrain himself from just ripping the damn thing off of you. Once it was gone, he sat up so he could rid himself of his own button-up and undershirt. While he took off his top two layers, you arched your back to reach behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it to the floor. He let out an appreciative groan at the sight of you.

“So fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse. You leaned down to kiss you again before moving his mouth down to your breasts. He took your left nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while one of his hands tweaked your other nipple. He laid there for some time, lavishing your tits with attention, moving his mouth from one nipple to the other, his fingers following, while you squirmed and whined underneath him. The scratch of his beard against your skin burned in the best way possible, and you wanted nothing more than to feel it in between your legs.

Rafael must’ve read your mind, because he started to kiss down your stomach, occasionally sucking and biting at the soft skin there. He sat back on his heels to undo the button and pull down the zipper of your pants. You lifted your hips off of the mattress to help him pull them off of you. Once your jeans were gone, Rafael’s head was between your legs, nipping and sucking at the flesh of your thighs. You whimpered at the feeling of his beard scratching your sensitive skin and could feel him smirk against you as squirmed and tried to get closer to his face.

Ghosting his lips over your clothed pussy, he reached up and hooked his thumbs into your panties, slowly pulling them off of you. You could feel his breath against your slick folds and it made you shiver. Rafael looked up at you—his pupils blown wide, lips red and kiss swollen.

“It’s been too long since I’ve had my tongue in this pretty pussy” Rafael said, one of his thumbs running up your slit lightly, stopping just short of your clit. You gasped at the sensation. “Can I taste you, sweet girl? Please, let me taste you.”

“God, Rafa, yes,” you answered, nodding your head enthusiastically. Without missing a beat, Rafael ducked his head, flattening his tongue against you and licking a broad line up your pussy. You let out a broken moan, your hips bucking up, trying to chase his tongue, but he gripped your hips and pressed you down into the bed.

He moved to your clit, sucking it into his mouth as he brought one hand down to tease his fingers through your folds. Slowly, he pushed one finger inside of you and began pumping it in and out languidly. You gasped, throwing your head back into your pillows as your hands sought purchase in his hair. You tugged on the short strands, pulling his face closer to you. He groaned into your pussy, the sound reverberating through your body. He pulled off of your clit with a lewd pop, slipping another finger inside of you. He leaned his cheek against the inside of your thigh, his breath coming out in short pants.

“You feel so good wrapped around my fingers, baby. So tight and wet.” He started to speed up, crooking his fingers and finding your sweet spot right away. “I missed you so much, Y/N. I thought about you, about this, about being back in your arms, every day.”

His words and his fingers were too much. The coil in your belly started to tighten and you were gasping for breath. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think—all you could do was let out tiny, broken moans and focus on how good Rafael was making you feel.

“You’re close, cariño, I can feel it. Can feel the way your pussy is tightening up. Come for me, Y/N. Come for me, let me feel it, let me see it.”

He took your clit into his mouth and sucked hard at the same time he hit your sweet spot again, and you were done for. You came with a gasp that turned into a long, drawn-out moan as your pussy spasmed around Rafael’s fingers.

Rafael worked you through your orgasm with his fingers, whispering praises into the skin of your thighs. “That’s it, baby, that’s it. Good girl. Such a good girl for me.”

When you finally came down and your breathing evened out, you slowly blinked open your eyes. You looked down to find Rafael staring up at you, his gaze a bit softer than before. His fingers were still inside of you, and as your eyes met his, he slowly pulled them out, smirking at the soft whimper you let out at the slow drag of his fingers.

Rafael kissed his way up the length of your body until he captured your lips with his. He kissed you slowly, taking his time to explore your mouth with his tongue. You wrapped your arms around his back and your legs around his waist, angling your hips upward to brush your bare pussy against his cock, hard and still trapped beneath his slacks. He pulled away from your mouth to hiss at the slight friction. You did it again, smirking as he dropped his face to the crook of your neck and groaned. He nipped at your pulse point, just hard enough to leave a mark that’d last for the rest of the night but be gone before you had to go to work in the morning.

“Rafa,” you breathed out, still softly grinding up against him. “Take your pants off. Want you to fuck me.”

He nodded, his face still buried in your neck and the feeling of his beard against your skin making you shiver. He pulled away and stood from the bed, eyes never leaving yours as he removed his pants and boxer briefs, leaving him bare before you. You took your bottom lip in between your teeth as you openly ogled him. Your pussy clenched at the sight of his cock, just as beautiful as you remembered it. He wasn’t overly long, about average length, but he was on the thicker side and filled you perfectly. When you finally dragged your eyes up back to Rafael’s face, he was looking at you with a smug smirk.

“Like what you see, cariño?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Always.”

Rafael opened the drawer of your bedside table to pull out a condom. He didn’t even ask if you’d moved them, moving on muscle memory. You knew he’d find them, though, because you hadn’t moved them since the last time he pulled one out. There was a new addition to your bedside drawer, though: a purple rabbit vibrator that you bought while drunk, sad, and horny. It was one of your best purchases of the last three years. Before grabbing a condom, Rafael pulled the vibrator out and inspected it with a smirk.

“Hmm, you’ll have to give me a demonstration of how this works one of these days.” Your heart fluttered at the idea of whatever you two had going on right now not being a one-time thing.

He set the vibrator back down in the drawer and pulled out a condom. He joined you back on the bed, giving his cock a couple of strokes before tearing open the little foil packet and rolling the condom onto himself. He leaned down to kiss you, putting some of his weight onto you and pressing you into the mattress. Feeling him on top of you like that was always one of your favorite things.

Rafael pulled away and smiled at you as he grabbed his cock in one hand and guided himself to your entrance. He teased you a little, barely pushing the tip in. He liked watching you squirm underneath him.

“Please, Rafa,” you whined, trying to get him to push into you more. “Please don’t tease me.”

“Shh, cariño,” he soothed, his other hand coming up to stroke the side of your face. You nuzzled your cheek into his hand, turning slightly to press kisses to his palm. “I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Just be patient.”

Finally, Rafael started to push his cock into you more. He went slowly, relishing the feeling of your walls being wrapped around him again. You both groaned at the feeling. It didn’t just feel good—it felt right. Like you two were missing puzzle pieces, finally locked together. You knew then that you never wanted to let him go again.

When Rafael bottomed out, he crushed his forehead against yours, his eyes scrunched shut. He was breathing heavily, and as much as you wanted him to move, you knew he was trying to hold back. He wasn’t going to last long, but that was okay—neither were you.

“How long?” you asked breathlessly. He sat up a bit, blinking his eyes open. He looked at you, confusion etched on his face.

“Huh?”

You rolled your hips a little and gasped, hoping he got the message. He groaned, dropping onto one of his forearms as his hand gave out. He was panting into your ear, trying to gain a little bit of composure.

“Not since,” he panted, giving his hips an experimental thrust that had you both moaning. “Not since the last time I was with you.”

“Me neither, Rafael. Me neither. I couldn’t do it, not with anybody but you,” you said, grasping his face in your hands and pulling him down to kiss you. He moaned into your mouth, not really trying to kiss you back, but wanting to feel your mouth on his.

Finally, he started to move. At first, his pace was slow—he took his time pulling nearly all the way out before thrusting back in. He liked watching your face when he did this, how your eyebrows would scrunch together and your mouth would fall open in small moans. But soon enough, his resolve began to crack, and he started to pound into you harder, punching the breath from your gut. You ran your fingers through his hair at the back of his head, holding onto dear life.

“Yes, Rafa, just like that,” you moaned, trying to roll your hips to meet his thrusts. “Don’t stop.”

Rafael grunted in response. He dipped his head down to your neck, placing open-mouthed kisses all over your skin. One of his hands snaked down between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in small, tight circles. You let out a cry at the sensation, the coil in your belly beginning to wind once again.

“I’m so close, Y/N,” Rafael said into your neck. “Want to feel you come on cock. I need it, baby. Need you to come for me.”

You nodded your head, unable to form any words. There was too much happening—the feeling of Rafael’s cock dragging along your walls, his thumb on your clit, the dirty words he was whispering in your ear.

“Come on, Y/N, I know you’re close. Be a good girl and come on my cock, cariño.”

When one particularly hard thrust had him hitting you just right, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You came with a loud, broken moan, your back arching off the bed as you nearly ripped Rafael’s hair out. Your pussy clenched Rafael’s cock in a vice as he kept fucking into you, chasing his own orgasm. After two, three more thrusts, he let out a deep, low groan as he came. His hips slowed as he worked you both through your highs.

When you came down, your legs were shaking and you could barely open your eyes. Rafael kissed his way up your neck and across the side of your face until he could capture your lips between his. It was slow and sweet, and you whined as he pulled away. Carefully, Rafael pulled his softening cock out of your pussy, making him hiss and you whimper at the feeling of being empty. Your eyes were still closed, so you didn’t see him get up from the bed and stand on wobbly legs.

You had started to doze off when you felt the cool washcloth start cleaning up in between your legs. It made you jerk awake, your eyes shooting open. Rafael was silent as he cleaned you up and you watched him work. Once he was done, he got up to put the cloth into your hamper and started to pick up his clothes.

Frowning at him, you asked, “what are you doing?”

He looked up at you, a bit of a solemn expression on his face. He looked like he was about to cry. “I was just, uh, getting my clothes together. I don’t know if you want me to stay, and I don’t want to be presumptuous.”

You sighed and used the rest of your energy to sit up. “Come sit with me,” you said softly.

Rafael set his clothes back down on the floor as he sat down next to you on the bed. His hands were fidgeting in his lap and he stared at them. You placed one of your hands on both of his and he looked up at you, eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

“Rafael, I still love you too, you know. I never stopped. When you left…” you huffed out a sigh and a dry chuckle. “I was in hell. I didn’t think I was ever gonna get over you. I never really did, if I’m being honest. Recently I thought I was in more of a better place, but I still missed you. I still wished that I was yours and you were mine. Not going with you has been one of my biggest regrets.”

You thought that hearing how much you still loved him would’ve made Rafael feel better, but you weren’t anticipating the opposite reaction. You didn’t think it was possible for his face to fall even more than it already had.

“Please don’t say that, Y/N. I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me. I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I knew how much you loved your job—how much you still do—and I shouldn’t have asked you to give that all up for me. I don’t want you to regret not coming with me, because I regret not staying here and rebuilding my life with you.”

You leaned into Rafael for a kiss, leaning your forehead against his when you pulled away. The two of you sat like that for a while, content to just be near each other. You had missed this more than anything—just being able to be with him.

“How long are you in New York for?” you asked as you pulled away. Rafael sighed and lifted one of his arms to put around your shoulders. You cuddled into his side, wrapping your arm around him and resting your head on his chest.

“For good. I took a job with the Innocence Project in their New York offices.”

You sat back up to look at him, scanning his face for any indication that he was lying. He wasn’t. Your heart felt like it was going to burst from your chest.

“Are you serious? You’re back for good?”

He nodded, a soft smile on his face. “I am, cariño. And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere this time.”

You knew you both still had a lot to work out and things to settle from the last time you saw each other, but in that moment none of that mattered to you. All you cared about was that the love of your life was back home, back with you, and you felt whole again.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Better Together

Pairing: Rafael Barba x reader

Summary: Barba acts like he hates you because it's the only way he can keep his cool in your presence. Things come to a head and you call him out on it...

Warnings: cursing, Rafael is a bit of a dick at first. Use of nicknames (baby, cariño, querida, etc.). SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V)

A/N: Spanish translations in brackets/italics after each sentence.

cariño/querida: sweetheart/dear/darling/baby/etc.

por favor: please

qué: what

hermosa: beautiful/gorgeous

"Right...and what makes you qualified to make that determination?"

You glared at him. "Eight years of education and ten years of practice."

"Fine, but how long did you actually talk to him?" he countered.

"Four hours."

"So now you're an expert in his mental health?"

You groaned. "He belongs in a psychiatric facility, Barba. Not a prison."

"I disagree. He raped and murdered five women."

"I'm not defending his actions, but I'm telling you he's incapable of understanding the consequences of his actions."

"She's right, counselor," Olivia Benson cut in. "I got the same feeling she did when I first talked to him."

Rafael Barba let out an annoyed huff. "Fine. What do you propose?"

"Offer him a deal," she suggested. "Send him where he can get the help he needs."

Barba nodded, expression still slightly annoyed. "Fine." With that, he walked out of the precinct, presumably to go write up a deal.

As soon as he was out of ear shot, you turned to your friend and colleague. "He argues with me for ten minutes straight, but you tell him the same damn thing and he immediately agrees?"

Olivia shrugged. "You know how he is."

"Pompous, arrogant, rude, and downright insulting?"

She laughed. "All of the above, but he's also a pretty damn good ADA."

You sighed. "I would absolutely love to disagree with you, but you're not wrong. Part of me hates that he's so good at his job. And I hate his smug face and his attitude and those damn three piece suits he looks so goddamn good in," you finished your ramble with a groan.

"Maybe if you told him you thought he was hot, he'd be nicer to you," Olivia said with a wink.

"I hate you."

She laughed. "No you don't."

"Fine, I don't, but I will do no such thing. He quite clearly despises me."

"Does he?"

"Does who what?" Nick Amaro asked as he entered the squad room.

"Does Barba hate (Y/N)?" Olivia asked.

Nick chuckled. "Without a doubt."

"See?!" you said smugly.

Olivia rolled her eyes. "One of these days you're going to have to talk to him. Tell him off for being such an ass to you all the time."

"Now that I agree with," Nick cut in.

"If he pushes the right buttons, I will."

**********

Little did you know that two days later, Barba would push the exact right button.

Olivia, Nick, Amanda, Fin, and yourself were gathered in the squad room discussing your latest case. You had two dead girls in two days and 1PP was already breathing down your necks.

You were going over the profile with the team when Barba walked in. "I know it sounds crazy, guys, but I believe the perp is a girl...probably the same age as the victims."

"Why?" Fin asked.

As you started to explain your reasoning, to include the lack of sexual assault, the relationship between the two girls, and the anger clearly present in the attacks, Barba cut you off with a harsh laugh.

"You think a 10 year old girl is capable of inflicting that kind of trauma?" he interjected. "There's no way."

You took a deep breath in through your nose and exhaled from your mouth before responding. You needed those ten seconds to calm yourself so you didn't murder him. "Were you ever a 10 year old girl?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Obviously not."

"Are you a forensic psychologist?"

"Again, no."

"Have you been working violent sex crimes for 10 years?"

"No..."

"Then be quiet and listen," you finished harshly.

You'd never snapped at him quite so intensely before and he was taken aback. He was also very aware that he may have taken it a little too far this time. He'd made it a point to keep you at arm's length (or farther) for the past 6 months, and he was belatedly realizing he may have been too cruel.

You finished your profile, answering the questions posed by the rest of the squad, before everyone went about their assigned duties.

Barba announced he was going back to his office to update the DA and you were thankful to be rid of him.

"Maybe you were right, (Y/N)," Olivia said softly. "He either hates you or he hates shrinks."

"Likely both."

"I'm proud of you for clapping back," Amanda said warmly. "Someone's gotta put that guy in his place every once in a while."

You smiled mirthlessly. "Once this case is over, I may have more to say to him, but for now, let's focus on finding the person who killed those girls."

**********

Three days later and you had your suspect in custody. You'd been right in your assessment of the perp...it turned out to be a 10 year old girl who had been relentlessly teased and bullied by the two victims for an entire year. The girl finally snapped and killed them both in a blind rage.

After hearing all of the terrible things that had been done to her, you felt sorry for the girl. You understood why she'd killed those girls, even if you didn't condone it.

"Hey, (Y/N/N)," Fin called. "We're going out for drinks. My treat."

"I think I'll take a rain check guys...I've got something I need to do."

"Awww no fun," Amanda teased.

Olivia gave you a look, but you smiled at her reassuringly. She took it to mean you were okay, so she followed the others out.

You'd decided to pay a very special visit to a certain ADA...

You arrived at his office 20 minutes later, and you belatedly realized you probably should have checked to see if he was even there still. It was already after 6pm, but you hoped since he was a workaholic, he would be unaware of the late hour.

When you reached his office door, you found yourself taking a deep breath. You started to question yourself and whether this was a good idea, but then you thought about the way he'd been treating you and you got a burst of courage.

You knocked on his door and waited. You heard a slightly annoyed "Come in", so you opened the door and stepped into his office.

Barba looked up from the paperwork he was buried in, a look of surprise ghosting over his face. "Dr. (Y/L/N)...to what do I owe the pleasure?"

You shut the door behind you and took a step towards his desk. "Do you have a problem with me?"

"Excuse me?" he asked in surprise.

"Do you have a problem with me, specifically, or is it psychologists in general?"

"I don't have a problem with psychologists."

"So it's me, got it. Do you mind telling me what the hell I did to you?"

He had the grace to look sheepish. "You didn't do anything to me."

"Then why do you treat me like I'm some sort of imbecile?"

"I...I never intended to make you feel that way," he said honestly.

"Really? How did you intend to make me feel? You belittle me, insult my abilities and my intelligence, you're unnecessarily rude to me in front of my colleagues..." you trailed off.

He rose from his seat and came around the front of his desk. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders had slumped slightly. If you didn't know better, you'd think he actually felt bad for the way he'd been treating you.

"You're right," he admitted. "I have treated you entirely unfairly."

It was your turn to look surprised. Out of all the things you'd expected him to say, an admission of guilt was certainly not one of them.

"I don't want you to think, for even a moment, that I don't think you're brilliant. You are the sharpest woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and you're downright phenomenal at your job."

You opened your mouth and closed it a few times before you could formulate a coherent response. "How in the hell was I supposed to know that?"

He blushed and cast his gaze to the floor. "I suppose there was no way for you to know, given the way I've treated you."

"Why, then?" you asked softly.

He sighed deeply and ran his hand over his face. "It's--complicated."

"Enlighten me, Barba. I've got time."

His green eyes raised back up to meet yours and you found yourself nearly breathless--and not for the first time. His eyes were beautiful, typically sparkling with whit and mischief; but in this moment, they shone with emotions so complex you couldn't begin to comprehend them.

"I never intended to be cruel to you, only distant. But I found that being aloof wasn't enough to keep you at bay--I needed something stronger. So...I started treating you as if I hated you. It was just easier, and perhaps safer."

"Safer?"

He nodded, but neglected to clarify. "Keeping you out of my life has become a necessity, Dr. (Y/L/N)."

His formality annoyed you, but you didn't comment on it. "Then why didn't you just tell me you didn't like me?"

He groaned and turned back to his desk to pour himself a glass of scotch. "Because it's not true, and I'm many things, but a liar isn't one of them."

"Okay, but you want nothing to do with me?"

"Exactly."

"You do understand how contradictory that sounds, correct?"

He took a long drink from his glass and leaned back against his desk. "It sounds moronic, yes, I am aware."

You debated your next words with care. You knew if you said what was on your mind, you might regret it, but you also knew if you didn't say it, you would regret it.

"When I met you, I was instantly intrigued by you," you began. "It was obvious you were highly intelligent, but you were also funny, charming, and impeccably well-dressed. It's a rare combination."

You crossed your arms and sighed. "At first, you were friendly and I quite liked you, but things between us turned icy in an instant. I didn't understand it then and I don't understand it now, but what I can tell you is it hurt me. It hurt me deeply, Barba, and it still does."

If he'd felt like an ass before, he felt 1,000 times worse now. "I never intended to hurt you," he said quietly. "You're a kind and loving soul...and you don't deserve to be treated the way I've been treating you."

"You're right," you whispered. "I don't."

He winced slightly and downed the rest of his scotch. "I am truly sorry, (Y/N). More than you'll ever know."

