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ego13 · 26 days ago

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ㅤ ㅤ ㅤMINISKIRT ❘❙❚ feat. YU JIMIN

synopsis ࿐ Having found a rather prestigious job for yourself, you couldn't even imagine that your boss had her eye on you, taking advantage of your boyfriend's naivety

pairing ✳ yu jimin x fem!reader ✳ word count 9k+ ✳ setting ✳ buisness AU, buisnesswoman!yu jimin

warnings ࿐ cheating, reader has a boyfriend, jealousy, marking, freaky conversations, cunnilingus, kissing, body worship, cum eating, scissoring (kinda), switching, praise kink, eventual smut, sex toys, strap usage (r!recieving), missionary, cowgirl, doggy style, multiple orgasms, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, doll), semi-hard sex, sex in the water, clit stimulating.

playlist ✳ you won't be able to take your eyes off of me, don't stop me

Across the room, a glass wall separated the lobby from an expansive office.

Behind the desk stood a woman.

Yu Jimin.

You recognized her immediately.

"No, I don’t care what your logs say, I said check the handler before pushing it. How many times do I have to tell you — if you touch the server side without passing QA, you don’t wait for my damn permission. You just don’t do it!"

The man across from her, mid-30s, in a T-shirt and jeans, looked like he wanted to disappear.

"But Jimin-ssi, I thought—"

"Don’t think. Test. Revert the commit. Fix the loop. And tell Minseok to stop patching garbage into mainline before stand-up!"

You froze in the doorway, hesitant to interrupt. But just then, Jimin turned, probably catching your reflection in the glass.

She looked straight at you.

Her expression shifted instantly. The hard edge in her eyes melted, replaced by something more measured. Still alert, but… different.

"Out," she snapped without breaking eye contact. Her voice still firm — but directed entirely at the programmer.

"Y-yeah. Right. Sorry, sunbae," the man stammered, grabbing his laptop and nearly tripping over the chair as he left the office.

Jimin waited until the door clicked shut.

Then, her voice lowered, smoother, almost warm: "You’re the applicant, right? Come in."

You swallowed and stepped inside, forcing your shoulders back, your heartbeat suddenly louder in your ears.

She moved around to the front of her desk, one hand slipping into her pocket. She looked at you carefully — not in the judgmental way you expected, but like she was scanning for something specific. Noticing.

"I’m Yu Jimin," she said, holding your gaze. "Nice to meet you."

You stepped closer, bowed politely, then fumbled to pull your resume from your bag. Your fingers felt slightly stiff as you handed it over.

"Here’s my resume," you said, trying not to sound nervous.

She took it with one hand, flipping it open with practiced ease. She glanced down, eyes scanning the page, then back up at you. Her mouth tugged into a faint smile.

"You studied law," she noted. "Dongguk University?"

"Yes," you said, nodding once. "Graduated last year."

"Good." She looked you over again — gladly not in a disapproving way. Her eyes lingered a second longer than necessary before returning to the paper. "And you’ve got decent language certifications. Any actual office experience?"

You shifted your weight. "Just part-time admin work during school. Filing, basic scheduling. Nothing serious."

Yu hummed, closing the resume slowly. "I see."

Her eyes locked on yours again. "You’re pretty young. Most people applying here for assistant or analyst roles are already in their late thirties."

You nodded, unsure what to say.

She tilted her head slightly, the edge of her lip pulling upward. "But you look like the type that learns fast."

You blinked.

There was a moment of silence. Then she leaned against the edge of her desk, still facing you.

"Do people tell you you have a very… calm face? Like you don’t get flustered easily," she said.

"I—uh… not really," you replied, confused. "I'm actually flustered all the time."

That made her laugh, low and quick. "At least you're honest."

You felt your cheeks warm slightly.

Jimin tapped your resume against her palm, still watching you. "Do you mind if I ask something not on here?"

You shook your head. "No, go ahead."

"Are you single?"

You stared at her.

She smiled, unapologetic. "Sorry, that was inappropriate. You don’t have to answer that. Just — curious."

You forced a small laugh, unsure how to respond. "It’s okay. Uh… no, I have a boyfriend."

Her eyebrow arched slightly, but she let it hang there without commenting further. She set your resume down on the desk and crossed her arms.

"Alright," she said, her tone returning to something closer to professional. "I’ll be straight with you. The position I have open isn’t glamorous. It’s a mix of scheduling, document review, fielding calls, and sometimes dealing with my CTO’s bad temper."

You nodded. "I can handle that."

"I’m sure you can."

She pushed herself off the desk and walked back around to her chair, gesturing for you to sit in the one opposite.

"Let’s talk details, then."

"So, the position is technically 'executive assistant,'" she said, tapping a pen lightly on your resume. "But in reality, it’s a secretary role. Mostly supporting me directly."

You nodded. "That's fine. I don’t mind handling basic tasks."

"You’d manage my calendar, coordinate meetings, handle follow-up emails, and — occasionally — remind me to eat something before I collapse." She gave a small smirk. "It’s not the most thrilling job in the world, but I do value people who can keep things running."

"I understand. I’m organized. And I don’t mind repetitive work."

She tilted her head again, watching you.

"You strike me as someone who's careful. Neat handwriting, polite tone, dressed conservatively… very by-the-book." Her eyes scanned your outfit briefly. "Your boyfriend must like that about you."

You blinked, not expecting her to bring that back up. "I guess. I mean, we have our differences."

"Mm. He must be a lucky guy," she said casually, resting her chin on her hand. "Though personally, I find it a bit wasteful."

"Wasteful?"

She shrugged. "Letting someone like you spend your best years covering for a guy who plays games all day. If it were me, I wouldn’t let you leave the apartment in the morning without at least three compliments and a decent breakfast."

You didn’t know what to say to that. You gave a small, awkward smile, but looked away.

Jimin leaned back slightly, still watching. "Sorry. I’m being too forward again."

"It’s okay," you muttered. "I just didn’t expect this kind of interview."

"Neither did I," she said quietly, almost to herself.

There was a brief silence before she clicked her pen and returned to a neutral tone.

"Anyway. It's a full-time position. Nine to six, Monday to Friday. Sometimes later, depending on deadlines. Pay starts at 2.8 million won a month, plus lunch stipend, transportation allowance, and health coverage."

You nodded quickly. "That’s fair. More than I expected, honestly."

"Good." She paused, then added, "If you’re hired, you'll also need to sign a confidentiality agreement. We work with a few sensitive clients."

"That’s not a problem."

Jimin gave a small nod, then tapped your resume once more before setting it aside.

"I like you," she said plainly. "You seem grounded. Honest. A little too stiff maybe — but that can be unlearned."

You blinked again. "Thanks… I think."

"That was a compliment," she added, smirking, "Even if you have a boyfriend."

Your breath caught slightly. "You’re very direct."

"I don’t like wasting time."

Jimin’s fingers lingered at your waist just a second longer before she reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair from your face.

"You really shouldn’t be going home alone after drinking," she said quietly. "Even if it's just a couple glasses."

"I’m fine," you replied, your voice quieter now. "It’s just the subway, twenty minutes and I'm home."

She shook her head once. "No. I’d rather not risk it."

Before you could argue, she was already stepping away, reaching into her blazer pocket and pulling out her phone.

"I’ll call my driver. He’s downstairs. He can take you wherever you need to go."

You watched her, caught somewhere between flattered and confused. "Jimin, really, you don’t have to—"

"I know I don’t." She glanced at you again, her tone softer. "But I want to."

There was a pause while she tapped something out, then she looked up again.

"He’ll be out front in five. Black Genesis sedan. Plate ends in 78."

You exhaled slowly. "Okay… thanks."

She came closer again, standing in front of you but not too close this time.

"It’s nothing. You’ve had a long day, and you still managed to hold yourself together like a pro. Least I can do is make sure you get home safe."

You nodded, feeling your heartbeat still a little fast — not from the alcohol, but from her. From the way she looked at you like she actually saw you.

"Let me grab my things," you murmured.

She nodded once. "I’ll walk you out."

You picked up your bag, the warmth of the office still clinging to you as she opened the door. For a brief second before stepping into the hallway, you glanced back at her — still half in disbelief that a woman like her was showing this kind of attention. And care.

