i love me after you .ೀ

friday night, 9:53 pm. the streets of pittsburgh are illuminated by warm streetlights and late night festivities; along some, you’ll find clubs beaming with pink and blue neon lights. and, rounding the corner of that street, leads to an effervescent little bar that locals love to frequent, especially on fridays. their main appeal being the bi-monthly trivia nights and alternatively open mic karaoke. it’s a great place for people to have fun, get a little buzzed and avoid the cramped and sticky feeling of being in a club.

“go go juice?” victoria reads off the led screen. she looms by the tv stand and her large doe eyes reflect the random beach scene on display with large, white-outlined, blue letters displayed across the panel.

”yep! by sabrina carpenter.” you grab the microphone offered by the bar manager as a countdown appears on screen. you wobble a tiny bit, barely anyone noticed (everyone did), trying to get on stage and hold on to the microphone stand to steady yourself before cheering and hyping up the crowd of a mixed demographic.

“oh she’s a wreck” cassie mutters under her breath with a smile tugging at her lips, sipping on her second diet coke of the night. dennis could only nod at that as he takes a swig of his beer.

they all had watched you go up to the manager and say something along the lines of ‘lemme sing, man’ or ‘put me in, coach’, so very clearly out of it. yet they also didn’t stop you. why? because, to be honest, they were hoping to get a little bit of entertainment tonight. and who are they to stop you from being an entertainer.

the countdown on screen flashes ‘1’ before the first melody of the song blasts out through the speaker situated in every corner of the tiny bar. you somehow manage to spit the first words out two beats too late which then evokes laughter from the crowd.

‘happy hour! 8 pm - 12 am’ dennis warily eyes the clear acrylic stand in the middle of the polished table. ‘20% off drinks for groups of 5 or more!’ then his eyes pan over to the girl drunkenly shaking ass on the little makeshift stage. honestly, he thinks it all happened too fast. you got here forty-five minutes ago. how in the world are you this wasted?

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

earlier today, at around 3 pm, ptmc was rather… well no one wanted to say it but everyone was thinking about it. the ‘q’ word. all the chaos and the long lines from the morning had slowly dwindled down to possibly one or two people who would be in and out. irresponsible choices made by irresponsible people, but that's just how the people of pittsburgh are.

trinity walked up to you as you were charting, that god awful nickname (that you’re quite fond of now) falls off her lips and she leans her arms on the counter above you, sporting a scheming smile.

”hey burn, wat’chu doin’ tonight?” she gives you a conniving look, hazel eyes piercing into the side of your head. “got a lil’ date with a special someone?” she teases.

you give her a little noncommittal shake of your head, eyes still trained on the monitor in front of you. “no plans tonight”, you mutter lowly, too focused on typing down the medication and dosage you had given to a patient a couple minutes ago.

”yeah i figured.” trinity beams and, for a moment, you snap your eyes to look at hers dead on before busying yourself with charting once more.

”anyway, i told whitaker and javadi that i’d take them to this open mic karaoke bar near my apartment. i was thinking maybe you’d like to come with?”

you give her a hum and raise your palm up to her, typing down the last bits of this chart before finally turning to the intern in front of you.

”are they actually down?” you raised a brow.

and before trinity could squeeze out a lie from between her teeth, your pointed stare changes her mind.

”okay, we both know that huckleberry has no choice because he lives with me rent free. and maybe i did tell crash that matteo might possibly, probably, hopefully be there, but it’ll be fine.”

“what’s the catch?”

”catch?!” trinity holds a hand to her chest as if offended by the mere implication that she is doing all of this to slither her way into some sort of— “fine. there’s a twenty percent discount on all drinks for people who come in groups of five or more.”

…

“think about it!” the girl in front of you speaks again after she’s met only with a tentative hum, “that’s such a steal. if each person buys a drink, a sixth one might as well be free.”

you pause your pondering to think about the math that had just happened, you’re not entirely sure if she was right, but you weren’t entirely sure if she was wrong either. perhaps she was somewhere in the gray area.

“but if it’s just you, me, whitaker and javadi, how does that make it five?” you grab a nearby tablet and mentally plan on making another round throughout the department, not like there’s much to do anyway.

“duh, i’m still gonna ask a bunch of other people, burn.” trinity follows you as you get up and walk around the hub, making your way to north whilst ignoring the scalding glare you throw at her for the stupid nickname.

“like who?” you turn your body to face the scampering intern as she tries to match your pace. your back comes into contact with the cold metal of the swinging doors that open to north and you push your way through.

”i dont know…” trinity starts. “maybe mohan?”

”hello.” samira mohan, ever so lovely, suddenly spawns from behind trinity and startles you both. “do you need something?”

”oh, just the person i need!” you watch a small smirk grow on trinity’s face as she asks samira about her evening plans, if she had any.

”i’m relatively free tonight. what’s up?” says samira.

the intern fills in the third year resident in on the plan, trying hard not to beg for her to say yes even though she really, really wants to. you linger for a moment before realizing that you should get going. if you want to lose trinity from your heels, you’d have to excuse yourself whilst mohan mulls over her decisions.

you only make it past north 3 before you hear vivacious ‘yes!’ from trinity, which could only mean that samira had said yes.

you chuckle to yourself as you peek into each room, noting which ones had patients and which ones were empty. amongst your peeking and glancing down at the tablet in your hands, you fail to notice another doctor coming your way.

”eyes on the road, kid!” you recognize that voice before you could even look up.

cassie mckay. second year resident, redhead, riveting blue eyes with a tiny patch of brown in her right iris. her hair’s down in a braid with little strands that had fallen to frame her face and her distinctive bangs were kind of all over the place (nothing new). the same charming cassie you’ve met about over a month ago when you started your rotations at ‘the pitt’.

she catches you when you lightly bump into her shoulder, places both hands on your arms to keep you steady and flashing her signature smile, bright with dimples playing at the corner of her lips. ‘woah there’ you hear her mutter under her breath.

“what’s she up to this time?” she nods her head in the direction where trinity can be seen doing a little jump and dance.

you follow her gaze and start to smile yourself.

“i’m guessing mohan had said yes to tonight's plans.” you see santos point at you from across the hall and you hear her say ‘be at my apartment at eight!’ before she skips through the doors and into central.

”and what are these plans that you speak of?” cassie inquires, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning closer to you, something you noticed she does with everyone. she seems to be quite the fan of everyone else’s personal space

“some bar near her place is having this discount for groups of five. and so far she’s asked me, javadi, whitaker and now mohan.” and before you could even process, an invitation slips through your lips. “if you’re free tonight, maybe you’d want to join us?”

that happens a lot when you’re around cassie; you start speaking before you think. well it’s kind of hard to think when your brain just starts playing static when she’s around. you don’t know why, maybe it’s her scent? how she smells clinical and home-y like laundry softener. or the aura that she just brings, how she just seems to revel in holding eye contact and crowding your space whenever you two converse. perhaps it’s her stance, arms crossed over her chest and back slouched leisurely, with her gold chain reflecting the bright white lights of the ED. or maybe you’re just susceptible to attractive women who are almost twice your age.

she angles her head a teensy bit to the right and her smile follows suit, tilting into a soft smirk. she sucks in a breath through her teeth before she responds, “if my math is correct, that makes you a group of five, right? seems like your little ensemble’s complete.”

you mirror her tilt and press your tongue against the inside of your cheek, bringing your shoulders up in a little shrug.

“the more the merrier?”

this action wipes the smirk off of mckay’s face and she fights off a laugh by biting at her bottom lip, you were just too cute. she drops her arms and instinctively pushes them into her scrub pockets, hips slightly jutting forward to maintain balance.

you hear her say something along the lines of ‘i can’t keep up with you young ones’ and ‘im too old for that’. but her voice somewhat fades in your ears and a ringing starts occupying your head again. your eyes are trained on her pink lips that she was just biting a moment ago. so beautiful. you love looking at her, whether up close or from afar, you’re not one to choose. god, what you’d do to have the chance to just give her a little peck on the lips. would she like that? does she even like women? and if she does, would she want a girlfriend who’s half her age? maybe she’d think you’re too young. or that she’s too old. puh-lease.

”you’re not that old.”

cassie’s guffaw snaps you out of your trance and you realize that you had been thinking out loud. all the blood in your body rushes up to your head, tinging your skin red from the apples of your cheeks to the tips of your ears. did you say all that out loud? you don’t even know. you hope not.

“that’s funny, kid. i’m old enough to be your mother.” all the blood that was just in your face suddenly freezes when you go cold… did you actually say all that out loud? ”i got the bones of a sixty-year old woman, too brittle to be in a bar with a bunch of twenty-somethings.” okay maybe not.

you roll your eyes at her exaggeration, you’ve seen cassie, first hand, lift patients off gurneys, so whatever this is she’s saying about having weak bones was clearly false. and she had the biceps to prove that wrong too. mmm biceps.

“if you’re try’na flatter me, just know that it’s working.” she steps to the side and gives your arm a small nudge with her elbow, as if saying goodbye as she starts walking in the direction of central. “but i’m gonna have to find other things to occupy my free day.”

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

you study your reflection one last time in the mirror, turning your head side to side to make sure you didn’t miss anything. you did your best to look presentable with the little time you had; concealer, blush, brows, lash, lip and then you were out. you decided to pack a little to go bag because, knowing you, you’re most likely gonna get drunk off of whatever fruit flavoured cocktail they had and land face first into santos’ couch (if you’re lucky).

victoria’s already occupying the loveseat when you arrive at dennis’ and trinity’s apartment and you give her a small wave. you spot dennis in the dining area, arm resting on the back of his chair and still looking as tired as ever.

“nice pants.” the male nods at your bedazzled flared lowrise jeans, ones that you diy-ed a couple years ago before med school consumed your life and hobbies.

”nice jacket.” you return the compliment, gesturing at his black and white speckled tweed jacket.

”you can thank amy for that!” everyone turns to look at trinity who just walked out of her bedroom in an asymmetrical red top and her hair down, she throws a teasing smirk at the man who can only roll his eyes at her words and grunt.

“are we all good to go?” victoria asks, getting up from the sofa to join the small gathering in the dining room. “where’s samira?”

and like clockwork, trinity’s phone rings from her back pocket. it’s mohan.

”sorry, trinity. i have an early shift tomorrow and it completely slipped my mind.”

…

trinity’s now the one on the loveseat, her elbows resting on her knees, face in her palms and she’s been like that for the past five minutes. you’re getting a little concerned.

“we can still go out without her.” dennis tries to comfort his roommate, his hand awkwardly hovering over her shoulder, then her back, then her head before settling back down onto his lap.

“the whole point was the discount…” trinity’s voice is muffled as she sighs against her skin. “might as well get drunk at home.”

you watch your friend with sympathetic eyes. sure, santos maybe a little rough around the edges, but that doesn’t mean she’s not a good person. you’ve always had a soft spot for her, because behind all those shitty nicknames and the occasional outbursts, you know that she’s just doing her best, coping with how the world is moving around her. just like everyone else. she deserves to have a little fun on a budget if she wants, and you’re not going to let a little oversight ruin her night.

you set yourself down on the carpet beside her feet, nudging her shoes with your black open toe kitten heels. trinity pulls her head out of her hands and turns to look at you, raising an eyebrow.

”we can always try someone else.” you look up at her mirthfully, hoping that she takes your offer.

”like who? mel?” she scoffs.

”hey! i happen to love mel!” you shove at her knees, making them knock into one another.

and you do, love mel, because she’s just so sweet. but you’re not quite sure if this night would be up to her pace. loud noises and the smell of booze lingering in the air does not exactly sound like mel’s perfect night. but who are you to assume? maybe you’ll end up surprised.

you rack your brain trying to think of mutual friends/acquaintances you have with the group and only coming up with the people you work with (you have got to get more friends). you start throwing out a list of people around trying to see who you guys could settle on.

”matteo?”

”out on a date.”

“what!” javadi, now perched on the windowsill, squawks from across the room.

“you’ll get over it.” trinity absentmindedly waves her hand in her direction, she already knew matteo was not gonna be in attendance. victoria did too, but she just wanted to hold on to that tiny sliver of hope.

you continue to bounce names around the room, ranging from nurses to night shift doctors, before the voice in the back of your head finally wins over your thoughts.

cassie.

you’ve been trying to suppress the thought of her for the past minute, in fact, she was the first name that popped up when you were brainstorming. not because you think she’d be no fun, but because you don’t think you could trust yourself. surrounded by as much liquor as your heart desires, and wallet can handle, you’re most entirely certain that you wouldn’t be able to act normal. your brain already fizzes out when you’re sober and on the clock. who knows what will happen tonight?

”what about mckay?” whitaker suggests, leaning back onto the brown leather of the sofa. his legs automatically spreading a tad bit wider to make himself comfortable, only to get shoved close by trinity who points at a sign on the nearest wall that said ‘no manspreading allowed!’, for sure she got that right when dennis moved in.

the three people in the room turn to look at you once the doctor’s name hangs in the air. this causes your brows to furrow and back to straighten, suddenly feeling a little defensive. “what are you looking at me for?”

you weren’t that obvious about your crush on her, were you?

they all share a look before trinity breaks the silence, “i saw you talking to her earlier today. maybe she might’ve mentioned something?”

you try to call back your conversation at the hallway in north, skimming past all your thoughts about her eyes, her hair, and her face. thinking really hard, you seem to remember her saying ‘free day’ at the tail end of your conversation and your face lights up.

“i’ll give her a call.” you jump on your feet and head to your purse on the dining table, finding cassie’s contact: ‘dr. mcbangs’ and pressing the phone up to your ear.

cassie’s voice is groggy when she answers and you’re worried that you’ve woken her up. she chuckles out a reassurance that she was just doing a little reading after cleaning her kitchen and you two begin to fall into a comfortable conversation. you ask what she had for dinner and comment on how she should try adding a little red pepper flakes to her pasta if thats her style.

santos, javadi and whitaker stare at you from the living room, eyeing the way your hips leans onto the wooden edge of the table and how your right ankle crosses over the other. your head is leaning towards your phone and your free arm props on the surface behind you as a stabilizer. they watch you giggle softly at a joke that cassie makes and eventually your cheeks turn a slightly deeper pink than the makeup you have on.

trinity suddenly clears her throat, jolting you out of your dream like conversation with the older woman.

from the other side of the phone, cassie’s sitting on her couch, a cup of tea sitting hot on her coffee table. her book rests opened on her stomach, saving the page she was reading just before you had called.

she hears someone, who she assumes is santos, clear their throat and you suddenly scramble to find your words.

