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cleo-fox · 6 months

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Overtime

Summary: Sometimes, working overtime isn’t all that bad.

Pairings: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+ minors DNI, sex, cunnilingus, teasing, light bondage, office romance.

Series: Overtime (I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel).

A/N: This was largely written prior to season 2 and posted right before episode 4, so it’s not entirely canon compliant and the parts that are may be compliant by accident.

Also, @give-me-a-moose and I were on a similar wavelength about Loki angrily reading romance novels and I would strongly recommend checking out her fic The Imagine Nation if you too are enthralled by this idea.

You don’t think that Mobius intended to keep Loki’s desk behind yours.

“It’s temporary,” he tells you apologetically. “He just needs somewhere to go for now, until I figure out what to do with him.”

“You’re talking about him like he’s a stray cat that you found,” you say.

“You won’t even know he’s there, I promise.”

“You’re still doing it.”

Mobius sighs and puts on his most sincere, earnest expression—the one that he always uses when he’s about to ask you for a stupidly massive favor.

And it’s only because you almost never, ever see this look from him that you back down.

“Okay, fine,” you say. “But he’d better be on his best behavior.”

Mobius puts his palms together and tips them toward you. “Thank you. You will not regret this, I promise.”

You sigh and shake your head. “Just remember this next time you’re budgeting for raises.”

But then—in a move that you certainly don’t expect—Loki ends up sticking around. And, in the subtle way that the stray you’ve been feeding slowly turns into your cat, Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. And strangely enough, Mobius’ assurances turn out to be more correct than not: Loki does a lot of fieldwork and is often away; when he is at his desk, it tends to be because he is working on more complicated missions, the ones that require poring over mountains of files looking for patterns and trying to untangle the slippery mess of time itself.

Your work is decidedly less glamorous than Loki’s—almost no fieldwork, lots of files. Endless files. Some days you feel as though you must have seen every file in the TVA’s extensive library and then you’re immediately proven wrong by another wing of filing cabinets that you swear wasn’t even there before.

Although he is generally well-behaved as your desk neighbor, Loki’s presence has a way of distracting you. Even if you didn’t know who he was, your gaze would still naturally drift his way, lingering on those regal cheekbones, that ink black hair, that cunning smirk. The way that the fabric of his dress pants clings to his thighs certainly doesn’t help, to say nothing of how his forearms look with his shirtsleeves rolled up. He can make your heart start to race with no more than a casual glance in your direction and god help you if he gives you one of those devastating smiles. Luckily, you don’t think he takes that much notice of you. You have the sort of pleasantly dull exchanges of coworkers who don’t really know each other and he is almost painfully polite to you. It’s a strong departure from the way he interacts with others—with others, he is bold, charming, sarcastic, talkative, a far cry from the more subdued, almost courtly tone he strikes with you. It’s a difference that is so stark that you can’t help but attribute it to some sort of negative feeling on his end.

“How’s it going with Loki?” Mobius asks you during a one-on-one meeting a couple of months after Loki’s temporary desk becomes his permanent desk. “He’s behaving himself, right?”

“It’s been fine,” you say, “though truthfully, I don’t think he likes me all that much.”

“What? Of course he likes you,” Mobius says. “Why wouldn’t he like you? You’re lovely.”

You shrug. “I dunno, he’s just different with me than he is with everyone else. Like…overly polite. It’s like he thinks I’m going to send him to the principal’s office or something.”

“Let me get this straight,” says Mobius. “First you were worried that he wouldn’t behave himself and now you’re worried that he’s too well-behaved?”

Privately, you realize he has a point. Outwardly, though, you’re not going to admit it. The sardonic tilt of Mobius’ mouth suggests that he knows this.

“No, I just…I don’t think he likes me all that much,” you say. “And he’s entitled to that. People don’t like each other all the time, it’s not a big deal.”

This is also a little bit of a lie—you do wish he liked you. Loki is so magnetic it’s hard not to want his attention. And with the matter of your silly little crush, well…that doesn’t help either.

Mobius sighs. “I think you’re overthinking this. He likes you, sometimes it just takes him a little time to warm up. He’s a bit of a prickly guy.”

You bite down the urge to point out that you’ve seen him warm to other people almost immediately. This conversation has already gone on longer than you want and you are edging dangerously close to having to admit that you care so much because you have a big stupid crush on him, which is obviously unacceptable.

“Well, the point is that it’s fine,” you say quickly, trying to project an aura of cool confidence. “I don’t have any complaints, he seems like he’s settling in, so let’s move on. Did you have any feedback on my recent report?”

The furrow between Mobius’ eyebrows deepens just slightly, the only indication that he doesn’t fully believe you. But for whatever reason, he decides to let it go and follows your change in topic without further comment.

This is one of the reasons you like Mobius as much as you do: he always seems to know the right moment to push and the right moment to bend.

You’re not sure if your relationship with Loki would have changed had it not been for the problem of Charles Berlitz.

The joke around the office is that after Mobius convinced Loki to work for the TVA, he needed something new to obsess over and Charles Berlitz was the next best option. It’s hard to say exactly who Berlitz is, as he has a tendency of showing up, well…everywhere. He is quite literally in every timeline, at least as far as anyone can tell. Sometimes he is an author, penning serious, scholarly essays on outlandish theories like the Bermuda Triangle and the Philadelphia Experiment. He seems to have a fondness for all manner of schemes—he was responsible for introducing both homeopathy and multi-level marketing to no fewer than sixty different timelines. His ability to peddle bullshit naturally led him to politics—pick any rebellion, coup, or campaign on any given timeline and there’s a good chance you’ll also find Charles Berlitz.

Scammers and con artists are not atypical in your line of work, but what makes Charles Berlitz an enduring mystery is that he has never been found. You can have reputable documentary evidence that Berlitz was present at a certain time and location, but if you show up to investigate, he is never there. There have been some glimpses over the years—a shadowy face in the back of a crowd, the hem of a cloak disappearing behind a corner—but nothing concrete or substantive.

“Our ghost in the timeline,” Mobius had said in one of his more poetic moments at an all staff meeting, his voice overly hushed and dramatic. You had seen Loki roll his eyes and you had to fake a coughing fit to hide your laugh.

Time moves differently at the TVA, so it’s hard to say how long Mobius has been working on this case when he makes a breakthrough, but it’s not terribly long after your conversation about Loki. A campaign button had been found in an apartment that Berlitz rented for two years in the French Quarter. That particular campaign button could only have existed in one specific timeline and its distribution was limited. You aren’t entirely clear on all of the details, but Mobius seems to have a plan.

And unfortunately, that plan involves you giving up most of your weekend to work.

It’s near quitting time on what passes for a Friday at the TVA. Loki has been in today and you can hear him starting to pack up. Technically, he’s got twenty minutes of work left, but you’re not about to tell him that.

You doodle absently on your notepad. Technically, you’ve also got twenty minutes of work left, but realistically: nothing is happening.

“Oh, great, you’re both still here.”

In general, this phrase has never meant good news for you and when you look up, you see Mobius with a sizable armful of files.

Also not a great sign.

Mobius plunks the stack of files directly on your desk. “There’s been a development with Berlitz. I need you both to review these now.”

“It’s Friday,” says Loki, affronted. “Surely it can wait until Monday.”

“No can do. I need this done by Sunday at the latest,” says Mobius. “This is an all hands on deck situation.”

Loki glances pointedly at the office around you, which has already started emptying out for the weekend.

“All hands on deck, but most hands are already in the field,” Mobius concedes. “Which is why I need the two of you—” He points to you. “You because you’re good—” He gestures to Loki. “And you because you’ve got desk duty.”

“I beg your pardon—” begins Loki.

“He’s grounded,” Mobius says to you in an exaggerated stage whisper.

This is not surprising to you: you had heard a rumor last week about an incident that had occurred on a mission to the inauguration of Richard Nixon and you suspect that these two events are likely connected.

You look at the pile of paperwork on your desk. You could probably get through it on your own in a couple of hours, but if Loki’s helping, maybe you still have a shot at having Saturday to yourself. You bite back a sigh. “What do you need me to find?”

“Anything that mentions anyone from the Lucchese crime family or Nero Variant N2815,” says Mobius. “I’ll go get the rest.”

Your heart sinks. Farewell, Saturday. “There’s more?” you say.

“It’ll be triple overtime, I already got it approved!” he calls over his shoulder

You sigh and glance at Loki who is scowling at the pile of files as though they’d wronged him personally.

There’s a long moment of silence before you speak. “Is there any truth to the rumor I’ve been hearing about the Nixon inauguration?” you ask.

“If it involved a hot air balloon, then yes,” he says rather tonelessly.

“Well.” You pause as you stare at the pile of papers. “At least it was worth it.”

That at least earns you a hint of a smile.

Several hours later, your stomach is growling and you’ve developed a rather impressive crick in your neck.

You lean back in your chair, stretching your neck to the side and rubbing the knot that is pulsing in your upper trapezius. Office work has done nothing positive for your posture in general, but tonight’s work has you hunched over more than usual and your neck is aching.

You and Loki have made good progress, but your pile of finished and sorted files is scarcely comparable to the full cart that Mobius had brought in. Back when the evening was new and you weren’t quite so tired, you’d been optimistic about possibly having half a Saturday free from work; that hope has slipped away the longer the evening has dragged on. Now you’re hoping that you’ll still have a bit of Sunday to yourself and even that feels unlikely.

Your stomach growls again. You should probably eat something—you’d worked through your regular dinner hour in a fit of misplaced optimism. The cafeteria is closed this time of night, but there’s a vending machine not far from your office that has shitty coffee and mostly edible sandwiches.

You stand and stretch, stifling a yawn as you turn around. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and some dinner,” you say. “Do you want anything?”

Loki looks up at you from the file in front of him, blinking somewhat dazedly and running a hand through his messy curls. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind the company.”

You honestly didn’t expect him to want to join you. It’s a pleasant surprise, certainly, but also a little nerve wracking in the way that interacting with Loki always is. He’s so handsome and aloof and you’re not quite sure how to talk to him without acting like a total fool.

But you’re also not about to say no, either.

“Of course,” you say, “I don’t mind at all.”

The TVA is unusually quiet at this time of night—the steady hum of fluorescent lights and the murmur of distant voices is all that accompanies the tap of your shoes on the linoleum. It only heightens the jittery, nervous feeling you get from Loki—like your stomach is filled with drunk, lightning struck butterflies.

“Are you finding much?” asks Loki as you enter the hallway together.

You shrug. “A bit. Mostly on the Nero variant. I’m not having as much luck with the Luccheses.”

“I’ve got all of their property transfers, I think,” he says. “Renato Lucchese never met a vineyard he didn’t like.”

“Or racehorses, from what I understand,” you say. “I think that’s how he lost most of his money.”

You arrive at the vending machines. Loki looks at the vending machines and then back at you, a somewhat puzzled and troubled expression on his face.

“This is what you meant when you said you were going to get coffee and dinner?” he says.

You shrug. “Yeah, what’s wrong with this?”

He points at the coffee machine. “Mobius calls that machine Satan’s coffeemaker, does he not?”

“Yes, but I know how to trick it into giving me something that’s almost palatable,” you say.

Loki gives you a rather dry look. “Something that’s almost palatable?”

“I mean, I’m just trying to manage your expectations. It’s still pretty shitty coffee, it just tastes less burned.”

He looks at you for a long moment before tilting his head toward the hallway. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s your turn to look skeptical. “What are we doing?”

“We’re going out for dinner.”

He takes you to a twenty-four hour diner called Frank’s that’s maybe a five minute walk from the TVA. It’s one of those places with yellowing Formica tables and big booths covered in red faux leather patched with the occasional square of duct tape. It smells like coffee and grease with a faint odor of cigarette smoke despite the prominent no smoking signs.

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of place was your style,” you say as you sit down in a booth next to the window.

“I’ve expanded my horizons,” he says, sliding into the seat across from you.

An older woman with greying blonde hair approaches your booth. She wears a nametag reading “Connie” in big capital letters, a sticker of a pink cat stuck on the space next to her name.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?” she says as she hands you each a laminated menu. She looks at Loki. “You want your usual?”

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She turns to you. “How ‘bout you, hon, can I get ya started with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“All right, I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

You raise your eyebrows at Loki as she walks away. “You eat at diners and you have a usual order. My expectations are being completely upended.”

He returns your pleasantly amused expression. “And you have vending machine coffee for dinner. It’s a revealing night.”

“I mean, I don’t actively seek it out,” you say. “It’s a convenient option that I exercise only when I have no other choice.”

“No other choice?” A sly smile curls at his lips. “Do you not have the entire array of space and time at your fingertips?”

“Well, first of all, we aren’t supposed to use TemPads for personal errands without a supervisor’s approval.”

“Technically.”

“No, actually. It’s in the personnel manual. Like verbatim.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You would put yourself through the egregious physical suffering of vending machine coffee simply to appease the capricious whims of our cruel overseer Miss Minutes?”

You bite back a laugh. “You know she’s not actually our boss, right?”

“I can’t discount that possibility. She wields a concerning amount of power within the organization.”

Connie is back with your drinks—coffee for you and tea for Loki. “Sunday Special?” she asks Loki as she sets a metal teapot and empty mug in front of him.

“Please,” he says.

“You got it.” She looks at you. “Didya get a chance to look at the menu or do you need a minute?”

You’re feeling a little daring. “I’ll try the Sunday Special as well.”

“All right, two Sunday Specials comin’ right up,” she says, collecting your menus.

“So, what’s in a Sunday Special?” you ask Loki as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Boiled fish eggs, mainly,” he says, pouring the hot water into his tea mug.

“Liar,” you say promptly.

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t even look at the menu, how could you know?”

“Places like this don’t serve fish eggs,” you say. “Way too unusual and definitely the wrong price point.”

“I suppose you’ll just have to see,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes. The easy charm that you’ve seen him use with the others is on full display and it’s enough to make you giddy. Maybe he doesn’t dislike you after all.

“Well, if it’s fish eggs, you’re picking up the bill,” you say, “and I’ll be getting something else instead.”

“You’d really hold me responsible for your impulsive dinner selections?”

“Yep. And I don’t even feel bad about it.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize you could be so unforgiving.”

“Well, you don’t know me all that well.”

“To be fair, you keep to yourself quite a bit.”

“A little bit,” you say. “But also to be fair, you haven’t really asked.”

“On work time?” he says, widening his eyes in mock horror. “That would mean write ups for both of us, I couldn’t let that happen.”

“I think I know enough about you to know that getting in trouble is not one of your primary concerns.”

He gives you a sly smile, like you’ve caught him out and he likes it. “That’s a diplomatic way to put it.” He takes a sugar packet from the dispenser on the table and tears it open before pouring it into his mug. “Well, we’re on break now, so you can safely tell me something about yourself.”

You drum your fingers on your coffee mug. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, this can’t be the only part of your life. Who are you outside the TVA? What did you do before this?”

That giddy feeling comes to a screeching halt and you take in a long, slow breath. It’s a simple question, one that most people can answer to some degree. For you, though, it’s a bit more complicated.

“Well,” you say. You take a sip of your coffee, mostly to give your hands something to do. “I don’t actually know—I chose not to remember when they gave me the option.”

You’re surprised by how gentle his eyes are when you look up. “My apologies,” he says, “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” you say and you really do mean it. “You couldn’t have known.”

Usually, you say something like this and then gently redirect the conversation, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes you want to continue. Like maybe he understands difficult things and doesn’t mind hearing about something that others would shy away from.

“When they told us everything and said they could fix our memories…” You clear your throat and focus your gaze just above his shoulder. “It’s weird, but I just had a feeling that it wouldn’t be good for me to know…that something really bad had happened. So I asked Mobius to check for me, just to be sure…” You swallow, blinking hard.

You remember how sad Mobius’ eyes were, how he’d gently placed a hand on your shoulder and said, “I think you’re making the right call, kid.”

“It’s not really okay, is it?” Loki says softly.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s…it is what it is.”

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

“It’s not a lie—”

He raises a skeptical eyebrow and you remember that he is, in fact, the god of lies.

“It’s more like…I can’t really miss what I don’t know, but at the same time, the reality of that absence hurts a little. So maybe not exactly okay, but not exactly not okay, either.”

There’s a lot of kindness in his gaze and you have to look away because it makes your head spin and your breath catch in your throat. “I’m not really sure if that makes sense,” you say.

“It does.”

There’s a silence between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Do you…do you think you’d want to forget if you had that option?” You’re not entirely sure what prompts the question and you regret it almost as soon as it leaves your mouth. “I’m sorry, that’s probably too personal.”

He shakes his head and there’s a warmth in his eyes that you don’t expect. “I rather think I owe you one.” He pauses, running a finger around the rim of his mug. “Sometimes I do,” he says finally. “It can be quite painful remembering.” He worries his lip between his teeth. “But I’m not sure who I would be without the knowledge of my past, either.” His gaze flicks back to you. “What’s it like for you? Do you feel like you know who you are without those memories?”

It’s a good question—one you’ve never been asked. “I mean, it’s hard to say for sure. I think I do,” you say. “Sometimes I wonder if I was different in my timeline. Maybe I was kinder because I had different experiences that made me more empathetic. Maybe I wasn’t—maybe I was worse. Maybe I had a villain arc.”

He chuckles. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

“I dunno, maybe it explains the vending machine coffee and my fish egg related threats,” you say and you feel almost giddy when he returns your smile. “Or maybe I’m the same and all those experiences that shaped me are just scars I can’t see.” You shrug and take a sip of your coffee. “At the end of the day, though, that timeline is gone. I’m all that’s left. It’s sad, but it’s also freeing, in a way.”

He nods. “Mobius has said much the same.”

You smile slightly. “Our philosophies are similar, I suppose, though I think there are probably more bits of his past self in his present self than he realizes.”

Loki grins. “It’s the jet skis, isn’t it?”

“I mean, I just don’t think most normal people spend that much time expounding on the reliability of the Yamaha engine versus the pure, raw power of the Kawasaki.”

Loki holds up a finger. “But have you gotten the lecture about Yamaha’s braking system?”

“I think I have that memorized at this point.”

“‘The perfect choice for families.’”

“‘You just tap the brakes. Just tap them. Perfectly smooth stop every time.’”

“‘Reliability meets affordability.’”

“‘You can’t say no to that.’”

You think you probably could have riffed on this for a bit, but you’re interrupted by the arrival of Connie with your dinner.

The Sunday Special turns out to be a fairly traditional breakfast—eggs, hash browns, two fluffy pancakes, sausage, toast, a little bowl of strawberries.

“Definitely lots of fish eggs in this meal,” you say to Loki after Connie leaves.

His smile is small, but genuine. “You haven’t looked under the pancakes yet.”

You feel it then, but you don’t fully understand until later that this dinner has unlocked something important between the two of you. After months of awkward, stilted conversation, it’s like you finally understand how to talk to each other. And you’re surprised to find that even outside of your big stupid crush, you actually like Loki. You like his sly smiles and his dry humor and how easily the two of you fall into a routine of playful banter. You click in a way that surprises you, in a way that makes you mourn the lost potential of all those awkward, stilted months and feel giddy about the possibilities ahead.

Dinner is over too soon and you walk back to the TVA feeling revived from the coffee and the conversation.

Disaster awaits you back at the office, though: you’d left a stack of the Nero variant files on your desk and evidently the construction was too precarious, as the entire pile had tipped off your desk and spilled to the floor, contents scattered everywhere.

“Fucking hell,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair. You’re not sure whether you want to laugh, cry, or scream. Possibly, it’s all three.

“Here.” Loki is bending down on the floor to gather the files. You studiously try to not ogle his ass or thighs. Or at least not obviously. “Clear off some space on your desk—I’ll help.”

Twenty minutes later, you’ve set up an entirely new system—Loki has dragged his chair over to your desk and the cart of unsorted files sits between you, like a surly metallic chaperone. And even later when you’ve sorted out all of the files from the floor, he remains parked at the end of your desk, a stack of new, unsorted files in front of him. Admittedly, it’s a lot more efficient for you to work like this: privately, though, it gives you a warm glow that has nothing to do with workplace efficiency.

“I’ve invented a new game,” he says some time later.

“What’s that?”

“Every time either one of us finds documentation showing Renato Lucchese losing money on a racehorse he was told was not a good investment, I get to have a drink.”

You look up at him. “Look, I know you’re a god and everything, but I am pretty sure that will kill you.”

He sighs and tosses the file into the Lucchese pile. “I think it would add a little excitement to the evening, don’t you?”

You raise your eyebrows and look back at the file in front of you. “You mean this isn’t your idea of a fun Friday night?”

“My idea of a fun Friday night includes far fewer files and a lot more debauchery,” he says, taking a new file from the cart.

You glance at the clock. “Well, it’s only eleven. I don’t usually start body shots until after midnight.”

“What are body shots?”

For one horrifying moment, you think that you’re going to actually have to explain this to him, but then you get a good look at his expression.

He’s teasing you.

“You’re an ass,” you say, swatting him on the shoulder with the file you’re holding.

He wags a finger at you. “That’s workplace violence. I’m going to have to report that.”

You lean back in your chair and return to your file. “I’m pretty confident that you’ll be put off by the amount of paperwork that process requires.”

He shakes his head as he returns to his own file. “Uncontrolled bureaucracy is how bad actors escape accountability.” There’s a brief pause. “And…there’s another racehorse.”

You continue on like this for the rest of the evening, occasionally chatting and Loki proving definitively that the Renato Lucchese racehorse drinking game could not be played without resulting in a fatality. It’s nice, though. Yes, it’s sorting files and yes, it’s not the most intellectually riveting task you’ve ever done, but spending time with Loki is nice. It’s because of this that you find yourself trying to stay awake, pushing past your looming exhaustion.

But around two, you can’t quite fight the heaviness of your eyelids any longer and you doze off in the middle of a report on the sinking of the Lusitania.

“Hey.” Loki is gently shaking your shoulder. The way he says your name in that deliciously deep voice makes you want to swoon and you’re glad that you have the ready made excuse of sleepiness to explain any embarrassing behavior on your end.

“I think you’d better call it a night,” he says gently. “Get some sleep and come back with fresh eyes.”

“What about you?” you say. “Are you going to do the same, or are you just all talk?”

He smiles at you and it warms you to the very tips of your toes. You could bask in that smile like a cat in a sunbeam.

“I’m starting to fade a bit myself,” he says

“Very convenient,” you say and he grins at you.

“Come on, I’ll see you back home.”

Part of you wants to protest—there’s really no need for him to walk you home—but a larger, louder part of you wants to let it be, prolong the magic of tonight for just a little longer.

There’s a comfortable silence between the two of you as you walk out of the office together.

“What time do you think you’re going to come in tomorrow?” he asks as you approach the residential wing. “It’s probably sensible to coordinate our efforts a bit.”

“Yeah, that’s a good point,” you say. “I was thinking nine, but that will be dependent on how much coffee I have.”

“Yes, about that,” he says. “I cannot stand idly by and watch you torture yourself with vending machine coffee.”

“Well, the cafeteria will be open, so I was going to torture myself with cafeteria coffee, which is at least thirty percent less over brewed.”

He clicks his tongue. “You’re not making a compelling case for yourself.”

“To be fair, it’s quite late and I’ve been staring at files for hours.”

“All the more reason to get decent coffee,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh, we are?”

“Consider it an intervention,” he says. “I’ll come collect you at eight.”

You’re not quite sure if this is just his natural confidence and swagger coming through or if he’s flirting with you and this counts as a date.

“Where are we going?”

“I know a place.”

The place in question turns out to be a food cart in Central Park in 1998.

“Should I even bother asking if you have supervisor approval for this?” you say, looking skeptically at the time door glimmering before you.

Loki scoffs. “I don’t have a supervisor.”

“You do. It’s Mobius.”

“That can’t be right, we’re peers.”

“You’re absolutely not. Did you read any of the onboarding materials?”

He ignores your question. “I don’t see why I’d even need a supervisor, honestly.”

You snort. “Need I remind you of what happened at the Nixon inauguration?”

He spreads his hands in front of him. “It’s not my fault that I’m the only one with a sense of humor.”

“I’m not entirely sure that was the problem,” you say. “Gerald Ford is never going to be the same, from what I understand.”

Loki waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be fine, the tail isn’t permanent. Now, are you coming or not?”

You roll your eyes at him and make a halfhearted complaint about proper protocol, but you know that you’re walking through that time door and not looking back. You knew that before he even posed the question.

The food cart is owned by a man named Samir who has a wide smile and booming laugh. He talks to Loki like he’s a friend and he tells you that you have the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. You are fairly certain he’s exaggerating, but you stuff a few extra bills into the tip jar anyway.

“I can’t believe you fell for that,” says Loki as you walk away, each carrying a coffee and a brown paper bag with a breakfast sandwich.

“Fell for what?” you say, batting your eyes at him. “I do have beautiful eyes.”

“I’ve heard him say that on at least thirty separate occasions.”

“Yeah, but this time he really meant it. I could tell.”

He rolls his eyes and leads you to a park bench overlooking a wide, grassy field. The leaves are just starting to change and the air has a little bit of a bite to it.

You sit down on the bench and take a sip of your coffee.

“It is good coffee, I’ll give you that,” you say.

“See,” says Loki, “you can’t go back to that vending machine sludge after this.”

“I mean, if it’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m on a deadline, I can.”

“Darling. You have a TemPad.”

“Loki. Read the personnel manual.”

He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not really my genre.”

You roll your eyes and take out your breakfast sandwich. “What is your genre?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that a serious question?”

“Of course it is,” you say. “I love talking about books.”

He gives you a slight smile and takes a sip of his coffee. “A little bit of everything, honestly,” he says. “Philosophy. Magical theory. History. Politics. Anything from Asgard, really, though it can be a bit more challenging getting some of those titles.”

“I’ve had pretty good luck with the Library of the Sacred Timeline—have you checked there yet?”

He frowns. “I’m not familiar.”

“Oh, you’d like it—it��s on the eighteenth floor. It’s intended to be a collection of the greatest works of literature from as many branches of the timeline as possible,” you say. “It started as a research project, but people liked it and it just kind of evolved into this huge collection. They’ve actually got a pretty sizeable collection of books from Asgard.”

It’s like you’ve told him that his personal paradise had been located on the eighteenth floor this entire time. “Will you show me?”

He is practically vibrating with the sort of anticipatory, manic energy that you typically would associate with Christmas morning right before you tear into presents. It’s sweetly endearing.

“Of course.”

Ten minutes later, you’re leading him through the winding hallways on the eighteenth floor. You’re not surprised he hasn’t heard about the library—it’s a bit out of the way and the eighteenth floor is so poorly designed that it’s not terribly easy to find.

The design of the library is a sharp departure from the rest of the TVA. The shelves and floors are made of the kind of dark mahogany that you typically see in the kind of estates that look like something directly out of a Jane Austen novel. Worn oriental rugs muffle your footsteps on the creaky wood floors and the air smells faintly of dust and paper.

There’s a subtle change in Loki when you walk through the doors—almost like a muscle in his shoulders finally relaxes and he seems truly at home for the first time since he arrived.

You touch his hand. “This way.”