His use of your first name was not lost on you. You could count on one hand the number of times he'd said it and you'd reacted the same way each time. Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment, your breath caught, and your heart began to speed up.

Rafael had never noticed before...had never really paid attention to you the very few times he'd said your name, but he saw your reaction this time. For the first time since he'd met you, he began to wonder if you shared his feelings...

You quickly recovered yourself--praying he hadn't noticed. "I appreciate your apology." Your voice was slightly off pitch and you wanted to kick yourself for letting any emotion show.

"May I ask you something?" he said suddenly.

You nodded, not trusting your voice in the moment.

"You said what you thought of me when we first met--what do you think of me now?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He nodded.

You swallowed thickly. "Everything I said is true. You're a brilliant man and an even better lawyer...and you can be funny and charming, when you want to be. But that's not the Rafael Barba I get. I get the one reserved for the criminals and defense attorneys you dislike. The ones that make your skin crawl. You're pompous, arrogant, and cruel."

He closed his eyes tightly. Hearing you say what you really thought of him was much more painful than he'd anticipated.

"But I don't believe that's who you really are," you said so softly he almost didn't hear.

He looked back up at you in surprise.

"I think it's a facade you put up--a mask you wear to hide behind."

"What makes you think that?"

"Call it intuition, or perhaps training," you said with a shrug. "Either way, I am certain you really are the man I met in the beginning--not the man you've been the past several months."

"How could you have that much faith in me? After the way I've treated you..."

"Perhaps it's foolish...or maybe I just want it to be true."

He stared at you with a strange look on his face. It was as if he was trying to decide if you were playing him or being sincere. His expression slowly morphed as he realized you'd meant every word you'd said.

"May I be honest with you?" he asked.

"I want nothing less."

"Truthfully, I'm terrified of you. Absolutely, 100%, completely terrified."

Your jaw dropped slightly. Once again, he’d caught you off guard.

"You got under my skin the moment I met you and I haven't been able to get rid of you since. I've never felt like this--like I can't control my own actions or my emotions--and it's petrifying. I thought pushing you away would change how I felt, but it only intensified it. I think that's why I became crueler over time--I was angry at myself and angry with you for making me feel this way. It's not fair to you, I know, but it's the truth."

You were once again shocked to the core. You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing...if you weren't so good at reading people, you'd be convinced he was lying, but as it stood, you knew it was the raw, painful truth.

"You can't control everything, you know," you said quietly.

He laughed harshly. "God, how I wish I could."

"What are you so afraid of?"

He took a moment to answer, but once he did, the words poured out of him. "I'm afraid the way I feel about you will ruin both of our careers. I'm afraid that once you see the man behind the mask, you'll run and leave me broken. I'm afraid that we'll fall apart...that we won't stand the test of time. I'm afraid of falling so deeply in love with you that I lose myself completely. But most of all, I'm afraid that I've already screwed this up beyond repair."

For all your education and all the eloquent words you've learned in your lifetime, you found yourself stunned into complete and utter silence. No words came to mind, no coherent thoughts emerged. You stared at him and he stared at you, as the silence dragged on.

After what had to be an eternity, Rafael spoke again. "Please say something. Anything. Tell me you hate me. Tell me you never want to see my face again. Tell me you'd rather jump off a building than be with me--"

"Stop!" The intensity of your demand silenced him. "Just stop talking…I…I can't find the words I want to say, but I do know one thing: I'm not afraid."

Out of all the things you could have said, all the beautiful sentences you could have strung together, those three words were the perfect response. Fueled with sudden courage, Rafael crossed the space between the two of you in three long strides, coming to a stop a few inches from you.

With a shaking hand, he gently stroked your cheek. "May I?" he asked quietly.

Your pretty (y/e/c) eyes met his and you softly begged, "Please."

He leaned into you, lips pressing against yours with soft insistence. The kiss ignited something within you--a desire so deep and powerful it almost frightened you. You grabbed ahold of his suspenders and tugged his body closer to yours as you deepened the kiss.

Rafael moaned softly against your lips, tongue pressing forward, requesting access. You obliged, lips parting to allow him entry. His hands traveled down your soft curves until they landed on your hips. He used his gentle strength to pull you flush against him, his own body backed up against his desk to support him.

You could feel his need for you in his kiss, in his touch...and in his pants. His growing erection was pressed against you, so close to where you wanted him, yet so far away.

Rafael broke the kiss for a moment. "Carmen left for the day."

"Mhmm," you hummed in response.

"But I don't want our first time together to be on the couch in my office."

"How 'bout the desk?" you teased lightly.

He groaned. "Don't think I haven't imagined it, but I'd like to take you home...do this properly--in a bed."

You stared at him for a moment. "If we stay here, it can be casual, unassuming. If I go home with you...that changes everything."

"I don't want casual. I don't want a fling. I want you--and everything that comes along with that."

You studied him closely before responding. You noted the sincerity in his voice and his expression and decided to--for once--allow your heart to lead your decision. "Take me home, Rafael," you whispered.

He breathed deeply, as if trying to control himself. It appeared that you had the same effect on him as he did on you when you called him by his first name.

He didn't say a word--you weren't even sure he could have if he'd wanted to. He simply grabbed his jacket, took your hand, and practically dragged you to the elevator. Once outside, he hailed a cab and helped you into the backseat before sliding in beside you.

As the cab began to move, you rested your hand on Rafael's thigh. He glanced at you, but didn't say anything. You were feeling bold, so you slid your hand slowly up his thigh, inching closer to his evident arousal.

When your fingertips brushed against his clothed cock, he hissed slightly. He leaned over to whisper into your ear so the cab driver wouldn't hear. "Careful, querida. O puedo perder el control [Or I may lose control]."

You inhaled sharply--something about his tone mixed with the hushed Spanish words, sent a jolt of pure arousal straight to your core.

Your reaction didn't go unnoticed by Rafael. He smirked as he discovered one of your kinks. He tucked the knowledge away for later use.

You managed to behave yourself for the rest of the short ride to his apartment, but once inside the building, all bets were off.

His lips were on yours the moment the elevator doors slid closed, pressing your body firmly against the wall. Your fingers tangled in his hair, messing up the perfect locks.

As the elevator dinged and the doors began to open, you reluctantly pulled away from each other. You saw the desperation in his beautiful green eyes and you knew the same look reflected in yours.

He wasted no time guiding you to his apartment and the moment you were both inside, he had you spun around and pressed up against the door.

“Querida,” he whispered hungrily against your lips, fingertips dancing under your shirt.

You moaned softly as you tugged harshly on his suspenders, pushing them out of the way so you could remove his shirt.

Within moments, your clothes and his were strewn across the house as he carried you to his bedroom, nothing left between you but underwear.

Rafael tossed you gently onto the bed before climbing on top of you. He eyed you hungrily—sprawled out beneath him, desire evident on your face.

“You are perfect, hermosa.”

You blushed. “Rafa…”

He groaned. “Fuck. Don’t do that.”

Confusion clouded your expression. You didn’t think you’d done anything wrong…

He’d closed his eyes and his face gave away the internal struggle he was experiencing.

Realization suddenly crossed your features and you grinned. You gently raked your nails down his chest as you murmured the nickname again, “Rafa.”

His eyes shot open and he rutted his hips against yours, mouth pressing wet kisses to your heated skin. His teeth nipped at your neck and collarbone, leaving love bites in his wake.

He was taking his time with you. Wanting to explore every part of you, taste every inch of your skin, catalogue every detail in his mind.

You whimpered softly, not used to such attention, nor such deliberate slowness. “Rafael, please.”

He looked up at you with his trademark smirk. “You ever been with a Hispanic man before, Cariño?”

You blushed and shook your head.

His smirk widened. “We like to take our time, make sure our lady is properly loved and appreciated. This is about your enjoyment, (Y/N/N), not mine.”

“I want you to enjoy yourself too…”

He kissed you gently. “You keep making those pretty sounds for me, querida, and I promise you, I’ll enjoy myself.”

You found yourself unable to respond as he continued his slow descent towards your core. Each gentle caress of his lips against your skin seemed to set your nerve endings on fire--the need within you growing exponentially.

You whined prettily, hips shifting upwards, desperately seeking his lips where you needed them most. "Please," you begged.

You didn't know it yet, but Rafael would never deny you--not in the real world, nor the bedroom. The moment he heard your soft voice begging, he glanced up at your face. You already looked so far gone--your hair was a mess, your lips swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your breathing was ragged. He smiled to himself as he lowered his head, giving you no time to adjust as he dove into you with abandon.

You gasped as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. As skilled as the man between your legs was in the courtroom, he was even better suited with his mouth hungrily devouring you.

In the span of mere minutes, he'd turned you into a gasping, moaning mess--every one of your senses overwhelmed with feeling.

"Rafa--I--I'm close," you gasped.

He hummed against you, lips wrapping around your clit to increase his assault. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, holding you in place as he sped up his ministrations.

Your jaw dropped as a flurry of sounds--some of which were intended to be his name--slipped from your lips. Your orgasm sent wave after wave of intense pleasure through your body, but that pleasure soon turned to sensitivity.

"Rafa, too much--" you whispered as you tried to pull away from him.

He laid his arm across your lower belly, effectively holding you in place as his mouth continued to work you. His eyes flicked up to yours to check if you really did want him to stop, but your head was already thrown back, chest rising and falling rapidly as the familiar knot tightened in your stomach.

The moment your cries turned to moans and pleas to continue, Rafael stopped and lifted his head. "Did you want me to stop, querida?"

"No!" you cried loudly, fingers grasping his hair in an attempt to guide him back where you wanted him.

He smirked as he complied with your direction, lips and tongue once again sending you into a spiral of pleasure you'd never experienced before.

As you came down from your second high, Rafael finally slowed his assault and allowed you to pull his head up when it became too much.

He placed soft kisses against your heated skin, gently soothing you as the aftershocks shuddered through your body. His lips traced the curves of your face with gentle affection until your breathing had begun to normalize.

Rafael kissed you deeply, desire evident in the action. In response, your hand slowly descended down his chest and abdomen, until you reached his throbbing cock. You lightly ran your nails across the still clothed member, enticing a groan from the man above you.

You teased him for a few more seconds before sliding your hand beneath his boxer briefs and palming his cock in your warm hand. He groaned loudly--hips rutting against your hand instantly.

"I wanna taste you," you murmured against the shell of his ear.

"You don't have to..." he said softly.

There was something in his voice that caused you to pull away so you could see his face properly. He looked worried and perhaps a little apprehensive.

"But I want to," you reassured him.

"You do?"

You nodded. "It's something I enjoy very much, Rafa, so if you're okay with it, I would really like to suck your cock."

His eyes closed briefly and he moaned softly, forehead dropping against yours. "Por favor," he begged in a broken voice.

You grinned ear to ear. "Stand up."

"Qué?" he asked in confusion.

You nudged him gently and tilted your head towards the edge of the bed. "Stand up, handsome."

He did as you asked and watched in surprise as you lowered yourself to your knees on the floor in front of him. He felt like he needed to remind you again that you didn't need to do this for him, but when he saw the hunger in your eyes, he fell silent.

You slowly dragged his underwear down, freeing his cock from its constraints. You were a little surprised by his size--he was longer than average and quite thick--but surprise quickly turned to hunger.

You looked up at him, a playful smirk dancing on your lips, and all his worries faded away. It was obvious you wanted this...perhaps just as much as he did.

You wasted no time in wrapping your mouth around his cock, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could, eyes never leaving his face.

You gagged slightly as he hit the back of your throat, but you pushed past it, determined to provide him with as much pleasure as you could muster.

As you began to move, his fingers intertwined in your hair and his hips stuttered forwards occasionally. You knew what he needed, but it was clear he wasn't going to do it without some prodding.

You pulled off of him with a *pop* and waited until his heavily lidded eyes met yours. "Rafael, I want you to enjoy this."

"I am, cariño," he said in confusion.

"Not as much as you could be." You licked the tip of his cock for emphasis and his hips jumped slightly. "I want you to use my mouth for your own pleasure, Rafa. That's what it's there for."

He shook his head rapidly. He'd been expressly told not to do that by several women before you.

You rubbed his thighs reassuringly. "I want this, baby. Please," you begged. "Please fuck my mouth."

The moment the words were out of your mouth, you sucked his cock back into the warmth of your lips, hoping he would take you seriously. You pressed yourself forward, pushing past the gag reflex to take his entire member into your mouth.

Without hesitation, you began to guide his hips, urging him to give in and take what he wanted--what he needed.

You flicked your gaze up to meet his and nodded your head as best you could, hands still encouraging him to move. He very tentatively began to move his hips and you smiled, fingers digging into his thighs.

When you didn't pull away, he started to put a little more force into the movements. When you still didn't pull away, he sped up, fingers wrapping in your hair to keep you still.

You let him take control, eyes still trained on his face. He slowly began to thrust in earnest, fucking your mouth like it was his favorite place to be. You watched his head fall back, moans of intense pleasure leaving his lips.

You held onto him and focused on breathing as you let him use you. A few minutes passed before his hips began to stutter and you knew he was close.

You prepared to swallow everything he had to give you, but he surprised you by pulling away, your mouth coming off of him with a *pop*.

His breathing was ragged and his eyes were wild--pupils blocking out the brilliant green. "I need you," he said, voice raw and husky.

You understood his meaning and quickly crawled back onto the bed. He was on top of you almost immediately, lips latching onto your neck, teeth nipping at your flesh.

His cock rubbed against the outside of your pussy and you both groaned.

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Do I need a condom?"

"Pill," you gasped as you shook your head. "Wanna feel you fill me up, Rafa."

He let out a low growl and his eyes turned even more feral. He gave you no warning as he plunged his cock deep inside of you, stretching you in ways you'd never been stretched before.

"Rafael!" you cried out at the sensation.

Normally he would have forced himself to give you time to adjust, but his mind was too far gone. He set a brutal pace almost instantly and you were simply along for the ride.

There were so many new sensations that you were having a hard time staying focused. Everything just felt so incredible.

Your pussy throbbed around him, pulling him in even deeper. "Te sienetes muy bien, querida." [You feel so good, sweetheart.]

You moaned loudly, nails digging into his back as you arched against him.

"Te gusta cuando te hablo español, ¿no?" he growled into your ear. [You like it when I speak Spanish to you, don't you?"]

"Yes!" you gasped.

"Chica sucia," he chuckled darkly. [Dirty girl.]

"Rafa, please--I'm so close."

He groaned. "Quiero que vengas conmigo, cariño," he mumbled. [I want you to cum with me, sweetheart.] "Can you do that for me?" he asked in English.

You nodded your head rapidly.

"Esa es mi buena chica," he praised. [That's my good girl.]

You moaned lowly, preening at his praise. He smiled and picked up his pace, not wanting to stop until he felt you fall apart. "So close," he mumbled.

"Don't--stop!"

He knew you were close--could tell by the way your pussy fluttered around him--so he whispered, "Cum for me, baby."

You cried out as your orgasm hit you with more force than either of the two you'd had earlier. Rafael groaned your name as he spilled his seed within you, filling you up as your walls milked him dry.

You both began to come down from your highs, the intensity of your orgasms taking the wind out of both of you. Rafael pulled out and collapsed beside you, completely spent and satiated.

"That was pretty decent," you said between breaths.

He snapped his head in your direction and started to laugh when he saw the mischief in your eyes.

You grinned and joined in on his laughter, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and pull you closer to him.

"Very decent," he muttered against your hair.

You laughed again. "'Fucking incredible' would be a more accurate description."

"I couldn't agree more." He sighed softly. "I don't wanna move."

"Who says we have to?"

"We probably should...we do have work in the morning after all."

Your body tensed slightly and he felt it, realizing how his previous statement may have sounded. "I want you to stay, querida. I'm just saying we should probably get up and shower before we fall asleep."

You relaxed. "You may have to carry me."

He chuckled and dragged himself out of bed, pulling you along with him. He scooped you up despite your protests and carried you to the bathroom, placing you on the counter while he started the shower.

"I was kidding, Rafa!"

He smiled. "If my girl can walk immediately after sex, then I did something wrong. I'm always happy to carry you."

You smiled back at him, realizing he was completely serious. You watched him quietly, completely lost in thought.

"Where's your mind, querida?" he asked softly.

You shook your head, clearing your thoughts. "I'm happy...that's all."

Rafael kissed you gently. "Me too, hermosa. Now come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Once you were both clean and dry, he carried you back to his bed and laid you down gently before crawling into the bed beside you. He tugged you in closely against his chest and you sighed contentedly.

"Go to sleep, cariño. I'll be here in the morning when you wake up."

Somehow he seemed to know exactly what you needed to hear. Knowing he wasn't going anywhere and feeling his strong arms wrapped around you, allowed you to feel a calm peace you'd not felt in years.

Within minutes, you'd drifted off to sleep in his arms. Just before he fell asleep too, Rafael kissed the top of your head and whispered, "Te adoro con locura." [I adore you madly.]

[sunset-curve-fantom]

ALL I DO IS TRY, TRY, TRY

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post prison! spencer x genius fem! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: all your life, you’ve been second-best. Even now that you’ve been chosen to be an agent of the BAU, you’re just a replacement for Spencer Reid. What could change now that’s he’s out?

cw: there is a bit of an age gap, i imagined reader in her early to mid 20’s, nevermind how it isn’t accurate for working at FBI. this is a criminal minds fic, so there are graphic depictions of violence, as well as implied/referenced child neglect/abuse in readers childhood, reader is somewhat a genius

tropes/tags: slowburn on readers end, Spencer is flirting from the beginning, HURT/COMFORT, angst, bit of a sick fic in one scene, bit of soft dom! spencer as a treat

a/n : this came to me in a prophecy. full disclosure i haven’t actually seen the prison arc yet so if there’s any inaccuracies shhhhhh look at the fluff

also !! this is a LOOOOONG one. strap yourselves in. grab snacks and drinks

slipped in some very slight father figure Hotch bc that’s my crack

title taken from Mirrorball by Taylor Swift

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Spencer Reid is absolutely nothing like you’d thought he’d be.

From how the team talked about him, you’d been expecting a short, slight man. Someone quiet and meek and non-threatening.

And Dr. (Agent?) Reid was quiet. But not in the don’t-notice-me way, but in the I-know-what-I’m-doing-and-don’t-need-to-say-it way. He quietly commanded attention and respect. One look at the man told you he was not somebody to fuck with.

He was also really, really, really hot.

It was unfortunate and difficult, truly, because he’s your senior agent, someone who’s got more than a few years on you in both field experience and general age. He’s a genius- insanely good at what he does and there’s no refuting that.

But most of all, he’s kind and respectful and just genuinely a good person. And also good looking. Did you mention that yet?

He clicks seamlessly into place with the team in a way you’ve never managed to do in the time you’ve been with him. And after all, why would you? You’re just the rookie transfer with a bit higher than average IQ. Nothing to brag about. Nothing like Spencer.

You were a data analyst with the FBI before your boss told you: “The BAU is looking for a temporary genius. I put your name in the ring. Hotchner must’ve been impressed with something, cause he picked you. I know you’ve completed the training courses for their team, so pack your desk. You’ve got a new assignment.”

And just like that, every single one of your dreams came true. And then promptly burst into flames and burned to ashes when you realized what exactly your position on the team was: Temporary and replacing.

It makes sense, you guess. The team grew to rely on Reid’s quick wit and intellect. And beyond that, they’re an agent short. And you fit the bill well enough: swift and intelligent. Nothing more, nothing less. It became clear during the first few weeks that no one on the team had any intention of liking or particularly getting to know you beyond a professional capacity. And you get it, you really do. You don’t name the dog you’re gonna get rid of.

With the exception of Penelope. But you don’t think she has the ability to ignore someone without a clear reason.