”if i remember correctly, you mentioned that it’s your day off tomorrow?”

she hums in response.

”are you also free tonight? mohan forgot she had to work early tomorrow and we’re kinda missing a person…” your voice trails off and cassie can practically see the face you're making, brows drawn in and eyes wide and catching the light in the room.

she smiles to herself and thinks about her options. looking down at the book she has and the cup of tea in front of her, she weighs out the scenarios that could take place. stay in, finish up on her book and enjoy a nice hot drink that will then lull her to a deep comforting sleep where she doesn’t need to worry about waking up early the next day? or sit in a loud, crowded bar babysitting a bunch of drunk twenty year olds as she sits sober and miserable?

she takes in a breath in contemplation, thinking that she’s getting too old for the night life scene. she no longer feels the same as she did twenty years back.

but then you start pleading.

”please cassie?” your voice purrs from her phone speaker. “trin was really excited to go out tonight.”

cassie knows it’s wrong. to suddenly feel so weak for just your voice, her subordinate who’s half her age. even more of a reason to not go out. her palm makes contact with her face and she drags it down to her chin. god give her the strength.

twenty minutes later you pull up at the local bar, arriving on foot because trinity knew a shortcut that shortened the usual route to about half, and because cassie had offered to be the ‘uber’ back to the apartment. when you got there, the older resident was already parked up front, leaning on the hood of her green 2002 toyota corolla, scrolling through her phone, probably on facebook, wearing a black tank tucked into brown trousers.

to say you were winded would be an understatement. her hair was out of its normal ponytail or braid and hung loosely over her shoulders, the gold chain she always wore glistened under the streetlights and sent your mind into a frenzy. you’re either going to have a field day tonight or regret everything by the morning. your eyes could not stop scanning her figure illuminated by the warm lights overhead, and if it wasn’t for javadi hooking her arm around yours then you would have stopped in your tracks.

the patter of footsteps on the asphalt captures cassie’s attention and she sees the four of you walking her way. she offers a friendly smile to the group before her eyes are drawn to you, arms linked with trinity and victoria and your eyes already on her. she takes in the black halter top that fits you just right, neckline hanging low enough to reveal a part of your small stick and poke tattoo that sits in between your breasts but just hidden enough to lure her curiosity.

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

you’ve had three pornstar martinis.

and a fourth one, half empty, awaiting the end of your performance. dennis counts the pairs of conical cocktail and shot glasses huddled into one corner of the table, right beside your purse. no doubt all downed by you. he has no idea where you got them, he never saw you walk up to the bar, yet every single time he looks back at you, you have a brand new, filled to the brim, pornstar martini. he holds his bottle of beer up to his lips and watches you on the mini stage of the bar.

you’re coming to the tail end of the song, chanting drunken slurs that no one’s sure are part of the lyrics or not, the crowd had gathered up front and sang with you, feeling your energy radiate off the stage and catching the vibe as if it were a virus.

after belting out the final note off-key, which, mind you, not one part of the song ever required for you to do that, you give a twirl and a bow and then skip off the stage, walking back to your table with your kitten heels clacking against the wooden floors and announcing your return.

cassie watches as you incoherently swayed side to side, noting the way your jeans hug your hips. your wrists were covered in gold bangles that jingled with your every move and paired with your clacking heels, well that just meant everyone would be turning their heads to look at you. it didn't help that you looked extremely exquisite at this moment.

you slam your hands onto the table with a giggle, “that was fun” you tittered, grabbing your glass and immediately downing the rest of your fourth drink. tilting your head back you try and chase the passion fruit droplets into your mouth before ultimately giving up, not catching the way cassie’s eyes lingered on the skin of your neck and trailed down to where your tattoo sits. she makes out a tiny north star surrounded by symmetrical, intricate lines that fall beneath the fabric of your top.

“i’m gonna go get another one.” you chirp.

dennis protests, saying you’ve had enough and reaching over the table to try and stop you. but you go ‘don’t be a denny downer and have some fun will you’, earning you a couple chortles from the table.

“after this one, my sixth will be free!” you giggled once more, walking towards the bar.

javadi furrows her brows at that statement, she thinks she heard it somewhere before, but she’s not sure. she takes another sip of her pretty pink strawberry chamomile spritz mocktail and takes in the sweet flavours on her tongue before looking around the room. a man had taken your spot on the stage, singing a country song she doesn’t know, the bar is littered with people taking advantage of the ongoing promo and she spots you amongst the horde, arms leaning onto the surface and ass protruding delectably, trying to get your order to the bartender in front of you.

victoria hears cassie excuse herself, with her chair scraping against the wooden floor, she then heads out towards the lavatory. the student doctor sees her senior discretely tilt her head up over the crowd in your direction, and javadi thinks that there's nothing subtle about the way that cassie is staring at your ass.

“twenty bucks says they’re hooking up tonight.” trinity leans across the table to whisper, more like yell through the music, to the people left at the table.

”not a chance, i already put down forty with ahmad last week! and i said they’d do it at the end of the month.”

whitaker had decided to be a big baller when ahmad opened another bet to the department. things had been getting a little boring in the past couple of weeks, but with the way you were oh so blatantly ogling at your coworker yet so painfully oblivious to how that same coworker returned your glances, the security guard thought to make it all worth his while. he had everyone’s bets in his little notepad to keep it a secret from you and mckay.

“i put five on three weeks.” javadi sings through her straw, taking another long sip from her drink and ignoring the judgemental stares she received from her coworkers for her grossly low bet. so what if she’s more of a risk averse type of girl?

”and i put twenty on this week.” trinity downs what remained of her gin and tonic, cringing at the bittersweet taste. “i’m gonna go get another.” she gestures at her now empty glass. her third one. so far she’s had two gin and tonics with an espresso martini in between, just because she felt like branching out a little bit.

whitaker figures out her motive the moment she starts beelining towards your swaying form at the bar. ‘don’t do anything to provoke them!’ he yells out, voice getting drowned in the music. but all trinity hears is ‘provoke them’ and a sinister smile settles on her lips.

you ask the bartender for another one of your cocktail and wait around as she mixes up your drink. your wandering eyes fall on a familiar silhouette from across you and you can't help but ogle. eyes tracing over the exposed skin of her biceps and cinch of her waist. even from the back cassie mckay looks divine.

”she’s gonna melt, burn” trinity slides into the space beside you on the bar, putting emphasis on that stupid nickname she gave you several months ago, and you roll your eyes.

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

on your first shift at ptmc, you were shadowing cassie, following her around triage and treating a variety of people. then ,after seeing exactly three patients, the r2 had decided that the next one would be all yours. and she’d watch you from the sidelines.

unfortunately, you were served a rather unruly… lady (to put it nicely). the entire time you were with her she would talk over you, dispute whatever you were saying with information that was completely incorrect, and she kept demanding boiling hot water. you questioned the odd request but her only response would be “for sterilization!”. you’d occasionally turn to make eye contact with cassie out of sheer confusion but also for approval. she’d give you a nod or mirror your perplexed expression from time to time, until you hear someone from across the hall yell her name. then she had to excuse herself and walked through the triage curtains.

after five agonizing minutes of this lady yelling for the damn water, you thought to yourself, ‘you know what? whatever!’, and against your better judgement, headed out to the break room. by the strength of the lord you managed to come out with just what she wanted:

boiling hot water.

with your eyes trained on the styrofoam cup in your hands, you slowly weave through the sea of bodies beelining their ways to different areas of the department. cassie had already found her way back to triage and she eyed you and the steaming cup as you gently placed it into the lady’s hands.

“too hot!”

a searing pain suddenly spread across your wrist and forearm before you could even decipher what had just happened. you watched as the white cup clatters to the ground and rolls over the tile, before shrieking the most pained ‘fuck!’ you’ve ever shrieked.

stupid fucking water! stupid fucking cup! stupid fucking bitch!!

you jerk back and hold your arm close to your chest, mentally chanting every single cuss word you knew in every language. you faintly hear someone calling your name, a chair shuffling and bumping against the wall and frantic footsteps coming your way.

in the next five minutes you’re back in the break room, sitting around the table with non-stick dressing wrapped around your hand (courtesy of dr. mckay herself). and victoria javadi, your fellow ms3, beside you. apparently she had fainted after witnessing a nasty degloving incident and suddenly you’re glad to just have burns on your hand.

the door suddenly opens and in walks a smug trinity santos.

”well if it isn’t crash and burn.”

no one was impressed that day.

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

if you think about it, that was probably when your crush on the doctor started. obviously you could see that she was beautiful, that’s something you established when you first laid eyes on her. but while she was treating your burns, she held you so gingerly, something that she most likely does with all her patients. and her dulcet voice that was a little gravelly was music to your ears, talking about protocol and safety, how she called you endearing names throughout the whole process. and the eye contact, oh. your heart was fluttering in your chest the entire time, you were somewhat surprised that you managed to stay grounded that day.

“so, dr. mckay, huh…” trinity trails off, “didn’t peg you to be into the mommy type.” she finishes with a smirk

“please, that’s dada right there.” your cheek is now in your palm, dreamily following cassie with your eyes as she walks back to the table. before she takes a seat, her eyes make their way to you and she gives you a little cocky smirk.

the crassness of your drunken stupor momentarily sobers santos up, her back straightens and she side-eyes your face. but her gaze was left ignored, for you favoured staring at cassie as she wraps her hand around her can of coke and pour its contents out into a glass. the intern resumes her previous position, raising a brow at you as she leans to get into your line of sight, intending to interrogate you while you’re vulnerable.

“‘dada’, huh.” she tries her damn hardest not to burst out laughing, “i take it you’re really into her?” as she finishes her question, the bartender walks over and sets your fifth cocktail down in front of you, “and apparently pornstar martinis too.”

”yup! i got a soft spot for a bev’ and a girl that’s fruity.” you sing into the rim of your cocktail, quoting a lyric from the song you sang a few minutes ago.

mentally, trinity’s singing to the gods and thanking them for this wonderful opportunity and for giving her such a lovely friday night and such a lovely friend.

“you think mckay’s fruity?” she discretely grabs your shot of sparkling wine and turns to head back to the table, nodding in that direction to signal that you, too, should get up, and you do. when your back is turned, trinity waves over your bartender to tell her that you’re cut off for the night and that if you ask for another then you’ll be getting fruit juice in a glass.

“have you heard of ‘hung smile’?”

frankly, trinity doesn’t want to know what any of those words mean. but you tell her anyway, you talk her ear off about how cassie has a ‘hung smile’… whatever that means.

”i’m just saying, it’s definitely there and it’s definitely big and heavy.” your voice attracts the attention of everyone at your table.

”what are we talking about?” javadi cautiously asks after catching the end of your conversation.

trinity shakes her head, muttering ‘you don’t want to know’ under her breath. she helps you into your seat and places the shot glass in front of you. you take sip out of your cocktail before setting it down, making sure that none of this liquid gold gets wasted.

”another pornstar martini?” cassie spots the drink in your hand and scoffs in disbelief. “maybe i should go up there and tell them to cut you off.” she half jokes.

a whine erupts from your lips and you pull your drink close to your chest, as if guarding it from the people at the table. at least one person amongst the group wants to take your cocktail from you and you’re not about to let them have it.

as time passes, the seating arrangement gets shuffled. an endless cycle of one person getting up and having their seat claimed by someone else. when trinity stands to walk over to the bar, dennis takes her place. when victoria heads to the bathroom, you slide into her seat and continue to babble to whoever is nearby. except cassie. apart from that one time where she had gotten up to wash her hands, she’d remained seated for the past forty minutes or so.

eventually you end up sitting beside the older resident, chair inching closer towards hers. your elbow props up on the polished surface of the table and you rest your cheek on your palm. your eyes stare deep into cassie’s blue irises as your mind slowly, but surely, processes the situation and finds a topic to think about. your other hand absentmindedly traces the rim of your empty cocktail glass and that reminds you that it’s probably time to get another one.

your last one.

your free cocktail.

?

cassie’s lips fall open as she tries to start a conversation with you, but you cut her off by announcing that you’d be getting your last drink of the night.

”hey now, hun.” cassie’s hand wraps around your wrist, the contrast of her cold palm on your warm skin makes you shiver. “i don’t think that’s a good idea.” her voice echoes in your ears, deep and inviting and you’re almost tempted to do as she says. like her little obedient pet. you can’t find it in you to quip back a catty remark, because unlike dennis, cassie leaves you speechless. unable to find the words in your sluggish haze.

”let her be, cass.”

trinity smiles from across the table, nodding her head at you as cassie’s grip slowly loosens. ‘trust me’ the intern mouths at the redhead, giving her some sort of reassurance that you’ll be fine. as you walk back towards the bar, cassie pointedly raises a brow at santos and the younger woman takes that as her cue to explain herself, quickly.

”i told the bartender to cut her off, to give her a lil’ juice if she ever came back.”

the two women watch as you sway through the crowd, hips softly swinging along the melody of a bar-goer singing on stage. admittedly, both their eyes trailed lower and lower onto your ass. trinity’s defense would be that she can’t ignore a banging body that’s right in front of her. and she’s always done that (checking you out), complimenting your looks and whistling when you’re looking good enough to eat, in fact you do the same to her!

but cassie? she can’t explain why she does that. obviously, everyone knows that you look good, and that’s something she cant deny. but how come she can’t take her eyes off of you? she’s been around attractive women before, how come you’re so different. how come you lure her in and make her think thoughts that she hasn’t had in years. maybe she’s misinterpreting these complex feelings she gets when you’re around, perhaps what she’s feeling is shame, for being attracted to a woman decades younger than her.

“i wanna see if she’ll even notice the difference.” trinity finishes, curiosity dripping from her words.

“that does not look like juice to me…” victoria’s voice breaks the conversation between the two and they all turn to focus their eyes on you.

at the bar.

and a man pouring jagermeister down your throat.

”jesus fucking christ.” cassie immediately gets up off her seat and strides towards you. she hears another chair scrape behind her and she assumes that it’s trinity who’s currently hot on her trail.

“what the hell!”

is all the man says when cassie rips the bottle out of his hands and sets it on the counter. she ignores every word that escapes his lips and holds your head in her hands, noting the way your face scrunches at the strong taste of the liquor and coughing at the rancid flavor.