You lead him into the stacks, back to the far corner, right after the books from Alfheim.

“You can borrow whichever ones you like,” you say softly. “There’s a sign out sheet at the front desk.”

He nods, though you don’t think he really hears you—he only has eyes for the shelves, his gaze sweeping across the spines like they’re old friends. You’re about to excuse yourself to give him a little privacy when his brow furrows and he exhales sharply. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What is it?”

They have the entirety of the finest Asgardian literature at their disposal. Untold centuries of the writings of our greatest minds—” he plucks a book off the shelf, “—and they choose to include this?”

The title looks fairly innocuous—a red, leather bound book with the title The Cloistered Heart embossed in gold script on the front. You take the book from him and open it. “What’s the problem with this?”

“It’s inconsequential fluff, literary pablum of the highest order.”

This is the Loki that you’re more familiar with and a smile curls at your lips. Almost on cue, you flip the book open to a chapter titled “The Wedding and Bedding of Aloisa.”

You bite back a laugh and look up at him. “It’s a romance novel.”

“Precisely my point,” he says. “To think that this is on the same shelf as Nielsen and Auber.”

“That’s kind of how libraries work,” you say, flipping further into the book. The phrases “throbbing length” and “eager moans” draw your eye and you have to tamp down another laugh. “Oh, and it’s a sexy romance novel.”

“It appeals to the lowest common denominator, yes.”

“What, so you’re too good for a bodice ripper?”

He scoffs. “I prefer to do the bodice ripping myself, not read some overwrought description of it.”

You are glad you’re looking at the book because you’re pretty sure you’d disintegrate if you had to make eye contact with him while he delivered that line. “Oh spare me,” you say lightly, snapping the book shut and drawing it to your chest. “I’m gonna read this.”

He blows out a puff of air. “It’s a waste of your time.”

“I’ve got lots of time, I can afford to waste it,” you say cheekily. “Besides, I’m curious to see what kind of book turns the god of mischief into a pearl clutching prude.”

Loki sputters. “Prude? Darling, let me assure you, I’m no prude—”

“I’ll leave you to browse,” you say with a grin as you turn away from him. “Come find me at the front when you’re ready to go.”

You’re a few chapters into the book when Loki rejoins you at the front of the library, a small stack of books tucked under his arm.

You close your book with a snap. “This book is a delight. I think your real issue is just that you’re no fun.”

He scoffs. “I’m very fun.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

You bicker playfully back and forth as you check out your books and leave the library. A quick glance at your watch tells you that you spent much more time there than you’d planned. You can’t quite bring yourself to worry about that, though, not with the memory of Loki’s wonderstruck expression burning so bright in your mind.

There’s a bit of a lull in the conversation as you wait for the elevator.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For showing me that.”

“Of course. I’m sorry you didn’t know about it sooner.”

He looks at you, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something. His tongue swipes briefly over his bottom lip and you would swear that his gaze drops to your mouth for just a second.

For just a second—one heady, slightly irrational second—you think he might be about to kiss you.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks the spell, startling you just a little. You run a hand through your hair, trying to give off the impression of composure even as your heart beats wildly in your chest.

Loki gestures to the elevator doors. “After you.”

There is a group of analysts in the elevator already, chatting animatedly and completely obliterating any chance you may have had at recapturing that moment.

You try not to dwell too much in contemplating what ifs or timeline branches—often, it feels too much like work, something Mobius might assign you.

But you know that the possibility of that moment—what if the elevator had been a hair slower, what if those analysts had taken a different route, what if you were braver—you know that’s something that’s going to haunt you for a while.

You wouldn’t give up that time in the library for anything—it’s one of those moments that feels formative, something that you’ll return to again and again for one reason or another.

But it’s also true that it’s time that you probably could have used for sorting files and as Saturday ticks on, you can’t help but wish you had a way to pull another hour out of somewhere.

“We’re not going to be able to make this deadline, are we?” you say with a sigh.

It’s getting late into the evening and the cart of files still to be sorted still remains depressingly full, despite the fact that you’d brought both lunch and dinner back to your desk so you could continue working.

Loki eyes the remaining files. “I think we might. We made good progress today.”

You rub your eyes. “My brain feels like it’s about to leak out my ears.”

Loki takes the file you are working on and sets it back in the stack of unsorted files. “I think that might be a sign it’s time to turn in,” he says.

“There’s still so much left.”

“There’s still tomorrow.”

You reach for the file. “Well, let me just—”

He pulls your hand away from the pile. “You can come back to it in the morning. Besides, if you’re this tired, you’re not going to do good work anyway.”

He squeezes your hand and drops it. It’s brief enough to still be friendly, but unusual enough to make you wonder and send your mind racing back to that moment by the elevator.

You shake the thought away. It’s late and you’re tired.

You heave a world weary sigh and slump back in your chair. “I hate it when you’re right.”

To his credit, he only smirks a little. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

Once again, there’s no reason for him to do this, but once again, you’re inclined to let him.

You pack up for the evening and walk out of the office side by side. You’re trying very hard not to think about the fact that this is likely the last night that you’ll do this, that tomorrow the assignment will be over.

As you near the residential wing, you start to hear distant shouts. If you inhale deeply, you catch a very faint whiff of explosives—you’re not sure what kind.

“I think someone brought work home,” you say with a sigh.

This happens from time to time—things get out of hand in the field or something happens when retrieving an asset or a target and all hell breaks loose at the TVA. Mobius had once referred to it as “bringing work home” and the name had stuck.

“Wasn’t there an incident in this wing not long ago?” asks Loki.

“Yes.” You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I had to call off the next day—I got no sleep that night.” You listen carefully, trying to determine the source of the noise and the status of the problem. “But maybe it’s almost over,” you say with an optimism you don’t fully feel. “Sometimes these things are resolved really quick.”

Your heart continues to sink the closer you come to your home. The acrid burn of explosives only increases and you think you catch the low, dull roar of something not quite human.

And indeed, when you turn the final corner, you are immediately stopped by an electric blue barrier being monitored by a hunter. G-21–you’ve worked with her on a couple of missions before.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” slips out of your mouth before you can stop yourself.

“There’s an ongoing incident in this area,” says G-21 and you almost want to laugh because no shit.

“How long do you think it’s gonna be closed off?” you ask.

She shrugs. “We’re at a code 54 right now, but it’s probably gonna escalate.”

With pitch perfect timing and before you can even try to remember what a code 54 means, there’s an almighty crash and a low bellow.

“Go!” she yells before running toward the commotion amid frantic calls for backup.

Loki is grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a run.

Your standard issue work shoes are comfortable enough on a day to day basis, but you certainly want to have words with whoever decided that leather soled shoes with absolutely no grips were a good choice for a building floored almost entirely in linoleum. In a low stakes situation, it’s meant occasionally you wipe out in the cafeteria and hurt nothing but your pride. In this situation, it means that Loki’s firm grip on your hand is the only thing keeping you upright.

But there’s a small mercy in that while you can still hear distant crashes and shrieks, whatever is happening down that hallway doesn’t seem to be following you and eventually, you both slow to a brisk walk and Loki drops your hand.

You haven’t even had a chance to consider where you are going to sleep tonight. You could probably curl up on that terrible couch in the office and just plan on getting up early enough to run back to your place for a quick shower and a change of clothes…assuming the incident resolves by then—

“You can stay with me,” says Loki, as though he can hear you trying to sort this out.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’ll just—”

“If you say you’re going to sleep on that terrible couch in the office, I will personally take you to the most boring governmental proceeding I can find and leave you there until you come to your senses.”

“Sounds like a great place to fall asleep,” you say.

His eyes glint, but his tone brooks no arguments. “You’re staying with me tonight.”

You sigh, but you can’t think of a counterpoint. “When did you get so bossy?”

“Darling, I’m a prince,” he says with a bit of a wry smirk. “It’s my birthright.”

Loki lives on the opposite end of the residential wing and his place looks quite a bit like yours—he’s got an extra window in the kitchen but the floor plan is otherwise the same. A lot of his furniture is standard issue, but there are little details that make it seem more personal: an area rug with a bit of fraying on the edges, a painting of what you think is an Asgardian landscape, a vase filled with dried flowers so delicate they look like they might disintegrate if you were to touch them. And books—so many books. Books on shelves, stacked on the coffee table, tucked into the little rack that you know is meant to hold magazines. Hardbacks, paperbacks, leather bound, dog-eared, well-worn and brand new. It’s no wonder he was so excited about the library.

“Have a seat,” he says, gesturing to the couch. “I’ll get some things for you.”

You sit down and he disappears down the hall. You idly examine the books stacked on the end table next to you. Many are quite clearly from Asgard and it sparks a pang of sympathy—it’s like his homesickness is on full display in his living room and there’s something sweet and sad about seeing that vulnerability laid so bare.

He returns a few minutes later with a pair of pajamas, a toothbrush, and a hand towel.

“Here,” he says, handing you the pile. “Bathroom’s just down the hall. I’ll make up a bed for you.”

“Thanks.”

In the bathroom, you realize that the pajamas he’s given you aren’t the standard set you can order from the TVA. These are made of a dark emerald silk that ripples over your skin like water, and somehow, that makes it feel a thousand times more personal than if he’d loaned you a standard set. They don’t fit quite right on you, but they’ll work well enough for tonight.

You brush your teeth and attempt to get through as much of your evening routine as you can before collecting your clothes and exiting the bathroom.

When you return to the living room, you expect to find that he’s made up a bed for you on the couch. These living units only have one bedroom—it would be quite reasonable to have you sleep on the couch.

You do not expect to find a pajama clad Loki stretched out reading on the couch, a blanket over his lap and his head propped up on a pillow like he intends to sleep there.

You exhale slowly. “Please tell me you are not giving up your bed.”

“Don’t be absurd, of course I am,” he says without even looking up from his book. “The point of this was to prevent you from sleeping on a couch, not simply put you on a couch in a different location.”

You wish you had something to throw at him. “You don’t even fit on that couch.”

“Luckily, my knees bend. Besides, you’re a guest,” he says, as though that settles it.

You roll your eyes and plunk yourself down in the armchair across from the couch, setting your pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m not moving until you give up the couch.”

He finally looks up from his book. “You’re really going to do this?”

You examine your fingernails, flicking away an invisible speck of dust. “I’m not the one being unreasonable. I’m simply meeting you at your level.”

“If you think that I’m being unreasonable and you’re also saying you’re meeting me at my level, does that not mean you are admitting that you are being unreasonable?”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning. I’m not arguing semantics with you.”

“Fine.” His eyes glimmer as he sets his book down and slowly rises to his feet. “But you’re still not sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, you’re going to be so disappointed when you realize how wrong you are,” you say. You think you see your opening and you try to play it cool.

He’s walking toward you, leaving your path to the couch wide open. In your head, you can see exactly how this works: you’ll spring from your chair and dart around the coffee table before diving onto the couch like a baseball player sliding into home plate, soundly defeating Loki. Easy peasy.

Instead, what happens is that you spring to your feet and Loki moves with inhuman speed, grabbing you around your waist and pinning you to the front of his chest, stopping you in your tracks almost immediately.

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says. Your back is facing him, but you can almost hear the dry, sardonic look he’s giving you.

“Probably,” you say. “God of mischief and all.” You struggle fruitlessly against his iron grip. “You can let me go now.”

He laughs. “I’m afraid I can’t. It was clearly a mistake to trust you. I won’t be making that error again.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying again to squirm away from him. “Let me go.”

“The interesting thing about all of this is that you’ve made a rather substantial tactical error,” he says, continuing as though he can’t hear you.

“You’re bluffing,” you say with more confidence than you feel.

“Fascinating theory,” he says, “but I don’t think it’s going to work out for you.”

With that same ridiculous speed, he’s suddenly spinning you around and lifting you, tossing you easily over his shoulder.

“Hey!” you shout in protest.

“I warned you,” he says, his voice full of mirth as he carries you toward the bedroom.

This is not exactly how you’ve imagined being carried off to bed by Loki.

Though, admittedly, you do have a nice view of his ass.

“This is ridiculous,” you say.

“You brought this upon yourself.” He’s walking into the bedroom and a moment later, he’s lifting you from his shoulder and tossing you unceremoniously onto his bed.

You scramble to your feet and try to lunge toward the door, but he’s clearly expecting that. Before your feet even hit the floor, he catches you around the waist and hauls you back to the bed. Your back hits the mattress and you try to leverage the momentum to propel yourself back onto your feet.

He catches you immediately and you find yourself back on the bed again.

“I don’t mean to be patronizing,” he says, failing to bite back a laugh, “but it’s adorable that you think you can outmaneuver me.”

That is deeply offensive and the only way you can earn my forgiveness is by letting me take my rightful place on the couch.” You can’t quite keep the laugh from your voice.

He grins. “Not a chance.”

You attempt to dive off the opposite side of the bed, only to have him grab you by the ankles and pull you back. You manage to dislodge him and lunge in the opposite direction, only to be immediately thwarted.

It becomes increasingly hilarious the longer it goes on and soon your sides are aching from laughter. Loki is laughing too, but it doesn’t seem to affect his strength or speed at all.

Eventually, he wrestles you back down onto the bed and you are fairly certain there’s no way out of this one—he’s got your wrists pinned above your head and his legs locked around yours. You’re both a little out of breath.

“Yield,” he says.

You shake your head. “Never.”

His gaze flicks to your lips and back to your eyes. “Yield.”

“No.”

Something has changed. There’s an electricity and intensity that crackles in the air between you, possibilities blooming in both of your gazes. It feels a little like that moment by the elevator, but you’re afraid to hope, afraid to even wish because the idea of him wanting you still feels as impossible as capturing smoke with a net.

But the way he’s looking at you, the way his gaze keeps drifting between your eyes and your lips…that’s not nothing.

“Yield.”

You lick your lips, your heart beating wildly. “No.”

Is it just your imagination, or did his breath hitch when you licked your lips?

“Yield.”

God, he’s so close and you want him so badly.

“No.”

He looks again at your lips and this time, he closes the distance between you.

They call him Silvertongue—you’ve heard the jokes, you’ve rolled your eyes at all of them. But as he kisses you, you realize that there’s an element of truth there because only seconds in and you’re ready to sign away your soul to live under the power of Loki’s tongue. The slow, warm slide of it against yours, the way he guides your mouth against his, the way he lets out a soft sigh as he tastes you—you would give up everything if it meant you could stay like this.

“Yield,” he breathes against your lips.

“No,” you say.

He deepens the kiss, catching your lower lip between his teeth and gently tugging until you whimper and arch against him.

He still has your hands pinned against the bed, his grip unyielding when you try to wrestle them away.

“Let me touch you,” you say when he draws back. You want to touch him everywhere—run your hands along every muscle you’ve admired from afar.

“Then yield,” he says with a grin, his eyes flashing with devilish intent.

You consider this for a moment. You could give in—there aren’t really any stakes at this point and you’re pretty sure you’re both going to end up sleeping in his bed tonight anyway. But that glint of mischief in his eyes also promises some intriguing possibilities if you stand firm.

“No,” you say.

“Such a pity,” says Loki, though his expression is one of hungry delight.

His hands slip free of your wrists then, but they stay pinned to the bed by some invisible force.

“Cheater,” you say.

“I think this is only fair,” he says, his hands sliding to your hips. “I’m clearly the victor, am I not entitled to my prize?”

You shiver. “Your prize?”

“Yes.” He kisses down the column of your throat. “My lovely, lovely prize.”

“How can I be your prize if I’m also your competitor?”

“You think too much,” he mumbles against your neck.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Generally, it’s not.” He sits back on his heels between your legs, looking you over with satisfaction. “But in this case, it’s distracting you from more pressing matters.” His hands creep under the hem of your shirt, stroking the small of your back, thumbs tracing teasingly along the waistband of your pajama pants.

“Have I mentioned how much I enjoy seeing you in my clothes?” he asks. There’s a husky depth to his voice and a hunger in his eyes that sends a flood of arousal to your cunt.

“You have not,” you say.

“A casualty of too much thinking,” he says solemnly, his thumbs gently grazing the skin at your hipbones. “You look utterly delectable. I almost want to leave them on.” His eyes glitter with mischief. “Almost.” His hand strays to the bottom button on your pajama top. “May I?”

You nod. “Yes.”

He slips the button free and slowly makes his way up until your shirt is open. He carefully pushes the fabric aside, baring your breasts to his sight and touch.

You’ve never felt more beautiful seeing Loki stare at you, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and hungry. He trails one hand up your stomach and rib cage and slowly brushes a thumb over your nipple. You gasp and the sensitive skin puckers and stiffens as he palms your breast, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs as he lowers his mouth to your breast, his tongue and lips taking up the role of his hand, while his other hand moves to cup your other breast. You whimper, wishing you could run your hands through his hair. “That’s it,” he purrs, “I want to hear all the sounds you can make, my love.”

You rock your hips forward and arch your back as he lavishes attention on your breasts. It’s the most delicious kind of torture, having him so close, but not being able to touch him.

He’s taking his time, which you both love and hate. He feels so good, but you need him to touch you, you need to touch him, you need him inside of you. You wait until you can’t take it any more and breathe his name like it’s a prayer.

You wonder if this is what he was waiting for because with little more than a brief smirk and a wicked look, he starts kissing his way back up your chest and neck. You whimper when his lips meet yours and you can feel him grin as he kisses you. He fits his hips against yours, angling himself so that his cock rubs up against your clit just right and you moan into his mouth. You can tell that he’s big and part of you wants to savor the anticipation even though you feel like you might go mad if he doesn’t fuck you now. You rock your hips against him, trying to feel that friction.

His large hands frame your face, one hand sliding to cradle the back of your head so he can draw you deeper, the other trailing from your cheek to your throat.

Both hands soon stroke down your sides, lingering teasingly at the waistband of your pajama pants. He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband and you lift your hips. He slides your pants down maybe an inch and you can feel him smiling as he kisses you. You lift your hips again and your waistband creeps down another inch.

“Loki.” His name falls from your lips with a sigh.

“What is it, my love?”

“Touch me,” you breathe. “Please.”

You lift your hips again and this time, he pulls the fabric fully down and off your legs. He guides your legs apart and stares appreciatively at your bare cunt, his teasing expression replaced by a rapt awe.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

You believe him.

His hands stroke your thighs, seemingly in no hurry, despite your pleading whimpers and the way you arch against the mattress. He draws his thumb gently along your slit, barely grazing your clit.

“Do you know what an utter distraction it’s been sitting behind you?” he asks, tracing your clit in the slowest, lightest circle.

You arch upward, hands still bound by his magic. “Tell me,” you breathe, your hips rising to chase his hand.

“Every time you stood up, I could only think about bending you over the desk.”

You manage a sly smirk. “And here I thought you didn’t like me much at all.”

His thumb presses a little more against your clit and you moan.

“I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you,” he says, rolling his thumb in a slow circle. “I kept you at arm’s length partly as a matter of protection.”

For who?”

“You,” he says. “I’m not fully redeemed in some eyes and you being involved with a dangerous variant—”

“You’re not,” you say.

“Some would disagree.”

“Well, they’re wrong,” you say. “You’re not a dangerous variant. You’re Loki Laufeyson and I want you just as you are.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression and it makes you wonder how many people have told him that he can just be himself.

“You should be careful saying such lovely things to me, you know,” he says solemnly.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really? And why is that?”

“Because it makes me want to do very wicked things to you.”

You’re surprised you’re not shaking, you want him so badly. “What kinds of wicked things?”

“Oh, all manner of wicked things.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, his tongue swiping briefly against your skin. “Things with my mouth...” His thumb rolls over your clit again, his index finger teasing your entrance before retreating. “…my hands…” He drags his gaze over your naked form before locking eyes with you. “My cock.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. “So if I talk about how I think you’re really clever and funny and I find it unbelievably sexy, what sort of wicked thing would that merit?”

The intensity of his gaze makes you shiver again. He crouches down and presses another kiss against the inside of your knee, slowly moving upward. “If you keep talking like that, I’m not going to let you leave my bed for days.”

“You know that’s not a disincentive, right?” you say, sucking in a sharp breath as he nips at the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ve wanted you for such a long time, Loki.”

“I’ll make it weeks if you’re not careful.”

“Again, not a disincentive.” You gently tug at your bound wrists and find that they’re still firmly secured. It’s exhilarating, even though you really wish you could run your hands through his hair, especially if he ends up where you think he’s going.

“What else should I tell you?” you muse as he continues his agonizingly slow path along your thigh. “You know, half the reason I kept to myself was that I wanted you so much I was certain that I’d make a fool of myself.”

That earns you a few circles of your clit with his thumb, but his progress up your thigh remains slow. You have a theory about what might move the needle, though.

“I know you like to act like you’re this sort of barely reformed villain, but I think there’s more good in you than you’d like people to believe.”

This time, he moves up to the crease where your thigh joins your hip, close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath ghosting along your labia. His tongue traces a line along your skin and you briefly wonder if you’ll be able to hold it together enough to deliver the last part.

“And,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, “yesterday and today made me want you even more because I feel like I finally saw who you really are and you’re even more wond—”

Your words abruptly give way to a breathy moan because his perfect, skilled tongue has finally found its way to your clit.

You had a plan from here, but whatever it was has dissolved into nothing under the skilled caress of Loki’s tongue. You suspected he would be good at this from the way that he’d kissed you earlier, but you could not have imagined that it would feel like this.

“Oh my god, Loki.” Your thighs are already quaking. You tug again at the invisible bonds on your wrists, but they hold fast. Something about the way the bonds are keeping you gently stretched along the bed combined with how his large hands have your thighs spread open seems to heighten every sensation. There’s no wiggling away from him or adjusting yourself so that you feel more or less of the onslaught of his tongue on your cunt. You are completely at his mercy and you’re not entirely surprised that you fucking love it.

He slides a finger into your aching channel and your cunt shudders around the thick intrusion. The warm, roiling center of your orgasm starts builds in your hips with every stroke of his tongue, spinning faster and faster, like ocean winds whipping up into a hurricane. Your back arches and his tongue presses flat against your clit, and suddenly you know that this is going to be what takes you over the edge.

Loki seems to know it too, at least from the way that he presses his tongue more firmly against you, one arm slung across your hips to hold you in place. His other hand slides two fingers inside you, rocking and curling against that aching, tender spot.

You whimper, your hips bucking wildly. It’s so good and so much and you are almost there.

You look down at him then, his hair wild, hollowed cheeks flushed pink as his tongue works you over, his eyes closed like he couldn’t imagine anything more blissful than being in between your legs while you come undone.

This is ultimately what tips you over the edge. The storm that has been forming inside you is finally let loose and you arch your back and cry out in a wordless scream as your climax crashes into you.

Only then do the bonds around your wrists release and your hands fly down to grab his hair as your body shakes with pleasure.

It takes a moment for you to get your breath back and reacquaint yourself with the concept of speech, but when you do, you find Loki looking up at you, his expression pure mischief.

“And to think you wanted to sleep on the couch.”

“It wasn’t that I wanted to sleep on the couch, it’s that—” Your voice cuts off as his tongue starts stroking your clit again.

“It’s what?” he asks in between strokes, his smirk obvious in his voice. The lingering ripples of your orgasm are coalescing around the path of his tongue, tightening that coil in your belly again.

“Fuck—you’re not playing fair, you can’t just—” You lose your sentence to a low moan that rises up from your chest. “You can’t just—fuck, yes—you can’t…oh god, yes, just like that.”

His laughter rumbles against you as your hips start rocking against his mouth. How are you already so close?

“You can’t just—fuck—win an argument by—”

You’re trying to say that he can’t expect to win an argument by making you come and you think he might understand this based on how determined he seems to be to prove you wrong. His fingers curl again until he finds that soft, tender spot that is so often the key to your unraveling.

You have stopped trying to complete that sentence—you moan, your hands tangling in his hair, urging him on as the swell of your climax rushes up, inevitable as a tidal wave looming over a seaside village.

You cry out as it crests and breaks, falling down over you in a rush of tingling pleasure that feels like champagne and fireworks all at once.

“Now, what was it you were saying, my love?” he asks as he releases your clit a moment later. “Something about how I can’t just win an argument by making you come? I couldn’t quite hear you over the sound of you coming completely undone on my tongue.”

“Oh, you think you’re so smart,” you say, giving him a stern look as he crawls up your body.

“You know what I think?” he says, settling himself on his side next to you. “I think you liked submitting to me.”

You shiver before you can even think about hiding it and his smile turns decidedly vulpine.

“You did, didn’t you? You liked having your hands bound and being completely at my mercy while I licked your pretty cunt until you came undone in my mouth.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” you say.

“I am enjoying it the correct amount.”

You realize your hands are now free to explore his body and you tug at his pajama shirt. “I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you say.

He gives you a wicked grin as he lets you pull his shirt over his head. “Yes, perhaps it’s time we even things up.”

You pull the shirt away and rake your eyes over him greedily, your hands following the path of your gaze. He is as perfect as you imagined, unfairly beautiful in the dim light of the bedroom.

You hook your thumbs into the waistband of his pajama pants and lower them an inch, a cheeky parallel of how he teased you earlier. His lips curl into a sharp smile when he realizes what you’re doing.

“Interesting strategy.” There’s a bit of a growl in his voice, a rough desperation that makes your cunt clench. “But I think you forgot that I have the upper hand here.”

He raises his hand and with a twist of his wrist, his remaining clothes dissolve in a shimmer of green and he is bare before you.

Your breath catches in your throat. His cock commands your immediate attention, nudging up against your thigh—he’s big, as you suspected, but completely bare and rock hard, he somehow seems longer and thicker than he had when he was grinding against you.

He pulls you into a slow kiss as you reach for his cock. You wrap your hand around him, delighting in the silky hardness of him, the way he throbs in your hand and the low groan he makes as your hand moves from base to tip and back, the way his hips thrust along with you. Your cunt clenches in anticipation.

After a moment, though, he places his hand over yours, slowing your movements.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He rolls on top of you and you’re not sure that you’ve ever felt anything quite as wonderful as the heat of his bare skin and yours pressed together. This feeling means intimacy, a closeness that you’d longed for but never expected even in your wildest daydreams.

He pulls you into a kiss, slow, soft, and languid, like you have all the time in the world and he intends to take it. It’s decadent and dreamy and perfect.

But the heavy weight of his bare cock resting against your stomach combined with the ache between your legs—an ache that would be so perfectly soothed by the hard column of flesh currently throbbing against you—proves to be a force too powerful to resist for very long.

You cant your hips against him, snaking one leg around his waist, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He does.

He braces himself on one hand, the other sliding between your bodies to rub his cock along your slick folds. He positions himself at your entrance, waiting for your breathy plea to begin to ease himself slowly into you.

He fills and stretches you in the most wonderful way, but even more than that, he feels like home. The thought strikes you quite suddenly and you’re not entirely sure about everything it means, but you know it’s good and right.

He pauses for just a moment, seeming to savor the feeling.

“You feel better than I ever imagined,” he says.

You quirk an eyebrow at him. “You imagined?”

He gives you a hungry smile as he leans in to kiss you. “Like I said: it has been an utter distraction sitting behind you.”

