★

You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation. 

Spencer made some choices yesterday. 

Choices that make you want to throttle him.

Calling you sweetheart. 

Kissing you.

Whispering so sweetly to you.

Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever. 

The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found. 

The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.

You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them. 

You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you. 

Of course they’ll find you. 

Hopefully. 

When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday. 

“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken. 

When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile. 

“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep. 

“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”

“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn. 

”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say. 

“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?

Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you. 

He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed. 

“I’m fine.”

”Are you absolutely sure?” 

”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them. 

“Promise you feel fine?”

”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.

“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath. 

After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement. 

“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament. 

”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying. 

Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile. 

“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.

“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless. 

“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction. 

”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.

”I mean physically.”

”Sore.” Just a little. 

”I’m sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario. 

”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”

”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent. 

“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you. 

“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.

When did he get so close to you?

“What you had to do.” You correct him. 

He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight. 

“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.” 

Gross. 

“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.” 

Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on? 

“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find. 

There’s nothing. 

No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor. 

“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”

You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check. 

“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.” 

You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer. 

“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig. 

You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing. 

“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well. 

You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out. 

You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry. 

Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing. 

The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours. 

Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties. 

When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground. 

“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards. 

“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle. 

You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.

When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk. 

“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.” 

“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks. 

“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”

You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after. 

“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.

“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his. 

“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.

“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy. 

“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?” 

He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?

“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”   

 “Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought. 

“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”

“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself. 

“You wish?” 

“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.

That’s not what he wants to say.

”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.” 

“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”

”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”

”Definietly not healthy.”

”Do you have a better idea?”

”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head. 

“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face. 

”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”

You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.

”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes. 

“It’s not funny.” 

“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.” 

He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric. 

”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion. 

”I know Reid.”

”Spencer.”

”What?”

”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.” 

“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.

“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.

”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back. 

“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down. 

“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow. 

“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

God you’re sick. 

“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight. 

“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare. 

“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”

”Well that’s not fair-”

”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And  sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?” 

“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.

”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job. 

And all you want to do right now is call him Reid. 

Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest. 

At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.

”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”

”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”

God, yes. 

“No.”      

“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.” 

He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script. 

“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.

”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.” 

He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else. 

“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you. 

At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug. 

Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur. 

You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too. 

You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole. 

“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.

”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game. 

You’ve never beat him.

But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty. 

You chew on your lip, frowning in the process. 

“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him. 

“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.

“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?” 

The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.

Almost.

“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees. 

Asked for it, wanted it, needed it. 

He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.

He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable. 

And then you wait. 

His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly. 

Son of a bitch. 

He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse. 

“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”

Oh, you could kill him.

Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly. 

You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan. 

“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?” 

Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.

And his eyes just light up.

You’re never gonna live this down.

With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you. 

Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you? 

He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you. 

And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this. 

Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this. 

So you give him one. 

Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth. 

His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open. 

You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply  through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear. 

“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.

And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself. 

Oh he’s got a perfect dick.

You’re gonna need so much therapy after this. 

You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn. 

He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’ 

Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.

You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth. 

You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan. 

All you want to hear is make him make that sound. 

You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.

”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip. 

He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.

”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence. 

When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned. 

“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.

”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you. 

You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face. 

“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning. 

The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip. 

“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears. 

You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans. 

“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.” 

Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.

One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke. 

The look on his face makes it worth it. 

Intoxicated.

Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time. 

“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.

As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.

You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm. 

Not that you mind all that much. 

When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though. 

“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.” 

Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs. 

His eyes practically sparkle. 

Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs. 

“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself. 

He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.

”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it. 

“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan. 

”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head. 

“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass. 

“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him. 

“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less. 

“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head. 

“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much. 

Almost as much as you do.

”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place. 

“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop. 

Probably. 

”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips. 

What do you want? 

What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real. 

You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.

You want to know what he thinks about all of this.

You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.

You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.

You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this. 

”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.

There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.                                     

“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet. 

You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this. 

“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock. 

You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious. 

You feel a sense of pride. 

You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows. 

“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now. 

And all you can do is nod. 

When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him. 

He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision. 

You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up. 

He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach. 

“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.

“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you. 

“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full. 

“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch. 

Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix. 

And then he fucking whimpers your name. 

Out of breath and desperate.

“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?

With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.

“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose. 

Closer, and closer, and closer. 

Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back. 

His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty. 

“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue. 

 God, you’re a goner. 

He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips. 

“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.  

“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.

You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.

“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck

“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.” 

Does he want you to state the obvious?

“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there. 

“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.” 

He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him. 

“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles. 

“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.

”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.” 

“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on. 

“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration. 

“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns. 

It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you. 

You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets. 

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth. 

“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention. 

There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion. 

“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you. 

“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting. 

You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there. 

You’re definitely going to be sore for a while. 

You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror. 

Yikes. 

No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out. 

“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay. 

Are you okay?

Sort of. 

You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that. 

If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship. 

You’re okay, mostly. 

You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay. 

You just have to hope he’s okay too. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey. 

That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever. 

Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept. 

It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.

You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks. 

“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.

That’s it?

That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it. 

“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes. 

“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.

“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through. 

He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush. 

Tell him.

Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong. 

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. 

“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.

★

“Do you think it’s the serial killer in Seattle?” You whispered to Emily, she had rolled her chair over to your desk when Hotch announced an emergency meeting in five.

”I don’t know what else it could be, it’s all the news is talking about. I’m just surprised we weren’t called in sooner, the escalation from this guy is practically unheard of.” She whispered back.

”I heard he’s up to four victims a day, I don’t know when this guy even sleeps.” You clicked through the files on your computer, trying to tie up any loose ends in your paperwork before the meeting. Anytime an emergency meeting was called it was almost always accompanied by a “Wheels up in ten.” 

“They’re up to five,” Spencer leaned towards the partition between your desks, he didn't look up, his eyes still focused on the book in his hands. “We don’t know that the unsub is male, the victims are male and female.” 

“It was originally just women, I’m like ninety percent sure it’s a man.” You cocked an eyebrow at Emily as you logged out of your computer, standing up and leaning over the partition to see what he’s reading. 

The Divine Comedy 

“Again?” You scrunch up your nose, you don’t know how he reads the same books over and over again. 

“Yes, again.” He flips the page, his finger arched as it slides down the page, his eyes following the trail. When you first started you hadn’t believed them when they said no one reads as fast as Reid, you brought in book after book, trying to catch him in a lie until you couldn’t deny it anymore. “There’s actually a really interesting ongoing case in Toronto, a killer leaving pages with lines from Dante’s Infernos that seem to hint towards his next victim. I was hoping we might be called in to give some insight on the situation but it seems extremely likely that we’ll be on a plane to Seattle soon.” He closed the book, giving you that devastating little side smile of his.  

Not his usual overworked, tight lipped smile he used most of the time at work. His genuine little smirk that he only used when he really meant it. 

Don’t profile him. 

It’s common courtesy. Don’t profile your fellow profiler. 

“What do you think about this guy in Seattle?” You say as you watch him put the book into his go bag, he’ll finish it in the first five minutes on the plane. 

”I think…” His voice trails off, running his fingers through his mess of hair. “Something about everything they’re releasing seems off, we’re missing a big chunk of information, that might be deliberate from the news stations or it might be a choice from the unsub. Either way I’m curious to see what the files say if this is in fact our case.” When he stood and started heading towards the conference room you followed, whispering to Emily about how you’d never been to Seattle. 

Hotch was on the phone so you did your best to enter the room as quietly as possible, joining the group. You sit next to Spencer, watching as he rhythmically taps each of his fingers to his thumb, sorting out some kind of pattern you don’t understand. When he stops you realize he’s watching you stare, quickly, you turn away, cheeks burning hot.  

Your relationship with Spencer was complicated. 

Well, your lack of relationship with Spencer was complicated. 

You joined the BAU a little under a year ago, taking the desk next to his. You’d heard all about him, the youngest member of the BAU, (until you arrived.) with an eidetic memory and an IQ to rival the brightest minds of the FBI. Meeting him made you realize he was the brightest mind of the FBI. 

The boy genius. 

Unfortunately for you, boy genius was also known by another nickname. 

Pretty boy. 

Something so stupid, that should have been inconsequential, opened your eyes to something you’d give anything to unsee.

The second the name left Morgan's mouth you had giggled into your hand, laughing at the idea of anyone thinking your dorky, walking encyclopedia of a desk mate was pretty. Instead you smiled at him, planning to give him a playful punch to the shoulder or a wink, instead you were staring into those ever changing hazel eyes. Wide eyed like a deer he watched as you had giggled, his gaze hit you like a punch to the stomach as you considered for the first time since you met him that Spencer Reid might be pretty. 

Then you couldn’t stop considering it. 

The way his hair curls around the ends. The way his eyes change colors in certain lighting. The way his slender, precise, fingers are constantly in motion, fighting to keep up with the speed his brain is working at. His pretty chin, his pretty lashes, his pretty brows, his pretty arms, his pretty hips, his pretty jaw. God that fucking jaw. Somedays you would just stare at his jaw, leering at him from your side of the desk as he works, all while you fight the urge to reach out and grab him by his pretty chin and kiss all along the edge of that pretty jaw. 

You wanted to kill Morgan. 

How were you supposed to get anything done once he opened your eyes to this? He had opened a door you couldn’t seem to close, no matter how hard you tried. And god did you try, but no matter what you did, he always did something in a certain way that drew you right back in. 

The way he scrunched his eyebrows and got real quiet when he was focusing. 

The way he always perked up when someone mentioned a book they were reading, no matter what it was.

The way he second guessed himself, even though no one else was doubting his knowledge. 

The way he would decline a handshake. Claiming that it was more hygienic to kiss.

He had shaken your hand on your first day. 

A fact that now haunted you, keeping you up at night as you tossed and turned and asked yourself, why? 

It was easier not to think about it. It was the one case you just couldn’t seem to crack, and with real killers out there you had to focus on the cases that you could solve. 

You resigned yourself to being his friend, and pushing down any unprofessional thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind.

“Let’s get started, we’ve got about twenty minutes before I want us on the jet.” Hotch passed out rather sizable files. You immediately opened yours, not at all surprised to see that you’re heading for Seattle. “I’m sure everyone here has heard plenty about the case but the public has not been made aware of the sheer extent of what’s happening.” He turned towards the screen, clicking the remote until it settled on a list of website links. 

As you flip through the file your stomach churns, you can feel the tension in the rooms as everyone sees the same things you’re seeing. 

The first body was found two years ago. 

Four months after that a surviving victim came forward. 

More bodies were found but none of them were connected to the crime until recently. They’d been so spread out in time and location no one had put the pieces together until now. They’re taking up to five people a day, with an expectation of continued escalation. It wasn’t just that they were killing people that made everyone in the room uneasy, it was what happened prior to the killings. 

Local news broadcasts implied that the killer was taking victims captive, holding them for twenty four hours, and choosing at random afterwards to either kill them afterwards or release them. Like a Russian roulette of release or slaughter. 

It’s clear that that’s not at all what’s happening. 

Victims seem random, some are taken alone, some are taken in groups of two or three. Surviving victims report finding themselves in an empty room, with concrete floors, bare walls, a red door without a handle, and bright lights. The only thing in the room with them is miscellaneous bedding and anyone who might be with them. They don’t remember how they got there, or how they left. 

Once they wake they are always stripped down to their underwear, the unsub speaks to them remotely, explaining to them a set or rules. From there they either play along or their body is found a few days later, always in dumpsters around the city. You can’t help but wonder how many bodies weren’t found. 

“We can’t confirm every victim was related but we have good reason to believe there were dozens happening outside of Seattle.”

”I don’t understand, what exactly is he doing with them once he has them?”

”He’s making videos, and uploading them online.” Hotch motions towards the website list. “These are just the sites that have had the videos taken down, more pop up every hour.”

There’s so many. 

“How the hell is that legal?” Morgan closes his case file, you watch as his fist clenches and unclenches.

“It’s not.” Spencer speaks without looking up from the file, you’re sure he’s read it over twice by now. “We’re dealing with a voyeur, he never makes appearances in the videos he’s making, but he micromanages every action taken by the victims.” 

”Why isn’t it public knowledge that his motives are sexual?” Emily speaks up now, glaring at Hotch with a look that you know holds the rage that’s meant for the unsub.

“Many of the surviving victims didn’t initially reveal what was really going on, due to either shame or fear of not being believed. Stories didn’t match, people weren’t making the connection between cases.” He sounds tired, then again Hotch always sounds tired. 

”Shame. This bastard’s likely preying on their humiliation, it’s how he gets off.” Morgan stands as he speaks, dialing his phone as he heads towards the door. “I’m gonna see if Garcia can link any solved missing persons cases to people in the videos, maybe see if we can identify victims who might’ve stayed quiet.” When he’s gone you turn back to Hotch.

“So he’s impotent?” You speak softer than the rest of the group, cringing as you flip to a page in the file that lists every video he’s made, the titles and victims listed beside each one. “He can’t perform so he lives out his fantasies vicariously through his victims, when they won’t play nice it reminds him of his own inabilities and he lashes out.” 

“Not necessarily,” You can feel the heat off of Spencer's body as he speaks, putting his arm around your chair and leaning in close while his other hand points through the list you’re eying. “The titles of his videos are positive and speak almost highly of his victims, if he were impotent he would most likely resent his victims for being able to perform when he can’t. His videos would use much more degrading language.” His finger follows specific examples for you. 

Beautiful girl gets a special treat from handsome stranger

Good girl solo session

Two men sharing a pretty lady

Gorgeous angel plays with herself

You try to ignore just how close he is to you as you read through the list. 

“Then what’s his motive?” Your attention turns back to Hotch as he speaks, Spencer pulls himself back from you in one swift motion. 

”If he’s not impotent then he’s a sexual psychopath.” This time when you speak you can see Spencer nodding in your peripheral vision. “He won’t stop until he’s caught, he feels no remorse for what he’s done and we can expect continuous escalation from here. He’ll go bigger and bolder until he gets sloppy and we catch him.”

“So we need to catch him fast.” You could see Emily thinking as she spoke. “The victimology is odd.”

“I noticed the same thing. It was all women and one at a time up until about nine and a half months ago. His solo victims are still exclusively women but now he often brings in men with them.” 

“We need to find out what happened that made him switch.” Hotch turns the screen off, giving you all a curt nod. “Wheels up in ten.” 

The team around you disperses, hushed whispers filling the space until they dissipate and it’s just you and Spencer, staring down into the case files. 

“There’s something else in the victimology, why didn’t anyone point this out?” You hold the file out towards him. “All the female victims look the same.” You can tell by how he grimaces that he already realized that. 

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Then why didn’t anyone say anything! Clearly these women are a surrogate for someone else so…” Your voice trails off when you see the look on his face. 

Oh. 

The hair color, eye color, and body type. 

They’re all the same as yours. 

“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we board, do you want one?” He speaks softly as he stands, you nod, collecting yourself before following after him. Heading towards your desk to grab your go-bag. 

★

“I know this isn’t pleasant for anyone but I need you all to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.” Hotch had his laptop set up where everyone could see it. The thumbnail of the video already made you feel sick. 

A woman in her underwear, curled up in the corner of the room. A wiry young man in a shirt and his boxers sits in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“This kind of thing is my least favorite part of the job.” Emily grumbled beside you and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. You have to remind yourself that you can handle this. You were selected to be a part of this team, you have to handle it. 

You were the youngest on the team, like Spencer you were brought on in your early twenties, shockingly young for the BAU. You didn’t have the field experience most agents have before joining, just a specific set of skills that made you invaluable. Advanced pattern recognition skills, an encyclopedic knowledge of forensics, and of course the fact that you pieced together a dozen cold cases in college. You could catch a killer in your sleep. 

Sex crimes were different, you didn’t have the experience in them and they made you a bit emotional. You knew it was something you’d eventually get used to, but that thought made you sad most days. You can’t imagine ever being desensitized to any of this. 

“We’re just going to watch the first few minutes, I want to give everyone a chance to hear how our unsub speaks and how he reacts to things. I believe it will give us a much clearer understanding of what we’re walking into.” The entire plane was silent as he pressed play, standing silently like a statue, turned away from the screen. He had clearly already seen it and has no interest in watching it again. 

It’s as bad as you expected, probably worse. 

Hotch only made you all watch about five minutes, unfortunately that was too much for you. But he was right, it did give you plenty of insight into your unsub. They communicated with their victims through an intercom system, a disembodied voice that can be heard making demands. The thing that stands out to you most is the formality. He gives them detailed and clinical instructions, how to act, when to moan, what position to be in, all the way down to how fast he wants them to go. He signals them to begin with one clear command. 

“Action!” 

The two terrified victims moved shakily, the woman looking like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and the man had tears spilling down his cheeks. You could see the silver of his wedding band glimmering on the screen. 

You knew from the file that the victims were almost always strangers, despite the fact that the female victims had visual similarities; they were still seemingly selected at random. Unlucky women who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped because they looked a certain way. They looked like you. 

It made you want to cry. Watching the way they trembled as they hesitantly touched each other, you could hear the man in the video repeating himself softly. 

“Is- is this okay? Are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

If you cried right now no one would think less of you, you almost let yourself. The woman is despondent, her eyes squeezed shut, when she starts to cry you have to look away. You can feel your companions glance in your direction and you know that they’re all thinking because it’s what you’re thinking. 

She looks too much like you.

If you squint she’s your spitting image. 

“Excuse me.” You mumble as you push past Hotch towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. 

You are good at your job, great at your job, you’ve never let a case get to you before but this? It’s too much, you’ve never been asked to watch a video of two people being raped. It’s too much. 

You run the water, letting the sound drown out the crying you can still hear out in the cabin. 

“God damn it! At least pretend like you like it you stupid fucking slut!” So much for Spencer's theory that he thought highly of his victims. When you finally hear the laptop close and the audio turn off you step out of the bathroom, but not before looking yourself over in the mirror. 

All you see is the girl from the video. 

You stumble back out into the cabin, Derek has taken your seat next to Emily, they speak in hushed whispers as they work through her notes. When you step out she gives you a reassuring smile. 

You take Derek's seat on the bench next to Spencer, he gives you a tight lipped sympathetic look. The last thing you want is for him to pity you. 

“From the sounds of it he doesn’t hold much respect for his victims, the derogatory language would imply that he does resent them but the video titles say differently. I can’t wrap my head around it.” You speak in a hushed voice so only he can hear you as you open one of the files, flipping back to the page of titles. Not once does he use degrading language toward the women, he regrets them as beautiful, gentle, angels. 

“Something seems to be happening between the videos being made and the upload time that makes him feel…” He chews on his lip, his brows furrowing as he searches for the solution. 

“Regret?” 

“No, regret would imply that he feels badly about this, as a sexual psychopath he feels no remorse for what he’s done. It’s almost like he’s lying to himself with the titles, like that’s what he wants them to be. They can’t live up to whoever he wants them to be.” He sounds unsure but it makes sense. Whoever he’s using these women as a surrogate for is who he actually wants, these women can’t live up to her no matter how hard they try. But when he titles and uploads the videos he’s thinking of her, so the language switches back to favorable. He turns to look at you, both of you eye to eye, a strangely serious moment as he runs his fingers along the spine of the file. “Are you okay?” 

It’s so earnest it nearly knocks the wind out of you, his big hazel eyes searching for an answer. 

“I’m… fine. It’s just hard sometimes, but I think I’m alright, I’ll feel even better when we catch this guy.” You give him an encouraging smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “But I appreciate you checking in.” The look of relief he gives you nearly melts your heart. 

“Then let’s catch this guy.” His smile falters a bit as he thinks. “Something just isn’t clicking for me, it’s incredibly frustrating.”

“We’re missing something.” You mumble as he nods. 

“Something vital. It’s like we’re missing one big puzzle piece right in the middle of a nearly finished picture.” 

“Exactly. I understand that there must be a woman out there that he’s focused on but I just feel like there are too many possible alternative motives.” You flip through the victims photographs, living and deceased. “Is he a porn addict? Maybe the stuff online just wasn’t doing it for him anymore so he resorts to making his own?” 

“I was thinking the same thing but from what I can tell the videos he’s making are relatively tame. I had Garcia send me a list of all the general themes in the videos and it’s all pretty standard vanilla intercourse, he isn’t having them engage in anything objectively taboo.” He holds the sheet out to you, you take it from him, immediately searching the page for answers. 

Missionary

Missionary

Missionary

Missionary with handcuffs

Missionary 

Medical Play

Missionary

Doggy Style

Missionary

Gun Play

Missionary

”Medical play?” You scrunch up your face as you try to imagine that, all you can think about is needles. 

“Not at all uncommon, typically a doctor patient roleplay involving very impersonal, and detached intercourse.” You want to poke at him for knowing that off the cuff but you’re too distracted by his choice of words. 

“I hate that you call it intercourse.” You feign a grimace at him. 

”That’s the professional terminology.” He grins back at you, a real bonafide Spencer Reid smile. 

“I know, you just make it sound so… clinical.”

”In this setting it should be clinical!” His voice hitches up, his smile never faltering. 

“I’m sure it is, Dr. Reid.” You tease as you bump your shoulder against his. Laughing as his ears burn red, he clears his throat loudly. 

“I would assume he’s trying to fulfil some specific fantasy but nothing he’s doing seems to have any correlation.” His tone stays light but you can tell this case is bugging him, he doesn’t like being confused, no one does but especially him. 

“So is he a sexual psychopath or a sadist?” You throw him a bone, a question he can make sense of that you want an answer to. 

“He doesn’t seem like a sadist, a sadist enjoys the cruelty of the act, although I wouldn’t fully rule out sadism. It’s actually rather fascinating reading the transcripts of our unsubs videos. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he’s doing but he has to for some reason, it’s like it’s a chore. Not necessarily that it’s a compulsion that he can’t help but like it’s a job he’s clocking in for. I’m hoping when we speak to some of the victims we’ll get a clearer picture of what happened.” He speaks vividly with his hands, as he gets caught up in his ramblings a chime signals that you’re soon to land.  

You felt yourself leaning into him as the plane began its descent. 

You hope to get this entire case sorted and taken care of quickly. Everything about it made you queasy, the faster you got out of Seattle the better. 

When you land you all end up in separate cabs heading in different directions. With too many victims and too many bodies it only makes sense to split up. 

★

Your head hurts like hell.

Jesus, what the fuck happened last night? You definitely didn’t go out drinking, you didn’t catch the guy. Yet you feel like you have an absolutely wicked hangover. You can hardly open your eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights burning your retinas as you try to orient yourself. 

Definitely not a hotel room. 

You have no idea where you are. 

Okay, that’s fine, just stay calm, it’s imperative in situations like these to remain calm. 

“Find a focus point. The last thing that happened to you before you lost consciousness. Where were you? What were you wearing? Who was with you? What time was it?” 

Hotch’s emergency hostage training rings around in the dizzy mess that is your train of thought. 

You would have landed in Seattle around 8:00 P.M. 