So you did your job and you were good at it. Held the team at arm’s length even when they warmed up to you. Kept your head down, stuck to yourself. This way, it’s easier to stop yourself from leaning into JJ and Prentiss’s jokes, or to stamp down the glow in your chest from Hotch’s approval.

All of this hard work goes sailing straight out the window and spattering on the concrete below when Reid comes back. Because all it took was one case together- one. And then you’re hopelessly in love with the guy you replaced.

And it’s all kinds of terrible, because it’s Reid. He’s not only your coworker —soon to be ex, because now that he’s back you’ll be out of a job— but he’s also so incredibly out of your league it’s not even funny. But he keeps smiling at you and including you in conversations and saying hi to you and asking your opinion on things during cases as if you would have more to add than he does.

It’s very hard to keep him at arms length. And because Reid is Reid he drags everybody else over with him and then you’re bonding with a team you have a week left with, maybe two.

Spencer Reid has weaseled his way into your life one stupid smile at a time.

—

The case is going terribly.

What started as a run-of-the-mill serial killer case in some nowhere town turned into huge investigation because Spe— Reid figured out its relation to a cold case from a neighboring town decades prior. And then, to top everything off, just so happens to be near enough to your hometown that your mom saw you on the news when JJ was giving a statement.

And now she won’t stop calling.

Prior to this, you haven’t talked to your mom in about seven months. Now? She’s calling upwards of twelve times a day.

“Mom,” You say, tucked in one of the police stations back rooms, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I’m working, I can’t just come out to see you—“

“But you’ve never visited! And your finally in town, and—“

“I’m not in town, I’m a four hour drive away from town.”

A sigh crackles through the line, her voice tinny. “You know, your brother always made time to visit family, and your younger brothers—“

“Are younger than me and more successful, yes mom, I’ve heard it all before. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m trying to catch a serial killer.”

You snap the phone shut before she can protest, effectively ending the call. You sag against the wall, sighing deep and weary. Exhaustion clings to your bones. It’s not just your mom. This case, being physically close to your hometown, everything— it’s weighing you down. You spend more time in the hotel bed tossing and turning than sleeping.

Even Em— Prentiss had shot you look when you’d came in this morning- though jury’s still out about whether or not it was an are-you-okay look or a you-better-be-good-for-the-case look. You’re hoping it’s the former.

The room you’re in is empty- the precinct that called for the team went under renovation and remodeling last year, so some of the rooms have fallen into disuse, apparently. It’s dusty, and filled with boxes and papers and weirdly, one or two condom wrappers. You wish you were surprised.

Your phone has been put strongly on silent, and you’re not expecting anyone to find you for at least twenty minutes. Of course, you don’t need twenty minutes. You just need five.

You just need to collect yourself for a moment. A few minutes to breathe, to get your mom’s words and the unpleasant memories they bring out of your head; to will the shake out of your hands and the cold creeping in your lungs.

So when the door opens, you nearly jump out of your skin.

Spencer walks in, phone clasped in one hand and a worried expression on his face.

“We’re getting ready to give the profile.”

“Oh,” You peel yourself off the wall, discreetly wiping at your face. You hadn’t noticed the frustrated tears carving lines down your face, “Sorry, I’m coming.”

He frowns as you come closer, and panic begins to beat like a drum in your chest.

“Is Hotch upset? I just had to take a call, I thought it would—“

“Slow down,” He says, raising his hands. “Hotch isn’t upset. Is something wrong?”

“No,” You say quickly, too quickly, because his frown deepens.

“You’ve been taking a lot more calls recently and you’re always upset after they’re over. Is someone bothering you?”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “My mom. We’re a four hour drive away from my hometown. She saw me on the news when JJ gave her statement.”

Something flashes in his eyes when you say your mother, but it’s gone before you can decipher it.

“You don’t want to see her.”

He says it flat-toned and blank. Like it’s a fact.

It is a fact.

“No,” You confess, “I’ve never been close with my parents. I haven’t spoken to her beyond a text in years, and I haven’t texted her in months. Then she sees me on the news and I’m back on her radar again.”

You chuckle, but there’s no humor in it. “Oh, the folly of the disappointing daughter.”

He tilts his head, questioning. “You’ve made something of yourself. You’re a special agent. That’s not nothing.”

“Yeah, well. It’s not Doctor or Lawyer or C.E.O or anything else my brothers or cousins have made of themselves, so,” You shrug. “Disappointing.”

“Well that’s stupid,” Spencer says, a small curl to his lips, “You keep all of those stupid people safe by catching serial killers.”

“You’re a doctor. Did you just call yourself stupid?”

He shrugs, mimicking your earlier action. “I’m not that kind of doctor.”

You look down to hide the smile on your face but he ducks down, catching it anyway.

“Hey,” He says, eyes catching yours, “If you want to talk, you know where to find me.”

You (hesitantly) look up to meet his gaze. “Thanks, Reid.”

His face does something weird. Contorts at the words, just for a second. Like he just bit into something sour.

And then it’s gone.

“Of course.”

—

For the rest of the case, everytime your phone rings, Spencer looks at you. You’re getting close to just throwing the damn thing off a roof, if it’ll convince him to stop looking at you like that. You don’t know what to do with it. The look he gives you tastes like worry, and you don’t know what to do about Spencer Reid worrying about you.

You never meet his gaze. You know he’s looking, but you never look back.

Finally, the case comes to an end. Actually, it goes out in a literal blaze of glory— the unsub lights his kill shed on fire.

All of it would have burned to ash if you hadn’t run into the structure and and snatched the murder weapon and the most damning pieces of evidence: the printed photographs the unsub took with the victims.

It’s a win because you saved the evidence.

It’s a loss because Hotch looks pissed while the paramedics check you over.

Well. You assume he looks pissed. You’re staring resolutely at your shoes.

Finally, the paramedic gives you the all clear —just some minor burns here and there, you got lucky— and you no longer have a human buffer and excuse to avoid talking.

The silence stretches out between you two. Eventually, you cave.

“Hotch, I’m sorry—“

He holds a hand up and you clamp your jaw shut.

“Did you not hear me give the order to stay back?”

“I just thought—“

“We are a team, agent. I need to be able to trust not only that you’re going to follow my orders but be able to work together with the team. Now, you’re not doing either of those things.”

You frown. “I do follow your orders.”

He sighs. “You didn’t today. And more importantly, you’re not acting like a member of this team. You don’t call for backup. You don’t ask for help. You do good profiling work, agent. But if you can’t work with this team then we might need to reconsider your position here.”

That… doesn’t make any sense.

Hotch catches the confusion on your face. “Something wrong, agent?”

“I just— I was under the impression that I would only be working with the team for a few more weeks…?”

Now it’s his turn to look confused. “You may have been hired at an inopportune time, and until the first year is over it is a probationary basis, but pending review, you are and always have been a permanent member of this unit.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t think you’d be staying for long.”

You shake your head, your world turned on its head.

He hums. “You should buy earplugs. Rossi snores.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“And agent?”

You look up.

“You did good work today. You have a team. Learn to use them.”

He walks away, leaving you to process this crisis-inducing information.

So. You’re not leaving the team. You’re a profiler. Forever. This is your job now.

So does that mean you weren’t replacing Spencer? So why were you hired? Anything you can do multiple people on the team can do better. Why would Hotch pick you?

You stare at the pavement, which gives you a perfect view to watch Spencer’s shoes walk into view and hear him settle next to you.

“You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis.”

It takes you an embarrassingly long time to respond, partly because you’re not sure what to say, but also, the length of his thigh is pressed against yours and it’s hard to think when he’s emanating warmth and you can’t stop yourself from thinking about how it would feel to touch, skin to skin.

“Well,” You croak, “I did just get some pretty big news.”

He leans back on his hands, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Looking up at him was a mistake. Bathed in the glow of the ambulance and the light from the moon, you can see just how long his eyelashes are, and how his lips move when he says your name.

Oh shit.

“Sorry, what?”

His face twitches in a smile. “I asked if you were okay. You were staring.”

You flush from your neck to the tips of your ears. “Sorry. It’s been a long day. I’m fine. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

See, he always does this. Most people would end the conversation there and move on. And that’s fine. It’s normal. But Spencer asks. Like he’s interested.

You shrug. “I thought… I thought I was leaving the team in a few weeks. Turns out i’m staying.”

He starts swinging his legs on the edge of the ambulance, though where his almost brush the ground, yours swing several inches above it. “Why did you think you were leaving?”

You laugh softly. “My boss told me the position was temporary. And in my excitement of getting it I may or may not have… not read the paperwork?”

He clicks his tongue. “Oh, honey.”

The tips of your ears burn. “I was excited!”

“To get a job staring at gruesome crime photos?”

“To help people.”

“What? Data analysis not helping people enough?”

“Do I even have to answer that?”

He snorts, his body shaking against yours. “You’re a consulting analyst. That’s the big leagues.”

Now it’s your turn to huff. “Is there a big leagues for data analysis?”

He leans his head down to look at you. “Well, maybe miss smarty-pants over here made a league of her own.”

The shade of red you turn must be visible, dark and bad lighting aside. “You have an IQ of 187. Can you really call me a smarty-pants?”

He tilts his head, giving you an assessing look. You recognize it. He gives case files the same look.

A faint shudder runs down the length of your spine at that precise, clinical gaze.

It should concern you, unnerve you.

It doesn’t.

“No, I’m positive. You’re a smarty-pants.”

You look away, unable to hold the intensity of his gaze.

“Hey, no. Come on, you gotta own up to being a smarty-pants. Otherwise you ruin the effect.”

“Am I supposed to start wearing sweaters and Converse, then?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be owning the smarty-pants look.”

“Do we have to keep the smarty-pants thing going?”

“Took your mind off the burns, didn’t it?”

You blink, realizing that you haven’t noticed the dull sting of the minor burns littering your body for a few minutes now.

But that has less to do with Spencer speaking and more to do with the fact that he’s here. Touching you. If you focus really hard, you can feel the chords of muscle lining his arm.

“Uh,” You stutter, momentarily flabbergasted by the way he’s looking at you. Like it’s important to him— you not being in pain. “Yeah, yeah, I guess. Well. I feel them now.”

“Oh, shame. I guess we’ll just have to keep talking.”

You furrow your brows. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Shouldn’t you be helping finish wrapping up the case?”

He shrugs. “I’m right where I want to be.”

That’s a decidedly very loaded statement that are not going to unpack.

You’re not going to unpack to jolt of pure electricity you feel from it, either.

—

You may or may not have lied about just how sick you were, exactly.

“You know,” Rossi says after you hack a cough into your elbow for what has to be the fiftieth time in as many minutes, “That’s starting to sound less like the plague and more like desperation.”

You sniff harshly, taking a swig of cough syrup and praying this isn’t the king with codeine in it. You didn’t read the label very well. “What do you mean?”

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. “He’s saying that most people on their veritable death/bed opt to sleep comfortably in their own beds in their own homes rather than on a plane to hunt down a violent killer.”

You think if your apartment— it’s cozy, at least, but still a glaring reminder of the reason you told Hotch you were fine to come in- loneliness.

You have heated blankets and warm lighting and books and tea —boxes and boxes of tea— and all manner of things that make you happy. But no amount of things can replace, tangible human connection.

You knew the ache of spending the day in your apartment would sting worse than the cold. Fever, Whatever you have.

“I’m thinking of a word,” JJ says, mock tapping her chin thoughtfully, “Starts with work, ends with holic.”

“I am not a workaholic,” you wheeze. “I am fine.”

“Yes,” Prentiss says, raising her other eyebrow. Oh no. Not the double eyebrow raise. “Because this is exactly what the picture of health looks like.”

To avoid answering, you take another swig of cough medicine.

“Just do you know,” Spencer says, “You’re about one tiny sip of that away from overdosing. I’d cool it on the cough syrup.”

“But I’m still coughing.”

“Have you given it any time to work?”

“It’s been thirty-ish minutes since I took the first dose.”

He levels you with a look at your usage of dose. “Why don’t you wait a little longer before committing suicide via shallow breathing and seizures.”

You wave a hand. “It’s fine. I know how to take care of myself when I’m sick.”

“Is your version of taking care of yourself just continuously taking medicine until the symptoms become bearable?”

“You’re un-bearable.” You snort at your play on words, but grow quiet because when you look up, the entire team is looking at you. “What?”

“You never joke.” JJ says.

“And I think I’ve heard you laugh exactly two times, and I’m pretty sure one of them was a sneeze.” Rossi says, a look of vague disbelief on his face.

You squirm in place. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Uh, yeah it is. You’re definitely too sick to be on a case if you’re laughing.”

“Come on, it was barely a chuckle—“

Spencer looks around. “Yeah, what’s the big deal? I’ve heard her laugh before.”

JJ and Prentiss snap their heads to him in tandem. “What?”

Now he looks vaguely uncomfortable. “I just don’t get why it’s such a big deal.”

“That’s cause you showed up late to the party,” Em- Prentiss says, “You didn’t meet her when she first came. She was all genius consulting data analyst.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a genius—“

“Yeah,” JJ chimes in, “I only ever saw her smile to be polite.”

“Wait,” Prentiss says, brows pinched, “You heard her laugh and you didn’t tell us? You knew we were trying to see who would make her break first.”

“You guys were trying to make me laugh? Is that what was happening all that time? I almost called Hotch like, thirty times because I was concerned for you guy’s mental wellbeing. I thought you’d had a nervous breakdown.”

JJ snorts. “Nope. Just tried to see if the rumors were true about all data analysts being robots.”

You cough into your elbow. “You guys make it seem like I was some sort of frigid bitch.”

“Frigid, yes. Bitch, no.”

“Hey!” You retort, then wince as the volume of your own voice makes your head pound harder and makes your throat sting worse, “I wasn’t that bad. Also, I was nervous! I’m the youngest person here by like, a long shot. I wanted to be professional.”

“I for one enjoyed it,” Rossi cuts in, “It was all blunt business. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush or gossiping. A few people here could learn a thing or two.”

“See?” You gesture. “Rossi agrees with me.”

Just about everyone on the plane gives you the exact same look. Hotch especially, who’s stayed silent during the entire exchange, looks troubled.

Once you land (an ordeal that normally doesn’t bother you, but today, had you worshipping the porcelain altar) Hotch pulls you aside.

“Agent,” He says before you climb into the car that’ll take you to the police precinct, “I can’t have an agent not at peak performance on this case.”

You frown. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re too sick to work this case—“

“No, no, I can work, I can do it—“

“—In the field. You’re working from the station until we wrap up. Understood?”

You sigh, knowing when you’re beat. “Understood.”

He gazes at you for a second. “You might want to call out of work entirely the next time you’re sick, you know. The less time you spend resting the longer it’ll take to get better. I expect to see you taking care of yourself at the precinct.”

You blink. “Are you… dad-ing me?”

He almost smiles. “Well, I am a father. It’s bound to come out sometimes.”

The joke soothes your concerns of him being upset with you (again.) You suppose it would’ve been warranted —Hotch never gets upset without a reason— but still. He’s the only one you occasionally struggle to read.

The good news is by the time you make it to the station, your medicine has kicked in.

The bad news is when you get to the station your medicine has kicked in.

“Spencer,” You say, spinning in a spinny chair and staring at his blurry face. “Did you know that elephants have prehensile—“

“Do not finish that sentence.” He says, glancing back at the team, all in various stages of concern, disgust, amusement, and annoyance. “Did you take non-drowsy cough medicine?”

“Yes! I didn’t want to be tired.”

He scrubs a tired hand down his face, then nudges a sealed water bottle across the table to you. “Drink that.”

You wrinkle your nose. “But my throat hurts.”

“Drink it anyway.”

You snatch the water bottle, grumbling the whole time as you crack the seal and gulp down the water, not realizing how thirsty you were until this very second.

You lean your forehead on the table head still pounding from the pressure in your sinuses. You feel a prickle in the back of your neck, signifying that the team is still staring at you.

With great effort, you lift your head, tilting your chin up and trying to summon all the self confidence you don’t actually have.

“I am making a fool of myself. Please disregard my actions until I am no longer ill. This won’t happen again.”

Words are hard. Speaking is hard. With a groan, you drop your head back on your arm.

“Ah, there she is.”

“Knew that laugh had to be a fluke.”

“Cold medicine must be working.”

There are other mutterings about stubborn geniuses and workaholics and data analysis and Spencer staying at the station and—

You snap your head up. “I’m fine. I don’t need a baby-sitter. Spencer would be most useful in the field. He’s one of the best shot’s on the team.”

“And when it comes to needing a marksman I won’t hesitate to get him,” Hotch says, “But for now, I need my two geniuses to put their heads together to solve this case.”

Feeling cowed, you avoid Spencer’s gaze as the team files out of the room you’ve all set up in, instead grabbing a file from the center of the table. You really are being stupid. You should’ve stayed home, now you’re a liability, not to mention a walking biohazard. Fuck, why couldn’t you just think before you—

“I can hear you spiraling from over here.”

You lift your gaze, eyeing Spencer who hasn’t even put down the case file he’s reading.

You look back down. “I wasn’t spiraling.”

“You’re really going to lie to a profiler?”

“We’re both profilers.”

“Yeah, well, you have an obvious tell when you’re worrying about something.”

“I do not!”

You hear the quiet shuffling of papers.

A sigh leaves your lips, and you press the heels of your hands to your eyes. “I’m really sorry, Spe— Reid. I didn’t mean to drag you here with me.”

If he notices your slip up, he doesn’t give any indication of it.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

“I know you’re a germaphobe, and I’m a walking biohazard, and now you’re stuck here going over case files and, and I’m a liability right now—“

“Slow down,” He says, interrupting your slew of word vomit. His voice has dropped an octave, gaining a richer note. You should stop thinking about his voice. “I’m fine. You’re fine. The team is more worried than upset. You’re not the first person to come to work sick. And you won’t be the last.”

“They keep staring at me.”

“Because your current state and manner of behavior are disrupting their pre-conceived notions and set opinions of your character.”

You scrunch your nose. “Don’t get all clinical on me,”

You hear a small huff of laughter across the table. “I’ve come to work far worse than hopped up on cold medicine, believe me. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on working the case.”

Slowly, the itching under your skin settles, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat. Eventually, you peel your hands away from your face and do what he says.

Hours pass by in a blur of text and you and Spencer occasionally either bouncing ideas off each other or making small breakthroughs. Spencer handles the relay of information because you can’t really go more than three full sentences without hacking up a lung. Seriously, what is cough syrup good for?

Sometime past midday, you start flagging. The words start blending and smushing together and your head gets harder and harder to hold up. You’re jolting yourself back awake every five minutes, forcing your body to just bear through the illness for the sake of productivity. You got yourself into this mess, you deal with the consequences.

You’re just… so tired. Maybe you’ll close your eyes, just for a few minutes. To get energy. And then you can get back to the case.

Just for a few minutes.

—

“She out?”

“Like a light. Powered through for a lot longer than I expected. But dextromethorphan gets us all in the end.”

A low whistle. “Poor kid. The ‘proving yourself to the team’ phase is rough.”

A hum. “I think it’s more than that.”

A beat passes.

“You got her?”

“Yeah,” Something soft and good smelling, like pine and coffee and something almost rich settles over your shoulders, “Yeah, I got her.”

—

When you wake, your neck is sore but you’re not cold, which is strange considering you remember falling asleep in a table.

Oh god you fell asleep on the table.

You jackrabbit up in place, knees knocking against the underside of the table. Hissing in pain, you tug the warm thing further around your shoulders which is—

Holy fucking shit it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Said man is nowhere to be found, and the conference/briefing room you’re in is dark. Not only did someone turn the lights off (you’re pretty sure you can guess who) but it’s dark outside. Meaning you didn’t just take a short nap.

You slept the entire day away.