Jimin caught your glance and gave you a small smile. "Let’s go."

The elevator ride down was quiet, but not uncomfortable. She stood beside you, hands in her pockets, glancing over once or twice but saying nothing.

As the elevator doors opened in the lobby, the driver was already visible through the glass doors outside, standing next to a sleek black Genesis parked at the curb.

You stepped forward, but Jimin suddenly reached out and took your bag from your shoulder.

"Hey—"

She shook her head. "You’ve had enough on your back today," she said simply. "Let me."

You blinked at her. "It’s really not that heavy—"

"I didn’t say it was." She slung the strap over her own shoulder, ignoring your protest. "I just don’t want you carrying it."

You gave her a look, but didn’t argue again. There was something firm but not aggressive in her tone — like she didn’t see it as a favor, just a given.

The driver opened the back door as the two of you approached. Jimin handed off the bag to him gently. Then she turned to you.

"He knows where to take you. I texted him your address already."

You stared at her. "Jimin, you’re... really something else, you know that?"

Her smile was slow. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

You climbed into the backseat. Before you could close the door, Jimin leaned down slightly, just outside the frame.

"Text me when you get home. Just so I know."

You nodded. "Okay."

She paused for a second, then added, "And try to get some sleep. Tomorrow might be your first day, if you’re still interested."

You couldn’t help but smile. "Yeah. I am."

With that, she stepped back, and the driver closed the door.

The car pulled up in front of the apartment building just as the sky started to turn that soft grey before sunset. The driver stepped out and came around to your side, opening the door with a quiet, "Miss, we're here."

You nodded, thanking him softly as he helped you out. The black Genesis looked completely out of place on your quiet street. As you adjusted your bag on your shoulder, you noticed Yunho standing at the front gate, leaning on the railing with a familiar scowl.

His eyes were locked on the car, then shifted to the driver, then to you.

You didn’t say anything as you walked past him toward the building entrance. He walked behind you.

"Nice ride," he muttered, the sarcasm already thick in his voice.

You kept walking, trying to keep your expression neutral. But by the time you unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, you could already hear the frustration in his voice building up behind you.

"So who the hell was that?"

You dropped your bag, taking off your shoes. "My new boss’s driver. She didn’t want me going home alone after drinks."

"She?" Yunho raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "And she just sends a luxury car like you're some damn CEO?"

You looked over your shoulder. "What’s your problem?"

"My problem?" he snapped. "You show up in a car that costs more than this building, some guy opening your door like you’re royalty, and you don’t even think to explain?"

You turned to face him fully now, jaw tight. "Because I didn’t think I had to explain basic decency. It was a job interview. A good one. With a woman who actually take their work seriously."

His eyes narrowed. "And what? You’re suddenly impressed with her because she got money and fancy cars?"

"No," you said sharply. "Because she work. She built something. She do more than sit around playing League all day waiting for a miracle that’s not coming."

That hit. He flinched slightly, but recovered with bitterness.

"So now I’m the loser again."

"I didn’t say that," you replied, even though the words were hanging in the air.

"Yeah, but you didn’t need to." He scoffed. "Guess it’s easy to look down on me now that you’ve had drinks with billionaires."

You sighed. "I’m tired, Yunho. I’ve been tired for a long time. I just want a future that isn’t built on excuses."

He didn’t reply.

You picked up your bag again and walked into the bedroom, needing to be alone. For a moment, you considered texting Jimin like she asked.

But instead, you sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, thinking about how quickly everything could change — and whether you'd be brave enough to let it.

You stood by the bed, pulling an old hoodie over your tank top, when your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You glanced at the screen. Yu Jimin.

It was already past 10 p.m. You hesitated for a second — normal people didn’t call at this hour for anything work-related — but you still picked it up.

"Hello?"

There was a pause, then her voice came through, low and smooth, a little rough like she’d either been drinking something warm or was just naturally that way late at night.

"Hey. I hope I’m not bothering you."

You sat down on the edge of the bed again. "No. Just got home a while ago."

Another pause, lighter this time. "Did my driver get you home okay?"

"Yeah, he was polite. Thank you again."

"Mmh," she hummed. "I told him not to be too polite. I wanted to be the one to spoil you."

You exhaled through a short laugh, not sure how to respond to that.

There was a rustling sound on her end, like she was leaning back into a couch or bed. Then she asked, softly, "How are you feeling?"

You blinked. It wasn’t a usual question — not when coming from someone you barely met a few hours ago. But it was genuine. You could tell.

"A little overwhelmed, honestly. But... not in a bad way."

"I figured," Jimin said. "It was a long day. But you did well. I meant it when I said I want you on the team."

You nodded slowly, even though she couldn’t see it.

"And," she continued, voice still smooth, "I have a business trip. Paris. Airplane. Tomorrow. Boring tech meeting with men who’ll repeat the same pitch three different ways. I’m supposed to attend... but I don’t really want to go alone."

You sat up straighter. "You want me to come with you?"

Jimin chuckled softly. "Well, officially, I’ll say I need a secretary with me. You know, someone to help coordinate meetings and smile politely."

"And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, I just want to look across the table and see you there so I don’t fall asleep."

You didn’t know what to say. You stared at the floor for a moment, then bit your lip. "You’re really asking me to fly to Paris with you?"

"Yes," she said simply. "One night in a suite, nice food, we come back after the meeting. Think of it as a trial run for the job. Or... just an excuse to get to know each other better."

You looked over toward the closed door of the living room where Yunho had gone quiet. Then back down at your phone.

"Okay," you said, quietly but firmly. "I’ll go."

There was silence for half a beat. Then a pleased hum on the other end. "Good girl."

Your cheeks flushed.

"I’ll have my assistant book everything," she added, voice softening again. "Just bring yourself."

"Thanks for the invitation," you said, letting your voice drop just a little, a teasing edge slipping in. "I'll try not to embarrass you in Paris."

Jimin laughed on the other end. "I’m counting on you to distract everyone, actually."

You bit your lip, smiling to yourself. "Then I’ll pack something nice."

"You better."

The line went quiet after that, and you set your phone down on the nightstand, heart still beating a little faster than usual. You stood up, ran a hand through your hair, then walked to the closet.

You opened the suitcase you hadn’t used in over a year, dragging it out from the bottom shelf. It was a little dusty. You unzipped it, already thinking through what you’d need.

You were halfway through folding a shirt when Yunho's voice came from the doorway behind you.

"What the hell are you doing?"

You didn’t turn around right away. Just kept folding the shirt, slower this time. "Packing."

He scoffed. "No shit. Where are you going?"

"Paris. For work."

You heard his footstep into the room. "With who? That fancy company that sent you home in a private car like you’re some VIP?"

You turned around now, meeting his gaze. He looked like he hadn’t moved from the couch since you left.

"Yes," you said flatly. "YJ Group. My boss invited me to go with her for a meeting. It's work."

He stared at you, then laughed once, sarcastically. "Your boss. Yeah, I bet."

You crossed your arms. "You wanna do this now?"

"You're really just gonna run off with some rich stranger because she gave you a ride in a nice car?"

You stepped around the suitcase. "No, I'm going because she offered me a job. A real job. Something you haven't bothered to look for in months."

"That's low."

"No," you said, pointing at him now, "what's low is sitting on your ass every day, gaming with your friends, pretending you're gonna magically become some pro player while I'm the one stressing about rent, bills, everything."

He was quiet. Not because you’d gone too far—because you hadn’t.

You turned back to the suitcase. "I’m going. You don’t have to like it."

He stood there for a second longer, jaw tight. Then he turned and walked out.

You zipped the suitcase closed.

You lay down on the bed with your suitcase closed and standing near the door, ready. The apartment was quiet now.

You stared up at the ceiling, the dim light from the hallway spilling in just enough to make out the outline of the fan above.

Everything still felt a bit surreal.

Just yesterday, you'd been checking job boards with zero leads and zero hope. Now, you were flying to Paris with the founder of one of the most talked-about tech companies in the country. And not just flying — invited. Personally, not just email that her assistant would sent her. For "business."

But it wasn’t just the job that occupied your thoughts.

It was Jimin.