His rhythm is slow and easy, like he wants to take his time learning every inch of you and memorizing how you react to his touch. His mouth moves over yours in a slow kiss that’s somehow both languid and demanding, his tongue gliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm of his hips rocking into you. His cock bumps up against that sweet spot inside of you that his fingers had teased earlier, each stroke inching you closer to bliss.

He shifts the angle of his hips so that his pubic bone grinds against your clit and it feels so good you almost see stars. You can feel your orgasm building, your cunt growing slicker and tensing around his thrusting cock.

He draws back to look at you, eyes hazy with a loose, dreamy kind of pleasure.

“Do you have any idea how good you feel?” he breathes.

You are shaking. “Loki, I’m gonna come.”

“I know you are,” he purrs. “Let go for me, let me feel you, my love.”

With two more thrusts of his hips, you unravel.

He groans as you tremble around him, but mostly, he watches your face, rapt by the way you throw your head back against the bed and gasp his name like it’s the only thing that will save you.

“You’re beautiful when you come,” he breathes. “Absolutely stunning.”

He waits until you catch your breath before he kisses you again, slow and sensual. His hips are still rocking in that beautifully slow rhythm and you don’t know how it can still feel so good.

He keeps moving against you, his touch and his low murmurs of praise invoking a symphony of sensations. He presses deeper and your body sings with every thrust, your muscles tensing and tightening around him like you never want him to leave. Your climax swells again and you come with a whimper, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it.

You want him to come, want to hear the sounds he makes and feel his sweet, hot release burning inside of you.

“I want you to come for me,” you breathe.

He grins at you. “Oh, I will, but not yet. You’re not done yet.”

You whimper. “Loki—”

“Two more, my love, two more and then I’ll come for you.”

Somehow, you give him three. By the second one, he’s panting and his words have become rough, his voice a growl as he utters some of the filthiest praise you’ve ever heard. The third builds quickly after that and you know instinctively that you’re going to take him over the edge with you this time.

You fight to keep your eyes open against the tidal wave of pleasure blooming again in your hips. You need to see him come undone.

As in everything else he does, he’s unfairly beautiful—he throws his head back, letting out a low groan that you can feel all the way to the tips of your toes. His cheeks are flushed, a few ink dark curls plastered to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can feel him emptying himself inside you, his release hot and hard won.

It seems to last a long time and it’s another minute before his hips slow to a halt. He kisses you, so soft and sweet it would almost seem chaste were it not for the fact that his cock is still throbbing inside of you.

After a moment, he slowly eases out of you, rolling over onto his back, his arm snaking around your waist and pulling you to him like he can’t bear to be parted from you even for a moment.

You curl up against his side, your legs tangling with his. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours before resting your clasped hands on his heart.

You could fall in love like this, you think sleepily to yourself.

You don’t know it then, but you’re right.

Time moves differently at the TVA, but a couple years later, there’s a ring in a box on your desk.

Loki likes a spectacle and you’d daydreamed about a traditional wedding, but when you talk it over, you both agree that you want to do something different, something quiet, something just for the two of you.

“I do think we should tell Mobius beforehand,” you say to Loki.

“Isn’t the point of eloping that no one knows until after it’s done?” says Loki.

“Yes, but I feel like we could make one exception,” you say. “If we’d done a full wedding, I would have asked him to give me away.”

Loki’s gaze softens a bit then and he pulls you close. “All right. But we only tell him right before we leave. The man can’t keep a secret.”

But Mobius doesn’t seem terribly surprised when you tell him—in fact, he seems far more concerned about your wedding gift.

“I didn’t have a chance to wrap it yet,” he says. He’s retrieved a large picture frame that had been propped against his desk, though he keeps it turned away from you. “So…this also requires a bit of an overdue confession for context.”

You raise your eyebrows. “A confession?”

“A confession,” says Mobius.

“Will I be angry about this?” asks Loki at the same time you say, “Is this like a go to jail confession or a misdemeanor confession?”

Mobius gives a good natured chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “God, the two of you. Always so dramatic. No wonder you ended up together.” He takes what feels like an unnecessarily long drink from the coffee mug on his desk. “It’s not bad, I promise.” Another sip of coffee.

Loki sighs. “He always does this,” he says to you. “Have you noticed? Whenever he has something that you want to know, he stalls and drags it out just to torment you.”

“Okay,” you say, “but you jumping in to bicker with him probably doesn’t help.”

“I’m not bickering,” says Loki. “I’m simply pointing out that he’s stalling—”

“What was it you were saying, Mobius?” you say brightly, nudging Loki with your elbow.

Mobius’ eyes twinkle. “See,” he says to Loki, “I always liked her. It’s a good match.”

You don’t have to look at Loki to know he’s rolling his eyes, though he also makes a point of surreptitiously pinching your ass, a detail you hope Mobius doesn’t notice.

“Anyway,” says Mobius, taking a deep breath, “it was pretty clear to me from the start that you liked each other. And you also seemed absolutely determined to get in your own way.” He points to Loki. “Especially you with your whole stilted Asgardian prince thing.”

Loki frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Mobius sighs. “Anytime you like someone, it’s like your brain gets a factory reset and you get all overly polite and courtly.”

Loki scoffs. “I don’t do that at all.”

“You do. It’s deeply weird. You’re like a mannerly robot.”

Loki turns to you. “Darling, tell him he’s being absurd.”

You reach over and squeeze his hand. “You did call me ‘my lady’ a couple of times in the early days.”

Loki sighs and looks back at Mobius. “What was your point in mentioning this?”

“Well,” says Mobius, “you seemed pretty determined to get in your own way, so nothing was happening. And eventually I got sick of all of the pining, so I decided to take matters into my own hands.”

“What do you mean?”

Mobius pauses, a hint of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “There wasn’t a breakthrough with Berlitz that weekend. What there was was a surplus in the overtime budget and a high priority indexing project for Archives.”

Your lips part as your brain slowly puts the pieces together. Mobius’ eyes twinkle.

“Wait,” you say, “you lied to us?”

“I did not lie,” says Mobius, his demeanor suddenly becoming very serious. “That would have been wrong.” He nods at Loki. “Also, it would’ve tipped him off and that would have ruined the whole thing. I simply failed to mention that the cart of files that I gave you needed to be sorted for indexing for the Archives department and I peppered in a couple of unrelated things about Berlitz.”

“But the office was empty that weekend,” says Loki.

Mobius snaps his fingers. “Right. I did make some adjustments to the schedule that weekend.”

“And the disturbance that prevented her from returning home on Saturday night?”

Mobius spreads his hands wide and grins. “All me, buddy. Paid G-21 five hundred bucks for that one.”

Loki pauses for a moment and then looks at you. “I don’t think I can be mad about this. I’m genuinely impressed.”

“I mean, I can’t argue with the results, but Jesus, Mobius, you could’ve just set us up on a blind date,” you say.

“Ah, but that’s not as fun,” Mobius says. “Plus, it wouldn’t have made for as good a wedding gift.” He turns the frame around and hands it to you both.

It’s both your timecards from that pay period, neatly framed side by side. Your eyes well with tears and Mobius smiles.

“Honestly, I’m just relieved it’s not a jet ski,” says Loki.

“He's deflecting,” you say to Mobius in an exaggerated whisper.

“I know,” he whispers back.

But you can’t help but notice that Loki’s eyes are brighter than normal.

“Okay, now get out of here,” says Mobius. “You’ve got a wedding to get to.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re wearing a simple white dress and standing with Loki in front of a time door, your hand clasped in his.

“Technically, we don’t have a supervisor’s approval for this,” you say with a wry smile.

He looks at you, eyes dancing with mirth. “I had Mobius sign off on the paperwork while you were getting ready.”

Your heart swells and your smile is so wide that you feel like your face might split in two. “Then hurry up and marry me, Laufeyson.”

He grins and tugs you through the time door.

-------

But wait! There's more: I don't have a masterlist for this, but if you enjoy these idiots, check out Daylight, a sort of sequel.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #tva loki x reader

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vivwritesfics · 7 months

Text

Sweat, Baby, Sweat - MV1

Singapore is hot, incredibly hot. So, what do you do when you sweat through your shirt? You borrow your simp of a teammates shirt.

Max Verstappen x RB Driver!Reader

1.6K

Masterlist

Singapore was Y/Ns favourite track. It was taxing, but it was her favourite. High adrenaline and incredible heat. Anything could happen out there on the track.

If anywhere was going to end Red Bulls reign of dominance, it was Singapore. Y/N L/N and Max Verstappen had worked together, teammates in harmony, to keep the winning streak going.

On the rare instance Max wasn't on the podium, Y/N was in his place. More often than not they shared the podium, spraying the champagne with the biggest grins on their faces.

Only twice that year Y/N had gone out in Q2, not making it to Q3. When that happened, she couldn't face Christian, couldn't look at Max. Nobody was a bigger critic of Y/N than Y/N herself.

Singapore was hot, hot, hot.

As Max and Y/N did those little press videos (for the life of me I can't remember what they're called SOMEONE HELP PLS) Y/N was sweating. Several times while they filmed, she was pulling her shirt away from her neck, trying to get at least a little bit of air.

Sweat beaded on her forehead. She had long since taken off her Red Bull hat, too hot for that extra fabric on her head.

The press video was hard to get through. Y/N had gotten through at least three bottles of water before they finally finished. While they filmed, Max kept looking at her, frown on his face. Clearly, he was concerned.

Actually, all of the Red Bull team was concerned, but none more than him.

As soon as they'd finished filming, Y/N ran off to the bathroom. She did her business, splashed some water on her face and smelt the inside of her shirt.

It wasn't pleasant. The Red Bull shirt was such dark colours, no wonder Y/N was having trouble. She'd have to change before she and Max got on with the next round of press.

Y/N rushed off away from the press and the cameras. She ran by a concerned Max, who tried to grab her by the arm, and past the Red Bull team. "I'll be back in ten minutes," she said to Christian as she ran past.

Y/N made her way back to her hotel room. It wasn't too far away from the track, and she had almost all of her friends (aka, the other drivers) on the same floor as her.

When Y/N first started in F1, driving for Toro Rosso, there was a mixed response from fans. At that point, the fans were mostly older men and their sons. Their reactions were a mix of sexualising her and slut shaming her. Most had fears that she'd distract the rest of the grid by sleeping with them all before every race.

But the F1 Fans had grown used to her. And they loved her. They loved her as much as they loved Carlos and Pierre and Magnussen. They loved her as much as they loved every other driver on the grid.

Once in her hotel room, Y/N got changed into another Red Bull shirt. She didn't have many left, certainly not enough for the next three days of the grand prix (if things were keeping up the way they were).

After getting changed Y/N quickly checked her phone. Messages from Max and Christian, her manager reminding her of the next bit of press she had to do and her parents wishing her luck on the qualifying.

By the time Y/N got down to complete the press interview, she was already sweating. Anxiety bubbled up in side of her. What if she smelt bad? What if the cameras picked up on her pit stains?

Before the interview started, Max nudged her with his elbow. "Is everything okay?" He asked her, keeping his eyes trained forward.

Max had always been considerate when it came to Y/N. He knew what she had been through at the start of her career, the things she had to deal with from the fans. He was more aware than anybody that it was still going on. If Y/N was caught having fun with any of the drivers, they'd ridicule her online.

"Yeah, Max, I'm fine."

Y/N made it through the day in that shirt. She went to bed that night in only her underwear to try and keep cool.

By breakfast that morning she had already begun to sweat. Not through her shirt, not yet. She made it to lunch before she had to get changed.

Before the qualifying, Max pulled her to one side. Out of the prying eyes of any camera, Max grabbed her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. Once again, she wasn't wearing her hat, making it easier for him.

"Something is going on with you. You keep disappearing," he said to her, not loosening his grip. And he wouldn't until she told him what was going on.

Y/N shook her head. "I'm okay, Max, really."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Just tell me!"

Letting out a sigh, Y/N looked up at him and pulled his hat from his head. She placed it on her own and smiled. "Is it hot in here, or is it just me?"

"It's just you."

Max's flirting had been really subtle since Y/N became his teammate. He hadn't wanted to toe the line, didn't want to receive the repercussions of trying to date his teammate.

Qualifying was horrible. Y/N swore in all the years before it had never been this bad. The heat was distracting and she was out in Q2, taken out by Lance fucking Stroll.

Y/N was fuming. There was only one person who could comfort her. And he was currently driving around the circuit with the fastest lap.

Y/N's post qualifying interview was short. She answered every question with one word answers, her face like a slapped ass. As soon as the interview was over she was off to her drivers room to sulk.

She was only granted two minutes to herself before there was a knock on the door. Christian didn't wait for an answer before he walked in. "How are you doing?" He asked her, leaning against the door.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders. It was far too hot to think.

"Well, whatever it is, have it sorted by tomorrow," he continued. "And, come and celebrate with your teammate."

The next day went much the same. Y/N sweated through breakfast and, by the time she got to lunch, she was having to change her shirt.

But there was one problem. She didn't have any shirts she hadn't already sweated through.

With nothing else to do, Y/N tucked her hands into her armpits and walked towards her boss. "Christian," she muttered almost timidly. It wasn't like Y/N to be timid. There wasn't room for it, with her being a woman in the sport.

She took him into her drivers room and made an embarrassing confession. She couldn't look Christian in the face as she told him how much she had been struggling in the heat and that she had no more shirts left.

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Well, I know for a fact Max has another shirt. I'll go and grab it for you," he said, sparing her the embarrassment of telling somebody else.

When Christian returned with a shirt for Y/N she was quick to change. She put on some more deodorant and pulled Max's shirt over her head. Lifting the collar to her nose she breathed in. Max. It smelled of Max. It smelled amazing.

When she walked out of her drivers room, there were stares. She wasn't much aware of the stares she was getting, her eyes searching for one person and one person only.

Max didn't know what to do when he saw her. The shirt was slightly too big, hanging down to her thighs. It was oversized on her, the short sleeves almost at her elbows. Wow. That was all Max could think. Just wow.

He couldn't take his eyes off of her. He watched as she lifted the collar of the shirt to her nose and smelt it yet again. His heart fluttered. Wow. Just wow.

Y/N turned around and spotted Max hidden behind a team of engineers. She wove her way around the engineers, approaching him. "Thanks for the shirt," she said with a smile.

Max didn't know how to respond. He kept staring at herm unable to take his eyes off of her. It was struggle before she was wearing his clothes, but now Max didn't stand a chance.

When Y/N took his hat from her head, he finally looked at her face. "It suits you," he managed to say. She was irresistible. It was almost too much for him.

No, it was too much for him.

"Fuck it," Max whispered under his breath. He placed his hands on her hip, catching Y/N off guard. Max wasted in time in leaning in. He pressed is lips to hers in a somewhat awkward kiss.

But it didn't take Y/N long to get with the programme. She pulled the hat from her head and wrapped her arms around his neck. Closing her eyes she deepened things, leaning into him.

When she finally pulled away, Max couldn't stop staring at her.

"I've wanted to do that since we became teammates," he whispered, taking the hat from Y/N and placing it on his head.

"What stopped you?"

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danveration · 3 months

Text

Sleep well, amour Pt. 2

Parings: Alastor x reader

Summary: After falling asleep to his voice, you wake up and get confronted by Alastor. Later, you walk in on him sleeping.

Word count: 1523

Warnings: Mention of Alastor eating and k*lling a deer

part one

A/N: PART TWO IS HERE!!! I had SO many options wracking my brain on where to take this, but I picked this one! I hope you all enjoy it :’) let me know if you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it. Also, I’m currently working on all the requests I got :) as well as part 2 to that-no-good-first-man-on-earth

You wake up, blinking and looking around. Momentarily forgetting where you are.

Shit. You fell asleep in Alastor’s recording room. Thankfully, he isn’t here right now.

Before you could get up, you notice a purple blanket on you. It seems to be the one that was on his coat hanger. Did Alastor put this on you..? The thought has you smiling and your cheeks reddening.

Alastor’s voice sure does have an effect on you. You look outside to see what time it is, but remember that it’s Hell and the sky is always the same shade of red. You’re going to have to get used to that.

Getting up, you put the blanket back on the hanger and look around some more. It feels some-what intimate right now to be in his space when he’s not around. You wonder how long you’ve been asleep for.

You walk over to his table and notice a red “play” button on his radio equipment and are tempted to press it. It surely won’t cause any harm to hear what he was talking about when you were asleep. You press it and listen.

“Haha! For any sinner, I know it’s a tempting question. But I-“ The recording fast forwards. “Nevertheless, I find it quite amusing that this technology box thinks he is on any sort of level to me! Call me crazy but the sinners have been taaallkinggg, and they think he sounds quite obsessed.” He laughs, knowing Vox is probably listening.

You smile at his voice and find it funny how he is a bit of a drama queen when it comes to his radio broadcasts. You know deep down he doesn’t actually care about the whole situation with Vox, but it’s still funny how he entertains it.

Looking to your right, you see a mug that has “Oh Deer” written on it. There seems to be a bit of black coffee still left in the mug. The “deer” reference made you giggle. You’ve always wondered about his past and how exactly he is part deer anyhow. Oh well, It’ll reveal itself with time.

You’re looking at all the other buttons on his equipment, wondering what they do, when all of a sudden you hear light footsteps on the other side of the door. It’s most likely Alastor. Nobody would willingly go to his room without permission.

The door opens slowly and in steps Alastor. You notice how he opened the door quietly, to not make make much noise. As he still assumed you were asleep. You smiled at that.

He looks ahead and sees you, immediately smiling. “Ah! My dear. You’re awake!” He claps his hands together, his cane leaning on his side.

“Hey Al. Um.. about what happened I-“ You start.

“Ah, ah! No need to explain yourself, sweetheart! Don’t go giving yourself a headache.” He cuts in and laughs.

He looks down at you and says, “you just find comfort in my voice, don’t you?” He asks, with a smug smile.

Your eyes go wide and you stutter. Of course it wasn’t the most secretive thing. Still, you didn’t think he actually knew.

“U-um. Well..” You say.

He tilts his head to side as if saying, “Go on…”

There’s really no getting out of this. Plus, you don’t think Alastor would actually care. He’d probably just find it funny.

“Yeah, I do.” You admit. “I find comfort in your voice, of course I do! I just.. I don’t know.”

You aren’t sure what to say, it’s a tad embarrassing.

Alastor begins to laugh.

“I certainly could tell! I find it quite amusing if I do say so myself.” He says.

He definitely doesn’t mind it, he has a soft spot for you. But he’s also a bit confused on why you even do. He knows his radio voice is unique, but nobody ever commented on it bringing them comfort. They usually scream and run away when they hear him. You’ve been there long enough to see him kill and do so many things that people describe as “horrible, satanic, terrifying” but you still find comfort in him nevertheless? He thinks it’s absolutely adorable!

“Amusing?” You ask.

He nods and says, “Amusing, darling! I mean.. you know who I am, do you not?” He laughs and continues. “Though you still find comfort.. now that’s an interesting fact, don’t you think?”

You shy away, looking anywhere but him. You’re comfortable around him, of course, but you’re a tiny but embarrassed of this whole situation. You know he is definitely loving his though.

He places a finger on your jaw and guides your head back to look at him.

“Uh, uh, dear. There’s no need to feel shy! I never said it was a bad thing. I’m truly honoured!” He says, smiling down at you.

You and him have been getting to know each other for a while now and you’ve just been going deeply and deeply more interested in him. You almost laugh at yourself because you sometimes act as if you did when you alive, how you obsessed over fictional characters and “fan fiction.”

You look at him and say, “Well, that’s good then.” You chuckle.

“Mm, it is isn’t it?” He says.

He thinks you’re absolutely pathetic, but in a good way. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you, this new sensation is something he never wants to get rid of.

———————————————————————

Later that day, Charlie wanted you to pass a message on to Alastor about the hotel reservations. You knew he was in his room because he mentioned that if you needed him, he’d be in there having some dinner (aka, deer). Which he has in his half room half forest. You really wonder how on earth he even did that. The wonders of being a radio demon!

You’re at his door, lightly knocking. You wait a few seconds but you don’t hear anything from the other side.

“Al?” You question while knocking again.

“Hm.” You think.

You aren’t sure if you should go in or not. Sure, the thing Charlie told you about could wait but you also wanted to make sure he was okay. What if he.. choked or something? You’re sure the radio demon could handle that but you just want to make sure.

“Al, I’m coming in.. okay?” You say while knocking once more.

You slowly twist the knob and push the door open. Peaking in, you see him on the other side of the room, in a chair.

“Alastor, are you alr-“ You stop yourself when you notice his eyes are closed.

Closing the door behind you, you walk up to him.

He’s currently sitting in the chair, his arm on the table and his head resting on his hand. He looks so peaceful. His mouth isn’t smiling and his face just looks so.. relaxed. You’ve never saw him like this before. He mumbles occasionally and his ears twitch every so often as he sleeps. You aren’t sure how he finds this position comfortable, but you smile at it nonetheless.

You don’t want to disturb him so you leave, now relaxed that you know he’s okay.

Right before you grab the knob of the door, you hear, “Y/n?”

You whip your head back and you see him standing up, looking at you with his smile.

“Did you need something, dear?” He asks, as if he wasn’t just dead asleep a second ago.

Of course, it makes sense he is a light sleeper.

“O-oh, no. Charlie just wanted me to tell you that the renovations went well and that the guys who inspect the place will be here tomorrow!” You say. “Sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Ahh, alright! And nonsense! You couldn’t disturb me.” He says.

You look at him and smile.

“You know, you could join me if you want! I was just resting and then going to have some dinner.” He offers.

You perk up but then remember that Husk assigned you a task of picking up crates of whiskey for the bar.

“Shit, sorry. I can’t. I have to go get more alcohol for the bar.” You say with a frown.

“More? If I remember correctly, we just got new shipments in.. last week?” He says with a laugh. “Though I’m not surprised we ran out again. Husker is a busy man. Well, my dear. Some other time, then!”

You notice him looking back into the forest, eyeing a deer.

“Yeah, some other time.” You smile. “Have a good dinner, Alastor!”

He smiles back at you says, “Oh I will.” He chuckles, his radio eyes making an appearance as he looks back the deer.

“You have yourself a lovely day, sweetheart!” He says with a wave.

“You too!” Waving back, you then open the door and leave. Once you leave you hear shrieking on the other side of the door, definitely the deer that Al was eyeing.

You’re excited to have more encounters with him, and even take him up on the dinner offer! You remember him mentioning he wanted to introduce you to his friend, Rosie. You’re looking forward to it.

#my works #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor altruist #alastor imagine #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor the radio demon x reader #hazbin hotel fan fiction #:alastor

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reidmotif · 8 months

Text

Behind Closed Doors

Summary: Reader and Spencer are known to be a "tame" couple at work. They get fed up and decide to change how people see them.

Request: Reader and Spencer (in an established public relationship) where they don't do any PDA and you can hardly tell they're a couple. Reader and Spencer get offended, and decide to fool around to get caught.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warning: Reader POV, established relationship, semi-rough sex, dirty talk, heavy making-out, unprotected sex, semi-public sex

Word Count: 4.8k

Dating Spencer Reid, in a word, could honestly be described as a dream.

When I’d started a career at the BAU, the last thing on my mind was dating, let alone dating my coworker, but Spencer Reid had subtly woven himself into the corners of my heart with his idiosyncrasies and musings, all without my awareness- and when he'd asked me out? Saying ‘yes’ was the easiest thing I’d ever done my entire life.

He was ridiculously old-fashioned, and I loved it. He insisted on dinner dates and opening doors for me at any possible opportunity, and I was happy to let it happen. He was a gentleman at every turn, and made me feel special in ways no one had before. If I wasn’t already hopelessly infatuated with the man prior to our relationship, I certainly was now.

A year of dating, a year of loving Spencer Reid, and I honestly couldn’t see my life without him. We’d grown our lives around each other in little ways at first, and it resulted in us being tangled up in the sweetest way imaginable.

And while my memory isn’t as capable as my boyfriend’s, I can recall in perfect clarity about how fucking good he is in bed. It shouldn’t have surprised me like it had the first time we had sex, but when he had me pinned down to his mattress, pounding into me unlike anyone before him, touching me whilst whispering dirty nothings in my ear, I knew I was a goner. It was simply another facet of Spencer Reid that further cemented my enduring captivation to the man.

Of course, there were rules when it came to our relationship, considering that even for a blissfully happy couple, we still worked together. Spencer loved having his hands on me, whether it was innocent or not, but when it came to the BAU and public displays of affection, there was a mutual understanding between the two of us that some things were simply kept private.

Which is why as we stood in the bullpen, side-by-side, we exchanged horrified looks when the surprise seminar that morning was about “inappropriate workplace relationships”. To our knowledge, we’d always kept the romance to a minimum in the office, stealing a kiss here and there when no one was around, or a squeeze of the hand, but nothing beyond that. However, as the moderator for the training began, we both sighed a breath of collective relief as she brought up some suspiciously specific scenarios, realizing today’s seminar was not in fact about us, but rather our coworkers, known for their raunchy telephone escapades, two of our coworkers who were most definitely not in a relationship.

As we trickled out of the room, exchanging giggles about the very awkward display we were made to watch just now, a very mortified Penelope Garcia approached us.

“Who blabbed?” She asked, adorably frantic as Spencer and I simply smiled and shrugged.

“Wasn’t us.” Spencer said, a bit and gesturing to me and him. He put his hand on my shoulder and I instantly felt relaxed with the comforting weight of him on me. I gave my own chuckle, naturally bringing my hand up to touch Spencer’s as I responded to Penelope.

“I mean, you and Derek aren’t exactly quiet about what you do over the phone.” I said, a little mischievously. “I mean remember when Strauss picked up and-” I started, only to be met with Penelope placing a distressed finger over my lips, hurrying to silence me before I finished my sentence.

“Shh! I thought we promised to never speak of that godforsaken incident ever again!” Penelope whisper-shrieked, only to be met with my grin.

“My bad.” I say, while trying to soothe Penelope. I then got a little serious, moving from Spencer’s subtle touch to get closer to her. “It’s not that bad, Pen. I’m sure everyone will forget in due time.” I said, in my most assuring tone. Unfortunately, Penelope didn’t seem very swayed.

Derek walked to where we were standing and chatting, coming to protectively wrap his arm around a very miserable looking Penelope.

“Did I just hear you say ‘it isn’t that bad’?” Derek said, using air quotes for his imitation of me, laughing as he pulled Penelope closer to him. He continued, “Because from where I was, you and boy genius looked pretty worried for a second.”

Spencer answered a little defensively, “I mean, obviously.” He replied. “We’re the only ones in the BAU in a public relationship and it’s a surprise seminar on inappropriate relationships, why wouldn’t we think it’s about us?” He explained, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head a little.

“Because you two don’t even look like a couple!” Penelope said, still sorrowful from her unexpected callout. “Of course it’d never be about you two!”

“What?” I say, now matching Spencer’s defensive tone from before. “It totally could be about us! And we do look like a couple.” I say, crossing my arms and standing beside him now.

“Sorry pretty girl.” Derek speaks up, “But Penelope is right. I don’t even think I’ve seen the two of you hold hands or kiss around any of us.”