Cold dread seeps into your shoulders. “Oh my god I’m so fired. Oh shit. Fuck, Hotch is going to be so pissed—“

The door opens and you stand, whirling around to face the doorway and then instantly regretting it when spots dance across your vision and your head swims.

You stumble, grabbing the edge of the chair for support and squinting at the figure in the doorway.

“Hotch?”

“Nope,” Spencer’s voice rings out in the room, “Guess again.”

You groan, sinking down into the chair. “Am I fired?”

He snorts. “Seeing as Hotch bet that you’d fall asleep before dark, I’d say no.”

“He bet against me?”

“Actually, everyone else thought you’d only last an hour. He bet for four.”

“How long did you bet for?”

He sets a mug in front of you, steaming tea wafting up and warming your face. “Three hours. You metabolize cough syrup better than I thought.”

You take the mug in your hands, warming your fingers but not actually taking a sip. “Mmm. Told you I’ve done this before.”

“I don’t think that’s the brag you think it is.”

You chuckle, which quickly turns into a cough.

“Drink your tea,” He commands softly from across the table, sleeves pushed up around his elbows and papers spread about him.

You dutifully take a sip, something restless growing calm in the back of your skull.

You eye is forearms, hoping the look-over you’re giving them is subtle. (It probably isn’t, but come on. A button down with the sleeves rolled up while you’re wearing his sweater is practically sinful.)

“Do you… want the lights turned back on? I’m awake now, so.”

He flips over a piece of paper, then scribbles something on a sticky note. “You were sleeping. And you have a headache. I can see just fine.”

“My headache isn’t that bad, really, I’m fi—“

He levels you with a look, and you sink a little lower in your chair. “Do you at least want your sweater back?”

“No. Keep it.”

“Careful, maybe I’ll just keep it forever,” You joke.

“I’d be fine with that.”

What. The. Fuck.

You stand, pushing out the chair with a loud screech. “I’m just gonna— bathroom,” You splutter, your face blazing and stomach doing a gymnastics routine, “I’m gonna use the bathroom. Bye.”

You’re screaming internally the entire way to the bathroom, and once you get there, open-mouthed silent screaming in the privacy of a stall.

Because. He said. He didn’t even look up. He just. And he. Maybe he—

No, no, no. You are not about to entertain that notion. Not again. He was just being nice. That’s all. That’s all.

Collecting yourself takes about five more minutes, and then you’re walking back to the conference/briefing room when you realize you never took the damn sweater off. He watched you scramble out of that room to the bathroom he has to know you weren’t using, with his sweater on.

This is the end for you, then. That’s it. It’s over.

You mentally slap yourself. Get it together. It’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

You re-enter the room marginally calmer than you left it. You slide into your seat, sip your tea (that he made you!) and keep working on the case.

You pretend you can’t see him smirking from across the table.

—

The case doesn’t last too long. The team catches the guy in the act of beating his next victim. Thankfully, you manage to save the poor woman before he finishes his plan, and with being caught red-handed, it’s fairly open and shut. Case closed. Which is great, because you really aren’t sure how many more nights you can suffer through trying to sleep in the hotel bed.

You have this thing, when you’re sick. You can’t sleep anywhere but the couch. Your couch. You figured (apparently foolishly) that it wouldn’t be too bad, since the crux of the issue is that you hate sleeping in your bed when you’re sick, but no. You’d spent every night of the case tossing and turning and coughing yourself out. Your lungs were tired. Your body was tired. You were tired.

Spencer raises an eyebrow at you when you board the jet. “You haven’t been near-overdosing on cough syrup again have you?”

“No,” You grouse, rubbing your face with your hand. “I’m like, not even sick anymore. I just didn’t sleep well.” For several nights in a row.

“Mmm,” He hums, non-committal.

You practically collapse into your usual seat on the jet, hunching in yourself and attempting to make yourself comfortable in the seat.

You blink your eyes open when you feel the seat jostle next to you. “Reid?”

He’s already pulling out a book. “What?”

“This isn’t your seat.”

“We don’t have assigned seats.”

“No, but you always sit over there.”

“And now I’m sitting here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if you want to argue him on the point or not. You decide against it, because arguing will draw attention to the fact that you’re sitting next to each other having this conversation at all.

You settle back into your seat. “Whatever. Hope you’re not a loud page-turner.”

“Is that even a thing?”

You shrug, eyes falling shut again.

After a few minutes, you shiver, unconsciously scooting closer to the warmth of the person next to you, your sleep-addled brain barely processing the fact that it’s Spencer you’re pressing your shoulder into.

He repositions next to you, shoulder jostling you. You grumble, dropping your head to his arm. Now much closer, your nose fills with the smooth, all encompassing smell that is Spencer.

The dull chatter that fills the plane, the warm body next to yours, and, despite your earlier complaints, the quiet, gentle page-turning lull you into an easy sleep.

—

“Are you drugging her or something? I’ve seen her sleep more this week than I have in her entire time on the team.”

“The only drugging she’s done was voluntary.”

“Her neck is going to be so sore when she wakes up.”

“Sore? Mine would be broken if I did that.”

“Ah, the joys of youth.”

A beat passes. Then another.

“She’s a bit young, don’t you think?”

“Emily don’t start—“

“Just saying, Spence. HR would get a kick out of this.”

“Not like it never happens. We’ve all walked into supply closet B at the wrong time.”

“This isn’t meaningless sex though.”

“…No.”

Silence.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

A deft hand re-adjusts your head to a more comfortable angle. “I will be.”

—

Landing jolts you into wakefulness and off Spencer’s shoulder. It’s not embarrassing. It’s not. It’s only weird if you make it weird.

When you’re all back at HQ, you pull Hotch aside.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

He nods. “In my office.”

You stalk up the stairs, aware of the eyes following your back. You step into the office, shutting the door behind you and pretending it doesn’t feel like sealing your doom.

He sits, gesturing for you to do so too, but you shake your head.

“I won’t be long. I just wanted to apologize.”

He blinks. “For?”

“I shouldn’t have come in. I was a liability, and it was unprofessional. Next time I’ll act with more discretion.”

Selfish, Your mother’s words echo in your head, your father’s words following suit: Try harder.

He laces his fingers together, resting him on his desk.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

“Because Reid was gone, and you needed a ge— someone smart.”

“Every member of my team is intelligent. That’s not why I chose you.”

He reaches down, opening a desk drawer and pulling out a newspaper clipping.

Your breath hitches when you read the words on it.

“Garcia found it,” He says, scanning the piece of paper. “‘Professor’s Assistant saves college class from school shooter’. You were sixteen.”

You look down at your shoes. “It was the scariest moment of my life. I didn’t— he came in, and I was behind the door getting paper, and he didn’t see me. He… I knew people would die if I didn’t do something. I tackled him. He shot me twice before I managed to kick the gun away. I almost bled out.”

He nods, putting the clipping down. “That’s who I chose. Not the genius. Not the consulting data analyst. Someone who wants to help people.”

He puts the clipping back in his drawer. “I’m not going to write you up for not having a healthy work-life balance. No one in this bureau does, and if they say they do, they’re lying.”

You sigh, rubbing at your face. “Now I look stupid for asking to talk.”

“It’s not an imposition. You’re a member of my team. That makes your wellbeing when you’re on the job my responsibility.”

Unable to form a response to that, you manage to stutter out a thank you, and then flee from his office, collapsing into your chair at your desk with a sigh.

A mug is set in front of you. Different mug, same tea, same hand.

“I think you need to reevaluate your opinion of Hotch and what kind of person you think he is.”

You take the mug with a glare. “I was reasonably concerned.”

“You thought you were going to get written up for coming to work sick?”

“It was a logical conclusion to draw,” You pause, taking a sip of the tea, which is just as good as it was last time. Actually, it’s slightly sweeter, and it soothes your throat more. “And stop profiling me. What’d you put in this?”

“Stop being so easy to profile,” Spencer says, crossing his arms. “Honey. They didn’t have any at the station.”

It’s quiet for a few moments: him staring at you, you pretending he’s not staring and sipping your tea.

“You should go home.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re still sick. Don’t tell me you just can’t wait to write all this paperwork.”

“Maybe I am.”

“No you’re not,” He picks up your jacket from where it’s hanging off the side of your cubicle and plops it in your lap. “Go home. I’ll sick Hotch on you.”

You stand, shrugging your jacket on and pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re a cruel man.”

“Mhm. Sure. Go home.”

You grumble all the way to the door, but quiet when you look back to see him watching you fondly. He gives you a little two finger wave, and with the sheer amount of heat that rushes to your cheeks, you have no choice but leave immediately.

Stupid genius co-workers.

—

The next week brings wellness and a lull in cases.

Unfortunately, that also means you don’t have an excuse to put off your paperwork any longer.

Spencer taps the top of it with a slender finger. “Did it get bigger since the last time I saw it?”

He’s hanging around your desk for… some reason. He came to drop off paperwork from your last case, and then stuck around for some unknown purpose.

“No,” You groan, setting your mug of coffee aside and grabbing the first paper off the stack. “Still the same pile I’m procrastinating on.”

“Good luck,” He huffs, finally turning and walking back to his own desk. It’s still in your eyeline, if you crane your neck a little.

You sigh, grabbing your earbuds from your desk, knowing you can’t put the paperwork off any longer. You’re pretty sure Records is going to start sending you death threats soon.

Making your way through the pile is slow going. It’s terrible. The only part of working with the BAU you hate is the paperwork. It’s tedious and never-ending and it always gives you a headache.

The only times you get up are to use the bathroom and get more coffee. JJ kindly tells you that you should probably leave your mug in the break room after your sixth or so trip. Spencer, somehow, appears in the room, and rattles off the symptoms of caffeine overdose.

You leave the mug there.

You continue working well after everyone else leaves. It gets dark, people go home, office lights go off, and while the pile has largely decreased in size, it’s still not finished.

You have to finish. Hotch had made an offhand comment about turning in your paperwork on time and now you have to finish it. To show him you’re not lazy.

You’ve only got a little bit of paperwork left when a hand taps you on your shoulder.

You yank your earbuds out, blinking blearily. “Wha?”

Spencer’s face swims into view. “Come on, time to go home.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you didn’t fall asleep and forget to go home. They do lock the doors at a certain point. Ask me how I know.”

Your brain is moving like sludge, and it takes you several minutes to process what he says. He continues standing in front of you, patiently waiting for you to respond.

“But… the paperwork.”

“Will be here tomorrow. Come on, up we go.”

You whine as he takes your hands, hauling you to your feet. You attempt to scrub the sleep out of your eyes while messily moving papers about so your desk doesn’t look like a copy machine threw up all over it.

He pushes your jacket into your hands and you shrug it on, grumbling all the way through the doors and out to the parking lot, Spencer in tow. He follows dutifully behind you, and everytime you look back at him to voice your complaints all he does is smile.

“It’s cold.”

“That does tend to happen in winter.”

When you get to your car, he reaches out, tugging on your wrist.

“Hey,” He says, looking down at you, eyes deep pools of some emotion you can’t identify, “Drive safe, okay? It’s icy.”

“My commute isn’t that bad. And I’m,” You break off with a huge yawn. “Not even that tired.”

“That doesn’t inspire much confidence, smarty-pants.”

“Oh, so we’re locked into the smarty-pants thing, huh?”

“Yep.” He says, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets and popping the P.

“Well then what am I supposed to call you? Robot-Reid?”

“How about Spencer?”

His words hang in the night air, mingling in the puffs of air from both of your mouths.

“…What rhymes with Spencer?”

“Sensor, denser, dispenser—“

“Dis-Spencer,” You say, smiling to yourself. “I like the sound of that one.”

“You know dis comes from—“

“The latin word dis, and the prefix is used to denote a reversal of absence of an action, expressing negation, or expressing completeness or intensification of an unpleasant or unattractive action.”

He chuckles, smiling down at his shoes. “That’s why you’re the smarty-pants.”

“Oh please. You know all of that and then some.”

He shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not.”

You both stand in the cold of the parking lot, neither willing to leave yet.

Before you can think better of it, you dart forward, throwing your arms around Spencer’s neck and mumbling “Goodnight, Dis-Spencer.”

You step away quickly, awkwardly giving him a small wave before hurrying into your car and driving away.

Smooth.

—

The next case is… really rough.

Two spree killers, working as a team. A father and a son; the son was groomed into the lower position.

Not anything you haven’t seen before. Trained for. Studied.

No amount of studying could have prepared you for the cold grip of dread that gripped your throat like a vice when you finally confronted the unsubs, and heard eerily familiar words uttered from the father:

“You’re a good for nothing son! I wouldn’t have had to do this if you weren’t such a disappointment of a child! Why couldn’t you have just been more like your siblings?”

The son was killed before anyone could intervene.

Wrapping up the case left you shaken— you’d watched with hollow eyes as the boy’s body was zipped in a body bag.

A hand landing roughly on your shoulder shoves awareness back into your body and you flinch, hard, whirling around with your shoulders raised to meet the oncoming threat.

Only it’s not a threat. It’s Hotch. And he looks concerned.

You force your body to relax. “I’m sorry, I’ll go help question the rest of the family—“

“Are you okay?”

You blink. “What?”

“Are you alright?” He asks again.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m okay. It just… reminded me of something.”

Hotch purses his lips but doesn’t say anything. He looks he’s going to say something, but then decides against it.

“Help Reid get the last of the evidence. Once you two are finished head back to the station. We’ll meet you there.”

You nod, inwardly relieved about not having to deal with the family members. You might start actually crying.

You sidle up to Spencer who’s tagging blood splatters on the carpet. He wordlessly hands you a pair of gloves. He doesn’t ask. You don’t tell.

You work side by side for the better part of two hours, occasionally conversing with the local police or helping the crime scene investigators tag evidence.

If he knows what’s bothering you, he doesn’t say. You wouldn’t have an answer anyway. You’re far too gone in your own head.

You follow Spencer to the break room back at the station, watching him quietly make two mugs of tea. He presses one into your hands with a gentle command to let it cool for a few minutes. The mug is warm in your hands. Spencer is standing next to you, a mug of his own in his hands. Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

You chant this mantra in your head while you wait for the rest of the team to come back.

Your parents aren’t here. You’re fine.

Spencer doesn’t ask before sitting next to you on the jet. He just does. He hands you a book, then opens his own.

You don’t read a single page. He must know. Still, he says nothing, just presses a little closer to you when he sees your hands shaking.

The team gives the two of you space when you finally land. You stumble off the jet, trip backpack slung over your shoulder, legs wobbly and breath uneven.

You’re not sure why the case upset you this much. Your parents don’t upset you this much. They just— they make the same kind of comments, and so did that father, except now his son is dead because he killed him—

“Hey,” Hotch approaches you slowly, makes sure you can see him. You hate that he feels the need to do so. “Take tomorrow off. Stay home. Recuperate.”

“I’m fi—“

“We all have tough missions and I would do the same for any agent,” He says, clasping you gently on the shoulder. “Besides. We both know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Your lips twitch. “Isn’t there a rule against profiling each other?”

“That rule is for all of you. Not me.”

He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before departing.

You manage to haul yourself into HQ and out to the parking lot, cursing as your cold fingers fumble with your keys. Frustrated tears begin to well in your eyes and you press the heels of your hands to your face, sucking in a shuddering breath and begging it all to just stop.

Someone gently pries your hands open, pulling your keys out of your clenched grip. Your shoulders shake as you heave, gasping for cold night air that burns on the way down.

A hand finds its way to the back of your head, pressing it forward into something warm and solid. Another arm wraps around your waist, keeping you close, while the hand on your head drifts down to your neck, squeezing and rubbing intermittently.

“I’m sorry,” You cry, rubbing your face and smearing your tears across your hands, “I don’t know why, it just—“

“You don’t need a reason,” Spencer says, spreading his hand out wide so it covers the entire nape of your neck, “Sometimes it all just gets to you.”

You nod into his chest, lowering your hands from his face to wrap around his torso, clutching it like a lifeline.

“I don’t want to go home tonight,” You whisper, ashamed. “I’ll dream of it. And them. And it’ll be cold and alone—“

“Come home with me,” He says, voice a little breathless while he holds you closer, “Come home with me.”

He says the last part a little desperate.

You sniff. “Okay.”

You hesitantly pull away from the hug, but not before Spencer’s hand moves from your neck to your face, his thumb brushing away the tear tracks on your face. He drops his head down, and you feel the gentlest brush of lips against the skin in between your eyebrows.

“Let’s go home.”

He tugs you along by the hand, helping you into his little old car, tucking your bags into the backseat. He lets the radio play softly while he drives, loud enough to quiet your thoughts a bit but not so loud as to overwhelm you.

He helps you out of the car when you arrive to the apartment building, carrying one of your bags up the stairs- you’d insisted on carrying the rest of your stuff.

He unlocks the apartment door, ushering you into the warmth and comfort that is Spencer’s home.

It’s exactly like you pictured, if not tidier. A bit more modern than you’d imagined. Books are everywhere of course, but so are knick-knacks and trinkets and other little bits of things that are so decidedly Spencer. There’s even a quilt on the couch.

He sets your bag down by the door. “The shower is down that hall to the left. Use whatever products you need to. Do you have any clothes to change into?”

You chew on the inside of your lip. “In my luggage, yeah, but they need to be washed.”

“I can put them in the wash while you shower. In the meantime, you can borrow something of mine.”

You shuffle in place. “I don’t wanna impose—“

“Please let me do this for you.”

The raw, rough edge to his tone makes you pause. You nod in acquiescence.

He takes your hand in his again, tugging you into his bedroom. With one hand, he opens drawers, handing you his smallest pair of sweatpants, and a large, worn, and incredibly soft Caltech sweatshirt.

“I’ll have to cuff these,” You mumble when he hands you the sweatpants, “My legs are half the length of yours.”

“You’ll make it work, I’m sure. Now shoo. I’ll have laundry and food finished when you get out of the shower.”

The bathroom, like the rest of the house, is clean and neat, and to your relief, houses more than just a five-in-one in the shower. Spencer actually owns multiple products for you to choose from and it hits you while you’re lathering the body wash you chose because of how good it smelled that you’re in Spencer’s shower, showering with his body wash, about to put on his clothes.

You’re going to smell like him. His clothes will smell like him. Everywhere in the apartment smells like him.

You decide to blame the near permanent flush on your cheeks on the heat from the shower.

When you exit the shower, fresh and drowning in Spencer’s clothes, he’s standing at his kitchen island, putting the final touches on two bowls of soup.

You almost tear up again. “You made me soup?”

“It’s widely regarded as a comfort food for people who are ill or otherwise sad, and is most commonly made in the wintertime.”

He gives you a little jazz hand, gesturing to the soup as if saying ta-da!

You really do tear up then.

He’s in front of you in an instant, hands poised to help. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Do you not like soup? I can make something else, or we can order in, or—“

You scrub at your face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “You’re just, you’re just really sweet.”

His face softens. “Oh, honey.”

He envelops you in the second hug of the night, except this time you’re crying in earnest now. Your crying about your parents, about the nights you went to bed hungry because your Dad told that you were smart, and to figure something out, but you were too young to work any of the kitchen appliances. You’re crying about your first best friend, who ditched you the second your brother asked her out. You’re crying about all the classes and friendships you missed out on while you were in the hospital with gunshot wounds. You’re crying about how your parents didn’t visit you once. Not even when you were in the ICU.

Spencer holds you through it all, a steady rock against the battering waves crashing in your head.

After a few minutes, you wear yourself out, quieting down to sniffling, your shoulders hitching.

He pulls back, studying your face. “Are you ready to eat some soup now?”

You nod, blinking the final tears out of your eyes. “I got snot on your shirt.”

“That’s why we invented washing machines.”