You were in a cab heading to the most recent surviving victims home.

You were wearing black trousers, and an olive green short sleeved turtle neck, you had tucked your blazer into your bag. 

You were in the cab, there had been an unfamiliar sound, like air being let out of a balloon. 

Or gas being released into a car.

Deep breaths. 

In,

and out. 

You force your eyes open, locking eyes on the first thing you can focus on. 

Directly in front of you is a large red metal door, with no handle. 

Fuck.

Turning quickly, your eyes find a folded pile of blankets, pillows strewn about, and a small room with four walls and no windows. 

Fuck fuck fuck.  

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“Don’t freak out, at least not physically. The moment you break down you’re giving your captor power over you.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, digging your nails into your palms as you steady your breathing.

In,

and out. 

In,

and out.

In,

and out. 

“Hello, Agent. You cannot fathom how delightful it is to finally meet you.” You immediately recognize the voice that crackles over the unseen intercom. 

This can’t be happening.

You swallow, fighting the urge to scream.

”I would like to make a movie with you.” It’s like he’s in the room with you, you can practically hear the smile on his face. You cringe when you hear the wet sound of him licking his lips. 

”I bet you would.” You fight the urge to mumble, speaking clearly as Hotch would instruct you to do. ”Is this the part where I choose between being murdered or being raped?” You turn your head, trying to find where the camera you know is watching you might be. 

“Oh, no, you sweet thing, you wound me.” His voice is a sickening coo, as if he’s soothing a frightened animal. “You, and your whole team, you misunderstand me.”

”Our entire job is to understand you.” You scoff, desperate to appear nonchalant while your head spins and your heart races.

”And you are doing a terrible job.”

”Then why don’t you help me, fill in the gaps, let’s start with a name.” You try to act as confident as you’ve seen the rest of the team be when faced with an unsub. 

”I think you know I cannot answer that, it would ruin the fun before we have even started. I simply cannot have you screaming out clues during my movie.” 

”Your movies? Is that what you call the snuff you’ve been peddling?” 

“Oh come now, you think of me as some demented, perverse deviant. That is how I know your profile is all wrong.” By the time they find you you’ll be another girl on one of those websites. ”I am an artist.” 

“I wouldn’t call anything you do art.”

”Art is subjective, perhaps you are not my intended audience.” He sounds so smug, you know he’s pleased with himself. 

”And who is?”

”Hmm… What a question.” You know by the way his tongue clicks that whatever he says next will be a lie. ”People who want to feel something. Everyone likes sex, some people are just willing to admit it.”

”Bullshit. You’re making them for someone specific, a specific group of people just as sick as you are.” 

“I suppose you are right, in a way. Some of my recent work has been… self indulgent.” 

“So who’s the woman?” There’s only silence in response when you ask the question that's been on your mind since you read the file. “Who’s the unlucky lady that we all look like?”

The silence is deafening until you finally hear that crackling voice again.

“I cannot wait to start, angel.”

”Then why haven’t we started? You’ve got me here, I’ve seen your videos, I know how this goes.” You’ve seen Hotch push and push an unsub until they crack but you don’t have the experience he does and your voice shakes. 

”Clearly you do not, or you would not have so many questions.” There’s a pause again, as he thinks something over before you hear him again, for the first time he sounds almost unsure. ”We simply cannot start without your co-star.” 

Your entire body froze, your breath catching in your throat. 

In all of his videos with multiple people they all wake up together, why would he stray from his usual routine just for you? You have no idea and you aren’t excited to find out. 

“Until then I suggest you get comfortable, I am not sure how long it will take before he makes an appearance but I have a sneaking suspicion you will not be in suspense for very long.”

”What do you mean?”

The laugh that flows from the intercom settles in your stomach, heavy and vile.

“I know he will not keep you waiting, I am certain it will only be a few hours before we are ready.” 

You open your mouth to question further but the speaker clicks and you know the conversation is over. Looking around the room you know there’s nothing you can do but wait. Clawing at the door will get you nowhere. Screaming will get you nowhere. And crying will get you nowhere.

Pacing the room tells you next to nothing, the walls are concrete, as well as the floor, there’s no windows. 

Likely underground.

You trace your fingers along the edge of the red door, there’s no gaps, when you push yourself up against it there’s no give. The ceiling is a mess of pipes and wires, you know somewhere up there are cameras, capturing your every move. 

Not the best situation to find yourself in. 

“It will only be a few hours before we are ready.” 

You feel like an inmate on death row. You know without a shadow of a doubt that the team doesn’t have a sufficient profile to find you in the next few hours, unless they pull off some kind of miracle. 

   What twisted fate does he have in store for you. The possibilities for your ‘co-star’ are endless. You’re almost thankful for the hiss of gas as you feel your vision get blurry, at least he isn’t going to make you sit here and stew. 

★

This time when you wake you’re being shaken by someone, your immediate instinct is to fight, if this is your captor this will likely be your only chance to escape. You grab at the hands on your shoulders, forcing them away from you as you kick wildly, throwing yourself at him and pinning him down, until you’re straddling him under your hips. You’re about to start punching, as hard as you can so you take a moment to force your eyes open once again. It will do you no good to slam your fist into concrete. 

When you open your eyes you aren’t met with a stranger though, instead you’re staring at familiar wide hazel eyes.

“Hey, you’re all good, it’s just me.” His voice is so soft, like he’s not about to take a beating, hands up defensively and all. “Just me.” 

“Oh my god.” Too many thoughts are firing through your brain, instead of focusing on the horrifying implications of his arrival you fold over against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you embrace him. 

Hesitantly, his arms wrap around you as well, anchoring you in this sea of madness.

“I’m gonna guess based on your reaction that you know exactly where we are.” His words are still gentle as he holds you tight, releasing you when you finally pull back, crawling off of him. You both orient yourselves, standing and doing a turn about the room. 

“I woke up alone, he changed his MO.” You listen, waiting for your captor to finally make himself known. You know he’s there, he wouldn’t miss this. Watching with bated breath for both of your reactions. 

He winces as he reaches for the back of his head. 

“I wasn’t gassed or slipped something like his usual victims either,” He turns to you, concern becoming more and more apparent on his face. “did he talk to you?” 

“Briefly, he definitely fits the sexual psychopath profile, he doesn’t think anything he’s doing is wrong. What do you remember? How did he get you here? I was knocked out in the cab, then I woke up here…” You trail off as you motion for him to turn so you can look at the back of his head. You tentatively run your fingers through his hair, you find a bit of blood drying, it looks like he’s been bludgeoned with something. “He’s never physically hurt a victim like this, he doesn’t get hands on unless they don’t cooperate and even then it’s almost always done with a gun. All the victims were shot to death, not beaten.” 

“We‘re still dressed.” Spencer motions to himself, he’s still in his button up, cardigan, and dress pants and you’re still in the same clothes as well. 

“Just another thing we can add to the list of things that make no sense.” You’re so close, you can taste it. “Maybe because we’re federal agents? He isn’t sure what the best course of action is because he’s never dealt with something on this scale.” 

“I just don’t get it.” He’s still hung up on the clothes, you can tell as he pulls on his tie, straightening it. You both know from the tapes and files that the first thing he does is undress his victims, leaving them in their undershirts, bras, and underwear. “It’s a part of the ritual, he shows them how much control he has over them by stripping them of basic comforts.” 

“We’re different.” Your voice falls to a whisper. Everything is different for you two, like you’re his guests of honor. 

“All the other victims recall being taken together, from the same location, we weren’t selected at random like them. We hadn’t even spoken to the local police department when you were taken, did he anticipate our arrival? Is he concerned about the FBI getting involved?” The gears in your head twist and turn as he rambles on. Painting a horrifying picture as you realize the only possible explanation. “And then he took me, which makes no sense. He already has you, if he plans to ransom us back then he doesn't need two of us.”

He isn’t going to ransom you.  

“If his goal was just to make another video he would have done it with just you.”

That wasn’t his goal.

“Reid.” Your voice cracks but he’s hyper focused now on his own mental processings, his hands waving around as he paces back and forth.

“Is it respect? Because of our positions in the bureau? It would make sense why we’re still dressed, but he’s previously taken doctors, lawyers, plenty of people in positions of authority. It makes no sense for him to stray just for us.”

We’re different. Different from every single person he’s taken previously. 

“Reid.” Your voice is so quiet now you can’t blame him for not hearing you. 

“No- no, that makes no sense, he shouldn’t have taken you at all, he’s been so cautious up until now. He moves with the intention of never getting caught, our unsub isn’t stupid enough to choose federal agents as his targets. Is it possible we’re dealing with-”

You step in front of him, effectively silencing him and stopping him in his tracks. 

“He’s been after us all along.” For a moment his expression is blank, you watch as his eyes get wider, and wider. And just like it did for you, everything clicks into place, he’s given no time to react as the crackle of the intercom makes both of you look up. 

“I have been after you all along.” That polite voice rings out once more. 

Your entire body tenses up.

Shoulders and jaw locking into place as your feet step into a defensive stance. 

You know he isn’t talking to Spencer. 

“My girl.” He speaks in a gooey, loving tone that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “I have been after you since you first graced my screen all those years ago. How lucky I was to stumble upon you as I wasted away, searching for my muse. And finally, completely by accident, there you were. An FBI training video, used to educate the public on a few basic things, you smiled and talked about your program. I must have watched that video a thousand times. You had but a few moments on screen but god were they glorious.”  

You can feel Spencer's presence change, he was on edge before but now his body language shifts from nervous to something else. His mouth is settled into a deep frown as he steps between you and the door, like he can protect you from this nightmare. 

Oh my god.

Spencer. 

You’d been so relieved to have someone here with you that you hadn’t even begun to process the implications of his presence. And now he’s here, standing between you and a man obsessed with you. 

You need to get him out of here immediately. 

”You were glowing, the camera loved you.” He speaks about you like you’re a past lover, someone he once knew dearly and is now reminiscing about. “I could not get you out of my head after that. In everything I watched, I compared every actress to you. I looked online, desperately trying to find someone, anyone, who could hold a candle to you. Every woman I brought here, every cheap trinket, was a pale comparison to your light.”

“Then why bring Reid into this at all? I’d think you’d want me all to yourself?” You manage to keep your tone even despite the fact that you feel deep in your bones like he’s already violated you. “Maybe our profile was right, you’re impotent, so you had to bring someone in to do the job you know you can’t.” 

In a way he has already violated you, through every woman he brought here as a surrogate for you.  

All of these people suffered because of you. 

“Don’t taunt him.” Spencer whispers, soft enough that your captor likely can’t hear him. “It will only result in a negative reaction. I’m starting to think he really is a sadist.” 

“Maybe I am.” For the first time you hear his prim and proper tone drop to something darker, more authentic. ”A sadist, that is, as far as the impotence goes, I do not think that is a theory you want to test.” Spencer's reaction is more severe than your own as he practically growls. The subtle changes that you’ve been trained to notice, the clicking of his jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fist, the tilt of his gaze as his stare turns to a glare. “I felt more like a masochist than a sadist when I was finally able to see you again on my screen, after searching for so long for a morsel of information on you. You were not an easy girl to find. I remember my joy, my pure bliss, when I saw you again. A euphoria that was immediately destroyed by the presence of Dr. Reid.” You’re pretty sure you know what he’s talking about, when you joined the BAU you were sent out with Spencer to a few schools around Virginia to talk to the students about becoming a profiler. They did a news segment on it, Penelope, Morgan, and Emily teased you about it for weeks because you were staring at Spencer like a schoolgirl in love the whole time. “My heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces. My shining star, ogling some man in a constant state of disarray. Mismatched socks, tangled hair, wrinkled pants, it was nearly enough to drive me mad. How could my angel settle for such a mess?”

”Reid and I aren’t together.”

”We aren’t together.” 

The two of you respond in unison, the room fills with crackling laughter.

”I told myself that… that it did not matter, that I could just have you and be happy. And for a while that was the plan. Until I went to Quantico to see you.”

You want to vomit.

You’ve probably seen him before, he was there, watching, and you missed it.  

”You and your precious team, out at some dive bar, it took all my strength to not take you then and there. But I told myself to wait. I told myself everything had to be perfect. I told myself that your colleagues would spoil everything if I tried to take you then. I told myself it would not hurt to buy you a drink, to say hello, but as I made my way over to you, you were intercepted by Dr. Reid.” It doesn’t take a background in profiling to tell that he isn’t as fond of Spencer as he is you. ”And you just lit up.”

Even in this moment, in this situation, you find yourself burning red with embarrassment. Your little crush on Spencer was coming back to bite you in the ass in full force. 

“Like he was the sun, and not just some insignificant dying star in your orbit.”

In the most twisted way humanely possible. 

”I knew then and there that I could never make you shine like that. I want your films to be perfect. You would not be perfect all alone, you would be dull, but with Dr. Reid you will sparkle like a diamond.” 

“I‘ll do whatever you want, please, just let him go.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake too bad as you call out to the faceless man. You can’t help but ask for his safety now that you know it’s too late.  

”You will do whatever I want regardless, even if it pains me, he is an integral part of this production.” 

You turn, walking to the nearest wall and slumping down against it, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming. All you’ve wanted to do since you woke up here is scream.  

“I have seen the way he looks at you too. From an objective and artistic standpoint he is the perfect scene partner, looks of yearning that I could not beat out of an actor.” 

Spencer is silent as you look up at him, a few tears finally slip past your steely resolve and down your cheeks, blurring your vision so you don’t see his reaction as he turns away from you. 

“Make yourself comfortable, agents. We start shooting tomorrow.” You’re left with the click of the intercom and your own uneven breathing. 

The energy in the room has shifted from awful to downright unbearable. 

Spencer eventually sits against the wall opposite to you, you watch him through your hair as he twitches, fingers tapping against each other until they grow restless and sift through his hair instead.

“I suppose the first conclusion we should have come to is that we’re set to meet the same fate as the previous victims” He breaks the silence first, sounding haggard. 

The same fate. 

The man behind the voice is going to make demands of you very soon and if you don’t meet them he’s going to be sending you back to Quantico in bodybags. 

“His speech is overly formal, no contractions, he’s a control freak. Likely in a position of power with a career that lets him afford a set up like this and lets him take time off to spend with his victims.” Your tone is monotonous as you continue to stare at your shoes rather than him. 

“We don’t need to profile him right now.” God does he sound sincere when he says it. He’s typically all work and no play but now, here, even he can’t keep that up. 

“Then what are we supposed to do?” 

“Evaluate our options.” He stands, cautiously walking to your side of the room and sitting down beside you, giving you a wide berth of space. “We have a general idea of what to expect tomorrow, we should… make decisions.”

“On if we’re gonna rape each other?” You don’t mean to sound so harsh but you can’t help it, you immediately regret it when he flinches like he’s been slapped. 

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I swear.” He scootches a little further away as if to prove his point and you hide your face in your hands, stifling another scream that eventually escapes as a groan. 

How many times have you imagined being with him? How often do you spend your lonely nights after closing a case lying in bed, wide awake, imagining what it would be like if he were beside you? And here he is, practically being served to you on a silver platter. 

“Reid…” 

“I mean it. I don’t care about the alternative, you’re in charge here, whatever you say goes.” 

“You get a say in this too you know.”

“It’s different.” He sounds so sure. 

“It’s not.” You’re offended on his behalf that he would assume he doesn’t have a choice here. “You have as much of a choice as I do.” 

“I need you to trust me, it’s different.” It clearly pains him to say it, it makes you want to reach out to comfort him but you can’t move. Your body is still locked up defensively. 

“Explain.” 

“This situation is bad enough as is, I’m begging you not to make me do this.” He sounds so beaten down you know it would be cruel to push. 

“Fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I think we should do it. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the only way we make it out of here alive.” You say it like you’re making a decision on something as mundane as what to have for lunch. 

“I agree.”

“We won’t be like the others, it won’t just be one time. He’s been saying films, plural.” He’s been waiting for you, he isn’t going to make one little movie, he’s going to make a whole franchise with the two of you. 

“He plans on keeping us.” 

“Until the team finds us.” 

After they watch every movie you make. 

“Are you up for that?” 

Up for sex with the coworker you’ve spent the last year fantasizing about? 

“I don’t know.” 

This is punishment for every sick, perverted thought you’ve ever had about him. 

“You don’t have to decide now, you can change your mind whenever you want.” He says it as if changing your mind wouldn’t result in fatal consequences. 

“No amount of talking it over first is going to make this okay, you know that, right Reid?” You snap, tired of the voice in your head demanding your attention. 

What if you like it?

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna go step by step, and I don’t care what the consequences are, if you want to stop we’ll stop. And we can take breaks, and we can be professional about it, I can make it very detached-”

What if he realizes you like it? 

“Can we lay down?” Your voice is small, and tired. You really are tired, even if you’re mostly just desperate for him to stop talking. 

“I’ll set up the blankets.” He gives you the closest thing to a smile that he can as he lays out a few of the blankets on the cold concrete, making something akin to a bed as you lay down beside him. As if on cue the fluorescent lights above you flicker out until only a small red bulb is left, bathing you in the dim light. 

“He’s probably still watching us.” You whisper as you roll over, the two of you face to face, even in the dark you can make out his concerned features. 

“I’m sure he is. There’s no privacy here, even in our whispers.” He speaks softly too, and you know he’s right. 

You’ll be under nonstop observation in this little room. 

“Goodnight, Reid.” You whisper as you roll away from him, facing the wall in the darkness. 

He doesn’t respond, all you hear is fingers tapping on the cement beside you. 

★

You know the man on the intercom is speaking to you but all you can hear is the ear splitting ringing in your ears. 

“Five times?” You squeak out as Reid takes your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

“I would like to see what my new toys can do. So yes, I want to see five orgasms from my shining star, I do not care how you do it, I just want it to happen. As a bonus, I will not even micromanage you, I will let you work through it together, I want the scene to feel organic and natural. ” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Spencer when the two of you woke up and now you’re regretting it, you should have come up with a game plan.

But you didn’t, and now you’re being given instructions that you don’t know if you can follow.

Five? With the pressure you’re under right now? Not to mention that the most you’ve ever done in a row is two and you did it yourself. None of your previous partners had ever given you more than two orgasms, most of them struggled to give you one. 

“I can’t do this.” You can feel your heart starting to race once, your breath shaky and quick. If you don’t pull it together you’re gonna start hyperventilating. 

“Why should we listen to you at all? Clearly you adore her, you wouldn’t hurt her like your other victims, what would stop us from sitting here and waiting for the rest of our team to finally arrest you.” You want to tell him to stop, you know it won’t make a difference.

“Dr. Reid, you are not in a position to be arguing with me. She may not be expendable but you certainly are.” 

There is a moment of quiet between the two of them, you watch as Spencer goads him, cocking an eyebrow as he looks up towards the ceiling.  

“If you refuse to cooperate I suppose she and I will have to sort out the next course of action. Let us play a round of Would you Rather, my angel.” Everytime he calls you by a pet name you want to claw your own ears off. “Would you rather, I come into that cell of yours and shoot your companion dead and have you all to myself? I do not know if I can promise to keep my hands to myself while in such close proximity to you all alone, I might just have to indulge in a taste. Or would you rather I keep him alive, chain him to the wall in your room, draw out his life for god knows how long as I make you watch him decay? Of course I’ll still want to make my movies so you will have to touch yourself as you watch me stick a funnel down his throat. I wonder how much gasoline he will have to drink before he loses the attitude? Which of those options is preferable to you, my love?” 

You just burst into tears. 

Your entire body trembles as you do your best to remain standing. He catches you, pulling you into a hug as you let out a sob, praying you might wake up and realize this was all just a terrible dream. You can feel him rubbing circles into your back for a few quiet moments, you know that the absence of commentary from the unsub is his way of letting you know he’s waiting for your decision. 

“I can’t- you can’t. I can’t be alone with him, please Reid- don’t leave me alone with him.” You mumble into his shirt as his hands go to your shoulders, he pulls you back and bends down to be eye level with you. Your noses just a few inches apart, he’s shockingly calm as he nods. 

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay.” He says it so confidently you almost believe him. 

Almost.

”I won’t leave you alone with him, I promise.” His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. “We can do this, you can do this.” You try to nod but his hands hold your head in place, his eyes are dark as he stares at you with an intensity that makes you want to avoid his gaze. 

“Spence-” You don’t know what you’re going to say, but whatever it was is cut off when he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours. 

Your brain has no time to process what’s happening as you relinquish any resistance and let him. 

He kisses you like he’s hungry. Like he’s starving for it. Not like he has to do it because some pervert is watching from behind a screen and expects it of him. Your mouth matches his movements as best it can, trying to keep up with the sheer ferocity. His mouth opens, demanding more and more as you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip you gasp and he pulls back. 

“I won't leave you alone.” He sounds so sure of himself all you can do is nod. “Just pretend he’s not here, it’s just you and me.” He pulls you close again, fingers tapping against the back of your neck as he presses his forehead to yours. “Just you and me, can you do that?” 

“Y-yeah, I can do that.” Your heart is racing so loudly he can definitely hear it. 

It’s just the two of you.

“We can do five, all you have to do is lay here, okay? I’m gonna take care of it. I’m gonna take care of you.” You don’t understand how he can be so collected right now but you’re glad he is because you’re struggling to put together sentences. “I know it’s a lot, you’ll be okay, I’m gonna handle it. We’re gonna get through to the end. If we can do that we’ll be all done for a little while.” 

“But that’s just one day done, we don’t know how long-” You’re starting to spiral as he gently places his hand over his mouth, quietly shushing you. 

“One day at a time. We’re gonna take this one day at a time.” He slowly lowers his hand, nodding at you as he does. “I want to hear you say it’s okay.” 

“It’s okay.” You don’t sound at all sure of yourself as he guides you to the blankets and eases you down so that you’re laying down propped up on a pillow. 

“I want to hear you say what we’re gonna do so that I know you understand. I’m not going to stop until you’ve come five times.” His fingers hover above the button of your pants. Those fingers that you’ve stared at from your own desk. Fingers that you constantly find yourself fixated on. Long, defined, adept. You’ve seen him solve rubix cubes, spin pens, and flip through books. You’ve dreamed about those fingers and now they’re here, taunting you.

“You’re going to take care of it.” You stare at him, his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black, his hair is a mess, it always is. He’s waiting, he wants a proper response. “I want you to take care of it.” 

That’s clearly what he wanted to hear.

With expert dexterity his fingers loop around the button of your slacks and pull it up and open while his other hand slides your zipper down. 

“I’m going to partially undress before I touch you, to make you feel more comfortable and less exposed in comparison.” He’s already tugging his black cardigan off, tossing it aside as yanks his tie loose, throwing it in the same direction. Without missing a beat he unbuttons his shirt, leaving it on but fully unbuttoned as you stare at the skin there. Even now you can’t help but gawk at the pale skin. He isn’t muscular by any means, but you can see that he’s surprisingly toned. You do your best not to stare wide eyed, everything about this situation is awful, you don’t need to make it worse by getting caught staring. 

Although it probably doesn’t matter considering what he’s about to do. 

He’s so gentle with you. One hand sliding under you to lift you a tiny bit as he pulls your slacks down until they’re completely off, folding them in half before he sets them aside. Only Spencer fucking Reid would nicely fold your pants before fingering you. 