Spencer sputtered a little at that, “Obviously! We’re at the workplace!” He says, in a higher pitched tone, fortifying his stance against Derek’s allegations. "It's common to not show PDA in professional settings."

“True love waits for nothing, Einstein.” Derek teases, and then he laughs again. “Pipe down, Reid. I’m only joking.” Spencer seemed to retract his opposing stance reluctantly, but then Derek added, “You and (Y/N) shouldn’t worry about being appropriate in the workplace, you know? You’re both more than proper when you're in or out of here.” He said, winking, speaking with a knowing tone.

Spencer groaned at that, but before he could retort and deny Derek’s assessment of our relationship, Derek whisked Penelope away, presumably to console her further over today’s events, leaving me and Spencer just standing there. He looked a little on edge, and I placed a hand over his shoulder, squeezing it softly. I could instantly sense the words, on some level, had gotten to him, and wanted to nip his self-doubt and nervous spiral in the bud before it could even begin.

“You know he was just joking, right?” I say, speaking gently.

“I know.” Spencer responded, a little bitterly. “I just.” He stopped, taking a breath before continuing. “I just hate that’s how they see us, you know?” He says, frowning.

“Well, trust me, Spence.” I say, in an attempt to cheer him up. “This relationship has been anything but proper from the moment we’ve been together.” I say this with a small smirk, hoping he’d catch onto the scandalous undertones of my words, which he did.

He smiled a little, before murmuring, “Thanks.” I smiled back, and let my hand drop from his shoulder again.

“C’mon, we got a case.” I say, and he dutifully followed me into the round-table room, the previous interaction with Derek seemingly wiped away from his mind for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t until a few days later, in the comfort of Spencer’s apartment, (which was honestly ours, at this point) where he spoke up about the incident again. He was lazily playing with my hair as I was sprawled on his couch, my eyes closed with my head in his lap, a documentary of Spencer’s choosing playing in the background. Truthfully, I was more focused on his fingers lightly trailing over my scalp, the sensation lulling me into a state of deep relaxation and serenity, rather than the droning voice of the narrator, until his voice broke my thoughts.

“I just don’t know why Derek would say that.” He remarked, out of nowhere.

“Say what, baby?” I say, opening my eyes slightly. I tried to remember if we’d mentioned Derek at all tonight, and when my memory came up short, I squinted, trying to think, “What are we talking about, again?” I attempted to actually look at him from my lower angle, reading his expression for any clues.

“You know.” He says, continuing to play with the silky strands of my loose hair, “The thing about us being a boring couple.”

Memories of the interaction came to mind, and I nodded and let out a noise of realization. “Ah, yeah. From the sexual harassment seminar.” I closed my eyes again, and laid back in his lap. “What about it, love?”

“It didn’t bother you?” Spencer commented, and I opened my eyes yet again, to see the face of a man who clearly hadn’t brushed off the comment like I thought he had, days ago.

“I mean, not really, baby.” I say, carefully, trying to not offend him. “But it’s okay if you felt bothered- but I really do think Derek didn’t mean anything by it.” I say, moving out of his lap so I could better see his face.

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, quirking his mouth to the side. “I just hate that they think we’re boring or-”

“Even though we both know we definitely aren’t?” I say, laughing a bit.

“Exactly.” He responds, with a little bit of a smile. “I just wish we could somehow, I don’t know. Stick it to them? Does that sound petty?” He says, chuckling now, and rubbing the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.

“Not at all.” I say, quickly. “But it’s not like we can just, you know, start sucking face in the bullpen.” I joke, with a giggle.

“That we cannot.” He replies, his mood seemingly a little more uplifted from when we began our conversation. “Still.” He says, pursing his lips.

An idea came to my mind, and I grinned a little at the thought of it. I wanted to make my boyfriend feel better, to let him know at the very least nothing about him bored me in the slightest.

“Spence.. what if we did anyway?” I say, coming closer to him with an excited lilt in my words.

“Make out in front of all of our colleagues?” Spencer replies, with a chuckle. “(Y/N), I love you, but no way.” He says, immediately shutting me down, but I shook my head.

“No, like more than that.” I respond, quickly, as the gears in my head begin to turn. “What if we like.. pretend to have sex in a closet, let them think they know what’s going on in there, and walk out, totally unscathed.” I continue, a playful glint in my eyes.

It sounded absolutely crazy, but I could tell he was definitely considering it, especially susceptible to an idea like this one after what had happened a few days ago.

“But we wouldn’t actually be having sex- right?” Spencer says, cautiously. “Just… pretending?” He adds, adorably, biting his lip.

“Yeah.” I respond, instantly, soothing his worries. “Trust me, having sex in a closet in a federal building seems like a pretty solid fantasy, but I’m okay with leaving that to our imaginations for now.” I say, smiling a little wildly. “So is that you agreeing to it?” I question, looking at him eagerly.

“I guess it is.” He says, the look on his face now matching the enthusiasm on my own, and he leaned over to plant a soft kiss on my lips. I immediately melted into him, moving to straddle his lap, smiling into each press of his lips against mine. His hands went to my hips, a broken moan escaping him as I felt myself move against a fast-forming bulge underneath me. He breathlessly pulled back, licking his lips.

“Mm." He said, breathing a little heavier now. "What would you say to a practice round for our pretend session tomorrow- you know, just to get it right?” He murmurs, feeling his cocky grin against my lips.

“Do you even have to ask?” I retort, smirking.

My words barely left my mouth before he flipped me onto the couch, leaving me giggling delightfully and sighing with pleasure, as I felt him start a trail of wet, hot kisses down my neck, eliciting soft moans and whimpers that only spurred him on to do more to me.

I closed my eyes with a dazed grin on my face as he continued his actions, knowing he’d take care of me tonight. Spencer Reid, without a doubt, was definitely the best boyfriend I’d ever had.

That morning in his apartment, Spencer was all smiles, even more touchy than he was normally if that was possible. He languidly wrapped his arms around my waist as I brushed my teeth, placing little kisses on the back of my neck as I tried not to laugh with toothpaste in my mouth.

“Someone’s happy today.” I spoke, or at least attempted to speak, whilst he attacked any exposed skin of mine with his soft lips.

“Mm.” He grumbled deeply behind me, never once letting up on the task he’d delegated to himself: to somehow kiss every inch of my body before we even left the apartment.

“Maybe I’m excited about what we’ll be doing today.” He replies, clearly very satisfied with what we’d decided the previous night.

There was a closet in Quantico, just off the hallways. It wasn’t an active hallway bustling with people, but oftentimes agents would come and go through there, and we both decided it provided just enough privacy so that people wouldn’t actually try to come into the closet- but open enough that at least one or two people were bound to hear us, and hopefully ease any concerns anyone had about Spencer and I being a “proper” couple.

I giggled. “You know Spence.” I move away a little to spit my toothpaste out and rinse my mouth. “You’re a bit more of an exhibitionist than I pegged you for.” I said, a giggle in my voice.

He wrapped me up in his arms, bringing me as close as he possibly could. “Sure I am.” He mumbled in a sarcastic tone, kissing the top of my head.

I smile, speaking into his chest, trying to hold back my laughter. “I don’t hear you denying it.”

“Shhh.” He said, before letting me go with a smile on his face. “We’re not even actually having sex in the closet. It doesn’t count.” He called out, biting his lip with a boyish smile, the type that made me want to jump his bones here and now.

“Whatever you say!” I respond, with a sing-song voice, flashing him a grin before going to get changed for work.

Throughout the day, I could see Spencer just itching to carry out our plan. He kept making those eyes at me and I’d shake my head, silently communicating that now wasn’t the time. I could see him grumble and lean back in his desk chair, barely able to focus on his work. I giggled at the thought. My genius boyfriend, unable to do simple tasks because the idea of faking sex to get back at our coworkers rendered him stupid.

As Emily would say, “An IQ of 187 slashed to 60.”

Finally, after lunch, and less eyes were on either of us, I subtly caught his gaze, tilting my head in the general direction of the closet, and he nearly leapt from his seat. I silently thanked the Gods above that he didn’t draw anyone’s attention, what with how eager he was acting, as we quietly made our way towards the closet. As soon as we were out of the bullpen, and the long, empty hallways of the BAU, he laughed as he unexpectedly stole a long, passionate kiss from me, his lips pressing against mine insistently. I pulled away after a few seconds, thrilled.

“What was that for?” I ask, with a dazed grin on my face as he continues to walk me to the place of our imminent rendezvous, nearly dragging me there by a firm grip of his hand in mine.

“I can’t kiss my girlfriend?” Spencer retorts, smugly.

“Oh, you can kiss her.” I responded eagerly. “I am not complaining whatsoever. Just curious." I said, squeezing his hand lovingly.

He quickly pressed his lips against mine one more, so quickly I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it. "I'm just excited, I think." He responded. There was a puerile smile on his face, as he led me further and further away from any of our colleagues and towards our final destination.

As he opened the closet door, he shot me one final look.

“You’re actually okay with this, right?” He asks, surprisingly soft, a stark contrast to his previously excited nature.

“Second thoughts?” I respond, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no.” He said, laughing. “I just want to be certain that you’re good with this.” He implores, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles absentmindedly. He gave a sigh, biting his lip. “I know you’re doing this for me and I-”

I immediately silence him through interruption. “Spencer. I want to do this.” I said, softly. “Please.” I add, conveying that while, yes, this was for him in some roundabout way, pretending like I wasn’t absolutely exhilarated at what we were about to do would be a gross misrepresentation of the situation.

He seemed to relax at that, grinning a little bit. He let out a little breath of air.

“Come on.” I urged. “Don’t you wanna make sure the team never calls us dull again?” I said, smirking and egging him on the best I could.

He nearly shoved me into the closet as he opened the door, with a laugh. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

He placed me in front of him, and we stood face to face in the cramped space. I could feel his breath on me, hear the beat of his heart and I knew that there was no part of me that was hesitant about this. On the other hand, Spencer seemed a bit.. confused. His smile faded, before he knit his eyebrows together. I watched him bite his lip, before pressing them together in a straight line.

“How do you fake sex in a closet?” He paused. “Do we just.. moan?” He said, tentatively, looking to me for direction.

I decided to just go for it, giving an almost pornographic moan. “Oh, yeah! Right there, oh!-”

He quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. “(Y/N), what the-”

I removed his hand with a giggle. “Come on." I urged. "Be loud, it’s what’ll work.” I say, grinning, before letting out a higher pitched moan, attempting to recreate what I normally sounded like during sex. “Yes, Spencer! Please! Please!” I moaned, closing my eyes and really getting into what we were attempting to recreate.

I could feel Spencer watching me, and heard him breathe before moaning out himself. “Yeah, you like that, you whore?” He groaned out, a little flatly, but groaned out convincingly, nonetheless and I could tell he was enjoying himself.

“Yes! Yes!” I nearly screamed out. “Fuck, you feel so good.” I moaned, in an exaggerated manner. “More, please!” I said, trying to beg just as much as I did when Spencer was actually fucking me.

We continued this back and forth for a minute or two, and I grinned internally. Anyone who happened to walk past the closet would’ve definitely heard our faked passion, and to be honest, I was into it. Having people know how well Spencer treated me, it made my heart jump, and I could feel myself clenching around nothing at the thought. My eyes were shut, as to immerse myself in the fantasy more, and my moans only got louder, pitchier, more desperate with every passing second.

It wasn’t a few moments later that I realized that I was the only one making noise, Spencer going quiet, and I noticed the absence of his soft breathing that was there previously. I opened my eyes, to find an incredibly wide-eyed, embarrassed Spencer, looking right at me.

“Shit, I’m sorry (Y/N).” He said, awkwardly shuffling. “I didn’t think- it’s just- your moans sound so good and-”

I knit my brows in confusion at his words before my eyes trailed down, revealing the strained fabric of his slacks, his cock tenting inside them at an alarming rate. His eyes met mine as I scanned them back up to look at him, and he stifled a groan. “Fuck.” He murmured.

“Look, you can just leave.” He said, a little defeated. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I can't go out like this." He said this while already moving away from the door, motioning for me to leave.

My lips parted as I shook my head. “No.” I whispered, stepping even closer. “Fuck me. Let me help you." I murmur, placing both my hands on his shoulders and rubbing them soothingly, before starting to kiss his neck sweetly, with feather-light touches.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “(Y/N). Don’t tease me right now. Especially right now.” He whined out, craning his neck as I planted soft kisses on the skin. The rest of his body leaned into me, desperately seeking the relief my touch brought him.

When I began sucking at a particularly sensitive spot of his, I earned a throaty moan from him, his head thrown back, and his hands grabbing my waist and pressing our bodies flush together.

"I'm not teasing." I mumble against him. "I want you."

“Fuck. I’m serious. I’m this close to just-” He spoke, his voice low, but I didn’t want him to be logical about this. I wanted this now. I interrupted his words with a deep, long kiss.

It seemed to work, his lips crashing into mine, over and over again, like this would be the last time we could ever savor the taste of the other again. As grabbed my face, lips moving ferociously over mine, his grip shifted so he could pin me up against the wall. I moaned into his mouth as his hands trailed down, squeezing the fat of my hip unexpectedly, and he used it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, lazily exploring my mouth with his own. When we finally pulled back for air, I whispered against his lips.

“Do it. Please.” I croaked, already grabbing the fabric of his shirt. “Please, fuck me Spencer. Use me. I need you right now.” I wanted to sound as desperate as I felt, the heat between my legs growing unbearable at this point, my clit already wildly throbbing with need.

“We’re in a closet. Someone could catch us." He quietly groaned out, but I could see the restraint leaving his body with every moment he looked at me. He looked wrecked already, hair strown about messily, his lips red and swollen, chest moving up and down. The only sounds in the closet at this point were my pants and his heavy breathing to accompany it. He took another look at me, my eyes blown out and pleading for him, and it seemed like every barrier in his body suddenly broke.

With no warning, he spun me around so my back would be towards him, pushing me up against the wall as he hurriedly worked away the button of my jeans. I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter with anticipation, and when he worked my underwear down my legs, I could sense that I was already dripping, even though he'd barely touched me.

He seemed to be doing the same undressing to himself, working at his slacks with his deft fingers, and I whimpered when I felt his heavy cock slot between me, the head of his tip running through my folds. I could feel how needy I was for him in this moment, and he seemed to enjoy the sight of my legs spreading just for him. He leaned over to let his finger trail over my slit, collecting some of my arousal on my finger. My thighs immediately quivered at the sensation, a loud moan escaping my lips.

I felt him grab the back of my skull, forcing me to bare my face to hip.

“Open.” He commanded, and my mouth hung open, almost as if I was under a spill. He roughly shoved his finger into my mouth, and I understood, closing my lips around them, swirling my tongue around his digits, praying that he’d fuck me soon.

“Good girl.” He said, smoothly, and I nearly fell over from how weak he was rendering me, but a steady grip on my hair kept me upright. When his finger was sufficiently cleaned, he removed it and kissed me once more, smashing his lips aggresively into mine. I kissed him back, but in that moment, there was really only one thing I wanted.

“Spencer, please.” I panted in between his never ending kisses. “I need you inside me.” I moaned, trying to convey the enormity of my desire for him. He chuckled at my pleads, pulling my hair so I’d be forced to look ahead of me instead. The anticipation absolutely killed me, and I brokenly moaned again, about to beg once more before he suddenly thrust into me, eliciting a yelp from my lips, which I immediately swallowed down as he began to jut his hips against mine.

“That’s it. Go on, take it.” He whispered, roughly. “You were made for this, weren’t you?” He questioned, cruelly. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He goaded, going harder and harder with every word he uttered to me in the closet, my desperate attempts to stop my whimpers not being received well by him.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He sneered, continuing to buck against me. “Didn’t you want the whole team to know what a whore you are for me?”

I tried to keep my restraint, a low mewl escaping my lips, but that seemed to incentivize him to go even faster, the sounds of our skin slapping against each other filling the room, the smell of sex overtaking every one of my senses.

“Come on, baby. I wanna hear you.” He then groaned once more, and I could feel how bad he wanted this, how badly he wanted me. The thought made me clench around him, which elicited another moan from his mouth. “I want everyone to hear you.”

It was like a dam broke through me, and in an instant I was moaning, louder than I had that whole time in the closet, my noises marked by a carnal desire for this, for him.

“Please, oh god. Spencer- I need to cum, please.” I begged, my mouth hanging open as he fucked me dumb.

He chuckled at my loss of prudence, rewarding me accordingly. He moved his fingers down to where we were joined, beginning to rub fast, tight circles around my clit.

“Go on, then.” He murmured. His hips never once wavered, and I could feel his grip on my hips, so tight I was sure there'd be bruises tomorrow. “Come for me.”

I did, nearly toppling down as waves of my orgasm hit me, convulsing in his arms as I registered the feeling of him continuing to slam against me. I braced myself on the wall, letting him take me the way he wanted, and I could hear his broken moans and whimpers echo throughout the closet.

"Fuck. You're so good." He groaned out, and I let out a low whine at that, which transformed into a sob as he bottomed out in me, making me feel so full. In an instant, I could feel warmth flooding my deepest point, his hips beginning to slow down and still entirely. He pulled out of me, still panting.

“Holy shit.” He murmured, still panting, watching as the evidence of what we’d just done dripped down my thigh. He helped me out of my bent over position as I smiled at him, dazed.

“Holy shit, indeed.” My voice came out hoarse, scratched up from how loud I’d been screaming for him.

“Remind me why we don’t do this again?” He said, grinning and breathless.

“Something about professionalism?” I offered, still absolutely fucked out as I tried to regain some semblance in my appearance. One look at Spencer and I, and it wouldn’t take long to figure out exactly what we’d been doing.

“Yeah, somehow after that, I don’t really care about professionalism.” He said, before pulling me into one last, idle kiss. He felt safe, and it felt so good to be with him like this.

“Good.” I murmured, when our lips finally separated. “Because I don’t think I’d be able to survive if we only did this once.” I said, giggling.

“Wanna go again?” He offered, raising an eyebrow and running a hand through his hair.

Let’s just say that the closet became a frequent spot of ours after that. And with how loud I was screaming his name every single time? It’s safe to assume everyone else knew about it too.

EDIT: read part 2 (where they get caught!) here!

sorry about the wait this time around! i try to keep my fics within a week of each other, but i've got some life commitments to attend to now. (unfortunate). i hope you guys enjoyed this though!! <3 likes, reblogs, comments, are all greatly appreciated. thank you for all your support<3

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caramelcal · 10 months

Text

you'll always be my girl - t. nott

summary: theodore nott was your brother's best friend, and had been the boy of your dreams since you first lay eyes on him. everyone knew that. so it's a surprise when you suddenly get a boyfriend, and theodore is determined to show you why he's the better choice. always has been and always will be.

warnings: all characters are of age. smut, cheating. all that fun stuff. theo is reader's brother's best friend. reader pined for YEARS but it faded away when she got with her boyfriend. she's a bit of a pushover. virgin!reader. dom!theo. sub!reader. modern au. lots of swearing. arguing. praise kink. overstimulation. dirty talk.

note: this prob isn't great, i don't write smut often idk

"Mate move! Move! He's behind that wall." Theodore shouted, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tapped the keys on his controller trying to be revived faster.

"Fuck! I can't find him," Lorenzo had replied, a similar tone to Theodore's as their eyes were both glued to the screen in front of them.

It was only the two of them at Lorenzo's tonight, something that wasn't overly uncommon for the two of them to do. Despite being close with the rest of their group, Theodore and Lorenzo spent the most time together just the two of them. Theodore practically lived at the Berkshire's house half the time nowadays, finding it much warmer than his own.

Honestly, it was more shocking if he wasn't at the Berkshires.

"Over there! Shit!" Lorenzo cursed, the loud, violent tapping of buttons ensuing at a more alarming rate from the two of them.

"Where's his-"

"Theo! Theo! The-" A red alert came over the screen, letting the two boys know that they had lost the game. They both put their controllers down, Lorenzo using the palms of his hands to rub his eyes in frustration, and Theodore throwing his head back with a groan.

"We really ought to get better at this mode, or we need to just stick to doubles," Theodore said, looking over at his friend who chuckled with a nod.

Mr and Mrs Berkshire were both out for the night, away on holiday, or business or whatever, Lorenzo didn't tell Theodore all the details. Theodore didn't particularly care anyway, it didn't make a big difference to him.

Lorenzo's parents were lovely to him, always greeting him pleasantly, always happy to see him, and telling him he was welcome at any time. They had even unofficially allocated one of the spare bedrooms in their house to Theo, who was eternally grateful for the escape it gave him.

"Enzo, I'm home!" Theo's attention was directed towards the door, where he heard someone kicking off their shoes by the door before walking towards the living room.

Y/n Berkshire. Lorenzo's younger sister. He was honestly surprised he hadn't noticed earlier that you weren't there. Even though you normally tucked yourself in the small library in the house, he had been here for hours and hadn't heard a peep from you.

Sure, you were normally quiet, but normally you at least said hello.

While growing up with Lorenzo, Y/n was never normally far behind. You had adored your brother when you were younger, and even as you both got older you remained close. Theodore on the other hand, had elicited a different sort of adoration from the younger girl. One that brought a blush to your face every time he spoke to you, or even looked in your direction.

It had been that way for years, and honestly, Theodore couldn't remember a time when you had been able to look him in the eye for longer than five seconds before getting too shy and looking away.

Footsteps echoed towards the living room, and the second you came into view, Theodore's eyebrows furrowed. Your body was covered in a silk dress, your hair styled perfectly and makeup on your face. You looked fancy, and Theodore could not imagine what you possibly could have been doing to require such an appearance.

There certainly weren't any parties on, if there had been, Lorenzo and Theodore would have been the first ones to know.

"How was your date?" Lorenzo didn't even look back at his sister as you sat down on the other couch, a sigh of relief as you sunk back into the comfortable material.

A date? The question had Theodore baffled. You had been on a date? With who? It certainly made the appearance seem more logical, you looked pretty. You had made that effort for a boy.

"It was good," You nodded your head, not looking over at your brother either as you grabbed the book that sat on the coffee table, flipping it open to the page you had dogeared earlier on that day so you could continue reading.

"You were on a date? With who?" Theodore asked.

"Oh, hi Teddy," You looked up from your book, sending a small smile to your brother's best friend, only just noticing him, "Adrian Pucey, he's in your year."

Teddy. The name you had called him since you started to talk. Everyone had called him Teddy when he was growing up, including Enzo, his parents and yours, but you were the only one that didn't grow out of it.

"It's Theo, y/n/n," Lorenzo had corrected you, as he always did, knowing how much Theodore despised the nickname now that he was older. What he'd never tell your brother though, was that he didn't mind it when you did it. It felt natural coming from your lips. He couldn't ever imagine you calling him Theo, or, god forbid, Theodore.

"Yeah, sorry," You mumbled, picking at the edge of your dress as you looked down at your lap, the book held in your other hand, a finger on the page you stopped reading on so you could keep your place now that you had straightened out the fold.

"Why are you going on a date with Adrian Pucey, he's…"

Theodore wasn't sure what to call him. Annoying? Arrogant? Not good enough for you?

"My boyfriend?"

"Your boyfriend?" Theodore echoed, his eyes almost bulging out of his head and jaw almost falling onto the floor. His tone was incredulous as if you having a boyfriend was completely out of the question.

"Well, that's new," Lorenzo murmured under his breath, not loud enough for you to hear, but loud enough for Theodore.

His tone let Theodore know that he, too, was not too happy about the arrangement. Adrian wasn't 'boyfriend material' and certainly not good enough for you. He was sleazy, and an average quidditch player at best.

"Yeah, is it so unbelievable that I could get a boyfriend?" Your tone -despite your word choice seeming a little sassy- was soft. Your eyes battered between the two boys, eyebrows furrowed as you sat forward.

Silence ensued between the three of you, your eyes still battering between the two boys, both of which didn't know what to say. It wasn't surprising that you could get a boyfriend, but your choice was certainly questionable. Frankly, they were too astonished to speak.

While Lorenzo had known you were spending more time with Adrian, he was hoping that it would fizzle away before labels got attached. He barely gave it any thought, thinking you wouldn't take a boy like Pucey so seriously. Oh, how he was wrong.

"I'm gonna head upstairs," You said quietly, sulking off the couch and quietly walking away, feeling a little ashamed that they seemed so surprised that you had managed to get your first boyfriend.

Theodore's eyes followed you, staying stuck to where you disappeared upstairs as Lorenzo broke the silence, breathing out some air, "Never expected that. Well, at least we know she's not pining over you anymore."

"Yeah, I guess."

…

It was less than a week later when Theodore was heading to quidditch practice, his bag slung over his shoulder, broom in his hand. He ruffled his hair with his free hand, breathing out some air as he prepared himself for what he could guess was going to be a pretty gruelling practice.

Granted, he could give himself some leeway, being the captain and all, but that didn't set a good example. They had a big game coming up in a few days and they needed to do well. There was little space for error, and Theo would make sure everyone was ready.

Hearing faint talking as he walked up to the locker room was odd, considering he was normally the first or second one there. He must've been running a few minutes late.

"-how you managed it, mate, I mean, between her being Berkshire's untouchable little sister and everyone thinking she liked Nott, you can understand why everyone's a bit surprised."

Theodore's hand halted its movement, not pushing the door open just yet as he listened in. They were talking about you.

"She just needed to know who the better boy was, didn't she?" He heard a muffled Pucey reply, "I certainly showed her."

The familiar feeling of anger began to bubble in Theodore's chest as he registered the words that came out of Pucey's words, and the laughter that followed them. Walking in, his hardened blue eyes immediately caught onto Pucey's, a silent warning.

Yet, all the smug cunt did in reply was smirk. That certainly didn't help the feeling of red, hot, anger that exploded in Theo's chest. Quidditch practice was going to be hell for him, Theo would make sure.

"Wait up!" An hour and a half later, the anger still hadn't faded from Theodore's system. His shoulders were uptight, his hand holding onto his broom with a deathly amount of force. It was a surprise the wood hadn't snapped yet.

Your light footsteps struggled to catch up with the thundering pace that Theodore kept. His eyes cast over to you beside him as you finally caught up, his hair still wet from his shower after quidditch practice.

"Can I talk to you?" You asked, looking at Theodore awkwardly. You never normally felt awkward around him, but from the way he was looking right now, you could tell he was mad, but that didn't mean you could let what happened slide.

"Mhm," He hummed in response, his eyes staying straight forward as he waited for you to speak.

"So Adrian was speaking to me and he said that you were going extra hard on him at practice. I understand that you and my brother aren't happy that we're dating but-"

"You came here to stick up for your little boyfriend?" Suddenly, Theodore had stopped walking, turning around so he was facing you. His eyes stared into yours, the anger in his voice rising.

He towered over you, making you crane your neck up to look at him, a drip of water from his wet hair falling onto your forehead. You cleared your throat lightly, not used to Theodore being in such a mood. Even if he was annoyed, he didn't normally talk to you like that.

"I- uh, yeah, kind of. I just don't think it's fair that you're punishing him. It was my choice to date him, he didn't make me."