He keeps up a stream of idle chatter while you eat, explaining all the different major soups in the world and where they came from. It’s a balm against your weary mind, lulls you into peace and safety.

Or maybe that’s just the effect Spencer has on you.

When you finish your food, he takes your bowl, deposits it in the sink, and then takes your hand and leads you to his bedroom.

“I don’t have a guest room, so you can take the bed,” He says, voice soft. “There’s extra blankets in the closet next to the bathroom if you get cold.”

He turns to leave, but a stab of panic slices down your chest, and your hand is reaching out and grabbing his wrist before you can stop yourself.

He pauses, turning back around. “You want me to stay?”

You take your lip between your teeth. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He studies you in the dark of the room— clad in his clothes, face puffy from crying.

The muscles in his jaw work.

“I can’t do this platonically. If we do this—“

You surge up on your toes, grabbing his face and smashing your lips together so quickly your teeth clack.

He goes rigid, then kisses your right back, hands coming up to cup your face, squeeze your neck, smooth over your shoulders.

You pull away first, looking at him through your lashes with hazy eyes. “I can’t do this platonically either.”

He traces the planes of your face with his thumb. “You have no idea how long and how much I’ve wanted to have you right here, just like this.”

“Crying and sad?”

“Dressed in my clothes, in my apartment, in my bed.”

You pause. “You know, tonight, I can’t, I’m not going to have—“

“I’m not interested in sex with you tonight,” He says, reading your mind, “I just want to get that empty look in your eyes gone.”

“Just?”

“Well,” He says, tugging you down onto the bed with him, crawling under the covers and covering you both, “There are other things. A lot of other things, Like this,”

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“And this,”

He pulls you flush against him under the covers, tucking your head under his chin.

“But mostly this.”

He presses one last kiss to the crown of your head.

“Really?”

“Really.”

It’s quiet for a moment before his voice breaks the silence.

“After I got out, all I wanted was something soft and gentle. Having something, someone soft and lovely to hold was all I looked forward to. And then I came back and I met you, with your polite introductions and the way you care so deeply about so much and I knew. I knew who I wanted to hold.”

“Wow,” You breathe, “Yours sounds so poetic. Mine is much less so.”

“Mmm,” He hums, “And what might that be?”

You press your face against his chest and mumble so quietly you’re wondering if he can ever hear you:

“I just wanted you to choose me. I wanted to be someone’s first choice.”

He’s so quiet after that you think he must not have heard you.

You’re on the verge of sleep when you hear his whisper:

“There couldn’t be anyone else for me.”

જ⁀➴

EDIT: if you want to be tagged in the sequel when it’s posted, please comment “tag me please!” or some variation of THE POST LINKED HERE !! if you comment asking for a tag on this post, you will not be added to the tag list. tag lists are hard to keep track of, so please keep them all in one place !! :)

[sunset-curve-fantom]

☎️ Don't Call Me ☎️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you find accidental comfort in your coworker. With your phone ringing nonstop, you're willing to do whatever it takes to start fresh.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, bug mentions (cockroaches), cheating, exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight spanking, mentions of masturbation. Dom! Spencer.

A/N: Haha... hi guys... been a while 😚 Please enjoy the fic I dreamed up over a month ago now, and was finally able to conjure up!

Masterlist

If you were to be asked how you assumed a five-year-long relationship would end, you'd likely say something like irreparable differences. Maybe a difference in lifestyle, growing out of love, or even different plans for the future. Unfortunately, the irreparable difference your boyfriend had chosen at 10 pm on a Thursday evening was being balls deep in an irreparably different woman. 

You supposed you should've seen the signs the relationship was drawing to a close and likely you did, but with your job itself being a life or death situation almost daily, you really didn't have much time to worry about the fact that your boyfriend was sowing his oats in other fields. Based on the look of the woman spread across your bed, the oats weren't that great for her either. 

Your reaction had been somewhat delayed, but curiously not as much as hers. She'd been wonderfully blasé about the man writhing on top of her before you started screaming and throwing things, and even now you were armed with a vase of flowers (dead - you'd bought them yourself before the case you'd been on for the last two weeks) she still looked slightly bored. But at least her legs were together now, and not gynaecologist level apart. 

Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend? - managed to regain an ounce of dignity with a scrap of clothing, and did his best to shepard you out of the crime scene as you regained the ability to hold coherent thoughts that weren't about strangling him with his own tie. 

“Listen to me, please just for five minutes-” 

“Listen? I was just listening! To you moaning into that woman's shoulders with your eyes rolled back in your head!” 

It was as if in the last few minutes all the love you'd had for this man, all five years of relationship and comfort, and nights spent together had melted away in an instant. The rage dissipated, and you were surprisingly calm again, though that worried you, too. Surely you should be crying, or at the very least upset. You should be feeling some kind of emotion that wasn't a vague disgust at the man in front of you in full pooh bear mode, trying to tug down the hem of his shirt to cover the crown jewels. 

“It didn't mean anything. She doesn't mean anything. She's just - You're gone so long on cases, and I just-” 

“So you're saying it's my fault you're cheating on me?” 

“Yes! No, wait, no, no, no, no-” 

“No, heard loud and clear, I'll try not to save lives in the future, I'm sure the BAU will understand I should be on my back 24 hours a day instead, taking all four inches you have to donate to my worthy cause.” 

“Y/N, don't be like that,” he said, exasperated. Whatever he had to be exasperated about, you had no idea. Maybe blue balls. 

“Like what?”

“Like a bitch!” 

The room went still with silence as you let him sit with the words he'd just spoken, willing him to snap back quickly so you could keep even just a shred of respect for him. 

No such apology came. 

“I'm leaving now. I expect your things packed and out of here by 12 pm tomorrow, including your thing in the bedroom. Don't bother cleaning the sheets. Just burn them. Lock the door and post the keys through the letterbox when you're done.” 

“Y/N, I told you it's not like that, I still love you, come on-” 

“Well I don't love you. And please go put some fucking pants on.” 

You stepped back over the threshold of your apartment - the lovely, nice apartment you'd been living in for the last eight years, your nice safe space - and you shuddered. 

The question wasn't exactly what next, but more like where next. What next was sending a group text in your ex-boyfriends family chat telling them what you'd walked in on, and then leaving the chat before you could get any response. The where would be a harder sell. 

From this part of the city, it'd take 2 hours to get to Penelope’s apartment, especially at this time of night without a car. Emily's apartment was similarly far. Going through a list of your coworkers again, you mentally crossed off Tara, who'd been injured on your last case and was resting at her girlfriend's apartment, Luke, who despite the promised comfort of a cute dog, you were absolutely sure didn't have a spare bed, and all members of the team with spouses and/or children. Which left just Spencer and Rossi. 

Needless to say, you found your way to Spencer's apartment in only 20 minutes, though you were sure you had disassociated the entire thing. 

Knocking on the door, you felt a little bit awkward, but not awkward enough to leave and find a hotel at nearly 11 pm. Your last case hadn't been a pleasant one, hotel-wise, and you weren't exactly eager for another check-in.

Spencer opened the door quickly, his eyebrows knitted in confusion as he found you there  but only for a brief flash before his face brightened up. 

“Y/N? Do we have a case again? I thought Hotch said-” 

“Can I stay here tonight?” you blurted, needing to get the words out as quickly as possible before you convinced yourself to walk away. 

Spencer took a moment to take in your words, and you took the opportunity to look at him then. He was fully clothed at least, and you were glad to find that his pajamas looked comfortable and clean. A simple plaid cotton pant with a soft-looking white long sleeved shirt pushed up his arms slightly. He'd taken out his contacts and put on his glasses, and you wondered if you'd caught him mid-book. 

“Please?” you added in a hopeful voice as he still looked at you slightly confused. 

“Oh, of course,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing inside. “Is there something wrong with your apartment?” he asked, taking your go-bag from you without question and guiding you into the main living space of his apartment. 

“Thank you, yeah. Something like that. Shoes off or on?” 

“I have some slippers. You can take them off. What happened?” he said, placing the slippers in front of you and turning back to bolt the door. 

“Invasive species?” You said, trying to sound as nonplussed as possible  despite now feeling incredibly plussed.

“Oh, bugs? Yeah, I've had a cockroach or two in the apartment before. Did you know that the average female cockroach can produce up to 10,000 offspring in a single year?” 

You sat on his couch quietly, trying not to imagine 10,000 cockroaches and failing nearly spectacularly. Unfortunately, the only image that could surpass tiny cockroach babies was of your boyfriend pounding away at another woman. Which was just a brilliant move for your psyche. 

“Spencer, I know I've really intruded here tonight, but do…. Do you wanna drink with me?” You asked, hoping to drown at least a memory or two of the last 24 hours. Hopefully, the cheating one, but you'd take cockroach extermination as well.

A slightly worried look settled on Spencer's face, but he said nothing and nodded, walking to his kitchen, grabbing two beers and meeting you back on his loveseat. 

“Oh you really have beer here!” You exclaimed, thanking him for the beverage before cracking it open and taking a sip. 

“Morgan came over with some to celebrate 6 months out of prison. These are leftovers.” 

“Right… right…” 

The first few sips were so painfully awkward that you thought about returning back to your apartment and just sleeping on your own couch. 

Vaguely, you felt Spencer watching you, taking a sip of his drink for every sip you took of yours. 

“So…” you said, and he raised an inquisitive eyebrow again, already questioning whatever was about to come out of your mouth. 

“So?”  he asked. You weren't sure if it was the beer, the look on his face, or the crazy implosion of the last 5 years that had you giggling all of a sudden. You were just glad that when you cracked up, he cracked a smile as well, and a little bit of the tension went away. 

“Why are you really here, YN?” 

You took a deep breath and looked straight forward at the bookshelves Spencer had lovingly filled. Maybe this had taken him half a decade as well, so he'd understand how your life felt a little bit like a wobbly bookshelf at that second. 

“The invasive species I mentioned? It was the woman screwing my boyfriend in my bed. Ex. Ex-boyfriend.” 

You heard the intake of breath from Spencer before he put his can down and started thinking of something to say in reply to that. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh… Y/N, I-” 

A shrill ringing cut him off, and you were almost glad to not be on the receiving end of whatever pitiful words he was about to push on you, until you checked the caller ID and saw your ex's name. 

“Don't pick that up,” Spencer said as you hesitated towards the phone. With a hand over yours, he flipped the phone over, locking eyes with you as he let it ring out. 

“He's just going to try it again.”

“Let him.” 

You nodded, breaking eye contact and sinking back into Spencer's slightly wilted couch cushions. 

“In your bed? Really?” he asked, talking another sup as you took a gulp, letting the beer fizz down your throat before you could answer.

“I told him to expect me tomorrow because of how the case was looking. I guess he wasn't expecting me.” 

“I think that was a given. Unless he was into that. Exhibitionism is one of the most common kinks among adult males, and-” 

“Oh he was not into exposing himself,” you laughed into your drink, propping your head up on your hand and turning to face Spencer more. He shot another questioning glance but didn't push the issue, so you silently explained as well. By pinching your fingers together to the approximate size of your ex-boyfriend's dick. 

“Oh. Well, it's not the size that counts?” He whispered almost ironically as he took another sip, now much closer than before. You'd done your best to distance yourself from your boyfriend even as he'd followed you through your apartment half naked, but you didn't seem to find Spencer's proximity threatening at all. 

Maybe because he wasn't having sex with a random woman in your bed 5 seconds before. 

“You wanna know the worst part?” You said, leaning closer as if to tell him an even bigger secret. “He didn't even know how to use it. I haven't-” 

Another phone call blasted through, and you grabbed your phone and put it behind you. 

“He's really great at interrupting conversation when it’s just getting good,” Spencer laughed, but you were slightly disappointed that he'd leaned back away now. 

“What was it you were saying?” He asked, taking a swig of beer again, can nearing its close. 

“I haven't had an orgasm in almost three years,” you said bluntly, watching the most genuine spit take you’d seen in your life. You pat Spencer's back as he coughed up inhaled beer, bringing your feet up under you into a cosier position. 

“Okay now?” you asked as his breathing returned to normal. 

“No? Three years, Y/N? Really?” 

You shrugged and looked away  almost embarrassed to be meeting his eyes now that your sexual history was the topic of the night. 

“We had sex. He's just… he's just a really lazy lover. It'd be the same stuff every time. Handjob to some clumsy fingers missing my clit, a few pumps and cum on my face. I wasn't exactly initiating seven days a week in the hopes that this time he'd be able to locate it.” 

Spencer was somewhere between horror and trying not to laugh, eyes wide with either alarm or the strain of having to keep it in. 

“It's okay, you can laugh,” you said, but he shook his head politely.

“Y/N, I was in prison and still had more orgasms than you this year.” 

“Hey, I hear prison is a great place to meet new people. Have new experiences.”

Spencer shot you a quickly horrified look as his cheeks flushed with heat. “Y/N, I was not someone's bitch in prison.” 

“Why not? You're pretty enough for it?” 

You'd meant the line to come across as teasing, just as you'd expected the finger now twisted in a lock of his hair, playing with him, to come off as teasing as well. 

But you felt a definite throb between your legs when he looked at you again, doubly so when his eyes darted down to your lips. 

You cleared your throat and tried for a teasing tone once again. 

“So you made someone else your bitch?” you smiled, trying to drag his eyes away from your lips before you did something you'd regret. 

“No. I… I spent a long time in solitary, and there's… there's really not that much to do.” 

“So you did yourself?” 

The tips of his ears were scarlet when you finally decided to back off, tucking the curl of hair behind his ear and letting him cool off. 

“Why didn't you masturbate then?” he asked, pouting slightly still from your interrogation. 

“Excuse me?”

“Your boyfriend couldn't make you cum, but a vibrator probably could. But you still haven't had an orgasm in three years. Why is that?” 

It was your turn to feel the heat, the warmth from the beer finally reaching your head. 

“He didn't want me to.” 

You didn't mean for the words to sound as sad as they did. The fact itself was just incredibly sad. Your boyfriend saw anything vaguely phallic shaped as competition and had encouraged “organic” coupling instead. 

You waited for Spencer to say something else, anything else as you held his gaze, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and him to start talking down to you as if you were simply a victim of the worst sex in the world. 

Instead, he said “so did that other woman look as miserable as you've been for the last three years?” and the spell was broken. 

You laughed so hard, you nearly choked on the beer you'd already finished. This time, it was Spencer's turn to land a hand on your back as you winded yourself with laughter. 

“She looked bored! She looked genuinely bored. I almost thought it was just a lifelike doll, she was that unphased,” you kept giggling between gasps, forcing the words out as you threw your head onto Spencer's shoulder, hand landing on his thigh as you finally calmed down. 

“I'd be horrified if anyone looked bored while in bed with me,” came Spencer's voice, and a little shiver ran down your spine as the rasp of his whisper rang in your ear. 

You looked up from his shoulder and caught his eye immediately. If you wanted to, you could lean up by a centimetre and catch his lips with yours. And you suddenly, very much wanted to do that. 

A final shriek of your phone behind you deterred you for a few seconds, and you were about to work yourself up to scooting a little bit away from Spencer when he leaned over you, grabbed the phone, and hung up on your boyfriend. 

“Do you want to cum, Y/N?” he asked, as quietly as before as his hands traced over you on their return journey to him. He looked down your body, eyes greedily drinking in your breasts, hips, thighs and legs tucked into his side on his couch. 

You didn't know what you were going to respond when your head practically nodded by itself. Enthusiastically. 

He doesn't immediately pull you in for a kiss, and you're worried for a beat that he meant that only as a hypothetical and not an invite. A final cry from your phone has you standing in seconds, completely detached from Spencer, and the nearly embarrassing moment you pouncing him would've been.

“I should probably take it this time,” you explained, turning slightly. 

But Spencer was faster than you, if not more prepared for what was to come. Wrapping an arm around your waist, Spencer tugged you back, pulling you onto his lap. When you were firmly situated - ass over his now evidently firm cock - he grabbed the phone out of your other hand, hung up and put it in his pocket. 

“Spencer, I-I don't think that's a good idea,” you gasped as his hands slowly progressed up to your chest, and his lips dropped to your neck, biting and sucking along whatever flesh was easy for him to access. 

“You need to cum. You deserve to cum, Y/N. I'm just here to help. Use me.” 

You stifle a sharp, quick moan, biting your lips and thanking God that he couldn't see the face you made when his hips ground his cock up into your ass. 

“I'm probably not ready for this,” you stuttered slightly, breath departing your body quicker than it could arrive. 

“Probably not.”

“We work together, too. It would be awkward.”

“It might,” he nodded. “But you still want to.” 

You couldn't help the moan, finally letting it free as you tossed your head back and clawed at his forearm, wrapped around you. 

Your ass had a mind of its own, grinding back into him in circles as his hands found their way under your shirt, inquisitive fingers stroking your nipples through your bra. 

“S-Spencer,” you whimpered again, legs spreading apart as you felt that familiar warmth settle between them. He didn't miss the longing in your tone, the shift in your core, pushing one hand down your stomach and trailing it onto your thigh. 

It was as close as he could get with your pants still on, tight against your skin. He squeezed your thigh,  still licking and sucking at your neck before his hand rose to the clasp of your pants. 

It took him a long lime to fumble with them, and you thought of helping multiple times but you let yourself get distracted by the tense definition of his muscles, the rigid line of his body as he strained to please you. 

Your mind fogged with lust, and you felt the vibrations from his pocket right under you when your phone rang again. You practically jerked up in shock as pleasure hit you in a wave, Spencer's fingers finally dipping into your panties just as the vibrations hit you. They weren't centred, of course, not anywhere close to where you needed them to be for you to enjoy them the way you would a toy, but that's what Spencer was for. 

He let the call ring out, tracing small, slow circles over your clit as you jumped up into his hand, moaning and whimpering the entire time. 

“What an idiot. I bet he never touched you like this. Nice and slow.”

“N-no, S-s-” 

“I'm so glad I'm right. He didn't deserve this beautiful cunt. You're so wet for me, right, baby?” You nodded and he hummed in response, voice low and making you pulse in his lap. 

“That's it, good girl,” he whispered as you worked your cunt up and down his fingers, stilling himself so you could find your own pleasure. 

“Spencer… Spencer, fuck-” 

With his free hand, he turned your face to the side and finally kissed you properly as you moaned into his mouth. He was quick to deepen the kiss, to press his tongue against the seam of your mouth and enter your mouth, quickly dominating you as you let yourself get more and more excited. Your hips stuttered, out of rhythm and out of practice, and you almost whimpered in frustration that you couldn't get off quicker, that your body wasn't finding the orgasm quick enough despite how good, how perfect this felt.

Sensing your growing frustration, Spencer broke the kiss. 

“Come with me,” he said, pulling his hands away from your wet cunt and out of your stupid pants and encouraging your hips up until you were stood and he was stood behind you. 

Cock still firmly stood against your ass, he walked you all the way to his bedroom, hands on your hips the entire time, memorising the sway of your walk. 

“Strip and get on the bed, please, Y/N,” he said, finally peeling himself away from you as you nodded quickly and listened to him immediately. You weren't sure what to expect, so you hesitated, laying down, crawling up until your head hit the pillows. You were almost disappointed when you finally looked back at Spencer and he was still fully clothed, so sure that he was going to fuck you to your climax. 

Instead, he approached the bed, gently slid his arms around your thighs, opened your legs wider, knelt on the floor and brought your cunt to his face. 

The first touch of his to guess to your clit had you almost beside yourself with lust. You'd been sexually active for a handful of years, and this - THIS - was the first time you'd experienced such acute pleasure. 

Your hips were unable to stop, thrusting up into his face as you willed his tongue to engulf you, to be a tool in your pleasure. 