Jesus Christ, this is happening. 

You lay back, unable to look at him as you arch your hips to help him as he slides a finger under both sides of your panties. You take a deep breath as he removes them as effortlessly as your pants, setting them aside as well. 

You squeeze your legs together, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. You can feel his hands on your hips, grounding you for a moment as you try and slow your breathing. 

One of his hands moves from your side to the center, you burn hot, covering your face with your hands as he tenderly spreads your legs and there’s no going back as you find yourself completely exposed to him. He’s silent, you can feel him still holding your thighs apart now as you sit up, daring a look at him. He lays in front of you on his stomach, staring at your core with an intensity you’ve seen him use when he can’t solve a case and he’s spent an hour just staring at the white board. 

“Jesus, Reid, you do know what you’re doing, right?” You can’t help it as you grumble, exasperated. 

“I know what I’m doing, I’m just trying to decide the best course of action to do this as efficiently as possible.” His tongue pokes out of his mouth, wetting his lips as you lean back again, groaning this time. 

He’s torturing you. 

“Please- please just do it.” You try not to sound like you’re whining but at this point why bother holding on to any dignity you have left? All of your self respect went out the window the second he pulled your panties down. If he keeps laying there just staring at it you’re going to take matters into your own hands.

Thankfully, that seems to be all he needed to hear, you feel his fingers brush up against you as you suck in a sharp inhale. One hand resting on your hips, holding you in place as the other finally brushes up against you. You can feel him moving tentatively as he parts your folds, swiping a digit through the wetness there. 

He knows exactly how much you like this you sick fuck, look at you, dripping. 

When the pad of his thumb swipes over your clit you squeak, arching your back until he gently pushes you back down, he moves in slow, precise, circles that make your head spin. A finger prods at your entrance for only a moment before he pushes it fully in. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and you prop yourself up on your elbows, a whimper slipping past your lips as he curls his finger, pressing into that sensitive spot that almost makes you fall back over. 

His pretty brown locks are tucked neatly behind his ears now. His eyes, still dark and wide, his brow furrowed. You watch him lick his lips for a moment before he curls his finger again, simultaneously pressing down hard on your clit. Testing, seeing what makes you tick. You can’t suppress the moan that bubbles out of you. He’s so meticulous, timing the pumping of his finger with the slow circles of his thumb, he finally looks away from your cunt to stare at your face, watching your reaction as he abruptly adds another finger without warning. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gasp. They feel better than you ever could have imagined, long and nimble, he works you like he’s an expert after just a few minutes of experimenting with pace and patterns. Curving them at the perfect time, in sync with the increasing pace of his thumb. 

“Reid-” You start to groan his name as you can feel the knot forming in your stomach. 

You’re going to come immediately and he’s going to know just how much of a slut you are. Writhing for him on the cold hard floor. 

“Shh… I’ve got you.” He plays you like he knows your body better than you do, and at this point, he might. Before you can react he’s pistoning his fingers in and out of you as you let out an obscene sound. The hand that held your hips down is spreading your legs apart now, he watches, enraptured as you clamp down on his fingers, your legs trembling as he practically rips your first orgasm out of you. Your fingers claw at the pillows behind you as you arch your back up, pushing yourself against his fingers as you ride it out. 

“Fucking- oh my god, Reid, Fuck-” You start to sit up but he coaxes you back down, sushing you softly, his fingers still slick as he slides them up and down your folds. You squirm under him, your sensitive bundle of nerves screaming for a moment's respite as he brushes up against them. “I need a second Reid.” You grumble but he doesn’t let up, deliberate little bumps against you as you whimper. 

His pointer and middle finger find your clit now, applying just the right amount of pressure as you fight the urge to push him off of you. 

“There was an interesting study done where a researcher suggested that the woman he was studying had a hundred and thirty four orgasms over the course of a single hour. Of course it’s difficult to track that sort of thing, they went based on her heart rate to get the number as close to exact as possible.” He’s unrelenting against you, his left hand grips your thigh, pushing your legs further apart as he continues. 

“Reid, please.” you can’t handle his ramblings right now.

“Obviously what she was experiencing wouldn’t technically be classified as multiple orgasms, it would be considered stacked orgasms because she wasn’t given time to come down from her initial orgasm.” The knot in your stomach is already forming again, he picks up the pace, scooping up the wetness from your initial orgasm and using it as a lubricant for his brutal little movements, increasing the pressure until you’re a whimpering mess. “Typically with stacked orgasms the goal is to prevent a person from fully climaxing, and to keep them in an orgasmic state. I think that’s our best course of action if we want to get this done as quickly as possible.” 

“I can’t- I- It’s already too much, Spence- Reid, I can’t do five like this.” Why is it so fucking hot when he does that? You hadn’t realized until just now how much you love the sound of his voice, even if you want to shove him off of you before he can force another orgasm out of you before you’re ready.

“If you’d like me to give you a break that’s completely fine but I think you’ll be better in the long run if we stack them. Not only will we be done sooner but if we take breaks our unsub will likely get bored and resort to more extreme forms of entertainment quicker. If we keep him entertained then he’s more likely to give us space to put on a show for him.” 

“Put on a show for him? Is it a good idea to encourage him?” Your voice pitches up an octave as he lightly pinches your clit, his brow furrowing as he studies your reaction. 

“He’s encouraged either way but if we play nice he’s far less likely to lash out or escalate.” You can feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly and you know he wants you to make a choice. He rubs your clit between his finger and his thumb and you just melt.  

“Fuck, Reid.” You cover your face with your hands, letting loose a string of expletives. 

“Don’t call me Reid, I think we’re beyond that.” He sounds so stern, a desperate edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Please.” He sits up as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, you can see the focus on his face, and when you look down you can see the reaction in his pants. 

Completely normal, he’s a straight guy, you’re like a personal pornstar in front of him right now, try not to be too flattered. 

“Spence- Spencer, fuck.” You can hardly think straight with all of this, all you know is that you trust him. “Fine, you’re right, do it. Whatever you need to do to do the stacked thing.” Your words fade into groans as your second orgasm hits you, another wave cresting over you. You hardly get a moment to breathe before you can feel him shifting positions, you shoot up when you feel the wet, hot heat of his mouth clamp on to you. “Spencer!” His name is punched out of you as his tongue encircles your engorged clit. He runs his tongue up and down your dripping seam before he pulls away, lips wet and pink as he stares up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “What the fuck!” 

“We agreed he needed a show to be kept happy.” He sounds confused as to why you’re stopping him, the look on his face is so close to disappointment that you just lay back. 

“Then put on a show.” You mumble as he returns to his work, you bury your face in your hands, trying to swallow the moans fighting their way out of you as he wraps his lips around your clit. His tongue moves in rapid patterns, alternating between sucking and licking at you, eating you just like he kissed you, like he’s starving. Your fingers eventually find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging at him gently as he devours you.  

You lose it when he moans against you. 

A low whine as he rocks against a pillow he placed under his hips when you weren’t looking. 

You’re so fucked. 

The sight of him sends you over the edge that you’re becoming all too familiar with. 

Already? Jesus, he definitely knows that you like this. 

A painful overstimulation, coupled with the force of your third shaking orgasm. Your thighs squeeze his head and, god, he doesn’t let up even for a second. Your entire body feels hot, tears prickling at your eyes. It’s too much, you’re glad you told him not to stop because honestly you don’t know how you’d start again. Your thighs shake, and you’re fighting the urge to kick him away as he tilts his head down the tiniest bit, his tongue lapping at your weeping hole as his nose bumps your clit.

“Reid- Spencer, Spence.” You’re limited to a stuttering of his name as his arms loop under your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders, effectively locking you in place as he pulls you closer. His tongue delves into you as he buries his face between your legs, pushing himself deeper and deeper until your back is arching up and off the ground. 

You’re trapped between two urges. The need to kick him off of you to ease the pain, to stop the delicious burning being delivered to your overworked clit with every focused lap of his tongue. After three orgasms every touch is like a flaming hot poker that you just can’t get enough of. The other urge is to grab him by the back of his head and hold him there forever. 

That urge is the one that won out in the end. Your hands tangling themselves into his curls, tugging shamelessly at him, needing more and more of the delicious pain he’s drilling into you. Your body is spent, writhing as he tries his damndest to pull another orgasm from you. 

”I don’t think I can-“ You mumble out through breathy moans, pulling admittedly a little too hard on his hair, but all that earned you was a lengthy groan, the vibrations rocking through your center. 

“You can.” He’s muffled, you can hardly hear him as he stays buried in your cunt, refusing to pull back for even a moment. 

You’re glad he seems so sure because you certainly aren’t. He pulls one of his arms back, slotting his fingers between your folds once more. Easily sliding two fingers back into you as let out a pitiful squeak.

Yeah, you can. 

You definitely can, he presses his fingers deep, focusing on that sweet spot nestled away inside of you. 

When they say Spencer Reid knows everything they really mean it, he knows how to twist his tongue against you in a way that makes you scream like a fucking pornstar. He knows how to work his fingers into you and find every single nerve that lights you up. He knows how to work you better than you work yourself. When he adds a third finger you feel yourself tensing again. He works tirelessly, never faltering. Tears are flowing freely now from your eyes, you’re so fucking tired, everything hurts, everything feels so good. When he flattens his tongue against your clit you gush around his finger, soaking the bottom half of his face. 

You can’t remember ever coming so hard, let alone squirting like this. It’s enough to snap him out of his animalistic state, when he looks up at you try not to look too shocked. 

You’re probably just as much of a sight at this point. 

His lips are wet and swollen, he wipes the bottom half of his face on his shirt and you recall every time he’s made a big deal of germs around the office. Clearly that’s all been abandoned. You’ve put his hair in a state of disarray. When you finally look him in the eyes you can’t look anywhere else. 

Dark and desperate. 

“Was that five?” Your voice is raw and quiet, when you break the silence he shakes his head, crawling up your body until he’s on all fours above you. His knee locked firmly between your thighs, likely soaking his pants with your juices. 

“Almost.” He whispers back, his tongue poking out before he chews his lip. You shake your head in return, your entire body trembles as a fresh flood or tears rushing out of you. 

“No, no I can’t do another one, I’m all done.” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, begging him as if this is his choice and not some cruel gods, still watching you somewhere on a little screen as if this is all just a silly little movie and not your sadistic reality. 

“You can, I know you can, you’re so strong. You’re so good.” He whispers so sweetly, it almost makes you forget the circumstances of all of this. “Just one more, I know you can last just a little longer.” 

“Spencer, please, it hurts too much.” You cry unabashedly. Moving your hands down his neck to his chest, clinging to his shirt collar. His touch is light as he brushes your hair back and out of your face. 

“Deep breath, stay with me sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead and it really does make a difference in grounding you. It’s so strangely personal and intimate, even knowing that he’s gonna have to put you through another crushing orgasm he treats you with such tenderness. 

“Please.” Your voice sounds so small, and you’re thankful for the recognition in his eyes when he nods. He knows you aren’t asking him to stop, you’re asking him to finish this. 

When he kisses you this time he isn’t as forceful as he was the first time. There’s a gentleness, it crosses your mind that he isn’t putting on a show for the camera with this kiss, this kiss is just for you. For just the two of you. 

You whimper when his hand wanders down your body and between your legs for what you hope is the final time today. You feel raw down there, you know he can feel it too because his hand flies back up to his mouth, you watch with morbid fascination as his lips part and he sucks his fingers, wetting them and returning them to your cunt. 

“You’re doing so good, so good, so good for me, all for me.” He’s moving in focused, deadly accurate circles. Kissing you between his praises, his free hand continues to sweep your hair away from your face. He’s hovering over you in an awkward position as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth while you whine. The muscles in your stomach ache and scream as you feel the burning knot forming once more. 

You groan, the buzz of pleasure is almost entirely gone, replaced solely by the dull, blunt pain of overstimulation.  

“Just me, just for me now, okay? This one isn’t for him, or anyone else, just me.” He’s rambling, picking up the pace, the strokes becoming more chaotic as he mumbles, seemingly to himself more than you. The shocks to your clit are erratic and relentless, as you feel yourself approaching a release you know is inevitable. His knee shifts, when his body presses down against you you can feel the outline of his cock against your hip, he positions himself in a way that can’t be comfortable, it makes it hard to focus on achieving any kind of release until you realize what he’s doing. 

Just for him. 

He’s covering you up, since you can’t see the cameras you have to assume they’re on the ceiling, tucked away near the fluorescents where you can’t find them. Regardless of where they are, if they’re from an elevated angle they won’t see your face, or most of your body as far as you're concerned.

Just. For. Him.

You cry out his name when you come, repeating it like a prayer as you sob against him, he kisses your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your chin, and your lips as he murmurs against your skin. 

“I knew you could do it, look at you. So good, so pretty.” Whispers branded onto your skin with his lips. 

He wipes between your legs with the blanket, making you whine. 

“You did so good.”

You’ve never felt so spent in your entire life. There’s no energy left in your body so you just let him work, he pulls your panties back up your legs. He tries to get your pants back on but the tight fabric makes you cringe so he doesn’t bother. Instead he wraps his cardigan around your shoulders before laying back, pulling you against his still bare chest with a sigh.  

You sit in silence for what feels like hours, catching your breath and fighting sleep, your eyelids heavy. 

The crackling of the speaker startles you, you’d been so focused on Spencer you’d almost forgotten the dark reality of your situation. For a moment your captor doesn’t speak, he just claps, loud, cruel, beats. 

“I have no notes. I knew you would be incredible, I just- I did not realize how good it would be.” He sounds so worked up you swear he’s crying. “You really are my muse, you have inspired me, I have to go, I need to put together tomorrow's script, rest well my shining star.” 

In a swift motion as if a switch has been flipped the lights go dark, and you’re left alone in the void with only Spencer to cling to. For a moment, you aren’t sure what to say. What do you talk about after what just happened? Eventually you figure it out, right as you’re about to pass out from exhaustion. 

“You called me sweetheart.” You practically sigh the words out, your fingers find a button on his shirt, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger. 

“I did, should I not have? I wasn’t sure if I could pull that off, I don’t think I’ve ever used a pet name on anyone, maybe ever. It’s kind of Morgan's thing.” He sounds apologetic as he combs his fingers through your hair before sliding them down your back. 

“No, I liked it. Sweetheart works, it’s… timeless, and simple.” He rubs your back as you shut your eyes, mumbling against his chest as you trace a line up and down his sternum. 

“Get some sleep.” You don’t bother resisting, you feel like you’re already halfway there. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

The front door of your apartment didn’t just open; it practically groaned under the weight of Christopher surrendering to gravity.

For three months, you had loved a ghost. You had loved a voice through FaceTime at 4:00 AM, a frantic text sent from a studio which was across the sea, a blurry selfie of a tired smile in a recording studio. But when the lock clicked and the heavy wooden door swung inward, the idol persona vanished. He dropped his duffel bag onto the hardwood with a dull thud, not even bothering to kick off his sneakers before his eyes found yours.

"Come here," he breathed. His voice was raw, a low gravelly thing scraped raw from flights and rehearsals.

You didn't even have time to cross the kitchen before he closed the distance. Chan didn’t just hug you; he consumed you. His large, calloused hands hooked under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly off your feet until your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling so deeply against your skin it felt like he was trying to memorize your scent all over again. He smelled like airport air, expensive cologne, and the distinct, comforting warmth that was just him.

"Three years," he muttered, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear as he swayed you slightly, his chest rising and falling in heavy, ragged sighs. "Three years of this, and I still feel like I’m dying every time I have to leave you.... God, you’re so warm." he snuggles closer

"You're late," you whispered, though your fingers were already tangled deep in his messy, unstyled curls, pressing him closer.

"Traffic was hell, baby," he mumbled, a soft laugh vibrating against your collarbone. He set you down slowly, though his hands stayed firmly anchored to your hips, his thumbs rubbing small, possessive circles through the fabric of your shirt. His dimples finally peeked out, shadowed by a faint, attractive hint of stubble. "But I am entirely yours for the next forty-eight hours. No phones. No managers. Just you."

Before you could answer, his eyes scanned the living room, noticing the baskets of laundry you’d piled up and the slight clutter on the coffee table. You’d been working overtime too, trying to clear your own schedule so you could match his.

"Tell you what," Chan said, a mischievous glint cutting through the exhaustion in his dark eyes. "We do a quick reset. We clear the space, clear our heads, and then..." He leaned down, his lips brushing yours so lightly it was agonizing. "...we don't leave the house until Monday..except the date tonight, i made reservations..." you nodded kissing his cheek a unsaid 'thenks baby' in return.

The next hour was a whirlwind of domestic chaos. Chan refused to let you be more than three feet away from him. When you went to fold the laundry, he took the other side of the sheets, turning it into a game of tug-of-war until you were both laughing so hard your chest ached. When you reached up to dust the top of the bookshelf, two large hands suddenly clamped around your waist, lifting you into the air like you weighed nothing.

"Chan! Put me down, I'm going to drop the cloth!" you gasped, your fingers gripping his broad shoulders for balance.

"Nah, you're doing great up there, sweetheart. Keep going," he teased, looking up at you with a cheeky, upturned grin, his bicep flexing hard against your thigh to keep you steady. He kissed your waist line through your sweatpants before finally sliding you back down his front, letting every inch of his body friction against yours on the way down.

By the time the apartment was spotless, a light sweat had broken out over your skin, your hair tied up in a messy, loose bun. Chan was leaning against the kitchen counter, his oversized black hoodie pushed up to his elbows, revealing the thick veins and pale skin of his forearms. He was watching you, his gaze heavy and unblinking.

"I need a shower," you muttered, wiping a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "I'm gross."

"Me too," Chan said instantly.

You rolled your eyes, turning toward the bathroom. "The shower is barely big enough for one person, Chris. Go use the guest one."

You walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and letting the steam slowly fill the small, tiled space. You peeled off your clothes, stepping into the spraying warmth, sighing as the tension of the last few weeks began to melt off your shoulders.

You’d barely finished rinsing your face when the bathroom door clicked open. Through the frosted glass of the shower door, you saw his tall, broad silhouette strip down without a shred of hesitation. The door slid open, a blast of cooler air hitting your skin before Chan stepped inside, immediately closing the space between you.

The shower was small. With Chan’s massive chest and broad shoulders inside, the world shrank until there was nothing but the sound of rushing water and his heat.

"I told you to use the other one," you complained weakly, though you didn't step back.

"Save water, love. It's the right thing to do," he murmured in that thick, sleepy Australian drawl he only used when he was completely relaxed. He took the bottle of shampoo from the ledge, pouring it into his palms before reaching out. His large hands slid into your wet hair, his thumbs massaging your scalp with an agonizingly perfect pressure.

You let your head drop back against his chest with a soft groan, your eyes fluttering shut. "Okay, fine. You can stay."

"Thought so," he whispered. His hands moved down from your hair, his soapy fingers tracing the column of your neck, sliding over your shoulders. But as his hands moved lower, the domestic sweetness in the air began to shift. The water slicked his dark hair back, exposing the sharp, lethal line of his jawline. His gaze darkened, dropping to your lips.

"You know," Chan murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming rougher, thicker. He stepped closer, his wet chest pressing firmly against your back, pinning you gently against the warm, tiled wall. His hands gripped your hips, his thumbs digging in just enough to make you gasp. "I spent three hours on the plane thinking about how good it was going to feel to have you against these tiles."

A shiver ran down your spine that had nothing to do with the water. You turned around in his grip, your front now pressed against his, your eyes locking onto his. "Oh yeah? Is that all you thought about, Chris?"

Chan leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot against your mouth. "No. I thought about how loud you’re gonna be when I finally get inside you. I thought about how much I missed hearing my name slip out of your mouth when you can't take it anymore."

You let out a shaky breath, your hands sliding down his wet chest, your fingers intentionally grazing lower, mapping the hard lines of his abdomen until you felt him twitch against your thigh. He was already rock hard, his heat pressing insistently through the rushing water.

"You talk a big game for someone who looks like he’s about to pass out from exhaustion," you teased, your voice dropping into a low, challenging purr. You arched your hips slightly, deliberately rubbing against him, watching his pupils dilate instantly. "Are you sure you can handle me right now?"

A dark, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. His grip on your hips tightened until it almost bruised, lifting you slightly so you had to look up at him. "Don't fucking test me, sweetheart. I might be tired, but I’ve got more than enough energy to ruin you for the rest of the weekend. You think you can handle me when I'm like this? When I’ve been starving for you for months?"

"Prove it then," you whispered, your heart hammering against your ribs, your teeth catching your lower lip as you looked at him through wet eyelashes. "Stop talking and do something about it."

Chan let out a low, guttural growl, his forehead leaning against yours as he ground his hips into yours, making you whimper. "Not yet," he growled, his voice pure sin. "I’m gonna make you wait. I’m gonna make you beg for it tonight until your voice is as raw as mine. Now, please help me wash my back, beautiful, before I lose my mind and break my promise."

--

The cool bedroom air hit your damp skin, a stark contrast to the thick, humid fog you’d left behind in the bathroom. True to his word, Chan had kept his hands to himself after that agonizing shower—mostly. He’d given your hips one last, heavy squeeze under the rushing water before turning you around so you coulf wash his back, his low, rumbling chuckles vibrating against your palms every time you intentionally slid your hands a little too low.

Now, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, lazy shadows across the bedroom floor. You stood in front of the vanity mirror, the soft fabric of your outfit draped over the bed behind you. “A proper night out, sweetheart,” he’d murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your wet shoulder before vanishing into his own closet. “Somewhere we can actually sit down, order a nice bottle of wine, and I can look at you without a clock ticking down.”

You chose a dress you knew he loved but rarely got to see you in. It was an elegant, emerald-green silk slip dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, stopping at your mid thighs. The back was entirely open, held together only by a delicate satin lace that required a frustrating amount of patience to tie by yourself.

As you stood there, trying to tie the strap behind, you caught sight of Chan’s reflection in the mirror.

He was leaning against the doorframe, already half-dressed in a pair of sharp, tailored black slacks. His satin ruby dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the thick veins of his forearms, a ring on his index finger, a silver watch on his wrist and glasses resting on his nose. He was holding a glass of water, but he hadn't taken a sip in minutes. He was just... staring.

His dark eyes traveled down the line of your spine, tracking the smooth expanse of your bare back where the green silk V-ed out. Chan swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. He mentally scolded himself, clenching his jaw as his eyes wandered lower, lingering on the way the silk clung to the curve of your hips. Get a grip, Christopher, he told himself fiercely. You promised her a nice dinner. Don't ruin it before you even make it to the restaurent.

But God, he loved you. It hit him in waves sometimes—not just a flutter in his chest, but a heavy, grounding certainty that settled deep in his bones. Looking at you right now, framed by the warm bedroom light, he didn't see a girlfriend of three years. He saw his future. He saw the woman he wanted to come home to when the stadium lights finally went dark for good. He was absolutely, unconditionally sure he wanted to marry only you.

"Need some help, baby?" his voice broke the quiet, his Australian accent thick and lazy as he set his glass down.