"Listen, y/n/n, if Pucey had a problem with me, then he can come to talk to me, not send his girlfriend to sort out his issues like a fucking pussy," Theodore spat out Adrian's name like it was a disease on his tongue, his jaw clenching at the mere thought of you taking Pucey's side over his.

If you had any sense, you'd know to mind your own business. You had grown up with Theodore, you had known him for your whole life. Adrian had been your boyfriend for all of a few weeks and you were already choosing him over Theo? That was what wasn't fair, not a few more laps at training.

He saw the frown that made its way onto your face, and if he wasn't so angry at you and Adrian, then he would've crumbled. He knew you were sensitive, much more than most people, and the last thing he wanted to do normally was make you upset. Yet, if you wanted comfort then you could go to Adrian, especially after you tried to stick up for him.

Turning on his heels, Theodore began to walk away again, but it seemed you were a little more determined than normal.

"Come on Theo, you know it's not fair!"

That just about tips him over the edge. This was so unlike you, and it was all because of Adrian. You always went by what Lorenzo and Theodore said, but today you chose to stand up to Theo. You chose Adrian over Theodore and refused to let it go and now you were calling him Theo?

You had been reprimanded for over a year about still using the nickname, and a few weeks into having a boyfriend you suddenly dropped the name of endearment? That was enough.

"What was that?" Theodore stopped in his tracks the second the words had come out of your mouth, barely managing to get the words out between his gritted teeth. He looked over his shoulder at you, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"You know it's unfair."

"You have no idea what's unfair, y/n."

"I know making Adri do double the number of laps as everyone else is unfair! I know knocking into him with double the power as everyone else is unfair, Theo! You're his captain, you need to be fair!"

"Stop that." His tone was reprimanding, like telling you off for doing something unspeakable. He didn't like this one bit, you talking back to him. It felt like something had been shifted and he wanted it all to go back to the way it was.

It was your turn to let out clipped, sarcastic words. Something you would have never dreamed of doing to him; the boy you had pined over for years. Yet, all you could see was an immature, childish boy, not the guy you had liked for as long as you could remember, "Stop what, Theodore?"

"Stop calling me that."

You knew exactly what he was getting at. You always had an inkling that he enjoyed the nickname you refused to drop, given that he, himself, never told you off for it. You also knew he didn't like change, and that the idea of him and Lorenzo not being your number-one priority anymore bugged him. He hated that you had a new boy in your life.

"What? Stop calling you your name?" You replied, raising an eyebrow at him as he clenched his jaw again, letting out a dark chuckle as he started to walk away.

"Just fuck off, y/n."

You didn't bother to follow him.

…

You and the girls were bustling about in your room, doing all sorts of things. Some were getting changed, some were doing their makeup and some, along with you, were doing their hair. It was a Halloween party that practically half of Hogwarts was going to, and luckily for you, the house was only a few minutes walk away from yours.

Lorenzo and his friends were getting ready too, but you had chosen to keep your girls in your room, completely separated from them. Frankly, it was too much tension, and drama, and you didn't want that to stomp on your excitement for the party.

"Hey, y/n, do you have any snacks? I'm starving," One of the girls piped up, stopping doing her makeup to look at you in the mirror. You nodded your head with a smile, telling her you'd be right back as you headed down to the kitchen.

There was noise coming from the tv as you walked by the living room, letting you know that some of Lorenzo's friends were probably in there, taking a mental note to avoid. You wished that he had gotten the vibe to keep his friends in his room, but your brother was clueless sometimes.

He even seemed to be clueless about the fact that you and Theodore had been ignoring one another for the last three weeks, acting as if the other didn't even exist. With your arms full of all types of snacks, you left the kitchen, making your way back up the stairs.

Your eyes are on the snacks in your hand, making sure that none of them are going to fall as you walk, only to be halted by something being in your way. You had walked into someone.

"Oh, sor-" You cut yourself off as you looked up, making eye contact with intense blue eyes staring down at you. You narrowed your eyes.

"Y/n," He had acknowledged you for the first time, but not being nearly happy about it, his mouth in a thin, straight line, and his voice apathetic.

You mirrored his tone and body language, "Theodore."

He remained looking down at you, your pretty eyes looked up at him in disdain, a constant reminder of how you guys had last interacted with one another. He was still slightly mad, more irritated than anything, about the situation, and it was clear you weren't over it either.

It was so unlike you, and he hated that. While he wanted you to stick up for yourself more regularly, he hated that it only seemed to be him that you were being resistant to. It frustrated him to no end, that your relationship after so many years had changed so much in the blink of an eye.

He missed the way you looked at him with your doe-like eyes, so hopeful and kind and soft. Now, they were narrowed, almost as if a threat for him to say something. He hated that it was like you were trying to test his patience.

His mouth opened slightly, just about to speak to you, only to not get the chance, your bedroom door opening, "Y/n, c'mon! I'm hungry!"

In an instant, your eyes are no longer looking at him, but down towards the snacks that lay in a disorganised bundle in your arms, brushing by the taller boy towards your room. You spare no attention towards him, not a word nor a glance, leaving him alone in the hallway as you continue getting ready in your room.

It doesn't feel too long after that when you are all ready, all of you bundling down the stairs ready to go to the party. You know all the boys are now in the living room, and you would have happily walked by without entertaining him, but you knew you couldn't.

"Enzo, can I have some of the money mum and dad left?" You say, coming into the room. The boys are all ready too, but you know they won't leave until the party had already started for forty-five minutes at least, too busy playing video games and not wanting to be around for the awkward start most parties have.

You adjust the wings that are on your back as you walk towards your brother, white boot heels hitting off the wooden floor, the girls falling shortly behind you.

Theodore's eyes flicker up to you casually, but when he catches sight of you his jaw almost falls off, the modest girl you are, with the shortest skirt on he's ever seen. If you turn around, he knows he's almost guaranteed to see the curve of your ass, driving his mind haywire.

You adjust your bright-coloured corset and wings once more. It's obvious that you're supposed to be a fairy, but Theodore knows you're no Tinkerbell. You're perhaps the sluttiest, most tempting fairy he's ever seen. His mind races.

Lorenzo scratched the back of his neck, "Kitchen."

You nodded your head, heading off to the kitchen as all the boys quiet down. Lorenzo looked down at his phone, as the girls all follow you out of the room, "Mate…"

"What?" Lorenzo replied as Theodore sat beside him, all the other boys engaging in small talk again.

"Are you letting your sister go wearing that? Surely you can't," Theodore's trying to keep calm, but his mind is practically begging Lorenzo to make you change. The thought of someone else seeing the curves of your naked thighs and the curve of your arse makes Theo want to die.

"Nah mate, it's not ideal, to be honest, but her mates are just…they call you all sorts and start screaming if you say anything," Lorenzo finally looked up at his best friend, and Theodore can tell that Lorenzo isn't very happy with the predicament either, "and y/n/n just doesn't listen anymore, so there's no point."

There was a point though, to Theodore anyway. He didn't care what your friends thought, or about this new attitude you had adopted since you started dating Adrian.

You're back in the living room soon enough, coming to say bye, but Theodore is quick to walk over to you, not looking very impressed. He speaks lowly, "You should go change."

"What? Why? Do I look bad?" You smooth down your skirt a little, looking up at him with your usual wide eyes, a crack in this new attitude you've been showing lately.

"No," He's quick to shut down any doubt you have about your appearance, "It's just a bit inappropriate."

"Oh, don't be a prude, Theodore," One of your friends overhears, piping up in your support.

"Go change," He paid little mind to your friends, looking down at your eyes and repeating his previous order.

"Girl, you look so hot, don't let him cramp your style," Another one of your friends joins in to support you, a hand on your shoulder as she began to steer you out, "now let's go before he has anything else to say."

The second he saw you being steered out the door and towards the party, he just knows that this night is going to be one of frustration.

His prediction was correct. Only an hour and a half later he was ready to get out of there, the strongest alcohol he could find in a glass with his hand wrapped around it. Purple strobe lights, people laughing, and loud music all seem to fade into the background as his eyes focus on you. He could tell Pucey was trying to rile him up, and it was working.

His hands have been all over your body: while dancing, while sitting down, just every second of this party, and Theodore loathed it. He hated that Pucey's dirty, sleazy hands were on your soft skin, exactly where they didn't belong.

He tried to ignore it, his eyes closing as he downed the rest of his drink, slamming it down on the table. He didn't know where any of his friends were, and honestly, didn't care. He didn't want to talk to anyone or be with anyone but you right now.

He hated that he was thinking about you like this. Lorenzo's baby sister. It was supposed to be the other way around, you were supposed to be the one obsessing over him, so why couldn't he get you out of his head? Why have you been the only thing consuming his thoughts for weeks?

"Hey there, love," A girl sat down beside Theodore, a thing he loved at parties normally. The attention was something that had him feeling smug, but he couldn't even bring himself to look at her. His eyes focused on you as he hears your giggle echo through the room as Pucey whispered something in your ear.

Nothing Pucey could say would ever be funny enough to elicit such a beautiful sound. It felt illegal that he was allowed to hear your laugh, never mind be the reason for it.

"You seem tense, Theo," The girl puts her lips slowly closer and closer to Theodore's neck, her voice quieter and slower as she teased her lips against his neck, lightly grazing it, "Let me help you."

The song that blasts through the speakers had Pucey pulling you up to dance, twirling you around in his arms until his hands thread through to hold your waist. You're facing away from Theodore, completely naive to the blue eyes that follow your every move.

Your boyfriend, on the other hand, couldn't have been happier to meet Theodore's cold gaze, a smirk coming to his lips as he looked down at you, then moving away slightly, only to bring a hand down on your arse.

That has Theodore on his feet immediately, hearing the yelp that you let out as he stormed towards Pucey, ripping him away from you and getting right in his face. He was taller than Adrian, towering over him too as he gets right up in his face, "Don't fucking lay a hand on her again!"

"Theo!"

"She's my girlfriend mate, I'll do what I want." Pucey only fuelled the fire of rage that burned in Theodore's chest. You seem frozen, unsure of what to do as you try and catch the attention of either boy, wanting this nightmare to end.

"Yeah, we'll fucking see about that," Before you could even react, Theodore's fist is making contact with Adrian's nose, and Adrian stumbled back for a few steps before his legs gave way underneath him and he was on the floor.

A gasp emitted from your throat in shock and horror, looking at Adrian as he groaned, holding his nose, red staining the skin. A hand grabbed your wrist, much softer than you had expected from the same fist that had just floored your boyfriend, and dragged you away.

"Theo-"

"We're going home, y/n."

The next thing you know is that you're at the front steps of your home, wanting to say something, anything. Yet, any time you took a breath of air before speaking, Theodore was sending you a look that had you shutting your mouth straight away. Something was daring in his eyes, something a lot more threatening than normal.

His grip gave you little opportunity to wriggle free, his other hand banging open the door, his foot harshly hitting it shut behind you before you are trailing after him up the stairs. He barely gave your feet any chance to keep up with him before you were in his room.

He only let go once you were in the middle of his room, the door shut behind you both. The room is dark, and you both are heaving out a breath. You can just about see Theodore's shoulders sag a little, his voice quieter as he spoke, "I don't like what the boy is doing to you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dressing like this," He stepped towards you, his fingertips grabbing the edge of your skirt as he continued, "acting like a slut, that's not you baby, you're normally so good."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies as he looked down at your eyes, soft for the first time in weeks, "I am good, I-"

"You think tempting me like this is good, baby? Wearing this outfit and dancing with another man's hands all over your body," Your stomach flipped at the pet name once more, your heart feeling as if it's going to race out of your chest.

Your throat feels blocked up as you watch every slight move he takes, feeling as if this moment is surreal; as if you're dreaming. His voice turned soft as he spoke again, "Where'd my good girl go?"

His hand caressed the side of your face softly, the pad of his thumb swiping over your soft skin and guiding your somewhat messy hair away from your face so he can see you more clearly. You had dreamed of this moment for so long, hoping that one day Theodore would reciprocate your feelings.

The feeling of his hands on you was so euphoric that no amount of dreaming could have ever made you feel like this. This was real.

"I-" You couldn't speak, your brain feeling as if it was going to overload.

You knew this was wrong. Theodore was your brother's best friend, you had grown up with him. He was off limits. You had a boyfriend. So why couldn't you find it in yourself to pull away from his grasp?

You felt as if you were getting pulled closer to his body. The temptation is so bad that no amount of self-control could save you now. You were a goner, you had always been when it came to Theodore.

Since you had been young, you knew that you would do anything for him. Anything so that he could give you this sort of attention, and make you feel like a princess. Your rational thoughts and morals should be pulling you away, but your heart aches for him, it always has.

"You gonna show me how much of a good girl you can be, angel?" He asked, almost as if he was trying to aid you in finding your words. You could only nod your head.

Suddenly, the familiar scent of cologne and cigarette smoke overtook your senses, his lips crashing against yours in a soft, but desperate kiss. His hands reached around you to pick you up, your hands going into his soft hair, grabbing onto the strands with your fingers as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Swiping his tongue across your lips, you opened your mouth, letting him deepen the kiss as he took steps towards the bed, lowering you down onto the bed. His lips are still connected to you, and you can feel your lungs begging for oxygen, but you don't want to pull away.

Theodore does first, his blue eyes meeting yours as you slowly manage to open your eyes, your lips parted as you breathe in, trying to fill your lungs with the oxygen they had been deprived of. You follow his eyes as he slowly kisses down your neck, then down the valley of your breasts, his hands pulling down the corset, and you're quick to aid him in pulling it off.

The feeling of his lips grazing over your stomach has you hitching in a breath, watching as his head slowly lowers down your body. Then, his head is nestled between your thighs, kissing the soft skin that isn't hidden by your skirt. The hair on his head tickles them, the skin so sensitive, so unused to being given this much attention feeling so good.

With a racing heart, you watch as Theodore pulled up slightly, wanting desperately for him to touch you where you needed him the most. You ached, a feeling in you that you had never experienced before. You knew that Theodore often evoked feelings in you that you never experienced with anyone else, but this was new.

"You sure about this, baby?" You nodded your head in immediate response, but that didn't please Theo. With a light swat to the inside of your thighs, he looked at your eyes with a slightly more serious expression, "Use your words."

"Yes," The word spilt from your lips breathily, "Please."

Theodore, with a satisfied smile, came up to your face, leaning over you and softly attaching your lips to his. It feels just as surreal as the first time, and it makes your heart race just the same.

With his mouth still attached to yours, you feel his fingers brush against the fabric of your panties, just over your clit, making you hitch a breath. His fingers move the light fabric to the side, his fingers teasing against your hole.

"So wet for me, baby," The praise isn't taken lightly by you, soaking up every inch of approval he gives you.

Slowly, he adds a second finger, his thumb pressing down on your clit as his fingers curl into you, making you let out a breathy moan into the kiss that he eagerly swallows.

Your back arches off of the mattress, and as good as it feels you need more. You need him, "Theo…"

The blue of his eyes meets your gaze as you whine. You can't help it, you're desperate for more, to feel him inside of you. To take care of you and this pressure you can feel building in your stomach.

You mumble something out, a feeble attempt at getting him to speed up the process without verbally admitting that you're desperate for him. He doesn't take the hint though, not that you ever expected him to. He was torturous, tempting you and teetering towards what you wanted, but keeping you on the edge.

"Please."

It's a whisper as you let out another moan, your fist clenching his hair in your hand, grabbing onto any part of him that you can keep from pulling away.

A ghost of a smirk came across his mouth as he raised an eyebrow, "Please what, baby?"

You could tell from the familiar look in his eyes that he knew exactly what you wanted, his fingers curling up once more as they stretched lightly, stretching you out. Your eyes screwed shut as you felt slight tears pricking at your eyes. It just felt so good.

"Please," A broken whisper escaped your lips once more as you let out another moan, his thumb roughly coming down on your clit as you tried to bring your hips up, feeling a knot form in your stomach. It was so unfamiliar and had you heaving for a breath as you grabbed fistfuls of Theo's sheets.

With a final thrust of his fingers and a pinch against your clit, you came undone with a strangled moan. Your face was tilted back, mouth open and eyes closed, your hips bucking up to chase your high. You looked unreal, and Theo couldn't get enough.

When he removed his hands from you, he was coated in your bliss, your eyes softly opening, half-lidded, looking as Theodore brought his fingers up to his lips, his tongue transferring the taste of you, sweet and blissful, into his mouth. Your cheeks were tainted red when you realised what he had done, shifting about on the mattress and casting your eyes down.

Yet, you don't get much of a chance when a strong hand reaches for under your jaw, pulling him back up to meet his eyes, "Don't go all shy on me now, angel."

He could see the slight fuzz in your eyes as you stare at him, and he loved it. He liked how, simply with his fingers, he already had you dazed. His hands were soon pulling down his trousers with ease, and lifting his shirt off with one hand, leaving him in only his boxers.

You could see the outline of his bulge, and it had you gulping. You didn't know how the hell you were going to be able to fit that. He was so much bigger than you had imagined, or expected.

"Don't worry baby, we'll take it slow," He was quick to reassure you, a smug smile on his lips as he brings his mouth down to your collarbone, lightly nipping the skin as he sucked. It was definitely going to leave a mark, but that's what he wanted. He wanted Pucey to see it the next time he saw you, trying to assert some dominance on the situation.

Once he pulled his boxers down, he was soon lining up his tip with your entrance, lightly brushing it against your walls. He couldn't help himself when he asked, "Has Adrian ever-"

He began, but you were quick to shake your head vigorously, giving him a sense of satisfaction. He watched as your eyes screwed shut, soft breaths falling from your lips as he asked, much softer, "Is this your first baby?"

Unwilling to admit it out loud, you hesitantly nod your head, confirming Theodore's suspicions. He only just managed to conceal his grunt of satisfaction at being the first one to see you this way. To be the one to ruin you.

"Don't worry," His head is just beside your ear, a hand coming to gently brush the hair away from your face so not a single change or twitch in your face could go unrecognised by him. He wanted to see everything, every reaction you had as he ruined you, as he made your face twist in a type of pleasure that was entirely unfamiliar to you.

Slowly, he began to push into your tight entrance, the feeling of your walls squeezing him making him want to release already, grunting. He can hear your breathy moans of pain and pleasure as he struggled to go slowly, watching as he disappeared inch by inch inside of you.

All he wanted to do was slam into you, to hear as you screamed in pleasure, but he controlled himself, gripping the sheets with his hands to remain his discipline. You feel tiny in comparison to him.

When he finally bottomed out inside of you, you let out a strangled breath, not used to this feeling of being penetrated like this.

"You feel like heaven, sweetheart," The praise fell from his lips as he grunted once more, one of his hands coming to hold the side of your neck.

"'m so full," You partially cried out, tears leaking from your eyes at the unfamiliar feeling. It felt so good, overwhelmingly so, that you couldn't help the water that leaked out of your eyes.

His mouth came to softly kiss the tears away, your hands coming up to wrap around his back to hold him close to you. You wanted him as close as humanely possible as you slowly became accustomed to the feeling of him inside you.

"You're doing so well, baby," The praise is murmured against your cheek, his eyes closed in pleasure, "Let me know when I can move."

It isn't long before you're giving him the green light and he rocks his hips back and then forward, going slower to start with and soaking up your moans and whimpers with his mouth. His thumb pressed against your clit as he began to go faster, making your moans get louder and you become more desperate.

His hips snapped against yours and you sob into his lips, your nails scratching down his back. His hands are everywhere, exploring every inch of your body and worshipping it all. He knew he could sit and caress each part of your skin and never get bored, feeling intoxicated by the softness of it.

You were like a drug, something he shouldn't touch, something that was supposed to be off-limits, but far too tempting to leave alone. He knew that from now on, he'd never be able to let go of you, never be able to keep his hands to himself.

Your moans were melodic to him, something that he could never get over hearing. He had never had sex like this with anyone before, always quick fucks to satisfy his needs, but this was different. He felt like the barrier was broken, that you guys were connecting on a different level. Something you could never go back from. He would never let you.

The look of your parted lips, mascara running down your cheeks with your tears and your hair messy was a sight that no man but him deserved to see. He could tell you were getting close, he was too, your walls clenching around him as your moans got higher in pitch and louder.

The tears roll down harder, pouring out of your eyes as you barely manage to get your words out, "Teddy- please."

The return of the nickname has him going harder, abusing your g-spot as he hit off it time and time again, igniting a flame in his stomach as he leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

"There she is," He whispered to you, his lips still against your forehead, "There's my good girl."

You came not long after that, walls convulsing as you came around his cock, moans loud as he found himself not far behind, quickly pulling out as he came over your skirt and bare chest, both of you panting and moaning, lost in the sound and feeling of one another.

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reiderwriter · 2 months

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Okay so I have a small req (Honestly this is more of an hc than anything-but I need to share cuz vshvskhbjks) I feel like Spencer is genuinely so perverted when it comes to his girlfriend??? like if you leave your panties lying around he IS swiping them and he is not ashamed like...he may not do much in public but in private he will grab a handful of your ass or tits when he can like.....In the early seasons, I feel like he'd be a little ashamed but s13+? hell no, especially when it comes to him getting caught being a lil perv gfkjk (FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF IT ISN'T YOUR CUP OF TEA!!!!)

A/N; Gave this one some ✨️angst✨️ just because I could, but YES TO PERVERTED SPENCER!! YES INDEED!!

Summary; You get to know your coworker well after a decade on the job. You get to know just how much he loves to touch you and just how much you enjoy his hands on you as well. But after prison, something is changed in Spencer Reid.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ Minors DNI. Masturbation (M, F), oral sex (F), hand job, mentions of somewhat public indecency, groping, grinding, etc, unprotected sex, PinV, creampie, dirty talk.

Spencer Reid had always been a pervert, and it took you six long, quiet months to figure that out.

When you'd joined the BAU after years of begging for a chance, you were a team expecting field-hardened agents, and for the most part, that's what you'd got. Hotchner was as bureaucratic as they came, Rossi had been at the institution as long as the concept of the BAU had, and the others had some serious qualifications to their names.

But Spencer Reid was the outlier. He was a bit timid in front of the others, always seemed to put his foot in his mouth when it mattered most and seemed to be patronized around the office a bit until it came to his intellect.

And you didn't quite know how to act around him until you got to know him very, very well.

A case in some state or the other had called for emergency motel rooms, unfortunate as some Nascar show or the other was rapidly filling up hotel room spaces everywhere. So, as the two youngest members of the team (and by far the most eager to please), you'd ended up rooming together in a double twin room.

“So, Spencer, what do you do at night to wind down? Relax after a case?” The motel door had swung shut loudly behind you an awkward three minutes before you started the conversation, and you needed something to break the awkward tension in the room.

“I… read, I guess?”

“You're always reading. What book is it today? Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy? Maybe Dickens?”

In response, he'd just awkwardly held up the book cover for a minute, leaving you to nod and let the conversation peter out. It wasn't the first time one of your conversations with him died out due to a mutual lack of skill, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Giving in, you grabbed your bag and headed for the small bathroom, a strategic retreat to pass the time without having to acknowledge that the teams resident genius was ignoring you.

Because he definitely was.

You'd been on the team for six months, and you couldn't quite figure out why he'd never so much as asked you how your day was. He'd be jovially talking with one agent or the other and would clam up as soon as you joined into the fray.

Spencer Reid was stuck in his shell, you'd been told. He was someone who didn't open up very easily, especially after his first few, very rough years in the BAU.

You let each concern roll off your back as you showered and cleaned yourself up after a day of dumpster diving for clues. Your next aim was getting out of the shower, dried, and into bed before you felt the weight of his disinterest in you settle any heavier.

“Hey I'm all done now, and I'm gonna hit the hay, so bathrooms all yours.”

“Thanks,” he said and immediately strode in, shutting the door behind him without another word.

You wished you could shake the man. You weren't exactly used to being so pointedly avoided by a peer, and it was honestly making you feel rather indignant. You wanted to grab his attention and hold it any way you could, so much so that your palms started itching.

The sounds of Spencer's shower interrupted your attempts to rest, so you set about organizing your things instead. Folding your shirts, you placed them in your go bag, taking inventory on how many fresh outfits you had left and how much laundry you'd have left to do when the case ended.

It could've been the haze of sleep, or perhaps just an early warning bell, but no matter how many times you counted, you always came up short by one pair of panties. It took another minute of blinking out the sleep in your eyes, becoming suddenly alert again, that you realized it was the pair of panties you'd been wearing before your shower.

“Fuck,” you sighed, trying to fill the deep pit of embarrassment opening in your stomach before it swallowed you from the inside out. “Fuck.”

When in doubt, you found it best to curse at least twice.

And just like that your coherent thoughts went out the window - a morning, afternoon and evening doing manual labor under the guise of a nice desk job would do that to any girl - and you found yourself opening the door to the bathroom without knocking first or even remembering Spencer Reid's presence in the room at all.

He froze in shock as you came face to face with him, shirt and pants open, his long cock in his hands and his face flushed with erotic shock as he rubbed up and down the length of his cock.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer I'm sorry I was- are those my panties?”

Rather unabashedly, your eyes hadn't left his crotch as he froze in fear at your intrusion.

“I'm not a pervert!” He shouted, still unable to let his dick go, so close to bliss as he was.

“You're madturbating into my panties, Spencer. What other label would you put on that?”

“You're really hot. It's hard to ignore. I don't usually do this, but they were in here on the floor, and I thought about taking them back out to you, but then you'd think I was a pervert for touching your underwear and then I imagined you thanking me and putting them back on right in front of me and my cock was so hard and you said you were going to sleep. Did you know most men masturbate eight times a week on average? Me doing this once while sharing a room with you for a week isn't statistically …that …bad. Why are you doing that?”

You'd been done listening halfway through and had somehow found yourself sinking to your knees. He'd rested his body against the bathroom sink, so you organized yourself in front of him, staring up at him innocently as you wrapped your fingers around his hand.

“I want to see what it was you were doing with my panties, Spencer,” You moved his hand up and down his length, slowly dragging the lacy material across each inch. “Please let me see.”

The empty shower kept flowing and the room was thick with steam as you kept up a steady pace rubbing up and downs Spencer's cock.

A sense of achievement hit you with each moan and gasp he let out. Every time his hips thrust up into your hand, each time his hand stroked your hair in thanks for your copious attention.

You'd finally gotten through to Spencer Reid in a way that you were about to make sure was mutually beneficial.

His moans got louder and harder to conceal with a bite of the lip as he got closer to cumming. He really was a pervert, letting his coworker jerk him off in a motel bathroom while on a case. He was practically begging for release.

“Cum for me Spencer. Make my face pretty, please please please.”

His eyes shot open wide as you stuck your tongue out, just in time to taste his cum on your lips. A few stray ropes hit your chin and cheek as well, with the majority staining the panties you'd come in to search for.

“Thank you, Spencer,” You giggled, wiping away his cum and standing yourself up to come face to face with him.

“Y/N, it won't-” You cut him off with a kiss that he eagerly returned hands, falling all over your body in his haste to feel every part of you. His tongue pressed into your mouth like he was a cartographer mapping out its caverns, desperate to learn each soft caress you returned off by heart.

“If you were about to say it won't happen again, I suggest you think again, Spencer. I want this to happen again. Regularly.”