“hey, hun. you okay?” when your eyes open, you’re met with cassie’s concerned stare, your head buzzing and ears ringing. she pulls you up to your feet and you cant help the stagger in your step as she guides you to stand away from the man at the bar. her arm wraps around your waist and her palm on the sliver of skin above your jeans nearly shocks you back alive.

”i thought i told you to cut her off?” trinity exclaims to the bartender who’s watching the exchange with confused eyes, saying that she didn’t even notice you walking up. the intern sighs and apologizes for coming off too strong, recognizing that the fault is not on the bartender but rather the man bucketing alcohol into your system.

both cassie and trinity glower at the stranger, cassie holding you upright against her side and trinity balling her fists, seemingly ready to start a fight. the said man looks just about as wasted as you were and he holds up both his hands in mock surrender. cassie just wants to punch his stupid face.

(un)fortunately, dennis got in between the two just before trinity could throw out the first punch and slowly started dragging the three of you back to the table.

“let’s just leave it, girls.” he says cautiously.

“are you hurt?” cassie examines you as she sets you back down onto your seat, asking if the man had put his hands on you. to which you answer with ‘no’, you remember that quite well. everything else was a blur though, one second you’re looking for a bartender and then next thing you know, a man’s by your side asking if you’d take a shot with him. and you have a sneaking suspicion that you’ve had more than a shot…

”i’m alright.” you shake your head and a dopey smile settles on your lips, the alcohol catching up to your senses. “he didn’t give me that much.”

even though you say that, cassie still can’t shake off the anger she has towards that man. not only was that completely reckless but there’s a twinge of jealousy that settles inside her. she has to admit, it all looked somewhat intimate, and that’s what irks cassie. she’s for sure left the party life behind her and has absolutely no intentions of going back, but something about the scene not involving her just boils her blood. she wants to rip that asshole a new one for simply being around you. maybe theres a lot of misplaced emotions on her part but she can’t exactly wallow in them for long.

because she faintly hears trinity say ‘i think it’s time to go home’, and it makes you lurch out of cassie’s hold and into santos’ arms, holding onto her and begging no and that she should at least sing one song before leaving! because that’s what she came here for, right?

trinity would argue that she came here for the discounted drinks, but no one has the heart to argue with you when you start pleading, oh definitely not cassie. if she were in trinity’s shoes, she’d already be up on the stage and singing terribly by now.

and with a roll of her eyes, santos mutters a quiet ‘whatever’ before grabbing whitaker by the collar and pulling him up to the stage. they had ‘both’ decided to sing a little duet for you, mainly because you would refuse to go home unless they did so.

and that’s where they are now, typing in the numbers onto the keypad to select a song. ‘dancing queen by abba’ starts playing through the speakers and the crowd erupts into a fit of cheers as the duo grab a mic each and clear their throats.

somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, cassie taps javadi’s shoulder and lets her know that she’ll be outside. needing a break from the atmosphere and her thoughts, opting to take in a little fresh air. it’s a well-welcomed change in cassie’s lungs because she doesn’t know if she could handle any more of the scent of alcohol. and she needs to get her emotions in check and figure out exactly what she’s feeling right now.

cassie stands by the entrance of the bar, the cold evening air makes goosebumps stand on her bare arms. her head comes into contact with the brick wall she’s leaned up against and she lets out a heavy sigh, channeling all of her regret that she forgot to bring a jacket into one exhale.

does she think it was a stupid decision to come out and ‘babysit’ her coworkers who are half her age? maybe. but does she regret doing that? well she would have, but fortunately you were there. so, in her head, the cold breeze that ruffles her bangs and the streetlight that shines a little too yellow for her liking is all worth it.

the wooden doors of the bar open and the sound of whitaker and santos having a duet in the open mic karaoke spills out onto the street. a short chuckle escapes her lips as she turns towards you, who’s walking (more like wobbling) out of the building, your heels clicking and clacking onto the pavement and your bracelets clinking as a way to announce your entrance, or exit.

“oh cassie!” you finally spot her and lunge into her arms.

the older woman mutters an amused ‘woah there’ as she catches you, your skin is soft against hers and somehow the contact makes the goosebumps on cassie’s skin stand taller. your face buries into her chest and your giggles get muffled into her tank top. she tries her best to steady you back on your feet, but you fight her every move, seemingly content with staying cuddled up in her arms in the dead streets of pittsburgh.

“where’s everyone else?” mckay mutters into your hair, having given up on getting you upright. her hand moves like it has a mind of its own and finds its way into your hair, fingers gently combing through each strand.

in response to that, you give her a shrug, currently not in the right mind to give her a proper answer. all you’re concerned with is how good cassie smells and how warm she is compared to the freezing september night.

once again, cassie knows it’s wrong. she’s known that this whole time. she chants it in her head like a mantra when she finds herself getting too curious about that tattoo on your chest, when her hands itch to pull the fabric of your top down to see what the rest of your inked skin looks like. or when she catches herself ogling at the way the denim of your jeans stretches over the swell of your ass and the lowrise cut reveals the dimples that you have on your back. not even the sound of your heels hitting the ground is safe from cassie’s perverse thoughts.

it’s all so wrong.

but then you look up at her, chin resting on her chest, eyes glossed over and glimmering under the yellow streetlights that she no longer hates so much. your inebriated gaze does so much to her that she finds it hard to breathe, finds it difficult to respond when you give her an inquisitive hum, wordlessly asking what's on her mind.

”hows yous been?” you snicker with your bottom lip tugged in between your teeth.

“never been better.” she responds.

from your slurred speech to your incorrect grammar, cassie nearly cries in frustration as she yells ‘this is wrong’ in her head. she shifts her gaze onto the middle of your forehead, a pathetic attempt to escape your stare and not fall into whatever it was you were doing to her right now.

a silence settles between the two of you. cassie holds you firmly in her arms, afraid that you’d lose your balance and fall if she loosened her grip, while you continue to stare up at her, studying her features. the soft slope of her nose, her bangs haphazardly falling over her forehead and nearly covering her tantalizing blue eyes. you want to push it away and see her eyes clearly. you want to run your fingers down the curve of her nose and feel her skin on the tips of your fingers.

you’re not sure what gives you the courage to do so, certainly not the five cocktails that you had in the last two hours, but slowly you reach up and graze your fingers against cassie’s fringe.

and from the corner of her eye, cassie sees your hand slowly come up to brush her bangs out of her face. she freezes, your touch feeling foreign on her skin, but not unwelcomed. as the tips of your fingers trace the outline of her nose and then her lips, they leave a trail of sparks in their wake, making her cheeks heat up and body tingle.

“shoulds we hooks up?” you suddenly blurt, the scent of alcohol evident on your breath.

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

“she’s knocked out cold.” victoria affirms, watching your limp body sprawl across cassie’s passenger seat.

she was just enjoying the show that trinity and dennis were putting on when she saw you get up from your seat from the corner of her eye. before she could panic, you tell her that you’re going to find cassie. and seeing that your table was not that far from the door, she figured she’d just watch you walk out and cassie would have it from there. god forbid a girl gets tired.

a couple minutes later, she felt her phone vibrating on the table, glowing with a text from cassie saying that you’re now passed out in her passenger seat and to come out whenever they’re ready to leave. and when they do, they’re met with you buckled in cassie’s brown leather seats and the woman leaning on the door frame catching her breath. the woman tells them that you had passed out in her arms and she had to carry you into the car, skipping over the part where she struggled to figure out how to open the car with her arms occupied.

cassie stares at your face while everyone else loads themselves into her backseat. her eyes trail over your lashes and the small part of your lips and she can hear a soft snore with every exhale from you. you looked so peaceful like this, drunk and tired out. a part of her wonders if you would look like this early in the morning, sleeping in her bed and cuddled up beside her.

when cassie get’s into the driver’s seat, trinity already has her waze app pulled up and directions to her apartment glowing bright on her screen. mckay gives the intern a thankful smile and asks her to turn the volume up so she can hear the automated voice as she drives. she buckles in and starts the engine, letting it heat up a little while turning on her air conditioning and headlights.

over the gentle hum of the engine, you croak out cassie’s name in your sleep. and just as the three people in the backseat share a cheeky glance amongst themselves, cassie turns on her stereo in an attempt to mask your sleep talking. the silence is replaced with the melody of ‘does your mother know’ from the mamma mia soundtrack, which makes the group get cheekier and cassie is aware of this. she knows what it looks like to them, the lyrics that go ‘but girl, you’re only a child’ fall from her speakers and she regrets ever turning the music on.

with no other choice but to carry on, cassie ignores the crackle of giggles that builds up from behind her and focuses on the road ahead. she does an excellent job at blocking out the song playing into the car and the whispering of her younger coworkers, but her ears can’t seem to shut out the sound of your soft snores and the occasional hiccup that disrupts them. she hears the tiny grunt you let out when you stir in your sleep, your hand coming up to rub at one of your eyes, essentially smudging your makeup all over it.

when she rounds the corner into santos’ street you groggily lift your head and assess your surroundings, eyes squinted and nose scrunched. you’re barely aware of the familiar buildings and complexes that surround santos’ apartment. because right now, you’re still extremely out of it, your vision comes and goes and the world is tilted to the side whenever you open your eyes. your body feels weightless and heavy at the same time, your fingers and toes tingle under your skin; ‘this feels so good’ you think to yourself, lips stretching into a witless smile. and now you think you’ve lost feeling in your lips.

cassie pulls up right in front of the apartment complex, the automated voice from the waze app declaring your arrival. dennis gets off first and immediately goes to open the passenger seat door, ensuring that you don’t slough off onto the pavement. the two other girls spill out the car right after him, gathering their purses and shutting the door a little too rough for cassie’s liking. but she pays no mind to it.

”we’re here.” he announces to you, reaching over your body to unbuckle your seatbelt.

”i’m not going.” you protest quickly, hands finding the material of the seatbelt and clicking it back in place. you could barely feel your legs right now and all you want to do is sit still and sleep. if anyone were to force you up then you’d probably vomit all over them, you hope dennis knows that. “still sleepy, will vomit.” were your last words before you knocked out once more.

trinity and victoria are leaning against each other as they trudge into the building, trinity’s a little buzzed from her three drinks and victoria’s feet hurt from her cute little pink heels. they both thank cassie for the company and the ride back home, exchanging pleasantries as they make their way through the door.

leaving dennis alone to figure out what he needed to do with you. the man huffs roughly and places his hands on his hips, his mind racing to think of ways to get you into the flat. he’s gonna have to carry you like he would a stack of hay back when he lived on his family’s farm in nebraska. but it wasn’t going to be a pretty sight.

he tries to pull you out once with his hands on your shoulders and a second time by tugging on your right arm while the rest of your body remains limp. it took him about four attempts to finally realize that he’s never gonna get you out of this car.

“you okay there, bud?” cassie had been watching him the whole time. “do you need any help?”

she hears him mutter a low ‘naah, i’m good’ and she just chuckles.

“how far do you have to carry her?”

dennis lifts his gaze off the pavement and onto cassie whose eyebrows are lifted in inquisition. he tells her that it’s not that far off, the apartment, just on the ground floor and near the end of the hall. and that his room is near the entrance, too.

“i assume that trin’s probably gonna put vic in my room, so i’ll probably have to maneuver her around an already sleeping javadi. but my bed’s not that big, so they’re gonna be cuddled up real tight.” at this point he’s just thinking out loud, his eyes had wandered back onto the ground beneath him, mindlessly counting the speckled grey and black of the sidewalk.

“of course i’ll be taking the couch!” his head snaps back up to face the older woman, holding his palms up in a defensive stance as his voice raises a pitch. whitaker stutters a little when he goes to defend himself.

“i would never share a bed with her,” he gestures at you.

upon the realization of how his words may have sounded, he overcorrects.

”or with javadi! not that they’re terrible sleepers, how would i know? it’s just that… yeah”

cassie chuckles at dennis’ state of unease, finding his mousiness somewhat amusing. and with a shake of her head she makes a split-second, irrational decision that she regrets as soon as the words leave her lips.

”i’ll just take her back to my place.”

and dennis stops in his tracks, now raising his brow and slowly turning to give cassie a side-eyed stare, his expression one that toes the line between ‘teasing’ and ‘suspicion’. not because she thinks cassie’s gonna do anything bad to you, but you are extremely inebriated and he just wants to look after someone he cares for.