Her voice still echoed in your head—calm, smooth, slightly rough like she’d been talking all day, but always careful when she spoke to you. The way her eyes had lingered when you first walked into the office. The casual touch at your waist.

You exhaled slowly and turned to your side, pulling the blanket up to your chin.

It was insane. She was your boss. You had a boyfriend — barely. But still.

And yet, your last thought before falling asleep wasn’t about Yunho, or your resume, or the meeting ahead.

It was about her.

What it would feel like to sit beside her on the plane?

To hear her laugh in person again?

To see what she looked like outside the damn office — off guard, relaxed.

Then, eyes slowly closed.

You woke up to the weight of an arm around your waist and the faint heat of breath against the back of your neck.

Then realization hit you — Yunho.

His arm was draped lazily over you like nothing had happened last night. Like he hadn’t stood in the doorway accusing you of sleeping your way into a promotion. Like he hadn’t sat around for months doing nothing while you scrambled to hold everything together.

You stared at the wall for a long moment. His touch didn’t feel comforting. It felt heavy. Clingy. Like something that used to mean safety but now just made your skin crawl.

Carefully, you slid your hand under his wrist and lifted his arm off you. He stirred but didn’t wake. You sat up slowly, then swung your legs over the side of the bed.

You didn’t look back.

The floor was cold under your feet as you walked to the bathroom, shutting the door with a quiet click. You turned on the light, squinting for a second, then faced yourself in the mirror.

You turned on the tap and splashed cold water on your face. It shocked you awake, and for a moment you just stood there, dripping, palms braced on the sink.

You stepped out of the bathroom, towel still draped around your shoulders, when your phone buzzed on the dresser. You picked it up, half expecting a message — but instead, Jimin’s name lit up the screen.

You hesitated, then answered.

"Hello?"

Her voice came through smooth and unhurried. "Morning. I’m downstairs."

You blinked. "Wait—what?"

"I figured we could go to the airport together," she said casually, then added, a hint of playfulness creeping into her voice, "Is that a problem?"

You glanced down at yourself — damp hair, still in your robe, your suitcase half-zipped on the floor.

"I’m not ready. At all," you admitted, pressing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you reached for the blow dryer. "You should’ve told me you were coming."

"Wanted to surprise you," Jimin said, a low chuckle in her throat. "But I don’t mind waiting. Take your time. I just wanted to see your face this morning."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile pulling at your lips. "Give me ten minutes. Fifteen tops."

"I’ll be right here," she said. "Take your time, seriously. I’ll just sit here, imagine what you look like all flustered and running around in a towel."

You flushed despite yourself. "Goodbye, Jimin."

You dressed quickly but carefully — nothing over the top, just a clean blouse, black slacks and a light jacket.

Before you left, you stood for a moment in the doorway of the bedroom.

Yunho was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like he hadn’t moved since you left it. The blankets were tangled around his legs, one arm hanging over the edge. Peaceful, useless, oblivious.

You didn’t feel angry anymore. Just... done.

You closed the door behind you quietly, pulling the handle until you heard the latch click.

The elevator ride down was silent. Just the hum of the old motor and the dull flicker of fluorescent lights. Then the doors opened — and there she was.

Jimin stood beside a sleek, black Genesis G90, parked right in front of the building like it belonged there. She was dressed sharptailored slacks, an expensive-looking trench coat, sunglasses pushed up on her head — and in her hand, a small bouquet of red roses.

You blinked.

She smiled as you stepped out into the morning air. "For you," she said, holding the flowers out. "Don’t read into it. I just thought they’d suit you."

You hesitated, then took them. "Thanks... You didn’t have to do that."

"Maybe not," she replied with a slight smirk, "but I wanted to."

She opened the car door for you herself, like it was nothing, like it was natural. You slipped in, setting the flowers gently on your lap as the driver closed the trunk on your suitcase and moved around to the front.

Jimin got in next to you, and just before the car pulled away from the curb, she looked over at you.

"You look so good, by the way," she said, tone casual — but there was something behind her eyes that made your skin feel warm. "Worth the wait."

You tried not to smile too much. "You’re not so bad yourself."

You shifted slightly in your seat, the bouquet of roses still resting in your lap, their scent faint but sweet.

Her eyes kept drifting — casually at first, but then less so.

"You really do look good today," she said suddenly, her voice low but clear. "It’s not just polite small talk. I mean it."

You glanced at her, trying not to seem caught off guard. "Thanks. I tried to look presentable."

"It’s more than that," she replied, resting her arm along the door. "You’ve got this... natural thing going. Like you’re not even trying, but you walk in and somehow turn all the attention to you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure the attention’s on you. You're the one with the billion-won company."

She gave a short laugh. "Business is boring. People like to act impressed, but it's just money. you, though—" she paused, letting her eyes linger on you for just a second longer than was casual, "—you're interesting."

You looked out the window for a moment, heartbeat steady but quick. "You don’t even know me that well."

"Not yet," she said, tone playful, but not joking, "we will have time in Paris to get to know each other... better."

Silence settled between you for a few seconds, comfortable, not awkward.

Jimin reached into the center console and pulled out a small bottle of water, handing it to you. "Drink it. I don’t want you passing out on the plane. That would ruin the vibe."

You accepted it, chuckling under your breath. "Thanks, boss."

"Call me Jimin," she said smoothly. "We're not in the office now."

You glanced at her again, and she gave you a look that lingered a little too long to be just friendly.

The car sped on toward the airport, and for the first time in a while, you felt a kind of nervousness you didn't mind at all.

At the curb outside the airport, the car eased to a stop. You could even think to move, Jimin was already circling around the car.

"I’ve got it," she said, reaching into the trunk herself and grabbing both your suitcase and hers without hesitation, by that time one of her attendants approached her.

She waved off the him, who looked like he was about to protest. "It’s fine. I don’t want her carrying anything."

You blinked, a little surprised. "Jimin, I can carry my own bag."

She turned her head slightly, giving you that half-smile she seemed to reserve just for moments like this. "And yet, I’d rather do it. Come on."

With both bags in hand, she walked with confident strides toward the sliding glass doors of the terminal. You followed a half-step behind, feeling the stares from a few passersby.

Inside, she made a direct line for the business check-in counter, bypassing the lines entirely. An attendant spotted her immediately and motioned her forward.

"Miss Yu," the woman said politely with a quick bow. "We’ve been expecting you. Everything is ready."

Jimin nodded, setting the bags down gently and placing her ID on the counter. "And my guest. She’s with me."

The attendant looked at you, then smiled and gave another respectful nod. "Of course. Right away."

You shifted awkwardly beside Jimin as they processed the check-in. She glanced sideways at you and leaned in just slightly.

"Relax, doll," she murmured, "this part’s the easiest. No pressure. Just stick with me."

You gave a small nod, trying not to seem out of place in the well-dressed, fast-paced atmosphere.

Within a few minutes, the boarding passes were printed, the luggage tagged and taken, and the attendant was handing back her documents with both hands.

"Enjoy your flight, Miss Yu."

She took the passes and handed yours to you before gently guiding you toward the private security lane.

"You’re handling this pretty well," she said quietly, almost teasingly. "Some people get overwhelmed on their first trip with me."

You smirked, walking beside her. "I guess I’m just built different."

Jimin glanced at you with a faint smile.

The boarding announcement echoed through the terminal speakers, and you followed Jimin toward the gate, your steps slowing a little as the walkway to the plane came into view.

The faint rumble of jet engines outside was louder than you remembered. It had been years since you’d last flown—and never on something this fancy.

You stopped short just before the boarding agent could scan your pass, your grip tightening slightly around the paper ticket.

Jimin, already a few steps ahead, turned immediately when she realized you weren’t beside her. Her eyes flicked to your face, catching the hesitation.

Without a word, she passed both her designer travel bag and yours to the tall, suited man who had been trailing them silently since the car — her bodyguard, walked right back to you.

She didn’t ask anything. Didn’t say a word at first.

Then, to your surprise, she crouched down on one knee in front of you, her hands reaching up to gently take yours.

"Hey," she said, voice low and calm, eyes level with yours, "you okay?"

You swallowed and gave a small nod, trying to play it off. "I just… haven’t flown in a long time. It’s stupid, I know."