Again your phone rang, but he grabbed it quickly, pausing only a second to silence it and discard it on the bed beside you, sitting it further up the bed where it would no longer be a distraction to him. 

He dove right back in, and you rewarded him with wave after wave of fierce moan, your writhing body only restricted by a hand snaked up onto his stomach. You still pushed against his face, practically fucking it as he flattened out his to guess and let you chase your high. 

“Spencer!” You gasped and moaned, voice dripping with lust and desperation, mouth not even properly forming words now you were so close. 

You propped yourself up slightly, looking down as Spencer's eye caught your own, his chin slick with your juices, his eyes dripping with lust. You grabbed a handful of his hair and jumped that little bit faster as you felt that long forgotten whisper of pleasure, that all-encompassing explosion of satisfaction, and you came apart on Spencer's tongue. 

“Thank you, thank you, Spencer, shit, thank you,” you whimpered, falling back again into the bed as you rode out the high. When you managed to open your bleary eyes again, Spencer was propped up above you, but instead of paying you attention, he'd grabbed your phone and bought it to his ear. 

“You heard that? Good. I'm sure you're aware now that she won't be returning your calls tonight. Goodbye.” 

His voice, his words, were like a cold bucket of water to your brain as you sat up, reaching for him and finding him as his hips circled your waist. 

“Was that-?” He cut you off with a kiss  a sweet, soft one. 

“Yes.” He kissed you again  and you melted into his touch as he pulled you into his lap again. 

“H-He-” 

“He knows now what a real orgasm sounds like. He knows you're not interested anymore. He knows you're mine now.” 

You shivered at the words, your lust addled brain flooding your senses, and your cunt as you reacted to the possessiveness of his words, his tone. Part of you was turned on by the exhibitionism as well. You'd had to walk in on your ex boyfriend completely exposed, and there was satisfaction in kicking him to the curb with a similar fuck you. A fuck you that you'd enjoyed a lot. 

You pressed your lips against Spencer's and rocked your hips against him again, tasting yourself on his tongue as he laid you down once more. His cock twitched against your leg as he propped you up on the pillows, and your hands trailed down to show it some attention as your sighed into his kiss.

He eagerly shed his clothes, first his top, sitting up and pulling it over his head, giving you a deliriously enticing shot of his chest and soft stomach before dropping down to cover your body again. You let your hand find the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, though, following it down as you encouraged his pants off. His cock was thick and heavy in your hand, and you gladly stroked it as he kissed the plains of your body again. He found the side of your neck that he'd neglected earlier, licking and sucking until it was almost as loved as the first side, before pulling your hand away from his cock. 

You pouted and began to protest when he quickly lined his cock up with your cunt, and slid in deep and soft before you could. 

“Needed to be in you,” he whispered in your ear, gripping your hips and sliding your legs up and around him as he pushed that little bit deeper. “Keep them nice and wide for me,” he said, dropping one last kiss to your lips, before his chest rose, and his hips pulled away again. 

When they snapped back into you, you let out a generous scream of pleasure that almost had you wishing you'd never hung up. He set a quick pace, a furious pace as he too moaned into the contact of your cunt and his cock, two desperate people searching for release. 

“So tight, Y/N, you're so tight,” he moaned, flesh hitting flesh as you dug your nails into his arms, already so wet again, you could feel the sheets under you growing damp. His hand left its perch on your hip and found its way to your clit once again, and you knew that you weren't going to be able to keep to this pace without cumming a second time. 

“Keep moaning for me baby, show me how much you want it,” his voice begged, almost a rumble with how lustful he sounded. You let your voice carry, each moan a little bit more unrestricted than the last. 

“Louder, Y/N, please. I want to hear how much you're enjoying this, you don't know how much I enjoy hearing your pleasure.”

His prayers were answered when he lowered his head back down and took one of your nipples into his mouth, gently grazing it with his teeth between licks and sucks. You practically screamed his name, pressing your chest up to grant him better access. 

You liquefied beneath him, pressure building and building until you felt him rock, lifting his chest as you came. He pulled his cock out, teasing it through your folds as you stuttered around him, your arousal squirting across his cock and sheets as you fell back to the bed, gasping in pleasure. Your hips stuttered against him, and he soothed you gently, still working his cock through your folds gently as your clit went from overwhelmed to calm to quickly overstimulated. 

“Spencer,” you whimpered, almost unable to take all the pleasure he was offering you. “Spencer, it-it hurts.” 

“Don't you want me to stop?” He asked, stopping his movements for a second as you deliberated your answer. The lack of movement was answer alone, and you shook your head no wanting to feel his cock against you, inside you, one more time. 

“Louder, Y/N, tell me what you want.” 

“I want to keep going,” you said, as he began slowly rocking his cock against you again, sticky from your cum. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, teasing a nipple with his hand as your eyes fluttered shut. 

“Please fill me up again, please I want to cum again.” 

“One more time?” He asked.

“Mhmmm… one more… one more, please.” 

You were cum drunk, so horny that you couldn't fathom stopping there. He pressed another kiss to your lips and encouraged you to flip over, propping a pillow under your stomach as he pulled your legs into the right position. 

You snuggled into the pillows at your head, pushing your ass up for him slightly as he nudged his cock against your entrance once more. 

“Where should I cum  Y/N?” He asked, reaching under you to slowly circle your clit again. 

“H-hmmm…” you said, eyes shut, focused more on the pleasure than the question. You didn't care anymore. You didn't care where he came, just as long as he let you do it, too. 

“Y/N, I expect an answer. Where should I put my cum?” 

“Anywhere,” you pouted, pressing your hips back into his cock in the hopes that he'd just fuck you again already. 

“That's not an answer,” he said, gently slapping your ass as he pulled his cock away. 

“On your back?” He asked, fingers still working your clit underneath, but trailing lower until they found your cunt, two entering you to keep you wet and stretched for him. 

“You'd need to shower before you could pass out, but I'm happy to help clean you off. They have communal showers in prison, so I'm not shy.” You moaned at the suggestion but couldn't answer further. 

“On your stomach? Again we'd have to shower off, but I would love to see your boobs decorated all nicely.” Your moans were whimpers now as he edged you with his fingers, his words gentle in your ear but dripping with so much lust and promise you couldn't stand it. You didn't want to make decisions anymore. 

“On your face?”

“Not on my face,” you snapped quickly, and he nodded and stroked your hair, hooking a strand behind your ear as he agreed. 

“Okay. Where, Y/N? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“I-Inside. Cum inside me. Please.” 

“Of course. Good job.”

He pulled his hand free gently, and quickly replaced it with his thick cock, and you moaned again at the weight of it against your walls, the familiar stretch of it. In this position, he reached deeper somehow, his thrusts slower, more precise as he drew out his own orgasm as long as possible, maximising his ability to pleasure you. 

“Good girl,” he muttered against your skin, dropping a kiss to your back. “Good girl.” 

“Wanted to do this for so long, Y/N,” he confessed with each thrust. “Look at how pretty this pussy is, how wet it is for me. I wish your boyfriend could see it. I wish he could see how well-behaved you are for me. How nicely you take my cock.” 

His deep, slow strokes, his words, the kisses he pressed against any inch of your skin he could reach combined to push you over the edge a third and final time. This one wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It was a steady shudder of pleasure from your hips and a quiet, satisfied sigh. 

You didn't say anything  but Spencer knew, he felt it, and he came moments after, cock deep inside as he filled you with his cum. 

“You're on birth control, right?” 

“IUD. Pill. Yeah.” You say between breathy sighs of contentment.

Muttering something behind you, he pulled out finally, leaving for a minute to grab a washcloth and clean himself off before returning to help you as well. 

“What did you mumble?” You asked, as he crawled back into your arms, looking up at him. 

“What?” He asked, ears turning slightly pink as you stared at him intently. 

“Just now. I told you I was on birth control, and you mumbled something.” 

He looked away, refusing to meet your gaze before dropping to kiss you sweetly once again. 

“Tell me,” you said, and he kissed you again. 

“Spencer, tell me,” you pouted, and he kissed the pout away. 

You almost asked again, but he kissed you too quickly, too deeply  and you lost your breath again. 

“I said,” he started, leaving you panting under him again. “It was good you're on birth control, because I like the sight of my cum dripping out of you.” 

The remaining breath left your body as you gasped, your face growing hot. You burrowed your face in his chest and let him hold you as you drifted into sleep, wrapped up in each other. 

[sunset-curve-fantom]

he'd say "you're such a pretty girl" while doing the most ungodly things to you

[sunset-curve-fantom]

I Can See You- Spencer Reid x Reader

SOMETHING NEW.... WHAT DO WE THINK?

You knew something was wrong but knowing Spencer he was not going to share it. His feelings are something he did not wish to share with the group, and you had grown to accept that part of him. But the tension that crossing his features was something that struck a chord in you.

Since you had joined the BAU, Spencer and you had become thick as thieves. From the moment he saw your copy of The Odyssey, you had been glued together. But these moments of tension and unease, were new to your friendship. It is something that started happening after prison and he was trying to find his way again.

Your shoulder grazed his as you looked over the case file, this case came in late Friday night and you had been working nonstop since.

"I can see you, are you okay?" you murmured leaning into his personal space. The concern clear in your tone.

His dark eyes met yours, like he was trying to figure out what to say, or more so how not to say what was going on.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

No One's Ever Had Me (Not Like You)

Summary: After JJ's insensitive remarks toward Spencer become too much to ignore, Y/N steps in to comfort him, igniting a friendship that rapidly grows into something more. Though Y/N falls for him first, Spencer soon finds himself falling even harder, realizing no one has ever cared for him the way she does—and he's ready to return it in full.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Oral/Facesitting (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise kink (if you squint), masturbating (m!only), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex/PinV sex (wrap it before you tap it lovelies pls), c** swallowing (I don't know how else to put that HAHAHA), slight overstim (for both parties), slightly ooc!JJ (for the plot), one brief argument scene between the reader and JJ. Fluff and smut. Coworkers to friends to lovers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: I love a little "she fell first, he fell harder" trope, so I'm hoping you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) I am once again pleading my case that I am NOT a JJ hater!! I just saw a clip of this scene from season 3 and was inspired because I too have been in Spencer's shoes and honestly it hurts, so I wanted to change up the outcome a little bit. The title comes from Taylor Swift's "So High School" but the fic isn't necessarily based around the song if that makes sense. As always, please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Y/N had never been particularly fond of JJ. They worked well together, of course—professionalism came first—but there was something about JJ that rubbed her the wrong way. It felt so high school to say, but Y/N had always seen her as a bit of a "mean girl."

Y/N had joined the BAU a year after Spencer, and she’d witnessed firsthand the awkwardness when Spencer, shy and eager, had asked JJ to go to a football game with him as a date after Gideon had given him tickets. A sweet, innocent gesture, only for JJ to show up with Penelope in tow, turning the evening into a humiliating disaster for Spencer. That was just one of the many moments Y/N had found herself bristling at JJ's treatment of him. Despite JJ’s consistent indifference and occasional cruelty, Spencer’s feelings for her had never wavered. 

Until today.

Spencer sat across from JJ on the jet, eager to share his excitement about the book he was reading and its similarities with Pinocchio, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm as he rambled on. He barely noticed the lack of interest in JJ's eyes, her eyebrows raised in a near-sarcastic expression as she muttered a disinterested "Wow" in the middle of his sentence. She tossed the case file onto the table without a second glance and stood. "Interesting. Coffee?" she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, her smile a brittle, saccharine mask. 

Spencer froze, his words dying in his throat as she swiftly walked away. He felt a sinking sensation in his chest—an awkward mix of humiliation and disappointment. Was he that annoying? His hands trembled slightly as he glanced down at the book in his lap, the pages now feeling heavier than they had moments ago. He cleared his throat, but the discomfort lingered, thick in the air.

Y/N had been watching the whole exchange from her spot on the couch, her eyes narrowing as she watched JJ throw her head back in a loud laugh at something Morgan had said about “escaping the robot” from across the jet. That was the breaking point. Y/N's stomach twisted with frustration. She was tired—so tired—of watching JJ repeatedly gut the sweet boy simply because he had a hopeless crush on her, one that JJ clearly saw as beneath her.  

Swinging her legs from where they were tucked underneath her, Y/N stood and made her way to the seat JJ had previously been occupying, sliding into it abruptly.

Spencer’s head jerked up as she quickly filled the seat, blinking hard as confusion washed over his features. “Oh! Uh, hey Y/N… was there something you needed?” he asked softly, his gaze dropping back to the table, hoping she wouldn’t notice the wounded look in his eyes.

“I was listening to your conversation earlier and wanted to ask if you would continue. Please.”

Spencer’s mouth parted in surprise, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. She… wanted to listen to him? He swallowed, his brows furrowing slightly as he hesitated before speaking. “You... you don’t have to do that just to make me feel better, you know.”

Y/N shook her head firmly, her hands coming together on the table as she leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “Spencer,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’m not asking you to continue because I feel sorry for you. I’m asking because I actually want to hear what you have to say.” Her tone was gentle yet sincere, and there was no mistaking the genuine interest in her words.

Spencer’s heart raced as he stared at her, his mind struggling to catch up with the moment before he finally opened his mouth, stumbling over the words to continue his excited rant from earlier. Spencer felt something shift inside him with every hum of acknowledgment, nod, and occasional question or light joke. It hit him all at once—this was how she always spoke to him: fully engaged, genuinely curious. She didn’t see him as the genius or the outcast. She saw him as... just Spencer. A person. Not a curiosity. Not a burden. Just him.

And for the rest of the flight, Y/N encouraged Spencer to spill every single thought that came to mind, entranced by the sweet boy in front of her for the entire time.

It was late when they finally landed, the team worn out and eager to get home. With quick goodbyes and Hotch’s promise of a day off tomorrow, the group trickled out of the office, one by one. When Spencer was left alone in the bullpen, he let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he sat at his desk under the guise of needing to look for something before leaving. His thoughts kept drifting back to the interaction with Y/N on the jet. He couldn’t shake it. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

It wasn’t like they weren’t already friends—talking to her was nothing out of the ordinary. But something about their interaction today felt different. Maybe it was how quickly she’d stepped in when she saw he was hurt? Then again, the more Spencer thought about it, the more he realized that wasn’t all that unusual either. He’d often felt out of place—whether it was the team’s teasing that sometimes went too far, JJ’s backhanded compliments that left him more bewildered than flattered, or the officers who looked past him because of his age or appearance.

And every time, without fail, Y/N had been there. She was always the one picking up the pieces of his bruised confidence, offering him quiet support with nothing more than a kind word or a warm smile, never asking for anything in return.

“Spencer?” 

Spencer jumped, the unexpected voice pulling him out of his thoughts. He spun around in his seat, heart racing, to find Y/N standing there, her hands raised in a placating gesture. He’d thought she’d already left with the rest of the team, but apparently, he’d been wrong.  

“Whoa, take it easy—it's just me. Are you okay?” Y/N approached slowly, her expression softening with concern as Spencer took slow, deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Uh, yeah! I-I’m fine,” Spencer stammered, wincing as his voice cracked. “I just… I thought everyone had already left.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said with a chuckle, flashing a sheepish grin. “I told Hotch I’d drop everything off in evidence before heading out, but I kind of took my time.” She shrugged, then glanced at him. “What about you? Why are you still here?”

Spencer hesitated, his brow furrowing as he thought about her question. What was he still doing here, other than overthinking a simple conversation on the jet? He cleared his throat and stood up from his desk. “I thought I left a certain book here, but... it turns out it’s actually at home.” The weak excuse was followed by a nervous laugh as Spencer fidgeted with his fingers, silently hoping she wouldn’t question him further. 

It seemed luck was on his side, as she nodded slowly—her disbelief clear, but deciding not to press. Instead, she offered a soft smile and tilted her head toward the elevator. “Well, if you're heading out now, would you like to walk with me to my car?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with a hint of hope. “I can give you a ride so you don’t have to take the metro so late.”

Spencer was momentarily surprised by the offer, but before he could overanalyze it, he found himself nodding. She’d offered him rides before, and he’d always turned her down, worried he’d be inconveniencing her or that she was just being polite. But tonight, after the grueling case, he felt too drained to talk himself out of it. Honestly, he wasn’t opposed to spending a little more time with her—just the two of them.

“Um… that would be really nice, actually. Thank you.” 

Y/N waved it off with a playful grin. “It’s really no big deal, Spencer. I honestly wish you'd take me up on it more often. I worry about you on those late trains, and I live just five minutes from you. It’d be nice to have some company on the way home.” 

They continued their light conversation the entire way to the parking garage, pausing only when they got to her car. Y/N fumbled with her keys, unlocking the doors quickly before they slid inside.

The first thing Spencer noticed was the sweet fragrance of her perfume, filling the small space around them. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but now he found himself trying hard not to breathe in too deeply, captivated by the scent and wanting more of it. The smell of her shampoo blended with the fragrance, intensifying as she turned her head to back out of her parking spot. Spencer hadn’t even realized the car had started until that moment.

The next thing he noticed was the sticker on her dash reading Amor Fati. A faint smile curled at his lips as he shifted his gaze to her. He watched her silently for a moment as she focused on the road.

“Lover of fate, huh?”

“Hm?” Y/N frowned in confusion, shooting him a quick sideways glance as she stopped at a red light. It took a moment before she realized what he was referring to. “Oh, yeah. What about it, doc?” She chuckled, her voice light and teasing.

Spencer hummed, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, nothing… But, did you know that Friedrich Nietzsche built most of his philosophy around that phrase?”

They plunged into a lively conversation, exchanging thoughts on various philosophers and their personal interpretations of the phrase. Spencer was captivated. The only other person who had ever indulged him in such “nerdy” discussions was Penelope (mostly about Doctor Who, of course). It was oddly refreshing, but at the same time, it only added fuel to the fire of his overthinking.

What was it that kept him so hopelessly fixated on JJ? She could be a good friend at times—he wouldn’t deny that—but there were moments when he felt like nothing more than a charity case. Like that kid who clings to someone at school, oblivious to the fact that they don’t actually want to talk to them. She was beautiful, of course—anyone could see that. But they didn’t share much in common, and their hobbies barely aligned. So why did he always end up seeking her out, when there were so many other people he could spend time with?

After the incident on the jet, Spencer had made a decision. He was done pouring so much energy into the blonde liaison and instead would focus on building a genuine friendship with Y/N. Not just the casual co-worker relationship they had, but something real. Maybe that’s why her sudden attention on the jet had caught him off guard. Maybe it wasn’t a crush forming, but rather a deep-rooted loneliness, a subconscious desire for a true friend. That had to be it.

The drive to his apartment seemed to fly by, and as Spencer stepped out of the car, he was surprised by the sense of reluctance that settled over him. He murmured his thanks and goodnight to Y/N, offering a shy smile, his thoughts lingering on the brief but unexpected moment of connection.

"Hey, Spencer?" Y/N called just as he was about to close the door. He paused, and she went on, her tone genuine. "I meant what I said. If you ever want to skip the metro and ride with me instead, I’d love the company. Honestly, I enjoyed our drive so much more than the usual Top 40 hits on the radio."

Spencer’s smile grew, a hesitant nod accompanying the soft bite of his lower lip. This was the opportunity to build something real with her, and for once, he decided not to second-guess it. “I’d really like that, actually.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, a blend of relief and excitement bubbling up inside her. A smile spread across her face as she let out a soft breath. "Great. I’m looking forward to it," she said, her voice warm. "Goodnight, Spencer. Enjoy your day off tomorrow."

The first week of Spencer’s newfound behavior had Y/N feeling… disoriented, for lack of a better term. It wasn’t a bad feeling, not at all. She was genuinely thrilled by the extra attention, but she couldn’t quite figure out what had caused the sudden shift in their dynamic.