“relax.” cassie stretches her syllables and rolls her eyes playfully, “she’ll be sleeping in harrison’s room and he’ll be with chad this weekend. and maybe by the time we get there she’d be a little more… aware?”

this reassures dennis and it makes him realize that it would be the optimal choice. each person would have their own space to sleep in with no tangling of limbs, albeit he’d still be on the couch, but nothing he wouldn’t willingly subject himself to.

after taking another second to mull it over, dennis sighs out a relieved ‘yeah’, nodding his head before telling cassie that he should tell trinity and victoria about this. and also that you had a little overnight bag left in their living room. he then runs inside to retrieve your things, where he finds victoria sitting at their kitchen table, on her phone editing one of her tiktok videos. apparently he was wrong about her already being asleep.

with your bag secured in the backseat, cassie thanks dennis and waves as she drives off. this time, the stereo is shut off and it leaves cassie room to think about what had just happened. to think about the entire night. how so many things had happened in under three hours. just this morning she was having a normal day working her shift at the ed. and now, in the hours nearing midnight, she’s driving home with a med student in her passenger seat. the same med student who asked if they ‘shoulds hooks up’.

oh god. suddenly she’s made acutely aware of what her situation may look like from an outsiders perspective.

cassie glances at you when she stops at a red light, the coloured led lights paint your skin and cassie takes this time to observe you. something that she’s done a handful of times throughout the night, though if she had to be honest, she’s been doing that for over a month now.

if there’s something that cassie is not, it’s a liar. she’s always known you were a pretty sight, that’s something she cannot deny. she’s for sure caught herself staring at you while on the clock. twisting her neck and practically bending over backwards when a glimpse of your silhouette enters her peripherals. if the time ever comes when she’d be asked to explain such behaviour, her response would simply be ‘i think she’s pretty’. nothing more and nothing deeper than that.

and right now, you sure do look pretty, alright. from the moment she saw you walking up to the bar, her heart had started speeding up. the way your hair fell over your shoulders and the pitter pat of your heels on the pavement, everything about you made her heart skip a beat. and cassie recognized it was a dangerous match she’d been thrown into. her chances of winning dwindled down to nearly zero as the night continued. the staring across the room and the trailing of gazes down each other’s bodies? how could she expect a favourable outcome from any of this?

she’s been playing a losing game all this time, and she had been none the wiser.

when the lights turn green, cassie only notices because your skin is now lit up by a different colour. she spares one last glance at your sleeping face before carefully stepping on the gas. compared to her rather unhurried driving, her mind races at the speed of light, trying to make sense of what she’s feeling.

excited because she hasn’t felt this way in years. she hasn’t felt this wanted by anyone since her ex husband and hasn’t felt the thrill of having someone ogle at her body. she likes the feeling of being wanted, it makes her skin tingle and her cheeks heat up.

but at the same time, she’s also scared. like she’s been saying since the beginning, this is wrong. there’s so many things wrong with her situation. sure a little office crush never hurt anyone, but this is more than just a work crush. it’s levelled up to something even more in just one night. this progression is something that scares cassie. with how fast things are moving, her mind can’t catch up with everything.

leaving her confused. because she doesn’t know what to do now. she’s been given so much information in such a short amount of time that she can practically hear herself short circuiting. her mind is yelling at her to sweep this all under the rug, act like it never happened. you most likely wont remember a lick of the ‘conversation’ (if one could even call it that) you two had outside the bar, so what’s stopping her from doing the same?

well, her heart wants the exact opposite. she wants you. she wants to feel how soft your lips would be on hers, she wants to find out how far the ink stretches on your body and she wants to see goosebumps rise on your soft skin. maybe she can blame it on the years of celibacy on her part, but she can’t ignore the fact that this feeling only comes about when it’s you in her thoughts. and she can’t ignore the tug in her heart when you expressed your want for her.

the cliche conflict of brain vs heart, something so well documented throughout literature. cassie’s read a couple handful of books regarding the trope, yet she never expected to be subject to it in real life. and with all that she’s read, one could expect for her to not be lost in the middle of it, but here she is disoriented and so incredibly lost.

although cassie would love to have more time to think, the ten minute drive to her apartment has unfortunately come to an end. perhaps she could think even more later as she twists and turns in her bed, because she knows there’s absolutely no way in hell she’ll be able to fall asleep now.

a gentle tap on your shoulder gets you to open your eyes and you’re met with cassie’s beautiful face right in front of you.

”hey, princess. time to get off.”

the building is unfamiliar to you, that much you know, but you can’t be arsed to think about it right now. not when you’re still a little bit dizzy and cassie is consuming most, if not all, of your mind. even in your drunken state, you hear the term of endearment she calls you and it heats your body right back up.

getting you out of the car was significantly easier for cassie to do compared to whitaker. you barely put up a fight this time, but the person helping you out probably had a huge impact on the outcome. cassie’s left arm wraps around your waist and her right hand holds your arm steady over her shoulders. she guides you as you walk up to her front door, muttering ‘left, right, left’ with every step you take.

”i can walk, cassie.”

”doesn’t look like it to me.”

when you’re at her front door, cassie shifts to move your arms around her neck, hoping you get the hint to hang off of her as she lets go of your waist and fish her keys out of her pocket. amidst the jingling of her keys and your steady breath on her collarbones, a thought pops up in cassie’s head.

‘this feels rather domestic’, she thinks to herself, picturing a similar scene with different circumstances. you two would be coming home from a long shift and you’d be tired and hang from her shoulders like you were now and soft chatter would bubble between the two of you about work and the patients you dealt with. but cassie shoves that idea into the very back of her mind, hoping to never see it again.

when the door opens, cassie instructs you to take your heels off and slip into an extra pair of indoor slippers that she had. you kicked your shoes off with a bit more fervor than cassie had imagined and one ends up on its side near the living room. with a chuckle, cassie carefully leans you onto the door and bends over to untie her own shoes and slip into her pair of comfy slippers.

”you want water?” ever the good host that she is, cassie offers as she guides you to walk into her home.

she gets a shake of your head in response but she thinks that she should probably prepare one anyway. she plans to have you lay on her sofa while she gets a glass of water and prepares harrison’s room for your stay. however, as you two make your way to the plush gray coloured furniture, cassie steps over your discarded sandal but your lack of coordination makes you unable to do the same. and when your foot comes into contact with the black kitten heel, your body loses balance and you fall forward into cassie’s arms.

you’re hit with deja vu. looking up at cassie's face, her eyes partially covered by her overgrown bangs and her cheeks growing red with every passing second. your gaze trails over every single one of her features, those captivating blue eyes that you can’t stop thinking about, the angle of her nose, the wrinkles in between her brows and under her eyes, and those godforsaken lips.

once again, before you could even think, your fingers end up tracing her skin, barely touching her yet it makes cassie’s mind go haywire. she can’t even force her brain to function when your palm settles on her cheek.

and before cassie could even blink, you push yourself up on your toes and press your lips against hers.

‘soft’, is what first pops up in both your minds.

but while you revel in the feeling of your lips on hers, cassie freezes; eyes growing wide and her heart drops to her stomach. and she’s scared again. but this time it’s even worse. all the alarms are blaring in her head and she gently pushes you away, her hands settling on your shoulders. she stares at your dazed face with panicked eyes, her brows furrowed and mouth hung open.

cassie’s searching for words in her head, right or wrong, it doesn’t matter. she needs to say something. you need to say something. she can’t just stand there and accept what had just happened. sure, the kiss was pleasant and cassie’s lips tasted like remnants of your kiko milano lipgloss, but the heavy feeling that settled in th pit of her stomach hinders her from enjoying it. one of you needs to break the silence, but cassie can’t find the words. she tried so hard to do so but she’s pulling out blanks. she hopes you would say something, anything, blabber about something totally unrelated, she doesn’t care.

but then you pass out, immediately snoring as you fall back into her arms.

“this is so wrong.” cassie sits on the couch, staring at the glass of water in front of her.

her elbows rest on her knees and she wrangles her hands in disquietude. if she thought that her mind was racing on the drive back here? she doesn’t know what she would call her situation now. all she can think about is how wrong the entire ordeal is. immoral, corrupt or unprincipled. she can list all the synonyms of the words off the top of her head yet none seem appropriate enough. no word seems to cover how grave the situation is.

sure cassie’s been going on and on about how unsavoury the idea of you and her together is because she’s your senior at work, and because she’s twice your age. but all those pale in comparison to the fact that you were shitfaced drunk. drunk and kissing her like it was no one’s problem, as if you two had established a relationship. even though cassie would want nothing but to hold you and kiss you (even if the voices in her head are telling her no), she would rather do so when you’re completely sober and aware of your actions.

͙͘͡⭑.ᐟ

the sunlight that spills through the blinds of harrison’s room is what wakes you up, tangled in a dark blue blanket and cuddling up on a minecraft pig plushie. your eyes scan the ecru coloured walls and you stare at the myriad of kid’s movie posters plastered above your head. eventually you come to the conclusion that you’re neither in your room, trinity’s room, nor dennis’ room. so whose bed is this that you're sleeping on?

to your right, is a bedside table with a simple lamp, an alarm clock, and a small picture frame. upon closer inspection of the frame, you see a kid with dark brown hair that swoops over his forehead and large blue eyes that are exact replicas of the woman’s beside him.

cassie.

and by now you’ve deduced that you’re in harrison’s room, which explains the minecraft themed items and movie posters. looking around the place, you notice that it’s simple and a little larger than what you’d imagine an eleven year old kid would have. theres a dresser on the other side of the room, opposite the bed, and you see a little hamper sitting on the carpeted floor beside it. a small study desk stands under the window with a collection of spiderman comics propped up in one corner. all pretty standard for an eleven year old boy’s room.

you look down at yourself to see that you’re no longer in last night’s get up. your black halter top was now replaced by an oversized washed black shirt, one you assumed was cassie’s (because how in the world would it even fit harrison) and when you shift your legs from under the blanket, you feel the wool brush against the skin of your thighs. your fingers immediately grip at the fabric and hastily look underneath, your pants had been stripped off your legs and the sight sends your mind flying.

did something… happen last night?

you don’t remember a thing from the night before. the last thing you could recall was drinking a pornstar martini.

you don’t know how many you’ve had but you suspect you had about three.

you don’t know how you ended up in cassie’s apartment instead of trinity’s.

you don’t know how you ended up pantsless on her son’s bed.

and speaking of pants, you don’t know where they are.

you toss the blanket off your body and throw your legs off to the edge of the bed, the sudden movement induces a pounding in your head and you have to stop yourself from moving. your toes graze over something on the floor and you peek open an eye to see your bejewled jeans sprawled across the carpet.

just then, a gentle knock erupts from the bedroom door and it slowly pushes open to reveal cassie, smile soft and charming. like always. her hair is already up in a ponytail and her bangs are swept to the side.

”morning, sunshine.” she calls to you.

her eyes follow your gaze and drops down to the pair of jeans by your toes.

”i see you’ve gotten rid of your pants.”

and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of the cold air on your legs and that you’re sitting pantsless in front of thee cassie mckay.

when you and cassie walk through the doors of a nearby diner, the bell that rings from above your head irritates you because its sound is amplified by the hangover you’re currently battling. you adjust the sunglasses that sit on the bridge of your nose, pushing them back up after they had slipped down. they weren’t actually your glasses, they were cassie’s and she’d lent them to you on the car ride here because your eyes were a tad bit too photosensitive.

“trin usually gets the tapsilog when she’s hungover.” you briefly skim over the menu before deciding that you can’t be bothered and settle with your friend’s usual. santos had introduced this place to you the morning after you first hung out together, told you that she loves their ‘all-day filipino’ breakfasts and that they’re perfect for hangovers.

cassie settles on a plate of pancakes with a big cup of black coffee and she insists on you getting water instead of caffeine to go with your meal when you try to order one for yourself.

the diner itself isn’t packed with people, you see a few blue collar workers along the counter enjoying large mugs of coffee and a few families sharing breakfast in several booths. enough to create a soft indistinguishable chatter that fills the room and quiet enough to not trigger another agonizing headache.

”how you feeling?” cassie rasps from across you. her voice is low and soft, a tad bit hoarser than usual but its something you find appealing. she has her hands clasped together and resting on the table, when she leans over to talk to you (as a force of habit) her knuckles nearly graze over yours and she flinches back as if she was burned.

you notice.

after a moment of silence where you stare at the area where her hands previously were, you give her a response. “my head hurts.”

cassie feels bad that she reacted that way. but she doesn’t know how to act anymore. after twisting and turning on her bed the entire night, she can’t help but act restless. her fingers twitch nervously and her eyes jitter as they avoid your gaze. she tried to act normal, steadying her wavering voice before speaking and taking a deep breath to ground herself before doing anything. but the only thing she can think about was last night. your fingers going over the outlines of her face, the feeling of your waist in her arms and your warm breath on her skin. and mostly, the kiss. it’s hard for cassie to believe that she’s unraveled so hard over one tiny peck on the lips.

‘but its the principle! and the circumstances!’ a voice in cassie’s mind yells.

“that’s usually how it is if you drink five cocktails in under two hours.”

this snaps you out of your thoughts and you nearly break your neck looking up at cassie. ‘five?!’ you would have yelled out if your head wasn’t already screaming at you. and no one thought to stop you? yeah no wonder you had a splitting headache!

“i had five drinks?!”

”five pornstar martinis.”

and your jaw drops at this. your hands scramble to dig through your purse in search of your wallet, and when you find it, you practically rip it in half to see what’s left inside. the fact that a fly did not comically flutter out of your red leather bifold is beyond you when all you spot is a flimsy five dollar bill left inside.

“i’ve been robbed.”

cassie let’s out a hearty laugh, your humour seems to help her nerves die down a little.

you start to ramble about how you don’t understand how it happened. you genuinely had lost track of how many drinks you’ve had. and, mind you, pornstar martinis are not cheap. you only intended to have one or two because you knew that they were fifteen dollars a glass. yes fifteen and even with the twenty percent discount that would only bring the price down to twelve dollars per drink. maybe the illusion of saving money had blinded you into spending a whopping sixty dollars in one night.

“i’m never gonna financially recover from this…”

another peal of laughter bellows from cassie’s belly as she takes in your frazzled expression from behind her dark sunglasses. and for a moment, cassie’s brain goes silent, no more of those overbearing thoughts she had not even a minute ago. its almost like your existence just brings her peace. and that’s when cassie’s realized she lost the game.

you basically have her wrapped around your finger, been that way for a while now. everything you do has an overwhelming effect on her. you smile in her direction and she stops breathing. you look up at her with your sweet doe-like eyes and her heart stutters. every joke that comes from you, no matter how unfunny it may be, makes cassie guffaw. and one little kiss makes her spiral like she’s never done before.

and just as cassie’s about to come to terms with her thoughts, your food arrives. a waitress carefully sets down each plate in front of you and offers one more accommodating smile before walking back to the counter.

the pancakes are buttery and soft with a slice of butter sat atop the small stack and a ceramic creamer filled with maple syrup off to the side. cassie’s coffee is hot and the scent nearly overpowers aroma of your tapsilog breakfast. the scent of the marinated beef is strong, but not unpleasant. and everything just makes your mouth start to water.

”cassie i can’t pay for this…” you remember your current dilemma and realize that you’re just a dollar short, so you ask the woman in front of you if you could borrow a dollar and that you’d pay her back immediately if so. all you get is a chuckle as she points to your food and tells you to eat. when she sees that you still look torn over her offer, she insists that it would be her pleasure to pay for your meal and that she would not start eating unless you do.

so what choice do you have?

”i’m really sorry, i can’t believe i was that irresponsible.” you apologize, stabbing a piece of meat and putting it in your mouth with a spoonful of garlic rice.

”you were so drunk.” cassie laughs at the memory.

“oh my god i didn’t do anything embarrassing, did i?”

she recounts the happenings of the night beginning from where your memory started to fog and by the time she tells you about the stranger at the bar with a bottle of jager, you were so close to falling off your seat in shame.

“trinity and i nearly beat the living daylights out of him.” cassie shakes her head and reaches for her mug. “thank god whitaker was there.”

her mind briefly flashes back to when you walked into her arms outside the bar, said all the things you said and did all the things you did, yet she chooses not to mention any of that with you, skipping forward to when dennis was trying to pull you out of her car but to no avail.

”and that’s how you ended up at my place.”

you bury your face into your palms and groan in embarrassment, making a mental note to apologize profusely to whitaker when you see him. apparently you’ve cause quite a bit of a stir-up.