"Please," you sighed, dropping your arms. "This is actively trying to kill me."

Chan walked over, his footsteps soft against the rug. He didn't immediately touch the string. Instead, he leaned down, his warm breath fanning across your shoulder blades just a second before his lips pressed a slow, lingering kiss right between your shoulder blades. A helpless shiver ran through you.

"You look beautiful," he murmured against your skin, his hands finally coming up to gather the delicate satin lace. His fingers were large and calloused, but he handled the thread with an incredible, practiced gentleness. He slowly tied the back of the dress, his knuckles occasionally brushing against your bare skin, sending tiny electric shocks straight down your spine. he dropped another soft kiss—one on your shoulder, one at the base of your neck, another right in the center of your back.

When he finished, he stepped around to face you. His eyes were dark, full of an intensity that made your breath hitch.

"Now for the hard part," you murmured, pointing toward the edge of the bed where your heels were sitting. They were a pair of black, strappy stilettos with long satin ribbons meant to wrap around your ankles.

Without a word, Chan smiled—that soft, dimpled expression that always melted you completely—and knelt down on one knee on the floor right in front of you.

"Chris, you don't have to do that," you protested softly, but he caught your ankle, his thumb rubbing the sensitive skin just above your heel.

"Shh. Let me," he whispered, looking up at you through his eyelashes.

You placed your hand on his broad shoulder for balance as he gently guided your foot into the shoe. He took his time, his large fingers carefully wrapping the thin ribbons around your ankle, crisscrossing them perfectly up your lower calf before tying them into a secure bow. He repeated the process with the other foot, his movements almost reverent. Before he stood up, he pressed a warm, lingering kiss to the top of your foot, his eyes locking onto yours with a look of pure devotion.

"There," he murmured, standing up and dusting off his slacks. He looked down at you, his hands instantly finding your waist, pulling you an inch closer. "Perfect."

You reached up, fixing the collar of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his jawline. "You clean up pretty well yourself, Mr. Bang."

He laughed, a rich, rumbling sound, and leaned down to press a deep, slow kiss to your lips—one that tasted like a promise.

But just as he pulled away, a sudden, blinding flash of light illuminated the bedroom window, followed less than two seconds later by a deafening clap of thunder that literally shook the floorboards. Within moments, the sky completely opened up, a torrential downpour slamming against the glass so loudly it sounded like pebbles thrown against the pane.

Chan blinked, turning his head toward the window, then looked back down at your stunning dress and your perfectly laced heels.

"Well," he muttered, a wry, amused smile spreading across his face as the wind howled outside. "I reckun our reservations and plans are officially ruined."

The howling wind outside slammed sheets of water against the glass, but inside the apartment, the atmosphere had shifted into something entirely separate from the storm.

Chan looked from the window back to you, a soft, helpless laugh huffing from his lips as he took in the sight of you. You were still standing there in your stunning emerald silk dress and wrapped stilettos, looking like an absolute goddess with nowhere to go.

"Well, sweetheart," he murmured, his hands sliding down to your hips, his thumbs catching the hem of your dress just enough to lift it an inch. "I'm not letting this outfit go to waste. Change of plans."

Before you could ask what he meant, Chan hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly off your feet. You let out a gasped laugh, your hands instantly flying to his broad shoulders for balance as he carried you out of the bedroom and straight into the kitchen. He didn't set you down on the floor; instead, he hoisted you right up onto the smooth, marble kitchen counter. Your heels clicked against the edge, your legs dangling as he stepped between your knees, effectively trapping you.

"Stay right here," he commanded softly, his voice dropping into that low, authoritative register that always made your stomach do a flip.

You watched, completely mesmerized, as Chan went to work. He completely transformed the room. He turned off the harsh overhead kitchen lights, leaving only the soft under-cabinet lighting. Then, he wandered around the apartment, gathering every single scented candle you owned. He lined them up along the counter and the dining table, striking a match until the space was bathed in a flickering, amber glow. The shadows danced over the sharp lines of his jaw and his tailored black slacks.

"Since I can't take you to a restaurant, I guess I'll just have to be your personal chef," he teased, walking back over to you and leaning in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. He smelled like vanilla candles and pure sin.

He pulled ingredients out of the fridge, deciding on a quick pasta dish you both loved. As he chopped garlic and heated the pan, he refused to actually leave your side. Every single time he passed the counter, he stole a kiss. It started out playful, but it didn't stay that way. He’d lean in, his lips brushing yours, his tongue casually tracing your bottom lip just enough to make you whimper before he pulled back with a smirk.

"Chris, you're going to burn the food if you keep doing that," you breathlessy complained.

"Let it burn," he muttered, stepping right back into your space. He reached out, his large, warm hand sliding up your thigh, his calloused thumb smoothing over the skin right above your knee. "Besides, I'm just tasting the appetizer."

You flushed, a heavy heat pooling in your lower stomach at his subtle dirty talk. To distract yourself from the way his hand was slowly wandering higher up your leg, you slid off the counter for a moment. "If you're cooking, I'm making drinks. You're lucky you're dating a professional."

Chan chuckled, watching you walk over to the bar cart. Before you had met him —back during your university days—you had worked as a bartender to pay the rent. You grabbed the shaker, the alcohol, and the bitters, your hands moving with an effortless, practiced rhythm. You mixed up two custom cocktails, keeping the alcohol content perfectly manageable since you both wanted to actually remember the night.

When you handed him his glass, his eyes darkened with pure appreciation. He took a sip, humming in approval. "God, you're amazing. Seriously, what did I do to deserve you?"

He didn't let you go back to the counter. Instead, he pulled you against his chest, his back to the stove while he stirred the sauce with one hand and kept his other arm wrapped securely around your waist. The warmth of the stove combined with the heat of his body was intoxicating.

As you stood there, the flickering candlelight caught the slight dip of your collarbone and the soft curve of your side. You subconsciously shifted, trying to pull the silk dress tighter. Like anyone, you had your little insecurities—things you picked apart when you looked in the mirror too long.

But Chan noticed everything. He always did.

Feeling you tense, he set the wooden spoon down. He turned you around completely, his hands mapping the exact spots you tried to hide. He bent down, pressing his warm lips to the soft curve of your hip, then up to the slight dip of your waist, kissing every single inch of your skin with a fierce, worshipful reverence.

"Stop hiding," he whispered against your skin, his voice rough and thick. "You are so beautiful. Every single part of you. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes just for one second."

He pulled you back up, his hands tangling in your hair as he kissed you deeply, a quiet sigh escaping him. He rested his forehead against yours, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence.

"It's crazy, isn't it?" Chan murmured softly, a sudden, gentle giggle bubbling up from his chest. He looked down at you, his dimples cutting deep into his cheeks. "How unexpected all of this was. If you told me four years ago that we'd be here..."

"What, you didn't think we'd make it?" you teased, tracing the collar of his shirt.

"No, I mean—we were such idiots," he laughed, shaking his head at the memory. "We were literally best friends since child hood who only spoke on calls scared to face each other. I was so completely gone for you, but I was too terrified to say anything......remember how we used to talk to each other? Trying so hard to sound 'just like friends' while my heart was practically beating out of my chest every time you looked at me."

He giggled again, the sound rich and warm. "Man, we were so stupid. All those wasted months because we were both too scared to confess."

His laughter faded, replaced by a gaze so intense it made your knees feel weak. The playful boy vanished, leaving only the man who loved you entirely. He leaned down, his lips brushing yours with a slow, heavy finality.

"But I’m glad we got here," Chan whispered, his thumbs wiping a stray tear of happiness from your cheek. "Because now that I have you... I want no one else. Forever. It's only ever gonna be you, sweetheart."

The sheer intensity of his words left you breathless. You reached up, cupping his jawline, and pulled him down into a deep, lingering kiss that tasted like a silent promise. When you finally broke away, your cheeks were flushed against the warm candlelight.

"If you don't stop looking at me like that, we're never going to actually eat," you teased softly, playfully swatting his chest.

Chan let out a breathless laugh, stepping back just enough to let you move around the kitchen. The menu had completely evolved from just a simple pasta dish into an absolute feast. Together, you turned cooking into a coordinated dance. You rolled out dough to make a heart-shaped pizza—Chan insisting on crimping the edges perfectly—while a golden, seasoned chicken roasted in the oven alongside a crisp, fresh salad you tossed together.

By the time the food was ready, the apartment smelled incredible. You carried the plates over to the candlelit dining table, the heavy rain outside providing a soothing backdrop to your makeshift indoor date.

As you ate, the conversation flowed effortlessly, moving from lighthearted banter into the deep, heavy layers of life and the future. Chan reached across the table, his fingers tangling with yours, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand.

"I want to grow old with you," he murmured, his dark eyes reflecting the tiny flames of the candles. "I want the quiet mornings, the wrinkly skin, all of it."

You smiled, a warmth blooming in your chest. "I want that too. And... I want a kid. Eventually."

Chan’s face instantly softened, a massive, genuine smile breaking across his features, making his dimples dip incredibly deep.

"I’d love a daughter," you admitted softly, feeling a bit shy but completely safe sharing it with him. "But honestly, it doesn't matter to me. As long as the kid is healthy."

"A little girl who looks just like you?" Chan breathed, his gaze turning incredibly fond. "God, I'd be wrapped around her finger. But you're right. Just healthy." He leaned forward, his voice dropping into a tone of absolute certainty. "I want to marry you first. I want to roam the world with you, make a million memories, and establish our own rules. Like, if we ever have a huge fight—because we're human, we will—we promise to sort it out before we ever go to bed. No sleeping angry."

"Deal," you whispered, your heart swelling.

"And we need a bigger place," he continued excitedly, his inner producer and planner taking over. "We'll design it together. A massive bar for you, a studio space for me, and a huge backyard." He smiled, leaning over to lovingly serve another portion of pasta onto your plate.

As the dinner wound down and the plates were cleared, you still wanted something sweet. You walked over to the freezer and scooped a generous portion of vanilla ice cream into a small bowl. Instead of heading back to your own seat, you walked over to Chan, pulling him back into his chair by his shoulders.

Without asking, you turned and sank right onto his lap facing him, your emerald silk dress pooling over his tailored black slacks. Chan didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second; his large hands immediately found your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh gently as you settled against him.

"Sharing?" he grinned, his voice a low rumble against your lips.

"Maybe," you murmured, taking a bite of the cold ice cream before offering him some. As you pulled the spoon away, a tiny bit of ice cream lingered on your bottom lip. Chan leaned in instantly, his tongue darting out to lick the sweet cream right off your lips, his lips lingering for a soft, teasing pressure that made your stomach drop.

His hands wandered a little higher on your thighs, his grip firm and possessive, anchoring you tightly to his lap. You took another bite, but the combination of his warmth, the alcohol from the cocktails, and the sheer tension in the air made your hands a little unsteady. A drop of the rapidly melting ice cream escaped the spoon, trailing down your chin and slipping right down the column of your neck, disappearing beneath the neckline of your green dress.

You both knew how gravity worked. You both knew food didn't just magically spill like that unless a certain someone was plotting something entirely deliberate.

Chan caught it instantly. A dark, wicked grin spread across his face, his eyes darkening into pure, unadulterated hunger.

"Oh, you are a menace," he growled softly, the teasing Australian lilt completely vanishing into something raw and dominant.

He didn't grab a napkin. Instead, Chan leaned forward, his large hand gripping the back of your neck to tilt your head back. He pressed his lips to the base of your throat, his warm tongue sliding upward, licking the melted ice cream off your sensitive skin. A sharp, gasping whimper left your lips as he followed the path with a sequence of open-mouthed, bruising kisses, his teeth gently nipping at the junction where your neck met your shoulder.

The cold sweetness of the ice cream was completely eradicated by the scorching heat of his mouth.

Realizing you were entirely finished with desert, you blindly reached back and set the bowl away on the table behind you. You let your head fall back completely against his broad shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as his hands tightened on your thighs, his breath hot and demanding against your skin

Without a word, he hooked both hands under your knees, lifting you effortlessly along with himself off the dining chair, your legs wrapping around his waist. You gasped, both hands flying to his shoulders as he carried you through the candlelit living room toward the hallway.

"Chan—the ice cream—" you protested weakly, laughter bubbling in your throat... this was trouble, a likeable trouble.

"I'll get it later," he growled against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Right now, I'm starving for something else."

He pushed the bedroom door open, and the soft lamplight spilled across the rumpled sheets. He didn't put you down. Instead, he pressed you against the doorjamb, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss so deep and hungry that your toes curled inside your heels. His tongue slid along your bottom lip, then swept inside, tasting the lingering sweetness of vanilla and chocolate. You melted into him, your fingers threading into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He carried you to the bed, but before laying you down, he paused, letting you slide down his body until your feet touched the floor. His hands roamed your back, the bare skin of your backless dress heating under his palms. You tilted your head, meeting his gaze, and then leaned in to press your lips to the side of his neck.

Soft at first—a barely-there brush of your mouth. Then you parted your lips, grazing your teeth over his pulse point, and sucked gently. Chan's breath hitched, his fingers digging into your hips. You lingered there, tasting the salt of his skin, knowing you had to be careful. His fans would notice. They always noticed everything—a hickey on his neck during a live broadcast would send the internet into a frenzy. So you pulled back, leaving only a faint pink mark, barely visible unless you were looking for it.

He looked down at you, his eyes dark and knowing. "Tease," he murmured, but there was nothing but approval in his voice.

His hand found the thin satin lace-up at the back of your dress. With a slow, deliberate tug, the bow unraveled, and the fabric loosened around your chest. He didn't rush. He slid the straps down your shoulders, the emerald silk pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your strapless stick-on bra, black lace panties, and heels.

He stepped back just long enough to shrug off his black button-up, his fingers working the buttons with practiced ease. The shirt fell open, revealing the defined lines of his chest and his toned abs. You didn't wait. You stepped forward, your hands sliding up his abdomen, feeling the ridges of muscle flex under your touch. You pressed your lips to his sternum, then lower, kissing a path down his stomach. Your tongue darted out, licking a stripe across his abs, tasting the faint salt and heat of his skin. You sucked gently at the hollow beside his navel, and he groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head.

"Fuck, baby," he breathed, his fingers tangling in your hair. "You're gonna make me lose it."

You looked up at him, a wicked smile on your lips, and continued your journey lower, your mouth trailing over the waistband of his slacks. But he stopped you, gripping your chin and tilting your face up.

"Not yet," he said, his voice roughened with want. "I want to taste you first."

His gaze dropped to your chest, where the stick-on bra held your breasts in place. A knowing grin spread across his face. "No straps," he observed, his thumb brushing the edge of the adhesive cup. "Clever."

He looked up at you, his eyes searching yours—a silent question that he never needed to ask out loud. You nodded, a soft "yes" escaping your lips.

He pulled the bra away in one smooth motion, the adhesive releasing with a quiet peel. Your breasts spilled free, nipples already peaked from the cool air and the heat of his stare. He didn't look away. He leaned in, his tongue flicking over one nipple, then drawing it into his mouth, sucking gently. You gasped, your back arching, and your hands flew to his shoulders for balance.

His other hand slid down your stomach, past the waistband of your panties, and between your legs. He groaned against your skin as his fingers found you—soaked, slick, ready.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. "I haven't even done anything yet, and you're already dripping. Is that all for me?"

You bit your lip, nodding, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Good girl." He pressed a finger inside you, slow, then a second, curling them just right. At the same time, his mouth returned to your nipple, sucking and teasing with his tongue. The dual sensation sent a shock through your body. Your hands fisted in his hair, your hips grinding against his hand, moaning his name like a prayer.

"Chan—please—"

"Please what, baby?" He pumped his fingers faster, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. "You feel so fucking good wrapped around my fingers. Tell me what you need."

You couldn't form words. The pleasure was building too fast, a coil tightening low in your belly. Your thighs trembled, your moans turning into broken cries.

"That's it," he praised, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Let go. Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart on my hand."

And you did. Without warning, the orgasm crashed over you, your body convulsing as you cried out his name. He didn't stop moving his fingers, guiding you through every wave, drinking in the sight of you undone.

When the last tremor faded, he pulled his fingers out slowly, bringing them to his lips. He licked them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. "Delicious."

Then he gently pushed you fully onto the bed, spreading your legs open, and buried his face between them. His tongue swept through your folds, lapping up your release, his nose pressing against your clit. A strangled moan tore from your throat as he devoured you, his tongue dipping inside you, then dragging back up to suck gently on your clit. He worked you with a rhythm that bordered on cruel, prolonging the aftershocks until you were a panting, writhing mess.

Only when your hips stopped bucking did he lift his head. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling open the drawer, and retrieved a foil packet. With a grin, he tore the wrapper open with his teeth, spat it aside, and rolled the condom down his length. Even after all these months, the sight of him—thick, veined, impossibly hard—made your breath catch. He was huge, and no matter how many times you'd had him, it always surprised you. The way he filled you, stretched you, like he was made to fit inside you.

He hauled your legs onto his shoulders, leaning forward until the head of his cock pressed against your entrance. He didn't push in—not yet. He held still, teasing, letting you feel the pressure, the promise.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft but dominant.

You nodded, and he thrust forward.

Slow. Deep. Inch by inch he sank into you, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the grip of your walls. You felt the familiar stretch, the slight burn that melted into pure pleasure. He paused when he was fully seated, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he whispered. "Every single time."

He began to move—long, languid strokes that hit so deep you could feel him in your throat. One hand held your calf, his lips pressing kisses to your shin, then your ankle, reverent and tender even as he fucked you. His other hand roamed your body, fingers tracing your waist, then sliding up to tease your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

A glance down and you saw it—a faint bulge in your lower belly, where his dick pressed against your insides from the inside. The sight sent a rush of heat through you. You arched your back, a moan spilling from your lips.

"Look at that," he breathed, his thumb pressing lightly on the bulge. "Look how deep I am inside you. You take me so fucking well, baby."

His pace quickened, but still controlled, each thrust deliberate. Your hands clawed at the sheets, your moans growing louder, more desperate.

"Faster," you begged, your voice cracking. "Please, Chan—faster—"

He obeyed. He pulled out and flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips into the air before slamming back into you. The new angle was brutal—deeper, harder, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. His hand gripped your hip, the other pressed flat on the small of your back, forcing you to arch impossibly deeper.

"This what you wanted?" he growled, his voice low and filthy. "You wanted me to fuck you like this? To take you apart until you can't think, can't breathe?"

"Yes—angh..yes—fuck—chrisss"

He leaned over your back, his mouth at your ear, his thrusts pounding into you. "I can feel you clenching around me. You're close, aren't you? I want you to come. Come on my dick."

You were already there. The rough pace, his dirty talk, the overwhelming fullness—it sent you spiraling. You screamed his name as your orgasm crashed, your body trembling violently around him.

He didn't stop. He rode you through it, his own breathing ragged, until he pulled out with a shudder. He yanked the condom off, stroked himself twice, and came with a guttural groan, spilling into the latex. Then he collapsed beside you, chest heaving.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing. Your body ached in the best way. Chan pushed himself up first, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

"Stay there. I'll be right back."

He disappeared into the bathroom, and you heard the water run. He returned with a warm, damp cloth and gently cleaned between your legs, his touch tender. Then he wiped himself down, disposed of the condom, and slid back into bed.

He pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you. His hand found the small of your back, rubbing gentle circles where you'd arched hardest.

"Your back's gonna be sore tomorrow," he murmured into your hair.

You hummed, nuzzling into his neck. Your lips found his, a soft, lazy kiss.

He smiled against your mouth. "I love you so much."

You kissed the tip of his nose. "I love you too."

The marks on your neck were dark now, blooming like violets under your skin. He traced one with his fingertip, a soft chuckle vibrating through his chest.

"Sorry about those."

"I'm not," you whispered, your eyes already heavy.

He pulled the blanket over both of you, his hand never stopping its soothing massage on your back. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart against your cheek—it pulled you under.

Within minutes, you were both asleep, tangled together in the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

--

You woke up slowly, the soft morning light filtering through the cracks of the blinds. As you shifted beneath the heavy duvet, a dull, deep ache resonated through your lower back and thighs—a sweet, lingering reminder of exactly how Chan had kept his promise to ruin you. You sat up slowly, clutching the soft blanket tightly against your chest to keep yourself covered.

A soft chuckle sounded from the side of the bed, and you turned your head to see Chan walking into the room. He had already showered, his messy curls damp, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. In his hands, he carried a tray loaded with a fresh breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, and a mug of coffee made exactly the way you liked it.

"Morning, beautiful," he murmured, his voice incredibly deep and raspy from sleep. He set the tray down carefully across your lap, then climbed onto the mattress behind you.

As you reached for the coffee, taking a grateful sip, Chan shifted closer. His large, warm hands slid beneath the blanket, finding the bare skin of your lower back. His calloused thumbs began to work in slow, firm circles, expertly massaging the tight, sore muscles of your spine. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh, leaning back into his solid chest.

"Sore?" he whispered, a hint of a smug, satisfied grin in his voice.

"Shut up," you muttered playfully, though you didn't pull away from his touch.

Chan just laughed, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right against your back. He leaned over your shoulder, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the crown of your head before gently reaching up to brush a few stray tangled hairs away from your face. He watched you eat with a quiet, peaceful intensity, as if he still couldn't quite believe he had you all to himself for a little while longer.

You turned your head slightly, catching his eye, and leaned in to press a sweet, lingering kiss right against his dimpled cheek.

Chan’s smile broke wide and brilliant, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners with pure, unadulterated affection. He wrapped his arms securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest as the quiet morning carried on, the rest of the world completely forgotten.

The End.

DATING : FOUR MONTHS

10:52 p.m. ; Chan's bedroom 📍

Chan is in bed playing on his phone, waiting for to finish your night routine. You now came over to spend his few days off with him. Try and find some quality time in between both of your hectic schedules. So, most of the times, you'd see each other just to have dinner, and sleep together.

You climb onto your side of his bed, and he doesn’t tear his gaze from the game. “Channie?”

He continues to focus on the game on his phone. He replies to your question with a simple hum, signaling that he's listening even though he doesn't look up from the screen.

“I have a crush on you…” You say with a big smile. Chan freezes for a second, registering the words you have said and letting his phone drop. He turns to you with a grin, amused and endeared. He was your boyfriend now.

"You have a crush on me?" he asks, feigning cluelessness.

“A biiig, fat crush.” You nod. It’s implied you do—or did, considering you two have been dating for a few months now.

He laughs wholeheartedly as he realizes what you’re doing. He scoots a little closer to you, clearly enjoying this little joke. “Oh really? A big, fat crush, hm?” he teases. “And how long have you had this crush on me?”

Your smile grows wider when he plays along. “Oh, for such a long time.” You reply with feigned nonchalance. “But I couldn't keep it to myself anymore.”

He pretends to be deep in thought for a moment, before looking at you with a slow nod. “Hmm, I see. And you waited this long to tell me? You must really have it bad for me.”

His unexpected response wipes the smile off your face, only to create another one. “Idiot…” You mumble, rolling your eyes.

He laughs at your response. “Hey! I thought you had a crush on me. Don’t be mean to your crush.” He playfully pokes your side, still grinning. He knew was lucky you even looked in his direction.