Spencer had begun riding home with her after work, both of them quickly growing fond of the newfound companionship. Throughout the day, he found himself gravitating toward her desk more often, offering to help with paperwork or providing a second opinion when she second guessed something. As they spent more time together, their conversations became easier—what had started as awkward exchanges soon evolved into Spencer initiating talks, no longer waiting for her to take the lead.

The irritated huff that escaped JJ’s lips as she stormed past everyone and into her office after Spencer politely declined her offer to sit with her and sort through case files, made it clear—Y/N wasn’t the only one noticing the change.

The next notable shift came when the BAU was called to California for a case. As everyone filed onto the jet and took their usual seats, there was one exception: Spencer Reid. When Y/N settled onto the couch, she was greeted by a soft, uncertain voice.

“Can I join you?” Spencer asked, his fingers nervously tugging at the end of his cardigan sleeves as he blinked at her with those sweet, vulnerable brown eyes.

The entire team glanced up in surprise, caught off guard by Spencer's decision not to take his usual spot across from JJ. Y/N, both puzzled and pleased, quickly moved to make space, patting the seat beside her with an encouraging smile.

"Of course, Spence. Go right ahead."

Spencer let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders drooping in relief as he settled into the seat next to Y/N, the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying easing from his body. Ignoring the gawking from the others, he leaned in slightly, feeling more at ease in her presence. As Y/N opened the case file, he glanced at her with a small smile, ready to dive into the work with her by his side.

Morgan chuckled from across the jet, looking at JJ with raised brows as she scoffed to herself. "What'd you do to piss off the kid?"

“I didn’t do anything! And when did she start calling him ‘Spence’?” JJ grumbled, her arms crossed defensively as she narrowed her eyes at the two of them.

“Whoa,” Morgan muttered, his smile dropping into a frown. “Didn’t realize I was hitting a sore spot. What’s it matter what she calls him, anyway?”

JJ stiffened, her words catching in her throat as she struggled to respond. Morgan was right—she wasn’t the only one who could give Spencer a nickname. But that was her name for him, and it stung a little more now, given the distance that had been growing between them.

"It’s nothing," JJ replied quickly, forcing a casual shrug. "I was just surprised, that’s all." But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the unease lingering in her chest, unsure why it bothered her so much.

The remainder of the flight was spent with the team discussing the case, Hotch assigning tasks for when they touched down. Once they had gone over everything they could, the conversation tapered off, and silence settled over the cabin. Each team member retreated into their own thoughts, but Y/N and Spencer remained deep in discussion, quietly exchanging ideas about the unsub.

As they leaned in to continue their conversation, they unknowingly inched closer, drawn together by the ease of their shared focus. And when Spencer felt Y/N's knee brush against his, he kept his leg still, savoring the contact in silence—his secret to keep.

It took Spencer just over two months to finally gather the courage to ask Y/N to hang out outside of work or their shared car rides—something he had started contributing to so he could get more comfortable with driving. She’d quickly climbed the ranks of people he favored and felt comfortable with, but the fear of rejection still held him back. He didn’t want to jeopardize the connection they’d built, especially when it felt so important to him.

Spencer’s fear dissolved when he asked Y/N to come over and watch a film he’d picked up at an antique shop. Her excited smile and enthusiastic "Duh, I'd love to!" made him realize that she’d likely been waiting for him to take the first step all along.

He was grateful for how Y/N allowed him to move at his own pace, understanding that his accelerated path through high school and college had made it difficult for him to form connections. She never rushed him, giving him the space to open up when he was ready and letting their relationship develop naturally.

Y/N arrived at Spencer’s apartment, her arms loaded with snacks and dressed in cozy clothes, her excitement palpable. She enjoyed their car rides, of course, but an hour together hardly seemed enough compared to the time she truly longed to spend with him.

Y/N had been captivated by Spencer for years, but the more time they spent together, the harder her heart beat for him—every smile, every laugh, every conversation only added to her growing feelings. She told herself she was content with just being friends, that having him in her life, even in the smallest way, was enough. But deep down, she knew the truth—her heart yearned for something more, something that seemed just out of reach.

"Y/N! Hi, welcome in!"

The door swung open to reveal Spencer, his grin wide with excitement as he motioned for her to step inside. The sight of him—beaming with an almost childlike enthusiasm—made her smile in return. His apartment matched her expectations in the best way possible: shelves overflowing with books and quirky knick-knacks, soft, ambient light spilling from lamps that cast a cozy glow across the room, and a desk strewn with an organized mess of case files and open journals. It was a perfect reflection of Spencer—intellectually chaotic, but with an undeniable charm and warmth.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat as she entered the living room, and for a moment, he lost track of everything around him. He had always seen her dressed up for work—polished, professional, a perfect image of control. But now, in her casual clothes, with her hair down and no hint of the usual makeup, she looked entirely different.

She was still stunning, but it was a softer kind of beauty, one that crept up on him and left him breathless before he even realized it. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable at first glance, but once he took her in, he couldn’t seem to pull his focus away. Spencer had always thought he knew Y/N, but this version of her… this version felt like a secret he wasn’t ready to discover yet.

"Where would you like these?" Y/N asked, lifting her arms up with the snacks.

The sound of her voice broke Spencer from his daze, and he quickly moved to help, grabbing a few items to set them down on the coffee table. "Oh, uh, you didn’t have to bring snacks," he stammered, his hands fumbling with the food as he awkwardly rearranged it. "I was just going to order takeout or something. You’re the guest," he added, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush. His mind was racing, still caught in the subtle sweetness of her perfume that lingered in the air as he leaned in to grab the bags, making it hard to focus.

Y/N shrugged, a small grin playing on her lips as she set the snacks down. "I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. And if you’re still craving takeout later, I won't stop you from ordering it. Sound good?"

He nodded, his nose twitching as he grinned, feeling his tension ease. It was just Y/N, he reminded himself. There was no reason to feel this flustered.

An hour later, with the movie playing and a bag of gummy bears between them, Spencer quickly realized he'd been wrong. He had plenty of reasons to feel flustered.

The film, which had subtitles, was riddled with translation errors. Each time a jumbled sentence appeared, Y/N would lean in close, her breath warm against his ear causing shivers up and down his spine as she whispered, "What does that one mean?" Her thigh brushed against his, neither of them making any effort to break the contact. Spencer felt an almost electric warmth spread through him from the slight touch, his body aching for more. Was he really that starved for affection?

That night seemed to crack something deep inside him, like a dam giving way to a flood of longing for touch.

Spencer—who had always been wary of physical contact—now found himself drawn to Y/N in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Every time they handed each other papers or worked on case files together, he’d make sure their fingers brushed. As he passed by her desk, he’d let his fingers trace along her shoulder blades, offering her a quiet smile that she always returned. After particularly exhausting days, he’d seek her out, leaning into her embrace, letting her arms offer him comfort and grounding. And during their hangouts, Spencer no longer hesitated to inch closer, letting his side press against hers, or allowing her to stretch her legs over his lap. The proximity felt natural, and he couldn’t help but crave it more.

It only got worse as time went on. He couldn't keep his hands off of her. It wasn't just casual touches anymore—it was almost as if every opportunity to be near her was a chance to close the distance between them. Y/N couldn't get enough of it. And the team? They definitely noticed. JJ, in particular, seemed to pick up on it right away.

JJ had attempted to confront Spencer about his growing closeness with Y/N before, but each time, he waved her off, insisting that he and Y/N had simply discovered they had more in common than he'd realized and that he just wanted to be her friend. JJ wasn’t convinced—not for a second. It was obvious to her that Spencer was falling for Y/N, and for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, it left a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t that she harbored romantic feelings for him, but she had grown accustomed to his attention. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed being the one to receive it.

The tension finally boiled over when the team was dispatched to a case in Oregon.

It had been six months since the incident on the jet, and Y/N and Spencer had become almost inseparable. Garcia and Morgan, delighted by their closeness, often teased them and playfully begged them to just admit they were dating—though both vehemently insisted that their relationship was purely platonic. Rossi and Emily often exchanged knowing looks on the jet, with Emily even going so far as to snap a picture of Y/N and Spencer sleeping on the couch after a case—a cute picture featuring Spencer’s head resting on Y/N’s and her face tucked into his shoulder as they peacefully dozed together. Even Hotch seemed to approve, having reviewed the Bureau’s internal fraternization policies just in case Strauss raised an issue. The only person who didn’t seem thrilled about it was JJ.

Two days in Oregon, and the team was already facing an uphill battle. They’d been working non-stop to build a profile for the unsub, but so far, nothing had gone right. There were no witnesses who could provide a description, a local officer had already compromised key evidence from the first crime scene, and the victims seemed to have no clear link to one another. Frustration was mounting for everyone, but for JJ it was mounting for an entirely separate reason.

Spencer had been managing his frustration through subtle touches with Y/N—brief brushes of his hand against her lower back as he passed, pressing his head into her shoulder with a frustrated groan after combing through their limited information for hours... But the moment that pushed JJ to her breaking point was when Spencer, noticing an officer staring at Y/N, pulled her possessively into him, his hand firmly gripping her waist until that officer left the room.

"Y/N?"

JJ's voice was tight as she stepped into the conference room the local officers had set up for the BAU to use during their case, spotting Y/N standing in front of the pinned-up map of the area as she studied the locations where the victims had been found. Spencer had just left, going to start more coffee for them since they were running low. The rest of the team was out in the field, reinvestigating the crime scenes for anything that may have been missed initially.

Y/N looked up, her brow furrowing as JJ closed the door. They weren’t close on a personal level, and Y/N couldn’t think of any reason, related to the case or otherwise, for JJ to want to speak with her alone.

"...Yes?"

JJ lingered near the end of the table, her arms crossed across her chest as she leveled Y/N with a look that immediately had her on edge. "I’m not trying to pry, but as his best friend, I have to ask… what’s going on between you and Spencer?" Her face was twisted in a scowl, her head tilting as she waited for a response.

Y/N's eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline at that, a scoffed laugh leaving her lips before she could stop it. His best friend. Was she serious?

"Excuse me?"

"What's going on with you and Spencer?" JJ repeated, her voice deliberate. "Everyone’s noticed how he’s been acting—the constant touching, for one, is a bit much, don’t you think? He never wants to hang out with me anymore. It’s like he's all about you now. So, are you two seeing each other or what?"

Y/N turned to face JJ fully, her lips tightening into a thin line as she took a steadying breath. Her audacity was astounding, truly. The last thing she wanted today was to argue with this fucking—

"That's hilarious, Jennifer. Really," Y/N chuckled lowly, shaking her head. "Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—Spencer is an adult who can make his own decisions? I’m not the reason he doesn't want to spend time with you."

JJ stiffened at the mention of her name, scoffing in response. "Oh, clearly you have something to do with it. Before you started driving him home, he followed me around like a lost puppy. Now he barely even wants to be around me!"

That struck a nerve in Y/N, like a live wire finally sparked to life. A lost puppy? Was that truly how little she thought of him? Y/N's head tilted, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone as she spoke again.

"Don't you ever talk about Spencer like that again. He's not your fucking pet, Jennifer!"

Her voice was menacing as she stepped forward, grim satisfaction coursing through her as JJ stumbled backward.

"Spencer is a brilliant, capable man who’s never deserved the way you or anyone else have made him feel less than that. We’re not dating. But if we were, I wouldn’t be ashamed of him. Unlike you, who found the idea of a man like him adoring you repulsive instead of seeing it for the gift it was. Spencer Reid is a fucking treasure, and it’s entirely your fault you never realized how lucky you were to have his attention."

Y/N's face was flushed red with anger, her chest heaving as she seethed.

"So again, I have nothing to do with him not wanting to spend time with you anymore. Maybe he finally realized that you're just not as great of a person as you pretend to be."

Rather than waiting for the teary-eyed, speechless blonde to reply, Y/N grabbed her things and stormed out, heading out to take an early lunch. But as she swung the door open, she was met with Spencer standing right there, and before she could react, she collided with his chest. His hands immediately flew to her waist, steadying her as she looked up sheepishly.

"Shit! I’m sorry, Spence," Y/N muttered, still fuming from her conversation with JJ. Her face turned even redder when she realized he might have heard some of it, but she didn’t regret a word of what she’d said.

He hadn't just heard some of it... He'd heard all of it. When he’d left earlier, he’d turned back, intending to ask if she wanted to take a break from the map. Instead, he had been met with the sight of JJ closing the door, and he curiously (shamefully) pressed up against it to know what was going on.

Admittedly, it stung to hear JJ talk about him like that, even though he already knew she'd taken advantage of his past crush on her. But Y/N's words and how she defended him hit him harder than expected. It became clear in that instant—no one had ever been there for him the way she always had been, and somewhere along the way, he'd fallen deeply in love with her.

"Hey, hey, it’s alright," Spencer said quietly, his hands smoothing over her waist before resting gently on her shoulders. "Go take your lunch. You’ve earned a break. I’ll keep working on the geographical profile until you return."

Y/N offered a weary but grateful smile before walking away, leaving Spencer alone to process the revelation weighing on him.

That night, Spencer paced his hotel room, caught between waiting until they were home to tell Y/N how he felt or just saying it now. He felt like an idiot for not recognizing it sooner, for convincing himself his feelings for her were purely platonic. But now that he knew, it consumed him. He wanted to shout it to the heavens, to tell the world he was in love with her.

Spencer knew what he had to do. He realized that confessing his feelings in the middle of a case wasn’t ideal, but the thought of waiting any longer to let her know how much she meant to him was unbearable. That’s why, before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself standing outside her door at midnight, knocking softly.

"Spence? You okay?"

Her sleepy voice tugged at his heart as she opened the door, rubbing her eyes and letting out a soft yawn. She smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. The room was cloaked in darkness, but the moonlight spilling through the curtains illuminated the crumpled sheets, evidence of her restless sleep.

His heart hammered in his chest as he breathed in unsteadily, lowering himself onto the edge of her bed. She crawled back to the middle, flicking on the bedside lamp, the soft light casting a warm glow between them. His courage started to falter, but the gentle concern in her eyes anchored him. He remembered why he was here—because with her, he felt safe enough to face this, no matter how vulnerable he felt.

"Y/N, I—" Spencer began, his voice catching for a moment, but he continued anyway. "I heard what happened with JJ earlier, and it made me realize something I should’ve recognized a long time ago. I was so caught up in denial that it didn’t hit me until now. And I’m so sorry for that…"

Oh, fuck. He was starting to ramble. This isn't how he wanted this to go at all—

"Y/N... I'm in love with you. I am so, so in love with you that it aches. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And it’s not just the way you look, though I could spend hours talking about how stunning you are. It’s who you are, the goodness that radiates from you. You make me want to be better, to wake up every day and try to be at least half the person you are. You care for everyone around you like it’s your purpose, and I want to be the one who takes care of you for once because you truly deserve that. I’ve never felt anything like this, and if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. But I just—I needed you to know."

Y/N’s jaw dropped as Spencer’s confession filled the air, her eyes welling with tears as the words she had longed for spilled from him. She moved swiftly, sitting up from the pillows and crawling toward him, a tear dripping down her cheek as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I love you too, Spencer Reid," she breathed, her voice trembling with sincerity. "I love you with everything I am."

Spencer’s lungs burned as he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He returned her watery smile, his heart overflowing with love for the woman before him. Carefully, he cupped her face, his thumb following the line of her cheeks, his eyes filled with a quiet mix of wonder and adoration.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

Her lips were on his the second he uttered the last syllable.

The kiss was both gentle and intense, their lips meeting with a deliberate slowness as if savoring every moment of crossing the line from friendship into something more. There was a hunger beneath the tenderness, an unspoken yearning finally being released. Their lips parted for only a second, allowing them to suck in a quick breath before they were back on each other. Each kiss was a quiet revelation, better than they had ever dreamed.

What started as an innocent declaration of their feelings for each other quickly evolved into something more ravenous as Spencer’s tongue prodded at the seam of her lips. The soft exhale Y/N released as their tongues brushed together had Spencer groaning, one of his hands sliding to cradle the back of her head as he savored the taste of her and the feeling of her lips against his. His other hand gingerly slid down her body, settling on her hip as he leaned forward, guiding her to rest against the pillows.

Y/N’s thighs parted eagerly to make room for him between them, her hands lacing through his hair as she tugged him impossibly closer. His elbows dug into the mattress beside her body as he hovered above her, swallowing the moan that slipped from her lips when their hips pressed together. He chased her lips when she tipped her head back, kissing her with an intensity that made her dizzy and had her whining into his mouth.

"I-I want— Spence, please—"

Y/N pleaded as his lips trailed down the side of her neck to suck a mark into her collarbone, though she wasn't even sure what she was begging for. She just knew she needed him. Her body felt like it was aflame, ignited by the spark that was Spencer's tongue soothing the possessive bruise now blooming across her skin. She needed him so desperately that her mind became a blur, consumed by an endless craving, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming desire for more—more of him, more of this, more of everything he offered.

The thin fabric of their pajamas did little to conceal the feeling of his stiff cock grinding against her in subtle rocks of his hips as his hands began to roam her body, only adding to the overwhelming need she felt coursing through her. Spencer hushed her with a gentle peck, his lips lingering against hers for a brief, sweet moment before he moved to kiss her nose, her cheeks, and finally her forehead. With each gentle kiss, she couldn't help but giggle softly, her laughter melting into the space between them.

"I know, pretty girl. You're already so worked up and all I've done is kiss you," he cooed, the words taking her by surprise. He wasn't wrong. A wet patch had started seeping through the cotton of her pants, something his fingers had taken an interest in as he began to lightly skim up and down her clit with his knuckles over the damp fabric. "No one ever takes care of you, do they, baby? Let me be the one to take care of you, Y/N. Please?" He paused, gently lifting her chin so he could meet her gaze.

Spencer’s words quieted the storm raging inside her, and she took a deep breath, her body finally relaxing. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt such a strong desire to let go, to stop carrying the weight of everything alone. To finally surrender and let someone take care of her. So she did exactly that.

"Yes. God, yes. Please, Spencer," Y/N whispered, her eyes searching his, full of need and trust.

It was as if a switch flipped the moment Spencer got the confirmation he needed.

His lips were back on hers in an instant, devouring her as though she'd melt away if he stopped touching her for even a second. He rolled them over, breaking the kiss to glide his hands underneath the rumpled t-shirt Y/N had on for bed and lifting it over her head in one swift motion. Ignoring her soft squeal of surprise, he brought his hands down to her hips, massaging the skin there before sliding his hands under the waistband of her pajama pants to grip her ass.

"Look at you… You're nothing short of incredible. Absolutely breathtaking," Spencer murmured, staring up at her in awe. The soft brown of his eyes had faded, overtaken by the dark void of his dilated pupils, as if a veil had been drawn across them. "I can't even begin to express how lucky I am to have you... how beautiful you are."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed under his gaze, her teeth gently catching her lower lip as she placed her hands beside his head for support. She shivered as her nipples brushed against the fabric of his shirt, hardened by the cool air of the hotel room and the desire she felt coursing through her. She answered with a hum and ducked her head shyly, mouthing at the sensitive skin underneath his jaw as she wriggled impatiently in his hold.

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, squeezing her ass again before retracting his hands. His fingers danced along the waistband of her pants teasingly before he began to tug them down, dragging her panties with them. His heart raced as she wiggled out of them, hammering against his chest with a rhythm that felt almost deafening. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d done to deserve someone like her, but he would spend a lifetime making sure she knew just how precious she was to him.

"It's your turn to strip," Y/N mumbled as she sat up, straddling his waist as her hands found their way under his shirt. "I feel so... exposed."

Spencer’s brows quirked in amusement, a quiet laugh slipping out before he could stop it as she shoved the shirt up and over his head. She slithered down his body, grinning up at him before placing a kiss on his hip bone. His pants soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the ground, followed shortly after by his boxers.