"Not stupid." She squeezed your hands lightly. "You’re stepping into something new. That always messes with your head a bit."

You glanced around, a little embarrassed, but no one seemed to care. The gate agent gave you space, and the few people nearby looked away politely.

Jimin tilted her head. "Want me to say something comforting?"

You nodded hesitantly.

She paused, pretending to think hard, then gave you a crooked grin. "Okay. Deep breath. Ready?"

You nodded again.

"I have absolutely no idea how to calm down scared girls," she said, straight-faced. "But you're cute when you're nervous, so I’m just going to stay here until you feel better. Is that working?"

You let out a shaky laugh despite yourself, the tension easing slightly.

"Kind of."

"Kind of is good enough," she said, then stood smoothly, brushing imaginary dust from her slacks. She didn’t let go of your hand. "Come on. I’ll sit next to you the whole way. And if you get scared mid-air, I promise not to make fun of you more than twice."

You rolled your eyes but followed her, finally stepping through the gate and onto the plane.

Inside the private jet, everything looked more like a high-end hotel lounge than anything that should be airborne.

You sank into one of the cream-colored seats next to Jimin, still holding onto the remnants of your earlier nerves, though they were steadily being replaced by a sense of disbelief.

The flight attendant, dressed in a perfectly tailored navy uniform, approached with a polite smile and handed each of you a thick, high-quality menu. All of it — every single item — was printed in French.

You stared at the page, trying to make sense of the cursive typography, but gave up after the third item. "I have no idea what any of this means," you muttered.

Jimin peeked at your menu, then gave you a teasing look. "You mean you didn’t study fine dining terms in law school?"

You rolled your eyes. "Sorry, no. We barely got through Latin."

She chuckled, flipping open her own menu. "Alright, let’s see. 'Foie gras' — that’s duck liver, but like… the fancy kind. And this one — 'homard rôti' — that’s roasted lobster. Worth trying."

You nodded slowly, trying to keep up.

"'Velouté de cèpes' — mushroom soup, but the expensive type. And this one…" She pointed to a long line near the bottom, "'Chocolat noir aux épices douces' — dark chocolate dessert with sweet spices. Probably the best thing here."

"So basically everything costs more because it sounds better in French," you joked.

Jimin grinned, leaning a little closer to you, her shoulder brushing yours. "Exactly. But don’t worry, I’ll order for you. I’ll make sure you don’t accidentally end up with something raw and moving."

You laughed quietly, grateful for the way she made this all feel less overwhelming.

The low hum of the jet was oddly calming. You sat back in the wide leather seat, feeling the unfamiliar weight of luxury around you. Across from you, Jimin was already speaking smoothly in French to the flight attendant, her tone casual but confident.

"Deux portions de filet de bar avec légumes grillés. Une salade niçoise. Et... la bouteille de Dom Pérignon, 2013, s’il vous plaît."

«Two portions of sea bass fillet with grilled vegetables. A Niçoise salad. And... the bottle of Dom Pérignon, 2013, please.»

The attendant nodded and disappeared quietly into the galley.

Jimin turned her attention back to you, crossing one leg over the other. Her eyes rested on you for a moment before she spoke.

"So," she said, lightly. "How did your boyfriend take the news?"

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Not well."

Jimin tilted her head. "Predictable."

You let out a breath. "He didn’t understand. Just saw the car. Assumed the worst."

"Typical," Jimin muttered, her voice dry. "You know..." She leaned in just a bit, elbows on her knees. "Someone like you shouldn’t be stuck with someone like that."

You looked up, unsure how to respond.

She continued, "You’re smart. Gorgeous. Trying to build something for yourself. And he? He’s waiting to ‘make it’ in a video game while you carry the weight of both your futures."

You glanced down at your phone, buzzing silently on the armrest. Yunho.

You stared at his name for a second. No message, just the call.

Then, without a word, you tapped the airplane icon on the screen. The signal vanished.

Jimin watched quietly as you set the phone down, face down.

You looked up again, managing a faint smile.

"Good," she said softly. Then she poured two glasses of champagne and handed you one.

“To new beginnings.”

The attendant returned with their meals, placing the plates down on the small table between you and Jimin. The smell hit you first — fresh, delicate, not overly seasoned. Just… clean. Refined.

You picked up your fork, carefully cutting off a small piece of the sea bass fillet. The texture was soft but held together well, and as soon as you took a bite, your eyes widened slightly.

"Oh my god," you said, surprised. "I’ve never tasted anything like this."

She smiled behind her glass as she took another sip of champagne. "It’s line-caught Mediterranean sea bass. Very light. They cook it at just the right temp so it doesn’t lose moisture."

You looked at her, fork halfway to your mouth again.

"Some of the Michelin kitchens I’ve been to," she continued casually, “they poach it gently in olive oil, sometimes with a touch of citrus and white wine. But this one’s grilled. Clean, simple. No heavy sauces to cover the flavor.”

You chewed slowly, appreciating it more with every bite. "I didn’t know fish could taste like this," you muttered, almost to yourself.

She grinned. "You’d be surprised what food is like when people care about the details. When it’s not just… whatever’s cheap and fast."

You nodded quietly, sipping your champagne. Even that tasted better than you expected — sharp and crisp, but soft as it went down. You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the company, but your shoulders had started to relax.

Jimin didn’t push the conversation. She just sat with you, eating slowly, saying little, glancing over at you now and then with that slight, unreadable smile.

You arrived in Paris late in the evening. The hotel room was spacious and modern, with a large window framing a perfect view of the Eiffel Tower glowing softly in the distance.

Jimin was busy unpacking her things — carefully folding clothes, setting them neatly on the dresser. You stood by the window, staring out at the city, feeling a strange mix of excitement and nervousness.

Noticing you, Jimin paused and smiled faintly. She stepped behind you quietly and, almost without thinking, wrapped her arms gently around your waist.

You stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into her hold.

She leaned in slightly, her voice low and teasing. "Not used to views like this, huh?"

You glanced back at her, managing a small smile. "No, not really."

She stayed close, the city lights reflecting softly in her eyes. "Good. Then maybe it’s time you got used to better things."

Her hands slid to your shoulders, gently kneading the tense muscles, causing you to sigh in relaxation, leaning slightly against her. "Would you like me to run a jacuzzi for you?"

You didn't say anything, just nodded silently, after which you felt the absence of her hands on your body, which made you slightly disappointed, but you didn't have to wait long. Ten minutes later she returned to you, smiling warmly and taking your hand, "come on, I will take care of you tonight."

At the corner of the bathroom stood a massive, sunken jacuzzi tub, already filled with steaming, bubbling water. The scent of lavender and vanilla wafted through the air, the soothing aroma of the essential oils she had added to the water.

"Sweetheart, let me help you get undressed," she offered, but her hands already working on the buttons of your shirt. She took her time, her fingers brushing against your skin with every button she undid, savoring the feel of her soft flesh against her fingertips.

She slid it off your shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Leaned down, letting you to take all chances to pull back, but as she understood that you had no intention to back off, she captured your lips in a slow, sensual kiss as her hands reached behind to unhook your bra. She let it fall away, breaking the kiss to toss it aside carelessly.

"You're so fucking beautiful, doll," she breathed, reaching out to trail her fingertips along the swell of your breasts, feeling the weight of them in her palms. "I could spend hours just looking at you."

She took your hand gently, helping you into the warm water, the way the water touched your tense shoulders made you close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of your aching muscles relaxing.

Opening your eyes, you saw Jimin slowly unbuttoning her pants, letting them slide down her long, skinny legs, before sending the outerwear down the same path to the floor. Stepping over the edge of the jacuzzi, she carefully appeared behind you, the steam rising around her as she settled into the water.

She pulled your back against her chest, wrapping her arms around your waist. "Come here, doll," she cooed, holding you close as she leaned back against the built-in cushion of the tub.

She could feel you against her, melting into her arms as the warm water soothed you. Her arms began to gently rub your shoulders, fingers working out any lingering tension.

As she massaged sore muscles, she pressed gentle kisses along the side of your neck, her lips lingering on the smooth skin. "You're so tense, baby. Let me help you relax," she cooed, her hands sliding up to your neck to knead the knots there.