“Do you have a crush on meee?” You whine with impatience. You wanted to hear it back.

Chan’s smile softens at your question, and he looks at you with utter affection. Heart eyes, you like to call them. “Of course I do. I mean, how could I not?” He reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I have a big, fat crush on you too, baby.”

DATING : EIGHT MONTHS

03:17 a.m. ; Y/N's apartment 📍

It was no secret Chan snored. His members even teased him for it. While the snoring wasn't ideal, you had learned to ignore it as your years together went on. Your dad used to snore too, so in a way, you had grown a little inmune to it.

But sometimes it got bad. Like bad enough to be scary.

Chan’s breathing would just collapse, and he’d wake up in shock, with a big gasp and body stiff. His lung and heart area ached right after too. It burned from the lack of air and created a chest pain he had, unfortunately, become familiar with.

It happened tonight again, no different than any other time. Though it had been a while since it last happened.

It usually awakens you too. “Chris? Baby?” You rub his back gently. Your sleep seems to have vanished from the scare.

Chan was sitting upright, trying to calm his racing heart and the pain he felt. He was still breathing heavily, the pain in his chest slowly dulling. He didn't turn to look at you. "Hey... sorry. I’m okay." he said.

Your eyes are trained on him with so much concern. “you sure?” Your hand rubs up and down his back, inching a little closer to him.

Chan nods, "Yeah, I'm fine. Just had another one of those... episodes."

“C’mere,” you ask softly. “Lie on your side.”

Chan hated it. His shoulders were too broad, and it ached being in this position for long, but these things never happened when he laid like this, so he entertains your idea.

“Stay like this, okay?”

"Okay." he said softly, watching you as you got up.

You make a quick trip to the kitchen for a glass of water and painkillers, just in case. You really only take a minute or so, and he’s endeared by your efforts to care for him. Chan really needed someone to take care of him sometimes, and he was lucky to have you do it so selflessly.

“I got some painkillers too,” you take a seat by his side bed, watching him barely sit up to drink the water. “Not sure if you want them.”

Chan downs the water greedily, his throat dry from the snoring. He let out a small sigh of relief as he set the glass back down. However, when you mentioned the painkillers, his expression soured a bit. “I don’t like taking them. They make me feel all groggy.” he said, running a hand through his hair.

“That’s okay,” you reply gently. “You don’t have to take them." Chan nods. He appreciated that you understood his preference.

He laid back down, wincing slightly as his shoulders ached from the odd position. He reached out for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You smile, eyes still glimmering with a little concern. “I'm sorry, I know you don’t like sleeping this way.”

Chan smiles a little tired. He did hate sleeping on his side, but he knew it was a necessary measure if he wanted to avoid it. "Yeah...” he said, shifting slightly to try and find a comfortable position. “But I guess it’s better than waking up gasping for air.”

“You need to stop giving me these scares.” you say quietly, nagging in a way, but always loving. “Maybe look into that surgery we’ve talked about.”

Chan’s expression sours a bit at the mention of the surgery. He knows it’s been a topic of discussion between the two of you for a while now, but he’s always been hesitant about the idea.

“I don’t know…” he said, still holding your hand. “It’s a pretty big surgery, and recovery time seems intense.”

You nod. “I know. But everything else can wait when it comes to your health.”

Everything meant his job, and he knew it. But he was too hard-headed.

Chan sighed heavily, knowing you had a point. His health should be his top priority, and yet he couldn’t help but worry about the impact it would have on his career.

“I know, but…” he said, his expression conflicted. “I'm so busy right now…it’s all so packed. I can’t just…disappear for a while.”

“I know, my love.” You gently pet his head, thumb running over his temple. “Just promise me you’ll listen to your body.”

Chan closed his eyes at your touch, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. He knew you were right, that he needed to listen to his body and take care of himself.

DATING : ONE YEAR, SIX MONTHS

02:38 p.m. ; hotel room 📍

With time, naturally, your relationship had grown more serious. Sometimes you still wondered how you went from friends to this. Because this time you two were meeting in Milan for a few days. An impromptu vacation since Chris would be attending a Fendi show.

You had flown in separately, met him at the hotel, since your relationship was still secret. And you two had been talking about tonight. How he would attend the show, maybe a party afterwards. Whatever he needed to do as part of his job of being one of Fendi's ambassadors.

But even then, he still worried about you. Tried to care for you, leave things for when he wouldn't be around; a protector after all.

So he sat at the edge of the bed, holding you, standing in between his legs. “Promise me you’ll eat, okay?” He urges, bringing your hand up to brush a kiss on your knuckles. “Eat well,” he clarifies. For you had a sneaky way of turning that sentence and manage to skip your meals.

“You worry too much,” you say trying to pull away from his hold.

Chan's grip on your hand tightens ever so slightly, holding onto you. This could be your only flaw, how much you tried to get out of eating enough. It worried him every time. “Promise me you’ll eat well,” he insists, his expression serious.

“Yeah…” you say halfheartedly.

Chan sighs at your response, able to tell you’re not taking this seriously. “Y/N,” he warns.

“Not my name!” You whine.

Chan can’t help but huff out a small chuckle at your reaction. Despite the seriousness of the situation, your playful whine brings a soft smile to his lips. He only called you sweet names, so you knew it was serious when he called you by your name.

He tugs on your hand, wanting your full attention. “Not your name?” he echoes. “Well then, listen to me, baby girl.” His eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of worry and affection. “I want you to eat well, okay? No skipping meals.”

Something about the way he asks, or the way he looks at you makes you giddy. “Okay... I will.” You relent.

Chan’s expression softens as you agree, his worry visibly easing. He knows he can’t control everything, but he’s relieved you’re listening.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, his grip on your hand relaxing.

DATING : ONE YEAR, NINE MONTHS

08:21 p.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"Woah, woah, what are you doing?" He practically goes pale the moment you're grabbing your blanket and a pillow.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" You bite back.

Chan and you had never argued this bad. You had small stupid fights, like every couple did every once in a while. You two got along pretty well, so even those were rare.

"You're not sleeping on the couch." He states.

"Watch me," you say, mostly to push his buttons more.

And before you know it, he's in your way, towering above you, hand gently holding your arms. "Hold on!" He pleads, whiny. "I'm trying to understand why we can't communicate right now."

"Because you're not listening to me! Why do I always have to yell at you?" You exasperate. "It's like you want me to."

"I-I don't... honey," he stammers.

"No. Just let me be." You plead.

"No, no, no, hold on. Wait, baby." He pleads. "I'm... Just sit down and let's talk this through."

NEWLY ENGAGED : TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS

12:25 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"What are you doing, my love?" A warm voice rouses you awake. Chan had spent a late night in the studio, and was now just coming home.

You were dozing off in bed, phone propped up playing whatever video for some background noise. "hm... Chris?"

"I'm home, sweetheart." He says softly, his hands finding your left one; lips press to the ring on your finger.

It never got old. The rush he got from knowing you were engaged now, and bound to marry soon. It made him happy. Euphoric.

His nimble fingers gently find the accessory and pry it off with care. "You can't sleep with jewelry on, baby girl."

"It's my engagement ring." You coo, watching as he places it on your bedside table.

He smiles proud, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. "Even so."

ENGAGED : TWO YEARS FIVE MONTHS

01:40 a.m. ; shared apartment 📍

"Why are you still up?" You murmur with voice rough, scaring him in the quiet room.

His head whips towards the door, surprised. His hair is messy from bed, headphones halfway on. "I'm..." He hesitates when he sees the look on your face. He knows you wouldn't be too happy to find out he was working late into the night. Especially when you had been working to fix his night-owl schedule into something a little more reasonable.

"Come back to bed." You mean to ask, but it's more of a gentle order.

He doesn't get up right away, computer still frozen on the newest project he was working on. He felt like a deer in headlights, though he was just a man being reprimanded by his soon-to-be wife.

"Please," you say a little annoyed.

Chan chews on his bottom lip as he saves and exits without any sort of retort. He never argued back, and he certainly wouldn't start now.

He quietly tucks the metallic device onto his work bag and turns off the lights as he exits the room. He then follows the hallway to your shared bedroom, where you had already gotten back into bed.

He climbs beside you, staring at your back for a moment before he dares approach you. His arm weighs on your waist, and a soft kiss is pressed to your shoulder. "Are you mad?" He whispers in the dark.

You take a moment to reply. "...no."

His hand apologetically rubs up and down your arm. "I'm sorry," he says despite your answer. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought—"

"You can't sleep because you constantly think of work." You say in a way that seems almost nagging.

Chan doesn't take it personally. He knows well the kind of man he is. "I know, I'm sorry, baby."

MARRIED : YEAR #1

06:22 p.m. ; living room 📍

"I want a baby." Chan says with a smile.

He had just gotten home a few minutes ago. Today he had a shoot with the kids for their new SKZ's code episode. One that involved babies.

You chuckle,"You want a baby." You say incredulous.

He smiles even wider. "C'mon, it'll be so cute."

"You have baby fever."

"Y/N.." he drawls out the last syllable. "You don't wanna have a baby with me?" He pouts.

"I do! But not right now." You respond.

"Let's have a baby," he coos, arms wrapping around you. "Imagine a mini us running around."

"Can I think about it?" You offer, but it's practically like you've said yes already. Smile wide, eyes closing. Chris is already excited about the idea.

like fireworks exploded inside you, colors and happiness danced in your heart every time Jungkook loved you; entire rivers of passion flowed inside you, flowing into an eternal sea of pure comfort and love every time Jungkook worshiped you.

fairs and carnivals made stops in your heart, each attraction being an extension of Jungkook’s words, each stall selling all the comfort and fascination that Jungkook offered you so innocently; hand in hand with you, Jungkook went through every nook and cranny of your heart, collecting all your broken pieces and gluing them together with an eternal glue of pure love.

fascinating and inspiring was Jungkook’s love, something capable of creating the most beautiful works of art that existed; of vibrant colors and precise cuts, of delicate symphonies and shy soliloquies, Jungkook’s love had created a gallery inside you, exposing without any fear or shame all the love, all the devotion, all the fascination he felt for you.

JUNGKOOK'S TYPE OF LOVE ⠀⠀twin flame.

it was cruel the way the gods separated you, the way they ripped you from each other’s arms and forced you to walk incomplete endless eternities. it was cruel the way the gods envied you, how they wanted a connection as deep and genuine as yours. it was cruel the way they did everything to keep you from meeting again, too angry to witness your love once more. ‘i think i know you.’ five words. five words and the your entire destiny was rewritten in a matter of seconds. five words spoken by Jungkook that dictated a whole new path in your lives; for now that you have finally found each other, after lives of grief and anguish over losing something you didn’t even know you had, nothing would be able to tear you apart. the comfort of his arms, the kindness of your words. the blossoming of a new love that had long seemed withered. finally you two had arrived home. finally the two of you had found the peace and happiness you had been looking for so long. you were his better half, the good part he begged to still possess. you were the hope that was stolen from him, the certainty of a doubt that insisted on remaining in the back of his mind. you were part of Jungkook, you were a need he was looking for so much. but above all, you were part of Jungkook’s soul that was torn from him. you were his passion. the eternal love he would never lose, not again.

JUNGKOOK'S ROMANTIC TROPE ⠀⠀destined to be together.

‘blame the gods for holding me to you. for, in all my life i have never been able to walk a path where you were not at the end of it. and if it wasn’t your smile that i longed to see in the darkest moments, it was your words that gave me the hope of a better day. blame the gods for not having the courage to take you away from me, because they know that our souls only feel complete when we are together, because there is no fire brighter than that of our hearts when we are in each other’s arms. blame the gods for making me love you. but also blame me. for i didn’t fight my fate when i realized that you and i, like all the constellations, were destined to be guarded by the gods, our passion being an eternal tale of love only compared to the legends of yore, since a love like ours, a love so sincere and carved by the gods themselves, seems so surreal. and yet i love you. i love you now, that’s me. but i loved you before i met you, that was the gods. and yet, i know i will love you after i’m far gone, for the memories of our love will remain carved in the stars that witnessed our love blossom and it will last forever. my love for you will last forever.’

HOW JUNGKOOK LOOKS AT YOU ⠀⠀as if spring would never end.

a feeling of being at home settled in Jungkook every time your arms welcomed him when the days were longer and the nights were colder. the warmth that emanated from you comforted him in his most difficult moments and carried him to a safe haven that would always protect him. finally Jungkook had found his shelter. the definition of the word ‘home’ felt deeper, more magical, when you entered Jungkook’s life.

you brought with you a new color pallet that you used to paint Jungkook’s heart and his entire soul. the yellows mixed with purples painted beautiful sunrises inside Jungkook; all the blues and greens danced in unison in so many forests of emotions and oceans of promises. a whole new world seemed brighter, more vivid, because you were in it. simply that. Jungkook knew that you were the bringer of all the beauty in the world. it didn’t matter how corrupt his heart was with all the malice in the world. it didn’t matter how black your soul felt when he woke up. for Jungkook, you would always be the one who carried the colors of this world. Jungkook looked at you with the lightness of a new chosen dream.

he lived in the conviction that all the flowers would bloom at your every step. he knew all the birds sang romantic songs just for you. he was sure that nature only existed because it was an extension of your beauty. Jungkook looked at you like someone admires spring: hopeful for better days brought by your laughter, cozy with the light you radiated so naturally, grateful to be alive at the same time as you.

WHEN JUNGKOOK LOVES YOU THE MOST ⠀⠀when the gods whispered in his heart.

among the smiles of thousands and the dreams of hundreds, amid so many promises and stories, in the refuge of various memories and details, Jungkook loved you the most when he believed. it was when hope began to dawn on Jungkook that he could love you more. when Jungkook was consumed by that feeling so pure, so intense, only one goal moved Jungkook’s entire body: taking you in his arms, leaving the whole world silent for a few moments, Jungkook loved you. it was the magic of possibilities, the complex spells of stories that could happen, the delicate dust of memories that could be fabricated – it was the idea of a future that made Jungkook love you more.

Jungkook knew from a very early time that it was you: the way your hearts beat in sync at the end of a date, the way your hands fit together perfectly, the way he only felt like himself by your side – you brought out the best in Jungkook, qualities and flaws that he learned to love because, quite simply, you loved them. and Jungkook was sure it would always be you. that person who would wake up next to him when he was old and the music was too loud; that person who would hold his hand when the sun said goodbye to the day and tranquility stretched across the horizon. in every way, you were always the one by Jungkook’s side in every future he could think of. and it was imagining these futures, creating plans for an eternal life by your side that he loved you most. when Jungkook’s eyes shone most intensely, when his lips uttered the sweetest words, when his hands caressed you with grace – it was in the privacy of your home that Jungkook loved you the most, because it was there that he believed in a true love, in an eternal love that would go far beyond that physical life.

JUNGKOOK'S SPECIFIC COLOR ⠀⠀the melancholy yellow of an early sunday morning in winter.

everything stopped. in Jungkook’s being, there was nothing; nothing but a great void that corrupted him with the ease with which the world changes seasons. all the emptiness, all the nothingness that existed inside Jungkook was suffocating, of a tremendous thickness that consumed him every time he woke up, every time he decided to exist. beyond his beautiful eyes, hidden behind the light that masked the melancholy he lived in, Jungkook existed. vulnerable, full of nostalgic memories and outdated hopes, Jungkook allowed himself to exist only in front of you, only in your comfort. for, beyond the beauty of Jungkook, far from seductive looks and empty words, hidden in a corridor of promises and desires, there was someone. a soul that stopped being Jungkook to be just himself – in your comfort, in your peace, in your presence. nothing prevented him from feeling, from existing. allowing melancholy to wrap him in a mantle of fragility, letting it embrace him in a hug of uncertainty and helplessness, Jungkook felt everything. all the memories that weighed on his shoulders and forced him to walk more hunched over; all the words he wished he’d said and now overused among his loved ones; whatever was became, and Jungkook was still, motionless, vulnerable. with you and only you. all his energy was drained, too tired to get it back, too lazy to get more. it was as if a sun of coziness, laziness, comfort – of everything he wanted most – embraced him in words and caresses. all because you, divinity of hope and future, allowed Jungkook to choose you to be the winter sun of all eternity that will exist.

“Can I come in?”

Spencer’s voice lights your face with one of those involuntary, almost girlish smiles that you’re never quite able to fend off. It’s the kind of smile you’d expect from a highschooler whose crush just said hello to her by the lockers, and not from a grown, mature woman such as yourself—if you can call yourself that.

“No.”

Damn it, you can hear it in your voice.

You don’t know what it is about him that makes you so…kittenish, almost. You’ve never been a particularly bashful person; you don’t blush easily, you don’t smile at the sound of someone’s voice, your stomach doesn’t do somersaults when you catch someone’s eye. You’ve always been confident. Unaffected. Some would go as far as to call you aloof.

Every relationship you’ve ever had has settled into a kind of mundanity, and that isn’t at all meant in a negative way. Sparks dim, honeymoon phases fizzle out, butterflies go into hibernation—it’s normal.

And your relationship with Spencer Reid, by that logic, is decidedly abnormal. You live with him, have lived with him for over a year now, and yet every time he walks into the room you still find yourself staring. Transfixed. Your heart flutters, your stomach flips, and your lips curl into that cursed smile. It’s disgusting, really, how much you like him.

You aren’t surprised when the bathroom door opens. Steam rushes out into the dimly lit bedroom, and Spencer pokes his head in. He, too, is smiling like an idiot. And he, too, is desperately trying not to; he’s trying to pout, by the looks of it, and he isn’t doing a very good job.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He shrugs and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. “I missed you.”

“I’ve only been in here for—”

“Forty-three minutes,” he says, “and fifteen seconds.”

“And you can’t last forty-three minutes and fifteen seconds without me?”

Spencer puts his entire face into that pout: he frowns, closes his eyes, juts out his bottom lip far beyond what should be natural, and he crosses the room with his arms outstretched like a touch-deprived, attention-seeking zombie as he wails, “no.”

You press your lips together, suppressing a grin as his hands settle on your shoulders. He pulls you into a hug, pressing your body flush against his.

“Ugh, Spence— I’m all wet…”

“Don’t care.”

He mumbles this into the damp skin of your shoulder, just above your collarbone, and he presses a kiss to where the words landed before pulling back to gaze at you. 

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him with mock sympathy. “How on earth do you survive without me at work?”

“I languish,” he whines. “I sit at my desk, and I wither away.”

“You…” you sigh. “…are so dramatic.”

“I thought it was one of my charms?”

“Maybe. The—” he cuts you off with a peck on the lips, and you gently push him away. “The shower’s free. Go on.”

Spencer hums, acknowledging your words, but he doesn’t move.

“Just one more minute,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help but smile at his affections—and you do allow him one more minute before pushing him away. You scan the bathroom in search of your lotion, but Spencer grabs the bottle before you can.

“Thanks—”

…and he holds it out of your reach as you try to take it from him.

Your face falls, and you cross your arms. “What?”

“I was thinking…maybe I could help you,” he poses, keeping his voice light and innocent on the off chance that you might not see straight through him.

“Help?”

“Get the, uh…hard-to-reach areas,” he clarifies with a smile.

“Uh huh.” You nod, eyeing him sceptically. “You just want to feel me up.”

Spencer’s jaw drops, and his mouth contorts into this comical, overly surprised ‘o’ shape. He shakes his head adamantly, brown hair falling into his eyes as he says, “that’s not— …the only reason.”

You click your tongue, trying to keep up your façade of mild disinterest even as you begin tugging at your towel. “At least you’re honest.”

Spencer does not try at all to hide the way his gaze fixes on your body as you remove your towel, trailing over every inch of you before putting on this big, stupid-looking grin. He leans in to kiss you—properly, this time—anchoring one hand at the back of your neck whilst the other keeps a tight hold of the lotion bottle. You let him have his way for a moment or two, or three, before pulling away.

“Hey,” you snap your fingers, donning the sternest expression you can muster, “moisturise me.”

He sighs, puffing air into his cheeks before pressing one final kiss to your forehead. “Okay, Lady Cassandra,” he mutters, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. “Turn around for me.”

You turn away as he pops open the bottle of lotion, and you hear it sputter as he squeezes some onto his hand. The pause that follows as he sets the bottle aside is oddly anticipatory, and then his hands come, gently, into contact with your back. 

That’s another thing about Spencer Reid—he’s more or less a human radiator. His hands are always warm, no matter the conditions. You seek him out for warmth in the winter, snuggling up to him at any chance you can get, and you avoid him like the plague in the summer. He does, however, have a profound fondness for cuddles, so you often end up toughing it out and letting yourself overheat—for his sake.

His touch alleviates a tension you didn’t know you were carrying. You feel your shoulders loosen as you breathe out a quiet sigh. Spencer works the lotion into your skin with great care, working in sections as he advances down your back until he’s crouching behind you, massaging lotion into your sides, your hips and, finally, your ass.

“Your favouritism is showing,” you mutter.

“I—” Spencer scoffs. “I’m just ensuring that there is even coverage—”

“You’re ensuring that you get to fondle my ass,” you interrupt, correcting him. You’re sure he can hear the smile infiltrating your voice. “Meanwhile my legs are drying up.”

You hear him huff, and his hands briefly leave your body as he squeezes more lotion into his palm before turning his attention to your right thigh. He tends to each leg separately, and even throws in a brief, unexpected calf massage before rising to his feet.

“You’re very…shiny,” he notes as he picks up the bottle for a third time.

“This is how I stay silky smooth.”

One at a time, Spencer works his way down your arms. He stops at your wrists, avoiding your hands—clearly, you’ve complained one too many times about hating the feeling of lotion on your palms. “I don’t moisturise like this,” he says, “and I’m silky smooth.”

“You can always be silkier and smoother.”

“Mhm. And would you do this for me? Slather me in lotion until I’m all slippery?”

“Ew. Don’t say it like that. But yes, I would…slather you, if you asked me to.”

Spencer leans in to kiss your cheek as his hands trail down to your stomach. “So kind,” he murmurs, grinning. “How lucky I am to have someone so willing to smear lotion all over me.”

“I hope you’re grateful.”

“Always.”

His lips meet the side of your neck just as his hands move up to your chest. He squeezes you, gently, just enough to make your breath catch just before your hands close around his wrists, and you pull his hands away.

“And we’re done,” you announce, turning back to him.

Spencer frowns. “But I didn’t do your collarbones.”

“I can do my own collarbones—”

“Please?”

He’s pouting again, staring at you with those big, stupid brown eyes like you’re depriving him of something sacred.

“…fine.”

Spencer steps forward, and he carefully massages the last of the lotion into your collarbones with a proud smile. His fingers dance along your skin, touch so light it almost feels reverent.

Crushes are supposed to subside with time. The giddiness, the novelty, it’s all supposed to wear off within the first few months of dating. And yet every time you find yourself like this, face to face with him, close enough to feel his breath on your skin, giddiness is all you can feel.

As much as you try to hide it, you have the biggest crush on your boyfriend. And you can’t see it going away any time soon. You don’t want it to go away. Ever. 

“There we go.”