“i’m so sorry for all the trouble i caused, cass.” your voice muffled against your skin.

“please, it’s no issue. it just so happens that harrison’s at chad’s place and, besides, santos’ apartment was kind of packed already.”

“thank you,” you drop your hands down onto your lap, “for taking care of me. and for letting me stay at your place. i hope i wasn’t any more difficult.”

the woman in front of you gives a tender smile and tells you not to worry about it.

“i didn’t really do much, i just removed your makeup and put you in one of my shirts. and i didn’t peek, i swear.” she holds her arms up and you giggle.

”are you sure nothing happened?” you ask, voice weary and meek.

the voices come back, full force in cassie’s head. everything starts replaying in her mind and she has to take another breath to compose herself. what would the benefits be if she told you? she can’t think of any. but when she thinks of the downsides of that situation, her brain is filled to the brim.

you could end up feeling humiliated and want to distance yourself from her and that’s the last thing she wants. she just wants to keep you in her life and forget everything that ever happened. she was working perfectly fine before last night and she just wants things to be back to normal again. she can’t live her life bearing the weight of what had happened all by herself.

the look on cassie’s face tells you that something did happen, and you feel your heart fall into your ass.

”oh no. did i vomit on your carpet or something?”

”yeah,” cassie lies, “but it’s no issue.”

shame pours over your body in buckets and you feel as though you could cry. ripping the sunglasses off of your face, you start spouting numerous apologies and offers to ‘make it up to her’ but cassie just turns down every single one. a smile plays on her soft lips but her eyes are filled with turmoil. and this time, you dont notice.

cassie wishes that you had just vomited on her carpet, because by then the only thing she’d be left with is the scent of rug cleaner and a drying stain as a memory of the night, but now she’s left with all these emotions she cant figure out, and shes torn between keeping it all a secret or telling you about it and dealing with the consequences.

It was certainly hard to focus when in the class of Professor Reid. Almost every seat in the front row was taken up by a girl twirling her hair or chewing on her pen. Or both. And you really couldn’t say you were any better.

Spencer stood at the front of the lecture hall, adjusting his glasses with one hand while holding a stack of papers in the other.

He didn’t mean to be distracting, but he so very was. Tall, lanky, always dressed neatly in button-ups and vests, and his intelligence just radiated from him. And when he was teaching, his voice gained such weight and precision it was impossible for the attention of the room not to be drawn.

He was certainly handsome. And it was sweet of him to pretend he didn’t know it.

You couldn’t blame the ogling women. You'd be lying if you said you weren't taking this class at least partially for Reid. You sat near the middle, your notebook open but mostly blank. You’d spent the last ten minutes sketching tiny hearts in the margins instead of taking notes. you were listening. You just… liked looking at him, too. The way his hair fell slightly over his forehead when he leaned forward onto his desk, how he bit his lip when concentrating, how soft-spoken yet assured he sounded. It was all kind of unfairly attractive for a professor who probably didn’t even realize half these girls were here for him and not criminology.

But you were a woman of drive. A woman of initiative. And a woman of... well, perverse sexual desires, honestly. And Professor Spencer Reid would see that soon enough.

You pretended it was a coincidence that you’d arrived earlier than could possibly be accidental.

And it was a coincidence, technically. A class of yours prior had been canceled last minute, and now roaming the halls of the building, the open door to Spencer’s hall was just too inviting to possibly ignore.

You hadn’t planned to show up an hour early just to secure a good seat. But now here you were, walking in at 8:05 AM for a class that started at 9, eyes roaming over the empty front row with a giddy greed.

Part of you had hoped to spare just an extra minute with the handsome professor before his lecture began. But much to your pleasant surprise, he wasn’t one to arrive two minutes before class was to begin like your other professors. As you stand in the door, Reid stares back at you with brown eyes like saucers, mid-scribble on the board, slightly alarmed to see someone so early.

His hair was unruly. The eyebags under his eyes, not dark enough to be troubling, but just enough to make you wonder if he had spent more than a few hours resting.

Spencer straightened up quickly and nearly knocked over the empty coffee cup on his desk. He clears his throat, and gives her a stiff wave. “Oh! Uh… good morning.”

You clear your throat and shift your bag on your shoulder, moving to secure a front row seat. “…First one, huh?” you say, like it’d been accidental.

Spencer nodded, still slightly flustered by your presence. “Yeah,” he said. “You’re… pretty early! 53 minutes early, actually.”

He turned back to the board and picked up his marker again, but didn’t resume writing just yet. Just stood there shifting it in his grip awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now that someone was watching him work.

He slowly turns back around. “Did you… uh… have a question? Or something I can help you with?”

It makes you a little giddy inside that he was talking to you directly now. Like being alone with a celebrity. It was quite invigorating to have a crush.

“Oh,” you wave your hand, settling into your chair. “Nope. No questions here.”

He stares at your for a moment, eyes just subtly roaming over your figure. “…Cool,” he said lamely, then turned back to the board and started writing again, a subheading to yesterday’s lecture notes.

Crossing your leg over the other, you tap your fingers on your knees. You sit front and center, watching Spencer like he’s on display. The silence is a little uncomfortable, the only sound in the room the squeaking of the marker as his hand flies across the board, but you didn’t care. You were too busy getting an eyeful of his derriere each time his blazer rode up with his arm.

Eyes still fixed on the prize, you muse, “You like to be early too, huh?”

Spencer nodded. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I like to get everything set up before class starts. Y’know… organize the slides, make sure the projector’s working,” He gestures vaguely to the ceiling. “Helps to not feel, uh, overwhelmed, actually.”

“Ah. A lot to do, I imagine.”

“Mhm!” he hummed in agreement, scribbling more notes on the board, something about a list of common stress triggers in violent offenders.

“Anything I can help with, sir?”

He turns slowly, marker in hand. “Uh… no? I mean, I’m good.” He smiled awkwardly, then immediately went back to writing before the conversation could continue further.

Your face falls. The slight sting of embarrassment makes you grimace behind his back. “Not even get you another coffee? …You look like you need it, sir.”

At that, Spencer considers. “…Actually,” he said slowly, “that would be really nice.”

You pop up from your chair like a spring. Spencer is slightly startled. “I, uh, take it with a lot of sugar!” He calls as he watches you move to the door, then retracts it as soon as he feels too demanding. “Actually, just— just bring the sugar here, I’ve got it.”

“Aye, aye, professor.”

Five minutes later, you returned, holding a steaming cup of coffee and a generous amount of sugar packets between your teeth.

You climb up the steps to the stage, for the first time being on the same level as your professor. And just a few feet away at that. You bite your cheek.

He carefully takes the cup with a tiny, grateful smile, but hardly makes eye contact with you, much to your dismay. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “That’s really thoughtful of you.”

He immediately ripped open three sugar packets, dumping them in at once. He stirred it with a spoon from his desk, watching the swirl of cream and sugar mix. When he finally sipped it… perfect. Strong. Sweet. Just how he liked it.

Still not looking at you directly, too aware that you were just standing there watching him oddly, he gave another quiet thanks.

You were lingering a little longer than necessary if you were being honest, eyes following the way his throat bobs as he swallows another gulp of the coffee.

Spencer stares at you awkwardly. You give a sheepish grin as you catch yourself. “Sorry! I’m not, uh,” you bite your lip, humming, “bothering you or anything by being here so early?”

“Oh, no! No, it’s— it’s fine,” he said quickly, setting the coffee down. He fidgeted with his cufflinks and finally looked at you properly for the first time since you arrived. Maybe you were obsessed and ready to froth at the mouth over scraps, but something about the eye contact felt intimate. “It was really thoughtful of you,” he says again, gesturing to the coffee. “Besides, your performance in this class is excellent, might I say,” he compliments.

You suppress a grin. Score. You knew furiously scribbling down those notes as your head spun from all the criminology jargon, studying all night until you could recite the pages back to him was all worth it just for that tiny compliment.

“—So I don’t think you’re in any need of extra help outside of class,” he continues, smiling with a nod, “Therefore you’re… more than welcome to come in right at the time of the lecture. Don’t feel like you need to arrive early or anything.”

You deflate a little at that.

Goodness, you hadn’t even considered that. A little private tutor session? Just you and Professor Reid? Goddamn it, none of it was worth it at all. You should’ve been failing.

Spencer seemed to notice the shift in your expression, how your smile faded. Whoops. You forgot to be subtle.

He backtracks quickly, “I mean… unless you wanted extra help?” He offers, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“Always more to learn!” You smile brightly, voice a little too chipper.

Spencer’s eyes brightened at your enthusiasm. “Okay! Cool,” he nods. “If you want, you can come by my office after class? I can go over some advanced profiling techniques for crime assessment and inputs.”

You struggle to keep the fireworks booming in your body from exploding out of your mouth. God, he had no idea. “Yes! Y-yes. yeah,” you nod rapidly. “Sounds great.”

He smiled, a genuine one that made her insides clench. “Awesome! My office is 208B,” he said, pointing down the hall with his thumb. “I’m usually there until around five?”

With a final nod, Spencer turns to organize some papers. You see the opportunity and seize it.

Leaning on his desk, you ask casually, “Ah, five, huh? Gotta… get home to the wife?”

His eyes snap back to yours, confused and startled.

“Oh! N-No, no, I’m not married.”

“Whaaat? Get outta here. Not even a girlfriend?”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then looks down at his papers, suddenly very interested in alphabetizing them. “…Nope.” Why was this conversation happening?

Meanwhile, you could practically fall over and die. “Wow. That’s… yeah, that’s crazy.”

He opens his mouth with the strange need to defend himself. “I… I mean… I just haven’t—” He cleared his throat and gestured stiffly to the board. “Anyway! Should probably finish this, uh, lecture prep.”

“Right, right! No, of course.” You shuffle away, moving to the steps to make your way off the stage. But you halt, pivoting on your heel. “…Aaanything else I can help you with?”

Spencer thinks. The room was quiet, the air thick with the smell of coffee and faint scent of whiteboard markers. He turns to spare you a glance, and realizes you seemed… eager to help.

“…You could hand me those slides?” He asked, pointing to a stack of pages on the side table that needed sorting into order.

“Hah, fuck…”

Laying back on your bed in your vacant dormitory, you let the back of your head hit the mattress again. Hair tussled, cheeks warm, a layer of sweat on your body.

As your fingers work between your legs, the only thought in your mind was your handsome professor. The thought of his lips greedily sucking your heat, dark locks falling over your thighs, as those long, wiry fingers work in and out of your cunt. The fantasy played out vividly in your mind, every detail sharp. His wide brown eyes shining with tears, his erection straining against those stiff pants he insisted on wearing to each class. His lips would be swollen and glistening from lapping and suckling. How sweet he’d sound, you think, with his moans muffled into your pussy as you grind against his face.

You fantasized about your Professor more often than you were ready to admit. When you were sure you were alone, the words “professor”, “teacher”, or “college” found itself in your laptop’s search bar frequently, often accompanied by your fist down your panties.

It certainly wasn’t the one fantasy you had. Gripping his wrists like a vice, fucking yourself on his dick while he could only watch helplessly— that was another contender. God, the sound he’d make if you yanked his hair just right. Or clamping a hand over his mouth as he sat between your legs, your fist working his cock faster than he could possibly keep up with. How flustered he’d be, stammering something sweet and nervous between kisses.

You thought of stuffing that tie in his mouth, of tugging that unruly hair, of bending him over your knee, of—

You lay back on your mattress, panting and flushed with a sheen of sweat, basking in the afterglow with your nerves still buzzing.

You hadn’t meant to get that carried away, but once you started thinking about him like that… it was impossible to stop.

You kicked your legs in the air, letting a breathless giggle escape you, the excitement of seeing him again so soon enough to send another rush of arousal through you.

You’ll admit, you were a little disappointed with the result of the small tutor session, none of the fantasies exactly coming to life.

“Well, I gotta say, I think you’re keeping up incredibly well,” Spencer flips a page in a file as he sits in his office chair across from you. “You’re remarkably competent. I mean, I don’t think you’re in need of any help outside of my class at all.”

You sat stiffly in the chair across from his desk, knees pressed together.

Remarkably competent. Keeping up well. That was… great. But also so boring. You wanted him to say something like “you’re stunning,” “I think about you constantly,” “let me kiss you.” But instead, it looked like you were losing the opportunity for these sessions.

“It’s… nice,” he says, looking up at you properly now, “to have someone actually enrolled who cares about the subject. It’s funny, did you know you’re just about one of the only students of mine actually registered?” He laughs lightly. God, you would eat him alive. “Turns out, most of the people I get in my lectures are only auditing, it’s… it’s a little disappointing, actually.”

“Yeah, I know,” you nod casually, far less oblivious as to the reason for that.

Spencer pauses, sensing something. “You… do?”

“Yeah,” you shrug.

“Oh!” He glances off to the side for a moment. “Well, it’s, uh… kinda weird, right?”

“I mean… have you noticed it’s only the girl students doing the auditing?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “…Yeah,” he says slowly, “I guess I have.”

With a slow, strange shock, you realize. “Oh, you actually don’t know.”

Spencer’s face scrunches slightly. “Don’t know… what?”

“Uh, well. They audit the class for you, sir.”

His lips part slightly. He blinks at her for a moment in surprise. “For me?”

“Yeah. Like… they think you’re cute.”

The color drains from Spencer’s face, then floods back in a rush of red.

“Oh,” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Oh.”

“Mhm. Kind of flattering, no?”

Spencer is already not handling this well. His fingers tap nervously against the file on his desk. He can’t look at you. His eyes keep darting to the ceiling, then back down.

“It’s… um,” he stammers, “I mean… I don’t— I never considered that.”

He was so oblivious. Painfully so. “Yeah.” You fiddle with your pencil and decide to test the waters. “You could, like… fix your whole ‘single’ problem with just about any one of them.”

Spencer looks mildly horrified by the idea. “I don’t—” he starts, then stops, “I mean… I could, but I wouldn’t want to.” His nose scrunches slightly.

“You wouldn’t?” you ask quickly.

“No,” he says automatically. Then he suddenly gets a little shier. “I mean… it’s not appropriate. I’m their professor.”

“Oh,” you say softly. “So it’s a moral thing.”

He nods, happy to be understood. “Yeah, professional boundaries, and all that. It just… wouldn’t be right.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never liked something that’s wrong?”

Spencer frowns. That was a very specific question. He shifts in his seat, suddenly feeling very warm under his button-up. “…No? Not like that?”