Again. Hands slid lower, tracing the curve of your spine before coming to rest on your hips, gripping them gently. "You know, you have such a beautiful back," she murmured, her lips brushing against your shoulder blade. "I swear, I could spend hours exploring it."

Her fingers began to knead the muscles of you lower back, working out any remaining tension. She could feel the way your body body growing heavy and relaxed, melting. "That's my good girl," Jimin praised, her voice a low, intimate rumble. "Can you just let yourself go, sweetheart? Let me take care of you like no one can, I swear."

Jimin's hands slowly slid around to your stomach, fingers splaying across the soft skin. She pulled you more closer, hugging you from behind as the warm water lapped at your skin. "You need someone who can take care of you like I can," her cheek resting against the top of your head. "You need someone, with whom you won't have to count every penny and think whether you'll have enough to pay the bills tomorrow, you need me, doll."

"I want to touch every part of you, sweetheart," she breathed against your neck, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin. "I want to make you feel pleasure that would be beyond anything you've ever experienced in your life."

Her thumb found your clit, circling the sensitive nub with teasing strokes. She could feel you squirming against her touch, the way your hips rocking instinctively to meet her touch.

"Yeah? Do you like it?" she chuckled, burying her nose in the crook of your neck, while her movements, as if mockingly, became faster and slower, as if not giving you a chance to get used to such sensations. "I know you do, doll, this is not even half of what I will do to you tonight."

You barely heard her words, all of it mixed in unison with the phantom sensations of her touches on your body, with the pleasant, warm and slightly dim lighting of this jacuzzi, and the smell of essential oils that were added to the water like an additional drug to quickly drive you crazy.

"I'm ready to spend millions just to see you like this every day, at my disposal," Jimin bit her bottom lip as she heard your uncontrollable whines getting louder with each passing second, "and I think you won't mind."

She said the last sentence with a smirk, and fuck, of course she was right, you've never experienced anything like this, not even close, her touch, her words.

Too well, despite her teasing, she listened attentively to all the sounds that flew out of your mouth, as if with her ears trying to catch that very painful note that would make her stop, even though that was the last thing she wanted right now.

But your comfort was the most important thing now, and that's why when she didn't felt the resistance of your body, she just continued, knowing that right now you want it no less than she does.

"Come on, sweetheart," she babbled, the gentle yet still trembling tone of her voice making you arch your back, pressing your back against her chest, "you don't want to disappoint me, do you?"

Your walls started to clamp around nothing, and feeling this pleasant pulsation, she understood that you were close, and the particularly high moan that flew out of your mouth only confirmed this.

"That's my good girl," she immediately praised, but did not allow you to rest, her hands again slid to your hips, forcing you to turn towards her, ending up on her lap.

This change of position caused some water in the hot tub to spill overboard, but obviously now you both didn't care.

"You're so beautiful, gow many times have I told you this today?" Her words made you smile, "more than necessary," you replied, looking at her face while your lips were almost a millimeter apart.

"Never, I'm ready to repeat this to you at least a hundred times until you understand it." And with that, she captured your lips in a passionate kiss.

She poured all of herself into her touch, her love, her yearing for you, her all-consuming need for the beautiful girl in her arms. Tongue delved deep, intertwining with yours.

Breaking the kiss, she trailed her lips down the column of your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the racing pulse she found there. She sucked lightly, leaving barely noticeable red marks from her teeth every time she bit a little harder than necessary.

At one point she felt your hands on her shoulders, forcing her to lean her back against the back of the jacuzzi, which she calmly allowed you to do, as if giving you a flag in your hands.

You spread her legs, bending them at the knees. At that moment you dazed gaze immediately rushes between her thighs.

Her flesh shines invitingly, that's what made you bite your lower lip, seeing such a strong and seemingly cold-blooded woman for the first time at your mercy. You were slowly saddle her leg to slide straight her older crotch. Her large palms immediately cover your round buttocks, pulling them even closer to her.

"Fuck... so good, sweetheart," she exhaled, watching as you looked straight into her eyes without a drop of shame, slowly starting to move, "really? When you're on the bottom, you look even better than usual." You said as you felt Jimin's hands force your hips to push against her own.

You cover your mouth with trembling hand, and Jimin does not take her excited gaze away from the place where their hips collide. This view really drove her crazy, making her want you even more, although it seemed like where else could it be?

"The hottest view I've ever had in my life," she said with a grin, she says greedily, licking her lips. She doesn't stop kneading the younger's soft buttocks and furiously rubbing her groin against her, catching your clumsy thrusts and half-strangled sobs.

You placed your palms on her stomach under the water, your hair sticks to her crimson cheeks, lips are dry, and you are both quite tense and focused on thrusting, because you both felt the approaching climax becoming more and more tangible.

You falls onto her chest with a drawn-out groan, continuing to twitch convulsively, and she herself presses her wet groin tightly against your folds, while she impatiently lifted your hips to increase the friction between them and prolong the pleasure spreading between her legs.

You both realized that you clearly didn't want to stop now, which is why, after a few minutes, your gazes met again, and you both understood each other without words.

Getting out of the hot tub as quickly as possible, you slowly wrapped your arms around her neck, jumping into her arms, wrapping your arms around her bare waist. Hands gripped your hips tightly as you both walked out of the bathroom, and despite the cold temperature contrast with the hot bath, you both made your way to the bed.

Jimin carefully laid you on your back, hovering over you, she grabs the soft roundness of your breasts with her palms, squeezes them through her own trembling and impatience, she sank lower, kisses your sunken stomach, inhaling the faint scent of your desire.

You don't hold back your moans when she does it especially well for you, but sometimes you react at all, and at other moments on the contrary, you felt everything too sensitively, not even understanding why your body reacted so much to her touches.

Your toes curl convulsively with pleasure. She looked up at you, her eyes dark and hazy with desire as she took in the exquisite sight of you arched against the pillows, your back bowed in pleasure.

"Quite the sight," she said, licking her lower lips, "Is it really me who has this influence on you?"

This question made you lift your head from the pillows, looking at her with a look that literally said "what-is-this-fucking-question", but despite this, you found the strength to answer with maximum restraint, despite the excess of feelings and emotions that were seething inside you, "and who else?"

She seemed to be satisfied with your answer, helped guide your legs up and over her shoulders, the soft skin of your inner thighs brushing against her cheeks, she leaned in closer, breath hot and heavy against your dripping core as she gazed up at your face, taking in every expression that flitted across your features.

"If you had said your boyfriend's name, I swear I would have killed you right now," with this words, she dove in, tongue delving deep into you, swirling and stroking your inner walls. She licked and suckled, her movements deliberate and focused on giving you the most of the pleasure she could ever give you.

Jimin's nose nestling against your mound as her tongue continued assault on your aching clit, the feeling of that stimulation made your body shudder.

"Fuck, baby..." She breathed, before diving back in again, rough surface of tongue delving deeper into your folds. She licked and sucked, her tongue curling to hit that spongy perfect spot inside you, "sweetheart, It feels like I can't get enough of you."

She could feel your body trembling, hear your breathy moans filling the room as she worked up you closer to your peak, your thighs tensing around her head, your body arching off the bed as the coil of tension in your core wound tighter and tighter.

Inner walls clamped down around the tip of her tongue as wave after wave of your orgasm crashed over you, your back arching sharply as you cried out for the last time.

The way your juices gushed, staining her chin turned her on even more, forcing her to obediently swallow every last drop.

With her lips moving up along the skin of your stomach, she chuckled, still feeling the tremors that seemed like they weren't going to leave your body.

"The most beautiful orgasm I've ever seen in my life," she giggled, licking the beads of sweat that were running down your wet body from your collarbone, skillfully catching each one with her tongue, "and it's clearly not the last."

It made you look at her questioningly, you saw the sly way she looked at you and it made you burn with anticipation. Not the last one?

"Are you up to something, Jimin?" you asked, your eyebrows raised in question, watching as instead of answering, she just smirked and moved away from you, taking her suitcase out from under the bed.

"You know, call me a freak, but I took something interesting on the trip with you," she said in a voice that was full of mystery, and in this voice you couldn’t even understand whether she was joking or speaking in all seriousness.