Spencer backs up a little to admire his work—or, more accurately, to admire you—with a grin that almost stretches from one ear to the other, splitting his face with a joy that is almost infectious. Almost. 

“Thanks, Doc.” You give him a nod, maintaining a perfectly neutral expression as you gesture to the shower. “Now go, it’s your turn.”

“Actually, I was wondering if—”

“I’m not showering with you, Spence,” you say. That damn pout returns full force as you turn him down, but you don’t let it dissuade you. “You just emptied half a bottle of lotion onto me. That’s like, four dollars.”

“But—”

“Shower. Now. You stink.”

“I don’t stink.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Well, actually, statistics show that couples often enjoy each other’s natural body odour, so—”

“Yes, but you have work tomorrow. I doubt the BAU will appreciate your stench as much as I do.”

“Fine.”

He begins fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, hurriedly undoing them as you turn to leave. He catches you by the arm before you make it to the door, and he presses the shirt into your hand with a sly smile.

“I love you.”

Barely able to bite back a smile of your own, you take the shirt off his hands. It’s warm, worn, and smells unapologetically of him. You slip it on like it’s your own.

“I love you, too—and don’t take too long, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

⋆ he’s a cuddlebug in the most extreme and literal sense.

⋆ like he can’t get enough, he’s constantly touching her.

⋆ if they’re holding hands and she needs to pull away to do something, he’s whining and wrapping an arm around her waist to keep her close.

⋆ if he needs to pull his hand out of her grasp, he’ll hold it with the other hand, or wrap her arm around his waist, or place her hand on his arm to maintain the contact.

⋆ she wasn’t sure how he’d be about pda, especially around his coworkers, but he’s completely insatiable with his touches and kisses.

⋆ obviously he loves kissing her on the mouth the most, but he loves kissing her forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, anywhere and everywhere he can reach.

⋆ he’d even ask her to give him a forehead kiss when he’s feeling especially needy (always).

⋆ he loves wrapping his arms around her waist from behind her, fusing his chest to her back. he’ll dip his hands under her shirt or her waistband, just wanting to feel her skin.

⋆ when they’re at home and he’s reading next to her on the couch, he’ll try to keep a hand on her leg, but it’s easiest if he just lies with his head in her lap. this way he can hold his book properly and still be close to her. she’ll play with his hair and his eyes will start drooping and he loooves falling asleep like that. he’ll turn to press his face into her stomach and wrap his arms around her waist in his sleep.

⋆ in his sleep he still tries to get as close to her as possible, enclosing her waist with his arms and nuzzling his head into her neck.

⋆ obviously spooning her is his favorite, but she’ll wake up on her back or stomach with him all over her in any way possible, even if it’s just his legs tangled with hers.

⋆ he encourages her to lay completely on top of him.

⋆ he’ll even wrap his arms around her thigh and hold it to his chest when they’re lying together, just constantly holding her in any way possible.

⋆ he loves cuddling with her on the couch the most because of the forced proximity.

⋆ if she’s across the couch from him, he’ll pull her feet into his lap, wrapping a hand over her ankle and running his hand up and down her shin as they watch tv together.

⋆ they are absolutely that couple that sits on the same side of the table at restaurants.

⋆ god forbid he has to sit across from her for any reason, he’s playing footsie with her under the table: linking their ankles together and holding one of her feet between his.

⋆ and she worries about him when he leaves for cases and he has to sleep all alone, so she sends him with a sweater that smells like her. she jokes about making him a build-a-bear with the voice recording device inside so he can still have a piece of her when he’s away.

he doesn’t realize that she’s kidding and nods excitedly, wide-eyed, because ultimately him being away so often is one of the main reasons he needs to be as close to her as possible when he is home.

⋆ (oh and nothing is better than naked cuddling with her. he neeeeds the skin-to-skin contact.

⋆ he’s absolutely into cockwarming and fingerwarming(?): he’ll keep his fingers inside of her, not moving them, just feeling her, until she’s begging and whining and grinding on him.

⋆ if he finds her lying on her stomach, he’ll lay his head on her ass. she’ll ask him if he needs something, and he’ll say nope. eventually, he’ll start playing with her waistband, needing to get his head between her thighs. you know, just to get even closer to her.

⋆ he loves having her sat between his legs, his chest to her back, as he slowly toys with her breasts and pussy. he’ll wrap his legs around hers to keep her even closer to him and to spread her open for him to play with.)

"Why is it so cold?" You muttered, voice muffled against his neck. 

He sighed, as if annoyed (though not really) by your repeated question. You felt him turn his head towards the windows in your bedroom. 

"Probably because snow seems to be covering everything outside, darling."

You looked at him in disbelief, pulling away slightly and sitting up so you could take a look outside yourself. The first snow of the year was always a sight to behold, everything getting covered in a fresh, marshmallowy white.

"I knew it would snow, but I wasn't expecting this much..." 

"Mm. A wintery surprise, then." Loki replied, clearly barely interested in your fascination with the first snow of the year. 

As you laid back next to him again with a sigh, annoyed at his nonchalance, you found yourself relaxing nonetheless, his hand finding your back and gently caressing it at a soothing speed. 

The patter of feet against the hallway floor broke the peaceful quiet. Then, even more of a disturbance came in the gentle creaking of your door as it opened eerily slowly, a tired sigh coming from the culprit as they caught their breath. 

"Sweeping?" Came a tiny whisper from the door, likely unable to see your forms on the bed due to her height. 

"No, darling. We're both awake." Loki replied softly, voice immediately warmed by affection, his free arm moving to the edge of the bed so his hand could hang off it aimlessly, encouraging Freyja to come closer. 

She let out a sound of glee at the news that both her parents were awake as she stomped over to Loki's side of the bed, curling herself around his hand as she hugged it. Loki grinned down at her, moving his other arm from around you so he could pull her onto your bed.

“Mornin’…” Freyja said, settling happily onto Loki’s chest.

Loki grinned up at her, petting her head and gently caressing her black curls.

“I do believe you mean ‘good morning’, my sweet darling.” He cooed, pinching her cheek ever so gently.

She giggled at the gesture, nuzzling her cheek into his fingers.

“Funny.” She announced before turning to look down at you, still curled into Loki’s side.

She smiled wide, extending her hand out towards you and waving excitedly with her hand only a few inches from your face.

“Hi, mama!” Freyja said, now bouncing slightly on Loki’s chest and making him let out a grunt of discomfort.

“Hello, baby,” You greeted your daughter lovingly, sitting up just enough to place a kiss to the palm of her hand.

Freyja suddenly gasped as if remembering something important.

“Snow out!” She squealed, pointing clumsily out the window.

“Yes, my sweet. Is that why you’ve woken up so early?” Loki rubbed her back calmly.

Freyja nodded, so excited she couldn’t stand still. She moved again, little hands now squeezing his cheeks together.

“Snow!” She repeated, bursting into shrill laughter once she noticed the face Loki was now making because of her.

Loki grinned at her laughter, his eyes swimming with warmth and love. He pulled another face at her, sticking his tongue out, which only made her laugh harder before mimicking him as best as she could. You watched on, smiling at the sight. It was something you never thought you’d be able to give Freyja; the three of you, together, like you’d always hoped for. Loki had become so different with her. Because of her. Never before had he truly and genuinely seemed so light, his heart evidently softened from having such pure love surrounding him every day now that he was finally a permanent fixture in his daughter’s life. And yours, too, naturally.

The two eventually stopped, Freyja struggling for a bit to catch her breath from her laughter as she rested her head against his chest, giggles still leaving her occasionally. Loki seemed to have a smile stuck to his face, too.

“You wish for us to go play in the snow, is that it, my darling?” Loki asked, encouraging her to voice her desires clearly and with pride.

She shook her head adamantly, making her curls bounce gently.

“Oh? Well, then what do you wish for, my princess? Anything you would like.”

“’Cakes!” She told him, looking down her nose at him. Truly, if her looks weren’t enough, that exact expression instantly proved who her father was.

It only seemed to make him prouder of her, though. If anyone else had tried that with him, he likely would’ve had a few choice words for them, but for her, he would only spew the sweetest of praises.

“Pancakes once more, my princess? You seem to ask for these every week-end.” Loki sighed dramatically, throwing his head back and making her laugh.

She booped his nose, just like he so often did to her, thinking of it as a way to resuscitate him from his ‘collapse’. Loki took in an exaggerated breath and sat up slightly, making her grin proudly at her supposed skills.

“’Cakes now, daddy!” She repeated, not having forgotten, much to his chagrin.

He sighed and turned his head towards you, blinking his lashes innocently at you. You did the same back at him, the two of you finding yourselves very suddenly in a battle of wills.

“She seems to have asked you for pancakes, dad.” You said, your words innocent as you inched him towards doing the work.

He raised a disbelieving brow.

“Are you trying to manipulate me, darling? In front of our perfect daughter?” He gasped for effect (for Freyja’s sake), covering up her eyes with one hand.

“She asked you!”

“Yes, and you’d risk me going at this alone? I’d bloody well burn it all to the ground! A homemade Ragnarok in our very kitchen, if you so wish it, my love. Free of charge and made with love.” He grinned brightly at you, his snark palpable.

You huffed.

“I’ll help.” You announced reluctantly, to which he replied with a pleased grin while Freyja blew spit bubbles (intentionally) against the palm of his hand, trying to irritate him.

“You really are the very best of all, did you know that?” He cooed, that air of false innocence still working overtime to make him see anything but ill-intentioned.

That’s how all three of you found yourselves in the kitchen at 7 in the morning, Freyja dancing circles around the both of you and Loki trying to stop her from getting in the way (too much) whilst you gathered the simple ingredients for pancakes. Freyja had insisted on music, and Loki had obliged by using his magic to make a nearby speaker play all the classic holiday hits at a soft volume.

Loki eventually picked her up, deciding that keeping her in a single spot would be better than letting her tornado around the kitchen.

“I see snow!” She squealed into Loki’s ear, making him wince, as she looked over his shoulder and out the windows, now able to see clearly from being held (much) higher than her usual vantage point.

“Yes, dear, there is still snow outside. Not much can change in mere minutes.” Loki replied calmly as he watched you finish up the batter.

Freyja sighed dreamily, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she watched the snow blowing about gently outside. Loki smiled fondly down at her, rubbing her back, which was a habit he didn’t seem intent on breaking.

As you got to cooking the pancakes, Freyja gasped and pointed at something out the window yet again.

“Santa!!!” She shrieked.

Loki turned his head at her words; eyebrow already cocked in disbelief. He chuckled once he saw what her little hand was waving towards.

“No, my dear. That is simply someone wearing a red coat with their hood on.” He kissed her cheek to ease her pout.

“But Santa…”

“Santa will visit you on Christmas Eve, hm? With all the presents you have wished for, if you’ve been a good girl.” He reminded her patiently.

“Been good!” She announced immediately, looking at him innocently.

He smiled, kissing her head.

“Of course you have, my darling. I am your father, after all. What else could you have been besides good?”

They giggled together, Freyja bumping her forehead against his briefly, before Loki turned his attention towards you.

He wrapped his free hand around your hip while you slowly worked on getting the pancakes done, though you mostly watched their dynamic unfold with a gentle smile.

“Look at mama, hm? She is making us breakfast diligently. She is so very kind and generous with us, Freyja, don’t you agree?” Loki said, kissing your temple. Freyja quickly followed suit, craning her neck to reach you until Loki turned her so she could kiss your temple, too.

“Is she not the nicest mama?” Loki asked Freyja, to which she replied with enthusiastic nodding.

“She deserves all she could ever want for Christmas.” Loki’s eyes twinkled as he spoke, gaze set entirely on you. You rolled your eyes fondly at his incessant innuendos. “Perhaps even a kiss from Santa Claus himself.” He suggested, surely mentioning you guys’ secret plan to have him dress up as Santa for Freyja’s benefit on Christmas in order to have the holiday come alive for her. She was only nearing 4 years old, but she had been talking about Christmas for months and was unbearably excited for it.

Freyja frowned, shaking her head adamantly.

“Daddy kiss mama onwy!” She insisted fiercely, placing one hand on your shoulder and one on Loki’s, keeping you close. “Not Santa!”

Loki laughed at her protectiveness; she was just as fierce as him.

“Of course, my darling. Only daddy kisses mama.” He soothed her, his grin nothing but devious as he looked at you.

The golden light of morning spilled slowly across their bed.

It touched the marble floor first, warming the edges of Loki’s discarded cloak. Then it reached the sheets—silk, tangled, sleep-soft. And finally, it kissed the curve of her stomach, where it peeked bare beneath a barely-tied robe the color of moonlight.

She stirred slowly, nestled against him. One leg draped over his. Hair tickling his chest. Her robe had slipped lower in the night—untied and forgotten—so that now it hung open just enough for her belly to glow in the sun.

Loki didn’t dare move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe too loudly.

He just watched her.

Watched the slow, steady rise of her breath. The way her fingers curled in his. The slight shift of the bump when she shifted in her sleep.

Four months.

Still small.

But undeniable now.

He moved carefully, brushing a knuckle along her stomach, feeling her warmth beneath his skin.

Their child.

Alive. Growing. Already so loved.

Y/N blinked slowly awake, humming softly as her hand came up to rest over his.

“Mmm,” she whispered, voice rough with sleep. “You’re staring.”

“Every morning,” he murmured.

“I haven’t brushed my hair.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I haven’t tied my robe.”

“Don’t,” he said, voice low. “I like seeing you like this.”

She smiled, eyes still half-shut. “You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

He leaned in, kissing her forehead, then her cheek, then her collarbone. She shifted closer, her leg tightening around his hip.

“I can feel your magic,” she whispered.

“It’s humming,” he said, hand cradling the side of her belly now. “It always does around you.”

“And them?”

He nodded slowly, pulling back just enough to look at her.

“They’re quiet this morning. Dreaming, maybe.”

“Already more like you, then,” she teased. “Elegant and still.”

He smirked. “Let’s hope they don’t inherit your need to steal the blankets.”

“Excuse me?!”

“You’ve cocooned yourself in that robe like a silken burrito.”

She laughed, full and soft, shifting so her belly brushed against his stomach. He stilled at the contact.

“I’ll never get used to this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the swell of her skin. “The way you look. The way you feel.”

“You mean tired and sore?”

“I mean divine.”

She flushed, hand sliding into his hair.

“Stay like this with me,” she whispered.

“I have nowhere else I’d rather be.”

They lay together in silence for a while, the weight of the world shut out behind gold curtains and marble doors. The only things that existed were warmth, and breath, and the miracle growing quietly between them.

Loki reached down and traced a slow circle over her bump with his fingertip.

“Do you think they can hear us?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“Then I should tell them something important.”

He kissed the center of her belly, right where the silk parted.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Both of you. More than this realm. More than all the stars combined.”

Y/N blinked hard, her throat tightening.

“Loki…”

“You don’t need to say it back,” he said, eyes glowing. “Just let me stay here. In this moment. With my entire world wrapped in silk beside me.”

Masterlist

The gardens were quiet.

The late Asgardian sun warmed the marble paths and filled the courtyards with golden light. The breeze was gentle, and birds flitted lazily from tree to tree.

It was the perfect kind of day.

And Y/N could barely keep her eyes open.

She walked slowly, one hand braced under her belly, the other pressed gently to the small of her back.

Every step sent pressure rippling through her joints. Her hips ached. Her feet throbbed. Her skin felt tight and hot and wrong.

But she kept going.

Loki had begged her to rest. He always did. He noticed everything—every grimace, every wince.

So lately… she had gotten better at hiding them.

Better at faking a breath that didn’t catch in her ribs. Better at smiling when her spine felt like it was splitting.

He had enough on his shoulders. She didn’t want to add to it.

“I’m fine,” she whispered to herself.

The lie was thin. She kept walking anyway.

Until her vision blurred.

Until her knees buckled.

Until everything tilted.

She didn’t remember hitting the ground.

Only the feeling of her body giving out.

Only the sudden coldness of marble against her cheek, and the sound of someone screaming her name.

Loki.

He had only been gone for a moment.

He’d stepped away to speak with the royal healer about enchanted birthing salves. When he returned to the path they always walked together—the one that curved beneath the blooming starlight trees—she was gone.

Then he saw the crowd.

Then he saw her.

His wife—his everything—collapsed on the stone, unmoving.

He barely remembered how he got to her.

One moment he was across the garden.

The next, he was on his knees beside her, hands trembling, magic flaring uncontrollably beneath his skin.

“Y/N—Y/N!”

She stirred weakly, eyes fluttering.

He gathered her into his arms, holding her against him, feeling her heartbeat flutter like a trapped bird.

“I’m here,” he breathed. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She winced, clutching her belly.

“I—I’m okay. Just dizzy.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped—then softened instantly. “Please. Don’t lie.”

Frigga was suddenly there, kneeling at her other side, hands already glowing with calming runes.

“She’s overheating,” she said quietly. “She’s been pushing herself.”

Loki’s jaw clenched.

He cradled Y/N closer, hand splayed over her bump.

The baby stirred—thank the gods.

Still alive. Still moving.

He kissed her damp forehead.

“You should’ve told me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You should’ve told me.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” she said hoarsely. “You already do so much—I just wanted to be strong for you.”

Loki shook his head, his own tears slipping down now.

“You don’t have to be strong for me,” he said. “You are carrying our child. You are already the strongest soul I know. Let me be the one to hold the weight now. Let me protect you.”

“I thought if I told you how much it hurt, you'd panic.”

“I would’ve. I am.” He leaned his forehead to hers. “But I would never want you to suffer alone just to spare my feelings.”

She let out a quiet sob and clung to his robe.

“I’m so tired.”

“I know, dove,” he whispered. “We’re almost there. Just a little longer. Let me carry the rest.”

He brought her back to their chambers himself—arms around her, voice never stopping.

Soft, loving things.

Ancient words in old tongues.

Promising her peace.

Promising her she’d never fall again.

He tucked her into bed, placed his hand over her belly, and whispered to their unborn child:

“Your mother is a goddess. But even goddesses deserve rest.”

Masterlist

The day you received the news was like a fever dream, you were dazed from shock, your body fighting between fainting or having a heart attack out of anxiety and panic. Your closest friends, those who were trained with you were quick to comfort you, some saying to be happy to be married into wealth, others saying to be cautious of Loki.

Despite being a childhood friend, the king was celebrated yet frightened many with his mischievous looks and actions, the women you trained with were quick to warn you of said events. You have known Loki for years, yet it has been years since you two last connected. To connect in an instant as such was a genuine shock to your mind, wondering if the king had felt the same way.

You were somewhat excited, being able to be in such a high power, having the authority to help your soon-to-be subjects, yet you were still so concerned over the idea that Loki didn’t truly want this, considering he was not the one who chose you.

Despite your nerves nearly jumping out of your skin, you couldn’t help but feel so attracted to the god, looking so ravishing in his wedding attire. He was wearing a tailcoat tuxedo that reached down to the middle of his calves; the ends of the tuxedo had a beautiful embroidery with a bright gold color.

Loki was wearing a green button-up beneath the tuxedo, a luxurious gold chain that drooped over his chest, and a dark, small emerald weighing down the chain just a bit. His slacks showed the curves of his hips and legs, displaying how thin yet muscular they seemed.

The way he would show you such gentle care in front of the guests who have traveled far and wide to your ceremony, his fingertips barely grazing your shoulder as the two of you danced, the tender kiss you shared- it all felt like bliss to you. But as the festivities carried on, you noticed the glances he would give you behind the backs of the many who watched you all.

He seemed irritated, his eye twitching occasionally, even rolling as the corner of his mouth hitched just enough to show his canine and gum. His nose scrunched slightly, yet all of the wrinkles were quick to fade once guests came to greet you both, his seeming disgust turning into a cheeky grin as he shook their hand.

Did you upset him? Was he not satisfied with the quality of the reception or the guests? Many questions continued to swirl in your mind as you two sat in silence. You wished to have talked to him before the events of the night, yet you were forced to be separated until the vows, practically only speaking to each other if needed. As your brain continued to scramble for any words, Loki decided to break the ice himself.

“Allow me to clarify something for your small, feeble mind.” He spoke sternly, “This marriage is nothing more than a political facade, an ordeal that we have to endure for the sake of our Kingdom. I hold no affection for you, nor will I ever. I will not attempt any unnecessary acts of love in public unless the people wish to see, but I expect you to do the same.”

His words were so harsh and sudden, like a doll being pricked at the heart with needles. The words from the man harshly weighing on your stress that followed after the events from today, the constant greetings, the so-called “affection” you two were showing off for the world just crumbling to bits in a matter of seconds.

You knew better than to snap at a god. You’ve learned from some of the best-kept maidens of the kingdom, teaching you to keep your stance, to clean properly, and to nurse, bathe, and so much more. In the heat of your thoughts, with overwhelming emotion overflowing mentally, you forgot about any “decency” a woman should have in marriage.

“My hopes were already low when you would scoff at me behind the backs of our guests.” You said plainly, not an ounce of attitude being shown but to Loki, it was a clear sign of your annoyance.

“Oh my, how my actions must’ve wounded your spirit. Do you expect me to swoon over anything you had to say at the ceremony?” He spoke, cackling lowly at the thought.

“I've been taught to hold my tongue if I were to get married, I'm afraid I must for you, I suppose." You shrugged, using your utensil to pry at your food slightly. You tried to shake the feeling of his eyes staring you down, looking at your figure without a change in his demeanor.

“I could've cared less if you would’ve responded to every word I spoke at the gathering, but even an ounce would be better for me, for our arrangement. To have communication whether it’s in public or behind these walls is important, even if you don’t believe so.”

Loki leans forward in his chair, intrigued by your words. He let his head rest in his palm while he listened.

“You've been taught to hold your tongue, have you? How obedient... truly amusing." Loki mocked. "It’s a shame you didn't learn to sharpen your mind but perhaps that would be too much for you.”

He wanted to twist the dagger he had in your heart even more, continuing to speak harshly of you. “I need you to draw my attention, my dear. Not beg for it now. Not to mention you haven’t done anything too fascinating to the eye.”

"My mind is quite sharpened unlike yours.”

“Doubt it. As for I am a literal god, dear.”

“Doesn’t make you smart. Not to mention how quick you are to assume that I’m not appealing. You find comfort by dripping insults like a candle rather than getting to talk things out like a proper king.”

“My mockery is a kindness, my dear. You should be treating it as if it was the greatest honor bestowed upon you.”

Your fingers wrapped around your glass with frustration, taking a sip before continuing.

“If you truly didn’t find any interest in me you wouldn’t say a word. My years of efforts seemed to have worked in another way rather than being a loving wife to a loving husband.”

Loki grinned. "Your attempts to grab my attention? Pathetic at best, honestly.”

"Yet you still boast on, Lord Loki? I have a position of authority as you do, and if you believe I'm still beneath you, I'm far from it." You spoke, punctuating your words by standing and pushing the glamorous golden chair into the table.

Loki watched as you rose and pushed in your seat, your defiance irritating him as he did to you. “Ahh, the newfound queen is attempting to play royal.” He tutted, wagging his finger. 

“Nobody said that you were beneath me, but your newfound authority has not impressed me nor ever will.”