You shut off the shower and turned on your heel, walking back out to the bedroom and out of the heat for a few minutes.

“You want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“And I'm the pervert?”

“You were using my panties and your hand like a fleshlight, Spencer. Yes, you are a pervert.”

“I'm a pervert but you still want to jerk me off?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

That's how it began. Your decade-long escapade with Spencer Reid. It wasn't that you dated. He was still unsure about how to approach you for another few months after that, but there was nothing like the relaxation of a few orgasms to really help you warm up to somebody.

For the first few years, a case didn't pass without one of you slipping into the others motel room for some late night entertainment.

You knew just how deep his fingers could hit inside you after only two weeks. You became obsessed with how well his cock could stretch you out, how his hands would gently rub around your clit in circles while you bounced up and down on his length. How he watched your breasts bounce with untold wonder in his eyes.

You most of all loved that his tongue was as eager to taste you as you had been that very first time to taste his cum.

Half the times he let himself into your room, he'd satisfy himself by eating you out lazily for hours on end, making you moan his name while you came on his fingers and tongue. Every flash of violet that he caught a glimpse of - that first pair of panties - drove him crazy.

Motels and hotels and once the back seat of an SUV after a long drive became your time to get closer to your coworker. You never once thought of bringing this physical relationship home with you, though, and it wasn't a continuous thing.

You'd had to take it easy when he got shot in the leg, not wanting to hurt him anymore. And again, when he'd gotten shot in the neck, though a few times he'd begged you to close his hospital door and help him out still.

And you'd both distanced yourself after Emily's death and miraculous resurrection. Surprisingly enough, you'd found your heart slightly twisted when he'd begged the team for help rescuing his girlfriend from a stalker.

But you always found your way back in his bed with his tongue pressed against yours and his cock buried as deep into you as far as it could go. In the decade you'd been sleeping with the secretly perverted and somewhat insatiable Spencer Reid you'd never gone longer than three months without his body in your bed.

Until he went to prison.

The weight of your grief at losing him was unparalleled. You'd been heartbroken when Emily had died, but it paled in comparison to the thought of his isolation. Penelope had to remind you to eat, Luke had to engage you in conversation to keep you talking.

Emily slipped a spare key to Reid's apartment to you somewhere around the three week mark, and you'd let yourself into a place you'd only ever heard described. You slept in his bed to feel his scent wrapped around you, touched yourself there to remind yourself that you were just feeling the loss of a sexual partner and friend and nothing more. It was lust and sexual frustration driving your depression. That was all.

Spencer came out different. Everyone did. On the surface, he was still kind, still a little bit nerdy, and he still wasn't the best at reading social cues, but there was an intensity to him that wasn't there before.

On cases, he'd wrap a hand around your waist and push a hand just slightly under your shirt while you introduced yourself to local detectives. He'd hug you at the end of every work day, breathing in your scent and telling you how tired he was.

His hand would firmly cover your thigh and not move the entire duration of any car ride, team dinner or family event, and he'd kiss the back of your neck and grope your breasts each and every elevator ride you took alone together.

Spencer Reid hadn't been able to keep his hands off of you for six whole months, and yet he hadn't actually touched you.

Every time you'd knocked on his motel door, he'd not opened it, and he hadn't once come to yours.

You'd expected him every day for a week after he'd first gotten out and had even explicitly told him so. You texted your address, invited him over, and sent him pictures of you in those infernal panties that you really didn't wear that often anymore.

He desired you still, you knew enough from brushing past him and feeling his semi push against your ass, you knew in every hug where he touched you just enough to know he wanted more but still had the control to pull away.

You knew that he only kissed your neck, because if he kissed your lips his tongue would wander all the way to your cunt and he'd be on his knees between yours making you scream his name in pleasure.

Spencer Reid wanted to avoid you, but he still wanted you, and after six months of celibacy you were tired of waiting around for him to finally crack.

Emily had never asked for the spare key back. With 10 years of dalliances under your belt, you were sure the entire office had caught on, if not before prison, then certainly after his hands took possession of your body after his release. She wasn't going to ask for the key back because that was like asking a question she probably would sleep better without having the answer to.

Spencer started his professorial work, and you finished some nights before he could manage the commute home, so it was easy to let yourself into his apartment for the confrontation.

When Spencer finally turned his key in the lock, he found you there on your knees on the floor in a matching violet set of lingerie. Not your originals, but certainly close enough - smaller, though.

“Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I'm just sitting here in my underwear for fun, Spencer. You should try it sometime.”

He frowned at your sarcastic reply but stepped closer to you, topping your head up to meet his gaze with a quick flick of his finger.

“I mean it, Y/N. Why are you here?”

“I…I want you to touch me again.”

“I touch you plenty, Y/N. I touch you here,” he traced your lips.

“And here.” His fingers fell to your neck, sweeping some hair off your shoulders.

“And a lot here, too.” He cupped one breast in his hand and gave it a squeeze, and you let your head rest against his thigh as he slipped a finger into your bralette.

“I want you to touch me more, Spencer.”

“How? How should I touch you? Be a little pervert for me and tell me, Y/N?”

Your breathing faltered for a second as he pinched your nipple and you bit your lip before you told him exactly what he wanted to hear.

“I want to feel your dick buried deep in my pussy. I want to cum on your tongue. I want you to stretch me out with your fingers and I want you to fill me up with your cum. Please, Spencer, I miss you so much.”

He said nothing but withdrew his hand from your chest and distanced himself slightly, turning his face away from you.

“Spencer, please, what's wrong? Did I do something-”

“Do you miss me? Or do you miss fucking me?” The words would regularly send you into an indignant stomp, and part of you was still begging you to let out a shout of “what the hell is that supposed to mean.”

But Spencer was frozen still in the doorway of his house, almost statuesque as a melancholic look overwhelmed his features.

Your courage drained your body as you stood up and pulled the shirt you'd earlier discarded back on.

“Spencer? Look at me, please.”

He did reluctantly, and that blank expression still filled his eyes with gloom.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him to the couch, sitting him down and wrapping yourself around him.

You say there, head pressed into his neck, legs straddling him as his arms slowly came up to pulling you back in. Your heart beat harder by the second, and you counted down the minutes as you worked up courage.

“I missed you so much I drove myself insane. I had to sleep here for a week straight after they told me you were put in solitary. Every day, I thought of your hands on my body and how much I missed seeing your fingers flipping through a book on the jet. I missed asking you what you were reading, and I missed convincing you to put the book down.”

You pulled your head up to meet his gaze and slowly let your mouth fall to his lips. It was slow, soft. An innocent peck in the context of your usual caresses. It spoke the words I miss you more effectively than your voice could, and neither of you seemed to want to part from the warm embrace.

“I missed you, Spencer Reid.” You spoke, cutting off your kiss as you grew more impassioned by his touch, breathing harder and speaking faster and faster now as you kept on.

“I missed you when you came back because you kept your hands on me. You let yourself enjoy my body in public but wouldn't let me share your bed in private. You hugged me, but you wouldn't let me hold you, and you have not once spoken about how you feel, you have not once told me that you are okay now or that you are not okay and you need my shoulder to cry on.”

He was silent until your tears sprung forth, and then he was everywhere around you, kissing the drops from your face, shushing you and whispering words of encouragement and thanks and love into your ears while he placated your breaking heart.

Because somehow you fell in love with the pervert who stole your panties and now you were sitting in a room with a mostly broken man, begging him to use you to feel whole again.

“I love you, Spencer. Please, please let me touch you.”

“I love you, too,” he whispered against your lips, hands finding your hips again as he finally pushed his tongue into your mouth.

His nails bit into the skin at your thighs as he forced you not to move, instead grinding up into you after another heated kiss.

“It was hard, but you kept me going. Memories of you, your mouth, your scent your wet cunt wrapped around my cock, you kept me alive in that place.” He worked you up with each dirty confession as his hands pushed the shirt back off your shoulders and bared the lingerie to him once again.

“Then I was out, and you were still the same as I remembered, but I was different, and I needed more from you. But I couldn't take more, and I didn't want to ask you to give more because I could not beg one more person to love me.”

“You don't have to beg, Spencer, I love you already, I love you I love you I love you.”

“Y/N, you don't understand. I am completely enamoured with you. I want to possess you, I want to keep you in my room, I want to have a hand on you at all times. I want to put a bullet in any man who looks at you because you are mine. I'm not a pervert, I'm a monster, and I'm going to hurt you.”

“Possess me, hurt me, keep me, Spencer, do whatever you want to me, I will let you. Just please don't leave me.”

Your teeth clicked together in his haste to recapture your lips again, his cock hard and already sprung from his pants thanks to two pairs of quick working hands.

He pushed aside your panties, and he was inside you, pressed to the hilt recapturing the place that was home to him.

“You picked this color for me. You wanted me to lose control and fuck you and you got what you wanted,” he whispered in your ear as you locked your ankles together behind his back.

“I did.”

“Good. I'm going to rip them shred by shred from your body so nobody else can see you acting like such a desperate wet cunt ever again.”

You let out a gasp at his words, and his tongue dropped back down your throat as he rutted into you ferociously.

“Spencer, yes, fuck me. FUCK!”

Your hips met his in a furious clash, his hand making their way around to your butt cheek as he aided your thrusting, pulling you up and down the length of his cock.

“That's it, look at your boobs bouncing for me, sweetheart. Your body knows when it's being fucked right, it knows when I'm here, and I'm the only one who can make you feel this good, right baby?”

“Yes, Spencer. Yes!”

His hand came back up to your clit as you met his hips more enthusiastically than before, fucking yourself on the length of him.

“You're going to cum on my cock. Show me how much you missed me, missed this.”

“So much, missed you so much, Spence….need your cum inside me, fill me up Spencer, please."

It took both of you only a few more desperate thrusts to reach the climax you'd waited half a year for. You convulsed on his dick, shuddering underneath him as he filled you with rope after rope of cum.

But when you had both caught your breath, you still didn't let go, still holding on to him desperately as of he'd vanidj in another second despite your confessions.

“Y/N…” he cooked into your ear as you buried your face in his chest again. “Y/N, we need to get you to bed.”

“I'm not leaving.”

“No, you're not. But you're not sleeping on my couch either.”

You pulled away just enough to watch his face as he dipped down for another sweetly chaste kiss.

Lifting himself up, and pulling his cock out of you, you whimpered a little at the loss of his warmth, but after rearranging himself in his pants, he pulled you up next to him and wrapped his arms around you in a bear hug as he slowly walked you back towards his bedroom.

“You really slept at my apartment?”

“I slept in your bed. I'm sorry, I know it was overstepping, but you were gone and I-”

“Missed me, I know.” His hands traced your spine again before cupping around your bare ass and hooking it under to touch your soaked cunt.

“How much did you miss me, Y/N? How did you spend your nights here?” His fingers once again hooked under the panties, but instead of pulling them to the side, he quickly pulled at the seams, and you heard a ripping sound aa his eyes demanded the answer to your question.

“Close the door, and I'll shoe you exactly what I did here, Spencer. I'll show you everything.’

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dilemmaontwolegs · 4 months

Text

Irresistible || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader Summary: A one night stand comes back to haunt you when your father plans to marry his mother. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, cheating, time skipping, kind of taboo (future stepbrother) WC: 6.1k F1 Masterlist || One || Two

December 2019

Two years ago you had spent an amazing week in Monaco during a European getaway. It was meant to be a once in a lifetime trip but now you sat opposite your father at the kitchen table in your family home trying to understand what he was saying.

“…the kindest woman. You’ll love her, just like I do.”

He fell in love so now you were expected to leave behind everyone you knew and just start a new life with his new family. You knew he had been happier since the trip but you never would have thought it was because of some long distance relationship. He had kept that to himself for a long time.

“Can’t you just have a midlife crisis like everyone else?” you asked. “Why are you moving us across the world for a stranger?”

“Did you not hear me? Pascale is not a stranger. Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be. I love her.”

Resentment built and you pushed your chair back as you stood up. “You loved mum too, and look how that ended.”

Your father sighed and you immediately felt guilty for the heaviness in that one breath. It wasn’t his fault your mother decided domestic life wasn’t for her and left when you were just a baby. It wasn’t his fault that she met a man who had a motorcycle and flirted with the wrong side of the law. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that they crashed in a high speed police chase when you were 15.

You sank back into your seat and picked at the chipped Formica table top. “I’m sorry, dad.”

A calloused hand from a life of hard work gently patted yours. “It’s a big adjustment, pumpkin, but you said Monaco was a beautiful place. I thought you would be happy.”

“It was, but I’ll never see my friends.”

“I’m not saying you can replace them, but you’ll make new ones. And even with the different timezones I’m sure you can make arrangements to video call each other.”

He was making an effort, you could recognise that at least. “Fine. I suppose it won’t be that bad.”

August 2017

All of the streets seemed to look the same, the stonework buildings towering over you as the afternoon sun dipped even further below the mountains that bordered the place. You had no idea which way it was to get back to the hotel and you weren’t going to risk the international roaming charges to use the internet on your phone, you already spent most of your savings on the clothes in the bags that hung from your wrists.

You were too busy looking up and trying to get a sense of direction that you didn’t see the man getting out of his car. Pain flared in your knee as a door slammed into it and you dropped the bags to clutch your leg that throbbed and drew a groan from your lips. It was worse than hitting your funny bone and you grabbed the hood of the car to balance when you nearly teetered over.

“Mon Dieu, est-ce que tu vas bien?”

You couldn’t understand a word he said but the accent was almost enough to make you feel better, until you looked up. The setting sun cast a golden glow around the man and you swore he was more beautiful than the godlike statues you had seen in Rome the week before.

“I, I,” you stammered stupidly as he knelt down beside you and repacked the bags that had fallen to the street. His bright green eyes lingered on the red lace bra and panty set you had spent a small fortune on before he cleared his throat and shoved them in the bag. “I don’t speak French.”

“You should really be watching where you are walking,” he said as he stood up, his accent saturating his words and making the scolding sound sexy. And it was most definitely a scolding. “You could have been hit by a car.”

“I was,” you pointed out as you tested your leg and winced when you put your weight on it.

“I meant one that was driving past. It was a good thing I was parked.” He looked down his nose and shook his head. Somehow this stranger had managed to make you feel guilty for disappointing him, and it started to infuriate you.

“I really don’t think this is all my fault,” you snapped as you swiped your bags back. “This is a footpath, and that is a no parking zone. Maybe you should concentrate more on where you should be driving than how I should be walking.”

You narrowed your eyes at him and he did the same until his lip twitched and a smirk broke out. “You think I am a bad driver?”

You looked at the double yellow lined he was parked over and squared your shoulders. “Does a duck quack?”

He mouthed the question back before he understood what you were implying and laughed as he took a step closer. “I like you, you are funny, and delusional. What is your name, and what are you doing tonight?”

You were still trying to figure out if he had complimented or insulted you when someone called out and stole his attention before you could answer.

“Charles, dépêche-toi!”

You both turned to the group that had arrived, all of the young men looking almost as handsome as he did. They had to be from the same modelling agency, or there was something seriously strong in the water here.

“Well?”

You looked at Charles and found he was still waiting for an answer. “Probably still trying to find my hotel.”

“Funny,” he chuckled before waving his friends off. “Je te rattraperai plus tard.” He took your bags and stuffed them in the backseat of his car before offering his hand. “I can’t have you walking these streets all night, god knows what trouble you could cause.”

“I was doing fine, until you hit me with your car, and now you want to drive me in it? Nuh-uh, I would rather take my chances on foot.”

You stepped around him to get your bags back, or at least you tried to but your aching knee gave out. You would have fallen to the pavement but a strong arm curled around your waist and pulled you against him.

“You could have just asked if you wanted to hold me, biche.”

“Excuse me?” You pushed away from him and gritted your teeth through the pain. “I’m not sure in what world you think that is flirting, asshole.”

Charles threw his head back with a laugh and easily caught up to you, his palm heating the small of your back as he guided you around to face his car again “Biche, not bitch, it’s a cute little deer. I can call you Bambi instead, I quite like that. Unless you want to tell me your name?”

You rolled your eyes, unsure whether the endearment was an improvement at all, but stepped into the car when he opened the door for you. “No thanks, I don’t know if you are some sort of stalker.”

He laughed again before walking around to the driver's seat. “What hotel are you staying in?”

“The Fairmont.”

The flashy car roared to life and you turned to face Charles when his laughter grew. “So you would tell a stalker where you are staying but not your name?”

“That sounds to me like you are admitting you are a stalker,” you shot back with a daring arch of your brow. “Besides, I’m staying with a man that would snap you like a twig if you tried to turn me into a skin suit. I don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Your boyfriend?”

You snorted at the question and shook your head. “My father.”

He smiled at the news as he pulled out into the traffic and drove the short distance to the hotel. Your meandering had only left you two streets away from it so it was probably more of a nuisance to drive you there but Charles didn’t seem to mind.

“Are you enjoying the city?”

“It’s beautiful,” you said with a nod. “It’s almost a shame to leave tomorrow.”

“Have you been to Jimmyz?”

“Not yet.” You had heard of the club but most nights had consisted of a late dinner with your father and then bed. It was actually the first day you hadn’t spent hanging out with him, he had gone to get a haircut that was long overdue after all the travelling and you had used the alone time for a little girl shopping.

“You should come tonight, my friends and I are going and I owe you for hitting you with my car.”

January 2020

Your father thought it would be a good idea for Pascale to come and stay for a week before the big move. She owned a hair studio so it was easy to take some time off and she was due to arrive any moment. He had all but begged you to make an effort with Pascale before leaving for the airport. He had never brought a woman home, or at least while you were there, so it was strange to see how he fussed over the crumbs in the kitchen sink.

You did a quick final inspection through the house but with most of the belongings already sold or shipped off to Monaco there was next to nothing that could make a mess. You only hoped all your things arrived in time at the other end. It was bad enough you were going to be staying with one of your step brothers to begin with but it was only for a few weeks while the renovations on the new house dad and Pascale had bought were finished. He promised that your room would have a view of the ocean and your own bathroom - it was absolutely a bribe but you were fine with that.

The car pulled into the driveway, past the large real estate sign with an unmissable SOLD sticker across it. You had seen a handful of pictures of Pascale on your dad’s phone but when she stepped out of the car you realised they didn’t do her justice. Despite being on multiple planes that never made for a decent sleep, she looked refreshed and even her hair was still in a perfect blowout. She was really pretty, or maybe it was the bright smile she gave your dad when he parked the car.

“Do I look alright, Peter?” she asked as she touched her hair nervously and straightened her blouse.

“It’s not an interview, sweetheart,” he chuckled as he grabbed her suitcase. “You look beautiful.”

August 2017

The club was unlike anything back home. The music seemed to seep into your skin, the bass vibrating in your bones. Even the air was intoxicating with the promise of a night of bad decisions.

“Bambi, I didn’t think you would actually come.”

You turned away from the bar and found Charles drinking in the sight of your short, tight dress. His eyes followed every line, dip and curve of your body and he bit his lip as he dragged them back up to your face. For the price you had paid you were happy it had the desired effect.

With your confidence bolstered you sent him a smirk and grabbed your drink that had been placed down. “Well you did say you owe me, you can start with my drink.”

Charles didn’t look away as he reached into his pocket and stepped closer, his hand reaching past to slap a bill on the bar top. His scent reached you, the cologne inviting you to lean closer and inhale the decadence of vanilla and bergamot. “The usual, please.”

He could have stepped back while his drink was made but he chose to stay close, his eyes flicking down your cleavage to see the red lace set he had been daydreaming about all evening. “How about we get out of here?”

You had fantasised about a summer romance since the trip began, what young woman wouldn’t when they were going to Europe? But you hadn’t been able to conjure a face as handsome as his when you closed your eyes late at night and your hand drifted beneath the blankets. Now you had the opportunity in the palm of your hands and you weren’t going to let it slip from your fingers.

Tipping your head back, you met his green eyes that dared you rise to the challenge. “Lead the way.”

February 2020

You were jet lagged and exhausted when you finally reached your temporary accommodation.

“Charles is just on his way back from work but he shouldn’t be too far away. Make yourself at home, sweetheart,” Pascale said as she helped you with your bags.

The apartment was bare with mostly blank white walls and a few framed pictures of Ferrari cars. It was a typical boy space that was in desperate need of soft furnishings to liven it up, but that wasn’t your problem to deal with.

“He just bought the place so he’s still finding his ‘vibe’,” Pascale noted when she saw you eying up the empty space, the words sounding like they were verbatim and not her own. “But there’s two bedrooms and two bathrooms so you’ll have your own space. The builder said our house will be finished in a few weeks.”

“It’s great, Pascale,” you assured her as you set your bag down on the bed with a long yawn. You were surprised to find it had a floral duvet and a sheet set already made up - something you were sure she had done for you.

She nodded and placed your other suitcase down before leaving, closing the door most of the way. “I’ll let you rest for a bit.”

You woke to voices down the hall and found a blanket had been draped over you at some point.

“Can’t she sleep on Enzo’s couch? I don’t even know her, she could try to sell my things. There have been stranger things done before.”

“Ah-ah, no, and she doesn't even watch racing. Peter said she had no interest in the sport.” Pascale sighed heavily, the same way your father did when he was having to repeat himself. “She’s a lovely young lady, and she’s going to be family so please treat her as such.”

August 2017

“Where are we going?”

Charles just smiled and kept driving through the quiet streets before pulling into a hotel far nicer than the one you were staying in.

“You live in a hotel?”

He laughed and tossed his car key to the valet driver. “No, but I have a roommate who would probably not be very happy with me if we woke him.”

He already had a room and led the way to the elevators with the confidence of a man who had certainly been here before. You didn’t mind, you were hardly a saint, and you knew exactly what you were doing when you dressed for the night out. You knew how you wanted the night to end.

For a man who looked eager to undress you, like he had done with his eyes, he didn’t touch you until the door was firmly closed behind him. But once that door locked shut it was as if the leash he had kept a hold of himself with was dropped and he pinned you against the wall, his lips finding the hollow of your neck.

The temperature in the room seemed to swell as his kiss climbed higher and he finally reached your lips. You moaned at the feel of his hands roaming your body and his tongue slipped past your parted lips when he dragged the zip down your spine.

“J'ai envie de le faire depuis que je t'ai vu pour la première fois. You are so fucking sexy.” [I have been wanting to do this since I first saw you.] He stepped back and watched the material fall away to reveal the tempting red lace he had been dying to see.

Your heart skipped a beat at the hunger in his eyes and you reached behind your back to unclip the bra. It was thrilling to watch the colour of his eyes fade to black as you revealed more skin to him but when you reached for your panties he spurred forward to stop you.

“Mine,” he stated as he brushed your hands aside and hooked his fingers into the waistband instead. Falling to one knee, he dragged the lace down your thighs and let them tangle around your ankles before kissing your hip. Your head fell back against the wall with a thud as he nudged your legs apart and pulled one leg over his shoulder. “What’s my name?”

Your forehead crumpled as his breath warmed your cunt and you buried your hands in his hair to hurry him up, but he was too strong.

“What’s my name?” he repeated.

“Ch-Charles,” you stammered as his fingers teased your entrance without delving further, driving you wild with need.

“Good girl, remember that when I make you scream.”

The words left you drunk and you would have dared him to make good on them but his tongue found your clit and two fingers curled into your cunt. All thoughts left your head while he was knelt fully dressed before you and all too soon his name echoed across the room as he brought you to your first of many highs.

You could barely walk by the time you collapsed on the king bed and your head was spinning from the various positions you had found yourself in. You only bothered to move when a phone vibrated on the bedside table and you reached over to see if it was yours.

Giada: When are you coming home?

“Need a break, Bambi?” Charles teased as he returned from the minibar with a bottle of water, cracking the top off and offering it to you first.

You took the bottle with a grateful smile and swallowed a few mouthfuls to ease your dry throat. “Who’s Giada?”

His eyes flicked to his phone and he grabbed it, quickly replying to the message before tossing it aside and caging you beneath his body. “My roommate. Now, where were we?”

You should have been in a dead sleep but something had woken you. It was an ungodly hour given the darkness that was still outside but it did mean you saw the light of Charles' phone. His soft snores were silenced by the pillow he buried his face in and you took a second to admire the sight of his toned body in the moonlight.

Giada: It’s so hard to sleep without you here. I love you xxx

You slipped out of the bed without waking him and hated how good the ache between your legs felt because of him. You should have known a man like him was bound to have a girlfriend. She was probably a model.

You quickly gathered your clothes and dressed on the way to the door, closing it silently behind you. No one had to know you were even there and in a few hours you would be heading to the airport, never to see Charles again.

It took far longer than you expected to find your way back to the hotel and your father was already awake when you entered the room.

“You look like you had a rough night.”

You continued on your way to your bedroom in desperate need of a shower before packing. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough.”

You reemerged looking refreshed but you still felt contradictory inside. You told yourself that you did nothing wrong but it didn’t help when you knew there was a woman waiting at home for the man you had fucked. Fucked didn’t begin to cover what you had done - he had hung the stars and the moon, he had expanded your mind to the pleasures that could be sought with the right experience and partner. He had ruined you for all the men back home.

You fought to tug the zip of your suitcase closed, more than ready to leave the place behind, and growled in frustration. Your dad knew better than to bring attention to your mood but he gently moved you aside and closed the stubborn zip himself.

“How was your night?” you asked as you went to the kitchenette and made a strong brew of coffee.

He smiled to himself and picked up the suitcase to add it to the pile by the door but his smile dimmed when he saw how miserable you looked. “Nothing special, I just had dinner and a walk by the water.”

Normally you would have picked up on the lie, but you were too self centred to notice how happy he looked. He was glowing.

February 2020

You followed the voices to the living room and found Pascale in the doorway saying her goodbyes. You couldn’t see the face of the man she was talking to, only a head of dark hair, but he turned when his mothers attention was drawn away.

“You…” you breathed as you recognised the green eyes that had haunted your dreams for two years. Pascale frowned and you plastered a fake smile as you held your hand out. “You must be Charles.”

“I am,” he hummed as he looked at your hand before enveloping it in his much larger one. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’ll see you both for dinner tonight, Charles can drive you until we get you a car.”

Charles seemed to be hearing the news for the first time. “I can?”

“Yes, you can. Now make sure she feels at home alright, maybe introduce her to some of your friends.” Pascale blew a kiss and left Charles to close the door.

His eyes sparkled with mischief as he locked it and you realised at that moment just how fucked you were because, despite the quick prayer you had sent, Charles had recognised you too. “Hello again, Bambi.”

“Fuck me,” you muttered beneath your breath.

Charles smirked and booped you on the nose as he walked past you and towards his kitchen. “No thanks, you’re going to be my sister soon.”

You hated that for a second you were disappointed before common sense returned and you went to your room to find your phone. “Dad, I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Charles is an asshole, that’s why,” you whispered angrily, your eyes scanning the bottom of your door to see if he was eavesdropping.

“It’s only for two weeks, three at the most, plus he will be heading back to Italy for work on Monday.”

“Who the hell works in Italy and lives in Monaco?”

“He does, you would know that if you had a conversation with him and got to know him.”

“I don’t want to get to know him, I want to go home.”