“No?”

“I mean…” he swallows hard, “not in a way that would ever matter.” This conversation had suddenly veered very personal before Spencer had even realized.

You’re leaning closer across the desk than he remembers you were five minutes ago. “So, if you did, hypothetically, happen to like one of those students, you wouldn’t date them?”

Spencer’s hands clench slightly in his lap.

“…No,” he says quietly, but there's a strange waver in his voice.

The sly tease flies out of your mouth before you can help it, “…Are you considering it now, Professor?”

“I’m not—!” he starts, defensive. His eyes flicker to yours for half a second before darting away again.

Got him.

After letting the silence linger for just another tense second longer, you stand abruptly. Your chair screeches against the floor, and Spencer nearly jumps out of his seat at the sudden movement. Slapping laptop down and sliding it under your arm, you flash him a smile. “Much to think about!”

“Uh— wait,” he blurts, standing too. “M-Miss—!”

But you were already halfway to the door, bag tucked under your arm. “See you in class, sir!” you call over your shoulder.

The door clicks shut. Spencer stands there, frozen in the middle of his office, staring at where you’d just been.

His palms are sweaty.

He slowly sinks back into his chair and stares blankly at his desk.

What just happened?

A few days later, he’s a little startled the by the sound of a cup enthusiastically landing on his desk.

His eyes trail up the arm attached until he meets your sparkling eyes, and he immediately relaxes. “Morning!” You chirp.

This had become routine between the two of you now. Every morning you’d show up, steaming cup in hand, sugars and all.

“Ah, my prized student,” he says back warmly, and accepts the cup with both hands.

“Oh! Will that graduate to favorite student if I keep bringing you these coffees?”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a smile, his lips around the rim of the cup. “You’re already my favorite,” he admits without thinking. After a moment, he seems to catch on to his own words, and suddenly backpedales. “I mean— not in a weird way! Just… you bring me coffee.”

The smile on your face is downright perverted. “And sugar,” you remind him.

“And sugar,” he echoes, smiling shyly. He rips open four packets of sugar and dumps them in one heap.

You tap your nails against his desk idly and muse, “Y’know, I was studying for your class last night when I realized, I think I’ve finally found something I’m stumped on.”

Spencer perks up. “Oh! Okay, what is it?”

“Geographical profiling. Don’t understand it a lick.”

He brightens. “Ah, that’s actually really fascinating!” He says, setting his coffee aside. “What is it specifically you’re struggling with? Are you struggling with the mathematical algorithms or more the theoretical framework?”

You wave a hand. “All of it,” you lie, miming something flying over your head. “Whoosh.”

Spencer quiets for just a fraction longer than normal. All of it? That… seemed extreme for someone who had been acing tests so far. But he plays along. “Okay, well… let’s start at the beginning—”

“—After class, right? In your office?” You interrupt him eagerly.

“Oh! Uh, yeah,” he nods. “Sure. After class.”

“Wonderful. Wouldn’t wanna distract my mind before your lecture today, y’know?” You tap your index finger against your temple and smile at him warmly. Shifting your bag on your shoulder, you begin to walk to secure your front row seat.

But the moment you step out of the way of the desk, Spencer’s gaze drops before he can stop it. His eyes can’t help but roam over your lower half. Specifically your legs. Practically the entire expanse of your legs, in fact. You were wearing just about the shortest skirt he thinks he’s ever laid eyes on. A skirt that if it was even an inch shorter, there’d be a problem.

His brain short-circuits for a solid two seconds, long enough that the coffee cup tilts dangerously in hand. Then he chases himself away, his throat tight, awkwardly adjusting his tie. He busies himself with pretending to organize files that don’t need organizing.

As you shuffle down the steps, you call over to him, “Don’t you just hate when your mind’s distracted?” You don't dare peek at him over your shoulder, fearing he’d see the coy smile plastered on your face.

Spencer swallows hard. “Yeah,” he croaks out, “Hate it.”

That lecture is practically public humiliation for Professor Reid.

He stands at the front of the class as usual, his voice echoing across the hall as he speaks, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But his fingers keep twitching. In minute and a half intervals— because yeah, you were counting— his eyes accidentally flick down to you, front row center, legs crossed primly.

He’s usually quite a smooth lecturer. Articulate. Confident. Lost in the thrill of sharing his knowledge. But today, he keeps stumbling over words, noticeably missing transitions between points, and a few of the students are beginning to exchange glances. Since when did Professor Reid lose track of his lectures?

Meanwhile, you’re watching it all unfold smugly from your seat. Your eyes haven’t left your dear professor since this class began. Which wasn’t out of the ordinary. After all, everyone in the class had their gaze on him. But Spencer’s only painfully aware of one.

You notice the way he begins to subtly avoid looking in your general direction. Each time he glances up to check for engagement, his eyes skip a whole section of students like there was a bubble around you.

He discreetly wipes his perspiring palms on his pants.

Unhappy with the lack of attention, you shift in your chair. Under the guise of getting more comfortable, you sink in your spot, legs uncrossing, your mini-est skirt in the world at risk of riding up with any strong movement. You casually lean back, stretching one leg out just a little further, the fabric of your skirt rising up just an inch.

Your shoe taps against the floor like a quiet Yoo-hoo, over here. And when you’re certain he’s looking your way again, albeit in his peripheral, and with the slowest, softest, subtlest movement you can manage, you idly flex your legs open and shut, open and shut. His throat bobs, and your lips curl.

You keep the motion slow, almost lazy, like you weren't even aware of it. Just tiny, imperceivable movements. Rhythmic, absentminded. The way one taps their fingers or twirls a strand of hair. But it might as well have been a flashing neon sign saying Look at me, with your thighs tensing under the thin material of your skirt over and over before relaxing again.

Each time your legs spread, if Spencer looked close enough, he’d catch the color of your thong.

He grips the edge of his podium, knuckles whitening. The lecture drags on, every second an eternity. He finishes his last point five minutes early, voice trailing off awkwardly. “…And that’s— that’s all for today.”

A beat of silence. The students blink at each other. Each person shuffles out quickly, confused by the abrupt ending, but not exactly complaining. Spencer just wanted it to end.

You take your sweet time packing up. Slinging your bag over one shoulder, then pausing to yawn, arms high above your head in a long stretch that makes your shirt rise up at the waist.

Spencer watches, against his will, as your shirt lifts just enough to reveal a sliver of skin, then as you reach higher, pulling your muscles in a different angle, and this time your back arches slightly.

He’s speechless atop the stage.

Frustratingly, you don’t spare him a glance as you file out alongside the other students that trickle through the door. “Bye, Professor,” he hears your voice above the rest.

“Bye,” Spencer mumbles back, robotic.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, he exhales like he’d been holding his breath the entire lecture. Miserably, he drops to his chair and presses both palms into his eyes.

What was wrong with him?

A light knock comes to his office door, and Spencer’s head jerks up. That's you.

He clears his throat. “Come in!” he calls.

In comes you, with the brightest smile, one he can hardly tear his eyes from. “Hi, Professor!” You chirp.

“Hi,” he says back, softer than intended. He gestures to the chair across from his desk. “Sit down, whenever you’re ready.” His hands are folded neatly in front of him. A professional, composed posture. But his heart isn’t listening.

Spencer notices the absence of the skirt immediately, the expanse of your legs hidden from view again. But why was he looking? Was he hoping you hadn’t changed?

You plop down in your seat across from him with a bounce. After light conversation and a moment to get settled, he grabs a folder labeled Geographical Profiling and cracks open a textbook. “So,” Spencer begins, flipping open the folder. “Geographical profiling is basically a way to predict where a serial offender might strike next based on their previous crime scenes.” He pulls out a map, already marked with locations. “It uses statistical analysis and spatial patterns—”

“—Can I come over to your side?”

Spencer stops, staring at you a little oddly.

You shrug a shoulder. “I just think I’d get it better looking at it from your angle.”

“Oh! Yeah, for sure,” he says, scooting his chair over to make space.

You stand and circle around the desk, dragging the chair behind you. As you sit down with your shoulders just barely brushing his, the smell of your perfume engulfs him. Pleasant, not too overwhelming. Girly in a way that made him nervous. He clears his throat, “Where— where were we?”

Refocusing on the map, his steady, academic tone returns easily. “So we’re looking at these crime scenes here and here—” His finger taps two dots on the paper.

As he talks, you lean closer to the paper. Which naturally results in you leaning closer to Spencer. Your arms brush at some point with featherlight contact.

He doesn’t react. Instead, he keeps pointing at the map, voice even despite his body temperature suddenly rising. “…And based on this pattern,” he continues, “the offender likely lives somewhere along this radius.”

Abruptly, you turn to open a drawer on his desk. You scan the contents inside, then move to the next.

“Uh…” he starts, watching you with bewilderment.

“Looking for a pencil.”

“Ah!” He fumbles in his own pocket and pulls out a clicky ballpoint. “Here,” he says, offering it to you. “You can use mine.”

“Ohh, your’s huh? I’m flattered. Promise not to chew on it.” You wink.

Spencer’s lips twitch. He watches as you take the pen, your fingers brushing. On purpose? Or was that just wishful thinking?

“Y-yeah, for sure. Just, um… just ask me next time, okay? I’d prefer it if you didn’t dig through my drawers.”

“Ah, I see,” you chuckle behind your lips.

“…See what?”

“I dunno. You hiding something dirty in there, Professor?”

Spencer’s face is mortified. “W-what? No!” He sputters, voice cracking slightly. “It’s just… paperwork! Notes. Th— that I’d prefer to keep organized.”

You bite back your grin. “You don’t have to be shy about it!”

“I-I’m not shy! There’s nothing to be shy about!” Spencer insists, a little too loudly.

He clears his throat awkwardly and tries to turn back to work like nothing happened. The paper and textbook stare back at him, completely uninteresting now. All he could focus on was how close you still were. How your perfume kept wafting over every time you moved. “So… statistically speaking, the offender likely lives within a three-mile radius of these clustered crime scenes.”

You nod along, but you're not really listening. You’re still watching him. The way his brow furrows when he concentrates, how his fingers tap the paper absentmindedly.

Spencer feels a poke on his shoulder.

“Hey.”

He turns his head sharply, eyes wide. “…Yeah?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence where you just stare into each other's eyes, your faces far too close. And for a moment, Spencer thinks this was going in a very different direction.

Then you smile. Soft, playful. “You talk with your hands a lot,” you observe casually. “I like it.”

“Oh,” is all he says at first. “Thanks?”

“Yeah, you’ve got good hands, you know?”

“Uh… yeah, thanks,” he mumbles again, voice weirdly small. “You too? I think?”

“Yeah? Mine?”

“Yeah, your—” Spencer gestures vaguely to your hands. They were nice. Soft-looking, well-manicured. Holdable. “I mean… they look… clean?”

“Hm. Clean.” You examine your own hands, spreading out your fingers and flipping them back and forth. You seemingly nod in agreement. “Don’t like to be messy, Professor?”

Spencer shakes his head quickly. “No, I hate messes,” he admits. “Germaphobe, honestly. The sheer amount of pathogens passed in a handshake alone is staggering, actually.”

“Really? What about… in a kiss? Now that’s gotta be dirtier.”

“Actually,” he says immediately, leaning forward slightly, “saliva contains millions of bacteria. Some studies estimate that a single kiss transfers 80 million microorganisms between people.” His voice gains the same weight you recognize from his lectures. “And it’s not just bacterial exchange either! There’s enzymatic activity too…”

Spencer’s scientific rambling slowly trails off mid-sentence as he takes notice, finally, of where your gaze is locked. His lips. His brain also finally acknowledges the warmth of your thigh deliberately pressed against his through the fabric of his pants, and he feels something stirring in his lower half he’d really rather ignore.

As Spencer’s mouth goes dry, a slow, wicked grin spreads on your face. “Sorry, I’m getting you all distracted again, aren’t I?”

He squirms slightly in his seat. “Y-yeah, a little.”

You nod to the paper. “You wanna… go back to telling me about geographical profiling?”

What was this, the third time now he’s had to begin again?

“Yeah. So… like I was saying, the offender’s most likely residence is here—”

For a while, you seem, to him, to be listening well. You occasionally nod, ask a question here and there to keep him talking. But your attention once again is curved by the handsome man sitting not even an inch away. And as he talked, the gears in your mind were turning.

You knew what came next. The big part. The one you’d actually practiced a humiliating amount of times. You squeeze your thighs together, your skin prickling with the thrill running through you.

Spencer doesn’t notice your distraction, too focused on explaining the logistics of distance decay. “And based on these crime scene locations,” he says, “we can calculate the mean center, which is essentially how all these points would balance if we put them on a scale.”

“Hm. Yeah, I just feel like I would see it better from your angle.”

Spencer stops as you interrupt him for the nth time. There’s no space left to scoot closer, but he still shifts a little— an instinctive, subconscious lean toward you. His shoulder is pressed flush against yours now. “Yeah… okay,” he murmurs, tilting the map slightly so you could see better, the proximity making his pulse erratic again.

You shiver a little at the closeness, subtly biting your lip. It practically takes all of your self-control to shake your head. “No, no, now you can’t see it.”

Spencer huffs a tiny, almost-laugh. “I assure you, I can see it. Not to worry. Besides, you should really be the one looking—”

“May I?”

“…May you what?”

“Move to a better angle for both of us, obviously.”

“Oh, right! Right,” Spencer scoots his chair back a generous amount to give you room, a little sheepish about having moved closer to you in the first place.

But you don't even acknowledge this. You rise from your chair smoothly, casually adjusting your clothes. Then, much to Spencer’s surprise, you lay a hand on his shoulder and move to stand between his legs, lording over him. He was suddenly at a disadvantage, looking up at you with eyes wide as saucers and watching your every move like a frightened animal.

You lock eyes with Spencer as you slide your arm around his neck. You feel the tenseness in his body, each muscle taut with anticipation. With a jut of your knee, you spread his legs and calmly perch yourself atop his thigh, effectively sitting in his lap. He nearly jumps back in shock, but pinned under your weight, he doesn’t have far to go. His body is stiff as a robot’s, so you take it upon yourself to grab his arm and effortlessly maneuver it until it’s wrapped comfortably around your waist, pressing his palm flat against your hip.

Spencer looks as though he’s been electrocuted. He’s completely paralyzed. You were in his lap. Your weight settled against him, your warmth seeping through his clothes. For a moment, he wonders if he’s just died.