He leaned back in his seat for a moment as he took in the sight of you. You were wearing such a large dress that truly made you stand out from any other guest at the reception.

The base of your dress was pitch black and you had many layers of fabric that circled your waist. These hoops were a lot lighter in color, a small variety of uneven cut lengths of an emerald tone drooped down your body like a veil, trailing down to the small train on the ground. The fabric has the same golden embroidery that Loki does, wrapping around the edges or ends of the dress.

Your shoulders were exposed along with your collarbone and cleavage, a large, heavy emerald pendant with a gold chain resting above it and almost snuggly sitting between your breasts. You and Loki both had matching wedding rings, his just a golden band with your initials carved into the inner area while yours had another green gem, Loki’s initials carved in as his does.

You shrug before making your way to Loki’s end of the long table, him sitting there as if the conversation hasn’t just occurred which left you just a bit more irritated than before. You lower your head just enough for your lips to be close to his ear, your hand resting on the armrest of the chair. “You’re a fool to try and reduce me, Loki of Asgard. You’re an utter fool.”

You then took your leave, the long and airy layers of your dress flowing and following with you. The duties of today made you tired, not to mention Loki’s bickering, so you wanted to go back to your quarters and rest. Unfortunately, the two of you had to share a room so as not to create unwanted suspicion between the maids and butlers of the home.

You opened the large door and closed it without attitude, now wandering the long halls as the click of your black heels echoed constantly until you found two maids interacting while dusting a few portraits that hung on the walls. You had requested their help to get out of your royal garb and into something comfortable, to which they happily agreed.

The two maids led you to your quarters and began to gently undo the layers, getting each ring that settled around your waist and lifting it carefully above your head. As they continue to carefully remove and store your current clothing, Loki is taking his time to reach your shared chambers, knowing that you will be there.

Once you had left, his face had turned into a displeased frown fueled by his irritation and a sprinkle of anger. He couldn’t believe how you pushed away every word he had to say, truly raising his interest slightly. He muttered words under his breath as he slid out of his chair before heading down the same path you did.

You soon were out of all of your clothing, changed out of the large dress, and now into a new set of black lacy lingerie paired with a tulle robe. The feathered ends circled your wrists, neck, and ankles in a pitch-black color. The sheer fabric was a green color to match your dress, making your eyes roll at the thought. Although you were getting sick of being placed in the same color palette, you couldn’t help but admire the view of every outfit you wore.

You thanked the ladies assisting you, wishing them goodnight as they did to you while they stored the garments in your large closet and left you in the room. You took hold of the large sheet that spanned over the bed, covering your body up to your neck.

The sheets were so soft and cozy over your skin. You finally felt the emotions from today slowly exert from your mind just before the door opened, a light cackle filling the silence.

“Did I bother you so intensely that you had to rely on the maids of the palace?” He grinned, “Pathetic, really.”

You scoffed, turning your body from facing the ceiling to the large window that faced the city below, the glass taking up the entire wall with long and large curtains on both sides.

“I’ve been on my feet this whole damn day like you, give me a break before starting to belittle me at least.”

“Oh, my lady is so dearly tired. Well, you aren’t the only one who’s had a difficult day.” Loki’s hand movements emphasized his feelings, his fingers contracting and expanding with each sentence. “I’ve had to endure this tedious ordeal of a marriage, stuck with someone as insufferable as you.” He continued to walk over to the bed, sitting down in the corner.

“If you’ve been dealing with heaps of issues like me, why don’t you go and rest then?” You spat back, fully covering your head with the blanket.

“Now you want to act like a child?” He spoke, his irritation now rattling within his mind. “Hiding yourself from me will do you nothing just as sleep won’t do me any good.”

“I’d rather keep pulling this blanket over myself rather than have a broken record in my ear. Just let it go.”

Loki leaned further while still sitting on the corner of the bed. “How about letting go of that ridiculous blanket and talking properly?” He then grabs the end of the blanket closest to your face and yanks it back, revealing your lingerie outfit from your shoulders down to your waist.

You immediately grew flustered but were too angry to even display an ounce of your true feelings. “By the gods, just give it up, Loki!” You now shouted, grabbing and yanking the blanket out of his hands. You were able to drag it with ease due to the slight shock that had hit him from the view.

Although both of your emotions were boiling over, he couldn’t help but appreciate the curves the outfit displayed, your skin tinted green by the coat and your chest rising and lowering with shaky, anger-filled breaths.

“I’m not giving up to someone as lowly as you. Not. A. Chance.” He punctuated his words by growing even closer to you, his body caging and towering over you as he leaned forward, the fabric of the sheets dipping with his body on the bed.

“You’ve gotten under my skin this entire day and you expect me to just let go?”

“Yeah, hilarious really!” You shouted angrily, moving your body away from him until your back hit the headboard. “Genuinely so hilarious the King of Asgard is going to such an extent to mock a woman he hardly knows still.” He continued to grow closer and you placed your hands on his shoulders in response, gripping them while trying to push him away in which you were failing to do so.

“Is this amusing to you? Trying to get out of something you started, getting a rise out of me? Successfully getting a rise out of me?”

“Looks like I did receive an ounce of interest from you if you’re so hot and bothered.” You sneer with a grin, “Just say you want to fuck your lady out of anger. That’s pretty common for husbands, is it not? I had to learn how to please them after all.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed, his anger flaring once more. “Would you like me to admit that?” He asked exhaustedly, “To admit that there’s even a pinch of desire that rests within me for you? A pinch that finds you fascinating, maybe even irresistible?” You then notice his eyes running over your body again, catching the fact that he nearly raised a hand to rest on your body.

“To hear that from you is a shock.” You scoffed, “You probably don’t even mean those words. Just trying to swoon me to produce an heir, then to discard of me immediately...” Your eyes darted from Loki, looking out the large window beside the bed. The city glimmered below, still bustling with celebration from the wedding hours ago.

“I’m not that harsh of a person, my dear.” His voice was low. “I’m not a monster that would use you in such a way. I wouldn’t discard you.” He then took his hand and let his index and thumb pinch your chin gently, forcing your attention back to him.

Your eyes twitched in reaction to Loki’s sudden gentleness. Although he kept his bratty demeanor, you could recognize that his feelings were strangely sincere. Your lip curled, trying to fight back any feelings that were trying to spill from you, but your face didn’t show a single sign of emotion. The two of you remained silent in your positions, your grip on his shoulders lessening gently while Loki felt your resistance slowly melting away.

He still kept his hand on your chin, locking your gaze with his gently. Watching your expression grow just a bit softer made him grow at ease. You were finally shedding off the defensive barrier you had due to his harsh words from earlier, the pang of regret hitting Loki hard. He released his hand from your chin and moved it to your cheek, his slender fingers cupping your skin softly.

The gentleness was strange to you, making you want to retract from it, but you couldn’t help but give in. Your hands moved away from his shoulders to cover your eyes, a shaky exhale leaving your lips before Loki used a hand to pull one of yours away.

“Don’t hide from me, let me see you.” He said with an ounce of concern, moving the other hand away. “I want you to look at me.”

“You’ve already won your little shouting war with me and you’re still here trying to comfort me at my lowest… I don’t understand.” You hissed through your teeth while you adjusted your position so Loki wasn’t above her anymore, both of you sitting up. “Your pity towards me is so infuriating…”

“Pity?” Loki repeated, a small hint of sarcasm in his tone while he allowed you to sit up. “You truly believe this is pity? No, no my dear, this has nothing to do with that. It’s something else that’s completely different.” Loki then let his hand rest on your thigh, his touch practically melting through the thin fabric of the gown. “Can you not think of any other reason why I followed you?”

“Why possibly?” You snorted at Loki’s change in demeanor. Although you were a bit anxious about how he would’ve responded, you could still tell his pride was still sky high but he wasn’t letting it have full control over his actions and words.

The small giggle made his jaw clench, even if he knew you were trying to overpower his irritating attitude, it was working without a doubt.

“Desire. The purest and rawest.” He said shortly, his large, dark eyes piercing straight through your soul while his hand remained on your thigh, the other going up to your cheek.

A chill immediately shot through your spine, eyes widening slightly to his confession. Yet without any emotion in your expression, after a few quiet moments you spoke, “…Are you just going to let your desire bubble?”

Your words acted as a switch within Loki’s mind,  his hand moving to the underside of your thigh to caress your skin while he leaned into your ear. “Oh, my dear, I thought I would have to let it boil for a lifetime.” He was quick to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, the hand on your cheek moving away to grip your waist, his touch desperate and possessive as he thrived from your lips. You closed your eyes quickly as your faces clashed, bringing up a hand to grip his dark locks while you forced your tongue into his mouth, enticing a groan out of Loki. Your other arm wrapped around his neck and shoulder, pulling him even closer to you so your back was fully on the bedsheets.

The kiss was fueled by desire, resentment, anger, lust, and heaps of other emotions that drove you two into animalistic urges, both of your touch desperate and pleading.

The kiss felt like it had only lasted a few mere seconds when Loki pulled away from you to give the same attention to your neck, littering your skin with bites and kisses as he ventured lower., removing the measly coat off of your body without wasting any time to give your neck attention.

“You’re driving me mad.” He spoke huskily.

“I can tell, Loki.” You nod, whimpers now spilling from you as he bites at your collarbone and around your chest.

He hummed in response to your whimpers, further fueling his desire as he lowered, ignoring your heaving chest and moving straight down to your thighs. His hand snaked up both of your thighs, his thumbs sinking below the waistband of your panties and pulling at them teasingly, watching your thighs squeeze together in response.

“How lewd… You must’ve been so eager for me at the gathering. Marrying someone you once knew before by selection, getting to see him in such ravishing attire… I could say the same to you. The dress I had selected wouldn’t have looked better on anyone else.” He continues to sing praises to you while he kisses your thighs, nibbling just enough to leave small marks on your skin that make goosebumps appear.

“Would you like me to satisfy you dear? Awake the urges that I know you’ve kept this entire day?” He asked, looking up into your lust-filled gaze with hunger, his thumbs remaining under the bands of your panties.

“If your skills are satisfactory, I will allow it.” You huffed jokingly, your hands both resting on his head, massaging his hair gently.

“I may have an infamous silver tongue, but you think it’s only good for running my mouth?” He snickered before tugging your garment down, taking in the sight of your soaked cunt, a bridge of your wetness connecting and breaking away from the gusset of your panties as Loki pulled them away.

“Oh my…” he whispers lowly, his breath fanning your slickness, causing the butterflies in your stomach to stir. His hands roamed all over your body, running over the peaks of your clothed breasts and your stomach, feeling your soft curves sinking beneath the pressure of his fingers. They returned to your thighs, caressing them gently before one hooked a leg over his shoulder, the other using a thumb to spread your folds gently.

“A truly dirty woman indeed.” He cackled, pressing a kiss to your clit, causing your hips to instantly buck into his mouth, the bundle of nerves barely grazing the tip of his nose. “…and greedy may I add?”

“You’re the one who said you had a desire for me.” You rebutted, tugging at his hair, enticing a groan out of Loki.

“Well look at you, undressed and flustered.” You immediately looked away but quickly brought your attention back to Loki once he licked a slow stripe up the slit of your cunt, making you shiver deliciously.

“Allow me to continue further. I would like to worship you, as a queen.”

“I suppose— oh…” you moaned lowly as he was quick to lap at you, the flat of his tongue gliding through your folds with ease. His fingers dug harshly into your thigh, almost hard enough to draw blood, amazingly contrasting with the immense pleasure that flooded your senses. Loki didn’t move his attention anywhere but your eyes, yours watering slightly and constantly rolling back in bliss, making him hum proudly into your cunt while you gasped from the vibration.

He continued, fueled by your hushed gasps and moans as your hips instinctively bucked into his luscious mouth. “That’s it, make a mess, my dear.” Loki spoke, looking into your eyes with a burning desire.

“Keep going…” You said, commanded even, tugging his hair roughly. He happily obliged, closing his eyes as he now truly savored your aching heat. He peppered kisses on your inner thigh and clit, suckling occasionally while flicking his tongue rapidly against your nerves, successfully making your hips buck further into the sensation. Many minutes passed, nearly hours in your mind, and Loki continued, almost bringing you to full tears as he continued to tease your sensitive body, quivering from overstimulation but also from the fact that you didn’t want to give in to his pleasure.

You did not doubt how well his tongue was, how he was able to nearly make you cum countless times, yet his words from earlier were still negatively itching your brain, you wanted to prove him wrong. As your brain scrambled between the thoughts of giving Loki his satisfaction or trying to hold your “powerful” demeanor, Loki’s lips finally detached from your cunt, his mouth and chin glossy from your juices. Both of your eyes had locked for just a moment, a hint of vulnerability as you looked at each other with lust, your eyes both half-lidded and dazed while your chests heaved to regain air.

As you finally catch your breath, you quickly feel the wind get knocked right out of you when Loki inserted a finger into your heat, your eyes widening.

“Is this satisfactory for you yet? Look at the mess you’re making…” You immediately started to moan quietly as he began to pump his finger within you at a slow pace, resting the side of his cheek on your plump thigh.

“Shh… I know, I knowww my darling. I want you to lose yourself, your composure, everything. I know how badly you want to hear me speak, and I can’t help but oblige. Watching you writhe beneath me… your legs twitching and cunt hugging my fingers so tightly… ahh— couldn’t be more satisfying than watching endless galaxies fall into my hands…” He cooed between his desperate and sloppy kisses to your clit, each kiss deepening with every tug you gave to his hair.

Loki’s pace began to quicken, adding a second finger in unknowingly which caused the heel of your foot to dig into his lower back. He then went from two digits to three now pistoning brutally against that delicious spot within you, making your toes curl mindlessly as your teary eyes continued to stay on his. Your hips lifted in the air, trying to fight back against the looming feeling of release. Words spilled from your lips, a mixture of quiet pleas yet slightly louder calls of Loki’s name.

You’re eyes squeeze shut as you felt your orgasm approaching closely, body so incredibly sensitive as Loki continued to use his fingers within you without breaking a sweat while suckling on your clit with pure hunger, his tongue darting out just enough to graze the bundle of nerves. “Close…” you muttered hazily, stars in your vision and the grip on his hair tight.

“Ah, ah, darling. Not quite yet.” He stopped his motions as soon as you spoke, a wet bridge of your juices connecting with his lips, soon breaking after a low chuckle rose out of Loki.

The ruined orgasm made you flustered, cheeks red from embarrassment as you rolled your eyes in annoyance, thighs squeezing tight together once Loki lifted his head from the junction of your legs. “You shouldn’t play with your food, my husband.” You teased lowly.

“Fair.” He shrugged, his eyes roaming over your breasts as you spoke, “Although it’s a bit difficult to resist. Maybe I should truly dig in, hm?” Loki’s body leaned forward, capturing you into another lust-filled kiss, pressing your back into the soft comfort of the bed. One of his arms possessively wrapped around your back, his other hand resting on your hip.

Your tongue instantly darted into his mouth, the mixed taste of yourself and Loki on your tongues as they swirled, coating themselves in sweet saliva. Your hands pulled Loki further into your body as you two turned over in the bed together, your thumbs right in front of his earlobes while the rest of your fingers tangled in his short curls as his back rested against the sheets while your hips were straddling his lap.

“I may return the favor…” you hummed teasingly, moving the rough kiss to his jawline, peppering kisses down from his neck and slowly down his toned torso, occasionally leaving the faintest hickies whilst removing his tuxedo and his lavish green button-up below. His skin felt incredibly cool in comparison to your warm cheeks. You had even flicked your thumb over one of his nipples, earning a groan that interrupted a starting sentence, most likely another bratty remark towards your sudden change in demeanor.

Loki watched, his brow furrowing as you looked into his eyes as your kisses trailed low, leaving small smudges of lipstick just above his belt line where his pants remained. “Hm… What a needy, feeble girl…” The god couldn’t help the snicker that left his lips once you began to tug his slacks down his slender legs, revealing the large bulge straining against his briefs, practically throbbing with a small patch of wetness right where his wanting head was.

“Have I really worked you up this much, my lord?” Your brows raised just a bit, a small smirk on your face although your face was blushing madly. Another dark chuckle filled the room after your question, a small hint of frustration in Loki’s laughter. “Oh, my dear, you have no idea. With every touch, you make it even worse.”

“Shall I stop?” You hooked your fingers beneath the band of his briefs, tugging ever so slightly so you could see his engorged head barely peek over, slick with his pre-cum.

“ No… no.” his voice shook, “Gah… you truly are a fool…” The primal urge that Loki was holding back to just pounce on you, giving in and devouring you whole was so painful as you could clearly see by the way his length throbbed beneath his briefs.

“I’m glad you believe that. What would you do if I were to stop?” You rest your cheek against his clothed shaft, both hands moving from his waist and now resting on the meat of his thighs while you look up into Loki’s eyes innocently.

“A punishment would suffice. But I wouldn’t dare to spoil the surprise of what that possibly could be.” As Loki spoke he let his palm rest over your head, fingers gently threading themselves in your hair and tilting your head just a bit.

“I have many ways I can make you listen like a proper royal.”

“How… Attractive.” You then tugged his briefs down fully, his length springing in your face, the head barely tapping your nose for just a moment. “Oh my…” you cooed, feeling Loki’s hand expand in your hair with a hint of shock, even relief.

“You look tempted… do you enjoy the view?” Loki hummed, a sly smile on his lips as his free hand lowered to your plump lips and the thumb parting them gently. “That is one way to put it.” You chuckled lowly, your laughter being interrupted with a small tug of your hair Loki did to bring your face closer to his cock, practically feeling the warmth radiating from the shaft.

“Ahh, I can tell my sweet thing, you look utterly starstruck. You’re not planning on stepping down now after coming so far, are you?” Loki let his thumb push a bit deeper, sinking between your lips into your warm mouth, pressing down on your tongue just enough to make you squirm. You were quick to swirl your tongue around his thumb, pulling away with a wet pop. “Maybe I need assistance?” You hummed, resting your head against his muscular thigh.

“Dirty girl.” Loki grinned, changing both of your positions quickly so your back was to the sheets, head lolling off the end of the bed while he stood Becky to your shoulder. He crouched for a moment, leaning in to give you another sloppy kiss, his hand wrapping around your neck and squeezing gently, making you gasp into his mouth. He withdrew from your lips before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“What assistance do you possibly need?”

“Maybe your guidance to my lips. Your shaft seems to be too warm to the touch for me to hold…” You pouted teasingly, breath growing heavy once he allowed his cock in your view, hovering just inches away from your lips once more. His member is just as big as your face which made your cunt drip with your wetness.

The god laughed at your innocent-sounding response, truly enjoying the game you were playing with him. “It too looks like your hands wouldn’t be able to hold such a size. I wouldn’t mind helping you.” He lowered his body and leaned forward slightly, the tip of his cock pressing right against your lips. “Open your luscious lips, my wife.”

You nearly turned into putty from his command, quickly obeying and opening your mouth to allow his head to slip in, his member being met with your tongue against his slit. Loki groaned as he felt you suckle the tip, tongue lapping against the opening to collect his pre-cum. He allowed you to continue sucking him but he also waited to see if you were comfortable. You pulled away from his cock for a brief moment, catching your breath and nodding before heading back to his head, taking it within your mouth once again.

“Oh you’re so eager to please your god— what a good girl. Slowly now.” The trickster praised, easing himself further in as he felt your tongue run along the veins that webbed his shaft. It took him a few moments until Loki could fully sheathe himself in your throat, a small bulge forming, the sight making him groan deliciously.

While he let his cock rest in your mouth, Loki leaned forward to trail kisses from your belly to the swell of your breasts, quickly taking off your bra and discarding it to the side before taking a nipple between his lips. Your legs pressed together in response, your body squirming as you whined around his cock, sending heavenly vibrations throughout Loki’s body. His free hand toyed with the other nipple, rolling it between his index and thumb, occasionally tugging to get those extra cries out of you while his tongue circled your areola.

As soon as he was about to move, you quickly tapped Loki’s thigh, needing to get air for a moment. He was quick to withdraw his cock from your throat, coated with his pre-cum and your saliva. Both of you shivered, breathing heavily at the sudden loss of warmth. “By the heavens above…” You heaved, eyeing his glossy length as it remained close to your face.

“Too much now?” He hummed, the free hand that was toying with your nipple moving down to caress your hip.

“Not at all. It’s plenty.”

“That’s my wife.” Loki praised you before he lowered his cock into your mouth once more, rocking his hips back and forth slowly within you. Your mouth was practically stuffed full with his shaft, slowly entering and exiting while you gagged every time he was fully sheathed inside of you. “Careful now, darling. You’re making me lose my composure…” Loki moaned, using his four fingers to rest behind your neck, his thumb resting over the bulge that would form each time he filled your throat.

The image was so lewd that the god couldn’t get enough, although he knew he was reaching his limit. Loki didn’t want to release within her and spoil the sexual banter between you two, knowing you’d poke fun at him for finishing so early. “You’re such a mess. I cannot allow myself to— gah… turn you into shambles so soon.” He withdrew with a pleasured sigh. You coughed once his thickness left your throat, your chest shakily expanding and contracting to catch your breath.

“My days, Loki…!” You coughed, your body rolling over so your face was buried in the sheets, cheeks red with shock as your jaw ached.

“Are you well? You didn’t break, did you?” He purred, moving around the bed and sitting right by your hip, his hands coming up to massage your back while his fingertips occasionally dug below to run over your nipples. Your back arched, hips rising in the air like a cat, and your knees kept you grounded in reaction to his ministrations, groaning in relief. You turned your head just enough so that half of your lips and eyes were visible.

“I need you… my lord…” You pleaded, hunger in your eyes as you looked back at Loki while he continued to knead your skin firmly.

“Patience, my sweet.” Loki responded, bringing a hand down to your ass roughly while the other continued to massage your shoulder. You gasped from the sudden pain, quickly digging your face back into the sheets to muffle the small moan that slipped from your lips.

“Loki, you can’t do that…”

“Why possibly? Your body is telling me otherwise… you’re completely drenched.”

“Please, my husband…” You murmured, gasping once he smacked your skin once more, the stinging sensation making your toes curl.

“What is it that you’re begging me for, my wife? Use your word now.”

“…For you, my husband, I… I beg for your cock, please…”

“Your pleas are so divine. I’ll give you what you want—but I would’ve loved to hear you for a few moments more.” Loki ended his sentence with one last harsh smack to your ass, soothing the reddened area with sweet caressed circles by his palm. He teasingly let his middle and index finger drag against your clit for a brief moment which caused your hips to jolt from the sudden pleasure. You continued to whine into the bed, thighs pressing together to try and shorten his movements, ultimately failing when you felt Loki insert a digit within you, making you melt under his touch.

He curled his middle finger just enough to press deliciously against that sensitive spot within you, eliciting a loud moan muffled by the sheets. “How sinfully delightful.” He murmured into your ear, his breath fanning against your burning skin while he added his ring finger, the two digits adding just enough pressure to your gummy walls to nearly make you cum. You arched your back and hips in the air while you kept your face buried in the sheets while your hands gripped the sheets until your knuckles turned white as you continued to cry out.