“This is home now,” your dad said quietly as you heard Pascale arrive home at the other end. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

You flopped onto your bed with a groan as the call ended. Two weeks. Two fucking weeks. You groaned again as you realised that it may be just two weeks of living with him but there would be a lifetime of having him as your step brother. “Fuck!”

“I might have to get a swear jar to cover your half of the utilities.”

You surged upright and found Charles leaning against the balcony door, a balcony you apparently shared with his room next door. “Can I just make one thing very clear? As far as I am concerned, whatever happened two years ago - it didn’t. Nothing happened. I never saw you before today.”

“Nothing happened?” he chuckled as he walked into the room. “You still have that sense of humour because I remember a lot happening. Do I need to jog your memory?”

You hated how your body betrayed you, how your eyes followed his every step as he closed the distance between you. “You’re actually sick. Our parents are getting married.”

He stopped in front of you, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and his eyes traced your lips. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“Giada wasn’t your roommate.”

“No, she wasn’t,” he admitted with that same smirk that simultaneously had you wanting to both slap it or kiss it away. “I have a new roommate now.”

“Not for long, I am gone as soon as the house is ready.”

“Oh, Bambi,” he laughed, swaggering his way back to the balcony door. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

“Asshole.”

“Biche.”

“Charles, you should introduce Y/N to Charlotte,” Pascale said as she poured another wine for you. “That’s his girlfriend. You would probably get along with her, she’s about your age and a very nice girl too.”

You bit your tongue as you raised your glass to your lips and stared at Charles over the rim. Placing the glass back down, you smiled sweetly. “Is that right? I could do with making a girlfriend here, someone to talk about boys with. Maybe she can set me up with a handsome Frenchie.”

A foot kicked you under the table and you chuckled at the glare he was sending you over the greek salad.

“We go to brunch on Sunday,” Pascale said with a pat to your hand. “You should come.”

“Count me in.” You stabbed a sweet cherry tomato with your fork before sealing your lips around it and humming in delight. “This was a delicious meal.”

Charles soon declared he was exhausted from the drive back from wherever it was he worked in Italy and Pascale looked a little disappointed that the first family dinner was cut short. Since he was your ride, you had to say goodnight to everyone too and followed him out to the car that was even flashier than what he had two years ago. His Ferrari fixation was more than just pictures of the cars in his apartment but he drove one too.

“You are quite eager to leave,” you noted as you lowered yourself into the passenger seat, your skirt riding up your thighs as you settled into the leather. Charles inhaled sharply as he saw the hint of your panties peek out and slammed the door shut before storming his way around the car.

“I’m in half a mind to take you over my lap and turn your ass red,” he growled as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Arthur is lovely,” you commented as you smiled at your reflection in the window. You were absolutely enjoying the way Charles gritted his teeth, but he had started this dance in your bedroom. “He offered to keep me company while you are away next week. I think I might enjoy his company more than yours.”

“Biche,” he warned as he broke the speed limit and practically skidded to a stop in his reserved parking spot. “You’re mine. No one else touches you. Ever.”

You slipped out of the car and felt his eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs to the apartment. Though you had a key you waited for him to open the door and kept your voice low while he fumbled with the lock in his frustration. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

“Everything looks good on me,” he argued as he turned the key and shoved you through the doorway.

“Is that what your girlfriend tells you?”

“No, she prefers me with nothing on.”

You could understand why that was but didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you agree as you went to your room. “Goodnight, Charles.”

“Night, ma biche.”

It was still early but you refused to leave your room, instead opening your laptop to watch a movie. You were halfway through a stupid rom-com when you heard a feminine voice in the apartment and you paused it to check you weren’t hearing things.

“Oh, Charles, bébé, baise-moi!”

You rolled your eyes at the sounds of the headboard banging on the wall you shared and rifled through your bag to find a pair of headphones. It seemed that they grew louder or you became hyper aware of what was happening in the room next door, and a needy throb began between your legs when you heard Charles moan deeply.

Your frustration built until you disappeared into the bathroom and doused yourself in a cold shower, cursing him the entire time you waited for your blood to cool. You could finally think clearly after drying off and recognised he was only making his next move in the game he had started. It was time to start planning yours.

Charles' steps faltered when he emerged from his bedroom shirtless but he recovered quickly and walked past your position on the couch as he went to get himself a drink of water.

“You should try Gatorade,” you suggested as you flipped through the channels leisurely. “I find it better than water after a good fucking.”

“What are you wearing?” he finally asked after emptying the glass in one breath and wiping his lips dry.

“This is how I sleep,” you said as you stretched your legs out onto the ottoman. “Is that a problem for you?”

His eyes followed the line of your legs to the edge of the black and red babydoll you wore and cleared his throat. “No, no problem.”

“Charles, who are you talking to?” A pretty brunette emerged from the room and scanned the room, taking in her half naked boyfriend talking to you who was barely dressed much more than him.

You rose to your feet before Charles could recover and bounced over to the young lady, wrapping her in a hug. “You must be Charlotte, maman’s told me so much about you. I thought I would have to wait until Sunday to meet you.”

“Maman? Sunday?” she asked as she looked at Charles for the answers.

“This is Y/N, my step sister - or soon to be -” he added quietly. “Maman invited her to brunch.”

“We are going to be great friends, Lottie,” you sang as you stepped back with a grin. “I just know it.”

Charles nearly broke his glass as he tossed it in the sink and headed back to his room, returning a moment later with a sweatshirt and jeans on. “Allez, mon amour,” he called to Charlotte as he grabbed his keys.

You pouted playfully as he led her to the door. “She can sleep over, I don’t mind - I have earplugs.”

Charlotte flushed pink and clearly had no idea you were in the house while they were getting down and dirty. It made it all the more entertaining as you waved goodbye. “I’ll see you Sunday.”

Charles waited until Charlotte had passed the doorway before following, casting a final glance your way. “Don’t wait up.”

You felt his presence in your room before you saw him step out of the shadows with just a towel slung low on his hips and the bed dipped under his weight. “Well played,” he admitted, flopping back and making himself comfortable.

Rolling over, you turned to face him and tucked your arm under your head. “Did you think about me when you were with her?”

His lips twitched before he gave in to the smile. “Every fucking second.”

“She’s pretty.”

He reached out and brushed your cheek with his knuckles. “You’re beautiful.”

You could feel yourself falling to the temptation that his lips provided and it was getting harder to resist taking what you wanted. “You should go back to your room.”

“Your lips say one thing but these say another,” he teased as his touch drifted over your collar and down to your breasts, the thin babydoll doing little to hide your nipples that had hardened since he laid down in the bed. “They are begging for something else entirely.”

“Charles,” you whispered as you leaned into his touch before you could think better of it.

“I forgot how good my name sounded on your lips,” he hummed as his hand slipped beneath the material, “but I like it better when you scream it.”

“This is a bad idea.”

It didn’t stop him from rolling your nipple between his finger and thumb and drawing a soft sigh from you. “Why is this a bad idea, biche?”

“Because you have a girlfriend, and you’re my step…step…fuck…” Your eyes fluttered shut as his hand slipped between your legs and he touched you over your panties.

“Let me worry about Charlotte, you just relax and spread those lovely legs wider for me.”

“This is going to end badly.” You knew it but it didn’t stop your knees from parting for him. There was something about him that threw caution to the wind, it had been that way the first time you met too. He was pure temptation. He was the apple and you were Eve, unable to resist taking a bite. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

He bit his lip as he watched how your body danced for his touch. “But not tonight.”

“Not tonight,” you conceded as you watched his eyes darken with lust. “Now please fuck me.”

Charles woke alone for the second time after sleeping with you but he smiled when he heard music playing in the living room. “You stayed,” he teased as he walked down the hall, trying to tame his hair along the way.

“Didn’t have another option but I have found some short term rentals to view next week.”

He froze and his hands dropped to his side. “Wait, you were serious?”

“Yes, this isn’t going to work because if I’m anywhere near you this will just keep happening, and it was a mistake.”

The pop music suddenly grated on Charles' nerves and he grabbed the remote, changing it to another channel before tossing the remote away. You knew he was sulking at the thought of losing his plaything but you ignored him and watched the French news that you couldn’t understand.

Something on the tv caught Charles’ attention though and he sat up straighter, his arms unfolding as his mouth parted in surprise. The breaking news headline was one that was universal and you realised something big was happening.

“What is it?” you asked as he remained fixated on the tv.

“It’s that virus,” he murmured. You had seen it on the news at home before the move, the outbreak reaching all across the globe as it spread person to person. You had been worried about it on the plane with each cough you heard. “It’s spreading here.”

“Okay, and?”

His hand found its way to his mouth and he bit his nails as he listened, translating and relaying the information for you in sporadic bursts. “You won’t need that rental, Bambi.”

“Why?”

He turned to you with an odd look that you couldn’t quite figure out, possibly apprehension or anticipation or a mix of both. “At midnight tonight the whole country is going into lockdown.”

His phone started ringing almost immediately and he excused himself to take the call. “It’s work.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” You grabbed your phone and dialled your dad. “Did you hear what’s happening? What do we do?”

“Relax, pumpkin, it’s going to be fine,” he assured you. “It’ll all blow over quickly, I’m sure. They can’t stop the world from turning, can they?”

You laughed in agreement and felt a little better by the time you hung up the phone, but Charles returned looking stressed as he dropped onto the couch beside you.

“Good news or bad news first?”

You didn’t think it mattered either way and just shrugged.

“Italy is also going into lockdown so there’s no reason to go back on Monday.” He draped his arm over your shoulders and pull you into his side. “Looks like we are going to be seeing a lot more of each other.”

“Is that the good or the bad news?”

“Well, I like my job so not being able to do it is bad for me, but being trapped with you indefinitely certainly sounds good to me.”

“Indefinitely?” you laughed and shook your head. “As soon as the house is done I’m gone.”

Charles' laughter silenced you and his kissed your temple. “Oh, Bambi…The builders will be locked down too, nothing will be finished any time soon. You’re all mine.”

“Shit,” you groaned in realisation. It was going to be impossible to keep your hands off him and from the grin on his face he knew it too.

“This is going to be great.”

Click here for part two.

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gubsbuubs · 4 months

Text

Trophy wife

Pt. 2 is out - It´s Mutual

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.5K

Warnings: Typical case descriptions, kissing and petting, enemies to lovers, a set up for a smut. Summary: When an unsub targets trophy wives, (Y/N) is asked to go undercover with her nemesis, Spencer Reid, posing as a couple to lure the killer. As they navigate a high-stakes operation, tensions escalate, blurring the lines between their professional and personal animosity.

Preview: "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “And I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

A/N: Hi everyone, this is my first-ever fanfiction. I initially wanted to write smut, but to add depth, I decided to craft this background story. English is not my first language. I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

“Are those poker chips?” Derek asked as the images from the most recent crime scene appeared on the screen behind Garcia.

"Bingo, my lucky charm! Those are poker chips, and you've hit the jackpot," Garcia continued. “This is the second woman to be found in a motel room stabbed and extremely beaten in the last two weeks.”

“The Vegas police have requested our help,” Hotch informed as he analyzed the pictures.

Ross quirked up his eyebrows as an amused smile played on his lips. "Well, either he really likes poker, or he's on a mission to prove that crime can be a high-stakes game…"

"Well, he's certainly raising the stakes in our investigation," I added, my remark eliciting another round of chuckles.

"Children, behave, please," JJ attempted to redirect the team's focus to the situation at hand.

As I scanned the pictures, my index finger reached above the image on the table. "The persistent appearance of poker chips as a signature strongly suggests a connection to the unsub’s personal experiences, perhaps indicating a deep involvement with poker, possibly even as a player. Maybe…”

“While symbolism is intriguing, we should prioritize empirical evidence. Jumping to conclusions based on perceived patterns might lead us astray." My brows furrowed in annoyance as I turned my head, hearing him cut off my train of thought. His tone carried a subtle bitterness, as if questioning the validity of my analysis.

And there he fucking was again, Dr. Spencer Reid, incessantly questioning my every move, as if my mere presence irked him to no end.

Our "relationship," if you could really call it that, was basically just a constant back-and-forth of arguing, interruptions, and tension you could practically cut with a knife. We tried to keep it professional for the team's sake, but it was obvious we weren't exactly best buds.

And what kept his skepticism going wasn't just about work competition; it was personal. He had this lingering grudge because I had stepped in after his buddy, Alex Blake, bailed on the BAU, leaving him behind.

To be honest, his animosity seemed mostly one-sided. At first, I admired Spencer's intellect and respected his dedication to the job. Plus, let's be real, I wasn't blind—I definitely noticed he was a good-looking guy. But his hostility kind of pushed me to throw up walls and respond with a guarded attitude. And then, well, naturally, I found some twisted enjoyment in getting under his skin and making him lose his cool.

"How can you have an IQ of 182 and yet be so clueless?" I scoffed, laughing. "Sure, you're intelligent, but common sense seems to elude you at times."

Reid stared for a moment, a mix of shock and rage flickering across his otherwise monotone, expressionless face. His eyes narrowed, and he responded curtly, "It's 187, and (Y/N), I would advise you to mind your manners when addressing me. My intelligence surpasses yours by far more than a number could explain." As he stood there, staring into my eyes, arms crossed by the presentation board, a surge of irritation pulsed through me. I was poised to respond, the words itching at the tip of my tongue, but before I could unleash them, Derek intervened. With a subtle shift in his posture, he leaned in towards the table, effectively redirecting our focus. A deliberate clearing of his throat signaled the shift in conversation. "The sheer brutality of these killings unmistakably points to an unsub fueled by intense rage. The way the victims were forcefully and repeatedly stabbed suggests a perpetrator with considerable physical strength and stamina.”

"The messy and disorganized scene adds another layer to the unsub's profile. Women just tend to be cleaner, so we are definitely dealing with a man,” JJ added.

“They are waiting for us, we can discuss the rest of the preliminary profile on the jet, wheels up in thirty,” Hotch said as he stood up, the team following right after.

--x--

As I focused on the files spread out in front of me, the sound of the door swinging open abruptly pulled my attention away. "We've got another body," Hotch announced, his voice cutting through the silence that lingered in the small meeting room lent to us by the Las Vegas police.

By now, we had successfully linked the unsub to the world of poker. Our victims, all married, had been last seen with their partners at casinos during poker nights, forming a clear pattern. Despite our breakthroughs, the mystery surrounding his identity and motive remained unsolved.

"Rebecca Miller, 29 years old, was last seen with her husband at Riverside Casino," Hotch added, his tone steady as he placed the picture of the victim on the board. "Witnesses report they were very affectionate. Her husband mentioned she went to get them drinks before she disappeared," he continued, his gaze scanning the room, inviting any additional insights or comments from the team.

"She definitely fits the victimology—young, beautiful, and married to an avid poker player," JJ remarked casually as she got up to take a closer look at the picture.

Rossi gazed into the distance, lost in thought. "They must be raking in serious cash playing poker. Why else would these stunners be tying the knot with someone clearly out of their league?" he mused aloud.

As I scanned the pictures of the victims, a realization began to form in my mind. Each photograph depicted a strikingly beautiful woman, always beside her husband, who often appeared much older or less attractive in comparison. "They're trophy wives," I exclaimed, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place.

I glanced to my left, where Reid stood, scoffing and shaking his head. "Trophy wives?" he immediately questioned, his focus remaining fixed on the board as he continued drawing lines for the geographical profile.

"Well, think about it," I elaborated, gesturing toward the pictures of the women. "These women, young and beautiful, carefully curated for a certain image, accompanying their husbands to the poker games, spending the entire night all over them. How had we not seen this glaring pattern before?"

"That's a rather simplistic and uninformed view, (Y/LN)," he countered. "These women had successful careers. Assuming they're merely trophy wives diminishes their individuality."

"Just because they have successful careers doesn't negate the potential of being used as accessories," I countered, locking eyes with Reid as he turned to face me. "It's not about undermining their achievements but acknowledging the potential for a specific dynamic in their relationships. We need to explore all possibilities, not just those that fit neatly into your rational worldview."

"Acknowledging possibilities is one thing, but chasing baseless theories is another," Reid retorted, his tone measured. "We can't afford to indulge in wild conjectures without solid evidence."

"Sometimes you're so buried in your 'facts' that you miss the human element of the cases," I remarked, chuckling dismissively as I shook my head to the side.

"It's called objectivity, (Y/LN)," he asserted, stepping closer until he stood before me, his hands slipping into his pockets in a gesture of dominance. "Something you might want to consider before letting personal biases cloud your judgment."

"I'm the one who lets personal biases cloud my judgment?!" I retorted, my voice rising as frustration bubbled up within me.

He remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.

"You've got to be kidding me," I continued, my tone escalating gradually. "You're the one who's been acting like a little bitch to me since I joined the team, so don't lecture me about taking things personally here."

Still, he said nothing, his hands now clenched into fists at his sides.

"You've had a problem with me from day one," I pressed on, "and it's about damn time you admit it instead of acting like such a child about it."

"This is about doing our job objectively," Reid retorted, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice. "Your presence doesn't change the standards we uphold in the BAU, but clearly you don’t meet them."

"That's enough!" Hotch's voice boomed, commanding attention as he intervened. His gaze shifted from Reid to me, a subtle warning in his eyes. "I think we should explore that possibility," he acknowledged, nodding towards my earlier suggestion. "It seems reasonable. Apart from that, are there any more leads we need to consider?"

Spencer turned on his feet, his movements purposeful as he approached the board. "Actually, I've been working on the geographical profile," he began "And it seems that, looking at the last victim’s place of abduction, he is moving in a straight line." With a marker in hand, he started drawing on the board, "Look at this: the first victim was last seen at the Lotus Casino Central, the second victim at the Charlaton, and now Rebecca at the Riverside. It's a straight line, which means..."

"He's heading for the Bellagio next," JJ chimed in, seamlessly connecting the dots of Spencer's thoughts. Spencer nodded in confirmation, acknowledging her insight.

Rossi rose from his seat and joined Spencer by the board. "Now that we know where he's likely to strike next, perhaps we can set up an operation to catch him; he’s been striking on poker nights."

Hotch leaned forward, his brow furrowed in concentration as he considered the strategy. After a moment of contemplation, he straightened up and cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the team. "Yes, an undercover op might be our next chance." His gaze fell on me, lingering for a moment as he addressed me directly. "Y/n," he began,"You have experience as an undercover agent, and you actually resemble the victims," he observed, "Would you mind going in?" The room fell silent as the weight of the proposition settled among us.

"Yeah… sure," I responded quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Derek immediately sensed my apprehension and offered reassurance with a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hey, it's okay," he said softly. "You're not going in alone. It has to be a couple, so you'll have someone to have your back."

"Can you come with me?" I asked, my voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and hope.

"Actually," Hotch interrupted, straightening in his chair, "I want Reid to go with you." My head fell into my hands as I sighed, dreading the complications that might arise. The weight of Hotch's decision settled heavily on my shoulders, and I couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the thought of partnering with Reid for this undercover operation.

"Sir, with due respect," Spencer began, but Hotch raised his hand to stop him from continuing.

"(Y/N) needs a poker player husband; you’re the only one who could actually pass as an avid poker player," Hotch explained simply, as if it were that straightforward. "I trust you can both behave professionally and put your differences aside?" His tone sounded more like an order than a question.

"Let's get to work then," Rossi said, his tone decisive, as I let my head rest on the table. It dawned on me that this was the only option to ever catch this guy.

--x--

JJ pulled out all the strings, ensuring we had everything necessary to play our roles seamlessly. With meticulous attention to detail, she provided a stunning black dress that hugged my curves perfectly, matching pumps that elongated my legs, and exquisite jewelry that added a touch of elegance to the ensemble. Among the glittering gems, she placed an engagement ring and wedding band, enhancing the authenticity of our charade.

As I admired my reflection in the mirror, a wave of mixed emotions washed over me. The thought of spending the upcoming night with Spencer made my heart race, a strange feeling stirring within me.

My mind constantly drifted towards the way we were supposed to behave, thoughts swirling with anticipation. I imagined his touch, knowing that as a couple, he would have to be close, his hands possibly lingering on my body. How would it feel? Would I be able to maintain eye contact as he stared me down during our conversations?

I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Despite this being an undercover mission, it felt strangely intimate, as if I was gearing up for a date with him. The prospect of going out and spending time with Spencer was something I'd never experienced before, and it left me feeling nervous, even though I couldn't quite admit it to myself.

Maybe if things hadn't unfolded as they did, Spencer and I could've found common ground. Perhaps we could've forged a genuine connection, evolving into friends, or even something more meaningful. But fate had a different plan for us.

From the moment we crossed paths, our destinies seemed entwined in conflict rather than harmony, and I remember the day I met him all too well. We had just finished the tour, and Derek was now showing me to my desk.The ding of the elevator caught my attention, and there he stood. I've heard of Dr. Reid, everyone talked about him – his genius IQ of 187, his remarkable accomplishments at such a young age. But amidst all the praise for his intellect, no one ever mentioned how good-looking he actually was.

"Pretty boy," Derek exclaimed with a grin as he welcomed him. I couldn't help but agree silently. It was indeed a fitting nickname, Spencer was undeniably attractive. "Come meet our new member, Y/n Y/Ln."

With a smile I reached out my hand instinctively, ready to greet him, but to my surprise, he took a light step back. "Sorry, I don't shake hands," he said dismissively, his tone somewhat curt. "Did you know that the average person carries about 4,000 bacteria on their hands? It's a breeding ground for germs. It's actually safer to touch a toilet seat."

I stood there, utterly dumbfounded. Did he genuinely suggest that touching a toilet seat is cleaner than shaking my hand? "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Agent Reid," I retorted, rolling my eyes as Derek chuckled at the situation.

"It's Doctor, not Agent," he corrected, his tone matter-of-fact as he swiftly made his way to his desk. My mind raced, attempting to conjure a response, but he had already moved on, leaving me standing there, still processing what had just happend.

"Are you ready, or should I tell the unsub to wait because you need to keep fixing your lipstick?" a voice spoke from the darkness of my room.

“Jesus fucking Christ Reid, what the fuck is wrong with you?" I jumped from my place, surprised to see him standing there, leaning on the frame of my bathroom door. "No one ever taught you how to knock on a door?" I muttered under my breath.

"First of all, your door was unlocked, and second of all," he shook his head disapprovingly. "That's a very foul mouth you have, you should really watch your tongue," he chided. I felt his gaze lingering appreciatively on how the dress hugged my curves and accentuated my breasts.

From the corner of my eye, I lightly took in his appearance. The tailored suit fit him like a glove, different from what he wore every day. He looked more relaxed, better, hotter.

I was taken aback when I saw him move and enter the bathroom. My heart started racing as he stood by my side, exchanging a glance with me in the mirror.

"Honestly?I don't think he'd mind waiting for me” I straightened up, finally satisfied with my lipstick.

"Too bad he won't get to see it," he said, chuckling. His left hand met my hip, swiftly turning me around, and I gasped as the small of my back hit the bathroom counter. His own body caged me in, his intense gaze never leaving mine as I looked at him, confused yet strangely drawn to him. His right hand reached for a wipe, and he gently cleared any remnants of the red lipstick. I felt the cold, wet cloth on my lips, erasing any traces of the vivid stain. "If we're going to act like a couple, I don't want your lipstick all over me," Spencer remarked dryly, his expression unamused. "It's not my fault you don't know how to kiss a girl with lipstick, Doctor," I retorted, my annoyance evident in my tone.

"You look good enough," Spencer remarked with a smirk. "I'll be waiting for you in the car." With that, he turned and headed out, leaving me to gather my thoughts before joining him. "Well, this is going to be a long night," I sighed.

--x--

As Spencer drove us to the casino, we found ourselves going over the details of the plan. It was simple; our initial objective was to seamlessly integrate into the casino's scene, mirroring the couples we were emulating.

The plan dictated that Spencer and I had to project the image of a couple deeply in love, sharing glances, engaging in affectionate gestures, and creating an atmosphere that would draw the unsub's attention. Spencer would transition to the poker tables, just as the husbands of the previous victims had, all while showcasing his "trophy wife."

As the night progressed, I would strategically separate from Spencer to lure the unsub into action.

Inside the casino, Rossi and Morgan were playing their part as players, keeping an eye out. The rest of the team was in a van, ready to jump in if things went south.

The objective was clear – act like a couple. How hard could that be?

The tension in the car was palpable, and we exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the complexity of our roles. The success of the operation hinged on our ability to draw the unsub's attention, making him believe we were just another couple enjoying a night out.

The atmosphere in the casino buzzed with energy as Spencer and I entered. The dim lights, the soft murmur of conversations, and the distant chiming of slot machines created a captivating ambiance.

As we made our way to the bar, I reached for Spencer's hand and intertwined my fingers with his.

His eyebrows immediately shot up, a silent question evident in his expression as he glanced at me, perhaps surprised by the sudden display of affection.

"The more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention," I replied, my voice hushed but determined.

His gaze flickerd between our intertwined hands and my face. "Yeah," a small grin playing on his lips. "Just make sure you don't take it too far and end up falling for me."

"That's a good one, Dr. Reid," I chuckled softly, a hint of sarcasm lacing my words. "I'll try to contain myself."

We approached the bar, and Spencer took a seat on a stool. As I moved to stand by his side, he surprised me by pulling me closer, guiding me between his legs. His arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me snug against him. I was taken aback, but I didn't say a word. Acting like a couple—that was the plan. It was just all part of the plan.

"So what should I call you?" Spencer cut through our silence, his gaze focused on mine. "What should you call me?" I echoed, my voice filled with confusion as I furrowed my brows.

"I'm not going to address you by your real name," Spencer said matter-of-factly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "We need undercover names. So, what's it going to be?"

His eyes scanned my features, awaiting my response, while I took a moment to ponder. "How about pretty girl?" he proposed with a smirk, his gaze lingering on me. My expression must have betrayed my surprise, but before I could respond, he continued, "Or how about Angel?" The endearing term rolled off his tongue, and I felt a flutter in my chest at the sound.

"Angel seems to resonate with you," he teased, a chuckle escaping his lips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he awaited my reaction. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks, rendering me momentarily speechless.

I closed my eyes, disbelief washing over me. Was this real? Was Spencer really saying these things to me? And during a mission, no less?

"You seem awfully quiet for someone who doesn't know how to shut the fuck up," he said, his lips brushing against the side of my neck. "If I'd known all I had to do was call you angel, I would've done it sooner."

"Sweet names will only get you so far," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Despite the warmth spreading through me at his words, I couldn't shake off the sense of disbelief at the way he was acting. "Oh yeah?" Spencer asked, his tone amused, as I felt his breath tickling my neck before his lips brushed against my skin, leaving a small kiss on my pulse point. My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded in my chest as he slowly moved his hands along my waist and lower back. I couldn't focus on anything but the warmth of his body pressed against mine, sending shivers down my spine.

"Doctor Reid, this is highly inappropriate," I managed to utter.