“…What? You said I could.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but no sound came out. When his brain finally rebooted, all it could manage was a weak “I—I didn’t—”

You could somehow feel his heartbeat, wild and frantic, from where you sat on his knee. The rapid thump-thump of his pulse circulating through every vein like a trapped bird. Spencer could feel it too, betraying every ounce of panic and… something else he didn’t want to name. His fingers finally twitched slightly where they rested against your hip, like testing you were really there under his palm.

“Well, go on,” you feigned innocence, patting his shoulder twice. “Keep talking.”

Spencer’s mouth opened. Nothing. All he could focus on was the girl in his lap, your scent, your warmth, the soft fabric of your shirt under his palm. “…I,” he started, then stopped.

Poor guy. You suppose you should give him some help after being so cruel. “What’s that one mean?” you ask, pointing to a diagram in the open textbook.

Spencer’s gaze followed your finger to the diagram. He swallows hard. “That one,” he starts slowly, voice slightly higher than usual, “shows how crime scenes cluster around the mean center based on statistical dispersion.”

“Oh, I see. So what else do you have to teach me?”

Not this. He wasn’t qualified for whatever this was.

But his mouth moved anyway, defaulting to academia, his safety. “Uh… there’s also the concept of hotspot analysis, which uses kernel density estimation to identify high-crime areas—”

You weren't listening. Obviously. You watch his lips move as he rambles, gently trailing a manicured nail down his scruffy cheek, which briefly makes Spencer stutter.

“…And— and the—” He takes a shuddering breath. “…the algorithm accounts for temporal decay too, which means crimes are more likely to occur closer in time to previous events than further away. Th— there’s an equation for it, but I can’t… really remember right now.”

“Oh, dear, am I distracting you again Professor?”

“…A little!” he squeaks, a tight, bashful smile on his face.

“I was starting to think you never forgot anything.”

“I don’t, I— I just… I’ve never been distracted like this before.” It was true he had an eidetic memory. Something he was keen to remind everybody of. But right now, he was sure he couldn’t recall his own phone number if someone asked him.

“Never had a student on your knee?”

The way you phrased it, like this was normal, almost made him laugh at the absurdity. “N-no, no, never.”

“Well. Don’t let me distract you. Just trying to learn.”

You lean into his side almost affectionately as he talks, your nose brushing against his cheek. Spencer swallows hard. He falters, just barely, but it was enough to make his next sentence waver. “…and the weight is inversely proportional to distance from the epicenter, meaning closer crimes have higher influence on predicting future locations…”

You blow once on his ear.

Spencer jumps, his arm tightening around you involuntarily and his head tilted away from the sudden puff of air. He whispered-shouts your name, scandalized.

You snort. “Oops.”

“You’re— you’re messing with me,” he accuses, voice low but tinged with something begrudgingly playful.

“Who, me?” You bat your lashes.

A tiny, disbelieving laugh leaves his lips, nearly a scoff. “Yes,” he says, “You!”

You giggle, and Spencer feels some part of his brain turn mushy at the sound. “Okay, okay! Sorry, Professor. I’ll behave.”

He exhaled softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “Thank you,” he murmured genuinely. “…So if we apply this methodology to an actual case,” he said, pointing at a crime scene map on the textbook page.

Before he can say much, he feels the lightest press of lips to his stubbly cheek, and his words quickly fade into an unintelligible, flustered mumble.

“W-we can predict with… um… reasonable accuracy where... mm…”

“Can’t hear you when you mumble, sir. How am I supposed to learn?” You nose his cheek.

He tried again, louder this time, “I said we can predict future crime locations with statistical modeling!”

God, this was torture.

“You’re getting kinda sweaty.”

“It’s— it’s hot in here,” he lied weakly, tugging at his cardigan.

“You can take that off,” you gesture to the sweater. “You don’t have to be professional with me.”

He laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, I… think I stopped being professional with you the moment I let you sit on my knee.”

You pull at his cardigan. “Take it off,” you whine.

“No! No,” Spencer grasps your wrists, his grip firm. He says your name in a scolding tone. “We’re still… on campus. I can’t just—”

“What, taking off a sweater isn’t allowed on campus?”

He exhaled through his nose. “I just… don’t feel comfortable, that’s all.”

“What, are you thinking of something gross?”

“No!” He blurts. “I just—I mean—I’m not—” He flounders for words, horrified by the accusation.

You couldn’t help it, you burst out laughing. You double over slightly, still perched on his knee, shoulders shaking, and Spencer’s chest does a weird little squeeze. He didn’t know whether to be offended or charmed, but his frown softened into something almost shy.

Your laughter ends with one sweet sigh, and with your hand on his cheek, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to his temple. Grinning against his skin, you murmur, “Wanna know something?”

“…Yeah?” He whispers back, voice small and uncertain.

“I know this is turning you on.”

Spencer’s red down to his chest now. He sputters, “Wh— I— that’s not—”

“Mhm. Wanna hear what else I know?” You tilt his head up to peck his cheek twice. “I know you were staring at me in that skirt.”

Spencer couldn’t even form a coherent response to that.

“What were you thinking about? My legs? My ass? ‘Cause I’d say that’s pretty dirty, Professor.”

“No!” he whispers harshly, eyes wide. He squirms in his seat like he wants to escape. “I wasn’t— I didn’t—” His hand tightens slightly where it rests on your waist.

“So you were!” You giggle, pulling back from him and cupping his face in your hands. “C’mon, look at you. What happened to those… professional boundaries you were so worried about?”

Spencer’s expression twisted with shame and flustered panic. “I don’t know,” he admitted in a tiny voice, “You just… ruined them.”

“Oh, I did, huh? So it’s my fault? It’s my fault you were staring at me?”

Alarmed, he shook his head violently. “No! No, that’s not— I didn’t mean it like that, I-I meant it like—”

“Guess it’s just my fault you’re having all these perverted thoughts about your favorite student.”

“They’re not—” His chest rises and falls as he pants with desperate frustration. “I don’t have perverted thoughts!” he protests, voice pitching higher.

You laugh cruelly, “You do! Who knew? Professor Reid’s a big pervert who stares at the girls in his class.”

You shift in his lap, moving until your front is squished up against his, thighs clamped on either side of his legs, your hips putting unfortunate pressure on his pelvis.

Spencer presses himself as far back as he could in his chair, eyes darting everywhere except your face. “I-I’m not! No! No, it’s not like that!” His hands hovered in the air like he was trying to surrender. Every nerve in his body was screaming this is wrong, this is wrong, but his traitorous cock pulsed anyway.

“Gross. I can feel your dick getting hard.”

Mortification crashed over him like a tidal wave. “It’s not— I can’t help that!”

“What, are you turned on by this or something?”

Spencer just squeezes his eyes shut, overwhelmed, grip tight on the armrests of his chair. His silence was answer enough.

“Pervert,” You hiss.

His face burns a deep, humiliated crimson. “I’m not… I’m not a pervert, okay?” He whispered, voice trembling with shame and genuine distress.

You dip down slowly, lowering your forehead to his, your breath on his lips. “Then why do you wanna fuck me?”

Finally, reality laid bare. And with the arousal very clearly straining against his pants, Spencer sees the uselessness in denying it, though his lips still part reflexively. For a heartbeat or two, you stayed like that, faces touching, breaths mingling. Then at last, he moves, and slowly he presses his lips to yours in the softest, most unsure kiss of his life.

At first, you don’t seem to reciprocate. Your lips stay upsettingly still, he’s not even sure your eyes are closed. Spencer whines slightly in his mouth in embarrassment. The moment his lips shy away from yours more than an inch, however, your grip suddenly winds into his hair. With an abrupt and furious force, you tug him back, teeth nearly colliding as you devour his mouth. Instantly, he melts back into your taste, completely unprepared for the intensity but his body responding instinctively. His hands fly back to your waist and his lips clumsily attempt to keep up with your hungry movements as he drowns in you.

One hand slides up your back while the other grips your waist tighter. He makes a small, needy noise against your mouth. You kiss him like you’ve been starving for it. like this was inevitable, like Spencer had been yours all along. You bite his lower lip gently before diving back in, tongue sliding against his with a hunger that leaves him breathless. He clutches you closer, fingers twisting into the fabric of your shirt.

Time seems to blur as the world narrows. The chair creaks under your combined weight as you shift atop him, pressing yourself even closer. Your thighs tightening around his hips, your body molding against him, beginning to grind over his erection.

Spencer groans into the kiss, his palms sliding down to grip your thighs. Your hips move against his with deliberate pressure, rolling down in slow, smooth circles just to feel him twitch. He breathes raggedly through his nose, trying to force himself up to meet your body every time it rises off of him just to grind back down.

“You’re stupidly hard,” you growl the moment you part for air.

Spencer looks up at you through his lashes with a dazed expression. His lips are kiss-swollen, his face flushed, and he’s panting like he just ran a marathon. “S-sorry,” he breathes out automatically.

“I haven’t even fucking done anything to you,” you smile wickedly. “I kissed you and you’re throbbing.”

Spencer nods frantically, his cheeks burning with humiliation and arousal. “You’re… really pretty,” he blurts out suddenly.

The compliment elicits some kind of reaction from you, something he can’t quite place. You smirk again, eyes briefly rolling back like he’d touched you. You hum in satisfaction. “I’ve waited so fucking long to hear you say that.”

Spencer’s chest swells with something warm. His heart pounds harder. He wants to say more now, clumsy and sweet things that aren’t usually his style.

“You want me to touch you?” you coos condescendingly in a way that makes him dizzy, cupping his face. “Yeah? You want my pussy? Want me to suck your filthy cock?” you say crudely.

He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know what the right answer is. Instead, his eyes dart down to your lips again, then lower, just for a split second, before snapping back up in panic.

“Answer me, Professor.”

“…Yes, y-yeah,” he finally squeaks out, the words so quiet it’s barely audible. Then he adds in a slightly louder whisper: “Please.”

“Yeah? Just like this?” One of your hands slides down to press against the front of his pants, right where he’s straining. He strains to not buck into your palm like a virgin.

His breath comes out in short, shaky puffs. He nods rapidly. “Yeah. Yeah, uh-huh. Like that.”

You rip your hand away suddenly like you’d been burned. In an instant, his collar is wrapped in your fist as you slide off his lap and yank him to his feet. He stumbles after you, wide eyed and bewildered. Spencer barely has time to process what’s happening before he’s being whirled around, practically manhandled, and he finds you both have swapped places. You seat yourself lazily in his chair and tugs him down with you, down until his knees hit the floor of his office, until his head is hovering between your thighs.

“Wha—?”

“Earn it.”

Spencer’s brain is scrambling. He stares at your spread legs and closes his jaw. He swallows hard. His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, unsure what to do with them. He’s never done this before. But the thought of touching you, tasting you, it sends a thrill through him that overrides his nervousness.

You casually undo the button of your pants, stripping them from your legs and kicking them off carelessly with effortless confidence. Spencer watches, mesmerized. Without a word, you sling one leg until your ankle rests over his shoulder, the other sitting on his thigh.

Now here you are, half-naked in his chair while he kneels like a supplicant, and the view is unreal.

He’s suddenly hyper-aware of every detail. The warmth radiating from between your thighs, the faint scent that makes his stomach flip. His hands finally move, trembling as they reach for the hem of your fine, lacy panties— specifically chosen, to be sure. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband and slowly peels them down.

The lace slides down your legs easily, unveiling your cunt. Spencer’s not sure he’s seen a woman like this up close before, not in person. Not like this. His face burns as he stares for half a second too long. With tentative, almost reverent hands, Spencer leans forward and presses a single, feather-light kiss to the inside of your thigh. It’s not where you want him, but he needs a moment to steel himself.

His lips are soft. Nervous. The kiss is chaste, too innocent for what you want, but the warmth of his lips against your skin still sends a little shiver through you. You tilt your hips slightly, nudging his back with your heel. “Don’t be shy. Lick it.”

His face is inches from you, so close he can feel the heat.

He swallows hard, then slowly, painfully slowly, he leans in and drags his tongue over you in one experimental stroke. The taste is new. Sweet, musky. Spencer does it again, a little bolder this time, his tongue moving with cautious curiosity as he explores the soft folds of you, his hands gripping your thighs to steady himself.

You inhale sharply through your nose, threading your fingers into his hair to guide him. “Fuck, yes,” you grin.

The praise shoots straight to his loins.

He redoubles his efforts, following the gentle tug of your fingers in his hair. He presses a few open-mouthed kisses before finally sealing his lips around your folds and sucking gently. His tongue flicks experimentally over your clit before he laps at it properly.

Your back arches slightly, letting airy moans slip. Spencer might be a virgin at this, but he’s a smart boy. He adapts fast. His tongue works in small circles now, swirling the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pressing him closer, not that he even needs encouragement.

Spencer loses himself in the rhythm. Licking, sucking, following whatever makes you gasp. He drags his teeth very lightly over your clit before soothing it with a long swipe of his tongue. Fuck, he likes this. So much. He moans mindlessly into your cunt, the vibration of which travels through your body, making your hips jerk up into his mouth.

Spencer’s arousal is obvious, the bulge in his pants twitches with practically every movement. He’s so turned on by this, by the way you react to him, that it almost hurts.

You spread your legs further, pushing his head and shamelessly grinding up into his mouth. You laugh breathlessly, then let your head fall back in a moan.

He loves this. He lets you use him, his hands sliding up to grip your hips, helping guide your movements as he devours you with messy enthusiasm.

The office is quiet except for the wet sounds of his mouth on you and your hitched breathing. Spencer’s lips are glistening, his cheeks flushed. He can feel himself getting dizzy from the scent of you, from how good you taste. Each moan he pulls from you goes straight to his cock, aching in its confinement.

Spencer has no idea how hot he looks right now. Wild hair, flushed face, lips slick with you. But you know. You’ve been fantasizing about this for months now, him between your legs, his clever mouth working on you like this. And reality is so much better than any daydream you ever had. Months of imagining this, and Spencer is even better than any late night, desperation-fueled fantasy. His lips are so soft, his tongue so eager, like he genuinely wants to please you. It’s intoxicating.

A particularly good flick makes you gasp “Fuck!” You gasp.

Spencer has lost track of time, only aware of the warmth between your thighs, the way you squirm and moan above him.

Your fingers twist tighter in his hair, and you start rocking against his mouth faster. The realization that you’re close makes Spencer’s stomach flip with excitement. He doesn’t slow down. If anything, he doubles down with a greedy sort of focus, his tongue moving with more purpose.