Loki continued his motions, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, juices coating the digits and dribbling around your sensitive folds while you continued to moan Loki’s name, the symphony-like music to his ears. He eventually pulled his fingers out of your sopping heat and took them into his mouth to taste you, humming in delight after a few long seconds of sucking his digits. He let them go with a wet pop, teasing cackles following after.“Forgive me, darling. I needed to indulge in you once more. You’re irresistible.”

Your body shook from another near orgasm lost to Loki and his little games, which irritated you, yet you couldn’t pry yourself away from his misleading tactics.

“Please, Loki. Don’t make me plead any further…” You huffed, hips still arched in the air. Loki gave you a devilish grin, massaging your lower thigh gently. “Of course, my dear. You’ve been such an obedient wife after all.” The hum of his voice sent chills down your spine, deliciously enticing the previous butterflies in your stomach to flurry. To have sex with a god, one that you used to know years ago, before different duties had grasped both of your attention.

You were still fighting back against the idea of Loki being so dominant over you, concerned about how one night in bed with him would make you seem weak and inferior despite being on the same wavelength when it came to royalty. You didn’t want to look like a helpless woman in his eyes, even in the public’s view. Fortunately, Loki understood the stance you took earlier while at the dinner table. Every time he would stare into your large eyes, he would feel your resilience. How you were able to change his emotions, even dare to leave him alone at the table without an ounce of fear, drove the god mad with an insatiable hunger for more.

To have a woman who knew her values was something he had been wanting, praying for—and he knew that you were the one.

You felt the bed dip beneath you and Loki’s weight as he fully rested behind you, his hands running down your arched spine, goosebumps breaking out over your skin, all the while you felt his length resting against your thigh. His cock pulsed, twitching against your skin, making you tremble at the lewd idea of him sheathing inside of your longing cunt.

The god took a glance at your wetness once more, using a thumb to spread either fold to reveal the sopping mess you’ve become. “Purely divine…” He muttered, causing you to shudder. “Enough with the teasing, Loki…” You adjust your arms so they’re on either side of your head, hands catching and dragging a pillow close to rest your head on.

Without a word the god plunged his cock within your cunt, slowly sliding himself further inside. You gasped loudly into the sheets while Loki groaned at the feeling of your walls gripping him like a vice. He didn’t give you much time to react, only breathing heavily into the pillow as he filled you slowly.

He paused for a moment, hand coming up to rest on your shoulder to make sure you were alright, not a peep leaving his lips, only ragged breathing. You nod, not turning your head around whatsoever before he began to work himself in further, filling you straight to the hilt of his cock. You couldn’t comprehend how full you felt, walls gently adjusting with the help of Loki’s previous work of his fingers on you. “You feel incredible, darling… Just truly—truly tight…” Loki spoke, his voice wavering just from being inside of you for a few moments. His hand remained on your shoulder while the other gripped the side of your hip, fingernails digging lightly into your soft flesh.

“You can move—“ As you were about to finish your sentence, Loki removed himself, leaving only his tip within before thrusting back inside of you, making your eyes roll back instantly. He continued this motion, agonizingly slow as he wanted to make sure your body was warming up to his length and girth. The head of his cock kissed your cervix multiple times as he continued, slick noises emitting from your entrance as you moaned thoughtlessly into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets before you turned your head around. You and Loki’s eyes met, your teary orbs locking with his half-lidded ones.

Oh, how gorgeous you looked to the god, beneath him, shaking and moaning with tears building in your eyes. In comparison, Loki looked like he was relishing the moment. His hands were holding you in place, hips actively moving back and forth to drag his member within while panting like a dog in heat, seeming so possessive of your body. “Don’t look at me in such a way, my dear— Oh, how shameless you look right now…“ He panted, warning you while he looked down at where you were taking his cock and how it disappeared and reappeared with each drag of his hips.

“Or what, my King?” You spoke wryly, a shaky chuckle leaving your body despite being at his mercy.

“Oh, you think you’re clever?” He snapped his hips harshly against your ass, a penetrating sound resonating in the air as he pressed himself full of the hilt once which earned a loud mewl from you. “What confidence… But do you truly believe you can beat me at my own game?” As his words spurred on while he drilled himself into you, Loki’s hands kept you down as his cock pulsed within you, the god groaning over the feeling of your walls clenching him tight.

You moaned loudly into the pillow beneath you, hands continuing to claw at the silky sheets as you felt Loki grind harshly at the same area that made you melt, causing your thighs to quake with each harsh slap of his own. Your eyes rolled back when his balls would slap against your clit, the sudden touch driving you both mad.

At one point he stopped, allowing a brief moment of rest for the two of you, bodies heaving shakily. You adjusted your upper body slowly so you used your arms to keep yourself sitting upright. He used this moment to press kisses to the back of your neck and shoulders, letting his tongue drag occasionally over your burning skin. As your hand was about to rest on his forearm, Loki gripped your hair, tugging it just enough for you to look fully back at him.

You winced, a small tear forming in the corner of your eye as you looked up into his eye, dark with lust. “You’re losing yourself. It’s a delight to see, considering you were teasing me moments before, darling.”

“Did you not call me a nuisance earlier?” You pried, a teasing yet raspy voice due to all of your cries. Your body shivered in delight as Loki pressed his own to yours.

“You are MY nuisance, every little part of you.” Loki runs his other free hand along your skin to gently grip your neck, his other hand occupied in your hair.

“It s-seems you can’t get enough…” you huffed, eyes still locked on Loki’s as you teased each other, feeling his cock twitch within you with each sentence. “You had so much to say at the table about me, what a strange way to exert them.”

“Exerting them deeply.” He punctuated with a thrust, causing you to yelp loudly. “I’ve learned to express my feelings in a new fashion. It seems like you’re enjoying it just as much as I am.”

“It’s definitely a change, just like your feelings had changed about me and all of what you spoke at the table…” You felt guilty as your thoughts were dragging you out of the moment, dragging you back to how you felt so angry at the table, yet so upset from how Loki was speaking towards you.

Your voice caught in your throat, but the sheer feeling of the mutual back talk was comforting, a sense of ease washing over you. It felt like an intimate challenge, a satisfying challenge of who could ruin the other first.

“The time when I had called you many names?” He hummed, “Idiotic? Shameful? Incapable?” He punctuated his words with a slam of his hips to your ass, his hand moving from your neck to your hip, gripping harshly while his other hand remained in your scalp.

“Y-Yes- oh.. those exact words you stapled on me…” You moaned hoarsely.

“Such cruel, awful words that I had said… Is it sick…? Me, a god, wanting you even after what I had said?”

“Just a little.” You admitted, “But I’ve got to say, the sheer hatred you showed me earlier, the sudden words along with your looks, your facial features, and the way you looked, so formally dressed for the marriage… it was so gravitating, the hatred you had fueled my own, yet here we are in such a wild position.”

The hand he had around your neck loosened as he hunched his head close to yours, voice turning into a low growl. “And what exactly fueled that hatred of yours, darling? Was it my words, or was it something more severe?”

“Your words flooded my mind, making me rebut every sentence,” you hissed between your teeth as his pace slowed down, sensually thrusting his pulsing cock in your sweet gummy walls. “I couldn’t stand your remarks, they angered me, brought me almost to tears in all honesty…”

Loki’s expression softened just a smidge, a small pang of guilt resonating within his body. Before he got to speak, his thoughts interfering with his thrusts, you spoke first once again. “I know you meant those words, but I meant mine as well. Our hatred is strong, but we are just expressing that right here and now.”

“I didn’t truly mean to hurt you.” He spat out of self-shame.

“You didn’t. But those words did hurt. But I will make you pay, of course. I’ll simply ride our hatred out of each other.”

Your words were just as bold as your actions, moving yourself away from him and his cock, the length slipping from your heat while you lead Loki in changing positions. You were now straddling his hips, your thighs caging his own while his cock throbbed right in front of your pelvis.

Loki couldn’t help but grin mischievously, a mixture of excitement and awe brewing within his mind as your confidence shone through, almost blinding. “Will you last to ride out every last drop?” He teased, clenching the meat of your thighs with both of his hands. He massaged your skin with his thumb, digging just enough to further rile you up.

“Another challenge?” You questioned, your voice quickly turning into a groan as you sunk yourself onto his cock, feeling his hot length stretching you quickly, drowning in your wetness. You braced yourself against his torso, your lower hands flat against his toned stomach while Loki groaned with you. His eyes locked on yours once again, licking his lips with a smirk. “Another challenge won’t hurt… I’ve thrown so many at you after all.” Loki purred.

“If you finish first, you have to pull out. If I finish first, you can stay within.” You spoke, not an ounce of shakiness in your voice despite your darkened cheeks, your body remaining still while trying to readjust to Loki’s cock. The king couldn’t help the cackle that left his throat, his chest heaving. “How tempting… What if we were to finish at the same time? What then, hm?” He teased you further, one of his hands moving from your thigh to the flat of your back, fingertips hardly ghosting your skin to have you arch like a cat, goosebumps sprouting through your body.

“A-A silly thought…” You muttered, “We shall see, my husband.” You slowly began to move your hips, trying to keep yourself from losing your power and just plopping your rear down on his thighs while you raised and lowered yourself hesitantly. Your legs were experiencing aftershocks from your previous orgasms, your cunt still so sensitive as you stretched around his cock as it pulsed with every movement you offered. Countless moans left your lips, a mixture of pleasure and slight pain being expressed through how hard you were gripping Loki’s strong shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin.

A low groan tore from Loki’s throat, your walls gripping his length like a vice while you moved your hips. Your breasts were practically bouncing in his face, hypnotizing him as small, mindless whimpers slipped from his mouth. “You truly are— ngh... testing your limits, aren’t you, dear?” He hummed, voice wavering. “You wouldn’t want to lose this bet.”

Although your motions were slow, the pleasure was immense, Loki’s tip constantly coming to press against your cervix, which made your head spin. You began to slowly speed up despite your tired legs, Loki’s words sparking another wave of competitiveness over your mind. Before you even had a chance to protest you felt a hand grope one of your breasts, causing a groan to escape and your body to rest on his thighs again, grinding your clit right against his pelvis since you couldn’t lift yourself in the moment. It will suffice.

Loki’s thumb tweaked your nipple when you began to speak. “I know you’d love for me to lose, to even have us finish at the same time…” you were about to speak further when you felt Loki thrust harshly into your cunt, a grunt slipping from the god and a cry from you. He had noticed your exhaustion miles away, intending to help you in his best interest. His cock was able to hit such a sensitive spot within you, a spot that made you see stars as your head rolled back.

“You know me well. It’s a shame you must always test my patience…”

“And yet you always succumb to my words.” You interrupted his words with a messy kiss, leaning forward and swirling your tongue with his and pulling away. “A pathetic man who would lose himself for his wife—“ your statement quickly being shut down when you felt Loki’s cock twitch within your cunt, threatening to unleash the load he’s been holding back for days since the announcement of you two being wed.

The moment his cock had reacted, he unleashed a fury of rushed thrusts into your desperate heat, his thighs slapping against yours quickly. Loki’s hands continued to toy with your nipple, the other moving from your thigh to your pelvis, using his thumb to press and rub circles into your clit. You moaned out in bliss, feeling like you were being attacked from every sensitive angle you had.

“You don’t have a single clue of what I'm capable of…” he spoke, voice cold and husky, “I want you to finish… lose this silly bet first…” he continued to mummer your name lowly, pressing kisses over your collarbone before heading to your other breast, suckling the nipple and letting his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

You buried your head into his neck, teeth grazing his skin while moans continued to spill from you, jumbled words and pleads spurting out when you began to meet Loki’s thrusts. You both rocked in synchronization, Loki cackling as you lost yourself in pleasure before tugging your hair sharply, dragging your head out of his neck, a yelp from you following when he forced you to look at him while he continued to massage your clit.

“Do you enjoy toying with me like this?” He huffed, voice shaky from his constant movements that soon grew even more erratic. He took in your form, shaking and begging for more as your cunt clenched around him so tightly as if he was going to leave. Your eyes were watering, small tears streaking down your cheeks out of pleasure. “B-But of course— oh! My husband…” You muttered feeling your orgasm inch closer with every second.

Loki’s eyes widened ever so slightly, continuing to take in the sight of you unraveling, strands of your hair sticking to your face with your eyes rolling back constantly. “Again. Say it again.” He cooed, the grip on your thighs harsh as he helped guide you on his cock while he slammed his hips up into you.

“M-My lord… husband… gah—! Loki! I’m close..!” Your words were rushed, quaking as Loki grew more erratic, his thrusts becoming more sloppy.

“Keep going…”

“With me— cum w-with me..! Please, my lord..!” You cried, tears fully flowing from your eyes. It only took Loki a few more of your cries and moans before he started to curse beneath his breath right before he lifted his hips as high as he could, his cock pressing deeply against your cervix before he removed his hands from your hair and clit to hold both of your thighs down, rope after rope of his seed spilling within you.

He groaned as he felt your walls convulse around his cock, your cum mixing with his while your hips bucked madly for that few extra feelings of heightened ecstasy with how your clit ground against his pubic bone. You both moaned madly, panting like animals before you realized you had squirted just above the base of his cock, his tip pressing deeply enough writhing you to cause your system to stir.

The pleasure that had been repressed due to Loki’s persistent halts had finally boiled over; your juices pooled and trailed down his torso while Loki watched you ejaculate in small waves which caused him to snicker in between his moans.

As you both rode off your highs, Loki’s body was still shivering over the aftermath, his breathing ragged while he still felt your walls twitch around his cock, cum oozing from the smallest openings where your intimate parts met. You too had your aftershocks, your hip bucking slowly coming to an end as you allowed your full weight to rest on Loki’s body, your breasts pressing against his chest while he ran a hand over your back to massage your skin sweetly. Both of your chests rose and fell with each breath, a look of pure lustful intoxication still laced in each of your looks.

“…You came so much…” you squeaked hoarsely, breaking the silence while you stared at Loki with half-lidded eyes, noting the cum slowly dribbling from your entrance despite his cock remaining inside of you. He looked up at your fucked out look, chuckling over her words. “You look… utterly wrecked, darling.” He smiled warmly before pulling you in for a passionate kiss, his tongue messing with yours for a brief moment before pulling away.

A dreamy sigh came out of you as Loki gropes your sore ass, kneading your flesh gently before slapping it. You whimper in reaction, a bit more of your combined cum seeping out from your cunt. “How messy… tempting...” Loki hummed.

“Tired…” you mutter, too spent to attempt to form another sentence. You bury your head into the crook of his neck just like before, cuddling him and wrapping your hands around his shoulders and neck. Loki’s hands continued to pamper you, one massaging your back and the other caressing your shoulder, taking in your worn-out form lovingly.

“You did so well, my wife.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“…I never want to hear you call me a ‘feeble mind’ ever again…” you spoke with a throaty laugh.

“Oh, I won’t,” Loki agreed with a playful tone, “…But please know those words… I no longer mean. I know you have a sharp mind, I just wasn’t too fond of admitting it.”

“Amazing to hear. I had a feeling you weren’t so heartless at that dinner table. Besides, we knew each other many, many years ago… But now I am most likely to have your heir to the throne. It’s so soon… we’ve only just wed today!” There was a pang of concern in your voice that Loki quickly picked up on.

“It’s all happening so fast, yet that’s how it usually goes for us, no?” Loki would pause, his expression growing serious. “But you’re right, we have expectations from our people, to raise the proper heir being one of them.”

“I wouldn’t mind having a child with such a rowdy man who can be quite stubborn, as I.” You laugh loudly, pressing a kiss to Loki’s cheek. “A man who thought he had complete control over me the second we laid eyes on each other after the wedding.”

Loki smirked, moving one of his hands to cup your cheek tenderly, his thumb swiping over your skin. “Talk about stubbornness. You were the one throwing remarks back and forth with me.” He snickered playfully. “As for control, sweetheart, we both know who truly has that. But let us not ruin this moment with our bickering.”

“I suppose.” You roll your eyes, adjusting your position to rest your head beneath his head and collarbone, Loki resting his chin on your forehead while he continues to stroke your back lazily.

“Comfortable?” He hummed, his voice notably tired. You nod in silence, letting your body finally rest as you begin to drift off to sleep.

“Rest up, my dear.” Loki presses a kiss to your temple before you fall asleep in each other’s arms as the bustle of the wedding continues throughout the night.

This was new. Not just in the way that everything between you had been new, in the way that months of small, careful steps had led to this, but in the way that Spencer had never felt like this. Overheated. Overwhelmed. Overrun with sensation. It had started as everything else had, soft and slow, the kind of kissing that didn’t lead anywhere except to more kissing. 

And for months, he convinced himself that he could exist in this purgatory of lips meeting and parting, of hands resting politely at your waist. That he could always pull away before the ground gave away beneath him.

Today the ground was gone.

Spencer had never been particularly drawn to categories, not in the way people seemed to crave them. Labels had always felt limiting, reductive, forcing the complexities of human relationships into neat little boxes that never quite fit. He had been content in ambiguity, had never needed something to be named in order to understand it. 

With you, the lack of label wasn’t liberating, it was frustrating. Because if this wasn’t something that could be named, then what was it?

“I’m just saying, I feel like if Rossi can write a whole book about a case, then I should at least be able to mention it in passing at brunch.” Your fingers skate absentmindedly across the dip of his throat, and Spencer, entranced, forgets to do something as basic as breathe. Oxygen is apparently optional. “But no, apparently that’s an inappropriate topic over eggs benedict. Which, okay, sure, but if I have to sit through another conversation about Carly’s fiance’s fantasy football league, I think I deserve to liven it up a little, you know?”

Your genuine need for an answer is clear, but Spencer can’t even remember what brunch is.

You gesture when you talk, and it’s so innocent, just for emphasis, but right now, it’s destroying him. Your fingers drag absently up his arm, over the soft material of his sweater, mapping the line of his forearm before skimming back up his neck. And then, like you don’t even realize you’re doing it, your palms smooth over his chest, fingertips tapping lightly against his collarbone like you’re idly counting his heartbeats. Spencer is painfully aware of every single one.

This is it, he thinks. This is how he dies. But he can’t decide what would kill him faster — how you touch him, or the moment you stop. 

Spencer manages to clear his throat, barely.

“I think your friends don’t appreciate you enough.” His voice sounds strained, but any attempt at analyzing tone evaporates the second his fingers breach the barrier of your shirt. 

Warm fingertips skim over bare skin, and suddenly, the conversation seems wildly misplaced. Because what was that about appreciation? If he’s trying to prove a point, he’s making it very convincingly.

You hum, shifting against him, not intentionally, probably, but it doesn’t matter, because he feels it all the same.

“Well, I can’t just hang out with you constantly.”

Spencer isn’t sure how to respond, because if he’s honest, that’s exactly what he wants. You, constantly. No breaks, no buffer. Just you.

Instead, he stares at your mouth again, because his brain is broken, and this is the inevitable destination. He never really understood the appeal of making out before you, before that first time, when he was supposed to just kiss you once and somehow ended up losing entire minutes of his life to your lips, to the sheer pleasure of pressing against you, of drinking in your sounds.

His broken brain is built to reinforce pleasure-seeking behaviors. Neurochemical feedback loops, all of it designed to keep him coming back. To keep him wanting. As if he needed the help.

Spencer doesn’t even pretend to think about it before saying, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” 

Your lips twitch. You’re about to tease him, he can tell.

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing at all,” you say, tilting your head. “But wasn’t it you who went on that tangent about how platonic relationships significantly improve cognitive function?”

Spencer tries to find a loophole in that statement.

“And we,” you say, tracing a path down the trail of hair at his navel, “are not exactly fulfilling the platonic requirement.”

There was a time when he would have insisted — vehemently, even — that their relationship was strictly platonic. Fool’s errand.

“I mean, technically, if we wanted to be platonic, we could just… say we are.” That alone is egregiously incorrect. Spencer prepares to say as much, but then you pause, rolling the thought over like you’re actually considering it, before adding, “Like if we don’t label it, then it doesn’t count, right?”

His first instinct is to argue. His second instinct is to really argue. But neither one survives the sensory overload of you pressed against him.

“It’s like when you don’t open your credit card statements,” you continue, lips pursed. “Sure, the debt exists, but if you don’t acknowledge it, then it doesn’t feel real. So technically, if we just never say what this is, then it’s…”

“Schrödinger’s relationship?”

Spencer doesn’t know why he gives you the words, why he hands you the metaphor like a loaded gun and watches as you take perfect aim.

“Exactly! We exist in a state of undefined possibilities. We’re both platonic and not platonic until we open the box.”

Spencer sighs, rubbing at his temple, because now his entire brain is consumed by the implications of your logic. 

Schrödinger’s cat was never meant to be a real experiment, just a way to illustrate how, in quantum mechanics, particles can exist in multiple states until measured. The cat is placed in a box, along with a vial of poison triggered by a completely random quantum event. Until the box is opened, it’s both alive and dead, trapped in an impossible in-between, a paradox that shouldn’t exist but somehow does. The problem is, that concept doesn’t translate perfectly to relationships. People aren’t quantum particles. Relationships don’t exist in probability states.

Except, apparently, this one does. Because as long as neither of you put a definitive label on what’s happening here, you exist in an undefined state. 

He glances at you, at the expectant look in your eyes, and something about it makes him laugh, not because this is funny, necessarily, but because of course it would take a physics analogy for him to see what’s been obvious all along.

“I’m fairly certain that if we opened the metaphorical box, we would find that the cat — that is, our relationship — was decidedly not platonic.”

He hopes you’ll take the words for what they mean. That, for once, you won’t take the obvious escape route, won’t let yourself tuck this moment nearly into the realm of plausible deniability.

Because what he really said, what he really meant, was that he wants you. Only you. Singular, exclusive, definitively. If you pressed him for stronger language, he’d give it to you.

Your face was quick to light up.

“Are you asking me to go steady? Because Spencer, that’s a serious commitment. That means shared desserts, and, like, the expectation that I text you goodnight. And what’s the policy on PDA? Full access or —”

The rest of your sentence vanishes into fabric as Spencer pulls your shirt over your head, words muffled into cotton. You let out a muffled protest, momentarily caught in the fabric, and Spencer swears he’s never been more tempted to laugh at anything in his life.

By the time he tosses your shirt aside, you’ve recovered, blinking at him like nothing happened, hair adorably mussed.

“ — case-by-case basis?”

Spencer drags his hands down your hair, smoothing out the worst of the damage. He sighs dramatically, but his lips are twitching. “If I had known going steady required this much paperwork, I would’ve reconsidered.”

You grin at him. “Oh, you think this is bad? Just wait until we get into the holiday gift-giving policies and date night scheduling. Speaking of which —”

He doesn’t let you finish. He kisses you mid-sentence, less because he wants to shut you up (though that’s a nice bonus) and more because he can. Because he gets to. Because somehow, without him even realizing it was happening, this wonderful, impossible thing has become real.

This thing between you, this thing that was supposed to be undefined, a quantum maybe, it’s never been uncertain. It’s never been both platonic and not platonic, no matter how long he tried to pretend otherwise.

No, the box is open now. It probably always was. 

And Spencer had never been so happy to kill the cat.