“On the contrary, my sweet Angel," he spoke softly as his small kisses traveled up my neck. "See, this mission requires us to act like a couple, so I'm simply enjoying my time with my wife,” he lightly chuckled as he reached my jawline. “As you said, the more convincing we are, the more it'll attract the unsub's attention”

Suddenly, Hotch's voice disrupted the moment as he barked over the wire in my ear, "Guys, great job. We've got a male in his late 30s to early 40s staring at you; he's moved closer since you arrived. He could be our unsub."

I heard Hotch's words, but my brain struggled to process them as I was too focused on Spencer's eyes, his gaze fixed on mine while his hands lightly pressed me closer.

"Come on, Angel, let's give him a show," Spencer pleaded, his voice laced with a confidence that both shocked and intrigued me. It was unexpected to witness this side of him, but there was something undeniably exciting about it. Perhaps it was his confidence and assertiveness, or maybe it was the way he was taking control and leading the interaction. "Yeah.... let´s.... let´s do it" I lightly nodded my head, I swear he could feel the pounding of my heart against my chest from how close he stood to me.

His right hand reached my face, his touch gentle against my skin. "Angel," he spoke quietly against my lips, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll only keep going if you give me permission."

His eyes were dark, his lips plump, inviting, calling for my attention. I couldn't even form a "yes," but he knew what I wanted. I pulled him closer by his tie, and our lips collided in a hot, messy kiss. I was taken aback by his skill and technique, completely unable to resist him as the heat between us intensified.

Spencer pulled away and wrapped his arms around my body, embracing me in a hug. His warmth was comforting, and I felt a sense of security in his embrace. "He's standing right behind you, gray suit, red tie, black hair," he whispered in my ear, his voice low enough not to be noticed by anyone standing nearby. Suddenly, I was snapped back to reality. The mission. The unsub. He was standing right behind me

"Should we join them?" I asked softly, glancing over toward the tables of poker and motioning for Spencer to start playing, continuing with the plan. He was supposed to hit the games, and I needed to find a way to get myself alone.

"Absolutely, my love," Spencer said with a smile as he rose from his seat.

Still a little dazed from that kiss, my mind was on fire, and my panties were ruined. How was I supposed to continue my life after knowing the effect Spencer had on me? My racing thoughts were only interrupted by the sight of the suspect following us to the tables. Instinctively, my body reacted, and I found myself clinging to Spencer's arm, seeking comfort and reassurance in his presence.

As planned, Spencer sat down at the closest table and began playing, our actions subtly conveying intimacy to onlookers. I wrapped my arms around his neck, planting kisses occasionally, making it clear to everyone that I was his prize, and he was proudly showing me off as his trophy wife.

As he played, I showered him with praise and encouragement. "You're doing so well, baby," I whispered, my words laced with admiration. It was evident that he was enjoying the attention, his gameplay slightly faltering under the distraction of my praise. Despite being a skilled and experienced player, known for his prowess and banned from multiple casinos, he seemed momentarily thrown off his rhythm by my words of encouragement. It was a small victory, a slight advantage gained in my favour.

Feeling the need to draw the unsub away, I leaned in close to Spencer and murmured, "I'm going to step out for some fresh air on the balcony, honey. I'll be back soon."

Spencer nodded, his attention still on the cards. "Okay, sweetheart," he replied with a smile, not once lifting his gaze.

Before I turned to leave, I couldn't resist the urge to plant a quick kiss on his lips, just as part of the plan, playing my role as the devoted wife. After all, that's what a wife would do, right?

The fresh air hit my face, sending shivers down my arms. I didn't need to turn to know he had followed me outside; I could feel his presence on my right side. When I glanced over, he gestured to a drink in his hand, offering it to me. "You look like you could use a drink," he said.

My heart raced, and my breathing quickened as he got closer, but I kept a cool, confident attitude, determined not to let him see my nerves.

"(Y/N), don't drink that. It's laced," Morgan's urgent voice snapped through the wire, jolting me into alertness. "Just keep him talking so Garcia can check him."

My blood ran cold as I registered Morgan's warning. Without missing a beat, I forced a smile and nodded, "Thank you, handsome, but I've had enough tonight," I replied smoothly, declining the drink with a casual wave of my hand.

"That's a big rock on your finger," he pointed out, glancing at my, unknowingly, fake engagement ring. "Why are you here all alone? Where's your husband?" he continued, raising an eyebrow and asking the question directly, as if he didn't already know the answer.

"Well…" I laughed, injecting a flirtatious edge into my voice. "I could ask the same thing," I continued, "Where is Mrs…?"

"Mrs. Desmond? She stayed at home; she doesn't really like poker," he replied nonchalantly. "I'm Steve, by the way," he added, reaching out to shake my hand.

I shook his hand, my heart quickening as I heard Garcia speak from my wire: "Steve Desmond, a 39-year-old banker, is divorced; according to court files, his wife left him after he lost all of their money on poker.” The sound of clicking keyboards could be heard in the background. "The divorce dates coincide with the killings,” Garcia added.

“That sounds like a trigger,” Hotch's voice chimed in.

"Holy moly, he also assaulted a prostitute a couple of years ago, but the charges were dropped and he was never convicted," Garcia spoke nervously.

"That's our guy, (Y/N). Keep him talking; we're on our way,” Hotch said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"Is everything okay?" Steve spoke, his tone taking on a hint of aggression as he grabbed my attention. "Maybe you should take that drink."

“I'm not thirsty, thanks,” I replied firmly, stepping back in an attempt to keep my distance. However, he refused, reaching out and gripping my arm to keep me from moving.

"I'm telling you," he said angrily, his grip tightening. "You're clearly nervous. Just a tiny sip won't hurt." I tried to break free of his grasp, but he was stronger than me and refused to let go

"FBI!" Suddenly, I saw Spencer coming up behind him, his fist connecting with the guy's face with a solid punch, knocking him back into the wall. He was strong and quick; the unsub didn't stand a chance against him. Spencer swiftly pulled out his handcuffs, cuffing him without even breaking a sweat.

"Steve Desmond, you're under arrest for the killings of Amanda Crane, Juliet Sand, and Rebecca Miller,” Spencer announced, his voice firm and authoritative.

Morgan and Rossi soon appeared, Morgan helping the unsub up from the ground and carrying him out as he spoke, "Steve Desmond, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford it…” His voice faded as they left, escorting the suspect away from the scene.

Once they were out of sight, Spencer came up to me and reached for my arm, his expression filled with concern. I winced as he touched the red marks left behind by the unsub's grip.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of concern and care, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.

"Um, yeah…" I replied softly, my voice shaky. "I just need a moment to process this." My heart was still racing from the encounter, and I needed a moment to collect myself. Why did he step in like that? I thought to myself, a mixture of gratitude and confusion washed over me. I could've handled the situation on my own—I was trained for this, after all. Yet, there he was, interfering in my work.

After the quiet ride back to the motel, Spencer led me to the door of my room. As we stood there, I realized I could no longer contain the annoyance for how he had handled the situation. The tension of the evening had been building inside me, and I needed to let it out. "Spencer," I began, my voice tinged with frustration. "I appreciate that you were trying to help, but I had it under control. I didn't need you to intervene so quickly," the frustration bubbled inside me, I couldn't help but wonder why Spencer felt the need to intervene. I felt like I had done a great job handling the situation, and his actions made me feel as though he had robbed me of an opportunity to take down the unsub myself.

Spencer's eyes widened in shock as he opened his mouth to speak. "Oh, really?" he said incredulously. "I didn't realize you had everything under control. I just figured that the guy having his hands all over you and aggressively grabbing your arm was cause for concern. But clearly, you didn't need any help."

"Oh, right, because clearly, I was in so much danger," I snapped sarcastically.

"I'm not going to sit around and watch some creepy-as-hell psychopath put his hands all over you," Spencer said firmly, shaking his head in disbelief. His brows furrowed in concern, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and genuine worry. "I won't let him put you at risk of being hurt … or worse." His tone was sharp "Get it through your head; I'm not going to let that happen."

"Oh, right, I wasn't aware this situation called for a 'white knight' to swoop in and save me from myself," I retorted, my tone laced with bitterness. Crossing my arms defensively, I met his gaze head-on. "Since when did my safety become your problem?"

"Since the moment we met, you stubborn brat," Spencer snapped back, his frustration evident in his tone.

"Since the moment we met? That's so much bullshit," I shot back, my voice rising with indignation. "Since when did you care about my safety so much?" I challenged him, my eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You've never shown me any compassion before, so why now? Hun?"

And then, suddenly, his lips crashed against mine, his body pressing mine firmly against the door with a resounding thud. I felt the heat of his body press on mine, the tension that had been building between us explode in an instant.

His kiss was messy and sloppy, but damn, it was hot. There was an urgency in the way our lips crashed together, fueled by a raw desire that couldn't be tamed. As the kiss deepened, the air grew thin, and I felt myself getting breathless. With a gasp, I had to pull away,

“What the fuck was that about?” I whispered, not being able to back away from his hold.

"When I kissed you at the casino, I finally understood," he muttered, his forehead resting against mine. "All this animosity, the bickering... we don't actually hate each other; we want each other.” He stared into my eyes before continuing, “I don't think I can go another day without tasting you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid imagine #mgg x reader #mgg smut #spencer reid x you #mgg x y/n #mgg fanfiction #mgg

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talaok · 3 months

Note

i loved the hickey fic🥵

can i request a role reversal fic?

reader marks up joel and is unashamed about it

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

a/n: thank you love, hope you'll like this although its been so long you probably forgot about this. and if you're interested, this is the fic they were referring to

It was just you and Ellie in the kitchen this morning. You were laughing about another funny dream she had last night, this one involving Joel trying to tame a gigantic sheep so he could ride it or something, she didn't quite remember the purpose, not that it mattered.

But as you both quite literally felt on the verge of tears from the image the dream was painting in your minds, the main character of said dream, appeared in the doorway, throwing you both a dirty look as if watching two of the three people he loved the most in this entire world didn't fill his old heart with pure joy.

"It's too early to be this chipper" he grumbled, walking to you to leave a quick kiss on your cheek as he reached for the coffee pot behind you.

A gasp sounded from the other sound of the counter

"oh my god what happened to your neck?!"

And it was then, that Joel Miller, the unafraid, stone-cold killer of a man that he was, turned red from hairline to neck.

"O-Oh fuck I-" His eyes widened, his hand going to cover your work on his neck, but it was all useless, because the second Ellie's eyes landed on the smirk plastered on your face, she knew.

"oh my god ew" she groaned, rolling her eyes, her focus going back to the eggs on her plate.

"You remember Janine, that woman I told you about?" you explained, talking to her

She laughed at that, remembering your conversation about that woman who's always flirting with Joel.

"you filled Joel's neck with hickeys because of her?"

Joel wasn't even red anymore, he was turning purple, his eyes were wider than a deer's caught in the headlights, and you suspected he hadn't taken a breath since he first entered the kitchen.

"this..." you smiled, trailing your fingers on Joel's neck "is my own little way of telling her to keep her hands off my man"

Joel choked, he literally choked on his own saliva and just then, just when he was about to have a heart attack, Tommy entered the house, his eyes immediately going to the image before him with more than a little amusement.

"What have I walked into?" he grinned, walking over to the kitchen "And why does my brother look a breath away from exploding?" he laughed, his hands gesturing to Joel.

"y/n here was giving me way too much information that I certainly didn't want to know" Ellie explained, looking at you pointedly for the last part of her sentence, making you chuckle.

"About what?" Tommy asked

"About the work of art I left on your brother's neck"

"wha-Ohhh" he breathed, smiling like a smug bastard as he understood what you were talking about "Janine tried something again I presume?"

"You presume right" you smiled, giving Joel a little kiss on the cheek and stifling a smile at how terrified he seemed "for the last time"

"You ok baby?" you asked, stroking his cheek

His gaze was on Ellie, his mouth parted in shock.

"You still with us man?" she asked, giggling softly, making him shake his head to try and get his mind to start working again.

And then, then the words came tumbling off his tongue, filled with what sounded like pure panic

"S-since when do you know what a hickey is!?"

Everyone in the room except him laughed, but when the shock on his features persisted, and Ellie regained her composure, she answered.

"I'm not a kid Joel, I know what sex is"

Another pang to his poor heart,

he felt all the organs inside him twist into a knot

what the fuck was happening?

Did she just say-

"sex!?" he cried, looking a second away from having a mental breakdown "I-I never said sex- H-how do you even know- I- You- You're too young- I-I"

"ok ok ok" you tried your best not to chuckle, intervening before his heart really decided to stop "How 'bout we go outside for a moment huh? Take a few deep breaths? How about that?" you murmured, soothingly drawing circles on his back

He looked at you then, looking every bit as disheveled as he sounded

"y-yeah" he swallowed thickly, "I-I think that's a good idea"

He looked back at Ellie for a moment to make sure this wasn't a nightmare and he didn't just make that up, before you both left the room.

And as if on cue, the second you did, Tommy and Ellie started laughing like maniacs.

"I don't think I've ever seen him so scared" Ellie laughed, as Tommy sat next to her, patting her back

"Neither have I" he chuckled, none of them saying anything before an idea came to his mind.

a hell of a funny one

"ten bucks if you tell him you know what porn is"

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gremlingottoosilly · 4 months

Text

The Horror and The Wild (emperor!Konig x fem!Reader)

A day after you and Konig's wedding. Who knew that evil emperors could be so romantic. Tags and TWs: Dub-con, aphrodisiacs, power imbalance, breeding kink, size difference, loss of virginity, age difference(Konig in his forties, Reader in her twenties), medieval/fantasy AU, Konig is a pervert AND an evil dictator Word count: 3256 AO3

— Lift your hips up, princess. You don’t want to waste my seed.

You whimper, trying to get your legs down, so he can’t force you to spread them anymore – but you feel the hot seed getting back in the swell of your well-used maidenhood, and it makes you whimper only more. What a woeful sight indeed – a fake princess crying over having to take the seed of the strongest person in the whole continent. You know a thousand of women who would beg for an opportunity to have the Emperor’s hands on their hips, guiding them down to admire the look. You know that the real princess – your princess – would never agree to this ordeal, no matter the begging and the bribery. So, you don’t agree too. — In m…my culture, a bride should wait at least a month after the marriage before the…conception, Your Majesty.

You lie through gritted teeth like it could change anything. Like it could magically force all the seed from your womb to the ground again, to the silk of the sheets under you. Like the mere tradition that you gave birth to the idea of a minute ago would stop you from being König’s breeding mare. Still, you refuse to lift your hips, a small resistance that puts a small chuckle to his lips. He is amused by you – or your stupidity. Princesses are supposed to be spoiled and bratty, right? Yours certainly was.

— Does your culture also make the bride lie to her husband?

You lick your lips, forcing them closed. No another quick witty word from you – your lies already got you on the edge of…something. After König announced he knew who you were this entire time, he got you on your back, on your belly, with your hips up and down, your head silly from lack of air as he choked you until you begged for your life – only for him to kiss you over and over. Feeding your womb with his seed until there was a bump, not giving any chance that the baby wasn’t there yet. If anything, he conquered your body the same way he did your country – and left your bruised hips as a reminder. The handprinted bruises covering your skin like the finest fabrics of the gown he got you.

— If you wish to order me dead, your majesty.

— Death doesn’t mean anything here, meine Liebe.

— Then banish me. For the lies and the betrayal of a royal…

He laughs – it’s a nice sound, still, something in your deprived mind likes the way you make him laugh and chuckle. Something in your head makes you feel as dizzy as you did when he cut off the air in your throat, every time that cold eyes of his look at you with warmth. heated obsession, whatever that is – you refuse to believe it was genuine, as you were borrowing your princess’s identity, but now, when he laughed and spoke about his true intentions, you weren’t sure if a pathetic and lowly lady-in-waiting is as safe in you as you thought.

— If being as stupid as you are is a punishable crime, then I’d finalyl have a good reason to kill off most of my harem. He laughs again, a hand in your hair – getting out all of the fancy pins and bows and dead flowers that were forced to be held in your crown and on your head. You groan in pleasure as the pins scraping your scalp are finally removed – and try to get back at his hand immediately when he comes to squeeze your breasts again. Not for any reason – simply because you happened to have the aspects of your body that he could touch.

— Would be much safer to get a woman from a harem, sir. Not…not me.

— And if I wanted just you?

König looks at you – trembling, loved out completely. Covered in his marks, as many bites as a princess could take. Even being a servant, you’re almost as gentle and reserved as a real deal – but gods, if you weren’t the cutest thing he ever saw in that damned ugly country of yours. Hating nobility as much as he hated speaking to his troops not as their commander, König never particularly enjoyed the idea of having to marry some bitchy royal daughter…you, however, were the loophole in the god’s contract. A gift, just for him.

— Your council would make me disappear for deceiving you in the first place.

— No one would dare to leave the empire without heirs.

— You could have another one. There are plenty of princesses out there, Your Highness.

— And I don’t have enough patience to entertain you trying to sell me the idea of your freedom. Do you know what relief I felt when you were the one to meet me?

You don’t answer, instead prompting to just listen. You have good ears for listening – for allowing others to talk, so you wouldn’t be made to fill in awkward silences. König loves that and appreciates that. Finally, someone who can just be silent – even if he also has nothing to say, at least you’re scared and angry enough to dismiss him anyway. At least your unwillingness is making him less awkward at participating in the conversation.

— You knew who I was all along?

— Princesses are pampered. Even the poorest kingdom would never have a princess with hands as hard-working as yours, Schatz.

He takes his hands in yours – no matter the healing creams you rubbed in them, no matter the lack of actual physical labor, even the smallest tasks you performed for the princess, the tiniest exposure to cleaning supplies that would make the toughest skin crack, left a small traces in the skin of your palm. Fingers with clean nails – short, practical, indicating the need to have your hands in working order all of the time. Indicating your lack of a servant who would do everything – opening buttons on clothes, embroidery, and washing oneself’s body. indicating that you were said servant.

You look embarrassed that he pointed that out. Scared, almost.

— Are my hands too ugly for you, sir?

He can see the tremble in your fingers. He traces them with his – large, calloused hands keeping you in place. Rough skin and multiple ridges of scars over the darkened skin made you shiver from the contrast of the sensation – those are the hands of a ruler who isn’t afraid of taking a sword in his hands. Who almost got his arms chopped off for this altogether.

Then – he kisses them.

One finger at a time, every ridge and bump in your skin deserves a graze of emperor’s teeth as he tugs on rough skin around your knuckles. Your hands are soft, softer than a normal maid would have – but changed from the work you had to put. Every kiss and lick doesn’t make them gentle, doesn’t remove the experience you had – in braiding hair, in washing clothes, in cleaning up after a royal mess. It doesn’t change who you were, but with every little praise he whispers – crude language, really, but the affection in his words scares you more than any foreign insult could – with every toss of his lips over your palms, he is changing who you are. Who will you become in just a week or two.

He calls your hands beautiful – in North tongue, with a smile on his face. König loves to explore, and your body is a beautiful place for him to be. Your hands are the best place he could have been in the morning.

Some historians are already saying he has done more to this country than any other ruler ever could. But oh, the emperor knows that the most important thing he did here was kiss your fingers. Over and over.

You snap your arms back when he finally breaks down, starting to bite – the softer skin of your palms falling victim to his sharp teeth. Emperors aren’t supposed to have sharp teeth but for all he knows, he was born from a dog and raised by one. A wolf in wolf’s clothing.

— Your hands belong to an empress.

— Thought I was a regent.

— You are, mein Schatz. Can’t trust you with a country, ja?

You laugh, but there are tears in your eyes. Loss of whatever authority you could have as the princess's personal maid – her friend if he knew anything about royals and their habits. Scheisse, he was the emperor for 10 long years and still didn’t get a hang of it. Might be something he had to be born with – such a shame, really. Should have told his mother to never give birth to a rat that would usurp the throne once out of the crib.

He loves to see you weak, trembling like this – like a proper bride should. Like a real princess, the one whose manners should be enough to fool the people and the dumbest of his court. The smartest ones could always agree to put their tongues up their behinds – if they don’t want to get their heads chopped off by his blade, without even bothering an executioner to do it.

— But you can trust me with your children?

— This empire needs an heir. As much as I can rule forever.

— No one is immortal.

— Ach. Did Sebastian forget to visit you before the wedding, little princess?

He is mocking you, again and again – he laughs with death and you hate it, you hate yourself, you loathe him and his laughs and his crooked smile and the scars covering his skin and…he kisses your hands again, then – dips your hands up in that mask of his. Lets you feel the skin, involuntarily trace your fingertips all over everything hidden – you touch his teeth, his fangs, and you gasp in shock. So, the monster has lips. So, the monster has thin lips and wet mouth, and he dips his tongue all over the traces of knuckles and…

König knows you’d never agree to be his in a way that he wants you too – but this is fine. He can work you around. He can break you. He can please you. What a wonderful job would this be.

— Your court would soon find out I’m not the one.

— They know how to keep their mouths shut. You would, however, have to deal with my harem personally.

— Did you intended to add my princess to your harem too?

— If I knew that you wouldn’t take her place? Of course. I never visited the place for the exact reason I didn’t bother to find your patron.

— Are you really satisfied with the scraps?

Oh, his poor, dumb girl – he was feeding off scraps since he was ripped away from his mom’s tit. You were the only fancy meal he ever liked in his life – and gods, if he wouldn’t give up anything to taste you again.

On the other side, however, he can do just that.

König dips his head down, the traces of his hood laying on your labia. You whimper.

— I never ate anything as exquisite as you, little princess.

— I’m n…why do you keep calling me this?

— You will be my princess. Forever trapped on my lap, on the floor, chained to my throne like a…

With each word, his tongue laps on the glossiness of your lower lips. He gives your maiden a little kiss all over, he digs down like it’s a fancy meal indeed – the scrawny hairs of his stubble make you whimper every time they graze your clit. König has a fleeting thought of eating his cum out of your poor, sore body – that it wouldn’t be wise, that it would make the process of impregnating you slower. Then, he thinks – he can just fill you up with his seed later. And in the evening. And tomorrow.

He pushes his tongue down, deep – you gasp, you get your hands on his hood, not trying to tear it apart, but laying there like a scared maiden. You were one – you are one, after all. Gods, he could just keep you here forever if it weren’t for the country needing its empress.

König kisses you all over – you’re still smelling like rose water, like fragrances that were forcefully rubbed on your skin right before the wedding. A proper lady, you were bathed in salts and oils like a kitchen in poor man’s soup – but weren’t you looking beautiful in that dress of yours. Too bad he had to rip it eventually, stepping on it accidentally quite a few times as he was getting you water. Your little trick with the herb did make you thirsty in all possible ways.

You don’t know a lot about royal weddings, but you’re pretty sure that the emperor shouldn’t be sprawled on his giant bed like this, eating you out like you were the roasted lamb served at yesterday’s feast. You moan when the material of his mask is getting tricky with your gentle parts when the rough fabric is scrapping your thighs in a way that is far from arousal – and then he leans in, a head laying on your tummy. Your princess parts are swollen from his actions – and lack thereof. You almost think you could buck your hips up like a… König takes off his hood.

— Wh…what are y… You don’t master enough words before he is forcing his face against yours before his lips finally lay down on yours properly – and gods isn’t this a beautiful sight. The emperor, the vile conqueror, your biggest enemy, and your husband – smiling like a boy when he got free candy, like a cat who got the cream – like a man so in love, it makes him unable to stop smiling while looking at his wife.

He isn’t pretty in the sense that some of the rulers can be pretty – he isn’t hideous either. A rough face doesn’t look like something that belongs to a royal family – big nose, small lips, chiseled chin and not a sight of inbreeding. You try to see if his ears are wrong, at least, but they are fine – not caring about a bit of chopped-off bits, probably from old battles. He is rugged and handsome and rough and you hate that red stubble on his chin and his gorgeous ginger hair – if you were forced to see this face every day, you might give up and like him. It’s a good thing he wears the mask most of the time, isn’t it?

— You don’t like how your emperor looks, little princess? He laughs again, then – cups your face in his hands and kisses you all over. Again and again, his lips fell on yours making you feel dumb, making you feel dizzy and just a bit charmed – like the potion you drank yesterday hadn’t fully worn off. You can taste your own pleasure on his lips and it makes you embarrassed – a proper lady should never enjoy a process as dirty as making love – your lower parts should only exist for him to take pleasure in ruining it, and for you – to birth little princes.

But König bows down before your lower lips, but König presses his tongue against your special spot again and again, and it makes you wonder if he recites the anthem of the empire on the little swollen bud between your legs – for his actions are filled with devotion that should only be reserved for one’s country, not for just a poor, dumb handmaiden whose only job was to lie and to protect. But…is it really all you want to do now? Just lay here and let him take him, without a chance of enjoying him playing with you if only for just a bit longer? — I…I believe you look fine, Your Majesty.

— Just fine?

He smiles and kisses you down there again – the aftermath of your pleasure makes his lips feel too hard on your swollen parts, the climax had taken everything from you left only feelings, as naked and trembling as you are right now – and, by god, if you aren’t feeling like sold and set in pieces. You are selling your dignity right now, the loyalty to your kingdom is getting grazed by each new stroke of his tongue. You close your eyes and moan – for you can’t hold off your pleasure anymore. For you don’t see a reason in trying to pretend you don’t enjoy being treated like a princess after a life of servitude.

— You are fine for an emperor, my…my husband. You struggle to say it – but you do have to say it eventually, at least in front of the servants. If he isn’t intent on keeping you locked away in a tower, pumping out babies like his little servant – maybe he wouldn’t want to keep you open for the world to take. You were a secluded princess kept in shadows before he discovered you, after all. You served the one, at least.

— Trying to cover the harsh words with honey, ja? I killed for less, mein Schatz.

— I assume you won’t kill me before the first son, at least?

— Wouldn’t kill you even if you’d be barren. I’d rather leave the empire to rot without an heir than choose someone else in your place.

— That is awful news for your empire.

— Our empire can rot without you, Meine Liebe. Never wanted the damned crown in the first place.

— But you’re fine with putting it on the head of a commoner?

— I was a commoner once. Know better than anyone else that a princess would never make a good wife.

You never studied his rise to power – the latest politics were hidden from you and the princess, the king never wanted to taint his daughter with such silly things as rising stars of the political arena – and he failed to mention the empire that was once rotting from its head getting a ruler who would take half of the continent and a daughter of every kingdom in his harem as the spoils of war.

He lays down beside you, taking you in his arms again. his hair flows all around you – he smells like blood, still, even after so many hours spent bathing in your shared musk. You wonder if everything he had done with the forbidden rituals made him like this – face torn and stitched back together again, harsh scars that can only be made from a blade or claws of a giant animal – and he pushes you down to press your face against his chest, taking in the feeling of laying beside your husband.

— Don’t you have something that needs to be done, Your Highness?

— The most important thing I need to do is lay between your legs, little princess. And you’re too swollen to be doing that.

You press your forehead against his chest. Taking it him and the light tan of his skin – you wonder where he could get it, if he almost never took off his armor. His face is as pale as it can be, and it makes him look a little silly when naked – but you refuse to smile and make him angry. — I thought you wanted me to meet your harem.

— They can wait. We need to give them time to prepare the poison for you, right?

He laughs and you don’t find anything better to do than to press your head against his chest and close your eyes. The royal visits really can wait until tomorrow.

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