You didn't see what she was doing, you just heard a barely audible click, which made you wonder, is she fastening something? What is she doing?

But all the questions disappeared as soon as she straightened up, she started to slip the harness on, adjusting the straps until it fit snugly against her hips and thighs. The silicone of strap juttted out obscenely, bobbing with each movement as she positioned herself between your legs once more.

"A fucking strap-on, Yu Jimin?" You asked in surprise, despite the fact that this scenario clearly did not frighten or disgust you, "Are you seriously took it "with us" to Paris?"

Your surprised remarks made her laugh as she looked into your eyes defiantly, "why not? I couldn't pass up the chance to fuck you in a room with a view of the Eiffel Tower, it would be a waste of money."

Her answer made you snort playfully as she tightened the toy around her hips more, "come on, roll over for me, baby," Jimin instructed softly, her hands caressing your hips, "a little fun won't hurt, you know."

As you rolled over obediently, she helped arrange the pillows beneath your hips, lifting them to present yourself to her. She ran her hands over the globes of your ass, squeezing and kneading the firm flesh appreciatively.

She pressed the silicone tip against your entrance, rubbing it teasingly between your folds, wetting herself with your lubricant, hoping that this would allow her to slide into you more easily without causing you pain.

"Push back against me, angle your hips to take me deeper, it would be less painful for you, sweetheart," one hand slid around your hip to your front, finding your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles over the sensitive nub. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as she started to thrust, building a steady rhythm.

She pulled out until just the tip remained before slamming back in, burying herself to the hilt. Her hips slapped against your cheeks with each powerful thrust, the lewd sound filling the room along with your needy moans.

She gradually picked up the pace as she felt she could move inside more freely, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. She tugged your head back, forcing your spine to arch even more as she pounded into you.

"You're looking so fuckable right now," she pushed her hips harder, with a particularly hard thrust, grinding the strap-on deep inside you as she continued to rub tight circles on your clit. She could feel your walls fluttering around the intrusion, your body instinctively trying to draw her in even deeper.

"Bet your boyfriend will never be able to do it the way I do it," she punctuated her possessive words with a sharp smack to your ass, watching as the flesh jiggled from the impact. "Fucking never," she rubbed the reddened skin soothingly before gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises, pulling you back to meet her rough thrusts.

Jimin pushed you over, again, your body convulsing beneath hers as your orgasm crashed over you. She worked you through it, fucking you through each aftershock until you collapsed onto the bed, spent and panting.

She followed you down, covering your body with her own, her hips still rocking gently against yours as she caught her breath. She gazed at you adoringly, brushing your sweat-soaked hair back from your face, her fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks.

Jimin began to move once, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm, the strap-on sliding in and out of you with a lewd squelch. Her face mere inches from yours, allowing you to see every flicker of emotion and lust in her eyes.

"That's it, baby. Wrap those legs around my waist," she encouraged, her voice a low, seductive murmur. "Pull me in deeper, angel. I want to be as close to you, pretty girl."

As you obeyed, locking your ankles around her back, she leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss, tongue delving into your mouth to intertwine with yours. She swallowed your moans and whimpers.

"That's my good girl," She praised breathlessly, breaking the kiss to gaze at you with hooded eyes dark with desire.

Your hands push her, forcing you to change positions, obviously, she did not offer any resistance to this, on the contrary, she encouraged it

"Sweetheart, you're so fucking eager for me, aren't you?" She purred, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I love this side of you."

Her hands immediately went to your waist, gripping your hips possessively as she gazed up at you with a look of pure lust, hands up your sides, cupping your breasts, kneading the soft flesh as she admired your confidence. Her thumbs circled your nipples, teasing the sensitive buds till they pebbled under her touch.

"Ride me, baby," she encouraged, her voice low and thick with arousal. "I know you want to take all you need from me, do it, right now."

Jimin guided your hips with her hands, helping you set rhythm that was comfortable for you as you rose and fell on the strap-on. Her eyes were glued to where you both were joined, watching your cunt swallow her up again and again, your arousal coating the silicone.

"That's my good girl, bouncing on me so eagerly," she groaned, her head falling back against the pillow, "you're riding my cock like it was made for your pussy."

You felt your breathing quicken, how it became harder for you to breathe with every movement, because of how hard your body was shaking, she saw this and she continued to push herself, holding you by the hips.

With every push you were closer and closer to falling into the abyss, and the last push sent you straight there, with a loud groan, causing you to fall right onto her.

She wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as she rolled her hips, grinding against yours to prolong your climax. She gazed at you adoringly, brushing your sweat-soaked hair back from your face, her fingers tracing the curves of your cheeks.

Lips kissed your temple soothingly while the silicone toy was still inside you, clearly not planning on coming out yet. The way you breathed heavily into her neck made her chuckle, pulling you even closer.

"Sleep now, baby, you need to get some rest, I don't want my secretary to come to the meeting with shaking legs tomorrow.

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gold-onthe-inside · 5 months ago

Text

pair programming

A software development technique in which two programmers work together at one workstation. One, the driver, writes code while the other, the observer or navigator, reviews each line of code as it is typed in.

part one: driver

who? spencer reid (s1) x analyst!reader what? prequel to greylist; you invite yourself onto a case to help penelope after an unsub runs a blackhat operation onto her set-up, getting to know your best friend's team in the process. word count: 3.9k (sort of turned into a case-fic) content warnings: elle's shooting is mentioned, reference to SA a/n: this got seriously long, i'm so sorry, i hope you all like it, and part two will be coming - based on when penelope gets shot

“What kind of MIT graduate is a technophobe?” you asked, even as you were plugged in next to Penelope's workstation. Your eyes are glued to the screen, parsing through each line of code as Penelope wrote it. It was rare for you to get this attached to someone, but Penelope's hard not to let in with her funky earrings and sparkly glasses and chunky bracelets.

"The kind with three PhDs, apparently," she replied, before cursing softly as she notices you correct her code.

"Ugh, that sounds insufferable," you mutter, curling your upper lip, rubbing the small ache that was growing in the back of your neck. You've been at this for hours, helping Penelope develop software that can identify the tiniest detail from CCTV footage, invasion of privacy damned. You knew it's an ethical line you have to blur in counterintelligence. But you've found your groove and if you lose track now, who knows when you'll both get a chance to sit and write again?

"He's not that bad, actually," Penelope said, blue eyes watching her screen intently, manicured nails clacking over her keyboard, chewing the same gum she had popped in when you'd both started. "He's not exactly a looker, not like my darling Morgan. Did I tell you he called me baby girl?"

"How romantic," you said dryly, reaching for the packet of Twizzlers you were both sharing. "He didn't know your name."

"You haven't seen him," Penelope said, her voice dreamy. "He's beautiful, the Adonis to my Aphrodite--"

"You know Adonis died, right?" you asked her, raising a brow and she tossed a Malteser at you.

"Stop ruining my fantasies!" she cried and you snickered under your breath.

"I'm not picking that up. Anyway, more importantly, what's Agent Greenaway like?"

And so it goes for another hour, until you both swap roles, and you're complete focus and drive and determination as you get these codes out, and Spencer Reid is nothing more than a name picked up in conversation.

You're good at your job; clean, organised, a hard worker with an eye for detail and little else in your social life, and so when Penelope's picked for the BAU, you're working your way up in counterintelligence, surrounded by more testosterone than Penelope. She's unorthodox, hasn't come up the way you have; you were astonished when you found out that she taught herself to code, dropping out of CalTech a year after she joined. It's why you offered to be her navigator, and you only really stay at your desk if you're working with privileged information. Otherwise, you're spending off-time with her, writing programs and algorithms, helping her multi-task when there's an overwhelming amount of information to track.

"My co-workers never get me flowers," you said, walking in with your laptop under your arm, a hand going to the yellow flowers arranged in a bouquet by her station and she spun in her chair, grinning giddily.

"They're from Gideon," she gushed and you raise a brow as you smell the daffodils.

“You know I don’t judge age gaps, but isn’t he starting to bald?” you asked and Penelope was already rolling her eyes as you picked up the card to read it.

“It’s not like that,” she insisted, watching you frown at the neat printed writing. “What is it?”