"There. Is that better, sweetheart?" Spencer teased, but the words went completely unheard as she gawked at him.

Y/N kneeled between his spread legs, her hands planted firmly on his thighs as she took in the sight of him. He lay before her like something straight out of her most vivid dreams, more stunning than she’d ever imagined. He was effortlessly handsome—his hair tousled, lips slightly swollen from their kisses, and freckles and scars scattered across his shoulders and chest like a map of his past. His muscles were lean and toned, and the sparse hair trailing down beneath his belly button was far more enticing than it should've been. His cock was as pretty as he was, the flushed head of his more than impressive arousal matching the pink of his cheeks.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

"C'mere. I'm supposed to be taking care of you," Spencer grinned, motioning for Y/N to crawl back over him.

Instead of letting her settle with her thighs around his hips like she had previously been, he tugged insistently, her brows furrowing in confusion as she wobbled above him.

"Spencer, what—"

"Get up here," Spencer crooned, finally managing to maneuver her forward so her pussy hovered over his mouth. "And sit down."

Y/N's jaw dropped, her hands flying out to catch herself as she gripped the headboard. She was taken aback, utterly speechless. Here she was, being manhandled by Spencer Reid. The same quiet, awkward genius who rambled endlessly about statistics and couldn’t sit still for more than a minute was man-handling her and demanding she sit on his face. Was she dreaming?

"Are you— are you sure?" Y/N squeaked, staring down at him with wide eyes. "You really don't have to—"

Spencer turned his head so he could pepper open-mouthed kisses up and down her inner thigh, coaxing a soft moan from her as his warm breath fanned across her soaked folds.

"Stop all that worrying, pretty girl. I told you I'd take care of you—let me keep my word."

Before she could protest, Spencer gripped her hips, pulling her down at the same time he tilted his head up to lap his tongue over her core. Any hesitation Y/N had left evaporated from her body as a guttural moan ripped its way from her throat, her eyes fluttering shut as Spencer dragged his tongue over her clit. His movements were languid but hungry as he reveled in the taste of her, relishing her essence as though it was the very thing he needed to fuel his existence.

The air was filled with a mixture of moans and the slick sound of Spencer's mouth working between her legs, only amplifying the intense pleasure swimming through her body. Once Spencer was sure Y/N would stay put, he let one of his hands fall away from her hips, tracing it down his body until it wrapped around his cock. The breathy sounds she was letting out had him painfully hard, his thumb spreading the bead of precum spilling from the tip down the length of him as he began to pump himself.

"Oh, fuck—" Y/N whined as she forced her eyes open, turning to look over her shoulder at the sound of Spencer touching himself. The sight had her thighs trembling, a low groan rumbling in her throat as she turned her gaze down to look at him underneath her.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows pinched together in pleasure as his hand began to move faster. It was downright sinful. She'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Spencer alternated between fucking his tongue into her and sucking gently at her clit, the combination hurtling her toward her orgasm at a speed she never thought was possible. Y/N's hips rocked against his face, frantic whimpers slipping from her lips as her face began to scrunch in pleasure. The needy moans he was letting out against her skin pushed her over the edge as a sharp gasp broke free into the air, followed by a loud cry as her hands dropped from the headboard to tangle into his hair while she came.

Spencer whimpered as he let go of himself, instead using his hands to anchor her down while he gently worked her through her climax. He pressed a small kiss to her clit before she squirmed away, falling onto the bed beside him as her chest heaved. A look of adoration lingered on his face as he stroked her side and hair, pressing his lips to her forehead while she caught her breath.

Y/N flashed a small grin, rolling her eyes at his proud expression. A comforting heaviness settled in her limbs, pulling her deeper into the bed as she released a soft sigh. It took her a few moments to push herself up on her elbow, shifting to face him instead of lying flat on her back.

"How am I ever supposed to get anything done again now that I know you can do that?" Y/N murmured with a hint of exasperation, tilting her head to nuzzle her nose against his.

Spencer’s breath hitched as she draped her leg across his waist, hissing quietly as the head of his cock brushed against her warmth. He hummed, feigning thought before shrugging with a playful grin. "Could be a reward for a job well done," he teased, brushing a lingering kiss across her lips as his hand rubbed up and down her thigh.

"Yeah?" Y/N's hips began to slowly rock back and forth, the friction from his cock pressing between her folds making her head spin. "Well, can I reward you for a job well done then?"

Spencer's fingers flexed against her thigh, a low noise escaping him as he fought to keep his eyes on hers.

It made sense to him now why sailors would plummet into icy waters at the sound of a siren's call. If that call was anything as alluring as the sound of her voice, he'd happily do the same. She could demand the most heinous things of him right now and he'd do them simply because she asked.

But tonight was about her.

So instead of caving and begging for her touch, he shook his head, his lips quirking up at the pout forming on her lips. "As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I'm supposed to be taking care of you, sweetheart. Not the other way around."

"Okay... so then take care of me by fucking me. Please?"

Spencer's resolve broke at her words. How could he possibly deny her? He'd be an absolute fool not to give her whatever her heart wished for.

His lips met hers in a fervent kiss as he moved to hover over her once more. Two of his fingers found her soaked pussy and sank inside of her with little resistance, a smug grin finding its way to his face as she gasped loudly into his mouth. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along her jaw before he whispered into her ear.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Y/N bucked her hips up into his touch, writhing underneath him as she nodded frantically. There wasn't a thing in this world that she wanted more. "Yes, Spence, please. Please fuck me. I need it—"

Spencer groaned, latching his lips onto the side of her neck as he inhaled sharply through his nose before he sat back on his heels. His fingers slipped out of her, her eyes widening as he brought the digits to his mouth and sucked them clean with a satisfied hum.

"Flip over."

Y/N followed his command without hesitation, the rush of anticipation making her feel almost detached, as though she were on autopilot, waiting to see what he would do next. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder before he reached for a pillow, tucking it underneath her hips to prop her up. A low whine emitted from her chest as she felt the flushed head of his arousal bump against her entrance, her hips canting back in an attempt to get him to push forward as he leaned forward, his chest brushing her back as he planted his hands into the mattress beside her.

"Do you want it like this, sweetheart? No condom? Because I can go find one..." Spencer murmured into her ear, his breathing labored as he teased her opening.

"Please— Wanna feel you, Spence," She whined into the pillow, arching her hips into his touch, though he remained just out of reach.

Spencer's eyes squeezed shut as a pang of arousal shot through him, taking a shuddering breath to mentally prepare himself not to blow his load before he even fucked her. With a kiss to the back of her head, Spencer began to press forward, easing into her inch by inch.

Y/N's mouth gaped open against the pillow she'd tugged underneath her head in a silent moan, the sensation of him finally filling her more intense than she'd expected. Her fingers gripped the sheets as he bottomed out, a pitiful whimper slipping free as she wiggled her hips in an attempt to adjust to the feeling. Her walls clenched around him instinctively as she adjusted, causing a broken moan to fall from his lips as his head rested against her shoulder, his breath puffing across her skin in warm bursts.

His right arm kept him braced above her while his left arm made its way under her chest, pulling her close as his hand began to grope at her breasts. His fingertips pinched one of her nipples, reveling in the soft moan she let out. "Are you ready for me to move, pretty girl?" He breathed, peppering kisses along the side of her face as he waited for her to relax.

At her nod, Spencer began to move, his thrusts slow but powerful as he repeatedly drove into her. He shifted up onto his knees, pulling her hips back into his languid thrusts as she moaned beneath him. The angle allowed him to brush her G-spot with every stroke, causing her toes to curl with each pang of pleasure that wracked her body. His hands squeezed the flesh of her ass, a low whine bubbling in his throat as he took in the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her.

It was downright erotic, the sight of her arousal coating the wiry curls at the base of him driving him insane. She was so fucking wet for him. The knowledge that he was making her feel this good made his head spin. He couldn't keep it to himself anymore. He needed to show her how deeply this was affecting him, to make her understand the intensity of the way she made him feel.

Everyone knew Spencer liked to run his mouth. It wasn't a surprise that this remained true during sex. What surprised Y/N, however, was how absolutely filthy of a mouth the man had. Spencer, the same Spencer who had barely uttered a curse in all the years she'd known him, was now stringing together words that would make even the most foul-mouthed person blush.

His pace increased with each word he murmured, small "ah, ah, ah's" spilling from her lips as he began to really pound into her.

"Does that feel good? Huh? Finally being taken care of the way you deserve?"

"Fuck— look at you, baby. Taking my cock so well. Do you like that? You like feeling me stretch you open?"

"Such a perfect pussy, sweetheart. So fucking good for me. So tight. My beautiful girl."

Every vulgar word he breathed into the space between them had her mind reeling, her body teetering on the edge of release as her walls fluttered around him. Desperate moans began to spill from her as she took everything he had to offer, her teeth digging into her lower lip to try to stifle the noises in an attempt not to wake everyone on that floor of the hotel. Spencer's gaze was locked on the way her ass rippled with each thrust, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as his brows pinched together and his mouth hung open.

"S-Spence— I'm so close—" Y/N whimpered, burying her face into the pillow beneath her as she moaned helplessly.

He dragged one of his hands away from where it was squeezing her hip, shoving it between her hips and the pillow propping her up as he began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts. "Let go, sweet girl. Cum around my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."

She cried out at that, thrashing underneath him as the tension coiling in her lower belly finally snapped. Spencer's hips stuttered, a guttural moan wrenching its way from his throat as she squeezed around him, her legs trembling as one of the most powerful orgasms she'd ever experienced washed over her in waves.

"God— fuck, I'm about to cum," Spencer grunted, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving with exertion as he fucked her through it. "Where do you want it, pretty girl?"

"Wanna taste you... Spence, please—" Y/N slurred beneath him, weakly pushing up on her elbows to turn and look at him over her shoulder. Her bottom lip was swollen and lightly bruised from how hard she'd been biting at it, and her eyes were watery with unshed tears as the pleasure began to overwhelm her.

The sight of her looking so ruined almost had him spilling inside of her, and with a muffled curse he pulled out of her, fisting his cock as she rolled onto her back and stuck her tongue out patiently. He shuffled up her body, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard as he gazed down at her reverently. The amusement he felt from the brief feeling of deja vu from having her in a similar position earlier that night was short-lived as his head tipped back, a strained whimper filling the air as her tongue brushed against the head of his cock.

It only took a few pumps for him to cum, his eyes rolling back into his head when she sat up to take him further into her mouth as rope after rope of his essence flooded her throat. Y/N sucked gently, working him through his orgasm until his hips were jerking and he was whining, pulling off of his softening cock with a slick 'pop'. He crumpled onto the bed next to her, his heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage as he struggled to catch his breath.

Spencer wrapped her tightly in his arms, his lips brushing against the top of her head with soft, repeated kisses. Between each tender touch, he murmured how incredible she made him feel, how he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to share this life with her, let alone love her the way he did. Y/N whispered back, her voice soft but full of conviction, telling him how deeply she cherished him and how every part of her was filled with love for him.

Her fingers idly traced patterns across the flushed skin of his chest until he caught her hand, pressing tender kisses to her knuckles before quietly slipping out of bed. She groaned petulantly as he pulled her to her feet, ushering her towards the bathroom with a pat to her butt and a mumbled but passionate lecture on the timeframe after sex in which she needed to pee to avoid getting a UTI. Even though she knew he was right, she still rolled her eyes as she trudged into the bathroom. She decided to brush her teeth while she was there as well, giggling to herself at the thought of kissing Spencer with the taste of him still in her mouth.

When she stepped out, Spencer had changed the sheets and set a bottle of water on the nightstand, flashing a drowsy grin as she slipped into bed next to him and turned the lamp out. "What's all this about?" she teased, her smile breaking into a yawn.

"I'm taking care of you, just like I said I would."

It didn’t take long for exhaustion to settle in, both of them murmuring good nights between soft kisses. As they drifted off together, Y/N felt certain he would be taking care of her for the rest of his life—and she was just as sure that she would do the same for him.

Continued A/N's: Happy (late) start to December!! I really hope you guys enjoy this :') I plan on doing a little something (maybe, possibly ;) ) for Christmas, so stay tuned for updates on what that little something may be. Also, a loving reminder that my requests are open! :) <3 K

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Would 100% fix me.

GUYS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! I NEED TO RIDE THIS MAN IMMEDIATELY

[sunset-curve-fantom]

Oklahoma Skies- Tyler Owens x Reader

Let me know what you guys think! I am slowly getting back into writing.

WARNING; SMUT 18+

The wind stood still, as you leaned against your front porch. The sunset haze makes the sky the most beautiful shades of orange and pink. The air light and leaves softly blowing in the wind. Tornado season was something you loved yet feared.  

Terrified, the storms would hit you, but also bring the most beautiful skies after something so violent. 

A warm arm swooped around your waist, tugging you close. A small smile graced your features as you leaned onto your boyfriend’s chest. The tornado wrangler himself, Tyler Owens. He chased the beauty in the storms, and you chased the sunsets following.  

But this tornado season was wicked, full of untamed storms taking out multiple towns throughout Oklahoma. The damage was astounding. Which also meant Tyler was away for longer periods, chasing them. 

“Where’s your mind? I can see it racing” he murmured into your ear, pressing a soft kiss under your ear.  

One thing about this man was he could always see your mood, whether he was next to you or hundreds of miles away. He was fully entuned with what was bothering you at any time. He could read you the way he reads his storms.  

“Just watching the sky. Have a feeling a storm is coming in” you said softly. You may not be a tornado wrangler yourself, but you were born and raised in Oklahoma. The changes in the weather were something you had come to read easily.  

He chuckled under his breath. “I love when you get those feelings, Crazy Girl” 

The nickname made a soft blush erupt on your face. He termed you that last year when a tornado was coming into town, and you proceeded to chase a cat to save them instead of taking cover. Tyler had to chase you, and the cat, holding you both against him as he hauled you to the storm shelter.  

It was the first time he realized that you feared storms, but also wanted to save everything in its path. Your home, your friends, your family were the priority even when something so destructive was heading towards you. 

His phone vibrated; he brought the screen into view of the both of you.  

“Tornado is a brewing; Cells forming in the south” the text message read from Boone.  

You softly groaned knowing that the time Tyler was home, now was coming to an end. You knew storm chasing was his life, but sometimes you just wanted to hold him close to your heart and never let him go.  

He kissed the back of your head softly, “Gotta grab my things, Crazy Girl”  

You nodded knowing that you had chosen this crazy life with him, but also felt with such worry every time he left the house following a storm. But nonetheless, you had the same routine every time he left. 

Pulling open the screen door, you grabbed his go bag. It was his holy grail, and had everything extra in this world he may need. Including underwear, because in your words “If I was in a tornado, I might actively shit myself”.  

He sighed, changing into his cowboy boots. Throwing on his hat, getting ready to load into the truck. 

Stepping out onto the porch, he followed you. He pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. You clung to him with such love and force. This was the hardest part of any season, willingly letting him walk into storms and away from you. 

“You stay safe, I love you too much” you murmured into his shoulder. Tears pricked your eyes knowing he was heading into the craziness of a storm.  

He just chuckled, smiling down at you. You knew he was always safe, that he would always find his way back to you. But storms are ever changing, you never know what might happen when he is chasing. 

“I am always safe you know that. I promise I will come back to you.” he said, pressing a kiss hard to your lips. Taking in the moment like it was the last one he would ever experience.  

He picked up his go bag, stepping off the porch. “I love you Crazy Girl” 

Winds began picking up faster, the sky beginning to darken, taking away the most beautiful sunrise. The rain began falling, thunder echoing through the sky with lightning streaking the sky. 

Rain began to soak Tyler's white shirt as he walked away from you. You could start to see his tanned skin through the wet material. 

The way his shirt was clinging to him, made you weak in the knees. You wanted nothing more than to follow him and drag him back to bed with you.  

Ripping his soaked white tee from his chiseled muscles. You were pulled from your fantasy by the blaring of the tornado warning. The storm must have shifted, it was coming towards town.  

Your feet carried you off the porch as the panic began to set in, quickly finding your voice, "Tyler"  

He whipped around, his features watching the fear on your face as he quickly made his way towards you. He grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the storm shelter.  

You both caught a view of the horizon; you could see the dark, swirling line of clouds coming your way. A sense of unease filled the pits of your stomach as Tyler pulled you faster behind him. 

You knew the signs; you knew this storm was going to be absolutely vicious seeing how fast it changed directions and grew in the sky. 

Panic rose in your chest as he pulled open the storm shelter, rushing you inside with ease. “It’s okay Crazy Girl, just breathe” he murmured as he locked the door behind you.  

The wind was whipping outside at no mercy, you knew this storm was going to be something different for you both. It came to you, instead of Tyler chasing it miles away.  

You were drawn from your thoughts with Tyler pulling you gently down onto the mattress with him. He knew you were terrified; he knew the panic you were feeling. 

The glint in his eyes when you looked at him brought you comfort, knowing that he was going to protect you no matter where this storm took you.  

“Hi crazy girl” he murmured catching your lips softly, his warm hand finding its way into your hair, gently pulling.  

A soft moan escaped your lips, knowing he was trying to clear your mind. This was his go to move whenever a storm headed your way.  

Being tangled up with him always made the storm disappear in your mind.  

That’s how the mattress ended up in the storm shelter in the first place.  

Your hands found their way to the brim of his hat, carefully pulling it off his head. Hands finding their way to his hair.  

Lips breaking apart, he slowly started nipping at your earlobe, placing soft kisses to your neck finding your sweet spot.  

Softly sucking, a moan escaped your lips. You felt him smile against your skin.  

His hands trailed along your hips, finding their way to the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head.  

Clothes fell from both of you, as your hands explored each other. Your exposed skin drawing each other in.  

Lust filling your senses as you pushed him down softly, taking his hardened length in your hand.  

“You gonna ride me crazy girl?” he said, his grip on you hard as he pulled you in his lap. His length rubbing against your wet cunt.  

You smirked, bringing your lips to his. Kissing him hungrily as you grinded your hips into him. The pressure from his hardened cock, making you desperate for him to be deep inside of you.  

Breaking the kiss, you grabbed his cock slowly lowering yourself onto him. Your eyes rolling back as his large girth stretched you out.  

“Fuck baby” he hissed, grabbing hard onto your hips slamming the rest of the way into you. A hard moan escaping your lips.  

The sounds of slapping skin filled the shelter loudly, blocking out any remaining sounds of the storm. “You’re taking me so good, so deep inside of you” 

“Fuck me” you moaned throwing your head back as he abused your cunt. The rough thrusts reaching every crevice you could ever imagine. Your tight cunt throbbing around him with every thrust he delivered.  

His hands found your waist again, flipping you over so he could slam into you once more. Your eyes fell shut as he slammed into your cervix, moans falling off your lips echoing through the room.  

The pace unrelenting, he continued to fuck you hard and deep as you were coming unraveled below him.  

“S So B-Big" you moaned, nails scratching against his exposed back as your felt the fireworks building in your stomach.  

“You’re close, I can feel you” he moaned, his grip continuing to tighten around your exposed skin pulling you against him.  

A smirk crossed your features, as his catchphrase came to mind, “If you feel it, chase it” you moaned against his lips.  

A smile crossed his face, as his pace picked up once more and his hand finding your clit. Your entire body began to shake, your orgasm overtaking you as you tightened around his length.  

Tyler moaned loudly, the warmth of his seed filling you. The both of you seeing stars from your overwhelming orgasm.  

He pulled you close to him as he settled next to you, “I’ll protect you no matter the storm” he murmured softly as sleep overcame your senses.  

And for once, the panic didn’t rise in your chest. You felt peace among the tornadoes.