Your thighs flex, hips jutting erratically as you near the edge. Spencer’s own body is strung tight, his cock leaking, his pants sticky, but he ignores it. All that matters is you and the way your breathing turns ragged, the cries escaping your lips. He wants to taste it when you cum.

Your back arches off the chair, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head as you cum with a sharp cry. He keeps going gently through your orgasm.

The aftershocks ripple through you in small twitches and soft gasps, and Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels. His lips are wet. His face is a mess.

When the last waves of pleasure subside, you slump bonelessly in the chair. Spencer finally eases off, pressing one last tender kiss to your inner thigh before slowly sitting back on his heels.

You exhale shakily, blinking down at Spencer, still between your legs, his lips wet and swollen. The rest of him disheveled. You laugh breathlessly at his ruined and endlessly attractive state.

Spencer wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still a little dazed, but your laugh makes him smile faintly. He’s never felt so satisfied, and he didn’t even get off.

“Did I…” he pants, “did I do okay?”

Through the bliss, you shrug, teasing him. “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

Spencer’s face falls slightly. “It was my first time,” he mumbles defensively, a little hurt.

“Still,” You groan as you fix your posture, sitting up in the chair, “coulda figured out geographical profiling while you were trying to figure out what to do with your tongue.”

His lips purse, embarrassed. He stares up at you from the floor with unintentional puppy dog eyes. “I-I was trying…” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

From your elevated position, your eyes catch his cock is still straining in his pants. “Get on the floor, professor,” You push him back with a heel against his shoulder.

“Okay!” Spencer goes down without resistance, lying flat on his back now. He watches you from the floor, wide-eyed and waiting.

You slide out of the chair and drop to the floor, crawling atop him. You pop open the top button of his shirt. “Lie there and let me use your cock, or I’ll tell everyone Professor Reid licked his student’s cunt.”

Blackmail? His brain jumps back and forth between panic and pathetic arousal. “…Okay,” He nods quickly, hands hovering uselessly in surrender. “Okay, do whatever you want. Just… just don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She smiles in satisfaction. “So you know this is wrong.”

He swallows. Yes, it was wrong. It was all wrong. But it also felt so, so right, and he wanted this too badly to stop now. “Yeah,” he whispers, “I know.”

“Then you admit it, huh?” Your fingers suddenly grip his collar, undoing the knot of his tie. “You admit you’re a pervert?”

“…I’m not a pervert,” He says resolutely.

“Right.” His tie freed, You bunch it into a ball in your fist. “Then you’re not gonna, like… cum or something, right? ‘Cause that’d be pretty bad for your case.”

Yes. “…Nope.”

“Oh, good!” You grin, “Now we don’t have to worry about a condom!”

He opens his mouth to protest, and you swoops in to take the opportunity to stuff his tie between his jaw, effectively gagging him.

His muffled sound of surprise barely escapes. Panic spikes in his chest, but it’s too late. You're already moving, and Spencer can only lie there helplessly as you unzip his pants with a hungry gleam in your eye.

His cock springs free, hard and aching, and completely at your mercy. Spencer’s eyes are huge behind the gag. “Careful,” You whisper dangerously as you hover over his dripping cock, “don’t wanna get your student pregnant.”

Spencer whimpers nervously.

You don't tease. No, you waste no time. In one smooth motion, you sink yourself down onto him. Spencer’s body goes taut, a choked noise escaping around his tie. It’s too much. You're tight and warm and he wasn’t ready for this at all.

You bite back a groan as you sheath the entirety of his length, every inch swallowed. “Fuck, this all for me?” You laugh mockingly, “Look at you, oh, you’re so fucking hard. It’s pathetic.”

Spencer lets out a muffled, shameful whine. His hands finally move, clutching at your hips like he doesn’t know where else to put them. You allow it, if only because the touch of his hands still sends a thrill through your body. “Poor thing… if only your body were half obedient as your mouth. Must be so frustrated.”

Spencer is frustrated. Frustrated that he can’t kiss you, frustrated that you’re talking like this, frustrated you’re not moving. He squeezes your hips gently, begging without words as he squirms under you. Move. Please.

You admire the way his cock bulges slightly in your tummy. “What? Huh? I can’t hear you under there."

Spencer makes a muffled noise, a furious cry, and rolls his hips upward, trying to show you what he wants.

You gasp slightly at the movement, laughing under your breath. “Aww, are we getting impatient?”

Spencer nods rapidly. His hands slide up your sides, then back down to grip your ass this time. He’s already breathless.

“You want me to fuck you so bad it makes you look like a virgin.”

Spencer just nods again, his saliva soaking the tie.

“Last I checked, dildo’s don’t whine.” Finally, mercifully, you slide yourself back up to his tip, cock almost slipping out. “I’m gonna ruin you,” you purr, “and you’re gonna thank me for it. Won’t you?”

Spencer moans as he nods frantically, like a bobblehead.

The slow drag of you taking him back in makes his toes curl, the sensation electric. It’s so good he almost forgets to breathe. The stretch is perfect, the heat maddening. But the slow, careful movements as you adjust don’t last long. You grip the collar of his shirt for stability as you begin to move yourself faster, then faster, immediately setting an unforgiving pace.

Spencer’s entire body convulses with pleasure. Each sharp bounce of your hips punches the air from his lungs. His hands scramble to hold onto your waist, fingers digging in as you ride him hard. Muffled moans spill out continuously from behind the fabric in his jaw as his vision blurs at the edges. His stomach tightens, his thighs tremble.

The pace is relentless and purposeful. It sends a message. That you’re taking what you want from him, and Spencer is just along for the ride.

Through your own bliss, you laugh at his state. “Oh, you are gone.”

The laugh vibrates through him and sends another wave of pleasure down his spine. His hips twitch up weakly to meet yours with every bounce.

You lean forward, pressing your chest against his, the pace never faltering. You bring your lips to his ear, your breath against his skin. “Gonna make you cum so hard you’ll show me what a whore you are.”

The words send a shiver down his spine, and he clenches his eyes shut. So vulgar, so degrading, and yet Spencer’s cock throbs at the sound of them.

The pace doesn’t slow for a second. If anything, it gets harder, more punishing. Spencer’s muscles tense, his orgasm already building fast, and he knows he’s not gonna last. He moans and whines girlishly as he starts to writhe beneath you.

“Oh, poor baby,” you mock, “I thought you… mmm, said you weren’t gonna cum in me. Fuck. Don’t tell me I’ve got a little liar.”

His entire body is tensing, his breath coming in short, frantic bursts out his nose, but he shakes his head violently.

“Oh, so close. So close, aren’t you? I know. I know, and you don’t wanna cum. Don’t wanna get me pregnant, do you? Fuck, I bet you’d lose your job.”

He tries to hold back, biting down onto his tie. It’s agony trying to hold back. His balls are tight, his cock pulsing with every bounce of your hips. The threat of consequences makes it worse. He can’t cum, he really can’t, but you're making it impossible. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes from desperation.

“Too bad,” You hiss, leaning down again to whisper in his ear like a devil on his shoulder. “C’mon, just cum for me. C’mon, who cares? Who cares I’m your student? Make me drip with you.”

He tries to shake his head, but Spencer’s body betrays him. With a silent, shuddering convulsion, his orgasm rips through him. Even through the gag, his choked moans escape as he cums inside you, pulse after pulse filling you as pleasure tears through his entire being.

You let out an airy, girly moan and laugh at him, giddy and triumphant.

Spencer goes limp underneath you. He breathes heavily through his nose, still whining and squirming. After a while, his eyes flutter open as he weakly lifts his head. He stares at where you’re connected with horror, the haze fading and the clarity hitting him.

You notice. “You wanna see?”

Spencer nods rapidly.

You lift yourself from his softening cock, the globs of his release sliding down his length. You're dripping with him. His cum, so much of it, leaking down his own cock and dripping from your thighs.

The sight makes him nauseous. His chest rises and falls rapidly in panic. His eyes are blown open wide and searching yours for an answer.

Finally satisfied, you end the game. “I’m on the pill.”

Spencer's entire body sags with instant relief.

You chuckle, then grasp his cock from between your thighs, realigning it with your dripping entrance.

Again? His cock is sensitive, overspent, he’s still coming down from the high of his last orgasm. But you don't seem to care, just guiding his half-hard cock back inside without hesitation.

The moment you push yourself back down, it’s too much. Too sensitive. The oversensitivity makes his writhe involuntarily, a whimper escaping around his gag. He doesn’t know if he can go again, but you clearly expect him to try.

You don't give him time to adjust. You start moving immediately, rolling your hips in slow circles. His body responds despite itself, his cock stirring back to life, slowly hardening again inside you.

Spencer’s hands clutch at the carpet beneath him helplessly. It shouldn’t feel good. It hurts. But the sensation is undeniable, and his hips give tiny little involuntary thrusts upward.

You lean down, finally pulling the gag out of his mouth. “There we go,” You murmur, then kiss him, deeply this time.

Your lips are warm, your tongue sliding against his as you start to ride him again. To Spencer, it feels intimate. He hums into your mouth, kissing you softly. But it doesn’t take long before your pace stops being gentle.

You’re using him. Using his cock like a dildo, and something about it is dizzying. His hands find your waist again, gripping tight as you pick up speed, chasing your own pleasure now. He just lies there, letting you take what you want from his body.

The kiss breaks as you focus on riding him harder, faster. Spencer’s head lolls back against the floor. He’s just a thing to you right now— a toy, a tool. He’s much comparable to a ragdoll. He watches you from the floor as you use him, gritting your teeth and moaning.

You’re riding him erratically, moving yourself and his dick whichever way hits that spot inside you best. He watches your face, the way your brows furrow, how you bite your lip, and decides it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. Even as a ragdoll, he can appreciate that.

Your moans get louder, coming out in shorter, clipped bursts. You're close. Spencer feels it, the way your thighs tense around him, how you grind down with purpose now. He stays perfectly still, letting your chase that high on top of him.

A sharp cry escapes you as your body locks up, and he feels the sudden tight clench around him. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

When it’s over, you huff once, then slump forward, forehead pressed to his chest, and just breathe for a moment.

Spencer stays still, one hand hesitantly rubbing your back.

After a beat, You grab his face with a ferocity and force your lips back to his. With a dazed expression, Spencer eagerly accepts.

The kiss is messy and sloppy. Your post-orgasm haze mixes with any lingering adrenaline. And Spencer kisses back like he’s starving for it, his hands sliding up to cradle your face.

But you slip out of his grasp all too soon, and Spencer whines. Sliding yourself off his cock with a groan, you suddenly reach up to grip his hair, tilting his head back. “Open your mouth,” you command.

Albeit a bit confused, he obeys, lips parting. His heart is still racing, his body humming from everything that just happened.

You crawl up his body like a predator, and Spencer realizes with dizzying clarity, you want to straddle his face. And some part of him gets a thrill that he did it well enough the first time you would demand it again.

You don't have to guide him. He’s ready, eager even, holding out his hands to steady you. His palms slide up your thighs, and he tilts his head just right, lips parted expectantly. Please. That’s what the look in his eyes says.

You lower yourself onto his mouth with zero hesitation. Spencer inhales sharply through his nose, your scent is everywhere, before his lips press even against you.

This time, he doesn’t bother with the coquettish hesitation. He dives in. Immediately, he tastes himself on your tongue, the flavor of which strange, salty and musky. But he doesn’t mind. Spencer laps at you contentedly, his tongue exploring with more confidence than before, licking and sucking and kissing.

You inhale sharply through your teeth, your fist gripping his hair. You shudder atop him, your thighs squeezing around his head. “Oh my god,” You breathe out, genuinely surprised. His tongue is moving just right, his pressure is perfect. Your hips start rolling against his mouth, chasing the pleasure.

Spencer, for his part, is fully immersed, licking and kissing like he’s worshipping you. His cheeks and nose are damp with your arousal.

Your back arches into him as you practically ride his face, greedily taking everything his mouth has to offer. He holds your thighs steady, letting you grind against his lips, his tongue working tirelessly to give you exactly what you want.

You're close again, sooner than last time. Breathing raggedly, your grip on his hair tightens as you chase that second high.

Spencer can feel it, the way your body tenses, the tiny trembles in your thighs. A high, broken moan tears from your throat and you shake, your thighs clamping around Spencer’s head. He keeps his tongue right where he is, letting it happen, letting you ride out the waves on his mouth.

You finally lift yourself from his mouth, taking the heat of your cunt with you. Spencer helps you crawl back to his lap as he catches his breath. He pulls your limp body gently into his arms. He can’t help but cradle you against his chest. It felt like the right thing to do. You slump against him without a complaint.

You’re both a mess. Sweaty, sticky, and exhausted, the smell of sex thick in the air.

You both lie there, boneless. The floor doesn’t make for the most comfortable spot to lie, but neither could especially move if they tried. The cool air conditioning, at least, is pleasant against their overheated skin.

Spencer exhales slowly, staring at the ceiling. “So, uh… what… what now?”

Your breath is still coming out in puffs. “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

Spencer purses his lips, suddenly nervous. He swallows. “…Are we… um… gonna talk about what just happened?”

You lie there wordlessly for a moment. “…I dunno. I didn’t really plan this far.”

Spencer nods slowly. Silence stretches between them, heavy and awkward. Then he suddenly frowns in thought. “You… you planned this?”

“Yeah. I’ve been wanting to fuck your brains out since I found out you weren’t another old, boring professor.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. His cheeks flush again. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I mean… shit, everybody does. I just did it first. I tried to tell you.”

“Yeah, I, uh… thought you meant— well…” He thinks back to your conversation in his office, about the female students in his class, auditing only because they intended to spend the class ogling him instead of listening. “I assumed the fact that you were enrolled meant you… didn’t share the sentiment.”

“What, sitting in your lap wasn’t enough of a hint?”

“W-well, I think it hit me by that point, actually!”

You drop your head in exasperation with the knowledge that all of your flirting, this entire time, flew under his radar. Jesus, it was a miracle you’d gotten to this point at all.

You exhale theatrically, reaching up to pat his cheek. “You’re very dense. It’s very charming.”

He smiles, small and shy. “Thank you?”

You just hum. The both of you are silent again, slumped against each other. The clock ticks in his room, the AC rattles.

Spencer idly taps his fingers against your back, still staring at the ceiling. “Did you, uh… wanna… get coffee sometime? Or something?”