“Agent Gideon doesn’t write like this,” you said, wrinkling your brow, showing her the handwriting and Penelope shrugged.

“Maybe he wanted it to look nice.”

"I know I can be challenging, but your work is appreciated. J. Gideon?” you read out skeptically. “A) he’s not self-aware enough to call himself challenging, and B) he doesn’t sign off on messages like that. I’ve seen your Christmas present from last year.”

“You don’t know that,” Penelope retorted and you cock your head at her. “He-He was apologising for last week, when he was on crutches and—”

“Was being a total pain in your ass?” you asked with a chuckle, sitting down and opening your laptop. “What’s the going rate for daffodils these days? 10, 20 dollars?”

“What are you doing?” Penelope asked, then looking horrified as you’d already hacked your way into peeking at Gideon’s recent debit and credit purchases.

“No florists here,” you declared, showing her. “Although, he goes to the Smithsonian a lot.”

“He likes the bird exhibits, what are you guys doing?” came a confused voice from behind the both of you, and your eyes fall on a gangly, tall man, with a very unflattering yellow shirt with beige lines that matched his tie and trousers, brown hair tucked tightly behind his ears.

Penelope quickly slammed your laptop shut with a quick “Nothing!” and he furrowed his brow, spindly fingers fidgeting in front of him. You glanced at Penelope, trying to follow her cue.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?” you asked, the kind of tone you’d use with your own co-workers who linger around your desk, trying to copy your programs.

“Considering Gideon’s my boss, I’d like to know why you’re investigating his finances,” Spencer said, doing his best to exude confidence, but he didn’t quite manage it, his hands going to his pockets, and your cool stare makes him swallow. Oh, he’s going to be fun to play with.

“We’re just evaluating whether Gideon’s gonna ask Penelope here on a date,” you said, just to mess with him and keeping a straight face even as she shoved your shoulder, and he choked, his neck flushing red. “Oh, maybe he’ll take you to his cabin,” you add, looking at Penelope excitedly. “A couple glasses of wine, a nice dinner, light some candles—”

“I’m gonna shove this keyboard so far down your throat, all that’s going to come out are bit strings!” she cried, trying to clap a hand over your mouth as you laugh and by the time you look back at the door, he’s gone. “I think you’ve scarred him for life,” Penelope sighed, exasperated, smacking your shoulder hard and making you wince.

“Ow, no sense of humour, any of you,” you grumbled, rubbing your shoulder, and actually getting down to do the work you’re supposed to be doing. You like Penelope’s company, more than the kind of guys you’re surrounded by in counterintelligence.

You’re supposed to be parsing through online communication on a website potentially linked to a terrorist organisation in Somalia, waiting for your decryption program to finish running it, walking into Penelope’s den to find her pulling her apart her CPU, muttering to herself. “All work and no play?” she demanded at her array of screens, “All work and no play, huh? You just wait till I’m through with you!”

“Um… you good?” You asked, leaning against her doorway. You haven’t seen Penelope this angry since she’d been called into work the night they had tickets to the Pixies’ reunion tour.

“Someone had the nerve to run a blackhat op into my computers!” she cried, looking at you, red streaks in her crinkle-cut hair. “They hacked me, okay? But you can bet your sweet ass, I will find them. I've got honey pot farms hidden behind UML kernel data packets and a first generation honeynet I personally programmed. My snort logs list every visitor, every server request, every keystroke on this entire network. If I have to back-hack his I.P. all the way to the frickin'stone age, I will find this son of a bitch, okay?” As angry as she sounded, her blue eyes were welling up and Somalia was forgotten as you pulled your own chair up.

“What can I do?” you asked and her phone rang, Penelope groaning as she stood up, jamming the answer button with the back of her screwdriver.

“What?” she demanded irritably.

“I need a rundown on a guy,” Morgan said and you frowned — as far as you knew, the rest of the team was on vacation, what with him telling everyone on the floor, including yours, about all fun he was gonna have at some Jamaican resort in Montego Bay.

“No,” Penelope said, shortly.

“No?” he asked and your hand came up to Penelope’s elbow.

“I can take care of this,” you offer and it seemed to take some steam off of your best friend. “Talk to me, Morgan,” you said, rolling your chair over and setting up on your own laptop. “What do you need?”

“Run a Frank Giles for me, would you, sweet thing?” Morgan asked and you huff, pulling up your deep background check program to run his name.

“Call me sweet thing again and I’ll feed your fingers to Clooney,” you replied, hearing him chuckle over the landline.

“My bad,” he said. “What do you have for me?”

“Hey, I’m working on a CPU half my usual size, gimme a minute, will you?” you replied.

“You’re a hard woman to please.”

“No fun in making it easy, is it?” you quip back as your results get back to you. “Frank Giles left Jamaica last night on the red eye. He flew to Florida, then got onto another flight to Virginia,” you relay to him.

“He’s from Virginia?” Morgan asked, confused.

“He’s got an address in Arlington,” you continued. “Long criminal record too; murder, robbery, sexual assault.”

“A guy was murdered in the resort here, head was cut off,” Morgan explained to you. “What are the chances you can find him for me?”

“Please, this stuff is child’s play,” you retorted, glancing down at Penelope on the floor. “This is what you do all day? Look people up?”

Penelope looked up from the floor at you. “Hey, I’m in a very vulnerable position right now!” You suppress a snort, working on ID’ing the victim.

“The room’s rented to a man named—”

“Marty Harris,” you said. “Also classic bad guy, fetish burglar and registered child sex offender. TSA flagged him, he was travelling with Giles.” You flex your fingers, cracking your knuckles, your blood not quite up.

“Alright, thanks, mama,” he said before hanging up and you scrunch your nose at being called that. Derek liked to flirt, and despite your best efforts, he’s not averse to being threatened. You spend the rest of the day backhacking the guy, Frank Giles on the back of you mind.

“How’d he get in, anyway?” you asked, frowning at your laptop. It’s not as well-kitted as your cubicle downstairs, but you can’t leave Penelope in the lurch like this.

“I don’t know,” Penelope cried, “all I know is I was in Camelot with Sir Kneighf again—”

“At work?” you asked, looking up instantly and the colour leeched from Penelope’s face. “Pen, no!”

“It was my personal laptop, I didn’t think—”

“Your laptop doesn’t have the same security, Pen, Christ!”

“I know that!” she yelled, her face fierce. “God, you don’t think I feel horrible enough already, and I can already see Hotch’s face when he finds out—”

“Hey, no, I’m sorry, listen,” you say automatically, scooting forward to comfort her. “Listen, it’s gonna be okay, alright? Whoever this guy is, he took advantage of you, alright? That’s what these guys do. They wait around until they find the weak link and strike.”

“I’m the weak link!” Penelope cried and you tutted, putting your laptop away and hugging her.

“Hey, no, you’re not,” you insisted, taking her glasses off so they wouldn’t get in the way. “You know how many cases these guys have solved because of you? How many lives they could’ve lost if you hadn’t found the right guy or the right address in time? Don’t beat yourself up over one mistake.”

And that’s exactly how clear you make yourself when you hear Gideon call her stupid — standing right by her side when she tells the entire team the truth. You’re not part of the team, Gideon’s not your supervisor, and it’s the first time you’ve met most of them face to face really, which makes it easier to stand your ground.

“You’d all be lost without Garcia’s technical skills, and you know it,” you said, defending your friend. “So, yeah, she made a mistake and the hacker got into your personnel files. It doesn’t explain how he knows all the other details of your life. It doesn’t explain how he knew about Morgan and Greenaway going to Jamaica, or your appreciation of the Chicago White Sox , who, by the way, haven’t won a championship since 1959 until last year.” There’s a moment of silence where Gideon just blinks at you, Elle suddenly very interested in her fist as her brow raised, and Aaron’s gaze bored into you. Spencer didn’t know whether to look at you or Gideon; you with your firm gaze and fingers curled around Penelope’s, or Gideon with his worn out expression.

“So, how did he find all this out?” Aaron said eventually, and the heat passes as they all move on. You glanced at Penelope, nodding subtly as she mouthed a ‘thank you’. Elle caught your gaze as you started to leave the profilers to their work, dimples forming on her sleepy face as she tried not to smile.

You have your own work pending, writing up a program to feed the decrypted communication through that would flag recurring keywords, in Penelope’s den still. This close to evening, your supervisor wouldn’t care anyway. The hours you put in excuse you from actually having to sit in your cubicle. With the only two seats in the den occupied, Spencer was pacing behind Penelope who was busy backhacking Sir Kneighf.

“The card we got of Nellie Fox was from 1963,” he was saying to noone in particular, and you had the feeling he just didn’t want to be in that conference room alone, but his pacing was starting to get on your nerves. “But the team that Gideon’s fond of is actually the 1959 team.” You shared a glance at Penelope, slipping into telepathy.

“Can’t we get rid of him?”

“Not without making a mess,” she said with her face and you repressed a sigh as he kept going.

“So the code has to be from a book from 1963,” he said, twisting on his heel to face Penelope. “Is there a database that lists all the books published in a given year?”

“Individual publishers have lists, I don't think there's anything like a master one,” Penelope answered him. “Plus it would depend upon the year, because the further back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all.

“And definitely not for 1963,” you piped up, Penelope nodding along and Spencer looked at you with a furrowed brow, then back to Penelope, leaning over her shoulder.

“Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me?” Spencer asked and Penelope scowled at him.

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” she replied and as if you could tell the work would be shifted onto you, you attempted to surreptitiously leave, but Penelope’s hand latched around your wrist. “Weren’t you just wishing you had something to do?”

“No,” you tried in vain, “No, my program’ll be done in a couple of—” Neither of them were falling for it and Spencer was starting to pull out this puppy-faced look and you groaned. How did you keep getting in these situations? “Fine, put your face away,” you said irritably, sitting back down. “What am I Yahoo-ing?”

"Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,” Spencer recited, watching you type rapidly.

“It’s from ‘The Parliament of—”

“Fowls!” Spencer exclaimed, “I knew I’d heard it somewhere.” It was too late in the day for you to handle his excitement with any kind of grace, sharing a look with Penelope who simply shrugged, like he was always like this. “Yeah, yeah, Chaucer, my… My mom used to read it to me,” he said, not quite meeting anyone’s gaze… like he was ashamed of something. “It’s widely considered the world’s first Valentine’s poem.”

“Your mom read you Valentine's poems? Hello, therapy,” Penelope muttered under her breath and you smacked her arm playfully, Spencer too deep in thought to see it.

“The poem’s not long enough for it to be the book,” he said, still looking puzzled. “The code we got referred to it having at least 283 pages—”

“And it’s not from 1963, either,” you added dryly.

“Something published in 1963. A butterfly indigenous to Great Britain, so something from Great Britain,” he said to himself and you furrow your brow.

“Fowles,” you said, and it was like everything made sense. “With an e, Fowles. He wrote a book, The Collector, in the 60s,” you kept going, Penelope looking at you with an impressed gaze, Spencer hanging onto your every word. “It kind of matches your case. This lonely young man kidnaps a young art student and holds her in his cellar at his farmhouse, keeps her there for years, and she assumes he’s going to torture her or sexually assault her, but he’s waiting for her to fall in love with him, and he’s convinced she will, and by the end, she falls ill and dies. When he finds her, he wants to commit suicide, but he reads her diary and realises she never loved him so he buries her and the book ends with him thinking about abducting another girl.”

“Oh my God,” Penelope gasped, looking horrified.

“Yeah, it wasn’t great,” you replied, frowning and scrunching your nose. “The whole thing was in first person. It was weird to read.”

“Right, that’s the icky part,” Penelope said, dryly.

“We need to check it with the code, and it has to be the exact edition he has,” Spencer interrupted before either of you got side-tracked and you rolled your eyes, going into your bag to pull out your e-reader, connecting it to your laptop. Spencer hovered right above your shoulder, so close you could hear his breathing, feeling warmth flutter against your cheek, and you cleared your throat.

“Ever heard of personal space?” you asked irritably, turning to look at him and he looked back down at you, barely an inch between you two, and then he stammered out an apology as he stepped back, all while Penelope smirked at the two of you. While the book transferred, you worked on quickly creating an algorithm that would search and flag the given word on a given line, on a given page, and despite yourself, you’re a little impressed when Spencer recites each number from the code that the unsub had sent Haley.

“Show off,” you muttered under your breath as he quickly wrote the resulting poem onto a legal pad in chicken scratch writing.

The path to the end began at his start. To find her, first calm her long broken heart. She sits in a window, with secrets from her knight.

“Well, that isn’t medieval,” you said and Spencer frowned at it, scanning it over and over again. Without another word, he darted out of the office, leaving both of you bewildered. “You were right, he is an odd duck,” you murmured, staring at the open door.

“Should we follow him?” Penelope asked, looking at you.

“I’ve put off my own work long enough,” you said, shaking her head and Penelope nodded, understanding.

“Thanks. For sticking around,” she said softly and you smiled at her faintly.

“Always.”

You should go home. Shower. Sleep. But Elle’s been shot and you can’t leave, not in good conscience. You hate yourself for being this sentimental, this soft but that’s what Penelope does to you. She softens you, makes you kinder, makes you laugh. If it had been you who had lost a teammate, Penelope would have been glued to your side.

So you stick around, blinking sleep out of your eyes, settled in the BAU’s kitchen with a cup of coffee and a bagel, both stale, looking for coded messages. Not for the first time, you think about where you could be. Coding for Apple, or Microsoft. Developing software in Silicon Valley. They don’t have stale bagels in Silicon Valley.

You stretched uncomfortably in your chair, gaze flitting up to the conference room, the bullpen stretched out between you and the BAU. You’re not a people person, or you weren’t before you met Penelope. You preferred the solitude of your cubicle, or you thought you had. The very virtue of your profession had left you without other female friends, and the ones you had before this job had drifted away. Counter-intelligence was by its very nature an isolating field, and Penelope was one of the few who didn’t mind your secrets. But seeing this team rally, even if Gideon had yelled at her, seeing them work together, as irritating as it had felt in the moment, filled you with a sense of loneliness. All you had was Penelope, but you weren’t the only one she had. Far from it.

That’s what prompts you to approach the older woman sitting alone in the conference room with her journal. Sitting by the window. “Hi,” you said meekly, stepping into the room, clocking the visitor’s badge on the woman’s sweater. She’s wearing a pale flowery dress, her bag sandwiched between her side and elbow. Her hair was short, like a boy’s, and blonde, and yet, something about her painfully reminds you of Spencer. Something around the eyes and the shape of her face.

“Is it lunch time yet?” she asked without looking up and you frowned, looking out the window to see the sprawl of Quantico blanketed in the dark blue of the night.

“Uh, no, not yet,” you said, sounding lame even to yourself. God, this was such a mistake.

“I'm lecturing everyone in Tristan and Iseult. They're all gathering in my room after lunch.” the woman said, looking up at you, and you offered a smile.

“Which version?” you asked, pulling up a chair as the woman gave you an impressed look.

“Malory’s. Beroul’s seemed too long to assign. You’ve read it?” she asked and you shook your head.

“Not in its entirety,” you replied somberly. “Not a lot of downtime with my job. But I know the gist of it.”

“Shame,” the woman said, letting out a sigh. “I always say, the best way to read a book is to listen to someone read it.”

That’s when Reid rushes in, relaxed until he sees you sitting in front of his mother, his temple creasing, and you raised your hand, waving it at him with a sheepish smile. “We uh, we found Rebecca,” he said, looking between you and his mom, two worlds colliding sooner than he would’ve liked. “You saved her life, Mom,” he said softly.

“Who’s Rebecca?” she asked and his smile evaporated, glancing at you for explanation but you shake you head.

“She’s not lucid,” you murmured, watching him swallow, his cheer dissipating.

“Oh,” he said quietly, blinking as he processed it, looking at Diana as she continued to write, and you stood up to leave. “Thanks,” he murmured to you as you walked off.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, brow creasing and he looked at you with a boyishness that stops your breath.

“Thanks anyway,” he insisted and you nodded curtly.

“Elle okay?” you asked.

“She will be.” So you pat his arm and leave him with his mom, shaking off the fondness you’d started to feel for him.

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